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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

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Secrets ~ 5

Warnings: noncon sexual acts later in series.

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Notes:

So, I managed to come back to this one. So sorry for taking so long! My mind wanders easily but I really do enjoy this series!! I'm hoping to get a few more chapters done in the next week or two if I can. As it is, my time is a bit up in the air with a looming lockdown.

That being said, I love you all, I thank you for your patience and feedback as always! Please don't shy away in the comments and I promise to keep doing what I can for all my ongoing series.

As for tumblr, I’m just kinda in and out. I’m not here here in a way as I’m trying just to stay sane.

You sat across from Barnes. Rigid, as you kept in mind not to slouch. Tense, as you brooded over your hopeless situation. Silent, as you inhaled the scent of the savoury meal but found yourself curtailed at every attempt to eat. His eyes followed every move and you were met with either a tskk or a remonstrance; ‘not that fork’, ‘small bites, smaller sips’, ‘smile’, ‘keep your lips closed’, ‘elbows off the table’...

You sighed as your last attempt to sate your growling stomach ended in another reproach. His words, his even voice almost taunting, stoked your anger and made it difficult for you to follow his direction. You sat back and peered up and down the long table, the chairs empty and table cloth crisp and white.

“How much longer do I have to do this?” You bemoaned. “I’m hungry. Let me eat.”

“Duchess, you will be expected to act as a lady for the rest of your life.” His mouth twitched at one corner as if he would grin. “Do not be unhappy with me, it was not I who neglected your education.”

Your nostrils flared and you looked at the longest knife among the row. He chuckled and you squinted over at him. You sighed.

“Do not be a child, Duchess. When you are queen, you will be the beacon for all other women at court. And if you cannot set a good example, they will make sure you know it.” He pushed his shoulders back.

“I don’t care about those women. I don’t know them.” You sniffed. “This isn’t my home.”

“It is.” He said plainly. “As close to as you’ll have given that yours would be entirely lost to you.”

You stared at him. You tilted your head and frowned. “You don’t realise how absurd this is? Do you really think I could ever want to be here?”

“If you don’t even give it a chance, then no.” He shrugged, “But you haven’t. You were in school, you liked it?”

You ran your tongue along your teeth and nodded.

“We have tutors; the finest money can find. If you are agreeable, your husband might be too.” He ran his thumb along the line of his palm. “You like museums, well we have one of the grandest in the world. You must know of it given your interests.”

You looked away. It wasn’t the same. What would you do with an education if you were trapped in a royal marriage? How could you enjoy a museum if you just went to look? Your former life felt so far away, yet that before you, felt even further. You weren’t a queen; you didn’t want to be a queen.

“So what? I’ll beg for scraps from my husband? 'Oh, please, I would love to visit the library today, my king. May I? May I really?'” You spat as you clutched your hand together dramatically.

“The King can be amenable but if you approach him with the same attitude as you have me, this marriage will be exactly what you expect it to be. Perhaps you might consider how you could make it at least tolerable?”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes. “You want me to change everything about myself; how I walk, how I sit, how I dress, how I eat. That is not tolerable.”

His lips parted and he tore his eyes away from you as he thought. “Well, to be frank, the king won’t care what you tolerate and he does not tolerate much. So whether you wish it or not, you will at least pretend to change.”

“Mmm, sure.” You huffed.

“I am offering you advice and it is good advice. The king… He will not be as patient as me. If you embarrass him in front of his court, in front of the world, you won’t ever forget it. He’ll make sure of it.”

“You know, the more you tell me about him, the better he sounds,” you said dryly, “A hell of a catch.”

Bucky exhaled slowly and a deep line formed in his cheek. “Go on. Take the salad fork-- no, wrong one.”

You bared your teeth as you blinked at the line of forks. “I’m not very hungry anymore.” You grumbled.

“Hungry or not, you need to learn how to hold a fork, Duchess,” he rebuked, “Sit up straight.”

👑

When you were finally allowed to retire from your first day at Regia, you were exhausted. Your chambers were welcoming as you left your personal tormentor, Barnes, without and trudged over to the bed. As you dropped onto the bouncy mattress, you looked around and your irritation piqued again.

Your suitcase was gone. Only your toiletries remained in their beige leather pouch and a stack of books. You frowned and stood reluctantly. Your neck and shoulders ached from the tension nestled there from a long day of Barnes’ tutelage and his nuisance.

You grabbed the first book, the title wrought in gold on the fading spine; ‘Queens of Astrania’. You fluttered through the pungent pages and took the next; ‘A Lady’s Place’. You set that one aside and scowled as you went down the stack; ‘Manners and Etiquette’, ‘The Provinces of Astrania; Lands and Rights’, ‘Astrania the Bold; A Kingdom Without End’, ‘Queen Loren: The Royal Mother’....

You left them in the pile and covered your face with your hands as you resisted the urge to scream. You turned away and went to the dresser. You slid open the drawer but it wasn’t your clothing inside. Instead of your plain cotton tee and jogging pants, you found satin and silk night clothes in every cut. You opened the drawer beside it and found bras and panties you’d never have wasted a penny on.

You slammed the drawer shut and went to the closet with the thick wooden doors etched with curlicues. Inside, blouses, skirts, and pants hung, pressed and pretty. The wardrobe of a lady. You could see Princess Kate in your head wearing any piece of it and yet, each garment looked sharper, more modern than the British fashion.

You shut the doors and crossed your arms. Three weeks. Well, one day down. That was all you had left. You thought of the women who had come before you; the medieval maidens, the romantic ladies in their puffed sleeves, the Victorian stiff neck marms. Had they wanted it? Or had they been trapped like you? Did they feel the same hopeless despair?

You went to the window and looked out at the green lawns painted in silver moonlight. Clouds framed the shining crescent, the sky streaked in greys and blacks that sent a shiver through you. The gates stood closed and ominous at the end of the winding drive and trees stood sentinel around the palace.

Once, you’d dreamed of visiting a royal home. Your love of history held you reverent in awe of the remarkable architecture, the years marked by renovations and the contrast of styles often found between one room and the next. Visions of spectres stirred your imagination and you thought of the dead haunting the corridors as they retraced the footsteps of their existence.

No, it all just felt horribly empty. These places were prisons. History didn’t need to be kept alive, only remembered as an omen for those living. Let it go but do not forget.

You drew away from the window and slumped in the upholstered chair not far from it. Barnes had your phone, you didn’t expect to get it back. It wouldn’t be of much use. As much as you missed your mom, you had nothing left to say to her and hearing her voice would only make you feel worse. She would only remind you of what she’d done; of the secrets she’d kept from you.

It was only you and the whispers of the dead. They carried on the breeze outside the window as if to warn you. ‘You are one of us…’

👑

The second day went much the same. Barnes woke you early, his gaze tinged with judgement as he chose your outfit for the day and bid you to pay attention. You ate, slowly and with the same endless critique, and he took you to the palace library and sat you down with a large volume. He paced as you read and occasionally listed off all that you had yet to learn. In all your years of school, you’d never had a teacher as overbearing and relentless as him.

When you were thoroughly restless from the tight font and stiff pages, he took you for a walk around the lawns and pointed out the statues of your predecessors. When you returned to the palace, he gave you another lesson in posture, a book on your head as he had you strut across the foyer over and over again. When you were dizzy from the repetition, it was time for another meal and you growled at your cutlery in frustration.

The days went on as such. You snapped at Barnes when he breathed down your neck but he never again bent you over and spanked you like a child. Instead, he merely grinned and thought of another ridiculous activity. But when he caught you with a sandwich secreted from the house staff and your hand streaked in mustard, he looked close to another lashing. He only took the last of your crust and scrubbed your fingers himself.

On the fifth morning. You woke with difficulty. You were exhausted and angry and about to give up. Barnes tore away your duvet and tossed a dress at you. He stood before the rack of dresses you’d gone through on your first day. You groaned and snatched up the petal pink swathe and rolled out of bed.

You dressed as he waited in the hall and you stumbled out in the pair of steep heels. You held in a yawn as he bent his arm and you merely stared at it in detest.

“Duchess,” he sighed, “Let’s not do this today. We have a packed schedule.”

“What is it? Am I to balance on one foot and recite the royal family tree?” You spat.

He snorted and shook his head. He took your arm and hooked it through his own. He turned and led you down the hall. “Well, no, but I fear you might look just as silly.”

You narrowed your eyes and your stomach knotted. You wondered at his meaning but went along with him. Your days at Regia still felt like a dream; you just couldn’t accept that any of it was real.

He led you down the stairs, with some trouble, as your ankle bent and you caught the railing in panic. He righted you and continued lithely down the staircase. Your heels clicked on the marble as he turned you and guided you to the tall doors that opened into a grand ballroom. Long tables lined the perimeter with straight back chairs and portraits of women long dead and their respective husbands hung from the walls. The high ceiling was pointed and arched in the style of the seventeenth century and velvet curtains were tied back with tassles at the other end of the chamber.

A woman in black, a stiff white collar poking out from beneath her blazer, and a prim twist to her lips, stood expectantly at the centre. She held a stick that reminded you of a 1900s schoolhouse teacher and her round framed glasses magnified her cold glare.

“Priscilla,” Barnes released you and approached the woman. He greeted her in all courtesy, a small nod and a kiss on her hand. “Timely, as always.”

“Lord Barnes,” she arched a brow and her hazel eyes peered past him at you. “Duchess?” It was barely a question as she bent her knee and gave a stoic bow.

“The very one,” Barnes affirmed.

“An honour,” she stepped past Barnes. “I was present when your mother and her father visited our kingdom all those years ago.”

Your lip curled and you looked between her and Barnes. “I never knew my grandfather. Apparently, I never knew my mother either.”

Her eyes rounded and her face contorted as if she had tasted lemon juice. She looked at Barnes who shook his head.

“You know the nobility well, Pris,” he said, “They have the temperance of toddlers.”

“Wouldn’t you know it, my lord,” she quipped. “A blessing to her it is not Austin in my place.”

“I made certain it wasn’t,” Barnes approached you and took your hand, “I do appreciate your expedience.”

“I would never disobey the king,” she held the stick horizontal in both hands, “Very well, first position.”

Barnes turned you and drew you to him. His other hand went to your back. He held you to him, a small space between your bodies and you wobbled on your high heels.

“What the--” His sharp look kept your form profanity.

“You must learn to dance,” he said, “And if you can barely stand straight, I trust we have much to do.”

Priscilla came around you and touched your shoulders with her stick. “Head up,” she chided, “Straight, straight, straight.” She tapped the tip along your spine. “You are lucky.” She girded, “To learn with such a partner. Barnes… I hope that even you might sharpen this one.” She tutted, “There is much work to be done.”

“Would you stop that?” You tore your hand from Barnes’ and wipped at the stick against your back, “I’m not a dog.”

“Mmm,” she hummed and smacked your ass with the stick as Barnes took your hand again, “Move your feet.”

She rescinded the stick and tapped the butt of it on the floor as she began to count. You trod on your partner’s toe as he led you. You looked down at your feet and he hissed, “Don’t look down.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You stomped his shoe again. “Or do you like broken toes?”

“Just back, forward, side, side, back…” He raised your hand. “Stand straight. Head high.”

“I hate you,” you snipped as you scrambled to keep the beat.

“A good thing you are not my fiancee, then,” he smirked.

“We can agree on that,” you sneered but found yourself pressed against him as you tripped. He caught you and chuckled as he stood you up straight.

“Graceful as ever,” he kidded, “My apologies, Priscilla, it is going to be a long day.”

“You’re apologizing to her?” You grimaced, “What about me?”

“You’ve tread on me nearly a dozen times, so far,” he turned you, “I would say you owe me a few ‘sorries’ yourself.”

“I’d say we’re even,” you snipped. “My freedom, your toes.”

His lips curved again as he watched you. You looked past him and focused on the numbers; one, two, three, and four… Your gaze caught on a queen with sad eyes painted in fading pigments. She had no husband beside her, only an urn on a plinth. A chill rippled through you as you were spun away from the sight. For all its radiance, there was something very grim about this palace of betrothed.

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #fic #series #dark!fic #dark steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #secrets #dark fic #mcu #royal au #au #marvel #captain america #king!steve

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pianomanblaine · 4 years ago

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Healing Scars

Being intimate with Erik is more than Christine could have ever dreamed of, but when she realises how insecure Erik feels about his body, she is determined to make him see how much she desires him.

AO3 FFN

They had only been intimate a handful of times since their wedding, but Christine was addicted already. His hands on her skin stoked a fire inside of her that she would gladly be consumed by. She would burn for all eternity if it only meant he never stopped touching her.

Inexperienced as he was – as they both were – Erik was a quick study, cataloguing every breathy moan and whimper for future reference, finding those places on her body where she liked most to be touched and kissed, and lavishing attention on them until she felt she would explode with pleasure. He worshipped her as if she were his personal goddess.

She wanted nothing more than to return the favour, mapping his body with her hands, her lips, her tongue, to discover all the delicious sounds her Maestro could make. Whenever she attempted to start her explorations, however, he would always find a way to stop her. Most of the time she didn’t even realise it was happening. Before she even had the time to think about it he had her pinned underneath him, distracting her with his mouth and his talented musician’s fingers until she couldn’t remember her own name, let alone what she had been planning to do.

Tonight was turning out to go down a similar path.

Christine was completely naked already, but Erik had yet to shed any clothing apart from his vest, shoes and socks. Determined to rectify the situation, she started to unbutton his shirt. She had barely reached the third button when she felt his hands cover hers, guiding them away from his chest towards his face. It was then, when she felt the twisted skin of his unmasked face beneath her fingers – it had taken some convincing before he agreed to leave off his mask during their lovemaking – that she realised how desperately he wanted to keep her attention away from the rest of his body.

‘Erik, what’s wrong?’ she asked, straightening up on her knees where she was sitting on the bed to look at him.

‘Nothing at all, my love,’ he replied a little too quickly, not meeting her eyes as he spoke.

‘Then why won’t you let me look at you?’

‘My dear,’ he chuckled nervously, ‘you are looking at me.’

‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’ She winced slightly at how harsh her voice sounded to her own ears, but she couldn’t help feeling a little hurt by his constant rejection of her touch.

Erik remained silent, restlessly kneading the fabric of the mattress beneath his fingers.

Very well then, she thought, it seemed like action on her part was needed to draw him out.

She moved to straddle him, and when he still refused to look at her she brought a finger under his chin, softly pushing up his face in a gesture he had used on her so many times before until he couldn’t avoid her gaze any longer.

‘I can tell something is wrong, love. Please tell me what it is. I promise I won’t judge, I only want to help.’

Erik sighed deeply, taking her hand and placing a soft kiss on her palm before finally answering.

‘I haven’t let you look at me because… Well, frankly, because I’m ugly.’

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she kept quiet, allowing him the chance to elaborate.

‘You have been so extraordinarily kind as to allow me into your bed. You continue to insist that you want to see my face, which I still find hard to fathom, but I cannot deny you if that is what you truly wish. However, I simply cannot bear for you to look upon this hideous body, Christine.’

Her heart broke a little at his admission. She grabbed his face with both hands and tried to pour every ounce of love she felt for him into her eyes and into her next words.

‘Darling, how can you think your body would disgust me? You’ve told me that you have scars, but I honestly wouldn’t mind them. They’re simply another part of you, just like your face, and I’ve told you time and again that I don’t want you to hide your face any longer. I want to see the real you. No masks. No barriers.’

‘Oh Christine,’ he murmured, closing his eyes briefly before continuing, a pained expression crossing his features. ‘You say that now, but you don’t understand. Your body is so smooth and soft and beautiful.’ He gently trailed a hand from her breast down to her waist to emphasise his words and her breath hitched at the featherlight touch. ‘Mine is hard and sharp, every inch of skin covered in scars. And unlike my face, which has been my burden since birth, these scars have not always been there. They were put there deliberately by people who wanted to harm me but didn’t live to tell the tale. Every single one of those scars is a reminder of a monstrous past that haunts me, no matter how badly I want to forget.’

Christine was lost for words. She knew about his past and wished more than anything that she could take all that pain away, but nothing she could do would erase what had happened to him.

She had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could say anything.

‘I’m so sorry you feel that way, but I need you to know that I meant what I said. I hate that the scars are there because it means you suffered physically as well as mentally, but they don’t disgust me, Erik. The past is behind us, and right now I am only interested in the present and the future.’

He looked at her disbelievingly, although Christine thought she could see hope begin to shimmer through in his gaze. ‘A future with me, scars and all?’

‘Of course,’ she assured him. ‘Erik, I love you. I’ve told you so before and I will keep telling you until you’re sick of hearing it.’

He scoffed at her words. ‘Even if they were the only words you spoke to me for the rest of your life, I could never tire of hearing them,’ he swore, his eyes burning through her with that same passion she had seen there every time they had been intimate since their wedding night.

‘That might be true, but no matter how many times I say it, I’m still not convinced that you believe me.’

He opened his mouth to protest, but she brought a finger to his lips to silence him.

‘I think there’s a part of you that still believes I will run at the first opportunity. That you are undeserving of love. But you’re not, Erik. So please, let me show you how much I love you, as you have showed me.’

A single tear rolled down the deformed side of his face, telling her that he had recognised the truth in her words, and she bent down to catch the little bead of moisture with her lips. She continued to cover his face with kisses until she felt him shudder underneath her. Her fingers sought out his on the mattress, giving them a little reassuring squeeze.

‘Trust me,’ she whispered, her warm breath tickling his ear, ‘please’.

Trust was a hard thing for him to learn given his past, she understood that, but she also knew that he was unable to refuse her anything and she was proven right when he indicated his assent with a single nod. His golden eyes pleaded with her, for what she did not know, but she made a silent vow there and then that she would do everything in her power to be worthy of his trust.

Christine kept looking him in the eye as she continued to undress him. He didn’t try to stop her again, but shrugged off his shirt when she was done unbuttoning it, dropping it on the ground next to the bed. She recalled how he had described his body as hard and sharp, and it was true. Erik was terribly skinny, so thin she could easily count his ribs. But beneath all of that lay an incredible strength, and so much passion it took her breath away. Skinny he might be, but weak he was certainly not. There was nowhere on earth she felt safer than wrapped up in his arms. If only she could make him see that.

She captured his lips in a soft, reassuring kiss, but when he moved to deepen it, she leaned back.

‘Lie back for me?’ she asked and as he obeyed without complaint, an idea struck her and she guided his hands above his head. ‘I want you to keep your hands here. Don’t move.’

‘What?’

She felt him tense beneath her, the initial confusion in his eyes quickly transforming into panic.

‘No. No Christine, please, don’t ask this of me,’ he begged, ‘I can’t.’

‘Shhh, don’t worry, love,’ she murmured, interlacing her fingers with his, ‘I’ll take care of you.’

‘But I – I need to touch you.’

It was true, he always had his hands on her during their lovemaking, squeezing and caressing every bit of skin he could reach, as if to make sure that she was still there. As if he needed to be certain that she would not simply disappear into thin air. But if she allowed him to touch her, he would certainly use it to distract her whenever he started to feel self-conscious under her ministrations and that is exactly what she did not want to happen. Tonight would be about him.

He tried to wriggle his hands free, but she pushed them back down unto the bed.

‘I know, and you will,’ she promised. ‘Just not yet.’

For a moment Erik looked as if he would object further, but no words left his lips. He simply gazed at her with a mix of fear, hope and adoration. Christine continued to whisper soothing words in his ear, rubbing gentle circles into the palms of his hands with her thumbs until the tension slowly seeped out of him.

Finally, finally she could explore her husband’s body like she had always wanted to, but she had to take things slow for his sake. She wanted him to feel every bit as loved and wanted as he made her feel every day.

Arms were a safe place to start, she decided. She let her hands wander from his palm to his wrist and down his upper arm, following a prominent vein with her fingers, keeping her touch light and soft. She noticed a few scars here and there, but there weren’t all that many. The majority of them must be situated on his torso then, she suspected.

She kept her focus on his arms for a while. When she looked up after a minute or two, his eyes were closed, his limbs loose, body practically melting into the mattress. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him so relaxed. It was such a difference compared to his desperate, panicked state mere moments ago and she silently congratulated herself on the progress she was making.

She mapped out the same trail her fingers had followed with her lips and Erik let out a contented hum. While her mouth left little kisses across his upper arms, her hands continued their path downward until they reached his armpits. He hissed at the tickling sensation, but didn’t otherwise protest as she explored further.

After his arms, she concentrated on his neck and throat, committing to memory the beautiful moans he uttered as she grazed her teeth across his skin before soothing the sting with her tongue. ‘I love this spot,’ she murmured, placing a lingering kiss on the bit of skin between his jaw and his earlobe. ‘I love how sensitive you are here.’ He didn’t reply, but tried to push closer to her lips, wordlessly asking for more. It was all the encouragement she needed.

From there, she let her hands and mouth wander lower, towards his chest, and that’s where she started encountering more scars.

He opened his eyes and tensed slightly when her fingers brushed the first one, watching her intently. She felt the rough ridges of flesh beneath her fingertips, but they didn’t evoke revulsion as Erik expected they would. All she wanted was to caress them until they became a source of pleasure rather than pain. She skimmed her fingers over every scar that came across her path, coaxing little whimpers from his lips, and then kissed and licked the marred skin until he was writhing with need underneath her. ‘I love you,’ she whispered into his skin in between kisses and hoped he understood how badly she truly wanted him, with or without scars.

When she thought he was starting to feel overwhelmed, she shifted her focus to his nipples instead, watching with fascination as they hardened at her touch. The needy moan that escaped his throat as she swirled her tongue around the little buds made desire pool hot in her stomach. She knew from experience how incredible it felt when he did that to her, but she hadn’t expected it would be just as pleasurable for a man. This was definitely a spot she would come back to in the future.

As she scooted down to focus her ministrations on his stomach, she felt his hard length, still caught beneath his trousers, brush against her naked buttocks and he bucked up against her.

‘Please, my love,’ he panted, ‘please, I need you. Let me touch you. Let me have you.’

She had originally planned to move on to his cock next, using her hands and mouth to pleasure him before letting him into her body, but he seemed so desperate already and to be honest, she wasn’t sure she could make herself wait much longer either. Witnessing his pleasure, knowing she was the one to make him feel that way, only fuelled her desire for him. God, he was beautiful, and he was hers, and she needed him.

Without further ado she unbuttoned his trousers and removed them, and he groaned when her fingers brushed his cock. She noted that he didn’t move his hands to help her undress him, still obeying her command to keep them above his head.

