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dorcas4meadowes · 10 months ago

Note

could you do a luke fic where an apollo kid reader teaches him how to play guitar?(and maybe sing together) also i love your works🫶

Taught Strums

Pairing - Luke Castellan x Apollo!reader

W/c - 1.5

Master list

A/n: you are so sweet ml <33

✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞

Attempting to engage a handful of demigod children proved to be tedious. It was more tempestuous than a quest ever could ever be. You were exceedingly grateful for your students' inherent abilities to produce music, but it sounded as pleasant as a group of seven could on untuned guitars.

This was the most demanding part of your mornings, seeking out gratitude amongst the ringing noises. You woke with the desire to teach and would leave feeling mildly accomplished, but mostly drained. You loved your siblings, but they had demonstrated to be rather difficult.

You moved your brother’s grip to grasp a chord and allowed a gentle note to caress your ears.

“When can I learn a song?” He asked, strumming gently against his instrument.

“You keep this up and maybe by the weekend.” You replied with a soft smile.

“Really!?” The small blonde you assisted, beaming at his success.

You wouldn’t admit to favourites amongst your siblings, but the Solace boy raised your spirits.

Your sister called for your assistance and you were once again whisked away to help, oblivious to the eyes that remained on your applicable frame.

Your boyfriend was at the dining pavilion playing a distracted game of cards, his gaze gently on you. He watched you lean forward, the beads around your neck slipping over your shirt, his sight set on an additional emblem that graced the thread around your neck and his. Few campers had nostalgic pieces adorned to their threads, Annabeth had her fathers college ring, a few of the demeter kids had resin pressed flowers, but you and Luke shared a small stone carving a Lyre. It represented your gift, your love and the ever dreamt of Elysium. The charm is a constant affirmation of who you belonged to and who he would seek out in the depths of Tartarus.

“Luke,” Chris gestured, having to repeat his name to gather his attention, “your play man.” He mindlessly set out a card and let his gaze return back to your attentive grasp, soaking in your warmth. He couldn’t help but dismiss the meaningless game when you were near, he was like a moth to a flame, your fire slowly making his other priorities melt.

“Dude just go.” Connor took the pile of cards back and began to shuffle them, a few of them floating on the ground.

Luke didn’t have to be told twice and let the invisible guide between you tug him to your presence, to your sweet smile and gentle hands. His inherent nature was dependent on you, he was forever reaching out.

“Hi Luke,” a few of your siblings chorused, your head turning at his arrival.

“Bad time?” He asked.

“Just a minute,” you replied, turning to your sister. While you assisted the girl your siblings instantly flocked to Luke, asking questions about swords and fighting, the real world and about anything that came to their small minds.

As to your promise you salvaged him from your pestering - loving - siblings, explaining that practice was to be finished later, leaving them with a guitar’s neck in your grasp.

“Where to, ‘Lucy Gray’?” he asked, his calloused hands finding yours.

“You’ll see.”

The sun followed wherever your feet trailed, an ever glowing halo making your skin warm to the touch, Luke forever in the palm of your hand. You led him towards the lake, just to where the stones met the lush grass and blanketed at the base of an Oak tree, a seat woven from the flora and roots.

The plants saved you from your troubles and moulded around you, sculpting against your body and Luke’s alike, your guitar resting in your lap. Your eyes flickered to the splash of Naiads who retreaded under the rush of waves, the women’s tails snapping against the tension of the water, and letting it ripple against the tide. You turned your gaze to Luke, who’s never left yours. Your boyfriend had a tendency to stare, his mind would buzz and his head would tilt a little, but you couldn’t sustain contact for as long as he could, so you turned to your instrument.

The notes your fingers strum were pure and resonant and echoed through the stillness. Your fingers pulled across the strings with ease while you let a soft hum leave your lips, a whisper to the passing breeze.

You had a gift, distinguishable from your siblings. Children of Apollo had a tendency to lean towards the liberal arts, but you could manipulate sound like none of your siblings. The gift came after a rather uneventful evening in Olympus, Apollo was feeling bored and after your generous offerings he decided to grant you with the ability to hypnotise through your music. Your art tempted people, it made them forget their own names, it was a temporary trip from their troubles and had them craving your sound, fumbling under your voice.

Luke was not immune to your gifts and he adored them greatly. With you beside him he could appreciate his surroundings, the music pushing his stresses into the background.

“Can you sing?” He asked, his tone gentle. This was his request any time an instrument was in reach.

You smiled at his question, he still made you feel needed after years of people’s pleading. Your fingers smoothly eased between chords and began to play a song which plagued your mind, the lullaby which kept you at ease and proved your love is yours, all yours.

Moon a hole of light

Through the big top tent up high

Shinin’ down on me

The words rolled off your tongue with ease and were sent directly to Luke, slipping through his entire body. You fingers continued to toy with the strings and he continued to lean towards your presence, becoming completely in awe with you once again.

My baby, here on earth

Showed me what my heart was worth

So, when it comes to be my turn

He felt as if the words were crafted for him, each strum and pluck had him in mind, that the choreography of your fingers embraced him. It felt that way at least.

'Cause my love is mine, all mine

I love mine, mine, mine

Nothing in the world belongs to me

You lingered on the last note and then changed your grip and speed, confusing the brunette. Your hands trailed up the instrument then stopped looking over to him, setting the guitar beside you and nearing closer to him, resting your legs over his and pulling the instrument into your grip once more. You pushed the head in his direction which he graciously took then plucked at one of the strings, a painful sound from his flicking.

“Here.” You took his hand and settled it above the strings, his arm resting against the pure wood waiting for instruction. Your fingers climbed over his and delicately plucked at the string closest to him, pulling at it in a repeated manner. Once he grasped it you leant over to his other hand to linger between a few frets, the pattern continuous and difficult for his feeble fingers.

“Mhm, just like that,” you praised, your words lightening his view. He continued to pluck the strings and move his other hand, occasionally forgetting his next move which he picked up easily.

Once he became comfortable with the pattern he noticed your hands underneath his, playing a more complex tune. The two sounds - out of time - familiar to him.

You had shifted so you were practically in his lap and spoke “Ready?” To which he nodded, he would always be ready for you. You started, him following sourly after you, you slowed a little gaining motion with him.

“What is it?” He asked, his fingers messing up, his lips letting out a soft hum.

In your response you sung the chorus in time lowly.

I heard he lives down a river somewhere

With six cars and a grizzly bear

He's got eyes, but he can't see

Well he talks like an angel, but he looks like me

He smiled sweetly, still out of pace, but his dimples showed for your accomplished work. His soft curls fell over his gaze, obstructing him slightly, but he didn’t mind, he enjoyed the simple pleasures as your hands brushed against one another, his lips buzzing a soft sound.

I heard you sold the Amazon

To show the country that you're from

Is where the world should want to be

You both choked out verses and let your voice guide his. He was not a child of Apollo - his voice cracks were questionable - but it was sweet being amongst one another with no other priorities.

When Luke’s fingers became numb he relaxed into your side, his curls tickling your neck and soft breath hitting your skin. You continued to toy at the strings and drifted between a piece you’ve been working on and trying to memorise.

You were a ballad and he was dyslexic, your relationship was a constant blur.

✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞ ✧༺༻∞

Tag-list

@prettyinsatiable @daisydark @creamsweets @auttumnsayshi @ashr0 @y0urm0m12 @2hiigh2cry @niktwazny303

#luke castellan #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan imagines #luke castellan x reader #pjo x you #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #riawrites

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oldiesstationlover11607 · 13 days ago

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black cat emo josh x golden retriever reader is a MUST pleasseee omg ^_^ same with the bishop!clancy x bandito reader.. YOUR IDEAS ARE AMAZING AAUUGHH like u ask us to request them when u have ideas and im just. PLEEEASSEEEE im on my KNEES begging. your writing ideas and imagines are SO GOOD!!!

-🩷✨

Gone - Bishop!Clancy x Bandito!Reader

Warnings: angst + bishop Clancy

Word Count: 2181

A/N: i've written the emo Josh x golden retriever fic already, but here's the bishop Clancy one! I've been too busy this week if I'm being honest. Hopefully I'll get more time to write in the next few weeks ;)

Clancy was at the front. Standing right next to Josh as the towers loomed like skyscrapers above us all. I felt sick to my stomach at the cold fire in his eyes–determination laced with something else, something darker. The red and gray mask was all that remained of the man I’d known, now transformed into a hollow emblem. Beneath it was a soul stripped bare, emptied by the knowledge of what this rebellion might demand from him. He stood there like a stranger, and I wondered if he even recognized me. We all knew the risk; the bishops were waiting, and the vultures had undoubtedly told them everything they needed to know.

I’d tried to warn Clancy, begged him to reconsider, told him that Dema had become more twisted and unpredictable than before, but he’d ignored me, as he so often did. He just pressed his forehead against mine in that quiet way of his, with that look that said he was already too far gone, too committed.

It was always his way. That fierce certainty, the resolve to push on no matter what lay ahead, was what set him apart from the other banditos, what I’d admired in him from the start. But it was also what terrified me now. That night he’d left, just over three weeks ago, he’d promised me he’d come back, no matter what. He’d whispered it as we sat under a dark sky, a promise barely louder than a breath. He didn’t say it with any grand flourish; he never had. He said it like a fact, as if his return was as simple as the turning of the stars. It was one of those moments when I felt like he meant it, and I’d tried to let myself believe. But that was before he disappeared into Nico’s tower and didn’t make it out.

I could still see his face that night, bathed in firelight, his eyes on me like I was the only thing in Dema that mattered, even with the whole weight of the rebellion pressing down on him. I should have known he wouldn’t come back. The Torchbearer had held me back as the endless screams escaped my mouth after the realization that he was gone. I needed him–I needed Clancy–but he was gone. It took a while for me to convince the Torchbearer to take me back through the walls of Dema.

We both knew it was dangerous for the banditos, that focusing on Clancy would put what was left of the rebellion in danger–but I was going to go with or without him. We’d agreed he would stay back at camp but would guide me from afar. So here we were, standing in the hallways of Nico’s tower as the night lay comfortably across the city.

“Where is he?” I asked, picking at my raw nail beds, anxiety creeping up within me.

“I don’t know Y/N,” he muttered, looking around and standing protectively close to me.

Then he appeared. Clancy emerged from the shadows of the tower. He looked like a ghost, someone’s idea of a memory conjured up with perfect cruelty. He wore the crimson robes of a bishop, his face pale and expressionless beneath the painted mask. He moved slowly, deliberately, until he stopped a few steps before me.

I felt the Torchbearer stiffen beside me, his grip tightening on my shoulder as he saw what I was too afraid to believe. Clancy looked right at me, but there was nothing in his eyes—no trace of the quiet, intense fire that had always been there before. His gaze was vacant, burning with something cold and unfamiliar. He didn’t look like he recognized me. And even worse, he didn’t seem to care.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Clancy—the Clancy I knew, who had fought against Dema’s grasp, who had vowed he’d rather die than live under their rule again—was gone. This was someone else, someone they had created. The man I loved had been twisted, reshaped, and turned against us.

“Clancy…” I whispered, his name barely more than a breath. “What did they do to you?”

He tilted his head slightly, a movement too controlled, almost mechanical. The Clancy I knew was hidden beneath the shell of a bishop, and I felt every ounce of his absence in that chilling look. My mind raced back to the promises we’d made, the hours spent in secret, planning our escape, our lives after Dema—our future. But now, all I could see was a stranger in crimson robes, lost to me.

“They told me,” he replied, his voice disembodied, hollow, as if speaking from somewhere deep beneath his own consciousness, “that sometimes, to save something, you have to become it.” He met my eyes, but there was nothing in them to hold onto.

“No,” I whispered, my voice breaking. This wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. He was lost somewhere, buried under the weight of whatever they’d done to him in that twisted tower. I wanted to reach out, to touch him, to shake him free from the hold they had on him. But he had that look, that look of certainty I knew all too well, except now it was weaponized, transformed by Nico into something dark and obedient.

Clancy’s words hung in the air, a hollow echo that seemed to mock me. I searched his eyes, desperate for a hint of recognition, a spark of the man I’d known, the man I’d loved. But all I found was that terrible emptiness, an abyss that mirrored the darkness of Dema’s hold over him. My heart clenched painfully as I reached forward, one trembling hand hovering inches from his face.

“Clancy,” I murmured, my voice tight, barely containing the agony swelling in my chest. “This isn’t you. I know you’re in there somewhere.”

His gaze didn’t falter, and he took a step back, distancing himself from my touch as if it burned. The recoil was subtle but enough to make me pull my hand back, stung. His expression, so cold and unreadable beneath the painted mask, twisted something deep inside me.

He straightened, lifting his chin, and for a moment, a fleeting moment, I thought I saw a flicker in his eyes. But it vanished, like a candle snuffed out before it could catch fire. He seemed to look past me, his voice no longer a whisper but a resolute command. “Leave, Y/N. Dema’s gates are closed to you. I have no place beyond them—and you do not belong here anymore.”

“No,” I replied fiercely, my fists clenching. The numbness in my chest had been overtaken by a surge of anger. “You’re not going to make me leave. Not without you.”

“Y/N,” Torchbearer warned in a whisper, but I ignored him, taking a step forward to close the distance between us.

“You promised,” I whispered to Clancy, the fire in my voice giving way to something raw, pleading. “You promised me you’d come back, that you’d never let them get inside your head. Do you remember that?”

The silence stretched between us. His face remained impassive, the mask staring back at me as if my words meant nothing to him. But I kept going, forcing the memories of our nights together out into the air, hoping to break through whatever had a hold on him.

“You told me once,” I continued, my voice wavering, “that even if Dema took everything, they’d never have your mind, your heart. That’s what you told me, Clancy. Did they take that, too?”

The words struck something—I saw it, a glimmer in his eyes like a crack in the facade. His hand twitched, his fingers hovering over the censer at his side as he struggled, his whole body tense and rigid. I could almost feel the battle raging inside him, a battle I wasn’t sure he could win alone.

“Y/N, we have to go,” Torchbearer whispered again, his voice low and urgent. But I was rooted to the spot, my gaze locked with Clancy’s. I could feel my pulse thrumming in my throat, each beat filling the silence.

For a split second, his hand lifted, reaching toward me. My breath hitched, and I stepped closer, hope blooming in my chest. But before he could touch me, his expression hardened, and his hand dropped back to his side.

“There are no choices left,” he said, his voice chillingly final. “Dema is my path now, and you are… dismissed.”

The words were like a knife twisting in my heart. This wasn’t Clancy; this was Nico’s puppet, a man who’d been torn apart and pieced back together to serve Dema. I took a step back, swallowing against the ache in my throat. The bandito in me knew I should leave, regroup, focus on the rebellion. But the woman who had loved him, who’d made plans to escape with him, to rebuild a life with him… she was breaking.

As I stared at him, Torchbearer grabbed my arm, pulling me back, but I didn’t resist. Clancy’s eyes tracked me as I moved away, his gaze cold and unreadable, like he was a stranger I’d only just met. I fought the impulse to reach for him again, to try to force him to remember, to remind him of everything we’d been through together. But something in his gaze warned me that nothing I could say would bring him back—not tonight.

As we moved deeper into the shadows, I forced myself to look away, to turn my back on the man I loved, even if it felt like leaving a part of myself behind. Torchbearer guided me through the winding halls, his hand firm but gentle on my arm, his presence a solid anchor in the storm of emotions raging within me.

