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hiddenobject-fanblog · 2 months

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His Soul (Chapter 18)

Elise

Summary: After saving the abducted collectors, you were trusted with Curioso's box. What seems like a dangerous possession slowly turns into an opportunity to learn more about this creature and his curse. Can you earn his trust, and possibly, his affection?

Pairings: Curioso/Reader, Curioso/The Detective

Next to the man you assumed was ‘Aydan’ stood a suited figure with their hands clasped behind their back. Their hourglass figure made you believe it was a woman, but no hair cascaded down the red shoulders of the suit. What caught your attention was the glaring fact that this person did not have a face. Or any head at all. It was simply a blank space above the collar of the suit, and from where you were sitting, you did not see any neck leading to the body. You would have believed it was a mannequin, had the figure not slightly shifted under your attention.

You didn’t realize you were gawking.

It reminded you of Curioso - lacking any human skin, almost appearing invisible. Your partner wore a mask, so it was easy to tell where his eyes would be, but what you were looking at now…it was hard to pinpoint where it was facing exactly. Your attention was directed away when the man across from you loudly cleared his throat.

“Good afternoon. I trust Clinton led you here with no trouble?” He asked politely. His voice was deep and inviting.

You took this opportunity to lower yourself in the awaiting chair, sitting up professionally. You wore the most genuine smile you could manage. “Oh, yes, he was very helpful.”

“Good, good.” He sniffed, reaching into his desk and surfacing a piece of paper. “I was told you’re here for the initiation?”

Still not knowing what you were getting yourself into, you nodded helpfully. He bobbed his head a little in return and wrote something down. In this brief second, your eyes darted over to the suited being beside him, who had not moved an inch.

“So, let’s get the obvious out of the way. What do you practice?”

You blinked at him. “What?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, I forgot you’re a novice. What field of magic are you practicing?”

You had absolutely no idea how to answer this question. Prior to Curioso coming into your life, you knew very little of magic. When you first started your detective job, your belief in the supernatural was limited. But after the cases you’ve been on and the things you’ve seen, you’ve only recently begun to truly believe in things that challenged the laws of nature. Obtaining this jester and his box flipped your whole world view upside down - as they were visible proof that magic existed.

But even the book you read about his magic and his curse supplied little to you in the vast field of sorcery, so you didn’t know how to respond. You sat there with your mouth open, the word ‘divination’ on the tip of your tongue, as that was what the translator had told you she practiced, but you were interrupted before that term slipped out.

Curioso’s voice whispered in your ear. “Tell him ‘pyromancy’.”

“Pyromancy.” You blurted out.

His eyes glistened before he scribbled this information down. You began to sweat in your seat. What was pyromancy again..? A pyromaniac was someone who was obsessed with setting things on fire…so if you combined the two in this context…

“It’s the first question we ask because anyone who comes to our commencement must be practicing magic, otherwise how else could they have come here?” He gestured around with his hands and chuckled.

You laughed as well - just now realizing that you were the only person here who was not an enchanter, and had only arrived by chance that you were with someone who was. Only people who could magically see past the concealing spell could have found this place. Dear God. There was no backing out of this now, was there?

“As for the next obvious question - your name?”

You supplied him with a fake one on the spot, knowing that your true identity would lead to your police status. You’d have to stick with this alias during your time here…you clasped your hands in your lap to stop yourself from fidgeting. You couldn’t appear nervous. You’re a novice pyromancer here for an initiation…but initiated into what, exactly?

Aydan asked for more information from you, such as your age, how long you’ve been practicing your field, and other things you could easily lie through your teeth for. It wasn’t until he moved the subject to their organization that you found yourself growing nervous.

“-And how did you hear about us?” He asked with intrigue, leaning back in his chair and looking at you.

“Ah-” You decided to try this for a second time, even though it hadn’t worked with Clinton. “Sophie suggested that I join. She told me all sorts of good things about…what you do here, and I’ve finally come around to see it all for myself.”

“Sophie…Carter?” His eyebrows furrowed together and he turned around to face the filing cabinet behind him. But the suited assistant by his side was already skimming through a drawer and handed him a folder - which he took and opened on the desk in front of him. “...As I thought. She was one of many that was recently detained by the police.”

You feigned surprise. “She was? I guess that’s why I haven’t heard from her in awhile…”

He shut it and sighed, handing the dossier back to the one in the suit. As they took it, you saw a petite gloved hand take it from him. But there was no wrist to be seen in between the glove and the sleeve.

“The sacrifices we have to make…We shouldn’t have to worry about any more police interference. We learned what we did wrong with that location.”

This piqued your curiosity, but prying about it might arouse his suspicion, so you kept quiet. You were too busy eying the one beside him, studying the slim suit and the constantly-upright posture. It almost looked like a butler, ready to serve even the slightest demand.

When you caught Aydan’s orange eye again, he was grinning at you. “Fascinated by her, aren’t you?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t seem upset…so maybe honesty wouldn’t hurt. “I am, yes. What is she?”

You felt rude not addressing her directly, but you wanted to play things safe. Aydan turned in his seat and admired the suited woman for himself, who stood stock-still with the utmost politeness. You couldn’t imagine where she was looking - but you presumed she had her head held high.

“It’s the greatest thing I have ever come across,” His yellow teeth shined as his grin widened, reaching out to trace a hand along her suited side. This action made you uncomfortable, but she hadn’t faltered in the slightest. “Magical servants. Bounding their soul to you for an eternity. Answering to you, serving you however you’d like, giving you whatever you need…just like a real servant, but they never die or complain. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“I haven’t,” You lied. “It sounds incredible.”

“They are extremely rare. I was incredibly fortunate to come across Elise. She has been my servant for many, many years.” He puffed his chest out as he continued to boast. “Sure, they’re a little strange, not having any faces or bodies…but if you make them wear something, then it’s not all that bad.”

You watched the two with intrigue. “How did you get her, exactly?”

You saw a flash of mischievousness in his eye as he addressed you. He shook his head. “I can’t spill my secrets. But just know that they are one in a million, and if you ever meet someone who has one, you better try killing them for it.”