As soon as she was settled above him again, his hips started moving, rubbing his cock against her ass, causing her to let out a needy whimper of her own.

‘Yes, okay, give me your hands,’ she ordered him, and he was only too eager to comply. She placed one of his hands on her breast, which he started squeezing immediately, moaning loudly when he was finally allowed to touch her. His other hand she brought to her entrance, guiding two fingers inside and wasting no time in pumping her hips against them. Her breath hitched at the delicious stretch and when he brought his thumb against her nub and started rubbing in little circles, she nearly reached her peak there and then. But tonight was about him. His pleasure was her priority now.

She thrust down on his fingers a few more times before moving off of them and from the moment he had both hands free, they were all over her body. It was as if, now that he was finally able to touch her, he couldn’t decide where to start, wanting to feel her everywhere at once. She let his hands roam her body, revelling in the feeling of his long, slender fingers against her skin. When his hands started drifting down her stomach towards her mound she stopped him. Instead she guided them to her backside and then took his length in her hand, positioning it at her entrance and slowly sinking down on it, never breaking eye contact.

The way he moaned her name once he was fully inside of her was a sound she would never tire of hearing. She could tell by the look on his face that he was trying to hold back, giving her time to adjust, but she was having none of that. She started sliding up and down his length, urging him to move and when he did, she bent forward, capturing his lips in a demanding kiss.

He buried a hand in her hair, pulling her closer still and taking control of the kiss, licking and sucking at her mouth like he could never get enough. When coming up for air became unavoidable, he moved his lips to her neck, latching on to her pulse point and sucking hard. She cried out his name in ecstasy.

‘Erik! Erik, I love you so much.’

‘I love you too,’ he gasped, ‘God, how I love you.’

He was pumping into her in a frantic rhythm now and she knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He usually made sure she reached her climax before chasing his own, but that was not how she wanted it to go this time.

‘Let go, love,’ she urged him, ‘don’t wait for me. Take what you need.’

A deep groan rumbled from his chest and in a single fluid motion, he grabbed her and spun them around so he was on top of her. Erik pounded into her at a relentless pace until she was seeing stars. He tilted up her hips a little, slightly changing the angle of his thrusts so his cock was pushing right against that bundle of nerves which caused sparks to shoot through her entire body. With one final pump of his hips, he spent himself inside her, repeating her name over and over again as if it was the only word he knew, and he took her right over the edge with him.

He collapsed on top of her and Christine had never felt more cherished and at ease than there, pinned underneath his weight. She was unable and unwilling to move, wishing she could stay in this moment with him forever.

When their heavy breathing had returned to normal, Erik slowly blinked open his eyes and gazed down on her with unbridled adoration and devotion. He kissed her on one cheek, then the other, then her nose, her chin, her forehead, peppering her whole face with kisses, making her giggle, and then finally planted a sweet, lingering kiss on her lips.

‘You are an exceptional woman and I cannot believe my luck that you are mine,’ he said reverently.

Christine beamed up at him, her heart fit to burst with all the love she felt for this extraordinary, beautiful man.

‘Then it seems we are both extremely lucky.’

#phantom of the opera #poto fanfic #phanfiction #phanfic #eline writes #my fic #e/c #i'll go hide under a rock somewhere now okay bye

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princesspiratecat · 4 years ago

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The Rise and Fall of the Shepard Family Part 22: Spring, 1083

(This is a long one, but hopefully worth the read!)

Part 1& Part 2

Part 3 & Part 4

Part 5 & Part 6 & Part 7

Part 8 & Part 9 & Part 10

Part 11 & Part 12 & Part 13

Part 14 & Part 15 & Part 16

Part 17 & Part 18 & Part 19

Part 20 & Part 21

Never before had Gwendolyn felt so happy as she did when her sister had arrived to visit her at her little hovel. She hadn’t been able to stop the tears from flowing, and soon both of them were wiping them away.

After the servant had left, Gwyn had demanded to know everything, but Gwendolyn didn’t know where to begin. There was so much to tell, and all of it pained her to speak of.

“Is this really where you are now residing? This little hovel?” Gwyn turned a discerning eye towards the house as they walked nearer to it, and Gwendolyn felt herself blush with shame. She had tried to keep it neat and tidy, but there wasn’t much she could do without a proper set of tools. The hovel was just too poorly constructed for even the most basic of shelters. It felt like a blessing when the weather had finally turned and she no longer had to worry about rain falling on her bed. She could only hope it would not snow or rain again.

“I’m afraid so. The day of my birthday Marcelle hastily had my bags packed and drove me here in a covered wagon. He told me this would be my new home after we arrived. I should have suspected something that morning based on his behavior.....but I fear, I blindly trusted him.”

“Do not blame yourself. How could you have known what he was going to do? This has taken us all by surprise. When I found out you had been sent away, I could hardly believe it. It is Marcelle that must take the blame, not you.” As they reached the front room, Gwendolyn stoked the fire and began to prepare a meal, as the sun would be setting soon and she imagined her sister must be hungry. She immediately noticed how much food there was in the basket, and it was of better quality than what she normally was given.

“What do you mean, us? How did you come to find out that I was here in the first place?” They sat down to a nice hot bowl of soup Gwendolyn had made from a fat hare she had caught yesterday.

“I didn’t. Francine wrote about a month ago, and the letter had been given to me by Oswin.”

“Oswin? You mean, Oswald’s younger brother?”

“The very same, yes. I had thought it strange that she hadn’t invited me to visit her for such a long time, but in the letter she explained that she had suddenly been forbidden to see me by Marcelle, yet didn’t say why. In her next letter, she told me that the engagement had been broken off, and you had been sent away, but that she didn’t know where you had gone. When I confronted Aélfgiva about seeing you, she said she would talk to Marcelle. Not long afterwards, he wrote to say that a servant would fetch me in the morning to take me to you, and here I am.”

The humiliation that Gwendolyn had endured upon being sent off was awful in and of itself, but the idea that her entire family was now somehow tainted, and not good enough to associate with any of the Allards, hurt her even more. “ I had not thought that my exile had been extended to my entire family. This is worse than I had imagined.”

“What exactly did he say to you? How did he justify his actions!? How could he bring you to this shithole, in the middle of a forest?!”

Slowly, Gwendolyn revealed all that her sister did not yet know. She tried not to dwell on the parts of the story that were especially painful, and rushed through his unkind words when he had dragged their family down to the mud, implying that they were nothing. She found it was nearly impossible for her to say the exact words he had said about their father, because the loss of him was still fresh pain for both of them. But somehow she got through it all, and then shared how she now viewed everything.

“This hovel....this dung heap of a house, is his feeling about me, about us- made manifest and clear. But it’s worse than our house was. It’s worse than anything I’ve ever had to endure. And I was left alone to fend for myself when the snow storm came. I had to find food for myself, otherwise I would have starved.”

There was such anger on her sister’s face at hearing those words. “What about your dowry?! We had so many excellent animals. Surely it was worth more than this!”

“Oh Gwyn.....don’t you see? This is my dowry. This hovel is now all that I have....” Putting her troubles into words made them all the more real and soon Gwendolyn could not stop the sobs from violently shaking her body again. She got up and leaned her head against the counter, as the tears just kept on coming.

Gwyn said nothing, but silently cried as well.

“I’ve been clinging to the idea of Frances for months now. And I cannot understand why he hasn’t come to see me, even if it’s just to say goodbye. Am I really so terrible that I do not deserve such simple consideration? How can I be his future bride one day, and the next not even fit to say a single word to him? I cannot make sense of it......” she was sobbing so hard now that she could not continue.

“Oh, please don’t upset yourself further. I do not believe Frances has any idea where you are”, said Gwyn. That got her attention and her head snapped up.

“What!?”

“I do not believe any of them know. Marcelle must have kept it a secret from all of them, because if one of them knew, they would all find out. Frédérique would never keep a secret like that from her brother, nor would Francine. The letter that she sent made it clear. He could not write to you, so she wrote to me. And that is why Marcelle forbade any of them from speaking to any of us.”

“I had not considered that. But....you must be right.”

“Perhaps that is also why Marcelle sent me a map and allowed me to see you. He still thinks that his children will blindly obey him. Indeed, he must feel very comfortable with that idea, which is why he didn’t think it necessary to keep you and I apart any longer. If his children don’t speak to us, he has no reason to continue punishing you.”

“Yes. He may also not want to be seen as the type of man who punishes two young girls who have done nothing wrong. I noticed how he sent a lot more food, of higher quality this time around. He even sent linens. He has never done that before. He wants to appear the good benefactor still- at least to you and Aélfgiva.”

After a long silence Gwendolyn gained some composure of herself and sat down by the fire again, staring into the orange flickering flames. It gave her some relief to know that Frances didn’t know where she was, and perhaps hadn’t given into his father so easily. Everything her sister had said made perfect sense.

“I like to think that Marcelle has some heart left. I like to think that he still cares about us. Only his pride got in the way", said Gywn. Her sentiments may have been true, but Gwendolyn no longer wished to think about him. It was now time to turn their minds to the task of getting her out, and how they would accomplish that.

“I must speak with Frances. I must. I have had so long to ponder the situation, if I don’t get any answers, I fear I will lose my mind and go mad.”

"Of course you shall. And I will assist you in any way that I can.”

The next morning they poured over the map and calculated that Gwendolyn had been taken over twenty miles from the Allard estate to the hovel, which was in the middle of two very small villages that neither had heard of. Having no money and few resources, the main obstacle in her leaving would be where she would go. She could not stay at the orphanage, and of course going back to the estate was impossible.

“If only you had parted on better terms with Oswald, then perhaps we could ask his family”, Gwyn said.

“What better way could there have been? Oswald did not want to break off the engagement for any reason. I tried to spare his feelings as best as I could, but given that I hadn’t seen him for so long....it was difficult. I realized that day that he had changed beyond recognition to me, and I no longer knew him.”

“You have been engaged most of your life to someone, and yet still remain unmarried. Do you not ever wish you had married Oswald instead? At least you would not be alone now.”

Gwendolyn’s features clouded into sadness, as she had realized the same thing her sister spoke of from the very beginning of her troubles. Her life seemed to consist of always waiting, always hoping, always dreaming of having a family of her own and finding that she belonged somewhere, and she resented it.

“Maybe, but would I have been happy? What Frances and I had was real, and what Oswald and I had was a youthful fancy. I know that now that I am older. I can never go back.”

When they tallied up their resources, it was decided that Gwyn would return home when the servant came to fetch her, as was planned. She would then combine the meager allowance she and Edith were given at the orphanage, and income from the pelts of the animals Gwendolyn had caught, and try to procure a horse. Then she would ride back and come and fetch her sister, then they would ride to Grimsby. She would speak with Frances at any cost and Gwyn agreed that it was imperative that she do so- even if it meant further punishment from Marcelle.

The next morning was a cold one, and snow began again to fall upon the ground, but only lightly. Despite the foul weather she knew she would have to shelter herself from, she felt better than she had in months.

“You have Mama’s strength, and you will get through this. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She tenderly embraced her sister goodbye, and watched the wagon grow smaller and smaller as it slowly disappeared down the road, which was beginning to freeze. She sat down upon a log and got lost in her thoughts, contemplating how happy the visit had made her. It had brought her comfort, relief from her loneliness, and hope all at once. She was lucky that she still had some family left, even if they were orphans now. I’m not alone. I have the love of my sisters.

She turned to head into the house, but then heard a horse in the distance and stopped to listen. It was the sound of a single horse, and she wondered if something had gone wrong with the wagon. Was her sister in trouble? The sound grew closer and closer, and she headed back down the path to the road, shivering slightly in the cold. But it was not the servant or her sister on this horse. It was Frances.

#sims 2 stories #sims 2 challenges #new foundations

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baoshan-sanren · 5 years ago

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Chapter 1

of the wwx emperor au

Prologue

The Immortal Mountain City, set half-way between the earth and the heavens, is never fully silent.

In the daylight hours, numerous officials, guards, and guests can be seen, vast courtyards echo with the sounds of practice swords, the gardens are overflowing with court ladies, their colorful robes matching the blossoms. In the nighttime hours, the servants rush and scurry across the six courtyards and twelve palaces, their lamps bobbing unsteadily in the darkness, like a sparkle of fireflies descending on a meadow in bloom.

No court official, who carelessly sets his feet onto the stone steps, knows how many hours it takes to scrub them each night. No member of the inner court, who will lounge in the early morning with ten fragile bowls of delicate snacks, knows how early the kitchen fires must be stoked. No guard, stationed in front of the ornamental shields, knows what oils make them shine in such a way, or how many servants it takes to remove them from the wall, then mount them again once polished.

The little Emperor, not so little any more, knows all this and more.

The Immortal Mountain City is his home. It moves and breathes around him, protecting him from the storms. The rhythm of its heartbeat is intimately familiar, and Wei Ying knows each thud as he knows the surface of his own flesh. The work simultaneously begins on the two thousand steps leading to the Five Phoenix Gate, the East and West gates, and the north-facing courtyards. The southern palaces and the courtyards are next, and the work steadily moves inward, until his own Iron Palm Palace, renamed Jade Sword Palace by his mother, is seen to last. It takes six servants to remove the gold shields from the Iron Palm Palace square, two to properly shine them, then six again to mount them in their proper place. Four hours and sixty-two servants are needed to scrub the two thousand steps leading to the Five Phoenix Gate. And the kitchens, cleaned continuously throughout the day and night, never actually allow their fires to go dark. When Wei Ying thinks of the eternal flame, of the warmth that never extinguishes, he thinks of the bright maze of the Immortal Mountain kitchens, loud and hot, saturated with the scents of pork fried with mushrooms, minced pumpkin buns, and duck soup.

But long gone are days when the little Emperor could sneak into the kitchens, poorly disguised in his sworn brother’s robes, and have the cooks pretend they did not know him. When he could sprawl underneath their work tables, flour dusting his borrowed robes, and wait for a hand to reach down, pushing a lotus mooncake into his sticky palm. Seventeen years old, with his eighteenth birthday only days away, he can no longer claim a child’s ignorance, or depend upon indulgence. The Immortal Mountain City is his home, as much a part of him as his own beating heart, but it had grown smaller in the past few years, and it is about to grow smaller still.

A clatter to his left startles him, and he reflexively hides the wine jar into the folds of his robe. The moon is bright, all the more so from the rooftops of the Mental Cultivation Palace, and Wei Ying only now considers his escape route. The roof of the Six Fans Pavilion, empty and shuttered since his father’s death, can be easily reached from here. Running across its tiles will wake no one. But from there, his only path back will cut across the South Lakes courtyard, and if Wei Ying breathes anywhere near Granny Wen’s herbs, she will know. He is not sure how, but she always knows.

Another clatter follows the first, and a soft whine follows it, a sound Wei Ying would recognize anywhere in the world.

“What are you doing?” he says, “Do you want to fall to your death?”

Nie HuaiSang resembles an exotic bird out of its natural habitat. The cold night breeze is pulling his silk robes every which way, and his perfectly arranged hair is already a tangled mess. Wei Ying is barefoot; his toes are intimate with each crack in the walls, with every tile laid down between his palace and the three main gates. HuaiSang is still wearing shoes; he is sliding over the roof tiles like a drunk deer trapped on a frozen lake, his face scrunched up in concentration.

“You took the wine,” he wails softly, both arms stretched out for balance, inching along the bowed peak.

Wei Ying would not worry if HuaiSang was sober; for all his whining and claims of incompetence, the Emperor’s Royal Companion has the reflexes of a cat, and probably twice as many lives. But they had drank quite a bit already, and even his own head is beginning to swim.

He goes to fetch him, and is unsurprised when HuaiSang dramatically swoons into his arms, nearly propelling them both off the roof.

“I am rescued!” he exclaims, draping himself over Wei Ying’s shoulder, “What an honor, what an adventure! I am to be envied by every maiden in the Empire! Oh, to be held so closely by the noble and exalted Emperor, the Son of Heaven, the magnificent Venom Blossom--“

“Crimson Blossom,” Wei Ying says, lowering him down, “and that was my granduncle.”

HuaiSang tangles in his robes and sits down hard, “Was it? The Serene Golden Lotus?”

“That was my mother,” Wei Ying says, passing the jar over into HuaiSang’s hands.

“Too many titles,” HuaiSang grumbles, peering into the wine.

Wei Ying hums in response. The wine had made him melancholy, and the mention of his mother does not lift his mood. He sprawls along the curved peak, settling his head on HuaiSang’s lap. Below them, lights of the lanterns bob steadily across the courtyard. Above them, the moon is so bright that its light has overshadowed the stars.

It is just another birthday. Another seven day festival filled with obligations, meetings, crowded rooms, sect politics, hunts and competitions, and endless, tedious ceremonies. He had hoped, for this birthday at least, that he would be allowed to leave the Immortal Mountain and descend into YiLing. Although he has never done so, he can picture in his mind all the streets decorated with lanterns and colored ribbons, the songs spilling from the bright doors of the winehouses, the smells of Sichuan peppercorns, fennel, and black cardamom.

It is his birthday. The seven day festival is being held in his honor. It seems so unfair that he never gets to enjoy it.

HuaiSang pokes him in the cheek, “Hey. What is wrong with you? What are you making that face for? I came out here, braving certain death in this bitter, miserable cold to serve at the Emperor’s pleasure, and what do I get? This sour face. If I wanted miserable company I would have gone looking for A-Cheng.”

“Looking for who?” a voice comes from the darkness.

HuaiSang yelps, jerking around, and Wei Ying suddenly finds himself sliding off the peak and down the slippery tiles. He scrambles for HuaiSang’s robes, grabbing fistfuls of silk, but HuaiSang is drunk and has not anchored himself well. For a few breathless moments they are both about to meet the cobblestones below, then a hand is snatching the cloth of his sleeve, roughly pulling him back up.

Safely anchored at the peak again, Wei Ying snickers, then laughs, exhilaration vibrating in his throat. Two assassination attempts a month for the last six years, but he was almost done in by a slippery roof. He does not know why the idea is so funny, but he cannot help and picture the dignified Imperial annals, their golden script reading “Wei WuXian, the fourth Emperor of the Shan Dynasty, died falling off a roof. The Divine Judgment regrets to proclaim that this Emperor was a moron.”

Two centuries of rulers. Leave it to him to end the dynasty by breaking his own fool neck.

He laughs so hard that he is gasping for breath, tears pouring down his face, his stomach muscles quivering from mirth.

When he can finally breathe without wheezing, he looks up, and has to bite his tongue not to start all over again. Jiang Cheng looks furious. To be fair, he looks furious almost all the time, but his eyes are usually trying to murder something off to the side, something that is not the Divine Ruler of the Shan Empire. This time however, if his eyes could actually kill, Wei Ying thinks that the Divine Ruler of the Shan Empire would not stand a chance.

He grins brightly, and tugs on a wide purple sleeve.

“I knew you would change your mind. HuaiSang, give me the jar. Is there any left?”

“I am not here to drink,” Jiang Chang says stiffly, trying to pull his sleeve out of Wei Ying’s grip, “You-- what if there was another assassination attempt? What if you lost your balance and I was not here to catch you?”

“Then I suppose I would die,” Wei Ying says brightly, and regrets it when Jiang Cheng flinches.

He tugs harder on the sleeve, nearly pulling the outer robe off the boy’s shoulder, “Sit. Sit down. Your Emperor is ordering you to sit and relax.”

For a few moments Jiang Cheng looks as if he may kick him off the roof, regardless of consequences. Then he jerks his sleeve out of Wei Ying’s grip and sits down stiffly. He is all hard lines across his shoulders, hair that was tightly bound now ruffled by the wind, and Wei Ying cannot help but compare him to a brightly colored carrion bird, perpetually watchful, and unhappy with its lot in life.

“Shidi,” he whines, leaning his head on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, “Are you angry? You cannot be angry with me, it is almost my birthday.”

Jiang Cheng shakes him off.

“This one would not dare,” he says coldly.

“Uh-oh,” HuaiSang says, then hiccups, immediately dissolving into drunken giggles.

Wei Ying pouts, “I will tell shijie you are being mean.”

“Not before I tell her you were running across the palace roof again.”

Wei Ying has to admit that he has stepped into that one all on his own. He thinks for a few seconds, his half-drunken mind not moving too swiftly, then grins.

“I will tell Wen Qing you are being mean.”

“You--“ Jiang Cheng sputters, “I-- what do I care what she thinks?”

HuaiSang snorts, and Jiang Cheng leans over Wei Ying’s shoulder, eyes flashing, “Do you have something to say?”

HuaiSang flutters his eyelashes, “I said nothing. I know nothing. I am only here for the wine.”

He holds up the jar as proof, and Wei Ying snatches it out of his hand.

HuaiSang squawks, “Hey! Give that back!”

They clumsily wrestle over the jar until Jiang Cheng snaps, pries it out of Wei Ying’s hands, and forces them to sit on either side of him. Wei Ying sticks out his tongue at HuaiSang over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. HuaiSang tries to slap the back of his head when Jiang Cheng is not looking. Jiang Cheng finally takes a drink because at this point, he needs one.

Wei Ying grins. Mission accomplished.

HuaiSang starts drunkenly prattling on about some paint that can only be found in LanLing, and how the color is far superior to any paint found in YiLing. Wei Ying makes the pretense of half-listening, but the paint, a constant focus of HuaiSang’s drunk conversation for the past month, is already en route to the Immortal Mountain. Jiang Cheng lets him tuck his feet under the folds of his robes to keep them from freezing. Snuggling back into his cloak, Wei Ying sighs deeply, the earlier melancholy gone for the time being.

He knows they cannot stay long. HuaiSang can sleep all day if he chooses, but the Emperor’s first council meeting of the day is only hours away, and Jiang Cheng will be starting drills even earlier, before the sky even has a chance to lighten in the east. There will be no cozy mid-morning or mid-afternoon nap either. Eleven sects and thirty-six clans are due to arrive in the next two days, and the Divine Ruler of the Shan Empire has a thousand and one details to decide before any of them show.

But right at this moment he is warm and content, and he thinks a few more moments will not make a difference.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #wwx emperor au #ficlet #m #with the last fic i've gotten into a good habit of publishing when i'm three chapters ahead #so i'm gonna try and keep that up #we'll se

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booklovingturtle · 5 years ago

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Cardan’s POV of Chp 21 from QON

THIS IS LONG SO WHY WASTE ANY MORE TIME. Hopefully, this makes up for my absence throughout the semester.