We exited the tower in silence, the chill of the night air biting through the numbness that had settled over me. Torchbearer kept a steady pace, and I matched his steps mechanically, my mind replaying every moment of that encounter, every empty look, every clipped word that had twisted my heart into knots. It wasn’t until we were miles from Dema that he finally broke the silence.

“Y/N, he’s gone,” Torchbearer said quietly, his voice tinged with sadness. “Whatever they did to him, it’s…it’s more powerful than we thought.”

“No,” I replied, my voice barely audible, but the conviction was there, a stubborn spark refusing to die out. “I know he’s still in there. I saw it, Torch. Just for a second… he was still there.”

Torchbearer sighed, his gaze dropping to the ground. “And what if he’s gone for good? What if Dema’s finally done what it was meant to do?”

“Then I’ll fight,” I said, anger rekindling in my chest. “I’ll tear him out of that place if I have to. Whatever they’ve done to him, it’s not going to keep me away.”

Torchbearer met my gaze, studying my face in the moonlight. “If you go back there, it could be you wearing a crimson robe next time, Y/N. They know your weaknesses, and Clancy…” He hesitated. “Clancy was yours.”

The words stung, but I didn’t look away. He was right, of course. Clancy was my weakness; he always had been. But he was also my strength. The memories we shared, the promises we’d made—they were the only things that had kept me going through the bleakest nights. And if he was still in there, buried beneath the layers of Nico’s mind games, I owed it to him to keep fighting.

“We need a plan,” I said finally, my voice stronger now. “If they’ve made him a bishop, they’ve bound him to something. There has to be a way to break it.”

Torchbearer shook his head. “Dema doesn’t work like that, Y/N. It’s not just a place—it’s a force. Once it claims someone, it’s nearly impossible to get them out. You know that.”

I nodded, but the spark inside me refused to die. If Dema had turned Clancy into a weapon, I would find a way to disarm it. Nico and the bishops had taken everything from us, but I wasn’t going to let them win. Not like this.

The night wore on, but Torchbearer stayed by my side, his presence steady and grounding. As the dawn broke on the horizon, I felt a resolve harden within me. Dema had taken Clancy’s mind, twisted his heart, but it hadn’t taken mine. I would go back. I would find a way to break the chains that bound him, even if it meant confronting Nico himself. I’d face the bishops, challenge the whole structure of Dema if I had to.

I would tear down the walls of that city if it meant freeing him. And if Clancy was gone for good, if there truly was nothing left of the man I’d loved, then I would make sure Nico and his bishops knew exactly what they’d taken from me.

Because they hadn’t just created a new bishop—they’d created a new enemy.

REQUESTS OPEN

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thewidowsghost · 2 years ago

Text

Seeing the Beauty (Piper McLean x Fem!Reader) - Chapter 6

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

(Y/n)’s eyes snap open and she sits bolt upright. Her dream had felt so real, and yet, so distant and strange that it couldn’t possibly be true.

“Hey, you okay?” (Y/n) looks over to find Piper sitting by her bedside, her eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“What?” (Y/n) replies, drawing her knees up to her chest. “Yeah.”

Piper frowns, looking more worried.

“I -” (Y/n) bites her lip, trying to hold back her tears. From everything she’d heard about behind a half-blood, her dream was probably really true. Then she turns to study Piper. “Where’s Leo and Jason?”

“Leo’s with his cabinmates, and Jason is with Annabeth,” Piper replies.

(Y/n) nods distractedly before she meets Piper’s kaleidoscope gaze again, “Are you okay?” she asks. “You passed out.”

“Mhm,” Piper replies. “Rachel got possessed by Hera and gave me a death mission - free her from a prison.”

“You won’t have to do it alone,” (Y/n) replies, trying to comfort her friend, but her words seem to make Piper sadder.

Piper looks like she wants to say something, but she is interrupted by the sound of a conch horn.

“Dinner?” (Y/n) asks.

“You slept through it,” Piper replies. “I think it's time for the campfire.”

. . .

The whole campfire idea freaks Piper out. It makes her think of the huge purple bonfire in her dreams, and her father tied to a steak.

What Piper gets instead is almost as terrifying: a sing-along. The amphitheater steps are carved into the side of a hill, facing a stone-lined fire pit. Fifty or sixty kids fill the rows, clustered into groups under various banners.

(Y/n) spots Annabeth up front, next to Jason. Leo is nearby, sitting with a bunch of burly-looking campers under a steel gray banner emblazoned with a hammer. Standing in front of the fire, half a dozen campers with guitars and strange old-fashioned harps - lyres? - are jumping around, leading a song about pieces of armor, something about how their grandmothers got dressed for war. Everything is singing with them and making gestures for the pieces of armor and joking around.

This is quite possibly the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen, Piper thinks. This is totally one of those campfire songs that would’ve been embarrassing in daylight, but in the dark, with everybody participating, it’s kinda corny and fun. As the energy level gets higher, the flames do as well, turning from red to orange to gold.

Finally, the song ends with rowdy applause. A guy on a horse trots up; at least in the flickering light, Piper thinks the guy is on a horse, and then she realizes that he’s a centaur - a white stallion on the bottom half, and the top is a middle-aged buy with curly hair and a trimmed beard. He brandished a spear impaled with toasted marshmallows. “Very nice! And a special welcome to our new arrivals. I am Chiron, camp activities director, and I’m happy you have all arrived here alive and with most of your limbs attached. In a moment, I promise we’|l get to the s’mores, but first -”

“What about capture the flag?” somebody yells; grumbling breaks out among some kids in armor, sitting under a red banner with the emblem of a boar’s head.

“Yes,” the centaur says. “I know the Ares Cabin is anxious to return to the woods for our regular games.”

“And kill people!” one of them shouts.

“That might not be good for anybody’s health,” (Y/n) says, and she blinks with surprise to realize she’d spoken aloud, but then she laughs nervously while the other campers laugh at her joke.

(Y/n) glances over, meeting Piper’s gaze, smiling confusedly, and then she shrugs.

“However,” Chiron says, once everyone stops laughing, “until the dragon is brought under control, that won’t be possible. Cabin Nine, anything to report on that?”

Chiron turns to Leo’s group. Leo winks at Piper and shoots her with a finger gun. The girl next to him stands uncomfortably. She’s wearing an army jacket a lot like Leo’s, with her hair covered in a red bandanna. “We’re working on it.”

More grumbling.

“How, Nyssa?” an Ares kid demands.

“Really hard,” the girl replies. Nyssa sits down to a lot of yelling and complaining, which causes the fire to sputter chaotically. Chiron stamps his hoof against the fire pit stones - bang, bang, bang - and the campers fall silent.

“We will have to be patient,” Chiron says. “In the meantime, we have more pressing matters to discuss.”

“Percy?” someone asks. The fire dims even further, but Piper doesn’t need the mood flames to sense the crowd to sense the crowd’s anxiety.

Chiron gestures to Annabeth. She takes a deep breath and stands.

“I didn’t find Percy,” she announces. Her voice catches a little when she says his name. “He wasn’t at the Grand Canyon like I thought. But we’re not giving up. We’ve got teams everywhere. Grover, Tyson, Nico, the Hunters of Artemis - everyone’s out looking. We will find him. Chiron’s talking about something different. A new quest.”

“It’s the Great Prophecy, isn’t it?” a girl calls out.

Everyone turns. The voice had come from a group in back, sitting under a rose-colored banner with a dove emblem. They’d been chatting among themselves and not paying much attention until their leader stood up: Drew.

Everyone else looks surprised. Apparently Drew didn’t address the crowd very often.

“Drew?” Annabeth replies. “What do you mean?”

“Well, come on.” Drew spreads her hands like the truth was obvious. “Olympus is closed. Both Percy and (Y/n) disappeared. Hera sends you a vision and you come back with three new demigods in one day and (Y/n). I mean, something weird is going on. The Great Prophecy has started, right?”

Piper whispers to Rachel, “What’s she talking about - the Great Prophecy?”

Then Piper realizes that everyone else is looking at Rachel, too.

“Well?” Drew calls down. “You’re the oracle. Has it started or not?”

(Y/n)’s eyes glaze over.

Nico runs in from the street, and his face tells (Y/n) that something is wrong.

“It’s Rachel,” he says. “I just ran into her down on 32nd Street.”

Annabeth frowns. “What’s she done this time?”

"It's where she's gone," Nico replies. "I told her she would die if she tried, but she insisted. She just took Blackjack and -"

“Die?” (Y/n) echoes. “She took Blackjack?”

Nico nods. "She's heading to Half-Blood Hill. She said she had to get to camp."

. . .

“What was she thinking?” Annabeth says as they run for the river. Unfortunately, (Y/n) has a pretty good idea, and it fills her with dread.

The traffic is terrible. Everyone is out on the streets, gawking at the war zone damage. Police sirens wail on every block. There was no possibility of catching a cab, and the pegasi had flown away. (Y/n) would've settled for some Party Ponies, but they had disappeared along with most of the root beer in Midtown. So they run, pushing through mobs of dazed mortals that clog the sidewalks.

“She’ll never get through the defenses,” Annabeth says. “Peleus will eat her.”

(Y/n) hadn’t considered that. The Mist wouldn’t fool her girlfriend like it would most people. She’d be able to find Camp no problem, but (Y/n) had been hoping that the magical barriers would just keep Rachel out - like a forcefield. It hadn��t occurred to her that the dragon might eat her.

“We have to hurry,” Percy says, catching the worried look on his twin sister’s face. “I don’t suppose you could conjure up some skeleton horses.”

The Son of Hades wheezes as he runs. “So tired . . . couldn’t summon a dog bone.”

Finally, the demigods scramble over the embankment to the shore, and (Y/n) lets out a loud whistle, but she hates doing it. Even with the sand dollar she and Percy had given the East River for a magical cleaning, the water here is still polluted. (Y/n) didn’t want to make any sea animals sick, but they came to her call.

Four wake lines appear in the gray water, and a pod of hippocampi break the surface. They whinny unhappily, shaking the river muck from their manes. They are beautiful creatures, with multicolored fish tails, and the heads and forelegs of white stallions. The hippocampus in front is much bigger than the others - a ride fit for a Cyclops.

"Rainbow!" I called. "How's it going, buddy?"

He neighs a complaint.

"Yeah, I'm sorry," (Y/n) replies. "But it's an emergency. We need to get to camp."

He snorts.

"Tyson?" Percy says. "Tyson is fine! I'm sorry he's not here. He's a big general now in the Cyclops

Army."

"NEEEEIGGGGH!"

"Yeah, I'm sure he'll still bring you apples. Now, about that ride . . ."

In no time, Annabeth, Nico, Percy and (Y/n) are zipping up the East River faster than jet skis. They speed under the Throgs Neck Bridge and head for Long Island Sound.

. . .

It seems like forever to (Y/n) until they see the beach at camp. The demigods thank the hippocampi and wade ashore, only to find Argus waiting for them. He is standing in the sand with his arms crossed, his hundred eyes glaring at them.

“Is she here?” (Y/n) asks, worried for her girlfriend’s safety. Argus nods grimly.

“Is everything okay?” Annabeth says; Argus shakes his head.

The four demigods follow Argus up the trail. It’s surreal being back at camp. Nothing’s burning. No wounded fighters, (Y/n) thinks. The cabins are bright in the sunlight, and the fields glitter with dew. But the camp is empty.

Up at the Big House, the demigods notice something is obviously wrong. Green light is shooting out all the windows, just as (Y/n) had seen in her dream about May Castellan. Mist - the magical kind - swirls around the yard. Chiron lies on a horse-sized stretcher by the volleyball pit, a bunch of satyrs standing around him.

Blackjack canters nervously in the grass. Don’t blame me, boss! The pegasus pleads when he sees (Y/n). Your girl made me do it!

Rachel Elizabeth Dare stands at the bottom of the porch stairs. Her arms are raised, like she is waiting for someone inside the house to throw her a ball.

“What’s she doing?” Annabeth demands. “How did she get past the barriers?”

"She flew," one of the satyrs says, looking accusingly at Blackjack. "Right past the dragon, right through the magic boundaries."

"Rachel!” (Y/n) calls, but the satyrs stop her when she tries to go any closer.

"(Y/n), don't," Chiron warns. He winces as he tries to move. His left arm is in a sling, his two back legs are in splints, and his head is wrapped in bandages. "You can't interrupt."

"I thought you explained things to her!"

"I did. And I invited her here."

(Y/n) stares at him in disbelief. "You said you'd never let anyone try again! You said —"

"I know what I said, (Y/n). But I was wrong. Rachel had a vision about the curse of Hades. She believes it may be lifted now. She convinced me she deserves a chance."

"And if the curse isn't lifted? If Hades hasn't gotten to that yet, she'll go crazy!"

The Mist swirls around Rachel. She shivers like she is going into shock.

"Hey!" (Y/n) shouts. "Stop!"

(Y/n) runs towards her, ignoring the satyrs. She gets within ten feet and hits something like an invisible beach ball; bounces back and lands in the grass.

Rachel opens her eyes and turns. She looks like she was sleepwalking — like she could see (Y/n), but only in a dream.

"It's all right." Her voice sounds far away. "This is why I've come."

"You'll be destroyed!"

She shakes her head. "This is where I belong, (Y/n). I finally understand why."

It sounded too much like what May Castellan had said. I have to stop her, but (Y/n) can’t even get to her feet.

The house rumbles. The door flies open and green light pours out. (Y/n) recognizes the warm musty smell of snakes.

Mist curls into a hundred smoky serpents, slithering up the porch columns, curling around the house.

And then the Oracle appears in the doorway.

The withered mummy shuffles forward in her rainbow dress. She looks even worse than usual, her hair was falling out in clumps, and leathery skin was cracking like the seat of a worn-out bus. Her glassy eyes stare blankly into space, but (Y/n) gets the creepiest feeling she was being drawn straight towards Rachel.

Rachel holds out her arms. She doesn’t look scared. "You've waited too long," Rachel says. "But I'm here now."

The sun blazes more brightly. A man appears above the porch, floating in the air — a blond dude in a white toga, with sunglasses and a cocky smile.

"Apollo," (Y/n) murmurs.

He winks at her but holds up his finger to his lips.

"Rachel Elizabeth Dare," he says. "You have the gift of prophecy. But it is also a curse. Are you sure you want this?"

Rachel nods. "It's my destiny."

"Do you accept the risks?"

"I do."

"Then proceed," the god says.

Rachel closes her eyes. "I accept this role. I pledge myself to Apollo, God of Oracles. I open my eyes to the future and embrace the past. I accept the spirit of Delphi, Voice of the Gods, Speaker of Riddles, Seer of Fate."

(Y/n) doesn’t know where she is getting the words, but they flow out of her as the Mist thickens. A green column of smoke, like a huge python, uncoils from the mummy's mouth and slithers down the stairs, curling affectionately around Rachel's feet. The Oracle's mummy crumbles, falling away until it was nothing but a pile of dust in an old tie-dyed dress. Mist envelopes Rachel in a column.

For a moment (Y/n) can’t see her at all. Then the smoke clears.

Rachel collapses and curls into the fetal position. Annabeth, Nico, Percy, and (Y/n) rush forward, but Apollo says, "Stop! This is the most delicate part."

"What's going on?" (Y/n) demands. "What do you mean?"

Apollo studies Rachel with concern. "Either the spirit takes hold, or it doesn't."

"And if it doesn't?" Annabeth asks.