Your smile felt tight trying not to react to that last part. Aydan looked down at the paper and read over everything he’d written. He looked satisfied as he checked something off and dropped his pen. “Looks like you’re a good fit for our family. If you pass initiation, and you have enough training, you’ll be experienced enough to work with us soon.”

“Training?” You implored.

“It’s recommended for newbies like you to work under the wing of one of our more experienced employers.” He paused to shrug. “-Unless you impress me at the initiation today. But be warned: I am one of the best maguses you’ll ever meet, so leaving an impression on me is incredibly…rare.”

You swallowed to get the moisture back in your throat. You didn’t even know where to begin with pyromancy, so you had no idea how to stand out besides being incredibly…incapable of any magic. Still, you held your bright expression and nodded to him in understanding.

“Feel free to mingle and meet some of our members at the party. Initiation starts in a couple hours, where you’ll be tested with a few other newcomers for entry into our club.” He glanced you over and turned to Elise. “Get our new arrival some more…fitting clothes to wear, will you?”

She conjured up some elaborate silk clothes for you. Curioso’s magic had blue and red colors that accompanied all his conjurations and spells, but Elise’s was a bright pink. Which was a color you’d also occasionally seen from your jester. You took them from her with a polite bow.

“Thank you.”

She simply held her hands together and Aydan flicked his wrist at you. “Put those on when you have the time, and enjoy some of our wine while you’re here.”

You were finally dismissed from the room, rushing away from the door to get as far away as possible. Once you were in a more desolate part of the hallway, you slumped against the wall and let out a deep sigh. At least that was over with…and it went pretty well. You were positive you hadn’t appeared suspicious at all.

“His aura wasn’t THAT impressive,” Curioso murmured in your ear. Your eyes widened and you involuntarily gasped at his voice. He’d been pretty quiet during that whole exchange.

“Did you see her!? Elise?”

“Yes - another who is cursed.”

“It’s amazing. I never thought I’d see someone else like you.” You were still trying to come to terms with this discovery. “I wonder if you two can meet.”

“We’ll worry about that another time, Detective. You have an initiation soon.”

“Right..” You put the clothes in your bag for the time being. Why wasn't he as excited as you were about her? Maybe he just was focusing on more important things. You probably should, too. “I’m going to need your help with that.”

“Obviously. And if my magic is good, then we don’t have to worry about you actually training to become a pyromaniac.”

“What was that about, by the way?” You narrowed your eyes skeptically. “Pyromancy? What is that?”

“The magic of fire..! It’s my favorite. We’ll have fun, you’ll see.”

“Alright…” Your eyes wandered to the open floor of party-goers. You couldn’t keep isolating yourself and whispering to your bag. You’ll need to mingle and make some acquaintances to fit in with everybody here. “In the meantime, I need you to help me. If any of these people ask or expect me to do some magic, can you…ah…well-”

“-Do everything for you?” He finished.

“Yes. Exactly.”

“I will. But please tell me you’re going to learn all you can and find a way to get out of this. I don’t know how long our charade will last, but at some point someone will check if you have a magical aura, and they will find that you don’t. We need to be out of here before that happens.”

“If you’re around me, then I have one.” You smiled. “Don’t worry, my goal is to learn what’s going on here and shut it all down. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“That’s good. Keep your confidence. You’re going to need it.”

You let your bag fall to your side and began your search for some sort of restroom where you could change. These people might be able to conjure themselves some fancy clothing right on their body, but you did not want to ask Curioso to change your clothes for you. You didn’t know what he could and couldn’t see…and having him seeing you naked wasn’t something you wanted to happen right now.

…’Right now’? Your face flushed at the sudden thought, hoping he couldn’t read your mind. Or anyone else here, for that matter...Wait. Was that a possibility? Of a mind-reader being at the party, who would expose you for who you were? Oh, God. Oh, god.

“Calm down, Detective. The restroom is right there. Can’t you see through the doors?”

You scowled and twisted the doorknob to the room he mentioned, locking yourself in a decently-sized bathroom. Well. At least they had those here. You placed your bag elsewhere and turned it to the wall, with the false hope that Curioso couldn’t see you changing.

As you looked into the mirror and admired your more formal getup, you made your goals clear in your mind: learn what this operation was for, who was involved, and who is in charge. Your lead suspect in that department was this Aydan fellow. He was friendly, albeit a bit intimidating, but the most fascinating thing about him right now was that he also owned a magical servant. And you were determined to learn more about her during your brief stay here.

Is she a captive, like Curioso had been under the Enchantress? Was she in danger? If there was any possibility of that, you wanted to help. You couldn’t let the victims of this curse suffer like your dear friend had.

You thought of him and it warmed you deeply. He was with you right now. He was going to help you. And you had no worries of anything going wrong so long as he was here.

#hidden object #hidden object game #whispered secrets morbid obsession #whispered secrets: morbid obsession #curioso #fanfiction #his soul #curioso x reader #x reader

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music-despite-everything · 6 months

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Happy birthday, Adrienne Rich!

Adrienne Cecile Rich, born May 16, 1929, in Baltimore, Maryland, and died March 27, 2012, in Santa Cruz, California, was an American poet, essayist, and feminist. She was called "one of the most widely read and influential poets of the second half of the 20th century", and was credited with bringing "the oppression of women and lesbians to the forefront of poetic discourse." Rich criticized rigid forms of feminist identities and valorized what she coined the "lesbian continuum," which is a female continuum of solidarity and creativity that impacts and fills women's lives.

Her first collection of poetry, A Change of World, was selected by renowned poet W. H. Auden for the Yale Series of Younger Poets Award. Auden went on to write the introduction to the published volume. She famously declined the National Medal of Arts, protesting the vote by House Speaker Newt Gingrich to end funding for the National Endowment for the Arts.