Jude was clad in the armour of a queen and it fit her perfectly. Tatterfell had done an excellent job dressing her for the night to come. Her golden dress had the straight cut of a chaste lady but it fit her curves with the confidence of a seductress. Even the fine, chain-like material combined with leather plates broadened her shoulders like one of the knights she had desperately fought to become. Cardan was focusing on all the menacing parts of her attire to ignore the way it exposed her. He was also choosing to ignore the soft coils Tatterfell had delicately worked into Jude’s chestnut hair. In fact, Cardan made it a point not to notice the brushed on flush left by cosmetics or the teasing tint of her lips.

He repressed any thoughts of her terrifyingly beautiful reflection in favor of thoughts about state.

“Tonight you’re going to have to speak with all the rulers.”

“I know,” she doesn’t look at him. Cardan couldn’t help but feel encouraged at her quickness to agree.

“Because only one of us can tell them lies. And they need to believe our victory is inevitable.” Jude looks surprised but pleased by the thought that Cardan had put into their first appearance as husband and wife to their kingdom.

I trust you. He had admitted to her in the garden. Funny how his trust was in not only her willingness to tell him the truth of her schemes but also in her ability to lie her way through them.

“Has the Court of Termites arrived?” Jude was understandably nervous about facing Lord Roiben after all that had transpired.

“I’m afraid so. Come, let us charm and confound our subjects.” It had taken the High King so long to get used to the idea that he had any subjects yet no time at all to consider them to also belong to his new High Queen.

And so, they went into the den of scared Lords and envious Ladies. Jude buzzed around the great hall, grinning through lie after lie.

“Do you truly believe the mortal’s promise of victory?” Cardan spun to find an ambassador of one of the lower courts. The High King had also been playing his part. A charming and merciless ruler unafraid for the threat yawning beneath his throne. If only the courtiers knew the real threat was poised underneath the slanted crown.

“I trust the High Queen’s word,” Cardan declared. “As should you.”

One after the other, the Folk approached the High King. They asked for his assurance. They avoided mention of the mortal Queen though it was clear they cared little for her claim to the Blood Crown.

Anger swelled in his chest at their outright disrespect. Elfhame had no idea the lengths their mortal queen had gone to protect their land. Were it not for Jude, Balekin’s cruelty would have seeped into the land. Madoc’s blade would have uprooted every seed of goodness out of the soil.

They may never truly understand the sharp edge of the High Queen’s blade. Cardan wanted them to see that they should nonetheless fear it.

The High King raised the goblet in his hands. “Be welcome on the Isle of Insmire,” his voice cut through the gossip-filled air. “Seelie, and Unseelie, Wild Folk and Shy Folk, I am glad to have you march under my banner, glad for your loyalty, grateful for your honor. To you, I offer honey wine and the hospitality of my table.” At least that much of his statement held no untruths.

He looked around the floor, searching for a pair of honey-colored eyes full of molten determination. When he finally found Jude, standing beside Vivienne and her partner, he continued his speech. “But to traitors and oath breakers, I offer my queen’s hospitality instead.” Cardan didn’t have to fake the proud smirk that broke across his face. “The hospitality of knives.”

He waited anxiously for Jude’s reaction to his declaration. It was not exactly one made to fit a queen. Instead, it was a declaration fit to back a cunning ruler.

Relief fills him at her raised glass. She tips back the goblet, taking a drink of the wine. The room slowly shifts back into a court gathering.

No one questions the High King further.

***

Centuries later, the High King and High Queen retreat out of the great hall. Cardan’s body aches from the feigned nonchalant sway in his gait. Even Jude, unstoppable as ever, deflates once in the royal chambers.

“You were very formidable tonight, my queen.” Cardan loved the way the words sounded on his tongue.

“After that speech you made, it didn’t take much.” He hardly believed that to be true. Jude would have found a way to bend their knees with or without him.

“It cannot be anything other than the truth. Or it never could have left my tongue.”

Had he imagined the way Jude’s eyes danced across his face? Surely she couldn’t have meant the way her gaze darkened.

“You didn’t come to bed last night,” her whisper shakes every thought from his head.

Last night? Cardan had slept on a cot in the Court of Shadows after he had put out a few fires left in the wake of Jude’s reappearance. Perhaps she hadn’t meant it to come out the way it had. It was possible that she was worried he had been plotting against her while he was gone. But if that was why she had asked him, that didn’t explain the softness of her words.

“I’m here now,” Cardan hesitates.

Jude shifts closer to him. She stands just within his reach. His body moves on instinct, intertwining his fingers with hers. That touch alone is enough to make him forget all about the weight of their crown or the drums of war pounding outside their door.

He doesn’t forget the ever-lingering fear of her rejection. Cardan bends towards Jude, waiting for her to scorn his forwardness. He’s relieved to his very core when she doesn’t. Then he is nothing but a whisper of a thought as his lips press over hers.

Cardan tastes the sweetness of the night’s wine on her lips. He feels the heat of her passion against his. Every brush of her lips against his is like the first sparks of a growing fire. Cardan yearns to feel it’s burning.

“You looked like a knight in a story tonight,” he remembers the thoughts that were buried away earlier in the night. “Possibly a filthy story.” He couldn’t help but add.

Jude’s kick to his leg only stoked his fire more. Cardan’s hands left hers to cup her rosy cheeks. He kissed her in a way he’d only dreamed about. He prayed it would be enough to get her to believe his adoration of her was true.

They had somehow stumbled to the edge of his room. Jude didn’t hesitate to pull him into her. She was pressed between him and the wall in a way that allowed Cardan to feel every inch of her body. Her fingers found the hem of his shirt. She ran them along his back. Cardan’s muscled tightened against the teasing tips of her fingers. Jude had let him touch her before but she had never touched him like this. As though he was hers and she will never let him forget it. A shudder runs up his spine as his tail curls around her calf. Every line of her body against his and it's still not enough.

The High King works to return the dizzying chills her hands leave along his skin. He tastes the salty skin along her neck, pulling her hips higher all while lighting her to get in a better position.

Her hands curl into fists where they were moving across his body. Cardan feels her body tense to a stop. Reality pours freezing ice over the flame of his desire, leaving the ashes of shameful regret to steam in its place.

Cardan lets go of her as soon as he realizes what he’s done. Jude looks terrified at what transpired between them. Cardan curses himself. Time and time again he has proved to lead with his heart instead of thinking with his brain.

He tries to correct his mistake. “We need not-“

“No,” his heart crumbles for a second before she continues, “just give me a second.” Jude bites her swollen lips. Cardan can’t help but wish that was him once again.

Fool. Wicked, arrogant, stupidly rash fool, his mind rages over her promise to return.

Every single time Cardan gets close to earning Jude’s trust, he does something horrible to ruin it. While she was trapped beneath the waves, Cardan had dreamed of the chance to see her one last time. Once she was exiled, he pleaded with her to return even if it was just to curse him. Now that he had her in his hands, he’s allowed his wanting to overcome his thinking.

Years turn into centuries turn into millenniums as the High King waits for his queen to come out of the wardrobe.

Cardan has rehearsed an infinite number of apologies by the time he hears the door open. He turns away from the bed he paced towards, ready to grovel at her feet if it means earning her forgiveness.

Except all the words die on his lips. In fact, the High King might have died himself. For before him stood Jude, completely bare and looking equal parts amused and scared.

Naked. Jude was standing in his bedroom completely naked. It was a scene from his wildest dreams and worst nightmares wrapped up into one unbelievable reality. He can see the jolt of confidence that fills her at his reaction. It gives him the courage he needs to rasp out two words.

“Come here.”

And she does. Jude moves with the grace of a warrior intent to prey on her target’s weakness. She drops to her knees before him. Cardan is once again reminded of dozens of dreams about the mortal queen he’d tried to swat away with other women.

“Is this what you imagined I’d be like, back in your rooms at Hollow Hall, when you thought of me and hated it? Is this how you pictured my eventual surrender?”

Eventual surrender. Cardan’s thoughts went to a hard wooden chair with cold steel pressed against his throat. Then to a quiet room full of their shared breaths. Both had been a part of a game. A test of their desire for one another. He didn’t want this to be a game.

“Yes.

“Then what did I do?” Her hand is against his thigh. He’s still fully clothed but the touch is more intimate than anything he’s ever experienced.

Cardan isn’t sure if he would survive another match with Jude. If she was using this to spar with him, the scars left would be too raw to ever heal. Even with all that in mind, he can’t stop his mouth from forming the words.

“I imagined you telling me to do with you whatever I liked.” The Queen was always in charge. He wanted her to give up some of her control willingly for a change.

“Really?” Her surprise ends with a mocking laugh.

Cardan’s nerves strengthen. “Along with some begging on your part. A little grovelling.” Thankfully his brain finally wakes up with enough to stop himself from getting into too much detail. “My fantasies were fire with overweening ambition.”

Just when Cardan thinks Jude is going to turn the tables on him, she lays back against the floor. Her hands come up to plead, “You may do with me whatever you like. Please oh please. All I want is you.”

He knows her statement was more for show than out of true desire. Yet still, his chest tightened at the sight of his High Queen spread before him on the floor. Cardan drops to his hands and knees, moving to cover her body with his. He catches her hands and presses a kiss against her mortal pulse along her wrists.

“Mock me all you like,” his voice was thick with desire intermixed with an earnest plea. “Whatever I imagined then, now it is I who would beg and grovel for a kind word from your lips.” His eyes follow the curve of her mouth. “By you, I am forever undone.”

Cardan catches her lips with his, praying she would finally believe he was sorry for all that he had done in the past. Praying she would believe his promises for their future.

Her hands once again return to his doublet but this time do not hesitate to remove it. Cardan quickly helps her take it off. Once its off Cardan pauses to make sure he’s not moving to fast. Jude’s fingers are precise as they touch his skin. Her eyes follow his when he leans back in towards her. She kisses him deeply, tracing a path to his jaw.

“I’m not mocking,” she admits.

He’s so startled by her words that he breaks their embrace long enough to meet her eyes. Cardan thinks about how long it took for them to be where they are. He’s reminded of the hateful words she said to him. The cruel actions he’s inflicted on her.

“We have lived in our armour for so long, you and I. And now I am not sure if either of us knows how to remove it.”

“Is this another riddle? And if I answer it, will you go back to kissing me?”

The High King wanted to do nothing more than just that. Though he wasn’t sure himself if he had meant it as a riddle.

Cardan moved off of her to clear his head. “If that’s what you want.” He refused to go any further without hearing her admit her own desires first. His tail, sentient as always, snakes around her waist.

“I told you what I wanted.” A familiar flash of annoyance filled her face. “For you to do with me whatever-”

Cardan has to repress the urge to roll his eyes. “No. What you want.”

Jude’s legs wrapped around his body. Now she’s on top of him. Still naked. It almost hurts to look at her like that and keep his hands clenched on the floor.

“I want-” she cuts off her sentence. Maybe it isn’t possible for anyone like them to stripe themselves of their armour, no matter how badly they wanted to.

Jude bends down and kisses him just as hard as he had kissed her. There was no mistaking the fierce determination with which she moved her lips against his. She ran her tongue against the seam of his mouth and Cardan obeyed her. It wasn’t an admission of her feeling but it was enough for him.

His fingers tangle in her curled hair. Cardan’s lost in the smell of her floral perfume. He brushes her rounded ears, relishing their curves. Most of her body is strong with perfectly honed muscle. He runs a reverent hand down her throat, tasting her body with his lips. Her scars are rough under his touch but her moans are soft.

Jude’s hips are rubbing against his. He is suddenly very aware of how little is between them. Then nothing is. Jude is visibly nervous so Cardan cups her cheeks with his hands, never breaking eye contact. She inhales sharply when they finally unite. She turns her face into his hands to bite the soft skin of his palm. The stab of pain adds to the dizzying effect her body has on him. Cardan is overwhelmed with too many emotions to put into words.

When she finally readjusts herself against him, Cardan can’t help but let out a relieved moan. She’s perfect in every way he’d imagined and addicting in ways he hadn’t. His hands are on her muscled thighs, guiding their every move. Jude’s nails dig into his shoulder. Unlike their last stolen moments together, Jude says his name as if she’s no longer repulsed by it. He’s no longer afraid of leaving any marks on her. Cardan soothes each soft brush of his teeth against her skin with a kiss. He can feel the rush of pleasure overwhelming him.

He readjusts, making sure Jude is ready when the wave of desire crashes and breaks into a chorus of their voices. For a few blinding seconds, Cardan has to bite back three very dangerous words.

The High King isn’t ready to let the Queen go just yet. Cardan kisses Jude, hoping to ease any lingering pain. Or quell any fears that may have already started to grow.

“I missed you,” he hears her say through a haze. They weren’t the same three words he had almost said to her but they had the same effect on him. “In the mortal world, when I thought you were my enemy, I still missed you.”

Amber pools of honesty swim in her gaze. Jude’s face was free of any hidden agendas.

“My sweet nemesis, how glad I am that you have returned.”

He twists their bodies so they’re laying on their sides. Cardan tucks her body into his, focusing on how his breathing has synced with hers. He doesn’t think about the dangerous curse that calls to him. Or how one day she won’t return to him. No, the High King doesn’t have any of those thoughts as his High Queen lays wrapped in his embrace.

Tags: @greenbraiar @andromeddea @maskedlady @morgancaylah @natskys-w @hizqueen4life

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smilemoreimagines · 5 years ago

Text

something tragic about you (Geralt x reader)

Chapter 7

length: 2,521

tw: smut

author’s note: fuck me this took forever, so sorry about that. but it’s finally done. it’s got smut and it’s the last chapter and i hope y’all enjoy it! i sure did, i haven’t finished a multi-chapter fic since i was like 14 so i’m pretty proud lol. it may be a bit out of character at the end, but it made me happy to write so i’m leaving it as is. once again I hope you enjoy this final part!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

You and the Witcher make quite a pair walking back into Solma, drenched in mud and gore. His eyes, at least, have returned to their usual gold, so no one runs away screaming--he had warned you that might happen, the casual way he said it weighing on your heart. On that mostly-silent walk, you resolved that you would stoke the burning warmth that resides in you, chase away the coldness of other people that lingers in the set of his jaw, his hard and guarded face.

You left that other village because you knew that feelings were creeping up on you; you could have waited for him to return outside of town, but you were too scared of your own emotions. But you can’t run from them, you don’t want to run from them, not anymore.

He is clearly headed for an inn, the one he told you Roach is stabled at, but you redirect him.

“We should collect your payment now,” you say, “And I know just where Konrad will be.”

You ignore the question in his eyes, lead him to the bar that those asses entered just a few hours ago. They are still there, in the crowd that all end up with eyes on the Witcher. He approaches Konrad, the man who hired him.

“I’ll take my payment,” Geralt says.

The man, coward that he is, fumbles for his coin purse and hands it over silently, watching Geralt weigh it in his hand, open the bag to check the coin.

“You will find it is all there, Witcher,” he finally says. “All 250 ducat.”

Geralt gives a clipped nod, but you aren’t satisfied.

You step up to the man, tell him, “That’s not nearly the amount he is owed. You lied about how many Drowners he would find in that swamp, sent him there expecting him to die. 500 ducat.”

He barks out a laugh. “500? Who do you think you are, girl? I do not have that kind of money.”

“Then you will find it. You hired him saying you’d pay anything knowing that he’d give you a fair price,” you say with a dangerous glint in your eye. “I met your friends earlier, did they tell you about me? They are alive because the Witcher is. You are not out of the woods yet; not until he is paid a fair price for the work he’s done. For saving more of your people from dying.”

It is all an act, one that you are not sure you play well, but he gestures to the men around him and they pass him their coin, most shooting him dirty looks. He will not be well liked in this town after tonight.

When all of the money is rounded up and counted out, you turn to Geralt. You cannot tell by his expression what he thinks of any of this, but when you ask him for a bag to fit the coin in, he conjures one.

On your way out the door, Konrad says, “I am a father in mourning. You should be ashamed to be taking my coin.”

You pause, remember when he first enlisted Geralt that he said his daughter was one of the people killed. You feel sorry for her, maybe a little for him as well. You answer in a softer voice. “Half of it was not your coin anyway. I am sorry for your loss, but you should not have lied when the stakes were so high.”

Outside, you sigh, say, “I need a bath. I stink like rotting fish.”

Geralt says nothing and you face him, not sure what to expect, but it certainly isn’t the hint of a lopsided smile that he hides just as you see it.

“What?” You ask.

He hums, considers his words before saying, “You’re more fierce than when we met.”

“Is fierceness a bad look on me? It feels a little silly,” you admit.

“I have a feeling you’ll grow into it.”

You are not sure what he means by that exactly, but he’s already turned his back on you, conversation ended. He is walking to the inn; to a bath, you think excitedly, and trot after him.

But as soon as you walk in the door you are shooed back out.

“I’ll not have that mess in here, get out, the two of ya.” The woman barring entry holds no malice in her voice, at least.

“We wish to pay for baths and board,” Geralt tries to explain, “We’ll pay well.”

“You need more than a bath! Filthy, you are… Save your money, there is a water pump and pail around the building.” She turns and meanders to a closet, putters around for a moment before finding what she’s looking for. She returns to the front door and presses soap into Geralt’s hand. “Get yourselves clean out there. The brisk air will do you good. I’ll start the fire in your room so you can warm up inside.”

She slams the door in your faces, but that’s fair enough, you think. Not that you relish the thought of being drenched with cold water. Geralt scowls but walks around the building as she said, finding the pump nestled between the inn and the stables.

You peek in and greet Roach and when you turn around Geralt is in the process of stepping out of his clothes. You flush and turn back to the stable; of course you’ll need to take off your clothes, they need washed as well, but you hadn’t thought about it. You listen to him filling the pail and tipping it over his head, fidget in the silence as he cleans. You busy your hands with your bag, which you’ve been wearing the whole time and is as muddy as the rest of you. Luckily the things inside of it are clean, if not wet. You finger the embroidery of your mother’s shawl, tucked safely away.

“Your turn,” Geralt rumbles, walking past you to get clean clothes from Roach’s saddlebags. Is nowhere safe for you to look? He may be confident in his nudity, but you are not, and you ask him to please stay in the stable while you wash.

You do not hear him step any nearer while you strip or in the time it takes you to upend bucket after freezing bucket over your head--he is lucky he was not half-drowned in mud, you think--but you feel eyes on you at one point or another. You are not annoyed at him for looking.

Once clean you call over your shoulder, “Do you have a shirt I might wear for the night?”

He brings it to you where you stand, shivering, passes it to you and when you turn to take it he is looking away obligingly. The black fabric is worn soft from time and use, and you relish the slight warmth it brings you; you think he was holding it while he waited.

Even though you’re clothed now you feel naked under his gaze and hastily suggest, “We should go inside now, to the fire the innkeeper promised us.”

He nods his assent and follows you inside, silent as a cat but you trust that he is there. The innkeeper insists that she take your bag and clean it and the clothes inside for you. You take out your mother’s shawl before handing over the bag. She gives Geralt the key to your room.

The fire is burning merrily, crackling and sparking and heating the cold from you. You kneel at the hearth and stretch your hands out close to the blaze, groaning at the toasty feeling. The sleeves of Geralt’s shirt slip and bunch at your elbows, past your healing wounds, and you finger the raised flesh lightly.

“It’s almost healed,” he remarks, that voice of his rumbling behind you. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep it from scarring.”

“What a silly thing to be sorry for,” you retort, glancing at him over your shoulder. He is standing near the door still, and you roll your eyes at him as you say, “Come here, Geralt. Sit by the fire; you must be freezing.”

He obeys wordlessly and it startles you when his thigh brushes yours before settling firmly beside you.

“Like a mouse you are, Geralt,” you say a little breathlessly, “So quiet. I never know what you’ll do next.”

“I could say the same of you,” he says.

You glance at him only to find that he is already looking at you, the fire’s light playing with his hard features, but his eyes are soft, liquid gold. You open your mouth with nothing to say and so instead of saying anything you turn toward him fully and close the distance between your lips and his. He responds immediately, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his movements almost tentative. Almost, but not quite.

But still not enough; you want him to hold you like something cherished, something forged in fire, strong and lovely and stable. You whine your displeasure against his lips and tug lightly on his hair.

This does something to him, he slows and pulls back the distance of a breath, rumbles out, “Do that again, little elf.”

He presses himself to you firmly then, teeth nipping at your bottom lip when you tug again, harder, groans when you shift closer, both of you readjusting until you are seated on his lap, legs bracketing one of his thick thighs. You feel the fabric of his trousers on your nakedness, press down without meaning to, and he pulls back for a moment, pupils blown wide, before trailing his hands up your thighs, bunching up the hem of the shirt he gave you so that he may hold your bare hips and guide your movements.

You have never felt like this before; by your own hand it was good, but with another person you’ve not felt pleasure. You throw your head back when he grinds you down harder, baring your neck to him, and as he kisses your throat one hand comes up, tucks your hair behind your ear and you look at him, more than a little fear creeping up in your chest, the way he is touching you so like that boy, so many years ago…

He meets your eyes steadily, his movements not slowing, his calloused finger tracing over the scarred shell of your ear and the tenderness of that tiny gesture is what tips you over. You are coming and he is kissing you through it, slowing the press of your hips until you are still. You come down from that high to find yourself still wanting, and you shove his shoulders down. He complies, plays as if you could actually push him to the ground, his lips quirking up into an expression you can only describe as soft, maybe even affectionate.

Looking down at him, you command in a husky voice you barely recognize as your own, “Make me feel that way again, Geralt.”

As soon as you’ve said the words you regret them; who are you to be ordering around anyone, let alone Geralt of Rivia, and what if he’s displeased by you telling him what to do?

But then he is sitting up from under you to tug the hem of your shirt over your head, looking at you like he wants to devour you, and all worry leaves your mind. All there is is the feeling of his thumb brushing over one nipple, his tongue laving over the other, stubble rough on your skin.

You are torn between wanting to tip your head back to focus on the feeling of what he’s doing to you and wanting to watch his mouth work on you, but then he is moving, lifting you with him to stand, your legs wrapping around his hips and his face brushing against your neck. He walks you to the bed, shifts you to hold you with one arm so he can pull the blankets back and lay you down.

You look up at him, slightly breathless and thoroughly debauched. He looks back, eyes so dark with lust but his face is open, strong jaw relaxed and for a moment you let yourself think he almost appears worshipful.