"Five syllables," Apollo replies, counting them on his fingers. "That would be real bad."

Despite Apollo's warning, (Y/n) runs forward and kneels over Rachel. The smell of the attic is gone. The Mist sinks into the ground and the green light fades. But Rachel is still pale. She is barely breathing.

Then her eyes flutter open. She focuses on (Y/n) with difficulty. "(Y/n)."

"Are you okay?"

She tries to sit up. “Ow,” she presses her hands to her temples.

“Rachel,” Nico says, “your life aura almost faded completely. I could see you dying.”

“I’m all right,” she murmurs in reply. “Please help me up. The visions – they’re a little disorienting.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” (Y/n) asks.

Apollo drifts down from the porch. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce the new Oracle of Delphi.”

“You’re kidding,” Annabeth says.

Rachel manages a weak smile. “It’s a little surprising to me too, but this is my fate. I saw it when I was in New York. I know why I was born with true sight. I was meant to become the Oracle.”

(Y/n) blinks. “You mean, you can tell the future now?”

“Not all the time,” she replies. “But there are visions, words in my mind. When someone asks me a question, I . . . Oh no ��”

“It’s starting,” Apollo announces.

Rachel doubles over like someone had punched her. Then she stands straight up and her eyes glow serpent green.

When she speaks, her voice sounds tripled – like three Rachels are talking at once:

(Y/n) snaps back to the present and says: “Seven half-bloods shall answer the call. To storm or fire the world must fall –”

Jason shoots to his feet. His eyes are wild, like he’d just been tasered.

Rachel seems caught off guard – but her friend’s outburst and Jason’s jump to his feet. “J-jason?” she says. “What’s –”

“Ut cum spiritu postrema sacramentum dejuremus, ” he chants. “Et hostes ornamenta addent ad ianuam necem.”

An uneasy silence settles on the group. Piper can see from their faces that several of them are trying to translate the lines. She can tell it’s Latin.

“An oath to keep with a final breath. And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death.” (Y/n) finishes.

“You just . . .” Rachel glances between the two demigods, “finished the known part of the prophecy.”

“Known?” (Y/n) questions, and Rachel nods reluctantly.

“Last night, I had a vision, revealing the final lines of the prophecy. It went like this: Child of the Sea will accompany the Seven. And drop into endless darkness.”

(Y/n) meets her ex-girlfriend’s gaze and can tell from the look in her eyes that Rachel thought that that part of the prophecy was about her.

“We hoped that the prophecy wouldn’t be starting for a few years, but I fear it’s starting now. I can’t give you proof. It’s just a feeling. And like Drew said, some weird stuff is happening. The seven - plus the ‘Child of the Sea’ - whoever they are, have not been fathered yet. I have the feeling some of them are here tonight. Some are not.

The campers begin to stir and mutter, looking at each other nervously, until a drowsy voice in the crowd calls out, “I’m here! Oh . . . were you calling roll?”

“Go back to sleep, Clovis,” someone yells, and a lot of people laugh.

“Anyway,” Rachel continues, “we don’t know what the Great Prophecy means. We don’t know what challenge the demigods will face, but since the first Great Prophecy predicted the Titan War, we can guess the second Great Prophecy will predict something at least that bad.”

“Or worse,” Chiron murmurs. Maybe he didn’t mean for everyone to hear, but they did. The campfire immediately turns dark purple, just like Piper’s dream.

(Y/n), who had turned to murmur a question to Piper, sees the terrified look in the demigod’s eyes, and grabs her friend’s hand, squeezing it gently.

“What we do know,” Rachel says, getting the attention of the campers again, “is that the first phase has begun. A major problem has arisen, and we need a quest to solve it. Hera, the Queen of the Gods, has been taken.”

Shocked silence. Then fifty demigods start talking at once.

Chiron pounds his hoof again, but Rachel still has to wait before she can get their attention.

She tells the other demigods about the incident on the Grand Canyon skywalk – how Gleeson Hedge had sacrificed himself when the storm spirits attacked, and how the spirits had warned that it was only the beginning. They apparently served some great mistress who would destroy all demigods. Then she tells them about Piper passing out in Hera’s cabin. Piper tries to keep a calm expression, even when she notices Drew in the back row, pantomiming a faint, and her friends giggling. Finally, Rachel tells them about Jason’s vision in the Big House. The message Hera had delivered there was so similar that Piper gets a chill. The only difference: Hera had warned Piper not to betray her: Bow to his will, and their king shall rise, dooming us all. Hera knew about the giant’s threat. But if that was true, Piper wonders, why hadn’t she warned Jason, and exposed me as an enemy agent?

“Jason,” Rachel says. “Um . . . do you remember your last name?”

The blonde looks self-conscious, but he shakes his head.

“We’ll just call you Jason, then,” Rachel says. “It’s clear Hera herself has issued you a quest.” She pauses, as if giving Jason a chance to protest his destiny. Everyone’s eyes are on him, yet he looks brave and determined, and (Y/n) admires the way he sets his jaw and nods. “You must save Hera to prevent a great evil,” Rachel continues. “Some sort of king from rising. For reasons we don’t yet understand, it must happen by the winter solstice, only four days from now.

“That’s the council day of the gods,” Annabeth says. “If the gods don’t already know Hera’s gone, they will definitely notice her absence by then. They’ll probably break out fighting, accusing each other of taking her. That’s what they usually do.”

The winter solstice,” Chiron speaks up, “is also the time of greatest darkness. The gods gather that day, as mortals always have, because there is strength in numbers. The solstice is a day when evil magic is strong. Ancient magic, older than the gods. It is a day when things . . . stir.”

The way he sounds it sounds absolutely sinister.

“Okay,” Annabeth says, glaring at the centaur. “Thank you, Captain Sunshine. Whatever’s going on, I agree with Rachel. Jason has been chosen to lead this quest, so –”

“Why hasn’t he been claimed?” somebody from the Ares cabin yells. “If he’s so important –”

“He has been claimed,” Chiron announces. “Long ago. Jason, give them a demonstration.”

Word Count: 3531 words

Taglist:

@camaddison

@steinfellds

@p-taryn-dactyl

@oculusalien

@@pink-widows

@unlikelysublimekryptonite

@yellowvxbes

@decadentrebelkitten

@eevil-empress

@anteroz

@mag-mfm

@26randomness

@cair-paravel-narnia

@hayhaythegaygay

#piper mclean x reader #piper mclean x female reader #piper mclean x fem reader #lesbian piper mclean

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mysteriawrites · 1 year ago

Text

Rules and Regulations:

DNI if you are one or more of the following:

Racist

Anti-lgbtq+

Islamophobic

Antisemitic

P3dophilic

Sexist

Ageist

Hater

Troll

In summary if you’re gonna be a jerk kindly move along please

Please do not:

Plagiarize

Send hate to me or others

Harass me or others

Give unsolicited criticism (some polite constructive criticism is fine tho)

Doxx me or anyone else

Share any personal identifying information (name face address etc): this is just a personal thing i grew up with strict internet safety rules and ik some people are more comfortable sharing things like their name or their face but im not and i think it’s better in practice not to so id prefer if you didn’t share that kinda thing appearance description is fine but like your name or anything like that especially cause i most likely wont use your name unless asked personally in which case that’ll be a private post (however pet picks are v much welcome plz send them).

What I will not write for:

Smut: I don’t know a thing about sex other then the biological understanding so I don’t think I could write it very well nor do I feel comfortable with writing it so sorry im fine with insinuating it tho 😉😏

Anything hateful towards irl people

Anything political

Romance with children

Incest

Noncon

Anything that makes me uncomfortable: if you request something that makes me uncomfortable that is not this list i will explain why im not writing it

What I will Write for:

Note: if you want to request more than one fandom you can, but it has to be separate asks for each one because my headcanons are kind of long.

Fluff

Angst

Gore

Headcanons

One shots

Matchups

Original stuff I come up with out of boredom

Character x Reader

Character x Character

AUs

Pretty much anything that wasn’t on the will not write for list unless or until i say otherwise

List of Fandoms:

Note: I’m in a lot of fandoms and always joining new ones so if there is a fandom not on the list that you want feel free to ask me I might know about it and forgot to add it or you’ll be introducing me to something new :) I’ll also try and keep the list updated

Note #2: I’m ok with writing for celebrities or vtubers as long as we’re respectful about it ok that means you understand that everything here is complete fiction and you understand their boundaries and if they dont feel comfortable with works about them those posts will be taken down

Marvel (Movies)

Harry potter (Movies)

The Maze Runner (Movies)

Motherland Fort Salem (Series)

Siren (Series)

The Owl House (Series)

Arcane (series)

The dragon Prince (series)

Avatar the last air bender (series)

Legends of korra (series)

The magicians (series)

My Hero Academia (Anime)

Sword Art Online (Anime)

Oshi No Ko (Anime)

Takt Op Destiny (Anime)

The Disastrous Life of Saki K (Anime)

Revue Starlight (Anime)

Blue Reflection (anime)

RWBY (anime)

Classroom of the Elite (anime)

The Apothecary Diaries (anime)

Revue Starlight: ReLIVE (game)

Bang Dream (game)

D4DJ (game)

Fire Emblem: Awakening-Engage (Game)

Persona 5 (Game)

Tales of Arise (game)

Our Life forever and always (game)

Mystic Messenger (game)

Obey Me (game)

Twisted Wonderland (game)

Honkai Impact (game)

Honkai Star Rail (game)

Genshin Impact (game)

Tears of Themis (game)

Zenless Zone Zero (game)

Punishing Gray Raven (game)

Aether Gazer (game)

Project Sekai (game)

Takt Op Symphony (game)

Blue Reflection series (game)

Tokyo Mirage Sessions #FE (game)

Danganronpa TTH-2GD (game)

Master Detective Archives: Raincode (game)

Rune Factory 5 (game)

Hyperdimension Neptunia (game)

Atelier Sophie (game)

Baldur’s Gate 3 (game)

Love and Deep Space (game)

Nijisanji EN (vtubers) (Hiatus)

Hololive EN (vtubers)

Holostars EN (vtubers)

Avallum EN (vtubers)

(More to be added later)

Masterlist

#multifandom fanfiction #multifandom x reader #multifandom imagines #multifandom #multi fandom blog #multifandom account #multi fandoms posts #multifandom writer #headcanons #matchups #oneshots #original content

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nabateaprodigy · 1 year ago

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Masterlist

Finally got around to making this! Here's a collection of my writing.

Where are you y/n? (Rhea x GN!Reader)

By Your Side (M!Alear x Vander)

Heartache (M!Byleth x Seteth)

Fódlan Sibling Headcannons (Dimitri, Felix, Constance, Linhardt, Caspar, and Yuri)

A King and his Summoner (Dimitri x GN!Reader)

A Picnic and Flowers (Clanne x Citrinne)

Starlight Sky (Rhea x F!Byleth)

Byleth and Shez Comfort Headcannons (M!Shez and M!Byleth x GN!Reader)

Domestic Life Headcanons (M!Shez and Claude x GN!Reader)

Cuddle Time! (Arval, M!Shez, and M!Byleth x Fem!Reader)

The Prince and His Maiden of Death (Dimitri x Fem!Reader)

Alcryst, M!Alear, and Gregory Headcannons. (Alcyst, M!Alear, and Gregory x Fem!Reader)

I'm Not Jealous! (Hortensia x Clanne)

Hey! That Dance Is With Me! (Ferdinand, Caspar, and Dorothea x GN!Reader)

A Friendship of Fire and Ice (Natsu x Male!Reader)

Papa Where do Babies Come From? (Juvia x Male!Reader)

My Lovely Rain Woman (Juvia x Male!Reader)

Can't Look Back (Juvia x Gray)

Angelic Care (Angel x Male!Reader)

Hidden Power (Mirajane x GN!Reader)

Love At First Drink? (Gray x Male!Reader)

Uninvited Guests (Gray x Fem!Reader)

Rude Awakening (Wendy x Male!Reader)

Musical Mishap (Team Natsu x Fem!Reader)

Talk To Me (Juvia x Male!Reader)

I Can't Lose you to (Gray x Fem!Reader)

Snakes Curse (Wendy x Male!Reader)

First Word (Juvia x Male!Reader)

Rain, Rain Go Away and Come Back Another Day (Gray x Male!Reader)

Overflow (Gray and Lucy x Male!Reader)

Dear Little Brother (Greige x Fem!Reader)

Moving On (Gray and Juvia x Male!Reader)

Vs Y/N! (Omori, Kel, Hero, and Aubrey x GN!Reader)

Ice Skating Mania (Omori, Hero, Kel, Aubrey, and Basil x Male!Reader)

Goodbye...Omori (Omori x GN!Reader)

Hopeful Maid (Nagito x Mahiru)

Rantaro and Kokichi Headcannons (Kokichi and Rantaro x GN!Reader)

Lady of Despair (Junko x Fem!Reader)

Music and Stars (Shuichi, Kokichi, K1-B0, and Rantaro x GN!Reader)

Kokichi and Nagito With a Sensitive S/O (Kokichi and Nagito x GN!Reader)

Please Don't Turn Me Into a Marketable Plushy! (Mukuro, Junko, Komaru, and Sonia x GN!Reader)

Pain In His Eyes (Fuyuhiko, Nagito, Kazuichi, and Leon x GN!Reader)

Attention (Kokichi x GN!Reader)

Playful Tendencies (Kokichi x GN!Reader)

A Mountain of Plushies (Nagito, Fuyuhiko, Kazuichi, and Hajime x Male!Reader)

Hopefully Compassion (Nagito x Fem!Reader)

Cheerleader Star (Leon x Gn!Reader)

Deserved to be Loved (Mahiru x Male!Reader)

DR1 and DR2 Cuddling Headcannons (Makoto, Chihiro, Hajime, and Nagito x AFAB!Reader)

Love of History (Kyoko, Mukuro, Ibuki and Kirumi x GN!Reader)

Life or Death (Kyoko and Mukuro x Male!Reader.)

Fire Emblem games i write for and character x character pairings

If i write for platonic x reader.

If I write for Naruto

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eternailee · 10 months ago

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What I Offer

Whether it be for commissions or a request, please see below for a non-exhasustive list of what I am willing to write! This list will get updated periodically as I find more fandoms or remember ones that I did not include, so feel free to ask me if I'm able to write a certain fandom!