---

Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law, 1963

You, once a belle in Shreveport, with henna-colored hair, skin like a peach bud, still have your dresses copied from that time, and play a Chopin prelude called by Cortot: "Delicious recollections float like perfume through the memory." Your mind now, moldering like wedding-cake, heavy with useless experience, rich with suspicion, rumor, fantasy, crumbling to pieces under the knife-edge of mere fact. In the prime of your life. Nervy, glowering, your daughter wipes the teaspoons, grows another way. 2 Banging the coffee-pot into the sink she hears the angels chiding, and looks out past the raked gardens to the sloppy sky. Only a week since They said: Have no patience. The next time it was: Be insatiable. Then: Save yourself; others you cannot save. Sometimes she's let the tap stream scald her arm, a match burn to her thumbnail, or held her hand above the kettle's snout right in the woolly steam. They are probably angels, since nothing hurts her anymore, except each morning's grit blowing into her eyes.

3 A thinking woman sleeps with monsters. The beak that grips her, she becomes. And Nature, that sprung-lidded, still commodious steamer-trunk of tempora and mores gets stuffed with it all: the mildewed orange-flowers, the female pills, the terrible breasts of Boadicea beneath flat foxes' heads and orchids. Two handsome women, gripped in argument, each proud, acute, subtle, I hear scream across the cut glass and majolica like Furies cornered from their prey: The argument ad feminam, all the old knives that have rusted in my back, I drive in yours, ma semblable, ma soeur! 4 Knowing themselves too well in one another: their gifts no pure fruition, but a thorn, the prick filed sharp against a hint of scorn... Reading while waiting for the iron to heat, writing, My Life had stood--a Loaded Gun-- in that Amherst pantry while the jellies boil and scum, or, more often, iron-eyed and beaked and purposed as a bird, dusting everything on the whatnot every day of life.

5 Dulce ridens, dulce loquens, she shaves her legs until they gleam like petrified mammoth-tusk. 6 When to her lute Corinna sings neither words nor music are her own; only the long hair dipping over her cheek, only the song of silk against her knees and these adjusted in reflections of an eye. Poised, trembling and unsatisfied, before an unlocked door, that cage of cages, tell us, you bird, you tragical machine-- is this fertillisante douleur? Pinned down by love, for you the only natural action, are you edged more keen to prise the secrets of the vault? has Nature shown her household books to you, daughter-in-law, that her sons never saw?

7 "To have in this uncertain world some stay which cannot be undermined, is of the utmost consequence." Thus wrote a woman, partly brave and partly good, who fought with what she partly understood. Few men about her would or could do more, hence she was labeled harpy, shrew and whore. 8 "You all die at fifteen," said Diderot, and turn part legend, part convention. Still, eyes inaccurately dream behind closed windows blankening with steam. Deliciously, all that we might have been, all that we were--fire, tears, wit, taste, martyred ambition-- stirs like the memory of refused adultery the drained and flagging bosom of our middle years. 9 Not that it is done well, but that it is done at all? Yes, think of the odds! or shrug them off forever. This luxury of the precocious child, Time's precious chronic invalid,-- would we, darlings, resign it if we could? Our blight has been our sinecure: mere talent was enough for us-- glitter in fragments and rough drafts. Sigh no more, ladies. Time is male and in his cups drinks to the fair. Bemused by gallantry, we hear our mediocrities over-praised, indolence read as abnegation, slattern thought styled intuition, every lapse forgiven, our crime only to cast too bold a shadow or smash the mold straight off. For that, solitary confinement, tear gas, attrition shelling. Few applicants for that honor. 10 Well, she's long about her coming, who must be more merciless to herself than history. Her mind full to the wind, I see her plunge breasted and glancing through the currents, taking the light upon her at least as beautiful as any boy or helicopter, poised, still coming, her fine blades making the air wince but her cargo no promise then: delivered palpable ours.

#poetry #poemsociety #poemblr #poems and poetry #poem #adrienne rich #snapshots of a daughter-in-law #santa cruz #yale series of younger poets award #national medal of arts #national endowment for the arts

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violet-shadows · 2 years

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✨CLICK HERE TO BE ADDED TO MY TAGLIST✨

It’s okay.

After a desperate search, Azriel rescues his friend and fellow member of the Inner Circle. Their reunion prompts some revelations about their shared connection and feelings for one another.

What are we waiting for? (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three - NSFW)

Azriel has never been very good at talking about his feelings and his mate is no different. When both make assumptions about the other’s intentions, heartbreak and miscommunication ensue.

I knew it the first night that I saw you. (Part One) (Part Two)

When the High Lady’s sister sends a friend to your shop in her stead, you find your thoughts are soon captivated by a certain member of the Inner Circle.

Speaking of forgiveness. (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

A spike of fear down the mating bond has Azriel racing back to the Night Court, terrified by what he’ll find. Meanwhile, the Inner Circle grapples with the fallout of a severe case of mistaken identity.

Low on Hope (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four)

The youngest of the Archeron sisters went to great lengths to keep her family afloat before her sister went over the wall. The nature of her sacrifice was a secret she vowed never the share. That is, until Feyre and new brother-in-law’s magical abilities spoil her plan to leave the past in the past. When old memories become fresh wounds again, it’s up to a certain Spymaster to help piece Y/N back together.

Careful

Azriel discovers something about his half-human mate that alarms him.

Cover Story (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

When a mission leads him to a secluded island, Azriel recruits a friend and colleague to pose as his mate. Their time spent working together reveals more than they anticipated.

Welcome Home

Azriel comes home late one evening to a surprise from his mate, who has spent the evening reading scary stories.

One More (NSFW)

Azriel is nothing if not patient and his willpower brings you to new heights in bed.

Scary Stories

On a camping trip with the Inner Circle, a spooky tale has you leaning on Azriel for comfort.

Wish Things Were Different (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

You know your mate loves you, but as he and Elain get closer, you begin to wonder if he wishes things had turned out differently.

These Hands

Your mate is thrilled about becoming a father, but his past makes him question whether he’s fit for the role.

Retribution (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

When Azriel’s best friend is kidnapped, he fears he may never get the chance to reveal his true feelings for her.