I will die a happy sinner, you muse, and then he is tugging off his trousers and settling himself between your thighs and there’s no more time for thoughts because he is doing something with his fingers that feels absolutely delicious. He works his fingers in you, stretching, gentle, watching your expression all the while for any signs of discomfort but there are none.

“More, Geralt, please,” you sigh, “I need you.”

“You’re sure?”

You nod too enthusiastically and he hides a laugh by kissing you, stealing your gasp when he enters you. You discover the sweet pleasured sound he makes when he is seated to the hilt, pausing to let you adjust before setting a slow pace. This tenderness is what you need, the steady rock of his hips against yours quickly building inside of you until you are on the edge and then coming over it, around him; he follows soon after.

For a moment you lay there together, sleepiness starting to cloud your mind until he is standing up and walking away and your heart jumps to your throat.

You sit up in a panic and he glances over his shoulder with an eyebrow raised cheekily, simply saying, “I’m just getting a cloth. Stay right there, lay back down.”

Once again you are flushed when he returns, gaze averted until he is under the blankets and resting on one elbow to carefully clean you up. When done he drops onto his back beside you; you don’t want to presume anything so you stay where you are, just barely touching, before he curls an arm around you and tugs you closer. It is his warmth and his slow heartbeat that lull you to sleep and soon you are both snoring softly, more relaxed than you have been in a long time.

You wake feeling pleasantly sore, and unlike the last time you shared a bed with Geralt, he is still lying next to you, even though the sun is already decidedly risen. You turn to face him, eyeing how low on his hips he’s let the blanket get, his hands folded on his belly just above that tantalizing trail down… And you notice how he’s tipped his face to you, watching you watching him, his lips quirking up as you flush from your cheeks to the tips of your ears.

“How did you do that?” He eventually asks, voice pitched low.

“Do what?”

“Make me enjoy your company so damned quickly. Make me like you. I don’t just do that.”

You shrug, smile giving you away before you can even get the words out. “I guess I’m just a people person.”

He laughs that laugh again, so rusty with disuse, and you promise to yourself and to the universe that you will get him to make that sound often and openly. The way he is looking at you makes you think that you can.

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher x reader

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fleouriarts · 4 years ago

Text

dark goes to therapy

hello here is a fic i actually wrote around a year ago and never uploaded because i was too embarrassed. it could probably use a better name but this is what i named the file on google docs and i cannot bear to call it anything else. enjoy

You’ve barely made it through the door when your ears start ringing.

Jesus. He's here again. At some point you assumed you would get used to Dark showing up every once-in-a-while, but you were still filled with a certain disdain whenever you came home to his imitation of tinnitus.

The thing is, it's not even annoying anymore.

In fact, it's starting to get concerning.

Dark usually showed up whenever you were with Mark. You remember one of your first (and worst) encounters, where Dark unceremoniously whisked you away from a date with the other side of his coin and proceeded to threaten you with the tact of a teenage boy who'd just been broken up with. The next encounter in the sewer was much more elegant, it seemed he'd finally calmed down, but what he said was still the same: Mark is bad, I am good, join me, he doesn't deserve you. If there was one thing Dark had excelled at, it was consistency.

Him visiting you ten times in the last month was, in fact, not in line with that consistency.

You're pulled out of your thoughts by him finally materializing. This was usually the part you weren't supposed to see, the part he'd set up far in advance, but he's been sloppy lately, and so you watch as his body reconstructs itself from the void. Once his self-summoning is finally over, he stands in faux elegance above you, eyeing you up and down. You can tell when he's genuinely ready for your encounters and when he's faking it, and today, it seems to be the latter.

"So. I see you've come back to me."

"I literally haven't," you grumble. "This is my house, I came back to my house."

An unimpressed look fills his eyes. "My, so sassy. Did he teach you that?" His scowl tells you exactly who he's referring to.

"I haven't even seen Mark in, what, three months?" You retort.

"But he still... affects you."

"Yeah," you sigh. "That's how people work, Dark. Why are you here?"

He cocks his head. "Same as always. To convince you."

"No, you're not," you respond, unenthused. "If you were here for that, you'd be pulling out the whole shebang- the dark hallways, the freaky pictures, the spooky voices. Where's any of that?"

Dark scoffs. "Listen, you can't pull theatrics like those every time, see, they have to stand out. Every time does not equal standing out."

"Right." You stare at him for a moment, finding out how to phrase what you'd been needing to tell him ever since he started his frequent visits. It's blunt, but you don't want it to be mean. If it's mean, you know he won't accept it.

"You need help, man."

He strikes a sly smile. "Precisely. That's why I need you, to help me-"

"No," you cut him off. "Not that kind of help. I mean the counseling, get-your-feelings-out type of help."

His face becomes one of pure confusion. It's an emotion you've never seen him express, at least, not without a touch of anger added to it. "What?"

"You show up whenever Mark is around, right?" He says nothing, but you know it's true. "That's one of your things: you're always dramatic, you always want me to join you, and you always show up around Mark. It has been three months since I was even near Mark, and you haven't pulled out your stupid props yet. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

His eyes are starting to squint. "Are you saying something's… wrong with me?"

"I'm saying something's off," you respond, treading as carefully as you can. "You're inconsistent now. I know you got messed up from everything in your past, that's already enough reason to get you help, but now you're unraveling. As much as I hate to admit it, I don't want that to happen."

He stares you down before responding. "Do you really think I can be 'helped'?" He's drawing out his words, and you know you're in for it. "I don't think you understand. Mark took everything from me. There is nothing you or I can do to change that."

You're starting to get frustrated. "Yes, I know you can't change the past, but if you put some effort in, you can change the present," you get out, as calmly as you can. "And no, the effort shouldn't be following Mark around and harassing whoever he talks to. You're just reminding yourself of the pain; you're not his shadow."

He’s silent for a moment. You get the feeling that you’re about to die.

“You don’t know anything about me, do you?”

For whatever reason, that really gets you. “Wh- Don’t know anything about you?! Every time you come here, you sit here and monologue to me about your trauma! With rehearsed scripts and everything! I know everything there is to know about you!”

Dark’s brows furrow, and you can feel anger surging out from him. “That’s only what I show! There’s so much you don’t know, so much you’ll never know-”

“I know enough!”

Well, now you’ve done it. His shell is starting to break, projections of suffering emanating from his figure. You're about two steps away from being found dead on your living room floor in a few days.

But you have one idea. If you do it, you might stoke his rage even more, but there's the slightest chance that you won't. That you'll make him understand.

You step forward, wrap your arms around him, and brace yourself for certain doom.

…

It never comes.

Dark stops, and you still feel how his shell breaks and cracks, but it's not anger. It's confusion, shock, warmth, sadness- it's everything all at once, everything except anger.

And then he cries.

It starts as a sniffle, then a quiet cry, then breaks out into loud sobs. He hunches over, head nestling into your shoulder as he bawls his eyes out. As you glance at his face, you see that his tears aren't water- they're thick and black, like a mix of blood and tar. Unfortunately, you're wearing a white shirt, but you can take a few stains if it means helping him.

You don't know how long the two of you stay there. Seconds blend into minutes that blend into hours, as often happens around Dark, but at some point, he vanishes, and you're left alone in the shadows of your living room.

You don't see him again.

#markiplier #darkiplier #my writing #this is a mix of me loving dark to bits and wanting him to get some therapy and me just hating him he is SO annoying sometimes dfgjkdfjkdfh

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brideofcthulhu10 · 5 years ago

Note

Ok I’m at work and I cannot stop thinking about a soulmate au with Dwayne (because he’s my fave) where a psychic or someone tells him that he’ll meet someone with like a specific tattoo or birthmark

Sure thing! Currently the child birth post is taking a lot longer than I expected, I’ve only just finished the David segment, I still have Paul, Marko and Dwayne to go but hopefully they’ll be done before Wednesday.

Dwayne’s Fate

Halloween rolled in and yet the plethora of tourists never seemed to cease. All over the boardwalk they flocked to every newly decorated attraction, sporting cheesy plastic masks, sharing caramel apples, hugging each other as they went into the haunted house... Dwayne couldn’t help but feel the sharp pang of envy overtaking him. The young native pushed his mess of windblown black hair from his face, utterly tuned out while Marko and Paul were scoping out the beach honeys clad in bikinis and shorts. Instead he leaned on the handlebars of his bike, watching the couples pass by. Eighty-One Years.

He had been a vampire for eighty-one years. In all that time he’d never considered anything outside of his own pack, his coven of brothers who had become vampires alongside him. It was decades of wild nights! He thought he could never want anything else. But when Michael waltzed in and swept up Star and Laddie... he felt almost dark, in a sense.

Something changed in him the night he came back. He wasn’t sure how. What mattered was that he, and his brothers were alive once again. Well, not alive, but still. Now he was back to terrorizing the night time streets of Santa Carla like he always had. Only, it wasn’t like always. A part of him wished there was something more to all this. He had hoped one day to settle down when he was still alive but opportunity seemed to be almost gone by this point. Drumming his fingers on the handlebars of his bike, Dwayne grew increasingly impatient remaining in place. Swinging his leg over his bike he sighed with Marko turning to watch the road hog waltz away.

“Hey, Dwayne, where you headed, man,” he called, looking up.

“For a walk. I can’t sit here all night like you suckers,” Dwayne retorted, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. Silently he wove through bustling crowds, barely lifting his eyes. Anyone who was in his warpath quickly learned to dodge him. Thoughts plagued his head, more than he had before to the point they were cluttering against each other.

“You there,” a voice called over the unruly sounds of Santa Carla. Dwayne hadn’t thought much of it until an elderly woman quickly wove through. “You! You! Yes, wendigo-boy!”

The term gave him pause, looking back at the silver haired crone waddling his way still pointing her dried up finger until it was inches from his nose. “Yes, I could sense the aura of you and your friends across the way. Your dark presence is unmistakable.”

Dwayne swatted her hand away with a grimace, taking a step back. “Bug off you old bat, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed, turning from her.

“Your past may not define your future! It is not too late to find one who can bring light to your darkness,” she insisted, running in front of him.

Again Dwayne groaned, This broad was persistent. Even when he tried to walk away a third time she managed to swoop around him.

She was easily in her late 80′s with wiry silver hair barely contained in a low hanging bun. Feathers stuck out of her hair, clanking armfuls of metal bangles rang whenever she moved her hands. Each boney finger cracked, dawning a ring on each that barely hung of aged flesh. Beady brown eyes practically stared into his center which made it impossible to to look at her face. Whenever she spoke he could see her crooked snaggle tooth accompanying her worn voice, raspy as if she had swallowed sandpaper. Wrapped around her burnt orange dress was a worn leather belt chipping away sporting a purple satin bag tied around it. Whatever it was she wanted to discuss was not going to wait. When his internal debate grew to be too much, she finally snatched him firmly by his wrist and began to pull him where she was determined to be. There was no point in questioning any of this, all she did was answer in stupid riddles.

"All will be answered! But you come with now, otherwise you will miss it! Then who knows when it'll happen again."

"It". Whatever this "it" was carried some weight as she used the term frequently. Although reasonably irritated, something in Dwayne felt the need to follow. He resisted the urge to rip her arm out of it’s socket, and instead rapidly shuffled his feet so he didn’t step over the hobbling broad who couldn’t be more than five feet tall- even when she wasn’t hunched over. The way she wove through tourists was eerily timed. Almost perfect. Nothing caught her off guard. Bobbing and weaving. Worst of all no one was moving, everyone around them seemed utterly oblivious to her presence! Pulling him forward she shuffled her way to a small caravan. The dusty old piece was barely illuminated by a single light hanging over the door, wedged between the old donut place and the Santa Carla Gift Shoppe.

Still clutching his arm, they continued up creaking wooden steps that practically sang as he carried himself atop them. He can as convinced any moment this whole thing was going to collapse. The red door swung open slowly on it's own. Must've been rigged or something to do that. Meanwhile Dwayne had to duck just to avoid hitting the doorway, not that it mattered to the scatterbrained lunatic he decided to follow. Only when they were indoor did she finally release his hand and immediately shut her door behind him. It was decently bigger than what was let on initially. Tucked away behind a thick red curtain was a bed built around an arching stained glass window. It must've been somewhat decent before, athough this woman was such a hoarder you wouldn’t be able to tell at first. What books didn't fill her towering cases were strewn about the the floor in piles. Pages were stained with ink, notes written in old languages stuck to the walls between massive oil paintings depicting glorious battles, mystic creatures, ancient ones he had never seen. Plants were either hanging from the ceiling or over grown in corners. Dwayne made the mistake of sniffing at the strange red mushrooms poking out a dense pot of wriggling soil. He immediately recoiled watching worms surface just to burrow beneath the cakey mud. There were chattering cages hidden behind the bedroom curtain, ones he couldn't see into. Lined up along the wall was an oak desk draped in a velvet purple fabric coated in metallic gold zodiac symbols, completely covered end to end in bizarre herbs, animal parts, even live critters kept in an array of apothecary jars. Shelves held more, beakers of unrecognizable fluids bubbling over rickety bunsen burners. Thick crystals caked in dust jutted out beside a faded wooden box with bizarre pieces of jewelry spilling over, cobwebs gathering in untouched nooks. Rather than lamps or lanterns she had candles everywhere. Dribbling onto the floor, pouring over wrought iron candelabras, wiggling wisps of light spilling around the corners. By the kitchen space were cabinets sporting different colors of even more candles, many carved into with unfamiliar writings. When Dwayne picked up a dirty bottle covered in cobwebs off the crowded oak desk, there was a loud THWACK that made his ears wring.

“Ow! Hey-!”

Before he turned around she had a broom to his face and smacked him again. “No touching,” she demanded, yanking the bottle from him.

“If I wanted to, I could kill you, you old hag,” he snarled, rapidly stepping towards her with fangs bared. Again, broom.

“Hush! You are not as your bothers are. You desire the knowledge, yes?! You shall not get a word if Alma is dead. No use then!”

Dwayne grumbled a sour huff, rubbing the top of his head. Again he questioned his personal sanity for humoring this hag wielding a mighty broom.

All the while the self proclaimed Alma shuffled around him, snatching up handfuls of bottles and plopping then atop another overcrowded table. Repeatedly she used the words "fool" and "knows nothing" clearly referring to him. Mostly because every time she said those words she'd look over her shoulder at him.

Black as night, her worn iron stove roared when she stoked the fire withing it's oven. Just atop the surface was a heavy black kettle nestled above a scalding red coil. It rattled and hissed, moaning when plumes of steam billowed out into the air. She mumbled and “harumph”ed her way through the caravan. Clanking down a tea set on a worn old silver tray she rapidly shuffled back to her stove to retrieve the screaming kettle still singing it's tune. Without missing a beat she dropped something inside it. It took two trembling hands she poured the water over the strange herbs she had previously retrieved into two cups. The dainty porcelain pieces were etched in golden, ancient writings atop another circular table covered by a deep blue table cloth. With that, she plunked herself atop a creaking old chair, staring at Dwayne with those beady eyes .

‘Why the fuck am I still here with this old bat?’

Dwayne barely managed to fit in the rickety old seat that squeaked beneath his weight, staring down at the petit cup. The muddied liquid still bubbled, steam spiraling to carry an unbelievably sickening scent. Not necessarily horrible, but utterly confusing. The more he looked at it the more it seemed alive. “I am not touching that.”

“Hush! Nonsense! You shall drink as Alma does, and you will see.”

Dwayne hesitated, watching her sip at the herbal concoction. This was clearly the dumbest decison of his afterlife, but he had already died twice. What was there to be afraid of?

“On the boardwalk.. you called me ‘wendigo’. What makes you say that?”

“I can see your true form,” she calmly explained, setting down the cup. The leaves barely floated at the base. If he turned his head he swore he could see it forming into the shape of a fanged jaw wide open. “Blood and flesh pave your future, but even those who dwell in darkness deserve a lantern to ease the suffering.”

So, she knew what they were. What he was. “Then why help me if you know I’m a vampire,” he questioned, expecting the tea to be brewed with holy water.

“It is not my place to judge your path. I have come across many of your kind in my years of living. They all do what they must. So, drink.”

Dwayne hesitated once more, only to lift the beverage to his lips. It was bitter. The taste was reminiscent of biting into tree bark, all he could do is scrunch his nose.

Then, Alma’s figure began to vibrate. He could see pieces of her breaking off, the room surrounding him peeling away, like old paint off a dirty wall. Strips crumbled to his feet. He attempted to move only to find himself firmly planted to his seat. There was nothing. No sound, no sight, only black.

With a sharp inhale he opened his eyes to streams of orange. A... sunset?

Dwayne was amazed he could even remember what a sun set looked like. However, there was nothing that could take away the memory of the fire that filled the edges of the sky. Drips of night seeped in, miles of tall wheat grasses swaying in the breeze enveloping him. Still wedged in place he could only sit there, savoring a sight he would never see again.

But when he heard it, and he froze. A laugh. A twinkling bell chiming from far away. Flashes of E/C orbs flickered holding the sun within. A pearly smile whispering his name so softly it sent chills running down his spine. S/C as smooth as satin running a hand on his arm. The face cut in and out, but what he continued to see over and over was a symbol. An inky raven with wings draped over a woven dream catcher. Thick cords wove between each other into intricate details, each hole giving him pieces of who she was. Yes, she. He could hear her voice vibrate through the air. Not what it was saying, but only the sounds it made. “Alright alright, enough,” a raspy voice commanded.

Dwayne finally jumped up and out of his chair, crashing back down to earth and only the dusty floor of Alma’s caravan practically wheezing for air. He felt like he had just been running for hours!

“Come, come let’s not be dramatic,” Alma snorted, shuffling over to take his tea over to her rusty old wash pan piled with dishes.

It took a moment to get ahold of his bearings, swearing if he had a heartbeat right now it’d be jumping through his ribs. “What... the fuck... did you give me?!”

“No time for that, child. The bird is waiting for you just beyond the docks,” she began to babble again. Bird? Again that raven flashed before his eyes while Alma pried him off the floor.

“Wait- but I don’t- will you quit shoving me?!”

Alma continued to yank him until he was out the door barely catching himself as they ran down the steps. “Oooh any minute, any minute. No time for dawdling!”

Quickly she took him by his arm and swung him back out into the crowd, stumbling into a young woman who nearly yelped.

“Oh shit are you okay,” she asked. A few girls giggled at him until she made a face, waving them off. “Sorry I didn’t see you there. Are you alright uh-?”

Just across her collarbone sat a raven tattoo nestled across her chest with winds spread over a dream catcher trailing into her shirt, the trickles of beads left hidden in her blouse. When he looked into those perfect E/C orbs holding the sunset beneath them he could only smile, setting her heart immediately ablaze. With a massive blush tinting her cheeks an adorable crimson hue she pulled him to his feet, unaware once he was standing that she still had not let go of his arm. Looking behind him Dwayne still expected to see the batty old woman sitting outside her caravan. Instead... there was no one in sight. No caravan either. Just an empty alleyway only sporting a few dented old trash bins overflowing with garbage. Slowly he turned back to the girl, positioning himself closer as his crisp smile beamed over cinnamon flesh.

“Well what’s your name first?”

“Y/N,” she spoke with a tender tone, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Y/N. I’m Dwayne. Nice to meet you, princess.”

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pastelpastilles · 5 years ago

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Gen 3 Retrospective

I go by the name of Kit from @simmancy. It’s been a long time coming, but we here now… And I pretty much set this story on fire, huh?

That’s about where the 2ne1 reference stops, and the actually talking starts.

It’s 13 July 2020 and I’m deleting the first version of this to write a new one. I hope it makes sense because I wrote it at like. 1 AM on a work night.

Okay so... That was a pretty wild ride, huh?

It’s been three long, trying, emotional, honestly sometimes painful years since I started down this story’s road. Gen 1 was sweetness and simplicity. Gen 2 was when I started getting creative and interested, and testing the limits of what I thought I could do with storytelling and editing.

And Gen 3…. Gen 3 is honestly the most I’ve ever put into a story, probably in my life. There’s so much I wish I could say and share, but as everyone keeps reminding me, and I will remind you… You don’t owe anyone an explanation for your story. And that’s true! I don’t! My problem is that I do like giving them though. I like knowing a creator’s process, I like seeing how things were conceptualized. I’m trying to decide which parts are worth telling here, and I’ve written and rewritten this multiple times but I keep coming back to a Halsey quote of all things…

“I shared a lot about myself, assuming the world would be kind. That wasn’t quite the case.”

And the truth is, a lot of what went into Gen 3 originated in my personal history. It’s very easy for me to get defensive of it, and try to protect myself as well! Simblr in particular is really just throwing your shitty first draft out in the wind and letting people read it, and there’s no telling if they will love it or tear it apart. Despite a few bumps, I’ve been extremely, extraordinarily lucky. I’m still flummoxed that anyone reads this. I think it’s wild people follow this sideblog at all: I purposefully put it out of the way and didn’t tag it “properly” for simblr to find it, beyond the initial post that it was happening. It was deliberate--I made it a deliberate choice to come read this story, and it’s a choice you made by coming here.

So… yes, to answer the question most people HAVE asked me, doing this has been incredibly nerve-wracking and wouldn’t have been possible if I hadn’t super felt like it needed to get done and I wouldn’t stop until it did. I guess you can thank me being Like That for it even being done at all. I guess I can say I’m relieved and excited that it’s finally DONE, and I feel like I can move on to Gen 4 with my head held high.

Also that I kept all the important parts I knew would always happen--the Saddy breakup, the Ojaddy confession, the KOJ debacle and everything at the end... Almost just as I envisioned it back in November 2017. Yeah. NEARLY THREE YEARS. We took our SWEET TIME GETTING HERE.

MORE IMPORTANTLY, NOW THAT IT’S DONE.... I have a few words...

to my friends, past and present, who knew more of finer details and blessedly kept it under wraps for so long, even when I basically dropped the story out of spite and fear and self-hatred: thank you for not telling the end!! I appreciate it so much!!

thank you to the ones who pretended they didn’t know, especially

to my friends IRL, who supported this as a creative exercise and let me plagarize our lives for inspo: thank you

because seriously……….. so much was just…. stolen from my friends

like Kabi and Maddy

my real life Kabi is rolling in his own grave probably

to my poor fiance, who has put up with me being hyperfixated on this stupid project I do for free for like 3 years of our relationship, and having to deal with it being especially bad the past few weeks: I am so sorry butthead, I love you

to my pals over at DBD: thank you for being as stoked as you all were!!!!! i am so sorry!!!!! its over now!!! evil grandma rights!!! its gonna be okay!!! thank you for being a constant ray of sunshine in my life. this wouldn’t even MATTER without you, tbh

to the highkey truest ride or dies, Sam & Nika: for being here from the beginning til the end and constantly hyping me up even when I really didn’t deserve it - I don’t know what I did to earn your friendship, but I’m so happy to know you both! I literally cannot have done this without your support

and finally, to you: thank you for reading this, for waiting so long, for commenting and debating even after I returned from the abyss with his hell story. Like I said, I purposefully put this on a sideblog so you would need to search it out to read it. It means the world to me that you did. Thank you, endlessly, thank you.