General ❧ Original Characters ❧ Fandoms ❧ NSFW ❧ Headcanons ❧ Imagines ❧ Canon x Reader/Original Character ❧ Non-Romance Based Literature Fandoms ❧ Attack on Titan ❧ Bungou Stray Dogs ❧ D. Gray Man ❧ Demon Slayer ❧ Fire Emblem: Three Houses ❧ Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon ❧ Genshin Impact ❧ Harry Potter ❧ Honkai Starrail ❧ Jujutsu Kaisen ❧ My Hero Academia ❧ One Piece ❧ Pokemon (SWSH/SCVI) ❧ Resident Evil Don't's ❧ Canon x Canon ❧ Certain Kinks (Inflation, Scat, Vore, Extreme Age Difference, etc) ❧ Roleplays/NSFW for Minors ❧ Excessively detailed gore

0 notes

frickingnerd · 2 years ago

Text

Alm's Path Masterlist

Alm

alm with a younger sibling - headcanons

the distance between us - oneshot

yandere alm - headcanons

Gray

you're harder to forget than to leave - oneshot

Tobin

tobin crushing on a noble - headcanons

tobin having a gorgeous girlfriend - headcanons

tobin's s/o being a simp for him - headcanons

Kliff

childhood friends to lovers with kliff - headcanons

Lukas

matching scars with lukas - headcanons

Clive

dancing in the moonlight - oneshot

Forsyth

love at first sight - headcanons

Python

the way you look at me - oneshot

Luthier

dating luthier - headcanons

luthier with an autistic s/o - headcanons

Zeke

zeke crushing on you - headcanons

Berkut

of broken hearts and promises - oneshot

dating berkut - headcanons

berkut with a touch starved s/o - headcanons

things berkut loves about you - headcanons

Fernand

yandere fernand - headcanons

Faye

yandere faye - headcanons

Clair

claire breaking up with you - headcanons

Silque

first kiss with silque - headcanons

Mathilda

friends to lovers with mathilda - headcanons

Tatiana

tatiana with a flirty s/o - headcanons

Delthea

dating delthea - headcanons

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glassessence · 3 years ago

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Requests: OPEN

Hello! I’ve never done this before and I’m nervous as all heck and I have no idea if anyone will even be interested, BUT. I am here to announce that I’ll be taking requests for ficlets, oneshots, and headcanons! ^^

The fandoms I’m currently writing for are:

👑 Arknights | 👑 FE:3H | 👑 Fate/Grand Order | 👑 PGR

Here are some samples of my writing so you can decide if it’s for you:

PGR // Lee ficlet | Soulmate AU Watanabe | Soulmate AU Kamui | Chasing Fire

FE3H // Sylvix | Ficlets

I’ll be doing this on my new side-blog to keep things organised: @projectfiction. Please have a read over the rules before you ask!

That's all for now. Reblogs to spread the word are deeply, deeply appreciated! ❤️ Hopefully the ask box doesn't stay empty 🙈

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celestial-imagines · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! Could I please get Dimitri with a SO who is Claude’s best friend. They’re trying to keep the relationship secret but Claude is a nosy busy bee

Dimitri x S/O whose best friend is a very nosy Claude

note: I apologize if this seems more Claude-centric than Dimitri, I tried finding a way to balance both and this is the result of it.

• Dimitri was a very popular person, not just for his standing as the crown prince of Faerghus, but for his kindness and looks

• you weren’t immune to his charm, he was both a very kind and a very handsome person, and so you felt attraction to him like so many others did

• the only difference was that he felt attraction to you too, much to your surprise

• knowing the sheer amount of jealousy your relationship would bring, you both agreed to be discreet about your relationship

• it was hard, Dimitri often expressed his desire to be openly affectionate with you, but you made it work

• you were both content to keep it a secret until you both could find a way to reveal it without putting you in jeopardy

• ...except you forgot to factor in the nosiness of your best friend, one Claude von Riegan

• he loved a good secret, and he wasn’t unwilling to snoop around for them

• so obviously, as his best friend, you were searched more thoroughly for those secrets he loved oh-so-much than most people

• hiding a relationship was hard enough already without someone like Claude hot on your trail

• no matter what lie you’d give him, not matter how many excuses you’d make, he saw through them all; he never believed you for a minute

• it was extremely frustrating for both you and Dimitri, you were stressed by Claude’s persistence and Dimitri was upset because you were upset

• the only one who seemed to get a kick out of this was Claude, the cheeky schemer, but it was probably because he didn’t realize how badly this bothered you

• you finally gave Claude the cold shoulder after weeks of unending frustrating and pent up anger, you refused to show him how angry you really were because it would make keeping your secret that much harder

• Claude thought that you would get over yourself and apologize if he bribed you with enough gifts and favors… until you didn’t

• he didn’t expect you to keep up the act, so he came to you instead to ask you about your troubles

• he’d never seen you like this before, and he still cared for you as a friend despite his snooping around

• you still adamantly refused to tell him about your relationship, so you merely told him that you wanted him to keep is nose out of your business

• Claude agreed… on one condition

if you told him about that one little secret you were so keen on keeping from him, he would lay off for the rest of the year

• you weighed your options, trying to find a good way out of this while pointedly ignoring Claude’s self-satisfied grin

• you hesitantly agreed, telling him to meet you in a secluded location and to tell absolutely no one where you would meet him

• despite his jokes about how cloak-and-dagger the whole situation was, Claude upheld his end of the promise and came without telling anyone

• when you two met, you reluctantly told Claude about your relationship with Dimitri, and your mutual desire to keep it secret because you knew people would target you for it

• Claude was very understanding of the situation, he knew (more than you would ever know) the fear of having a target painted on your back simply because you wanted to be yourself around others and so he agreed to keep it a secret

• you thanked him sincerely for his secrecy, and Dimitri was also relieved to see that your problem had resolved itself smoothly

• Claude was still a bit wary of Dimitri, he had to look out for you somehow, but otherwise didn’t bother you like you asked

• you were finally able to relax, you were in a happy but secret relationship with the man of your dreams and your best friend not only supported you but respected your boundaries

• as long as you had them, you felt that everything would go well

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #claude von riegan #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x reader #fire emblem three houses x reader #fire emblem headcanons #queue are the ocean’s gray waves

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writeshite · 2 years ago

Text

Smart Cookie

Summary:

“Huh, impressive, Dr. Reid; you’re a smart cookie.” You hold a door open, and he passes through; confused, he turns back. “Smart cookie?” “Yeah, you know, clever, intelligent,” you explained, “a smart cookie.”

Pairings:

Spencer Reid x Male!Reader

Tags:

Fluff | Inaccurate Laws Probably | First Meetings | Tattooed Reader (Because I Don't See Enough Of That) |

Words: 3871

Author's Note:

Guess what I started watching 😂 but like seriously, I am loving Criminal Minds, and as you can see, Spencer has become my favorite, I just wanna wrap this man in a hug or something.

“Love is friendship that has caught fire. It is quiet understanding, mutual confidence, sharing, and forgiving. It is loyalty through good and bad times. It settles for less than perfection and makes allowances for human weaknesses.”

- Ann Landers

Spencer’s knowledge of romance could be put together in a mountain of anecdotes and books, labeled by theme, source, and moment of discovery - sexuality, unknown source, age 15, conclusion: gay panic. Practical experience, however, could be summed into a blurb on the back of a book and promptly thrown in a fire. Friendship was something far easier; he’d come to learn it later in life - with childhood peers who took pleasure in putting him through the worst of what the American high school hierarchy had to offer - and even now, in adulthood, there were times he would think that those around him much preferred his absence over his presence.

The BAU was a lot kinder than high school was. Still, there were moments when patience would run thin, tempers may flair, or the occasional reminder that now was not the time for a tangent or a pointless anecdote or ‘do you ever shut up?’ or anything else along those lines - he didn’t mind, not like he’d used to as a child, besides, more often than not, the comments came from outside the BAU. Bystanders, police, investigators - very rarely did Spencer feel the need to squeeze himself into a neat little box and present what was deemed desirable to others, at least not until now.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Reid.”

Change was never readily accepted by the BAU; in regards to new and retiring teammates, it was met with distaste; the change came in the form of you - a recent transfer to the team - your first case with them in Seattle, Washington. An open case, the unsub would stalk their victims and gather intel on them and their lives before attacking; victims had the murder weapons clutched in their right hand and some form of personal belonging stolen by the unsub. Trophies for his collection, his victims, all graduating students from the local university - he had access to the victim’s schedules, details of their personal lives, and used tools at the scene.

“We’ll split up,” Gideon says, “ask around the university, staff, students, and the victim’s families.”

Spencer gets paired with you, questioning the university’s Faculty of Arts, the main focus of the unsub. The Faculty of Arts focuses on creative arts, writing, philosophy, and humanities - the liberal arts - with the campus’ main library in the area. “Wow, this is fancy,” you remark. Fancy’s an understatement; the faculty entrance was grand, with a pediment and columns overhead and the university emblem on a banner at the door. With the recent deaths, fewer students had been attending classes in person; the faculty head, Professor Jody Cunningham, was an older man with dark graying at the edges, a well-trimmed beard, and smoothed clothes.

“Professor Cunningham….” you called his attention, introducing yourself, “....and this is my colleague, Dr. Reid; we’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“A pleasure; thank you for coming; we’re all devastated by the news.”

“Did you know the students?” you ask.

Professor Cunningham nods, “They’d just handed in their thesis, and I’d been making my way through before, you know….” he ran a hand down his face, “now, none of my graduates or other students are coming in.”

“The murders all connect back to one of the subjects taught here; the first was arts, the second, humanities; if he’s going by alphabetical order, then the next one should be natural sciences,” Spencer describes the first two victims, their characteristics, similarities, differences, “do you know any graduate students doing the natural sciences who fit that profile?”

“Three students I can think of, though one of them’s not in the States anymore, so it can only be the other two, Jesse Hudson and Lynn Watson. Jesse’s majoring in biology, and his thesis, I believe, was on the role of the clock gene in protection against neural and retinal degeneration; not 100% caught up on what that is yet, Lynn —”

“The clock gene is a major circadian system regulator found in mammals and fruit flies, the latter of which the transcription factors - clock and cycle - combine and stimulate the transcription of the period and timeless genes. The two proteins bind together and enter the cell nucleus, where the timeless gene then begins to degrade and the liberated period gene interacts with the clock and cycle to prevent them from activating gene expression.” His explanation comes to a stop, and he’s hoping he hasn’t managed to weird you out.

You turn to him, “What happens after?”

“What?” He’s dumbfounded, “uh…well…you want to hear me speak more?”

“It’s why I’m asking,” you reply. “If that’s ok, you don’t have to continue if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I’d love to; I just….people usually ask me to stop talking,” he shrugs. You raise your eyebrows, and he feels giddy, beaming a little; he carries on, even after you’re finished with professor Cunningham, you don’t deter him. Head tilted to glance at him, your undivided attention. “....I read this from an old thesis in my junior year.”

“And you still remember it?”

He nods. “I don’t forget much,” he points to his head, “eidetic memory.”

“Huh, impressive, Dr. Reid; you’re a smart cookie.” You hold a door open, and he passes through; confused, he turns back.

“Smart cookie?”

“Yeah, you know, clever, intelligent,” you explained, “a smart cookie.”

Spencer’s a smart cookie.

He’s a smart cookie.

He’s your smart cookie.

Well, technically, he’s not, but you’re the only one that calls him that nickname, not all the time; of course, you still call him by his name, but you also call him smart cookie. He bounces on his feet when you call him that, a little grin on his face as he turns to you, “What’s got you all happy, cookie?”

“Nothing, just happy to see you too,” he responds earnestly.

“I’d hope so; otherwise, this coffee run would’ve been for nothing,” you remark, placing his order on his desk, a smile on your face; then you go to your desk, to the left of him, and across from Morgan - kick your legs up and lean back on your chair.

“What none for me?” Derek pouts.

“Sorry, only deliver to sweetness,” you wink at Spencer, and he grins.

Morgan fakes offense, “Oh, oh, that’s how it’s going to be, alright. Don’t expect me to play middleman with you and Nick again.”

You snort, “Doubt that’s ever going to happen again,” you tell him, “that ship has sailed.” You move your hand through the air, mimicking a wave.

“Nick?” Spencer asks.

“Morgan’s friend, we hooked up a few times, but it never went anywhere,” you reply.

“Yeah, loverboy here did a hell of a job with him, could barely walk the next day, not that he was complaining,” Derek added on, “Said you had quite the package.”

You throw a pen at Derek, tongue stuck out at him, “TMI Derek,” Elle voiced; she’s just arrived, her own coffee in hand, chuckling while she shakes her head.

“I’m just giving performance reviews,” Derek shrugs.

“Oh god,” you laugh.

Spencer feels a little hot under the collar, knocking his knees lightly to keep his imagination at bay - your voice by his ear, hands roaming his body before settling on his hips, his own arms around your shoulder - he shook his head a little, eyes slightly wide as he sipped the coffee.

“You alright there, cookie?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s with the cookie nickname?” Elle voices.

You shrug, “Spence’s a smart cookie.”

“That’s a weird name,” Derek says.

“I think it’s adorable,” Elle counters.

“Adorable name for an adorable guy,” you wink again, and Spencer looks away, flustered.

“Well, I’m not adorable….adorableness inspires great affection or delight; you use it to describe someone or something that makes you love or like them, usually because they are….” attractive, he wants to say, but that might imply something and people didn’t like it when he implied things. He’d like you to keep liking him.

“You good there, Reid?” Derek’s voice snaps him from his thoughts, and he nods, finishing off with a lesser, more implicating adjective. Attractive, there was a 50% chance you found him attractive, but he couldn’t get all that information out of a singular nickname, let alone a few interactions - you liked his rambles and tangents, that was something, right? You’d made him an origami heart - that he kept tucked away in his journals - and called it a hint.

“No facts for me today, cookie?” You’re parked just further along the street of your target - a suburban house in Atlanta, one car in the driveway, three bedrooms, and the target of your unsub - Hotch and Gideon were on the opposite end of the street, Elle, and Derek were shacked up in the house across from it. JJ and Garcia were back at base.

“Facts?”

You turn to him, “Yeah.” You tilt your head, and he feels something, the little fluttering in his stomach, his hair brushes by his cheek when he tilts his head as well, and before he can reach up to sweep it away, you beat him to it.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright….” Spencer wishes he’d stopped talking right there, that his mouth just shut or Hotch’s voice filtered through earlier before he laid down his knowledge on human touch and then proceeded to end it with the words love hormone - quite the subtle move. On the plane ride back, Reid feels every muscle in his body knot and stiffen as he goes through the interaction in the car; you’re sat beside him, dozing off with your head propped by the wall. He glances over at you every once in a while, faintly touching the side of his head you’d touched, “love hormone,” he whispers to himself.

Dr. Spencer Reid was something else; when you’d joined the BAU, it took some adjusting, your first case in Seattle was a handful, and the unsub - a student advisor - had access to his victims. He’d begun with the Faculty of Arts, and chosen graduate students from each subject, starting alphabetically; he’d only managed two before you’d caught him. You’d learned that Dr. Reid was intelligent, had an impressive memory, and “....I read this from an old thesis in my junior year.” And his voice was really nice.

He seemed to like the nickname smart cookie, bouncing on his feet and grinning when he responds; he does the same when you greet him either way. “What’s got you all happy?” you ask him after a coffee run.

“Nothing,” he responds, “just happy to see you too.”

“I’d hope so. Otherwise, this coffee run would’ve been for nothing,” you remark, placing the warm drink on his desk. Granted, it’s not really a coffee run; you’d only gotten him coffee, mainly for the smile on his face. You turned to your desk across from Morgan.

“What, none for me?” he pouts.

“Sorry, only deliver to sweetness,” you wink at Spencer, who grins in response as Morgan fakes offense, mouth agape.

“Oh, oh, that’s how it’s going to be, alright. Don’t expect me to play middleman with you and Nick again.”

“Nick?” Spencer asks.

Morgan’s friend Nick had been nice; you’d had a double date with Morgan, and one of his dates, then gone on a few more dates and spent a few nights together, but it hadn’t worked out - nothing personal, but that ship had sailed.

“Yeah, loverboy here did a hell of a job with him, could barely walk the next day, not that he was complaining, said you had quite the package,” you threw a pen at Derek, groaning, as Elle regretted walking into work at this moment and hearing the tail end of that conversation. Spencer goes quiet, and his eyes dart away as he sips his drink, a blush creeping along his face.