I Need You (NSFW)

Some playful teasing between you and Azriel turns into something more.

Grounded (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four)

Azriel meets a stranger in the library and finds the course of his life forever altered.

Take Care

Azriel’s mate hasn’t been herself lately, stirring up old fears for the Shadowsinger. [fluff and angst]

Moving On (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four)

After loving Azriel in secret for years, you decide it’s time for you to move on.

I’m supposed to protect you.

When a sparring match with your mate goes south, Cassian is left to pick up the pieces with a guilty conscience.

I’d do anything for you.

Cassian will do anything to make his mate happy, even if it means sacrificing his own comfort.

Payback (Part One) (Part Two)

After spending the evening teasing his mate, Cassian finds himself in a compromising position when she seeks revenge.

Poison

A diplomatic mission goes awry, leaving Cassian and his mate stranded in the Illyrian wilderness.

Peace

Cassian and his mate reunite after a long, hard battle and take comfort in one another.

Sleepless in Velaris

Cassian wakes up alone and comes looking for his mate. As usual, he knows just what to do to help her fall asleep.

ACOTAR Writing Circle Masterlist

Missing Piece (Series Index)

(Nessian x Reader) Cassian and Nesta are happily mated and in love, so why do they feel like something is missing? When a newcomer arrives in the City of Starlight, they learn that their bond is not yet complete.

🚫Requests are closed as of 10/01/2022.🚫

#azriel x reader #azriel x oc #cassian x reader #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar #ff #masterlist #acotar masterlist

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outoftheframework · 3 years

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my proposal for tropes we as a fandom should adopt in all fanworks going forward: Duke Thomas edition

So every fandom has tropes and characterization quirks that have been generally accepted into fanon and, like, maybe? they were originally based on some obscure comic panel from the 80s or something but it doesn’t really matter because we’re all just,,, cool with it? Like for example- in the dc comics fandom, an art piece could show 3 of the bats that look virtually identical except one of them is holding a box of cereal so that one is obviously Dick Grayson. . . Y’know?

Anyway, these things usually come up naturally I guess but I’ve been here a while and it’s finally time to put my foot down. It’s high time for Duke Thomas to be more in fanon than “the sane one.” Because he might be the relatively new guy but he is certainly fears no gods or laws of the land just as much as the other bats, lemme tell ya.

TL;DR here are character quirks (”canon-based” or otherwise) that we should all really latch onto seriously I’m begging y’all to make at least one of these happen-

Duke “Habitually Jumping Out of Moving Vehicles” Thomas

This one’s actually based in canon y’all; Duke did indeed yeet himself out of the back of a cop car and off of a bridge (in We Are... Robin). Normalize Duke’s wearing knee and elbow pads as Signal because jumping out of a car turns out relatively fine once and then suddenly Batman’s rooftop disappearing act seems mellow compared to the amount of times Gordon has whipped his head around to see a now Signal-less backseat.

Like, he’s going 60 mph?? And he didn’t even hear the door open?? and tHE DOORS ARE STILL LOCKED??

Imagine this leaking into civilian life and Bruce waking up to a blurry photo of Duke mid-escape from a limousine on the front page of the Gotham Gazette.

(more under cut)

Duke “Puzzles are my Passion” Thomas

Duke is ~canonically~ very skilled at both solving and concocting riddles (as a child during that time where The Riddler just,,, controlled Gotham, he worked non-stop on riddles, trying to make the perfect one). Please y’all- let Duke solve puzzles. Have the other bats ask him for help after 36 hours straight of brooding over some brainteaser that Duke works out within the half-hour. He texts a picture of the solution scribbled out on loose leaf in the margins of his pre-calc homework because this boy shows his work.

My guy is a word-cross FIEND. A mind-sweeper speed-runner. That guy who mails into the Gazette to correct a solution in the “fun & games” section and also ps that photo is not of me I am simply a polite young man who is much too busy writing into the paper in the year 2021 to jump out of limos-

I also would love to see this integrated into the type of cases he investigates / runs into on his daytime patrol. Like, obviously the criminal activity is going to dramatically differ before and after sundown, but that doesn’t make Duke’s work any easier or less important. It’s a different skillset; he has to work differently. Instead of jumping into fights, halting mob meetings, saving civilians in dark allies, etc. Duke has to sort through all of the moving pieces before they all converge into something catastrophic.

It’s a known fact that criminal organizations in Gotham make and execute a lot of behind-the-scenes plans during the day specifically not to run into the bats. And Duke knows and monitors this shit all by himself; his work is crucial to logistics and information gathering for the bats as a whole. Now criminals have like, a 2 hour gap between bat-shifts to try and get stuff done. But Duke would 100% set traps on timers or lead them on this pre-set convoluted goose chase to distract them until the night bats come out and to let himself enjoy the whole thing playing out on the news while he finishes homework that’s due at midnight.

Duke “I Know a Guy” Thomas

So in going off of the basic concept for the “We Are. . . Robin” run in combination to his general likability, Duke has a lot of friends all around Gotham. Okay, sure, he doesn’t have a Super best friend or a Speedster on speed dial, but he does know this guy who details cars up on West 35th and will tell them all about the new mods on Black Mask’s transport vans if they come through the third floor window and bring takeout.

Bruce and Tim will be waiting for the facial recognition software to identify at least a partial match off of security cam footage when Duke pulls into the cave, takes one look at the screen, and says “Oh, that’s <insert name, address, abridged life story, and known associates here>.” This also brings in the opportunity for Duke to have some sort of perfect recall for faces, voices, names, etc. which I think could be a really cool element for his position as the batfamily member who has a lot more personal interaction with the people of Gotham.