I originally wanted to write a bunch of essays explaining character choices, but if you’ve read this far–comment and let me know WHAT exactly you’d like to know more about. I can go in depth about…. Pretty much anything, at this point. You wanna know about how I went about hiding Grandma for 2 whole generations? A whole essay about Madeleine’s accessory choices? The dynamics of KOJ and why they couldn’t ever be endgame? Something else? Let me know. Send an ask here. I’ll answer them that way.

And sometime soon, there will be an Epilogue. I just… need a tiny break!!!!

See you soon!

- Kit

#in retrospect #q

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sabineelectricheart · 4 years ago

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Rain Over The Mediterranean

Summary: Cardia and Saint-Germain considers the synonymy between them and the sea.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 2800

Notes: I mean... I suppose... Well, here it is. Hope you like it.

The first, fat raindrop landed on Saint-Germain’s nose, running along the curve of his nostril before it lost momentum on his upper lip. The second splashed against Cardia’s ear, the cold startling needles beneath her skin.

By the third drop, Saint-Germain had taken her hand to guide her dextrously back to the excessive, replicant mansion by the beach near Marseille that had been their home since the previous afternoon.

The seemingly newlywed couple was in sights of their lodgings, and so the sudden rain was not much of a concern, but it was such a shame cut their walk short. The sweet smells of the lavender plantation nearby, carried by the cooler wind from the continent and easing the dry heat of the summer morning. The soft sunlight reflected on the shore estates and the ruins down the beach.

Saint-Germain looks over to the Mediterranean. Some few miles away from the beach, it was as sunny as ever, while over them hung a grey, stormy cloud, ready to release its contents over their heads. A shame, indeed, but it might be sunny again in a couple of hours.

The young woman paused for just a moment, casting a final look toward the brilliant orange of the morning sun. It was rare for it to rain in the Mediterranean Summer, but she pinned that up to a good omen. Ancient men, like her husband, usually interpreted rain as a gift from up above, and she liked that thought.

As the brunette watched, the surface of the seawater became speckled with rain, the agitation beneath suggesting that more was brewing than a simple morning shower. She turned away to follow Saint-Germain, wondering if these were the sights that had earned her husband’s love for the sea.

Their pace quickened as the skies continued to pour forth with increasing vigour. Her thin slippers, tugged back on in haste, did little to aid her in gaining traction through the loose sand beyond the shoreline. Cardia lurched forward; the shadows of the jacket Saint-Germain held over her head blocking her view of uneven path. His arm was at her side in a moment to catch her.

“I’m well, Saint-Germain.” She promised, giggling at the foolish image they would have made had anyone else been at the seaside to observe them.

“We’re nearly there.” He encouraged as they came within sight of their temporary abode.

He flung open the door and ushered her in, stopping to flick the excess water from his jacket onto the ground outside. When he had finished, he stepped back, latching the door and casting his eye around the darkening mansion.

“It looks as though we may be stuck inside for a while, unfortunately.” Cardia surmised as she brushed the wet curls from her eyes. “But I cannot fault the company.”

“Nor I.” The affection in his voice produced a shiver that had nothing to do with the inclement weather.

The dampness of her clothes finally settling against her skin, Cardia drew close to the fire Saint-Germain was stoking back from embers.

“We should dry much faster if we change out of our wet things.” He advised with a quick glance back at her. “I would not want you to become sick in our little escapade.”

She nodded at the welcome suggestion, fingers already working at the ties of her dress. Still, she watched him as he worked the coals, divided focus slowing movements that should have come easily.

He added a log to the fire, the flames crackling greedily to consume the new wood. In the glow, his eyes gleamed emerald as she stepped nearer. Three years of marriage, and her heart still raced every time she saw the way he looked at her when they were alone together. She hoped it always would.

Saint-Germain joined her in standing, his posture straight and still as he allowed her to assist in his process of undressing. Cardia’s deft fingers made short work of his shirt, tugging out the layers of fabric that had been tucked down the front of his trousers.

“You’re soaked through.” She noted quietly, wondering how many times he had been similarly drenched without a place of retreat.

How many times had he gone without someone to care for him? I will see that he lacks for nothing, she promised as her hand lingered over the well-known scars on his chest.

He covered her fingers with a large hand, dragging them gently from the puckered skin at his side. His lips skimmed the knuckles with the lightest of kisses before he returned the hand and directed his attention to the fastenings at her shoulders.

She watched his face as he worked, feeling his efforts come to fruition in the loosening neckline. Idly, she wondered whether there was anything which his hands were not skilled in doing. If there were, she had yet to discover it.

Moments later, he eased the shift over her head, leaving her bare before him.

“You are beautiful, my Cardia.” He breathed out.

With a tender smile, he extended a hand to cup her cheek. Cardia stood on her toes, offering her mouth for a kiss.

His lips tasted of wind and rain, wakening a heat deep within her that even the cool of autumn could not steal away. It was only with some effort that she pulled back to gather their clothes from the floor. While she arranged their wet things by the fireplace, Saint-Germain stepped into a dry set of trousers.

“Perhaps…” She began, wicked thoughts running through her mind while catching his movement in the corner of her eye. “Perhaps we should wait for these to dry. There is little reason for us to dress fully now. No one is here to see us, and it will be some time before we are able to return outside.”

He laid aside the shirt, but his fingers still worked to fasten the buttons of his pants. “I would not object to that.”

Task complete, Cardia crossed the room, winding her arms around her husband’s waist and pressing her cheek to his bare skin. Even out of the wet clothes, she was far from warm. A faint shiver crossed her shoulders as Saint-Germain’s arms circled them.

“You may doubt my words, repetitive as they certainly are, but tea is very good for warming up on such mornings.” He suggested, stepping aside to pull a quilt from the bed.

Returning to her, he wrapped the blanket around her petite frame.

“Indeed, it is.” She agreed, clutching at the fabric. “But I am not in the mood for tea. I suppose I would rather to keep you warm myself, instead.”

The blond man chuckled. “I would not object to that either.”

Her lips pursed slightly at the quiver of humour in his tone.

While he began boiling water, Cardia took stock of the supplies they had brought with them from his London estate. Impey and Lupin had done them a great favour, not only preparing days’ worth of food in advance, but including all of the things they might need to cook for themselves as well.

She thought that Victor, too, might have had something to do with the state of the provisions, especially when she located a little pot of the honey that they both favoured, which had fallen to the bottom of one basket. She ought to remember to thank him upon their return to London.

Setting it aside, she replaced the contents of the basket, a task that took much longer with one hand occupied in holding up her blanket. When she had finished, she sat and watched her husband’s capable form over the fire. Even as they had adjusted to the roles of their new life, moments like these reminded her just how quickly the familiar had become foreign.

“Is this what you imagined when you wished for a vacation by the sea?” She inquired softly, pulling the corners of the quilt into a knot at her breast.

He turned from the fire momentarily in order to address the question. “You already know that life with you is much more than I ever could imagine, Cardia.”

“That does not quite answer my question.” She protested, falling quiet for some moments before she attempted it again. “Do you never wish for a simpler life? A human life, with a human woman, with little business with Salvation or the British government or the European Concert?”

Saint-Germain withdrew the boiling pot and set it beside the fire to steep. Contemplative, he rocked back onto his heels.

“Cardia, when I was a human, my life was painful, miserable and short. When I met Trismegistus, when I was allowed to want for the first time, I wished for an ordinary happiness. Our life may be far from what I classify as ordinary, but I would do nothing to change our fortunes, because ordinary or otherwise, I am deliriously happy.” He urged with a thin smile. “Especially when we may rely on our friends to help arrange for such disappearances as this one. With them to assist us, I doubt that this will be the last time we escape to the sea together.”

Her legs scratched against each other as she pulled them up under the chair.

"I hope that it is not. Though I’m not sure I expected this particular excursion to be quite so dirty.” She observed, rubbing the salt and sand that had dried on her calves.

"Was it not worthwhile to walk barefoot through the waves?” Saint-Germain poured her a measure of tea and sat across the table.

She thanked him and took a small sip, mulling over the question he had posed. “It was worth seeing the sea at your side.”

He watched closely to gauge her response. “You do not like it on its own?”

She shrugged. “I’m not certain what I think of it. At the moment, I find it rather frightening, and there’s rather more sand than I imagined. I’m afraid I’ll be finding it in my shoes for months to come, and that part of life by the sea does not seem very appealing.”

He laughed gently at her complaint, green eyes shimmering with his amusement. “I am not fond of it either, but it is a necessary evil to enjoy the ocean.”

"Then tell me what it is like to be at sea.” She suddenly demands. “What is it about the water that you love?”

Even beyond the sand, her own first impression had been less favourable. She could smile as the foamy waves lapped her feet, but the thought of being stranded in the midst of the wide ocean made her shudder. It was too large, too uncertain for her to understand his great affection for it.

He chuckled once more. “That would be a very long story indeed.”

Thunder boomed, a tremor reverberating throughout the small mansion.

“This seems a good morning for long stories, dear. We won’t be anywhere until lunchtime.” Cardia tightened her hold on the fine porcelain cup and took a draught of the liquid.

“Very well.” The aristocrat concurs.

“But if I am to keep you warm, then I must join you for the telling.” She stood, barely catching the edge of the quilt before it slipped from one shoulder.

A smile flittered across his face at her brief struggle.

“I do not think this chair is large enough for both of us.” His eyes darted from her to the opposite wall. “Perhaps we should sit before the fire, where we may both be warm.”

Tea in one hand, Cardia rose to the balls of her feet and pivoted toward the place he had indicated. Her tiny steps beckoned him to follow, but he outpaced her easily. Once there, he sat a distance from the flames, legs outstretched so that she was able to easily climb into his lap.

She untied the blanket and spread it around both pairs of shoulders. Saint-Germain’s hands held her secure, arms encircling her slender waist once everything had been properly situated. She sighed with contentment as her bare skin settled against his broad chest.

“This is very pleasant.” Cardia mused, slipping one arm outside of the alcove to retrieve her tea.

The blond nods. “It is, perhaps, too pleasant. If we sit like this for very long, I may be in danger of forgetting the sea altogether.”

With a titter, Cardia slipped from his lap to the floor. “I’ll return once you’ve finished your story.”

Saint-Germain leaned down to kiss her crown, one arm stretching behind to draw her close. Heads together, he began to speak.

For nearly an hour, he told her of the great empty expanse; of the freedom of movement to anywhere in the known world; of the moonlit nights with calm, open seas; of the ceaseless rocking that enticed sleep such as no other force could bring; of the bliss of seeing land at long last after a hard voyage. Countless descriptions and tales that Cardia endeavoured to commit to memory.

She listened intently as he spoke, and while her own feelings toward the sea remained unchanged, she thought, perhaps, that she could understand his better.

By the time his words had reached their end, the roaring fire had dwindled and they had long since given up their seated positions in order to lie beside one another atop the quilt.

"Has your curiosity been satisfied?” He asked finally, voice low against the patter of rain above them. “Or is there anything else you wish to know?”

She considered the sum total of all she knew, both from his words and from her own observations. “Just this. The sea that I have observed is nothing like what your stories describe. Even between this morning and yesterday evening, it is completely altered. What is there to love about something that is so full of changes? How can there be any comfort in returning to something that is never the same?”

"Aye.” He agreed readily. “It changes often. But I think I love it more because of the changes.” His gaze dropped to the blanket beneath them as he wove his thoughts together.

Cardia gave him room to think, lazily combing through the white silk of his hair that were still damp from their previous drenching. When his eyes returned to her face, she was startled to see the depth of emotion held within.

“It is rather like the way I love you, though my love for you is much greater.” Saint-Germain swallowed, the lines in his face softening as he continued. “Cardia, you have altered a great deal since you first arrived at London. Few would recognize in you now the same unfeeling, detached doll that Lupin brought back from somewhere in Wales. Yet, I love you for many of the same reasons that I loved you then. In the months that have passed, I have seen blossom many sides of you, but there is not a single one I do not love.”

Saint-Germain looked on her meaningfully, and she felt the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes. Throat thickening, Cardia rolled onto an elbow to get a better look at him. He gazed back with honesty and adoration, and she wondered what on earth she could have done to deserve such complete devotion from so generous a man.

"My love for you is constant, Saint-Germain.” She breathed, brushing her fingers along the length of his strong jaw, “even through the changes.” She pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade, the thick muscles rippling under her touch. “And it is the deepest love that I have ever known.” She traced a line of kisses to his neck, pausing at the nape tenderly.

When she pulled away, he turned to his side and drew her into his arms. She melted against him readily, every vein alight with desire to show him her promises were true.

He searched her face, though her features could hardly be discerned in the dim light. “You are the greatest change to my life, my Cardia, but the greatest constant too. I would not trade this life with you for all of the dreams and stories my mind has ever devised. I have the sun itself. How could I desire more?”

The fire before them had faded to embers, yet the flames within Cardia burned bright as she met his lips in a passionate kiss.

A shock of thunder rumbled, and rain beat heavily against the panes of the small window. But neither thought of the weather, or even the sea that lay outside. They did not even ponder the future changes which waited for them beyond the mansion walls. Instead, they found joy in one thing they knew would never waver.

*_*_*_*_*

Code: Realize Masterlist

#code realize #saint-germain

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imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul · 5 years ago

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Return to Me - Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen: The Story of Tonight

A/N: God! I’m so sorry this is late, I’ve just been finishing up midterm stuff! Here’s the next chapter, I’ll work on queuing up a few more so I won’t fall behind again. I’m really excited for this chapter! It includes one of my favorite dresses that gives off big Swan Princess vibes (which is one of my favorite movies) and sets up a LOT of drama for the next chapter! Ahh! Let me know what you think! Again, I’m sorry it’s late. I love your comments. I love you all. Let’s talk!!!

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader Word Count: 4,724 Synopsis: Poe and the reader begin to establish their plans for the Resistance, Poe’s on Yavin-4, and the reader’s on Naboo. Poe is tasked with a mission to Bespin with his father, meaning that he’ll miss the dinner party the reader is throwing to gain more allies. As tensions start to heat up at this party, new information comes out that could mean trouble for Poe and the reader’s future.

Tag List: @xeniarocks, @too-many-baes, @araceli91103, @idocarealot, @treblebeth, @treestarrrrrrrr, @thescarletknight2014, @charlottie2998, @ibikus, @mellow-f1, @mrsdaamneron, @trustme3-13, @missjess71, @ella-solei, @minelskede, @gleigh42, @usuallyweepingnacho, @givemethatgold, @and-claudia, @constantdisgrace, @wordsinwinters, @readingvogueonprivetdrive, @trshbb, @kaitlynw011, @ihave2muchtimeonmyhands, @fairytalesforever, @thanos-jeep, @mixedfandxms, @pastelbunny1501, @emotionalcal, @daniellajocelyn, @getyourselfaunicorn, @spider-starry, @jimhalpertcanbuymelove, @angelicaxhouston, @roserrys

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“So, what do you think?”

Poe looked around at the remains of the old rebellion base. The frame of the building was intact, but everything else had fallen to shambles. The technology that remained was so out of date that it probably wouldn’t have started up, if not for the fact that thick Yavin-4 branches had grown through them. There was a rustling throughout the entire building, signaling Poe to believe other creatures had taken control of the base since the rebellion abandoned it so many years ago.

Truthfully, it was a mess, but it was the best mess Poe had seen in while.

“I think it’s perfect. It’ll be a hell of a lot of work, but I think we can make some of this stuff work for us.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Kes said with a smile. The older Dameron surveyed the room with excitement but found that the same joy wasn’t in his son’s eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“You’ll see Y/N again soon,” Kes said. Poe looked up at his father and smiled.

“I’m not so sure. Our lives are on different paths right now.”

“Yeah, but they’ve both got the same destination,” Kes said, giving Poe a reassuring smile. “So, I think we’ll start storing our supplies here. I know that we’ll run operations out of Serenno, but this will start off as a storage hangar until we can find a better location.”

“Sounds good to me. Now, all we need are those supplies. And people willing to fight. And about a million other things I don’t even have the time to list.”

“Relax,” Kes said with an easy smile, “We’ll figure it out. It’ll all come together.”

“Well, I admire your confidence.”

“You should try to embody it sometimes,” Kes said, walking out of the old base.

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“So, what do you think?”

“I think we’ve had this conversation before,” you said with a sigh, closing the book in front of you.

“You cannot deny the benefits marrying Lin Ral would have,” your father said.

“Yes, and that’s exactly the kind of thing that one looks for in a marriage. Benefits!” you said, crossing your arms across your waist, the puffy sleeves of your dress ballooning out around you.

“I would be so good for our people. For the galaxy.”

“For political ties, you mean. Once the Senate is rebuilt, there’s no way that a Serenno delegate would refuse to side with a Naboo delegate, I mean, after all, we’d practically be family,” you said, batting your eyelashes mockingly.

“What’s so wrong with political ties?”

“Absolutely nothing. It’s the forcing of marriage in order to retain those ties that I have an issue with. Now, has anyone gotten back to you yet?” you asked.

“No, but we’re still hopeful,” he said, although his tone didn’t convey his message.

“And Mom?”

“She’s meeting with some friends from other planets. Everyone’s still grieving, Y/N, it’s going to take time to—”

“I understand.”

“I know you do,” he said. You went back to working in silence for the next few minutes before Henri spoke again. “You doing alright?”

“What?” you asked, looking up from your book. “Of course. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“Poe?” he asked.

“That’s the first time you’ve said his first name in two years,” you said, watching him in surprise.

“What happened with the two of you?” he asked.

“You made us get divorced, remember?” you said cynically.

“I mean this week.”

“Just Resistance stuff.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt again,” he said. You tried to take his word sincerely, but knowing that he had been one of the ones to push you away from Poe, causing you to hurt more than you ever had, it was difficult to believe him.

“I still know my place, Dad. I have a duty to Naboo, and until they kick me out, which is entirely possible, considering I left them to the First Order, this is where I’ll stay. And I hope, once this is all done, you won’t push me one way or the other.”

“I only want to do what’s best for you.”

“So let me decide,” you said, giving him a gentle smile. “I’ve been reading up on the reformation of the Republic after the Empire was defeated,” you said, changing the subject.

“Good,” Henri said, pulling his chair closer to yours. “Anything useful?”

“Yeah, the death of the Emperor and Darth Vader was a big rallying cry that it was okay to finally go against the Empire,” you said. Your father laughed slightly and nodded his head.

“Well, we’re making progress. Supreme Leader Snoke is dead.” You nodded your head and studied the text in front of you for a few more minutes.

“What made you decide to join the Rebellion?” you asked.

“There had been rumblings all around the galaxy. In small increments, people were starting to see the progress that the Rebellion was making. No one liked the Empire. We were all ready to see it end, we just didn’t know how we’d get there yet. I was inspired by it all and wanted to be a part of the fight, but it wasn’t until I spoke to Sarsa that I knew what I had to do.”

“Broden convinced you?”

“Yes. He spoke to me about how the galaxy could be. He basically reformed the Republic back then on his own. He had so many ideas, it was hard to say no to him.”

“So you didn’t,” you said.

“So I didn’t,” he agreed. “Broden was charming and persuasive, that’s how he gets people on his side. You do the same. People around the galaxy don’t want to hear what older generations like Broden and your mother and I have to say, they want to hear from the people who will be leading them out of the dark.”

“Dad, I—”

“I know, you don’t want to pursue a career in the Senate, but I think you’d be foolish not to.”

“The Senate is your and mom’s territory, not mine. I can barely do this queen thing.”

“Well, I would tell that to your polling numbers. Since your return, they’ve already gone up by three points. You inspire something in people, Y/N,” he said as he stood. He gave your forehead a kiss. “I’ll see you later. I’m going to Sullust to meet with a friend of mom’s from the Senate. Think you’ll be alright without me?”

“I think I’ll manage.”

“Call me if anything changes.”

“I will,” you said, “And do the same.”

“I will. Love you,” he said, walking out of the library.

“Where is Henri off to?” Broden asked as he stepped into the library a moment after.

“Sullust.”

“To get more allies?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“It’s a shame we can’t bring them all in one space. It would be much simpler to address them en masse, instead of sending what little allies we have all around the galaxy.” You nodded in agreement and suddenly picked up your head.

“Why don’t we?”

“Why don’t we what?” Broden asked.

“Why don’t we bring them all together? We can throw a banquet here, invite all of our friends from around the galaxy, all of my mother’s connections from the Senate, and speak to them all about our cause.”

“It seems rather risky,” he said, “What if someone wasn’t loyal and leaked our mission to the First Order?”

“Then we’ll invite only those we trust, or we won’t reveal too much. The First Order knows that there are people out there who want them gone. Our coming together won’t surprise them.”

“When do you suggest we have this gathering?”

“As soon as possible. I can reach out to my parents and the Resistance. We’ll bring Leia along and a few other Resistance members to stoke the fire. This will work,” you said, touching his hand when he looked less than enthusiastic.

“I think it might, but I’m not sure,” he said with a frown. “But I do trust you. I’ll get the staff to work cleaning up the grand hall.”

“No, no, I don’t want this to be too fancy,” you said. “However it looks now is fine. I can have my handmaids clean it up and decorate last minute, but right now we need to focus on rebuilding the village. Too many of our people find themselves without a stable home. I am glad to keep them in the palace, but I know they would eventually like to return to their own homes.”

“I know. We’ll continue work on the village. I’ll oversee it, if you want to plan this gathering.”

“I will,” you said with a smile.

“Perfect,” he said, smiling back.

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“You want me to come to a party?” Leia asked in disbelief as she stared at your holographic image.

“Not a party,” you said, “We’re wasting our time flying around the galaxy to gain our allies. If we have them all together in one room, it would save us time, and they could see all of their friends joining along, and want to join, too.”

“It’s a great idea, but why do I have to come?” she asked.

“Because you’re General Leia Organa. People listen to you.”