“You alright there, cookie?” you ask him, and he turns his attention back to you with a small smile.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s with the cookie nickname?” Elle asks; she looks between you and Spencer.

You shrug, “Spence’s a smart cookie.”

“That’s a weird name,” Derek says.

“I think it’s adorable,” Elle counters.

“Adorable name for an adorable guy,” you wink again, and Spencer looks away, flustered.

“Well, I’m not adorable….adorableness inspires great affection or delight; you use it to describe someone or something that makes you love or like them, usually because they are….” he doesn’t finish right away, stalling, as you assume he gathers his words. You’re not sure what he was supposed to say, but you don’t think it was “....small.” Even after, he looks deep in thought, mind wandering away from the present.

You don’t think about it much and proceed with your day; it’s a slow day at the BAU, so paperwork seems to be the main task today, though there’s not much of it, so the majority of the day is spent idling by each other’s desks. You’ve been throwing scrunched-up paper balls at each other; Spencer had started off on the discovery of paper, then its distribution globally, and was now on its more uncommon uses. “....and you could use the paper to make worthless currency.”

“Like Monopoly money?” you question.

“Probably.”

You toss back the paper, and when he catches it this time, he unfolds it and refolds it into a swan, “You can also use it to make origami, though I wouldn’t consider that an uncommon use.”

When he hands you the swan, you take another piece of paper, fold it into a heart, you drop it in his hand, “You can also use it to leave hints,” you say, and he stares down at the heart, rosy-cheeked.

Dr. Reid was also easy to fluster.

“No facts for me today, cookie?” you ask him during surveillance; the house is empty, a decoy set in place to catch the unsub, surrounded on all sides; now all you had to do was wait.

“Facts?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you turn to him, tucking his hair back, his eyes widen again, and a blush runs along his cheeks. You apologize, withdrawing your hand.

“No, it’s alright….touch builds up cooperative relationships and reinforces reciprocity, and studies show that it signifies safety and trust. Basic touch can calm cardiovascular stress and activate the body’s vagus nerve, which is involved with our compassionate response. A simple touch can trigger the release of oxytocin, the, uh, love hormone,” he pauses, “why did I say that?”

“We’ve got movement.” Hotch’s voice interjects before anything else can be said, and you’re both out of the car, guns drawn as you track up to the house. The unsub tries to run back through the back, but Morgan’s waiting for him, knocking him down before he can escape. You don’t stick around in Atlanta, exhausted; you all pile into the plane, and you’re out; you wake to Spencer tapping your shoulder.

You stretch your arms, “Thanks for waking me, cookie.”

“No problem,” he responds.

You’re out the second your head hits the pillow, and wake up uncomfortably in yesterday’s suit. The new apartment looks homier and less empty, with most of your things already set out; you toss the old clothes in the hamper and get ready - shower, teeth, breakfast, and out the door. It’s a warm morning, so you carry your jacket in your hand.

“Damn, loverboy, I didn’t know you had sleeves.” You’d bumped into Derek on the way in, and he’d been immediately drawn to the ink on your arms.

“Oh, these old things,” you quip, “they’re nothing special.”

He whistles, and you lightly smack his arm, “Oh, shut up.” Derek wasn’t the only one taken back by the tattoos; the others were either shocked or intrigued, gathering by your desk to gander at them.

“Never, ever, keep your sleeves down again,” Garcia pleads.

“I’ll try,” you chuckle.

Spencer walks in last and takes a double glance at you, “You have tattoos? Wow,” he pauses, “wow.”

The others soon dissipate, but Spencer lingers a bit, looking between you and the ink; he reaches out but then hesitates, you hold out your arm and nod, and he traces the imagery. “That's one of my favorites,” you comment on the one he’s tracing.

“It’s beautifully detailed,” he observes, “they all are.”

“Thanks, I’ve had them done over the years,” you say. He traces the lines to your fingers, and when he finishes, he moves to the other arm - he gives you facts on the origins of tattoos and asks about some of your tattoos. You get lost in your own world, carrying on with the conversation as you’re called in for a briefing.

“What about this one?”

Spencer fixates on your tattoos, tracing them over and over, eyes following his fingers as they go over the lines again, “My second tattoo, got it a few months after my first one on my birthday.”

“What was your first one?” You’re going through paperwork looking for clues and hints to lead you to the unsub, “It’s a spinal tattoo,” you tell him and his eyes widen, “I can show you if you’re curious.”

He brings a folder to his face, a nervous laugh, and he looks like he’s considering it; he shrugs a little, “Only if you want,” he murmurs.

“Oh, cookie, I could eat you up,” you reply, and he makes a sound of amusement or surprise, or maybe it’s giddiness - as he kicks his legs a bit.

“Hey Morgan, how does dating work?”

Morgan slowly lowers the paper in his hand; it lays on his desk as he leans forward and glances over at Spencer. “Come again?”

“How does dating work?” Spencer repeats, “I assume you’re the most adept at this matter, I mean, I know how it works, but I’m also not…are you alright? Your face is doing —” Spencer gestures uncertainly.

“Just….just savoring this moment, " he replies, smiling, “I know something you don’t,” he cheers.

“I don’t not know about dating, I’m aware of it from societal expectations, facets, and data, but I lack the field experience.”

“Don’t,” Morgan holds his hands up, “don’t ruin the moment,” then he’s back, a smirk on his face; he asks, “Is it loverboy?” Spencer nodded; Morgan clapped his hands, a satisfied grin on his face, “I knew it!” he whispered before returning to the matter at hand, “So,” he cleared his throat, hands together on his desk, “dating.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll start simple; what do you know about dating? Not the facts, just the practical, like have you ever been on a date?”

“No, well, there was this one time I did get asked out by this girl in my class; we decided to go to the local park, but then I overheard her tell her friends it was a prank and they were going to douse me in some concoction, so I didn’t go,” he responds, “does that count?”

Derek shakes his head, “No, it does not, and are you ok?”

“Oh, yeah, it was a long time ago,” he shrugs, “so, what do I do about —” he winds his hands in a circular motion. “Is there a set of words I should say? Are there things I’m expected to do?”

“No, no, look,” Derek replied, “just, he likes you, for you, so don’t worry, just be yourself.”

“Be myself, huh? That’s the first time someone’s said I should do that,” he remarks. “Wait, how do you know he likes me?”

Derek raised an eyebrow, “He looks at you like the sun shines out of your ass,” he responded, “trust me, he likes you.” Spencer would like to believe Derek, and he does, but the little nagging voice in the recess of his mind, he starts wringing his hands a little and runs them along his pants to calm his nerves. “Hey,” Spencer glances up; Derek’s moved from his seat to his desk to his, leaning, “he likes you, ok?”

“How can you be sure?” Spencer purses his lips, twisting the strap of his bag, “He doesn’t deviate from how he acts when he interacts with all of us, he flirts with you just as much as he does with me, and Garcia, and Elle —”

“Why don’t you just ask him,” Derek points to the brief room; you’re currently standing by the door to it in deep conversation with Garcia. Spencer turns back and shakes his head.

“I think he’s busy; I —I’ll do it later.”

Later, in layman’s terms, really meant not ever. Preferably on his deathbed if he had to, but now that he’d asked Derek, any moment he’d look over, Derek would gesture to you, head tilted towards where you’d gone or were. Sometimes he’d mimic movements with his hand - one hand you, the other him, and they’d smoosh together into a kiss - then he’d groan, running a hand down his face when Spencer would shake his head frantically.

He��d like to avoid you and give a chance for the infatuation to die, but either he can’t bring himself to or doesn’t want to. He’s been playing the potential outcomes in his mind, he could confess, get turned down, and you’d remain friends, or he’d confess, get horribly rejected and then never see you again, or he could confess, and you could return the feelings. Considering all the options, he won’t be doing anything; he’ll just let this float away.

“You’re staring, cookie.” It’s the two of you in the kitchenette, no case, just tying up loose ends. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“A potential hypothesis,” he responds.

“Oh yeah, what about?”

“Uh….I’m not sure how to put it into words,” he responds.

“Well, that’s a first,” you laugh, turning away from the kettle heating, “come on, give it a go.”

He nervously rubs his hands together, “Actually….it might be easier if I–I demonstrated it.”

“In the kitchen?” You ask, and he nods, asking you to close your eyes; you raise an eyebrow.

“Just trust me,” he begs, “....please.”

You do so, and there’s a split second where you can hear him mutter to himself - you can do this, come on - there’s a soft push against your lips, and it takes you a moment to realize he’d kissed you, holding your wrist to balance and ground himself, and then it’s gone. Your eyes open, and Spencer’s pursing his lips, hands wrangling more intensely, “R–results?” He’s not just asking; he’s hoping, the subtle worry underneath his voice as he waits for an answer.

You take one of his hands and reel him back in with a slight tug, and he looks so terrified as if bracing himself for the worst, so you kiss him, hoping it displaces any of his fears - Spencer clings to you, even after, your bodies are flush as he hides away in your arms; drawing back every once in a while to look at you, before shying away, a frivolous laugh caught in his throat.

“Good?” You inquire, and he nods.

“Very good.”

End Note:

I apologize profusely for using the word cookie as a nickname for Spencer, but I named the fic and got committed so you get to suffer with me. Stay Hydrated.

#spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds imagine #i spent an hour looking through quotes because big brain said 'start off fic with quote that foreshadows what you're gonna write about'#tattooed!reader #smart cookie universe :)

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pokemagines · 7 years ago

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echoes boys + s/o playing with their hair

ask: can i request some headcanons of lukas and conrad when their s/o plays with their hair? they both have that kinda hair that you just wanna fluff up ////

a/n: GOD what a mood ,, i love playing w peoples hair ugh,, this was a cute prompt so i decided to expand!!

lukas lowkey likes it. he would never ask for his s/o to do it, but when he does, he’d melt.

conrad absolutely loves having his s/o play with his hair. he’d ask his s/o whenever they were alone to play with his hair. loves to lay his head in his s/o’s lap when they gently play with his hair!

the exact opposite of conrad is luthier. he really doesn’t like it when his s/o plays with his hair because his hair is hard to fix. he’d let them do it if they really wanted to but not very often.

gray puts up with it because it’s another excuse for him to be near his s/o. he’s so in love with his s/o he’d probably let them put bows in his hair. (PROBABLY).

it really depends on what mood tobin is in. he gets really clingy when he’s tired so that is the best time to play with this boy’s hair. he’ll drift off to sleep in your arms as you tenderly run your fingers through his locks.

same goes for python, it really depends on his mood. he’s usually in a lazy mood, however, which is the mood he’s most grateful for your hands in his hair. he’d snuggle into your neck, while you spike up his hair at odd angles with your fingers.

a lot like conrad, forsyth loves it when you play with his hair. though, he’s a little more shy about asking. he’d just lay against your chest and hope you got the memo.

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rouiyan · 4 years ago

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𝘖𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘊𝘈𝘚𝘛 𝘚𝘒𝘐𝘌𝘚 𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘛𝘏𝘖𝘚𝘌 𝘞𝘏𝘖 𝘋𝘐𝘌 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ the second volume of rouiyan’s debut series, till death do us part ⧐

synopsis: “i will keep you,” he says softly, as sweet as black tea, “and i will keep you warm.” (Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless)

✧ prince!lee jeno x crown princess!reader ✧ royalty au

✧ genres : fluff, angst ✧ word count : 5.0k ✧ disclaimers : brief descriptions of nudity (nothing sexual), allusions to sex (nothing explicit), malintent

read volume one here: of the heart.

when the moon, in all her glory, begins to set, Mother Nature begins each new day by inhaling the misfortunes of the day before and blowing out frigid breaths in their stead. this morning is no exception for nothing is so clear as the wisps of fog that lie just beyond the horizon, a velarium of sorts, over the forest canopy. the sun is a little early today, but it is for naught, since its rays are caught between the tendrils of fog right as they begin to show. perhaps Mother Nature woke up in a bit of a fit today, seeing as the skies are already oozing the grays before the blues have yet to surface. Her fingers gently stir the clouds to ensure that they collide right where the earth most needs it and She's joyful in the sense that Her work can be admired from far down below. after all, the paintings She conjures in the skies are nothing short of masterpieces.

like a ceiling folding in with the pressure of water leakage, the clouds from down below give off an air of distress. the air itself is heavily encumbered with a clarity found only after the rainiest of days. and if not for the sake of the story, the author could spend hours droning on about Mother Nature's tour de force, she really would, but instead she will insert a few lines from a symphony:

The autumn mist drifts blue over the lake,

The blades of grass stand covered with frost,

The flowers' sweet scent is gone,

An icy wind bends down their stems,

My heart is weary.

Der Einsame im Herbst (The lonely one in autumn), from Mahler’s Das Lied von der Erde

in the exact opposite sense that Mother Nature loves her leaves, with tender fondness and a forgiving hand, prince jeno's father has never loved his second son more, with an impassioned sneer and a bagful of riches in mind. at least, that is exactly what prince jeno himself thinks as he skims through yet another letter, this time from his father.

son,

never did i think i would enjoy the prospect of a winter ceremony as much as i would this, perhaps you would also like to see an early coronation. i've made the necessary arrangements, i assure that you will not be suspected in the least but keep caution and wariness by your side, our family name is already a great deal tainted. thought not for long, i'll be sending a carriage to retrieve you for your rounds back home, we've ought to get going on them. the damsel is a sight for sore eyes, i presume, i'd hate for her to foil our ambitions; she is much in your hands to attend to now. i'll see you by the throne soon, my lad.

king of the southern mines, your father.

the prince's vision narrows upon the words 'coronation, arrangements, suspected, foil, throne,' and he is already a sight of frustration, fingers gripping the paper with such force that his short nails are digging into his palms through it. seething, he tears his eyes from the script before him but instead, they land on the previous letter sat atop the open escritoire. the one from his mother. the stamped edge of the paper lifts with the wind that filters through the window just above it and he has the sudden urge to let it be carried away wholly. jeno crosses the room in four steps.

with both the pages collected in his hands, jeno crouches by the mantle, the roar of a fire licking up before him. his face is drawn in concentration, jaw stiff and clenched. the lines of his brows are met with a furrow in between, set above the meek lines of his eyelids. his pupils dilate, albeit out of habitual need, in the reflection of the inferno before him. he's ever-so-aware of the distinct scent of burning coals that siphon and sharpen his reminiscence of home. it's sentient, the feelings of familiarity that overcome his senses, halting his movements, his fingers clutching the papers in a way that almost tells of longing. longing of a seemingly different world entirely, one that he has only ever known until a few weeks prior. being washed anew in distant lands and over the course of a single lunation, jeno finds that he's never felt more mismatched from himself, disconnected from the people who raised him in contrast to the people who have brought out the better in him. but the embers are not the only thing he smells, not the only he sees, or heeds to.

the pearly carrara marble of the mantle tells stories in the grayed lines that trail across its posh surface. his eyes rove over the white, the faith and purity of your heraldry binded with the emblem of your family. the white of angels, of untainted relations, sterility in empowerment, the inviolable you. the white tells stories that the black never could.

so jeno finds a warm pleasure in the way the flames overwhelm the papers with eager enthusiasm, the damned words of his parents receding into mere ash. prince jeno thinks he could forever part with the world if it asked him to feast his eyes on this very sight until the end of time.

despite arousing before the sun, you are disappointed when it starts to chase your wakefulness. there is something edging the growing unease in your mind, as if time is trickling down the drain of the past, too fast and too unforgiving. as if time is berating at your senses, telling you there is much more than what meets the eye but for the life of you, you cannot pinpoint what. for now though, you tend to the pressing matters at hand, jeno has been called home for his rounds, rather abruptly.