I’m also into the idea of a lot of people knowing/telling stories about Duke. Not to reference the Chuck Norris meme but almost like the Chuck Norris meme lmao. Think about Jason mentioning his brother to someone and she replies, “Duke Thomas? Like that Duke Thomas? The one who swam across the harbor because he said it’d be faster than the subway and it actually was?” These stories have varying levels of truth to them but Duke will never confirm nor deny when he gets random calls from family members yelling “you dID WHAT”

So those are my top three, and the following is a little speed-round of headcanons :)

Duke has a super expressive face. Like when he’s relaxed around family, you can tell exactly what he’s thinking and how he’s feeling by his visual reactions to things

Duke rotates through picking up new and revisiting old hobbies at a pretty rapid pace. Some hobbies include: bullet journaling, origami, viola, cello, synth, conversational basics in multiple languages, up-cycling and embroidering clothes

Duke has a really fucking adorable smile. He can’t help it. He’ll try to grin sarcastically or smug to be annoying but his smile just cannot be anything other than endearing. He also has a very specific booming laugh that’s an absolute treasure to hear, because it’s the most genuinely happy thing ever.

Duke unironically enjoys Signal by Twice even though the first time he heard it was after Steph had set it as his morning alarm.

So.

Come and get your food, I guess.

Feel free to add on if you’d like! I’d love to see anything you guys write/draw/etc. based on anything from here if you feel compelled to do so!

Stay safe and be well :)

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mythicandco · 3 years

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She isn’t sure why she says it.

Maybe out of pure curiosity - because it’s just the first name that pops into her head, for some reason.

But a name pierces the eerie quiet of the strange in-between dimension, a place that looks like a Demon Realm-style fun house on steroids. Dark liquid lapping against the wildly-twisting, greenish walls is the only sound here other than a human girl’s breathing.

“Philip Wittebane.”

The moment the name leaves her tongue Luz Noceda realizes she should probably check on her mother. Wasn’t that the whole point of this in the first place? But before she gets a chance to correct herself, a cube slowly floats out of the dark liquid around her, as though simply appearing for her is a difficult task. For a few moments it simply hovers there, it’s sides dripping black goo.

Then the side closest to her turns shiny and gold. Her heart rate increasing, the girl moves forward to take it - and then stops. What if it’s just his coffin, or something? Certainly Philip Wittebane would be long dead by now if he’d written his journal back in the 1600s.

But curiosity once again triumphs over doubt and Luz takes the cube in her hands. The worst that could happen is I see a skeleton, she thinks. Big deal. I’ve seen skeletons before.

Unlike the cube that showed her King, Eda, and Hooty, it takes a moment of her holding it for the thing to flash white and transfer her into a reflection. She finds herself holding her breath, and when the cube finally responds to her touch, the girl is caught off-guard and nearly drops it, severing the connection.

Luz is able to hold on, however, and she blinks as things come into focus around her. She is in the reflection of a glass picture frame. It’s holding up some painting of a black spider and a little red bird, she thinks, but her face is so close to the parchment she can’t tell for sure.

She turns her attention to the room around her, and chokes back a gasp at the most notable feature - a large, circular ring with white-and-gold wings splayed at its sides. It vaguely resembles Hunter’s staff, but that isn’t the most worrying part - it’s being constructed around the portal door, which was supposed to be destroyed. Worst of all, it looks nearly completed.

Luz covers her mouth and ducks to the bottom of the reflection as something moves in the dark - an old man with dirty blonde hair, dull blue eyes, and a dark green scar on his face. He’s wearing robes typical of the Emperor’s Coven, but she doesn’t recognize him-

Wait.

Is that Emperor Belos? Without his mask? Luz never thought she’d actually see him like this. He looks... like a sad old man. The girl frowns, but then the impact of what this means hits her full-force and her eyes widen in pure shock. She had said Philip’s name.

“NO,” she says aloud. “NO WAY.”

Belos stiffens and spins around, his eyes narrowing. They dart to his mask, which is laying next to a closed book a few feet away from him. “Who’s there?” he demands. “Spying on the emperor is an offense punishable by death.”

Luz drops the cube out of pure reflex, severing her connection to the castle. It begins to sink back into the goo, but she lets out a yelp and grabs it again.

“No, bad cube,” she scolds. “I still need your help.” Luz loosens her hold on it, but it doesn’t light up again. “Hey, come on, go back to the castle,” she says. “Please?”

The cube doesn’t respond. She shakes it. Still nothing. “Let me see Emperor Belos again! Come on, cube!” But the cube doesn’t listen. Luz grunts in frustration.

“You’re on a mission, Luz. Focus.” Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, the girl does just that.

“Show me Philip Wittebane.”

It still kind of shocks her that it works; but it does, and Luz finds herself in the reflection of the eye on the door. Staring straight at Emperor Belos.

Both sides let out identical exclamations of surprise, and for the fourth time in the past half an hour, Luz almost drops the godforsaken cube. She hisses “mierda” under her breath before she can stop herself, and is surprised to hear Belos use a profanity of his own that she easily recognizes as from the Human Realm.

The two stare at each other for a moment, and Luz takes another few moments to look at Belos’s face. He really does seem like a sad, old man, even more so up close. His blue eyes have no shine in them, and his hair is in desperate need of a good combing through. She can only see one of his ears, but it’s noticeably smaller than any other witches’ she’s seen so far and has a nick in it, and a disturbing thought occurs to her that she quickly pushes aside.

Heavy bags under his eyes - even more noticeable than the Golden Guard’s - are also present, but the most horrifying part of his face is the strange green scar. Luz doesn’t know what it’s from, but it doesn’t look like anything from the Human Realm.

“Surprised?” she asks, summoning up every ounce of strength that she can. Belos can’t hurt her where she is right now, she’s pretty sure. Even if he destroyed the reflection, it would be destroying the door, and she’s fairly certain that that would only sever the connection again, not actually kill her. He takes a step back with a grimace.

“The Owl Lady’s human pet,” the emperor practically snarls, and Luz flinches. “Guess it was only a matter of time before you tapped into this as well.”

Luz has no idea what he means, but she holds her ground. “Yeah, well, it’s a lot easier when your notes are helping me with it,” she replies. “You are Philip Wittebane, aren’t you?” Her voice trembles for some reason. Now is not the time to get excited about a potentially very dramatic backstory, she mentally tells herself.

Even if you really, really, really want to hear everything about it and take notes.