“Sure, they used to—”

“They still do. Hell, I wouldn’t have joined the Resistance if it wasn’t for you,” you said. Leia smiled.

“It’s been quite some time since I’ve schmoozed with politicians.”

“Then don’t schmooze,” you said, “Tell them the truth. Everyone here will have been affected by the destruction of the Hosnian System. These people aren’t stupid.”

“Alright, I’ll be there,” Leia said, a little reluctantly.

“Glad I have your support and enthusiasm. How’s it going there?” you asked.

“We’re doing alright. We’ve been flying back and forth between Serenno. I explained to Lin Ral that we’re working on setting up a new base, which he is very excited to hear about once we find it.”

“He’s just eager to help,” you said. “Although, I know what you mean. I’ve put off inviting him to Naboo all day because I don’t want to deal with his excitement.” Leia laughed softly. “So, you’ll bring a few Resistance stars with you, right? I need some people working the room to ensure that we can flip as many people as possible to our side.”

“Absolutely.”

“Thank you, Leia.”

“Of course,” she said, lifting her hand to shut off the transmission.

“Wait,” you called.

“What?”

“How is he?”

“He’s doing just fine. He’s in his prime right now,” she said with a smile.

“Good, good.”

“I’m afraid he won’t be joining me to your party though,” she said. “I’m sending him and Kes to Bespin this evening.”

“Bespin? What do you need from Bespin?”

“Lando,” she said with a smile. “You were, of course, our first choice for this mission, as he took a liking to you so long ago, but Poe needed to return his ship to Grakkus the Hutt anyways, and they agreed on a Bespin drop off.”

“Well, that’s great,” you said, trying to mask your disappointment.

“It is. Lando will be a great friend to have back on our team. He’s one of the most persuasive people I know.”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” you said with a laugh.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” Leia said. “May the Force be with you.”

“You, too.”

As you signed off, the door to the conference room inside of Serenno’s castle opened up, and Poe walked in. He was wearing his formal Resistance clothing, an annoying habit that Leia had asked him to pick up while they stayed on Serenno, surrounded by counts and other high-ranking members of Serenno’s government.

“You asked to see me, General?” he asked.

“Yes, I just wanted to check in with you before your trip to Bespin. Is your father all set?”

“Yes,” Poe said, walking up to the table and sitting next to Leia. “He’s convinced that Lando will be eager to help us.”

“You’re not so sure?”

“He wasn’t so eager when we reached out to him the first couple of times. I still think it was because of Y/N that he agreed to help us.”

“He never could say no to a pretty face,” Leia said demurely.

“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m going,” Poe said, offering her a smile.

“It is. But I’m afraid that means you’ll miss out on a party on Naboo.”

“A party?” Poe asked, “Who the hell is throwing a party in times like these?”

“Y/N. It’s not necessarily a party, but a gathering of our closest allies.”

“To bring them over to our side?” Poe asked. Leia nodded her head. “It’s a good idea. I’m gonna miss it while in Bespin?”

“Yes. But I’ll be sure to tell you all about it.” Poe laughed.

“Well, thank you. When did you hear about this?”

“Y/N called a second ago. You just missed her.”

“How’d she seem?”

“Good,” Leia said, giving him a gentle smile. “She asked about you. I’m sure she wanted you to be one of the Resistance stars I’m supposed to bring along with me.”

“You don’t like this plan?” Poe asked.

“No, I think it’s a great plan. I’m just not excited to have to go back to my old political roots. Politicians can be a nightmare,” she said, relaxing in her seat.

“Oh, I know. Who are you thinking of bringing?” he asked.

“D’Acy, of course,” she said. “Javos is always good with people, and has firsthand experience with our fight, so I’ll probably bring her along. And then I was thinking Finn and Rey. Who better to preach our mission than a reformed First Order stormtrooper and a powerful Jedi who overtook Kylo Ren?”

“I can think of few better.”

“If we had our best pilot, I know we could really persuade them,” she said with a smile, touching his hand.

“I’ll be there in spirit.”

“I’m sure you’ll be in at least one person’s thoughts.”

“She’ll surely be in mine,” Poe said, offering her a weak smile.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be invited to the next dinner party.”

“Hopefully,” he said with a laugh. “I should head back to Yavin-4. Any other advice for convincing Lando?”

“Tell him if he joins he can go to all kinds of parties with pretty politicians,” she teased.

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This was the first night in many that you had to once again put on heavier makeup than your regular look. Tonight, you would be speaking to your parents’ friends, grieving family members of the destroyed Hosnian System, and other Resistance-hopefuls, hoping to convince them to join in your fight, and you would need to do it as Bhavisama. Loré stood in front of you, putting the finishing touches on your makeup, while Sondé tied your hair into a long, flowing ponytail down your back. The makeup didn’t cloak your face, it just enhanced every feature you had, as if showing off that you were truly the real Bhavisama, and not Sondé in your place.

“Almost ready?” Nové asked, stepping into the room with your gown in her arms. Sondé came in behind her, carrying the hoop skirt that would go underneath.

“Yes,” you said, standing up, “Just waiting on the dress.” Nové helped you into the hoop and then dressed you into the gown, zipping the back for you.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, as you looked at yourself in the mirror, checking for any unqueenly imperfections.

“Good. A little nervous, but good. You’re coming, too, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” she said, giving your hand a squeeze. “I’m going to be one of the schmoozers.”

“Did you talk to Leia?” you asked, snapping your head around when she used the former princess’s exact wording.

“We may have run into each other in the hall.”

“Whatever. Call it what you want. I’m just glad you’re going to be there with me.”

“Loré and Sondé will be there, too.”

“As silent handmaidens,” you said, frowning, “I wish you all could work the room. It would mean I would have to do it less.” Nové laughed as she looked at herself in the mirror, fixing her matching dress slightly.

“I know,” she said, “But we can never be too careful. We don’t want you completely on your own. We don’t know who we can trust yet.”

“I know,” you said, taking her hand, “It’s just frustrating. All of this is.”

“I know. But at least Lin Ral will be there.” You rolled your eyes.

“He’ll be good at convincing people.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s good at a lot more,” she said under her breath as she walked towards the door. You picked up the pillow closest to you and chucked it at her head. She very nearly ducked and looked back at you with a quick wink. “See you down there.”

In the first twenty minutes of entering the grand hall, you had already spoken with three former members of the Senate. As you quickly learned, many people were off planet when the Hosnian System was attacked. Although more representatives were lost than spared, and everyone was still grieving, there were still plenty of fighters ready to take on the First Order, albeit a little reluctantly.

“Before you even start,” Senator Avania Rebianakl from Manaan began, “Lin already spoke to me.”

“Oh,” you said, dipping your head.

“No, not like that, child,” she said, taking your hand in hers. “Manaan wants to see the end of the First Order, too. Whatever we can do, we’ll do.”

“Thank you, Avania.”

“Of course. Those bastards deserve to rot for what they did,” she said. You nodded your head and gave her hand a soft squeeze. “I know there are some others here who will be less than eager to join your cause. Go on and talk to them. I’ll try to convince some of my less than enthusiastic friends, too.”

“You’re the best.”

“I know,” she said, giving you a smile as she walked away. You let out a sigh and turned slightly, ready to talk to another member of your party.

“What? Don’t tell me Avania changed her mind. I wasted almost all of my charm on her,” Lin said as you almost ran into him. He grabbed your forearm to steady you and gave you a smile. It was clear he hadn’t wasted all of his charm.

“No,” you said, backing up slightly, “She’s still on board.”

“Good.” He smiled at you, taking you in for the first time that night. “Might I say that you look very lovely tonight, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” you said with a diplomatic smile, “So do you.”

“How does it seem to be going?” he asked, moving to stand by your side as you surveyed the room. From afar, you could see your father and Leia talking to a few of his friends he had brought along. Commander D’Acy was showing Finn and Rey around the room. The pair never left each other’s side, although many of your party guests tried to break them apart. It wasn’t every day that a reformed Stormtrooper and a Jedi graced the halls of Theed Palace.

“I think alright. I’ve got a few people who swear they’ll help in all of our upcoming battles, but whether that comes true or not . . .”

“It will,” he said, giving you a kind smile, “People are ready for some real change. They’re tired of living in fear of the First Order.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am.” You looked up at him and smiled.

“Thank you, Lin.”

“For what?” he asked.

“Your confidence. And for being by my side through this. It is much nicer than doing this with my parents,” you said. He laughed and nodded his head.

“Glad that I could be of some assistance.”

“Y/N!”

You both turned to see Suralinda moving towards you, sporting a dress that only she could have pulled off, bringing along a young woman with her. You and Lin gave her kind smiles and introduced yourselves. She introduced herself as an old friend of Sura, Meg Junari. She hailed from Chandrila, one of the planets that had lost all of its representation in the destruction of the Hosnian Systems.

“I am truly so sorry for your loss,” you said.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Meg thinks she might know of a place for our new base,” Suralinda said. You looked at her, your eyes wide as you tried to keep your regal composure.

“What did you just say?” you asked.

“Meg knows the perfect spot to set up our Resistance base again. It’s got hangars for all of our ships, storage facilities for supplies and food, and accommodation for all of our troops, it’s—”

“Suralinda, can I borrow you for a moment?” you asked, looking from her to Lin. He took the hint and suddenly started up a conversation with Meg about Chandrila’s beautiful flora.

“Don’t you want to hear about the base?” Sura asked.

“No,” you said quickly, as you pulled Suralinda to a quieter corner of the room. She looked into your eyes and began to shake her head.

“What?” she asked.

“The whole point of this dinner party is to—”

“Flirt with that guy from Serenno?” she asked, jutting out her hip. You breathed through your nose as you tried to keep your cool.

“The whole point is to gain allies. Maybe a few resources. Your friend, Meg, seems perfectly lovely, but I don’t know her. Can you vouch for her that she is completely trustworthy? That she won’t turn her back on us and give away this base if given the chance?”

“Yes, I can. She’s been my friend for ages,” she said, her voice getting a little louder.

“Well, then, why don’t you go suggest the idea to General Organa. See what she thinks of it,” you said, beginning to turn away from her.

“I will,” she said as you walked away.

Loré and Sondé hadn’t been far away when you talked with Suralinda, and the second you stepped away from her, they were right by your side again.

“Are you okay?” Loré whispered. You continued to walk around the room, greeting people and thanking them for coming.

“I’m fine.”

“What do you think General Organa will say?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” you said truthfully. You stopped in your tracks and looked around the room for Nové. Once you spotted her, you sent Loré to go fetch her, and together, you and your handmaidens stepped out of the hall and into one of the secret hallways built into the palace.

“Is everything alright?” Nové asked as you all crammed into the tight hallway, tucked away behind a thick curtain.

“Suralinda Javos thinks she has found a new Resistance base location.”

“Why aren’t we more excited about that?” Nové asked.

“Because the person who has procured this base is a friend of Sura’s, who no one else knows.”

“Like Lin Ral was when you suggested a base on Serenno.” You nodded your head, taking a deep breath.

“Well, it still has to go through General Organa, right?” Sondé asked. “And Poe is still working on the base on Yavin-4.”

“I know, I’ve just got a bad feeling about this.”

“Why?” Loré asked.

“Suralinda wants the best story. She doesn’t want what’s best for the Resistance.”

“If that was true, I don’t think Poe and Organa would trust her so much,” Loré said.

“It is true,” Nové intersected, “Jess was telling me all about her. She’s more concerned in the best story than in doing what’s best.”

“I don’t want to doubt her credentials,” you said, shaking your head, “I just need more information. Especially on this Meg Junari. If this really is the best course of action, then I’ll be all for it, but it seems almost too convenient that Junari has the best location to fit every single accommodation we need. I can’t look into her, but . . .”

“Say no more,” Sondé said. “I’ll get started now. I’ll reach out to some of the guards, too.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, we should really get you back to the party, my lady,” Nové said.

“I know.”

So as to not draw attention to the secret passage, the lot of you took the hallway which led out to the terrace outside, and then made your way back into the hall. After another hour of deep discussion with everyone who would talk to you, your mother grabbed your arm and led you over to a Rodian man she knew from the senate. He introduced himself as Barth Hoangid’y, a merchant who specialized in supplying ships to both sides.

“My mother’s best friend was our elected representative,” he explained sadly, “She practically raised me. Whatever you need, I’ll get it for the Resistance.”

“Thank you so much,” you said, grasping his hand.

“Of course.”

Your mother led him away and went to introduce him to your father. As you looked across the room, you found Sura’s unmistakable dress and saw that she was talking with Leia. Her hand gestures signaled that she wasn’t delighted with what Leia was saying, and she quickly turned away from the general, only to run into one of the waiters. She, the waiter, and his tray of food clamored to the floor, turning every head in the room.

You moved towards them quickly, helping to stand them up. A thick syrup now stained the ends of Leia’s gown, but she kept her cool.

“I think maybe it’s time we leave,” Leia said firmly, keeping her face looking as kind as possible.

“I don’t want to go, yet,” Suralinda said, shaking her head. Leia reached for her hand but Suralinda quickly pulled hers away.

“You’ve had too much to drink, Javos,” Leia said, her voice growing more serious by the syllable.

“I’m fine,” Suralinda said with a snort, “Is that why you don’t agree with me? Because I’m drunk?” she asked, hiccupping on the last word.

“No.”

“Is it because she told you to?” she asked, pointing in your face.

“Let’s get you out of here,” you said as the crowd around you started to grow larger. “I’ve got a nice, comfy room you can stay in.”

“Don’t touch me,” she said, shaking you off. “I’m not your friend.”

“Suralinda,” Leia said firmly. You held up your hand to her.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Suralinda said. Your royal guard had started to step closer, but you signaled them back. What you didn’t need was for this to get any worse than it already was. “You got into his head. He only made those decisions because you were there. And now, we’ve lost almost all of our resources and we’re shit out of luck,” she spat.

“What are you talking about?” Leia asked, holding Suralinda up as she started to slump.

“Poe. She got into his head. She brought all that shit to us, and that’s why we’re here now, pretending that everything is fine. We can just party! It’s not like the entire fucking galaxy isn’t in danger!”

“Alright, it’s time to go,” you said, grabbing her arm firmly as Leia grasped her other. Your parents quickly got to work dispersing the crowd, but they couldn’t look away from what was happening.

“Things were so much better when you were gone,” Suralinda said, “When it was just us.”

In the hall, Commander D’Acy was waiting anxiously with Finn and Rey. Finn put his arm around Suralinda, and she didn’t fight anymore as he led her to the rooms you had blocked off for them.

“I’m so sorry about all of that,” Leia said, catching her breath. “She’s not usually—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, giving her a smile.

“And what she said about Poe, it isn’t true.” You gave her another smile but couldn’t find the words to say. “I should go check on her.”

“Of course.”

As she walked away, you took a few moments to calm yourself before returning to the hall. Her words had stung, but none more so than when she said ‘us.’ The way she said it – it wasn’t the Resistance she was referring to, or even Black Squadron, it was her and Poe.

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1149

What is your age? 22, but there’s less than a month to go before I turn 23.

What annoys you? Literally every single person who still supports the government at this point. For context, we are back to square one and we’re under the exact same quarantine imposed in March 2020 because of the surge in cases. Nothing has changed and nothing has been done in the last 365 days while people are getting hungrier and poorer. I’m done feeling hopeful for this country and I cannot wait to abandon it forever.

Do you have any allergies? Apparently, grass. Can’t be exposed to it for too long otherwise the skin on my thighs turn red and occasionally even get rashes.

Do you know anyone named Billy? Kind of, but they’re girls with their name spelled as Billie.

When is your birthday? April 21st and spending it in quarantine once again this year...

Who is your best friend(s)? Angela and Andi.

What's your favorite candy? I like gummy bears and worms. As for sweets, I really like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Butterfinger, Twix, and the Hershey’s Cookies and Creme bar.

When was the last time you cried? Maybe a day or two ago while watching a snippet from Caught in Providence.

Have you been out of the country? Yes.

Do you daydream? Not so much these days. I’ve been better at keeping my focus at work.

What's your favorite kind of dog? I love alllllll dogs, but I’d usually be wary of smaller dogs because 87% of the times I’ve met some, they’re aggressive or a bit moody. I don’t like stereotyping dogs as much as possible but because I’ve had direct experiences to back it up anyway, *shrug*

What day of the week is it? It’s a Sunday.

How do you like your eggs? Scrambled, poached, or an omelette with lots of fillings. Balut is also great.

Have you ever been in the emergency room? Only when I was born, I’m guessing.

What's the easiest thing ever to do? Idk, what comes easy to me might not be the same for others. But my answer would be to smile, regardless if it were genuine or otherwise.

Have you ever flown in a plane? Yeah, many times. The child-like excitement I get whenever I get on one will probably never go away, either.

Do you use fly swatters? No, my mom usually uses old shoebox covers or rolled-up scratch papers we have lying around to swat them.

Have you ever used a foghorn?: Only in video games lol, never in real life.

Have you pet a goat? I don’t think I have. I’ve pet lots of animals before but I don’t think a goat has been one of them yet.

Are you a giver or a taker? Giver, but I’ve been allowing myself to take more these days.

Do you like gummy candies? Love them.

How are you? We’ve entered summer weather now, so I feel hot and miserable. It’s also Sunday and I am stuck at home, which doesn’t make me the happiest camper.

What's your height? 5′1″ or a tiny tiny tiny bit taller than that.

What color is your hair? It’s black but on extremely rare occasions I’ll catch a single light brown strand when I play with my hair.

What's your favorite ice cream? Cookies and cream and chocolate chip cookie dough. My friend Leigh actually started her own ice cream shop recently and I bought her coffee crumble ice cream, and it is sooooooooo fuckinggggggggg good??????? It’s so rare to find coffee ice cream where I live period, so I’m fucking stoked to have a close friend who makes literally the best one and in generous servings too.

Have you ever ice skated? Many times as a kid. I was never formally trained, but it was something I wanted to try from watching other kids play in mall ice skating rinks; and when I did give it a shot, I ended up enjoying it. Luckily my mom was encouraging and actually frequently dropped me off at a rink so I can practice gliding and all for a few hours while she ran errands.

Have you cheated the IRS? That’s like an American tax thingy, right? We don’t have that here and my employer handles my TIN.

What's your favorite jelly bean? Not a big fan but if I had to have Jelly Belly, I obviously would want to get the pleasant-tasting ones.

Do you tell jokes? Yes.

Do you wear nice jewelry? Only on special occasions.

Do you want to kill anybody? I don’t want to kill anybody but I certainly wish a good number of public officials would finally die.

Do you want to have kids? Yes. I really wish I could still have a future with them. Thanks for the trauma, my real asshole of an ex.

Where did you have kindergarten? Somewhere.

Are you laidback? I doubt my friends would use this to describe me. I for sure lean more towards the uptight side of the spectrum.

Do you lie? Eh, occasionally.

When is the last time you sent a hand-written letter? I have no idea. Christmas 2019 maybe?

Ever talked in a microphone? Sure. Many times.

Do you still watch Disney Movies? I very rarely get in the mood for them if I’m by myself, but yes, I’d gladly sit down and watch should an opportunity come.

Do you like mangoes? No.

Do you have a nickname? 99% of people call me Robyn while my family calls me Byn, but there are a select few friends who’ve stayed long enough with me to catch other names I’ve gotten over the years, which have since become inside jokes/nicknames. There’s Reben and Rolayn, and literally just yesterday ‘Roby’ happened when I ordered food for lunch so that will probably catch on as well.

What’s your favorite number? 4.

Do you prefer night over day? Absolutely.

Are you an only child? No, I’m two siblings away from that status.

Do you wish this was over? I haven’t felt that way, no.

What is the closet orange object near you? An orange tumbler my Kuya gave me as a Christmas gift in 2019. There is also orange tape wrapped around the charger adaptor of my company laptop.

What one fear are you most paranoid about? Waking up in the middle of surgery and being unable to speak nor move.

Do you play any instruments? Nope.

Do you think you are pretty? Some days.

Are you quick to judge people? No, unless they are already blatantly showing their character like being rude towards service staff, tossing their trash to the ground, or cutting in queues. Whenever those things happen I give myself the space and freedom to guiltlessly judge.

What do you keep quiet about? How dysfunctional my family really is, and the things I really want to say about Gabie.

Do you have any quirks? Food-wise, I like peeling off the breading from fried chicken and placing them on the side of my plate so I can eat them last, because they’re my favorite part.

What’s a good reason to cry? Frustration. Crying can be really helpful in lessening stress.

Do you think you're always right? No.

Do you watch reality TV? Not religiously, but I love watching snippets of reality shows on Facebook because they’re all so embarrassing and it’s hilarious to watch hahahahah. Literally last night I was watching clips of Big Ed on 90 Day Fiance.

Are you a social person? More so now than I was years ago.

What states have you lived in? I lived in Manila briefly but it didn’t take long till we transferred to another city for a more peaceful life in the suburbs.

What is your favorite season? I wanna say winter because of what I’ve seen from it in movies and shows, but I’ve never actually experienced it before.

When did you last sleep in a tent? Sometime in March or April last year.

Do you like tomatoes? Mostly in diced form. Tomato sauce is fine but I don’t really like it in my pasta. Bloody Mary also tastes rather awful.

What time did you wake up? 8:30 AM.

Do you have an umbrella in your car? I think so, yeah. I finally placed one in there lmao.

Do listen to Usher? Eh, not really. 2000s R&B isn’t my thing, save for Beyoncé.

Describe the underwear your wearing? It’s light blue.

What’s the worst veggie? I never learned to like pechay. I’d still eat it, but only because I like cleaning up my entire plate.

Do you like movies with violence? Some. Like I hate action movies but I enjoyed A Clockwork Orange and Scream lol.

Where do you want to go on vacation? I recently bookmarked an Airbnb in Zambales and the accommodation is basically this super cute line of tipi-styled huts by the beach. I'd love to have a solo trip push through once this Covid mess subsides.

Ever been on a wave runner? No.

Where do you work? I work in a PR company.

Do you wish on stars? Just sometimes.

Have you ever had an x-ray? Only for mandatory medical exams.

Do you own a xylophone? I think I had a toy one as a kid, but it’s not with me anymore.

Have you watched the x-games? No, not interested.

What did you do yesterday? I stayed at home; ordered food for Angela as a surprise; debated if I should buy a pair of Air Maxes – and ultimately decided I’ve already spent too much this month to deserve a new pair of shows lol; and just settled to buy a new night lamp for my bedroom. I also watched the newest episode of 2 Days 1 Night and ate more of Leigh’s ice cream while doing work.