"perhaps i should go with you, rounds don't always have to be made by one per-”

jeno cuts you off effectively, "they are very much a one person duty," he assures pointedly. your nose scrunches, the light inconveniences starting to rub off on your exasperation. in a tired voice you mumble, "we could always change it up a bit, i'm sure." jeno chuckles heartily at that, his hand coming up from his side to rub out the lines of stress in your forehead.

"little miss princess, you're saying that as if you do not have rounds to complete of your own. i'm almost certain you host are a far greater amount of people that wish to be invited to the ceremony than i have-"

it's your turn to cut him off now, "why don't you stay with me then?" in attempts to enhance the force of your resolve, you uncover a hand of your own from under the sheets to comb through his locks. the way his eyes instantly close to relish in your touch paired with the little purr he gives is almost telltale of your victory. almost.

jeno pauses, his eyes flicker back open, and a soft knowing smile runs along the features of his face as he shakes his head, in knowledge of your artful tactics to wear him down. "and neglect my kingdom and their desires?"

you've left the feelings of frustration behind, instead deciding to fool around with the boy, to see what you can get out of him for good fun, "but we've yet to decide what flowers to use as centerpieces. and whether we're throwing a private or public ball. wedding preparations are surely more important than handing out personal invites…we can cut corners one some niceties." jeno knows better than to let his guard down. the jeno around y/n isn't to be trusted as easily. he settles for words of comfort instead, "i'll write."

"well, that's of course. silly of you to voice something as unequivocal as that."

a pause and his resolve is slipping, "maybe a few short visits back wouldn't hurt." you lick your lips in good-natured fun, another pause, "i'm sure my father wouldn't half mind if we cut it a week short." your eyes look hazy to him, though in reality they are simply amused, and drawing words from him he isn't even sure he's saying. "or- or maybe i could convince him, or try to at least…," he trails on and on.

your satisfied a certain amount and, suppressing a smile from giving away your plotted schemes, you mutter quietly, mostly for your own pondering, "i'm thinking alliums would make a statement, blue alliums." jeno gives a noise of confusion, unsure of how you've suddenly come to talk of flowers. "the centerpieces, i mean." jeno's silence only urges you on, "alliums, or blue alliums at that, are symbols of unity and good fortune. i think that'd make a nice combination with a base of milkweed, dignity and freedom, if my memory serves me right."

the prince has found his voice, "what of the rounds?" but he's met with a small chortle, "nothing, a month is a month, i'm sure we'll work around it."

"but, i- i'm not sure i understand. you were adamant enough a millisecond ago, and now-"

"and now i'm telling you i was toying with you, dear sir. such fun it is when you let on more than you'd like."

jeno's cheeks flush, the warm color dusting the bridge of his nose, apples of his cheeks, tips of his ears. your warm smile and benign banter bring him the simplest of joys. he's not sure he's ever felt this way before. familiarity. and, not the familiarity that comes from his assigned butler since birth, or the old lady at the apothecary he's been to all his life that's paid to tend to his wounds. not the familiarity that comes with blood and playing house, the type of sickened familiarity he feels with his brother, doyoung, that every second spent with him is forced. the familiarity he feels with you is by choice, by genuine and sincere desire. you want to wake up in the mornings with him by your side. you want to spend breakfast pushing each other's toes away underneath the table. you want to hold his hand when he walks you to your carriage. you want to make love with him in the most ungodly hours of the day. which is exactly what happens that morning.

a day is barely enough to do all the things you've penned in your journal. things to be done before you were to be married, with the one you were to be married to. the list had been written, curated, and refined by nine-year-old you, who you must say, had some very good ideas, though verily a romanticist.

jeno is departing tomorrow morning, as early as the sun will permit, and suddenly you wish that it would never rise again. whatever the case, you set out first thing this morning, hand tugging along a very tired prince, for the bathing pool. nine-year-old you must have misinterpreted the meaning of 'skinny dipping' for swimming but you thank nine-year-old you because things seem to have worked out in your favor either way. jeno is jolted awake by the gelid water, the seasons now mark three-quarters into fall.

"go in first," you state simply, hands on your hips and eyes drawn down into the water. the single toe you had dipped in to test the waters is frigid and frozen. jeno, who has yet to finish undressing himself, nodded at your words. if he were looking in your direction he would've noticed the smirk on your face. he stands straight, boxers on the ground behind him as he takes place by your side, "cold?"

"not at all, surprisingly," he's looking at you now and your countenance can't help but decompose in front of him, a small, unsuspecting smile adorning your lips. "oh really, can you attest for that?"

the smile is now blossoming unto your cheeks, "are you telling me to go in first?" the prince nods at that, fully aware of your schematics, "yes, i would like to see you enter the warm water."

"you agreed to go in first just a few seconds ago, don't tell me you've backed out on your word," a feeble matter against the boy but he defends himself by saying, "devious little princess, as if this wasn't your idea."

you're equally defensive when you point out, "not me, directly, but rather me as a child-" he pushes you in. lee jeno, second prince of the esteemed southern kingdom pushes you into the subzero degree bathing pool.

assuredly though, he dives in a few seconds after he's had time to relish in your shocked expression and piercing screams. he's coming up for air, his hands have found your bare hips to make sure that you resurface together. or drown together, you think, because it seems his foot is caught in the crevices between two rocks and since he's writhing like a madman, you're writhing with him too. it's a strange sight, two very beautiful individuals, absolutely in love but absolutely inane, for if jeno had thought to let go of his grip on you, you might've been able to unlodge his foot altogether if he had not been set on wrangling both your bodies about.

it's four minutes later that the two of you are on the leveled bronze rock, now, absolutely loosing it over jeno's lack of common sense. both of you are having trouble breathing, spurts of water still occasionally gushing past his lips. he thinks you're most beautiful in your bare skin, with nothing to define you but yourself. he's running his fingers up and down your torso, lips connecting with the surface of your neck. he appreciates that you kiss him with such avidity, you always do. jeno loves that you make it known to him, that what you say, you mean. and that even if you were never to utter a word again, he would still understand the sheer vehemence with which you love him.

you cross off paragliding, building a snowman, and studying together for a test. not because they've been completed but because there simply is no plausible way to get them done with the deadline closing in fast. the next activity you present to jeno has his eyebrows raised in intrigue. he's quick to reply when you ask him.

"a moon, a quartered moon." the knowing smile that grows on your face tells him he's chosen correctly.

jeno gives a squeeze to your hand as the needle comes in contact with your clean skin. the first few minutes are highlighted by the sensation of a million bee stings, racking through your brain, but the rest is relatively smooth sailing. yours comes out just as good as jeno's, a small moon, a quartered moon, tattooed into the skin just behind the left ear. there specifically, so that it's known by each other and each other only.

there will be months passed before the moon becomes a sort of unspoken but affirmative communication instrument. when jeno loves you a little too much, he rubs the inked skin softly. his sleepless nights are cured with the pad of your finger upon the spot. between the many general meetings you're required to oversee in a day, jeno waits outside the conference room for you to exit, his fingers stroking the moon for the duration of the few seconds allotted to him before you're whisked away again. the symbol of night is translated into accounts of bonding, the smallest of things giving way to happiness.

you would say the uses of the 'lovemark' are amplified as the sun retreats and the mascot of your relationship shines brighter than ever. it's evident in the look on jeno's face, especially, a few feet below you, peering up your skirt with a dumbstruck look on his face.

"jeno, dear, now is really not the time." the boy clears his throat and looks away, baffled at how you'd caught him anyways. your position is so frightfully awkward, one foot on the top end of your chamber's windowsill, another bent and hoisted onto the flat ledge of your roof. "come on up now, and get those dirty thoughts out of your mind. for heaven's sake, we're here to watch the sunset and stargaze, not to pound into each other."

the prince laughs at your offhanded remarks, arriving himself on the platform. the view is expansive in the way that you can see the forest from here, the ocean if you squint, the hills set in the far distance, and the sky has never felt closer to the earth while the things you've always known to be near appear smaller and more distant than ever. even the gregarious tree stalks of the forest rise to what could be measured as an only inch from this outlook.

"nine-year-old y/n seems to have known nothing but fun days." jeno muses, leaning his weight back upon his hands. your eyes are glazed in an omniscient mist, "i'd expect so, she was born and raised with everything." the prince picks up on the tone of distaste with which you'd spoken your words. he turns to you and studies the hairs that fall in your eyes, "hardly fair."

you reply not a beat after, "not at all fair. if i were to accomplish one thing during my run as queen, i'd give the children opportunities of a lifetime." the thoughts tumble out of your mind, as if you'd known of this conviction of yours since you were but a child. your drive as a ruler, firm and headstrong to implement your values and beliefs on your subjects has been the sole idea that's grounded you in the castle for your entire time being.

"and what if you cannot?"

your first reply is dealt with in humble humor, "at the very least, i'd like it to be engraved on my tombstone that i tried." the second, is laden with a sorrowful undertone, "housing, schooling, meals and warmth in the winter. we have it the worst here up north. if they are without school, they are left with nothing." jeno's head turns to yours, he sees the slip of a tear and he wipes it away, only to be met with another. your voice cracks in despair, "there are no mining jobs to take up, no farms to harvest, aqueducts to run. i dread that one day i must rule a kingdom of arts."

jeno tries, he really does, to gather you in his arms but your sobs rack your body with such force that he is left to comfort your desolations with words and a hand on your back, "what is there to dread? are the arts so difficult to maintain?"

bitterness forms at the tip of your tongue, "no, jeno. i regress in the face that art is invaluable. but the world seeks to attach a price to every viable thing, to label the passion of others. and now, now the arts are for the rich, only for the rich. have you ever heard of a hungry man paint instead of seeking shelter from the rain? a woman who writes prose instead of feeding her dying children? there is no one who can live solely on art but the heavens have sent me to rule a horde of those very people."

the prince knows you need to voice the thoughts weighing down your mind, so he gives them a platform, a nudge, "a kingdom of arts would be blessed to house a queen with intentions such as yourself, surely there are others who hold the same principles as you."

"no doubt," your eyes cast on the forming stars, "but as much as i would love to trail a path of meliorism and say that with a tide of willingness, there will be change, i must not forget the real nature of the world we live in."

"and what is this nature that you speak of?"

"the drive of greed and sadism, in exchange for the feeblest of pleasures."

the world comes to a still in this very moment. the moon begins her ascent. the stars unsheath their full luminance. the whites of their gleam reflecting on the rooftop on which the two of you are sat. time and space shrivel in the potency of untainted humanity.

"we will bring change, you and i."

you feel your heart calm as your rambling ceases. jeno looks over at you and smiles.

prince jeno is scheduled to return in twenty seven days time. there is something that feels wrong about him leaving. a feeling that if he leaves, all hell with turn loose and you will be unleashed unto the dogs for ravaging. there is a coated and unspoken thought that splutters in your mind whenever you even dare so much as to begin to think of it. the possibility that with jeno's leave, you'll be left with the realization that it was all a phase of infatuation. that when you see him again, all the feelings that you'd built up over the course of a month and a few days was just a glamourized dream. that he was never real; the real that you needed.

"i'll be forever thinking of those lips on mine, maybe even missing them," you let, comically. jeno eyes you conspicuously, "and i'll be forever thinking of you, as a whole, not just the lips unlike you. a little fixated you sounded there, mind you." his little sniggers are given in response to your hands pushing his chest in frisky response. the prince pulls you closer into a final embrace, the coachman of his black carriage is awaiting his departure.

he parts from you and you can't help but trail behind him down the paved path. he's over his shoulder now as you let loose a sliver of your deepest worries, meekly, "i hope we never change, jeno."

the prince halts at the bottom steps that curl into the palace. he sees you, feels you, knows you, for he quotes, “i will keep you,” he says softly, as sweet as black tea, “and i will keep you warm.” (Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless)

jeno can hear the light pellets of raindrops hit the roof of his carriage. the gray skies are darkening by the second, it's telling him something that he's sure he doesn't want to hear. his fingers fiddle with the cuffs of his tailored suit jacket, something you'd requested be made for him when his stay was first prolonged. the prince is entirely clad in white and he knows enough to imagine the face his mother will make when she first sees him home. lee jeno doesn't remember a time when he's donned a color other than black, but somehow, the white doesn't feel too far from home.

with the white, his mind flashes with the events of the past month or so spent in your noble abode. you, on the other hand, rarely ever wore a color other than white, the most differing shade being a cream or beige. but even with all the lights, you never seemed to mind when they were dirtied. almost always, a day in the fields or by the bathing pool would drench a good six inches of your skirts in mud and the unfurled hems of your frocks or crinkled fronts of those sweaters you so often adorned were always beyond your notice. you were free in that way, never stopping to fuss over the little things you deemed unimportant. jeno thinks if he could live that way too and though he isn't sure if he can, he knows he wants to.

jeno can hear the spindles of the carriage gyrating with added resistance against the now watered-down mud of the trodden roads. his eyes are caught in the sky that looks as if it's to detonate at any given second. he predicts the thunder before it rings loud in his ears and he hears the coachman slash a whip to a trepid horse, an echo of the natural phenomenon. he wonders what it would feel like to be the coachman, out in the clamorring downpour, or perhaps the horse, blindlessly running to the crack of a whip, or the trees even, awoken by the threat of a fire. he wonders if he has any desire to be the lightning itself, to jab at the delicate foliage as he'd like, to set fire to that of which he doesn't like, to wield destructive power. he wonders, but he knows he doesn't want to.

lee jeno is in his carriage when he realizes what it means to be free, but not in the hindrance of others. he realizes what it means, not to rule but rather to guide without the oppression of others. lee jeno is also in his carriage when the skies turn black and a deluge of rain is unleashed upon the castle of white.

a man a few inches brief to the prince, but of higher rank in swordsmanship, is propped on the limestone trellis that holds the awning in place, his two feet hooked between the vertical balusters of stone and fingers clung onto the ridge of the balustrade. he finds it ludicrous that every individual of importance he has ever met, is so caught up in their own belief that they are untouchable, where in reality they are the most vulnerable of all. he thinks this, specifically, as he upturns himself over the railing and onto the landing, only to see that the king's door are left wide open, the only shield of protection being the pristine white curtains glinting a sheen of blue in the moonlight.

renjun is humored when, upon drawing the curtains back, the king himself is simply laying there on the ground, unconscious as he was informed he'd be. the knight presses two fingers to the inner wrist of the withered man and finds that he still has a job to finish. brandishing a blade from the underside of his calf, he deems the inscription on the handle fit for the deed. he drives it into the gut but makes quick work of it, the sputters of blood that erupt from the now-awakened royal something he wishes the guards just outside not to hear. renjun makes further assurance that the blade is firmly put in place, the stout palladium shaft protruding from the king's abdomen like the ring of a windup toy.

a black body bag is used to sheath the quickly-paling bag of bones. it is left under the light of the moon, through a skylight rounded in the dead center of the palace. around the malefaction, stairs wind in all directions from the ground up and if there were even one maid to have crossed the landing once in the night, she would have been met with what looked to be an unassuming trash bag. but fate had it so the sun would rise before your dead father was stumbled upon, an inscribed shank planted between his internal organs reading, this star-like solitude (Giuseppe Ungaretti, from Last Choruses for the Promised Land: XVI (tr. by Patrick Creagh)).

the blood that seeps from the measly opening in the bag is not silver, nor is it gold. it is blood red. the red of a brazen senex that perhaps preceded and proceeded his times, entangled in the intricacies of the new age, the new game of politics he simply had no means to play at. akin to the webs of an arachnid, the string of fate hung around his neck, thin and unnoticeable, cinching with each passing second until Mother Nature deemed his time up. the blood that seeps writhes in the rays of the sun, twines like the veins in the marble beneath it. it seeps until the figure in the sack is drained and the clumping skin of human remains is the same shade as the white tiling. red against white, white against black, the black of a crying sky.

read volume three: dearly departed.