It’s Belos’ turn to wince, and he reaches for his mask. “You got ahold of my journal?” he asks in a voice that sounds more surprised than resentful.

“It was in the library for a reason,” Luz neglects to mention the paper dragon and the Forbidden Stacks and Amity-

No, Luz. Focus. “But, um, yes.”

A dry laugh escapes the emperor’s throat. “I assumed no one was going to let a human into the Forbidden Stacks.”

Luz blinks, the puzzle pieces in her mind still not quite fitting together. “But if you’re Philip Wittebane, then doesn’t that make you human, too?” She is pretty sure that was right, but with her brain still kind of frazzled by the fact that Philip and Belos were the same person, she might’ve forgotten how the laws of nature worked.

Belos chuckles again, this more sharp and harsh. Luz backs up, but with holding the cube in her hands she doesn’t get any further away from him. He puts the mask on and turns away. “I’m hardly human anymore.”

This is an interesting development. “Ooh, is this like from the Henry Pottery books? If you drink unicorn blood, you’re immortal, but also-”

“This is nothing like that.”

“Oh.” Luz frowns. “Could you tell me what it actually is, then?”

Belos whirls around, uncomfortably close to the door’s reflection. “No.”

Luz let’s out a yelp and the cube shatters in her hands. “Crap,” she says, trying to take the pieces and put them back together. Apparently he did get mad enough to break the door. With a deep inhale, the girl tries to steady herself.

Remember, Luz, she tells herself mentally. You’re on a mission to contact your mom. Worry about what just happened once you tell her what’s going on. She’s still freaking out a little, but the girl breathes a few times and promises herself she’ll look into the Philip-Belos mystery once this is over and taken care of. She opens her eyes again.

“Camila Noceda.”

#toh s2 #the owl house #the owl house spoilers #toh spoilers #yesterday’s lie spoilers #canon divergence #toh au #luz noceda #philip wittebane #emperor belos #fanfiction #the owl house fanfiction #Probably missed a few tags

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hqcult · 3 years

Text

21ST ## the miya twins

you visit hyogo to celebrate your 21st birthday with your extended family. you met atsumu and osamu, who were oh so excited to meet you.

. tw manipulation, pseudo-incest, noncon, cunnilingus, masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, mindbreak, implied double penetration, dark content . wc 4.3k

looking back, the twins are good fucking actors. they deserve some oscar-level award with how much they smiled those sweet honey smiles and lured you into a sense of security before baring their fangs and pulling you down to hell with them. but they never would’ve gotten the chance to act if you hadn’t been there as their audience. so, the truth remains the same—this is all your fault. you never should’ve insisted coming to hyōgo in the first place.

ever since getting adopted at the tender age of thirteen and moving to tokyo, you’ve seen everything there is to see, ate at every restaurant with a 5-star review on google. you’ve done them all at least thrice by now and it’s getting boring.

so, when your adoptive father had jokingly talked about coming to hyōgo to meet your extended family for your 21st birthday, you perked up in your seat and your eyes twinkled like stars.

your mom didn’t want to go at first, of course, claiming you’ll get carsick but your parents eventually gave in after seeing the pleading look in your eyes and the genuine excitement in your stance.

long story short, you did end up getting carsick. quite a few times too, actually. but you were already driving along the expressway and your mom’s sister was already expecting the three of you. so, naturally, you guys pushed through, your dad making sure he drove as smoothly as possible in order not to trigger another barfing session from you.

it was twilight by the time your dad pulled up on his sister-in-law’s driveway and the first you see were two identical faces—twins? for step-cousins? well, now that was something. you’ve never really met twins before so it was a whole new experience and it excited you greatly.

not to mention how you and atsumu instantly hit it off, your personalities aligning. yet when you sat next to osamu during dinner, the younger twin found it wasn’t as hard talking to you compared to his brother. in fact, he found it interesting how easy it was to converse with you, the words flowing out his lips. you were just so painfully compatible with them that why oh why did the universe have to make you their half-cousin?

the shift in their behavior wasn’t at all gradual but can you really blame them? you were such a good daughter, such a beauty. and they guess the whole ‘pseudo-incest’ taboo thing amplified your appeal all the more.

well, at least in their defense, atsumu and osamu genuinely wanted to get to know their new cousin in the most innocent, platonic way and not this weird thing they’re feeling right now. but you were so damn irresistible that they couldn’t keep their feelings in check.

how kind of ‘samu to grab the coffee container at the topmost shelf for you during breakfast, not knowing he purposely puts it there every night so he can “accidentally” rub his morning wood against your ass.

your ‘tsumtsum is such an angel when he doesn’t hesitate to take off his outerwear and lends it to you whenever you forget yours, not knowing he snatches them from the laundry basket and leaving you no choice but to use his. the sweet scent you leave on the jacket is enough to throw him off the edge and have him climaxing as he fucked his own hand.

nobody noticed, everyone was distracted by their achievements at such a young age. all their mom had to say is how osamu yet again made it to dean’s lister or how atsumu got scouted for a national team.

your mom and dad didn’t notice, lost in the daydream of always wanting to have their own son only to end up with you. blinded of their dazzle that the rotten pieces of them were fully camouflaged by the glow.

it all came to a peak when the twins were pulling all-nighter playing games like always.

atsumu needed to use the restroom, and just as he’s passing by your door, he heard a questionable sound that made him stop, frozen and unbelieving.

carefully, he tiptoes closer to place his ear against your door, praying to whomever that the floorboards don’t creak and disrupt whatever you’re doing. silence, seconds of it. then click, a switch turning on, he hears low vibration and a shaky whimper, a slick sound that reminded him of—

you were touching yourself.

holy fucking crap.

atsumu can only stare at the door with a knowing curl in his lips as he quickly pushes down his boxers. the risk of getting caught masturbating so out in the open making all the blood rush south.