Do you like the color yellow? Only in mustard yellow. I also like the song Yellow, heh.

What year were you born?: 1998.

Do you believe in the zodiac? No.

Has your bank account been at zero? No. I remember when I was first opening my own account at the bank and the clerk told me to make sure I don’t go below P2,000, and my intensely by-the-book ass has been following the rule ever since, even though my dad has told me it’s absolutely fine to go below it so long as I have P2,000 back in the account after a month hahaha.

Ever been to the zoo? A few.

#survey #surveys

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consumedkings-archive · 5 years ago

Text

ancient names, pt. ix

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt ix: heartlines

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~7.3k (yes I am a clown)

Rating: M for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop.

Warnings: Language, some “light” religious blasphemy (it’s Far Cry 5). Strong canon deviance.

Notes: I have nothing to say for myself, except: thank you thank you thank you! Everyone's comments really just got me through the real brunt of this chapter and it's a long one, oh boy. I cannot reiterate enough how much the hopeless romantic in me desperately wants them to just live happily ever after, and also how MUCH it really means to me to see your guys' feedback, but alas alack, here we are; I, with my long-winded author's notes saying the same thing every time, but I am just as grateful each time it happens.

As always, I have the best, sweetest, kindest, most thoughtful and wonderful proof-reader but most importantly friend who helped me block out this chapter because I was really, really struggling with it. @starcrier, my lover my life my shawty my wife, she is Elliot's number one stan and also an incredible writer so please go check out her stuff!!

On a brief tangent, I have some beautiful artwork made the artist @raviollies on tumblr, which you can find here! I definitely did cry a little tiny bit over it.

It’s your fucking fault.

Elliot’s words, venomous little baby snakes spitting their venom, crawled around the bone arena of his skull. John could not stop replaying them in his head, even though he desperately wanted to; the idea that the rookie deputy might now well and truly hate him—really hate him, more than she maybe ever had before—was an unsettling one. He liked to think that it was because he was worried what Joseph would think if they no longer had her cooperation, her good behavior, but—

But there was something else that dug at him. There was something else squirming in the cavity of his chest, sinking its nails right into him, but he couldn’t pick it out, couldn’t pull it apart.

(Or maybe he didn’t want to; maybe the idea of identifying what this strange and unknowable beast inside of him was kept him from trying too hard, a good enough reason to throw up his hands and say, sorry, I just can’t.)

He pushed the door to the church open, stepping back inside to the cool, dim quiet. Jacob had pulled a map out and spread it over the table, the radio set aside; Joseph sat in a front-row pew, one leg crossed over his knee and his expression mild.

“Did you get the opportunity to chat?” he asked, without looking at John, as though he just knew that it was him and not someone else coming in. “She seemed…” Joseph’s head tilted, just a little. “... Unseated.”

John hesitated, and then began walking down the aisle. “Yes,” he replied. “Although, I don’t know if chat is the proper word for it, considering that she all but put her teeth in my neck.”

“I thought you liked that kind of thing?” Jacob supplied without a hint of a humorous inflection in his voice, and John shot him a dirty look.

“Bleeding out to death? Not particularly.”

Joseph nodded, the gesture gentle, ignoring the bickering. “It does appear as though our deputy is not a damsel in distress, but rather a damsel under duress.” He turned to look at the youngest Seed brother when he reached the front of the church. “But it is nice to see the foundation you’ve put down, John. You’re taking my advice, and it isn’t going unnoticed.”

He felt something pleasant and warm bloom in his chest, billowing up into his head until it almost completely gassed out the venomous little vipers Elliot had planted in his mind. “I did have an idea about that,” he added, feeling more emboldened by Joseph’s praise as he walked past the table. “About endearing the deputy to us.”

“Oh? Well, I’m all ears.”

John’s gaze flickered across the space between his two brothers. Jacob had said nothing; he was bent over the map, dog tags glinting in the single beam of light that hit them from the window, one veiny hand clenched into a fist as it held the map in place.

“Maybe,” John continued, “our dear brother could try to stop antagonizing her.”

“Why?” the red-headed deadpanned, not looking up from the map. The fact that Jacob didn’t even deign to make eye-contact with him was enough to make irritation prickle in his chest, raise his proverbial hackles.

“Why?” John reiterated. “Perhaps because each time you open your mouth, you incriminate yourself as a villain—and us too, by proxy.”

“You can drop the attorney lingo,” Jacob said dryly, finally lifting his head to look at John—and John wished that he hadn’t, because the half-lidded, arrogant gaze of his eldest brother only served to stoke the fires of anger inside of him.

“It’s just my vocabulary, Jacob, and you missed the entire point, by the way, so in the interest of making sure we’re all on the same page—”

“—not an idiot, little brother, so you don’t need to—”

“I think John is right,” Joseph interrupted, effectively silencing the argument that was brewing. “He’s done exactly as I asked of him. Think of a stray dog, Jacob; you don’t beat it into submission. You feed it, nurture it, gain its trust, and then it becomes a lifelong companion.” The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “A loyal companion.”

“This is an age-old philosophical debate.” Jacob’s brows furrowed together; a deep-set frown sat on his face. “A classic: is it better to be feared than to be loved? I think that we’re going to disagree fundamentally on this one.”

“Well,” Joseph replied mildly, “aren’t we lucky that there’s only one of us in charge of how our deputy is treated, then?”

John’s breath flickered out of his chest in a single blink at Joseph’s words. Casual and ever-so-patient, as though Jacob’s jaw weren’t setting in preparation to argue, as though it didn’t strike John right in his gut to hear Joseph say, there’s only one of us in charge of how our deputy is treated, as though it didn’t twist the knife right between his ribs to hear Joseph refer to Elliot as their deputy, over and over again.

A stamp. A brand. Joseph claimed, like he always did, the things that he thought rightfully belonged to him.

“Someone’s lucky,” Jacob said at last, a final and reluctant acquiescence.

Joseph’s small smile did not disappear. In fact, it seemed only to root itself more firmly on his face, as though he were pleased at Jacob’s unease. Joseph’s gaze flickered back to John, settling on him and then beckoning him forward.

He did as Joseph bid, coming and sitting beside his older brother and clearing his throat. He wanted to stop thinking about the way that Joseph had said our deputy, like he had any claim on Elliot—and that shouldn’t have bothered John, but it did, wriggled its way through the spaces between his ribs and squeezed, nice and tight.

“She was upset,” Joseph said, when John had settled next to him; it was not a question, but a statement, an assertion of what Joseph knew to be true. Their eldest brother scoffed from his spot at the table, bent back over the map, tracing and re-tracing the topography lines. John shifted in his seat a little.

“I think Jacob might have ruined any chance at a merciful conversion when he mentioned that her friends would deserve it if they didn’t make it out.” John’s voice was hard when he shot the red-head a stinging look, but unsatisfyingly, Jacob did not lift his head this time. John felt the strain of his brows furrowing at the center of his head, and then Joseph’s hand was on the side of his face, fingers spreading against his hair, primed and comfortable to grip.

“Grief,” Joseph said, his voice low and soothing, “is a part of change. Like shedding a skin.”

“It’s not—she was furious with me,” John replied, grimacing. “She just kept saying she hated me, and us. Joseph, I think—it would be beneficial to let me do things my way—”

“Our deputy is killing the person she used to be, John.” Joseph’s gaze was steady, piercing, a venomous yellow. His other hand came to the right side of John’s face, cradling him. “Strangling her old self, with her own hands. People like us, we’re lucky; we’ve always known who we were meant to be.” He leaned against the wooden backing of the pew again. “You’ve guided her here. Give her a while to grieve that girl from before. Patience is a virtue.”

John’s throat felt tight. He thought the Elliot in the bar those years ago—flushing and soft, breathless when he leaned into her—and the Elliot threatening to choke a man to death in front of him if he didn’t beg for his life, and the Elliot who played baseball with a shovel and a man’s head, and the Elliot that smoked a cigarette down to nothing while she cranked Welcome To The Jungle up on a van stolen from a group of crazy Swedish cultists.

He was not convinced she had not already killed the girl she used to be.

“You have got to have faith.” Joseph’s voice broke him out of his reverie. When John looked over to his brother, Joseph was absently dragging his thumb along his lower lip, his eyes fixed on the Eden’s Gate emblem glowing above them in the afternoon light. “Remember what I said; you have to love them. I know you can do this for me.”

His throat felt tight. This would be easier, he thought, if he could have just done everything this way. Wrath, he thought, would look perfect on her. But that wasn’t right; wrath already fit her. There was no skin to be shed. It was already on.

“John.”

He dragged his gaze from the white collar of Joseph’s shirt to his brother’s gaze, meeting it.

“Tell me you can do this,” Joseph said, his voice lower now, softer. It was not his counseling voice; this was Joseph asking him, his brother, not the man who led the masses. Asking, demanding, but waiting patiently for it to be given, never taking before it was time.

He was no longer thinking about Elliot at her fiercest, but rather the way she had softened for him, on occasion. Pressed against him for warmth, lashes wet with tears, unwilling to let go of his arm.

“I can,” John replied, “for you.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot didn’t know for how long she slept. When she woke, the sun was still in the sky, the air felt sticky and wet with late-summer humidity, and while she slept sweat had gathered at the nape of her neck and in the hollows and dips of her body. For a second, panic filled her—she couldn’t remember where she was, or how she got there, confusion twisting and knotting its way through her.

And then she remembered. She was in Joseph’s compound, in a bunkhouse that served as a home to Eden’s Gate members, dressed in Eden’s Gate clothes sans her boots and underclothes. Elliot wiped the sweat from her forehead and pulled her hair out of the ponytail. Standing proved dizzying, and she felt the dehydration twisting around in her stomach like a scorpion; stinging, and unkind.

“Fuck,” she said, pressing the heel of her palm to her eye. The gesture reminded her that she had done it just recently; just before she screamed at John, just before she told him that she hated him. Oh, yes. That.

Grief still squirmed around inside of her, but it had been abated, for now, and she thought that she almost—

“No.” Elliot’s voice was firm, but still wobbled on its legs, when she spoke to herself. “I don’t feel bad about what I said.”

“Good to know.” It was John’s voice from the doorway, bringing with him a hot breeze that should have felt good being that they were on an island, but it just added to the humidity. Elliot’s stomach twisted violently at the sound of his voice. It wasn’t anger that populated her mind, now, but embarrassment: that she’d let him get under her skin, that she’d let him see her without her veneer, that he’d been there and endured it and now he stood here again, undeterred, as though John Seed were someone with a moral high ground that allowed him to endure verbal attacks and return as though nothing had happened.

I hate you. Elliot willed the words to her mouth, tried to muster the venom, but she couldn’t. She fixed her eyes instead on the knot of a wooden floor panel, trying to ignore the sight of John moving in the corner of her eyes, closing the space between them. He did this, always—invaded her space, overwhelmed her, until saying things like I hate you became harder.

He smelled like sweat, and day-old cologne, and heat and dust and outside, and when he put his hand on her arm she opened her mouth to say something—anything, any of the venom that might come to her in the heat-addled and perspiring confusion—but he put a cold water bottle, slick with condensation, in her hand.

Her eyes went to find the bloodstain on his shirt when she realized that he wasn’t wearing that shirt anymore. He was in a white shirt, the same kind that Joseph wore.

“Drink,” he said. “I promise it isn’t poisoned.”

Elliot turned the cap of the bottle. It cracked, promising that the seal was freshly broken, and she brought it to her mouth and took one heavy swig before she pulled it away. Her nerve-endings immediately screamed in relief at the water in her mouth, but her stomach lurched—she knew she’d need to pace herself, or she’d be puking it up in a few minutes.

“Did you sleep?” John asked when she didn’t say anything. Elliot sucked her teeth.

“I don’t think we should play at being friends,” she said, her voice wicked with a dry, crackling, wildfire-in-the-making heat. John’s gaze was steady, though, once again unfettered by her words and remaining in her space. She was more aware of it than ever, now: as though resting, and having basic necessities like shower and drinking water also made her all the more aware of John’s presence, the heat radiating off of his body and the way he was watching her—

(like he couldn’t get enough of her)

—like he wanted to make sure that nothing she did escaped him.

“We’re not playing at being friends, deputy,” John drawled, crossing his arms over his chest and rocking back on his heels a bit as he looked at her. “Whether you like it or not, you and I are on the same side.”

“For now,” Elliot bit out.

“For now,” he acquiesced, as gracious as ever.

Her eyes narrowed. John was not the kind of person who forgave and forgot the sorts of things that she’d said to him. Elliot felt the suspicion rising up in her throat. She kept waiting for the punchline; for John to say something stupid like, and when this is over you’ll be begging for me to absolve your sins, or something equally driven by ego and his desire to have Joseph’s approval.

“So,” John began again, arms unfolding elegantly to be held out in a gesture of harmlessness, “did you sleep?”

Elliot took another swallow of her water bottle, stepping around John. Her body instantly braced itself—as though she expected him to try and stop her—but he didn’t; merely turned with her, a planet trapped in her orbit.

“Briefly.” She kept her voice short and clipped as she headed towards the door. “Are your friends back?”

“Jacob’s ready whenever you are.”

Her face scrunched up at the mention of the eldest Seed brother. She was now unsure which of them was the most unpleasant to be around; they all found their own special ways to get under her skin. John, perhaps, was the worst; Joseph and Jacob, she could handle their particular brand of crazy, but John—he was harder for her to read, because all of the time spent with him had started to cloud her brain.

“Why are you being nice to me?” she demanded, turning suddenly to find that he’d crossed the bunkhouse again, as though to follow her outside. Because she hadn’t quite gone out, yet, he now stood nearly nose to nose with her, even with her back pressed against the door of the bunkhouse.

John’s gaze swept over her. “Does it bother you?”

The plastic of the water bottle crunched in her hand. Her jaw set, painfully tight, holding back her gut reaction—to tell him that yes, it did bother her—and instead swallowed thickly. It would be just like John, to go out of his way to be nice to her because he thought it would unsettle her. But then, wasn’t John all about bending and cracking someone to his will, no gentleness required?

A headache splintered behind her eyes, throbbing painfully. She was spending too much time trying to parse John Seed out, and that was her first mistake.

“I’m just surprised you know how,” Elliot snipped, watching the way her words ticked the corner of his mouth upward in that easy, boyish smile.

“I can be nice,” John offered, “if someone isn’t spitting venom at me nonstop, calling me pathetic.”

“Fucking pathetic,” she pointed out, ignoring the way John’s eyes flickered down to her mouth and then back up to meet her eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that—”

“—no need to apologize after the fact, deputy—”

“—because I know how sensitive you are,” Elliot finished, wiping the smile off of John’s face, “and since we’re on the same side, I suppose I can’t afford to have you down and out.”

John’s eyes narrowed. His hand found the doorknob, and he was very close, so close all of a sudden that for a brief moment Elliot’s brain short-circuited and all she could think about was how unjust it was that a man so deserving of her venom could make cologne smell so good.

And then he said, “No, I suppose you can’t,” and opened the door behind her, the heat of the afternoon sun sunk into her skin, sticky and hot. “I work best when my partner isn’t trying to fight me the entire time.”

She turned and stepped out of the bunkhouse, clutching the water bottle in her fist and putting as much distance between herself and John as she said, “And I work the best if you stay the fuck out of my way, John.”

No more, she thought, decisively, no more of that.

Images of Eden’s Gate members scattered in her periphery; they were eager to look, but not eager to be seen, so that when she turned her head to find them they were already disappearing behind a corner or into a building. The heat was no more bearable if she was moving, either, the sun high in the sky and threatening to burn any exposed skin.

John fell into step beside her, his hand landing on the doorknob to the church before she could open it, holding it closed while she stopped on the landing.

“Jacob likes when he gets under your skin,” he said to her, the words sounding a little different than before. “He might say whatever he can to rile you up, and make you look unreliable to Joseph.”

Elliot hesitated. She didn’t know why John was giving her this information; not only because she already knew that—because of course Jacob enjoyed pushing her—but she didn’t understand why John was trying to be helpful. It was always going to be the Seed brothers against her, wasn’t it?

She thought of the way they had been bickering, the two brothers, while she tried to gather herself after her call with Jerome. She wished she’d been paying attention so that she could know what it was they had been arguing about.

John waited expectantly. He said, “You want to get Joey out of there, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Her brows furrowed. “What kind of—”

“And I want Faith out of there, with as little risk as possible,” he plunged on, keeping the door in place, “so we can’t get outvoted in there. Joseph does take you seriously, though who can imagine why—”

“If you’re trying to convince me we’re actually partners,” Elliot deadpanned, “you’re doing a shit job of it.”

“All I’m saying,” John continued irritably, “is that if we present a unified front in there, we have a better chance of us both getting what we want.”

Elliot didn’t want to admit that he was right. The last thing she ever wanted to do was tell John Seed that he was right about something. But if she had to weigh her options, she’d rather tell John he was right than do whatever the fuck it was that Jacob and Joseph wanted her to do. One Seed brother she could handle.

So, she relented, “Fine.”

John stuck out his free hand to her, grinning. “Shake on it, partner?”

Elliot groaned and swatted his hand away. “Don’t push it, buck,” she replied, pushing the door open—and this time, John let her, trailing in after her. Jacob and Joseph were in their spots at the front of the chapel, waiting ever-so-patiently. She reminded herself of what John had confirmed; that Jacob liked to see her on the brink of a meltdown, that he was a pusher.

It did not escape her that John had not offered any insight into Joseph.

“Have a nice nap?” Jacob asked as she came up to the table with the map.

“Funny, John asked me the same thing.” Elliot kept her voice even and took a drink of her water before she started tying her hair back into a ponytail. “So, where are they? Where are Joey and Faith?”

“South of here, the faithful say,” Joseph said before Jacob could speak again. “At Sacred Skies Lake. Just past Angel’s Peak. It sounds like they don’t go by any name, and just call themselves a family.”

“And do the faithful say what they’ve been doing?” she asked tartly. She had an idea of where they had made their home; probably at the abandoned youth camp, though as far as she last remembered that had been occupied by Joseph’s own.

Well, probably not for very long. There was no way Joseph’s little rednecks could hold up to the precision that these crazies had.

“Living,” Jacob replied, his gaze hard and his jaw set. “They’re not doing anything. They’re just—there. Like they’re waiting for something.”

Elliot’s stomach plummeted at Jacob’s words. There was no way he could have known, surely; she hadn’t told John, and she hadn’t said anything to them in the car, about the way Ase had cradled her face, and called her mor, and had said, I know that you will always come back to us.

Fuck. There’s no fucking way.

But there was. If Ase didn’t have absolute confidence that Elliot would seek them out, why would she have let them go? Why would they have been mostly unscathed? They were playing with their food—a sick, drawn-out catch-and-release.

The brothers had started speaking again. The aqua curve of Sacred Skies on the map burned into her retinas the longer she stared at it without blinking.

“Waiting for me,” Elliot mustered up after a moment, her mouth feeling very dry. “They’re waiting for me.”

Three pairs of eyes fixed on her, all with the same uncanny precision. There was no time for it to bother her; her stomach was already rolling with nausea.

And then Jacob barked out, “Explain,” and she thought she might punch him in the face if he didn’t shut up. Elliot took in a deep breath, mustering all of the composure she could manage, and focused herself on the map.

“When John and I got—when we had our run-in with the family,” she began, “we were separated, and—they drugged me, with something. But their leader, Ase, she was there for a little while—”

“What?” John demanded. So much for presenting a unified front, she thought ruefully. She shot him a look, willing him to be quiet, to just let her gather her thoughts; blissfully, he did.

“She kept calling me something in Swedish,” Elliot explained, “and she kept saying all of this weird stuff, like—like that she saw my color, that she saw me, and then…”

The Seeds all stared at her, waiting expectantly. Even Jacob remained silent.

“And then she said something like… Like that she was going to let me go, but only because she knew I was always going to come back to her.”

A moment of silence stretched in front of her, endless and dizzying, where no one in the room said anything and all Elliot could think about were all the things that Ase had said.

And then, as though these words had almost no impact on him, Jacob said, “Well, at least we have proper bait.”

“Absolutely not,” John cut in immediately, angrily. “You’re not putting Elliot out there to try and lure them here—”

“—they want her, I don’t see why we wouldn’t—”

“Brothers,” Joseph interrupted, his voice effectively bringing both John and Jacob to heel. Like before, he stood directly across from Elliot; her gaze was fixed on him now, tumbling Ase’s words around in her head while the Seeds argued about whether or not she was shark bait or not. “What do you think, deputy?”

The words were gentle. Elliot knew what they were; certainly, Joseph knew how long it had been since someone had asked her opinion, rather than her having to fight tooth and nail for someone even to consider it.

“I think—we could get Ase to come out of the youth camp, which is probably where they’re holed up,” she said after a moment, willing the charm of Joseph’s attentiveness away. Her gaze slid to John for a moment. “If we used me as bait.”

“Are you serious?” John demanded. He took her arm in his hand, pulling her from the table and hissing, “When I said present a unified front—”

“If we’re partners, you have to trust me,” Elliot insisted tersely. His expression hardened. A part of her hoped that he regretted suggesting they be anything remotely close to on the same team, and a part of her was glad that he had, or he wouldn’t look like the words you’re right were sitting right on his tongue.

Finally, at last, he said, “Fine.”

Elliot turned back to Jacob and Joseph, with the brunette’s hand still on her arm, and asked, “Are you any good with a sniper rifle?”

“The best.” Jacob’s voice was clipped, insistent. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“So if I can get Ase out to meet me,” she continued, “can you not shoot me?”

His eyes narrowed, but there was a tiny, tiny smile pulling at his lips. “Scout’s honor.”

John exhaled a sharp, short breath. “This is ridiculous—”

But before he could plunge onward, Joseph held up his hand to stop him. He turned his gaze to her, now, studying her for a few long heartbeats before he said, “Do you think they won’t kill Faith if we kill their leader?”

Elliot shrugged his hand off of her arm and walked back to the table, setting her water bottle on the table and crossing her arms over her chest. “I think like any snake,” she replied, “the body won’t function if you cut the head off.”

“At any rate,” Jacob interjected, “push comes to shove and you can get in without a firefight to get Faith out of there.”

“And Joey,” Elliot replied firmly, and stifled down the absolute fury when Jacob shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

“We’ll start making the preparations immediately.” Joseph sounded pleased. It took everything in her power not to say something just spite that, to remember that even though she didn’t want to be, she supposed that she was on their side, too.