✧ end note — i had such a hard time trying to pull this outta my ass in a way that captures everything i wanted to say. so thank you for reading this piece. it’s one of my most favorite things i have ever written, undoubtedly.

#nct fics #nct scenarios #nct ff #nct jeno #nct lee jeno #jeno x reader #jenoxreader #jeno imagines #jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno blurbs #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

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mikrowrites · 5 years ago

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The Three Times Y/N Tries To Tell Kylo She Loves Him (And The Time She Does)

Kylo Ren x Reader

Hi! May I please request a Kylo Ren x reader in the which the reader (First Order?) tries to tell him she loves him? Thank you so much for even considering this! I love your blog!

Warnings: fluff, angst, violence, blood, adult themes, Kylo is soft for Y/N oops...

1. During Training

Y/N ducked underneath the swing, turning her body to step carefully back. Kylo smirked, amused as he ran forwards again, Y/N stopping the crackling red blade with her spear.

“Is that all you’ve got, Commander Ren?” Y/N teased, twisting the spear in her grasp to push the lightsaber away.

“Have you not quite woken up yet this morning, L/N?” Kylo shot back, Y/N shaking her head with a chuckle as she lunges forwards, the gleaming metal connecting with light once more.

The two parried back and forth, Y/N giggling. “Taking it easy, Ren? What a gentleman.”

Kylo slid forwards, knocking her back with the Force as he rolled on the mat with Y/N, finally straddling her with the saber to her throat, both of them breathing heavily.

“I’d never go easy on you.” He heaved, pressing a kiss to her cheek after he disabled his lightsaber.

Y/N felt a deep blush creep onto her face, staring into her lover’s eyes. “Kylo...”

“Hm?” He answered, Y/N smiling.

“I lo—“

“Commander Ren!” The modulated shout of a stormtrooper interrupted. “The Supreme Leader requests your audience!”

Kylo closed his eyes and sighed, standing and offering his hand, Y/N accepting it as he pulled her up. He pulled her hand up to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

Y/N shook her head, smiling. “Yes, you do.” He paused for a moment, staring at her longingly. Y/N made a flapping gesture with her hands. “Go on, get going! The Supreme Leader isn’t patient.”

He gave her a small smile before he grabbed his cloak, hurrying out of the room. Y/N’s smile faded, letting out a small sigh as she picked up her spear and twirled it.

2. During a Party

Y/N sipped her drink, grinning as Kylo made his way across the room to her. The music drifted sweetly through the ballroom, the politicians and ambassadors dancing to the rhymic beats.

The two were attending an annual ball held for the leaders of First Order sympathizers. It was a way of rekindling old alliances and maintaining trade with associated planets.

Y/N was outfitted in a brilliant red ball gown, decorated with delicate red beading and embroidery. A gray sash hung over one of her shoulders displaying the First Order emblem and her patches and medals from battles and showings of her rank.

Kylo was fitted in a more elegant fashion, his black cloak still adorning his shoulders with a more regal and intimidating black uniform underneath. His mask was adorned on his head, but Y/N could almost see the love in his eyes through it.

The commander grasped her hand, smoothly pulling him arm around her waist. “May I have this dance, Vice General?”

“Of course, Commander.” Y/N purred, the man spinning her as they gilded into a waltz, others dancing among them while some stood watching in awe of the two gracefully spinning.

Kylo smirked under his mask. “Remember when we danced for the first time at one of these events?”

“We were dreadful.” Y/N softly laughed. “I’m surprised our allies endured our horrid display.”

A modulated laugh emitted from his mask. “We were basically kids.”

“All grown up now, aren’t we?” Y/N mused, Kylo outstretching his arm for her to daintily spin. She returned to his arms, laughing. “Maybe, but our relationship hasn’t.”

Kylo seemed to cock his head to one side. “What does that mean?”

Y/N smiled, reaching the hand that was resting on his shoulder up to the side of his mask, as if caressing his cheek.

“I means that I lov-“

Suddenly blaster shots echoed through the ballroom, screams filling the atmosphere.

3. During a Battle

Y/N and Kylo immediately turned back to back, the commander igniting his lightsaber as Y/N reached down and pulled a blaster from her hidden thigh holster.

Resistance spies opened fire on the stormtroopers guarding the venue, others rounding up the guests and forcefully guiding them out of the room. The entire ballroom soon became a battleground as Rebel fighters opened fire on First Order officers.

Kylo deflected blaster shots as Y/N shot back, the two turning slowly to face their foes.

“I can hold my own!” Y/N shouted over the noise, Kylo nodding as he burst forwards, swinging his weapon at an unlucky rebel.

Y/N cursed her gown, ducking behind an over turned table as she reached for her holster again, grasping a thin gunmetal black rod that quickly extended into her spear. She looked over the table, springing forward and rushing into the fray.

Kylo watched Y/N as they both fought, the man almost mesmerized by her graceful form dodging blasts and twirling her spear, taking out rebels who dared to challenge her.

Y/N slowly made her way closer to near where Kylo was fighting, shooting any rebels that tried to kill her comrades. She had finished off someone with her spear when she noticed a man aiming his gun at Kylo, the commander’s back turned.

“KYLO!” Y/N cried, holding up her skirts as she ran, throwing her spear towards the rebel as she covered Kylo’s back.

The spear struck true to the rebel, as did his blaster shot.

A hot, burning pain bloomed from Y/N’s stomach, the girl crying out. Kylo turned just too late to stop the blast, the man’s eyes widening in horror under his mask. He scooped up Y/N’s shaking form, taking shelter behind a column.

“Y/N, look at me, stay with me.” Kylo muttered as he put pressure against the woman’s wound, her gray sash turning red and her dress deepening into crimson.

She hissed in pain, grasping Kylo’s wrist. “I-I... Kylo...” Y/N slurred.

“Shhh,” Kylo silenced her, looking around to be sure no rebels were sneaking up on them. “Hey, save your strength, you’ll be fine.”

“I-I need to tell y-you some-something...” Y/N insisted, gripping his wrist tighter, tears cascading from her eyes.

Kylo wiped her tears away with his free hand. “You can tell me anything.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes drooping. “Kylo... I...”

Her head lolled to the side, Y/N’s eyes slipping closed as her body went limp.

“No! No, Y/N?” Kylo shouted as blaster shots and shouts echoed around him.

“Y/N!!”

4. I Love You

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, blinking a few times before adjusting. She recognized the medbay right away, used to battle scratches that needed attented to or Kylo needing medical care.

She noticed a medical outfit, shirt and pants, on her body instead of her dress, a thin blanket draped across her body. Y/N lifted up her shirt with one hand to see a faded pink scar where she was shot, the bacta having already healed her.

However, her other hand was firmly clasped by a sleeping Kylo. His head rested on the bed, facing away as he sat in a chair. Light snores emitted from him, making Y/N smile. She reached over and began running her fingers through his messy raven locks, the snores abruptly halting.

Kylo’s head shot up, his hand squeezing Y/N’s tighter as he turned to look at her, his facial expressions conveying relief. He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Y/N...” he breathed.

“Hey.” Y/N smiled, Kylo standing and grasping each side of her face with his hands, almost greedily kissing her, deeply and passionately.

They pulled away after a bit, Kylo shaking his head. “I thought I lost you.”

“It takes a lot more than a lucky blaster shot to get rid of me.” Y/N chuckled, tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear.

Kylo finally smiled as he peppered kisses over Y/N’s face, the woman giggling.

Eventually the two sat side-by-side on the bed, Kylo’s arm wrapped around Y/N as she laid her head on his chest. They sat in peaceful silence, before a smile crossed Y/N’s face.

“I love you.”

Kylo felt his breath catch in his throat, gulping before quickly kissing the top of Y/N’s head. “Is that—?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you for so long.” Y/N grinned. “I love you, Kylo Ren.”

The man smiled, pulling Y/N closer as the same thought echoed through his head: ‘How was a monster like him lucky enough to fall in love?’

“I love you too, Y/N L/N.”

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agent-cupcake · 5 years ago

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Beastie and the Bard

Fire Emblem Three Houses - Dimitri x Reader (Chapter 1)

Here it is, folks. Chapter one of my horrifically self indulgent reader insert fic where we can all collectively love Dimitri together. As is only right. Please enjoy.

Prelude in C Major Opus 1, No. 1

Centered in the very heart of Fódlan within the expansive range of the Oghma Mountains, buried deep behind lush forests and the foggy pass of Magdred Way, Garreg Mach Monastery loomed above the world from its sea of clouds, the stately towers and ancient architecture acting as stalwart sentinels for those below.

Upon first glance, you were enchanted. Upon second, enthralled. After that, it was only a matter of trying to distinguish which things you loved the most. Perhaps it was the way the grass that blanketed the area was so green and vivid, flourishing in spite of the passing seasons of cold. Maybe it was the enclosing lines of formidable stone walls your wagon passed on the way up, dotted by towers, topped by parapets, and washed in browns and grays by time’s ever turning hand. Or, possibly, it was what laid behind them that your heart was taken in by. Bustling civilian towns surrounded the monastery, markets and housing districts built on tier-like shelves along the climbing slope in a haphazard sprawl of civilization. Only about half of anything seemed to have been done with any purposeful design, but the people were lively and energetic, their intermingling voices and calls and the chaotic track of daily life creating a lovely sort of song to accompany your nervous anticipation.

A zigzagging road cut through the center of it all, leading up to the main gates of the monastery itself. Beyond that were the spire towers of the monastery, a place so old and established that the buildings seemed to have grown out of the mountain directly.

Garreg Mach Monastery was, simply put, beautiful.

You couldn’t say exactly what you had expected - how could you build up a mental image of a place when it was so different from anything you’d ever known? - but you knew that it surpassed whatever fantasies you might have been able to conjure. A musician’s life was built upon romantic comparison and clever use of words, but there was nothing quite like Garreg Mach that you could think to liken it to. In some ways, it brought to mind the hidden castles pictured in the illustrations of your childhood fairy stories, a place of wonderment seated up in the sky. In another sense, the grand structures invited thoughts of the daunting military fortresses in Rowe territory called Arianrhod, a place of protection and great strength.

Then again, it was unlike any of that. Garreg Mach was a dream come true, a place you’d been longing for since your youth, made even more wondrous because you were not here to simply admire and gawk. Aside from being the central location for Fódlan’s religion, the Church of Seiros, Garreg Mach was an academy specializing in the art of warfare. Perhaps it was odd that a monastery would be the host for a school well known for teaching students in the ways of the physical and logical aspects of battle, but upon seeing the place for yourself you felt no need to question the combination. Like the complementary entwinement of harmony and melody, or the pairing of bread and butter, it was something that made sense.

The market area at the very top of the mountain had a festival-like air to it when you finally arrived. Temporary stalls boasting toys and trinkets were erected alongside weapon racks full of silver and steel, the next tent over featuring mannequins dressed in heavily accessorized and stylized academy uniforms to lure in young students with the shine. Somewhere, something was being roasted, the enticing scent rolling in with the hundreds of other smells filling the square. And beyond all of it was Garreg Mach’s front hall. The wagoneer who had charged you two pennies for a ride to the top of the mountain pulled his small wagon to the side of the entrance gate where horses were hitched and wagons left so as to not further congest the busy market square.

Slinging your lyre case across your back using an invention of your own design with a thick leather strap crossing your chest, you jumped to the ground. Once your feet were planted, you luxuriously stretched your arms above your head, relieved to finally be finished with your travels.

Despite yourself, a shiver slithered down your spine. Although the weather was extremely mild in these parts of Fódlan, especially since it was only barely the new year, the altitude lent an extra bit of cold to the air. You were grateful for the warm blazer of the academy uniform, but perhaps regretting your stylish choice for stockings rather than leggings. Only somewhat. They were awfully cute, after all. A covered yawn invited the chilly late-morning air into your lungs, making you aware that the oxygen was far more thin than you were used to. It was something you had been warned of, but not quite expected.

“Are you ready?” Finnegan, the aged wagoneer, asked as he rounded the wagon, allowing the grooms to deal with his unhitched roan horse.

“Yes, sir,” you replied, smiling brightly and filled with renewed energy that had you bouncing on the balls of your feet with anticipation, and to fight off any clinging touch of that chill. With every movement, the case of your lyre tapped your back, a counterbeat to that of your heart and feet.

Finnegan laughed as he unloaded your trunk from on top of his boxed goods. “You oughta be saving that kind of talk for the knights, I’d say,” he told you in his odd accent, although he wore a friendly smile. At first glance the man had seemed quite gruff and intimidating, what with his sun aged face and wide brimmed hat casting deep shadows over his rugged features, but person’s character was something you felt you had to learn by more than just looking at them. Besides, he was the only one to offer to drive you to the top of the mountain rather than making you walk, which counted for a lot considering how late you already were in arriving to the academy.

“If that was the case I’d have to insist you call me ‘Lady’,” you told Finnegan primly, maintaining a serious look for just a moment before it split into another grin. “But, Master Finnegan, I don’t believe in such things.”

Finnegan laughed again, shaking his head in bewilderment. “If you say so, young miss,” he said.

You crouched to lift your heavy trunk. It was like you filled it with rocks, although you knew it was more accurate to say it was filled with trees, considering how much paper was packed away. One never knew how many books they’d need while training to become a hero.

“Er, would you like some help with that?” Finnegan asked, looking somewhat concerned. “I reckon if you sent for someone they could fetch it for you.”

Despite the weight, you didn’t feel strained as you stood up. Between a year and a half of intensive training and the natural strength lent to you by the Crest imbued in your body, you hardly blinked at the weight. It was rather impressive, really. Just a year ago you probably would have collapsed beneath it.

“It’ll be all right. I got it this far, after all,” you told him playfully. Finnegan still looked doubtful. Worried, maybe? But he didn’t argue, for which you were grateful. Even in this small way, he trusted that you weren’t too weak for the task. It bolstered your confidence. “I suppose this is farewell, then.”

“That it is, young miss.”

“Well, then… Good luck with your trade, Master Finnegan,” you said. Then paused a moment, something occurring to you. Carefully, you balanced your trunk on one knee to free a hand, a most precarious position. It was fine, however, as you only needed to retrieve a handful of small things. Coins. “Here! As a… Tip!” you said, holding the money out over the flat surface of your trunk.

“A tip, young miss? That’s not necessary, it was only a short journey,” Finnegan said, eyeing the coins doubtfully. You realized a second late it was a rather sizable sum to most people, especially for a tip. But even to you, hailing from a rather poor family by the standards of nobility, a pocketful of coin was all but worthless. You offered them up more insistently, afraid your precarious hold on your trunk would fail and unwilling to back down.

“For your smile and good company, then,” you told him. Finally, thankfully, he took the coins. You were happy to see it made him smile. Indeed, his face didn’t look even half as scary when he smiled, even if his teeth were crooked. It gave him character. “Goodbye, Master Finnegan. I’m happy to have met you.”