“guess yer not as innocent as i thought ya were,” he mutters, spitting on his palm before wrapping it around his dick.

he shut his eyes close, clinging desperately into the imagination of how it would feel like to fuck your cunny instead of his hand. how the view would be like as he forces your legs up and into a mating press as he rutted his hips into you. at least you were loud, the moans he can hear as clear as day and he’s thankful he needn’t depend on his imagination anymore like all the other times.

you better be fucking thankful that the rest of the rooms were downstairs or else your parents and their mom would’ve heard by now. eh, atsumu didn’t mind. he got off on the risque idea of getting caught in the act.

when your pitch grows whinier and he hears your quick rufflings on the bed, he knows you’re close. he can hear the frantic and changing levels of the vibrator as you fucked it into your walls.

“fuck,” he hissed, the mental image of you masturbating and putting on a show for him making him teeter over the edge.

he grunts, low and animalistic, as spurts of his cum stains his hands and the floor. he didn’t care. he pumped himself through his orgasm and it was the best he’s ever got in a while. who knew all he needed to hear was his little step-cousin lewdly touching herself? naughty, naughty girl.

when he heard your panting after cumming against your little toy, he took his cue and speed-walked towards his and osamu’s bedroom to get a cloth he’ll use to clean the front of your door. but just as he caught you in the act, he caught his own brother red-handed, too.

the tiny specks of cum on the wall where osamu stood is a ghastly sight but atsumu couldn’t care less.

silently, the twins exchanged a knowing glance.

“ya heard ‘er too?”

someone knocks on your bedroom door on the eve of your birthday.

osamu was tasked to wake you up while atsumu started the car. you didn’t respond. were you… he slowly opens the door, he spots you immediately in the bundle of blankets atop your bed. when he stalks closer, you looked so cozy that osamu almost got tempted to ditch the idiot and come snuggle with you under the blankets instead.

but he has two heads and the one he’s using to think is located south.

he wakes you up with a gentle shake on the shoulder. “‘samu?” you mutter, voice low and croaky from your deep sleep when you see a blurry tousle of gray hair.

“let’s do a countdown for yer birthday, angel. come on, put on a jacket. ‘tsumu’s already startin’ up the car.”

osamu’s blunt nails dug half-moon crescents into his palms as he saw your tiny pajama shorts and the slip top when you shoved the blankets away. he swore his palms would’ve bled, especially after seeing you bending over to look for a hoodie inside your luggage.

he stared so openly, it was almost predatory in a sense.

as you scamper down the stairs with the younger twin’s hands dangerously grazing the top of your rear, you thought it’s plain old protective ‘samu being worried you’ll make a misstep and break your neck.

“where’s everybody?”

“just us three, angel. ‘lil cousin bonding before yer big party tonight, y’know?”

you giggled. how sweet, you thought.

you didn’t sense a thing. didn’t see a single red flag even if it was being waved across your face like what they do in bullfights. osamu felt a little sorry for how they’re blatantly manipulating you but it’s too late to back out now, much less let the guilt eat up his insides. he shouldn’t be a hypocrite considering he jacked off to your moans, too, that night.

he’s really no different than atsumu and it’s a tough pill to swallow.

“shotgun!”

it wasn’t osamu that stops you, but atsumu, from scampering into the front seat. the older twin quickly locks the door before lowering down the passenger side’s window.

“nuh-uh, birthday girl. ya can’t sit here or the surprise’ll be ruined!”

you grumble, frowning as you scoot yourself in the backseat of the car. atsumu twists his torso towards the back, asking you to wear the blindfold he’s handing you. it was a little tough with how stubborn you are but ‘tsumu’s just too good with his words.

you drove for thirty minutes before the car pulled up somewhere. the world is tranquil outside, so you couldn’t have driven to the nearest city. your initial guess is a beach, but there were no splashes of water. maybe a cliff-side or a forest?

the car’s ignition turns off and you call out to the twins.

“‘tsumu? ‘samu? where are we? can i take my blindfold off now?”

“just a moment, doll.” there’s an excited lilt to atsumu’s voice and you can’t help but fidget in your seat, feeling the excitement crawling up your spine as you think of what their surprise could be.

you hear them clamber out the car. you scoot closer to the door just as the backseat opens, a silly smile on your face. “you guys didn’t have to do this, you know, but i appreciate it so mu—”

someone tackles you to the seat and the air gets knocked out of your lungs. he’s heavy and you felt the muscles underneath his shirt as you tried to push him away but to no avail—you know it’s a man, it has to be because you felt the broad shoulders and something poking at your thigh. you feel him nosing the side of your neck and his hands crawling under your shirt. his freezing skin against your own is what snapped you out of it.

“atsumu! osamu!” you cried, calling for help.

you inwardly gasped, realizing something. maybe they were hurt! maybe your assaulter had creeped up behind the twins just as they opened the door for you, knocked them out cold, before trying to have their way with you. at the thought of the twins getting hurt, you thrashed, fought, and screamed with newfound fervor.

“couldja calm down and shut yer fucking trap?”

when the blindfold flies away and you see the man straddling you on the backseat of atsumu’s car, how you wished your assaulter had never taken it off.

atsumu had never looked this scary from your point of view, then again he never straddled you like this in the weeks prior. never looked at you like how he’s looking now—there’s clear hunger and lust in those eyes. you’ve seen that look one too many times from boys back in your university when you had your one night stands. but it had all been consensual and you loved them looking at you that way but this is different.

so, so different.

you can’t look at him in the eye, not when he’s staring at you like that. it felt like you’re pushed into a corner, vulnerable and bare even with the clothes you’re wearing.

“please, get off of me.”

“get off ya?” he repeats, mirth in his eyes as he hauls you up to a sitting position. he finally shuts the door behind him. “but i’ve been wantin’ to do this for weeks.”

to further emphasize his point, he grounds his hips against yours, making sure the tip of his already erect cock grazes against the bud of your clit. his boxers and the thin fabric of your shorts isn’t helping. he groans wantonly, angling his hips to do it again until you slipped out from under him and maneuvered your way to the other door.

osamu! osamu will stop him, you thought with teary eyes as atsumu growls and quickly pulls you back by the forearms, your back to his chest as you try to claw your way out of the athlete’s grip.