Jacob gathered up the map from the table and immediately set off after Joseph, who had stepped down from the small stage and gone to the side door. Elliot picked up her water bottle and took one more heavy drink to finish it off before she turned and looked at John.

His brows knitted together at the center of his forehead. He looked troubled. It was not an expression that she was used to seeing on John Seed’s face; it might have been endearing, if she didn’t know that he was troubled by her, and not in the fun way.

“Spit it out, then,” Elliot prompted. John heaved a loud, impatient sigh.

“This is a stupid idea,” John said abruptly, angrily. It was a change of pace from the cocky asshole he normally liked to be. “There’s no way that they know they aren’t waiting for you to show up so they can skin and gut you, and—”

She waited, patiently, for him to get the words out. Whatever they were, they stuck in his throat.

“—and what use would you be then?” he finished, his lip curling up in clear distaste. Ah, there he is, Elliot thought absently. Almost thought I’d lost you, John.

“Don’t worry,” she said lightly. When she had capped her water bottle again, she headed to the back of the church. It feels good, she thought, pushing on the door, to have a plan again. “I’ll far outlive my use to you, Seed.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The plan was simple.

Elliot was going to walk herself—unarmed, much to her personal chagrin—out to the Sacred Skies Youth Camp, once they dropped her off. Jacob would already be in a position where he could get a good look at what was going on, and when he got a clear shot at Ase, he was going to take it.

And they were banking on the woman coming out to get Elliot herself, based on what Elliot had told them. John was not convinced, but he had been overruled; it was no longer his choice, and instead of going in and being on the same team as Elliot, he had found himself on the opposite of the playing board from all three of them—his brothers and the deputy.

Not ideal.

But now, as John parked the truck at the bottom of the hill leading up to the youth camp, all he could feel was dread knotting his stomach. The plan was supposed to be simple, but John remained unconvinced that it would be executed as easily as everyone seemed to think it would.

Elliot seemed in perfect spirits; she’d eaten a handful of granola bars, finished off two other water bottles, and her coughing had become less frequent. Not once had he seen her reach for a cigarette, either. It was like the second she had an actionable plan, she no longer stressed: there was nothing for her to worry about, beyond getting the job done.

John met her gaze through the rearview mirror. “You’re sure?” he prompted, and ignored the way Joseph’s head gently cocked to the side. Elliot flashed him a smile.

“Just focus on making sure Jacob doesn’t shoot me in the head,” she replied, “okay? And I’ll focus on getting Joey and Faith out of there.”

Joseph said, lightly, “That’s all we could ever hope for, deputy,” and when he did Elliot shot John a look through the mirror, a look that said, can you fucking believe this guy? And for one, brief second it felt like they shared a joke only between the two of them.

Then she pushed the back door of the truck open and kicked her legs out, landing on the dirt road with a soft thump. The blonde closed the truck door and then came up to John’s window, which had been rolled down, and said, “You’re sure you don’t want to give me a weapon?”

It would blow the whole fucking thing if they caught her with a gun or a knife, Jacob had said; if by some strange happenstance he didn’t snipe the shit out of the crazy fucking Swedish woman, and Elliot wound up getting dragged into the belly of the beast, having a weapon on her would out her immediately. They would know that she hadn’t come willingly, but that she had come with the intent to harm.

At least in the instance that they somehow avoided Jacob, she could lie her way out of it. Maybe.

“I have absolute faith,” John said, mimicking Joseph’s veneer of confidence, “that you can make a weapon out of just about anything if you need to.” She patted the side of the truck and took one centering breath, but before she could set off up the hill John said, “Elliot—”

The blonde turned back around to look at him, life and vigor back in her face and one brow arched loftily at him.

Be careful, he thought to say, the words sticking in his throat. That’s what he should have been saying, if they were actually partners—even fake partners, even tenuous partners, partners-by-proxy because John insisted for the sake of feeling like he had some control over the situation and Elliot because there was no one better that she had the chance to pick. Not exactly setting the bar very high, were they?

“Any day now, John.” Elliot’s voice snapped his attention back to reality. She was waiting expectantly, but there wasn’t impatience in her voice; she was content, at last, to have motion. He cleared his throat.

“Don’t start going yet,” he said, instead of the things he thought would matter, like, don’t forget to breathe. “Give Joseph and I a chance to get up to where Jacob is.”

She gave him a two-finger salute, wisps of hair fluttering into her face from a late-afternoon breeze. “Yes, boss.”

John threw the truck into reverse, pulling back and then into a u-turn to head off down the road. The car was silent for a moment, blissfully, with the golden-hour light drenching the two of them in a warm glow. If he didn’t know what was going on just out of reach, he might have felt like he was transplanted into a different time and place entirely.

“You don’t need to worry about her, John,” Joseph said lightly.

“I’m not,” John replied, pulling the truck off of the road. Dry brush crunched and snapped beneath the weight of the tires. “She’s perfectly capable of handling herself with three granola bars in her system and healthy bout pneumonia.”

“You sound frustrated.”

“I just think that maybe we could have picked someone that’s not—” John inhaled. He parked the truck deep into a grove; to the right of them, a small trail would lead up to where Jacob waited with his perfect vantage point to see Ase come out and collect Elliot. “—Sick,” he finished, after a moment, “and not such a wildcard. You know she tried to kill one of the guards when I had her at the ranch? She was going to choke him to death, right then and there. For—touching her, or something.”

Joseph looked unaffected as he stepped out of the truck. “I’m unsurprised, if that’s what you’re looking for.” And he paused, looking thoughtful for a moment, before he said, "Touching her, you said?"

John ignored the question. “Well, then maybe that should speak to the level of reliability Elliot displays.”

“I think you’re underestimating the power of a positively-reinforced bond.” As Joseph spoke, John fell into step beside him, climbing up the slope. Behind them, he heard the distant sound of voices; the members of Eden’s Gate that weren’t holed up would be waiting for Jacob’s signal to swarm, if things looked grim. “Didn’t she say she hated you, and us? And yet today, here she is. In a good mood, no longer frothing at the mouth, rabid and dangerous.”

“She’s still dangerous,” John started, but Joseph stopped him by pressing his hands to his shoulders.

“You’ve done exactly as I asked,” he said, a mirror of the words he’d said before. “Remember? You haven’t beaten your stray into submission. This—” Joseph gestured with his hand in the general direction of where they had dropped Elliot off. “—is all only possible because of the work that you have put in, John. And when we bring Faith home, and return to our followers, that is what they’ll remember. Not the person the deputy used to be.”

John’s felt something hot and painful twist in his chest, prickling pain squirming up his spinal cord. He should have been pleased to hear Joseph refer to Elliot as something that belonged to them and instead was giving him some ownership—but he realized too late that it wasn’t what he had been wanting from his brother. This wasn’t what he wanted from Elliot.

He swallowed and said, thickly, “Yes, Joseph.”

“Good boy.” Joseph held him in a tight hug, the pressure of the gesture relieving some of the stress in his shoulders like muscle memory pulling it right out of him, and then he pulled back. “Now, let’s go and get our sister back, yes?”

His brother stepped up the last stretch of the slope, and he followed obediently behind. Jacob was perched carefully, eyeing the scope and muttering to himself; as John crouched beside him, and Joseph on the other side, the redhead breathed out a little swear.

“Stupid piece of shit,” he sighed. “Remind me to get these upgraded next chance we get.”

“What’s wrong?” John asked, already on edge.

“Nothing’s wrong—the gun’s perfectly functional, it’s just not as stealthy as a rifle should be,” Jacob explained. “It’s got a red dot sight on it.”

John’s eyes narrowed, his teeth clenching. “So they’ll see it the second you get it on that woman.”

“They might,” Jacob protested, “I’ll just have to be fast.”

“Where’s your rifle?”

“It’s back at the center,” his brother snapped. “I didn't have the opportunity to grab it before I went on a wild hunt for you across the Montana countryside. Anything else I can help you with today, little brother?”

“There’s no time for arguing,” Joseph interjected, sounding almost tired now. “Quiet, now.”

From their vantage point, they had a clear view of Elliot. The blonde was yelling something to garner attention, to lure people out, and there was some movement through the trees that blocked off the camp up the road. He could see her start to walk farther up, and then stop, hesitating.

“Someone’s coming,” Jacob said, peering carefully through the scope.

Tentative bodies drifted down the road, breaking the treeline: though John could not see Ase’s strange, lithe form anywhere among them, he could hear what he thought was certainly her voice, saying something to Elliot, who had her hands up carefully to show that she was weapon-free as best she could.

The movement that he thought might be the Swedish woman stopped just before the treeline. Come on, John thought, taking in a breath, come on, you fucking bitch, come out here.

It was someone else that stepped forward from the protection of the tree line. It was Ase’s man, the tall, broad-shouldered ginger, though he too looked unarmed. John tried not to think about how easily he had nearly disposed of them with only his hands, last time.

The man made it to Elliot, gesturing for her to come forward, to close the last foot of distance between them herself; she did as he bid, straying to her right, feigning innocence. John knew what she was doing: leaving room for Jacob to make a shot.

“That’s not her,” John hissed.

“Yes, I’m not fucking blind.” Jacob’s voice was sharp but steady. “She’s leaning for me. Who is he?”

“Her—right-hand man, or something. I don’t think you should take...”

John’s voice trailed off. The man had stopped Elliot, snagging her wrist—which looked tiny in his hand—and said something to her that did not look pleasant.

“I think I should,” Jacob muttered, shifting the rifle.

“Jacob—” John began, sensing the way his eldest brother’s muscles tensed, ready.

Elliot was saying something to him. She paused, just briefly, and John saw her head tilt down; she saw it, first, and then the ginger looked down at his chest just as Jacob was lining up his shot.

The incriminating red dot gave it away. The man’s head shot up and locked on them instantly, and before Jacob could pull the trigger, he’d twisted Elliot around and pulled her right against his chest, his hand gripping the pillar of her throat.

John’s stomach plummeted. He heard, as though in a last-ditch effort, Elliot shout his name: and he didn’t know if it was because she wanted help or if she wanted someone to take the shot anyway. He didn’t know if either of those options was more comforting than the other.

The man had shifted her so that the red dot now lay directly over her chest, pinning her, and Jacob did not pull away from the scope. Even from this distance, John could see the wicked grin splitting across his expression.

“Do not fucking shoot,” John hissed, “Jacob—do not fucking shoot—”

For sure, now, he heard her voice. "John," she said, desperately, his name choked in her throat by the grip of the Swedish man bruising her skin.

“There’s a good chance it would hit him and kill him,” Jacob insisted, his finger hovering over the trigger. “They’re goading us. This is the perfect opportunity to—”

“You fuck,” John seethed. “Joseph, tell him not to shoot!”

Joseph was silent, his jaw set lightly and his gaze fixed on the scene before them; Elliot, struggling to breathe, while the man began to make his way back to the treeline with her body shielding him. For the first time since Elliot had become a problem of theirs, John saw his older brother take time to consider whether or not he really needed her alive or not.

“Killing a right-hand man would be—”

“The plan was to let her get taken in,” John snapped. “Not to fucking shoot through her to get to some nobody!”

“That was before they knew we tried to trick them,” Jacob insisted. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, little brother—”

“Leave it.” Joseph’s voice was final, and sharp. It seemed his brother was bringing an end to fights like this more and more often. “They won’t kill her, or the others. They want her for something. If you shoot through her, we’ll lose our one person on the inside.”

Jacob looked, for one split second, like he might willfully disobey Joseph’s final ruling on the matter. The hard lines of the eldest Seed’s face sharpened, steeling, before he finally flipped the safety on the rifle and straightened up.

A swift, hot breeze drifted through, picking up dust along the dirt road, and right as the shade of the treeline began, the man stopped. John could see Elliot squirming against his grip, her fingers grasping at his wrist and hands, scratching as she gasped for air: but he was immovable, and his attention wasn’t on her, anyway.

It was on them—where he thought they might be. He lifted his hand, thumb up, and two fingers out in the shape of a gun, pointed it at them, and mimicked a single gunshot.

Jacob was seething, the emotion rolling off of him in waves. “The fucking gall—”

But John wasn’t listening anymore. He felt like he was going to throw up. This was exactly what he’d been worried about happening—and here it was, laid out before him, a feast spoiled rotten by reality. He couldn’t get the sound of the way she’d called for him, desperately, like he was the last safeguard she had left.

And yet again, he had failed her. Her, and Faith, and sure, while he was at it, he could stick Joey Hudson’s name on the list; and didn't that mean he'd failed Joseph, too?

John came to a stand. “I have to go in,” he said, assertively, drawing both sets of eyes from his brothers now. “They know, now, and—they think Elliot is a big threat, so if there’s a chance she’ll put up a fight they’ll drug the fuck out of her. I should go in, and Jacob can watch my back, because—”

Because I don’t trust anyone else to get this done the way it needs to be. The thought auto-completed itself in his brain, but the words didn’t come, and it didn’t look like Jacob nor Joseph expected it out of him.

“John,” Joseph said, “are you sure you want to do that?”

“Faith is our sister,” John replied, “and didn’t you say that’s who I was? Ever-giving?”

The man hesitated, just for a second; the sound of chatter below, and Elliot’s furious voice rising as she presumably was given more room to breathe, echoed in the air.

“Yes,” Joseph said at last, relenting. “We did.”

John nodded, turning and making his way down the slope. He kept thinking of the way Elliot had said his name, because it wasn’t the first time she had done that; in the van, too, his had been the first she’d said.

And he couldn’t stop thinking of Ase’s man, either, and the way he’d wielded her with ease, the way he’d grinned when he’d spotted them, the way his hand gripped Elliot’s throat like he’d choke her to death right there if he’d gotten the chance.

No, John thought furiously as the truck came into sight, that won’t do at all.

#far cry 5 #john seed #john seed x deputy #ch: elliot honeysett #fc5 #john seed x ofc #fic: ancient names #my writing #me: KISS KISS KISS #also me: elliot will strangle john with her bare hands if he's not careful #this is true love and no one can tell me otherwise

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himbowelsh · 5 years ago

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Thank you for answering my earlier questions! I know you've written for Grant and Talbert before (I cannot remember their ship name for the life of me) would you be willing to write any modern head cannons for them? Or any general relationship head cannons for them? Those two don't get enough love together! 🙂

gralbert. talbant. grantbert? tabant? fluck? there are no good options here.

Modern Headcanons (this turned into a coffeeshop au i’m sorry):

Grant’s really just vibing through life, to be honest. Out of all his friends, he’s the one who’s got his shit most together, and that’s something to be proud of. So what if he’s still not sure exactly where he wants to be in ten years, or how he’s going to get there? It’s enough to just... exist in the moment.

That moment, currently, puts him in charge of managing a small coffee shop which has become the social hub for his entire social circle. Not only is he making great cash, he gets to stay connected with old friends and meet new people every day. Plus... he’s never short on coffee? Literally nothing to complain about.

It’s not that he doesn’t feel... well, connected is the wrong word, because he definitely is. There are just times when he feels... lonely. Chuck’s got a lot of friends, but he’s also the sort of guy who could stand in the middle of a crowded room and suddenly feel like he’s the only one there --- like no one’s really looking at him at all.

He craves attention, affection, warmth.

That’s when Dog Boy happens.

In Chuck’s defense, Dog Boy is a complete accident. The coffee shop is just supposed to be a canine free zone... so he’s completely baffled to see a guy walk in with at least five dogs, all on leashes, and order an iced coffee to go.

The guy definitely seems like he’s in a hurry --- like he really, really needs a coffee --- but Chuck can only stare. “Are those all supposed to be service dogs?” he asks.

“Um,” Dog Boy says.

Chuck points to the sign on the wall, which very clearly reads the coffee shop’s animal policy. Dog Boy lets out a weird noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Okay, I’m sorry, I know, but can I please please just get an iced coffee?”

It looks like he has his hands full. More than full. This coffee is going to end up spattered on a sidewalk somewhere, and Dog Boy will probably cry. He looks like he might cry right now, just for the hell of it.

Chuck gets him an iced coffee.

That should be the end of it, but a few days later, Dog Boy comes back. He doesn’t have any dogs in tow this go ‘round, but looks five times as relaxed --- which is really, really a good look on him --- and promptly deposits a twenty dollar bill in Chuck’s tip jar. “For you,” he declares, and winks.

Chuck just stares at him. “We, uhh --- we have to split the tips between everyone on shift, and there are, like, four other people here...”

“Christ,” says Dog Boy, and plucks the bill out of the tip jar --- can he do that? is that allowed? --- and tucks it in the pocket of Chuck’s apron. “For you. You saved my life the other day, with the coffee. Can’t tell you what sort of day I was having, but...”

He smiles, and it’s the ridiculous sort of smile that shouldn’t be allowed to exist on anyone who’s not in Hollywood --- casually blinding, bright enough to leave Chuck feeling warm all over.

If he had to pick the moment he knew he was in trouble... right there. There is it.

Floyd Talbert becomes a regular in the coffee shop after that. Turns out, he knows a startling amount of Chuck’s friends. It’s not long before Tab’s popping in nearly every day to joke around with Bill and Babe, cause trouble with Liebgott, or even confer quietly with Mr. Winters in the corner. Seeing Tab becomes one of the highlights of Chuck’s day; they never really talk, but he’s got his coffee order memorized, and everytime that bold smile flashes his way, he feels a little dizzy.

Is this... what it’s like to have a crush? Strange. Unnerving. Chuck hasn’t had a crush since middle school. Why now... and why, of people, on Talbert?

One look at him and that becomes a stupid question. Who wouldn’t have a crush on Talbert?

Chuck comforts himself with that knowledge ---- no doubt, Tab’s got girls lining up around the block. What interest would he have in a barista who always adds a little extra sugar to his coffee, just because that’s how he likes it?

Tab is the sort of guy who draws people to him like moths to a porch light; he’s dynamic and popular wherever he goes. Chuck has a tight group of friends who he sticks to like glue, and would do anything for; he’s always been more content to wait in the background, observing and working silently. He doesn’t enjoy the limelight. Tab attracts it.

There’s no way they’d work together, because Tab would never notice him.

Until the day Smokey Gordon comes up to the counter with a big grin on his face, and drops something in the tip jar. “Just for you,” he declares, and winks.

It’s a folded up piece of paper... and there’s a phone number written on it. Chuck blinks for a moment, confused, before putting two and two together. Smokey gave him the number as soon as Tab left the shop.

He texts it that night. “smokey gave me this number... this is chuck, the barista from the coffee shop” Waiting restlessly on his balcony with a cigarette in hand, bouncing his leg like it’s running a marathon... Chuck has nothing to do but hold his breath.

Suddenly, the phone buzzes. It startles his cat into falling off the table. Chuck nearly jumps out of his skin.

“why am i not surprised? typical smokey” comes the response, followed by a startlingly accurate bitmoji. (He uses those instead of emojis? That’s kinda narcissistic but also really cute?)

After a moment of Chuck holding his breath, searching for how to reply (he’s a very slow texter, and it drives his friends insane) another message comes through from Tab.

“good thing he did tho, because i’d have spent a few more weeks working up the courage”

Chuck has a heart attack on the spot.

“honestly,” he replies, “i’d have skipped the number and gone straight to asking you to dinner”

“wow, a gentleman!!!” His enthusiasm is adorable. “sounds great to me. are you free friday? i know a great place for burgers”

It’s across the street from a 24-hour vet clinic.

That’s why Tab wanted to go there.

They make it through half an hour of the date with Tab obviously getting restless, and Chuck is terrified he’s boring him... until Tab abruptly sets his glass down on the counter and turns to Chuck, fresh brightness in his eyes. “Can we actually go somewhere else? I’ve got some friends you might like to meet.”

Tab works at the local vet clinic, and he’s the one tasked with walking all the dogs each afternoon. Usually they go in shifts, but on that particular day, Tab was in a rush and decided to take them all at once.

“They ran me all over town,” he declares, a funny note of pride in his voice. “I was that close to passing out... but then I saw the shop, and I saw you, and...”

He trails off, gnawing at his lower lip --- his hands are occupied roughhousing with a golden retriever, while a persistent beagle noses at his elbow. Chuck blinks at Tab over the head of an enthusiastic Yorkie, and feels something warm bloom in his chest.

“Next time, I decide the date location,” he declares. Tab grins, bright and blinding as a solar eclipse. To his own amazement, Chuck feels like he’s come home.

General Relationship Headcanons:

Chuck’s mellower than Floyd in a lot of ways. He’s less emotional, better at thinking things through; when their friends are causing havoc, Tab will eagerly be swept along in the chaos, while Chuck will follow to make sure no one causes too much trouble. They both know how to have fun, though, and have equally adventurous streaks that match well together. Hiking, rock climbing, bike riding... these are all dates they’d enjoy.

Floyd appreciates Chuck’s honesty. Sometimes he can be too blunt (”What do you think of these jeans?” “Eh, you’ve worn better.”), but he never beats around the bush, and there’s never any question whether Floyd can trust his judgement. Chuck says what he thinks, and means what he says.

Floyd is gentler in a lot of ways, and this is something Chuck isn’t used to. He’s never... been taken care of before. He’s never been doted on. Floyd loves doting on him, and this takes a lot of getting used to.

Chuck is the first one to say “I love you”, and it shocks them both. Sure, they’d been thinking it for a while, but... Chuck never thought he’d find the courage to voice it, but it slips out almost unconsciously. Floyd pauses in the middle of making dinner... then chuckles softly, almost to himself, and glances back over his shoulder. “Love you too,” he replies, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. To both their surprises... it is.

Floyd’s morals run deep, and he’s got a sensitive side that’s easily stoked. Tug on his heartstrings, and he’s open to anything... which scares Chuck, who doesn’t trust as easily. Floyd’s more than capable of taking care of himself, but a part of Chuck feels like he needs to protect him from getting hurt. That’s impossible. The first time something hits Floyd hard, and he’s left pacing into the early hours of the morning, chewing his lip raw and agonizing over what he could have done differently, Chuck stays up with him. He doesn’t try to stop him, doesn’t try to calm him down... but when Tab finally collapses in a chair, exhausted, Chuck’s the one who coaxes him up and to bed.

After that, it’s his turn to take care of Floyd. This is a role he falls into with much more ease... and Floyd, as it turns out, enjoys being pampered as much as he does giving the love.

#i-am-a-lost-girl16 #chuck grant #floyd talbert #band of brothers #headcanons #grant/talbert #im so sorry this took a hot second but hope you enjoy!!!!

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