“Likewise. Good luck to you, young miss,” Finnegan said, tipping his wide brimmed hat.

And that was that. Perhaps there were more words you wanted to say, but you knew it was only prolonging the inevitability of having to venture into the crowd all by yourself. Finnegan himself was little more than a stranger, but he was relatively more familiar than what was to come. From here on out, it was only you and the world. Or, you and the academy. There had never been a time in your childhood that you had thought you’d be in a position of such grand freedom, or that such a thing would feel so precariously tilted, like you were balancing on the edge of a ledge and ready to fall any moment.

But you’d already come this far, and anxiety wasn’t the only thing making you jittery.

Weaving among the market square with your trunk making each step just a tad more cumbersome, you made your way towards the sweeping monument that was Garreg Mach’s entrance hall. There were as many people as there were on the spare occasion you went out into the streets of Fhirdiad, but these people were far different from those crowds. Energetic. Enthusiastic. Clean. There was no anger in the shoulders that bumped yours, and nobody cursed at you if you accidentally stumbled into them. It was what you’d always hoped the world would be, in a way.

Careful with the steps considering you couldn’t see them over your trunk, you finally got to the large doors. They were open, revealing a grand entrance hall swarming with even more people and activity and noise. Not even bothering with a steadying breath, you entered the fray with awe-filled eyes and parted lips, amazement filling you at the magnitude of it all. Just as you had thought while approaching, Garreg Mach was amazing. Fulfilling and surpassing any dream you could have ever had, more wonderful than any place you’d ever been. Truly without a parallel, Garreg Mach was -

Too busy gawking at your surroundings, you almost ran right into somebody.

“Watch where you’re going, girl!” the person snapped. You nearly fell in your skidding steps backwards, but managed to keep your balance after a bit of stumbling. Heart racing from the near catastrophe, you peered over your trunk to see who you had almost knocked over. A woman. She was dressed in the robes of the Church of Seiros with her graying hair in a rigid knot atop her head. Her bespectacled gaze was piercing, and you were certain her thin face had more wrinkles than skin.

“I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed, shrinking beneath the weight of her glare, so similar to the intimidating look given to you by many of the tutors you’d had growing up. The woman neither accepted or rejected the apology, but you were certain that her lips tightened in disapproval, encouraging more words to tumble from your mouth apologetically. “I couldn’t see you over my trunk, and I was just a bit distracted because I only just arrived and it’s all so grand! But I really am sorry, I hope I didn’t hurt you or anything, I-”

“Name?” she interrupted brusquely, using a snappish tone of someone who was utterly certain of her command over your obedience. She was right. You gave your name to her quickly, without hesitation. From behind those narrow spectacles, she scanned the pages in the leather bound logbook she held.

“From Fhirdiad… Of low, noble birth… Oh, Imperial mother?” she muttered as she made a note with a charcoal pencil on the page, seemingly speaking to herself. You weren’t sure if you were meant to respond, but she saved you by raising her arm into the air, withered skin and church robe flapping with the movement. At her cue, a young man cut through the surrounding crowd and jogged up to the two of you. She didn’t even look up at his approach.

“Another student?” he asked, dark eyes flicking from her to you.

“She is,” the woman flipped to a different page in her book. “Bottom story room. It seems that there’s several available on the far end.” She made a mark on the page.

“Got it,” the young man said. “I can take that.” He motioned to take your trunk, which you’d nearly forgotten you were carrying while speaking. Just a year ago, your arms probably would have been trembling and weak by now. “You want me to take that, too?” he asked, pointing to the lyre case on your back. Your hand rose to touch the smooth shell of the case instinctively, protectively.

“No, thank you.”

He didn’t argue, nodding before sauntered off with your trunk, the retreating image of his back eaten by the crowd of students.

“Do you understand the Officer’s Academy system of organizing their students?” the woman asked.

“Yes, there are three houses,” you replied, repeating information you had rehearsed many times. “Since I come from Faerghus, I’ll be in the Blue Lions house.” Your sword instructor had graduated from the Blue Lions as well, a source of great pride for him. The severe woman nodded.

“Yes. Your house leader this year is Prince Dimitri, the heir to the Kingdom’s crown.”

Your stomach tightened, but you nodded. It was surreal to hear it said aloud, but expected. Even you, far removed from local gossip and noble politics, had heard that Prince Dimitri would be attending the Officer’s Academy. Although you’d often thought of him as being years your senior, his idol status elevating him to something far grander than your own limited existence, he was the same age as you.

“You’ll be expected to complete registration before class begins the day after tomorrow, although I recommend making time for it today so you may receive your official room assignment and key,” the woman continued. “Any further questions can be answered to your house leader or professor.”

“Understood,” you agreed automatically, a response instilled in you through the brute force of too many frightening authority figures.

“That’s everything, then,” she said, snapping her book closed. “If you continue ahead you will find the common rooms where I’m sure you will be able to locate your house leader for further questions. It is, of course, expected that you will behave in a fashion suited to a student at the Officer’s Academy at all times.” The pointed glare made you shy away, but you nodded. She gave a single, curt bob of her head in acknowledgement. “Now, please excuse me, there are other students who require my attention.” She did not wait for you to respond, leaving you standing alone without even a goodbye or good luck. Using your excellent judgement of character, you decided you didn’t like that woman very much.

But, being alone gave you a moment to pause and catch your breath, studying the crowd of students around you. They were nearly as interesting as Garreg Mach itself. They were wildly varied in terms of appearance and disposition, hailing from all parts of Fodlan, but they all wore uniforms just like yours. They’d come to Garreg Mach for the same reason as you, to learn the art of fighting and battle. Most of them would be noble, or at least extremely wealthy. Both, sometimes. Not that it mattered. Your dream had nothing to do with nobility or wealth, or even to do with other people. That didn’t mean you couldn’t make friends, though. You’d never had a friend from the Empire or Alliance. Well, really you hadn’t ever had a friend at all. The idea that you would was frightening, but exciting.

Even more frightening, yet exciting, was the fact that you were about to meet someone you had spent most of your life idolizing. Oddly, the idea invited far more nerves than anything else. Prince Dimitri was no longer your idol, and he hadn’t been since you crested the cusp of childhood, but he was still royalty. The genesis of your dreams of knighthood and heroism.

After a bit of uncertain mental back and forth, you decided to gather the guts to ask someone where you might find your house leader, realizing how easily you could get lost when you made it past the great entrance hall and into the expansive space beyond.

Blue cape, the first student said. Blond hair. Likely hanging around the common rooms. Or the dormitory, another chimed in. Wait, hadn’t you heard that the house leaders were leaving today? He was already gone. Oh no, claimed another student, they hadn’t left yet. Yes, he could have sworn he just saw the Blue Lions professor hurrying past. His face oddly pale, too. A bit weird, don’t you think?.

So began your first journey around the huge and confusing labyrinth of Garreg Mach. Not only did you know next to nothing about the layout, but you weren’t even entirely certain if the one you were looking for was still here. According to some sources he and the other house leaders were already gone. After a certain point, you were ready to admit defeat and settle for locating the rest of your class, until you saw the back of a head with cropped golden blond hair. Beneath it waved a cape so blue it seemed to make every other color less intense.

Anticipation spiked in your heart. Nerves. Fear. Excitement. It had to be him. Somehow, you were certain of that.

On feet sore from the strain of breaking in your new school shoes, you hurried towards the figure. “Excuse me!” you called, drawing the gazes of the other students in the main hall. Right back where you’d begun, actually. You’d made so many circles around the monastery grounds you probably should have felt dizzy.

Luckily, the man in blue paused, turning his head back towards you curiously.

It was strange. As was only natural considering how long it had been, the prince looked completely different, yet you felt an instant pang of recognition. It was really true. It was him. You came to a stop a few feet away, breathing heavily from a combination of all the running and thinner air and uncomfortably aware that there was a sheen of sweat on your brow. Not exactly the best impression, but you managed a nervous smile regardless.

“You’re the house leader? For the Blue Lions?” you asked, a hand on your cheek in a vain attempt to cool it. You should have used his name, but somehow you felt too embarrassed to say it out loud.

“I am,” Dimitri responded slowly, curiously.

“You’re awfully difficult to find, you know,” you said with a breathless little laugh, trying to play off your nerves. Realizing immediately after that it sounded an awful lot like you were criticizing him, you quickly added, “But I’m not upset! It’s just that grounds are so big and I kept getting lost and I was told to talk to you before anything else and… Oh!” You stopped rambling and took a deep breath. It was easy to convince yourself that the only reason why your head was spinning was the altitude. You introduced yourself with a bow that was only slightly awkward due to the weight of the lyre case on your back. Ladies curtseyed, but your new position dictated that a bow was more appropriate. Recognition filled Dimitri’s eyes at some point during your drawn out introduction, curiosity being replaced by understanding.

“So you’re the late arrival. My apologies for not being there to greet you. Please allow me to welcome to the Officer’s Academy. I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, crown prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus” he said, bowing neatly, the movement carefully controlled with perfectly stiff posture and grace. “Although, while we’re here, I’m simply a fellow student. Please feel free to address me informally. It’s an honor to have you in our class.”

“The honor is all mine,” you replied, only mostly flustered by his elaborate introduction, but smiling at his welcome all the same.

“Do you have any questions about life here at Garreg Mach, or your role as a student?” Dimitri asked, his voice polite and earnest, eyes the same startling shade of powder blue as you remembered. It was a color you spent much of your youth attempting to put to song, but seeing it again, you realized you’d never gotten it quite right. “I haven’t much time, but I would be happy to answer them.”

You didn’t even know if you had questions or not, you couldn’t remember what you had been thinking before finding him other than frustration at being lost and anticipation at seeing him again.

“You’re going somewhere?” you asked instead.

“The leader’s for each of the three houses are going on an expedition together so we may become more familiar before classes start,” Dimitri explained. “My most sincere apologies for such a short greeting, but I imagine we’ll be back tomorrow. If you have questions in the meantime, I don’t doubt that the other Blue Lions students will be of great help in answering them. I believe you can find them in the common room.”

“Oh… All right! Thank you, Your Highness,” you said, bubbly despite the nerves. Or perhaps because of them. You couldn’t help but note that your voice was just a touch too high to be considered normal. “And, um.. Good luck!”

Dimitri surveyed your enthusiastic smile before giving you one his own, an expression that didn’t reach his famously blue eyes. Not that it looked false, really. It was a smile that made you aware of one of the largest differences between your first meeting and this one. All those years ago, you had both had your fathers at your side.

Men who were now dead.

“Thank you. I will endeavor to do my best.” Dimitri bowed again. Then, with a vaguely militaristic step, he turned and left through the large doors. They allowed afternoon sun into the grand entrance hall, warm and golden, slanting slightly into your eyes.

After a beat of standing there uncertainly, you turned on your heel to leave. Your thoughts lingered on the meeting. Seeing as you had only met Dimitri the once, it came as no great shock that he wouldn’t remember you. A starry eyed girl would always recall her meeting with a prince, while you were just one of the hundreds to him. Mostly, it was just surreal. For years after that meeting, Prince Dimitri had something akin to a storybook character come to life. An object of your childhood fantasy, not a person. Meeting again, you were made aware that he was just a man. An orphan with weary eyes.

Shaking your head, you tried to cast out the prince from your mind altogether. Dimitri was far and away from being the reason you had worked your heart out to come to the Officer’s Academy, even if once upon a time he had been the inspiration. You were now a woman, free of such childish idealism. Adult idealism was much different.

For one, these ideals were going to be realized, of that you were most truly and absolutely certain.

Prelude in C Major Opus 1, No. 2

Garreg Mach was a mystery. You realized that pretty soon after getting lost for the third time. The old stone walls and large buildings were filled with a thousand little details and secrets just waiting to be discovered. It reminded you of the months directly following your move to your father’s estate when you were younger, before you knew everything it had to offer. It was a mystery that you wouldn’t be able to solve so quickly, but by that night, you at least knew the cast.

You first met Annette, the incredibly friendly and clumsy sorceress. Despite her tiny frame, she toppled you right onto the ground with her in her mad dash attempt to pull you to meet her best friend Mercedes. Mercedes, Annette’s best friend and white magic sorceress, greeted you with a smile so warm you felt it in your heart. She bandaged Annette’s scraped knee with a patience that led you to believe she’d done it many times before while they told you about the School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad, a place you’d heard of but never seen.

Then there was Ashe, the adopted son of Lord Lanato of the Gaspard Territory you had traveled through on your way to the monastery. His easy smile and soft green eyes invited an instant sense of trust, and it seemed that the both of you had similar goals and dreams. He was infectiously enthusiastic about the both of you trying your very best.

Ingrid was chivalrous and proud. You only properly met her when another member of the class named Sylvain approached you with flirtatious intent, only to be promptly scolded by the virtuous blonde. Old friends, she explained while Sylvain rubbed the back of his head where she’d smacked him, along with His Highness and Felix. Felix had a hard stare and intimidating aura, but he did smile while teasing Ingrid about her excitement over the food at Garreg Mach, so you doubted that he could be that bad.

Dedue you wound up meeting by accident, as he hadn’t been in the commons room. Actually, you met him in the greenhouse. The giant of a man had been tending to the flowers within. You only recognized him based on description, although it would have been impossible to mistake him. Prince Dimitri’s vassal and a man of Duscur. He didn’t say much to your introduction, and his gaze was intimidating and impossible for you to read.

Duscur was the country razed to the ground after taking the blame for the King’s assassination some years back. You didn’t know a lot about the tragedy that had taken place, or any of the events leading up to it, aside from that it had resulted in Dimitri’s father’s death, as well as the death of many others. There were many people who whispered about how bizarre and inappropriate it was for Dimitri to have chosen a man of Duscur as his vassal, although you found it hard to believe that Dimitri would trust someone of rotten character. Besides, you’d never seen such large hands be so tender with something as delicate as flowers.

By the next morning, you had a basic knowledge of Garreg Mach’s layout. Basically. At the very least, you got from your room to the mess hall and then to the baths without much trouble.

By the afternoon, you learned that the house leaders were back in the monastery.

A half hour later, you were told that there had been bandit attack that had nearly killed all three lords. To much fanfare and relief, they were accompanied back to the monastery by the mercenaries who saved them, a man named Jeralt who used to be a Knight of Serios and his son.

Jeralt’s son introduced himself as Byleth. You’d heard whispers among the students that called him the Ashen Demon, a moniker he’d picked up while doing mercenary work. To you, he didn’t look very demonic. His expression was perfectly serene, uncaring. Lacking emotion entirely, it almost seemed. But he was attractive, what with those dark blue eyes and messy hair, and very polite and softspoken. And he’d saved Dimitri. Besides, everyone was talking of how skilled he was in battle.

You liked him. How could you not?

An hour and a half after meeting the man, the Blue Lions were all gathered together and informed that Byleth was to be your new professor. Apparently, the other one had ran away in fear when the bandit attack happened, which had become a mere footnote in the excitement of Professor Byleth’s arrival and sudden hire as a teacher. A cowardly man you’d never meet, it seemed. Not that it mattered much. Who better to teach you to be a heroic knight than someone with actual combat experience? Your newly minted Professor Byleth didn’t seem to be too concerned one way or another about the entire affair, his dark eyes measuring each one of his new students in turn before wishing you all a good night.

The next day, classes began. And such was the start of your education at Garreg Mach Officer’s Academy.

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