“‘samu! ‘samu, help me!”

but when the said twin opens the door and slips inside the car with little to no surprise present in his face, a type of fear you’ve never felt before runs up your spine. the look in osamu’s eyes reflected that of his twin’s and with sinking realization, you knew he wasn’t there to help you.

“happy 21st birthday, angel.”

and then he’s ducking down to kiss you. his lips are soft and they moved tenderly, in contrast to the barbaric way they tore at your clothes, the cold making you shiver in your underwear.

dealing with one sick person is enough, but with two, you’re not so sure. you only had two hands, if you pushed osamu away, atsumu would have free access and vice versa. your legs couldn’t move either, thanks to the cramped space of the backseat.

while holding down your hands, atsumu marks every inch of untainted skin he could see as osamu swirls his tongue inside your mouth. you’ve never felt so disgusted and dirty, but above all, betrayed. even if it was a few weeks since you’ve met, you still saw them as family. sure, you weren’t technically blood-related but in the papers it’s a different story.

when osamu pulled away, you averted your eyes but his hand reached up to hold your chin, forcing your eyes to meet. you feel his other hand trailing up your thighs, fingers dangerously close to your clothed sex as he watched you like a fox. he wanted to commit this moment to memory. every twitch and small gasp you make as his cold fingers pinched at your clit and traced your pussy lips.

“staying quiet, princess?” atsumu comments, hands snaking around front to squeeze and grope your breasts over the bra you wore. “ya weren’t like this when i caught ya touchin’ yerself last week.”

your eyes widened. when you tried turning your head to look over your shoulder towards the other twin, osamu shoved two fingers inside you.

your reaction was immediate. the pleasure and pain mixing as a loud gasp escapes your lips. “eyes up front,” he murmurs, the firm hold on your chin going higher to encase your whole jaw.

“oi, ‘samu, didn’t think you’re the possessive type,” atsumu says, teasingly placing his chin on your shoulder as he smiles that lazy smile you know osamu hates. “not that i’m going to lose.”

the older twin slips your bra off just as osamu takes his fingers out to lewdly lick up your slick. he moans, keeping his eyes trained on your horrified face. “sweet. but not wet enough for us, angel.”

“what—no—!”

“let me have a go.”

before you could even react, atsumu’s spinning you around to face him as he shoves your shoulders down. due to the cramped space, your head collides with osamu’s thighs, narrowly missing the tent in his joggers. the weight in his thighs makes the younger twin fidget and squirm as he hastily reaches for your hand, pulling his bottoms down just enough for his cock to spring out. you wince when it hits the side of your face. osamu loved the disgust in your face when he spat at your hand and used it to get himself off as he started stroking his cock.

meanwhile, in one swift motion, atsumu is pulling your panties down and licking a stripe up your cunny, the tip of his tongue prodding at your clit as his hands come up to slap your pussy. “how dare ya be so quiet,” he hisses, sucking harsher on your clit to pull a reaction out of you. “let me hear ya whine and moan, babe. i’m fuckin’ sure as hell my tongue is better than some cheap ass vibrator ya used.”

but your lips are stubbornly sealed as you arched your back. like hell you’d play into their wants and sick fantasies. they were your cousins! forcing you to enjoy this is just downright wrong. and knowing they’ve eavesdropped and silently lusted over you while having those innocent little smiles on their faces… were they not in the least bit guilty for deceiving you? deceiving your parents?

“give ‘er somethin’ bigger. i think she’s askin’ for it.” osamu says, kneading one of your breasts and tweaking your nipples as he continued to pump himself using your hand.

because he lost to rock paper scissors, he’s going to fuck you after atsumu and no matter how furious he was, a deal’s a deal.

like an idea switching inside his head, atsumu falters, staring right at you with sparkles in his eyes before his lips curled into a devious smirk.

“no, no, no,” you scramble, trying to sit up in order to push him away but osamu is quick to pin you down. “atsumu—no—you don’t want to do this, please—!”

“shut it, princess. i know what i want and that’s to fuck yer sweet little cunny right ‘ere,” he mocks by planting a sweet kiss against your lower lips.

“can ya stop with the dirty talk my dick’ll go soft, ya scrub!” osamu hisses, his hands wrapped around yours getting tighter as the lewd sounds of his slick gets louder.

no matter how much osamu denies it, he’s getting off on seeing you squirming under atsumu and god he never thought to have a voyeurism kink but here we are.

atsumu shoves his boxers down and you turn away from glancing down at his cock, osamu had to ruthlessly pull your hair and make you look as you slowly start tearing up. he was bigger than most guys you’ve met in college and you dread the painful stretch it’ll take for him to shove that dick inside you.

“shh, princess. don’tcha worry, yer all prepped to take me.” he scissors your pussy lips, the sticky wetness creating lewd sounds before pushing his stained fingers into your mouth. “hear that? go on and taste yerself.”

he gave you no choice, fingers pushing your tongue down until you obliged to his wishes. from behind you, you hear a low grunt and a pant as osamu throws his head back. he was close, you could tell and you surely didn’t want your face to be near his cock once he cums.

“‘tsumu, god damn it! hurry and fuck ‘er already!”

osamu was close and his mind was clouded. he needed to see you get railed in order for him to teeter towards that delicious edge of pure ecstasy. needed to hear the noises like the ones you made that night.

“i got it, i got it. fuckin’ impatient bastard.”

“atsumu, stop—!”

but he doesn't bother to listen, pushing his cock deep all in a single thrust. you were right. the stretch slightly stings and you bet it would’ve hurt more had he not bothered to suck and lick at your pussy earlier. “it hurts,” you sob, trying to curl in on yourself while keeping atsumu from leaning in.

but your strength is no match for him as he peppers light kisses down your neck, osamu helping with pushing your hair away to expose more skin. “shh, shh,” the faux-blond coos. “it’ll get better, i promise ya. yer gonna love it so let me move, okay?”

“no, wait, take it out, wai—!”

he starts thrusting, timed and rhythmic as his hands reach under your thighs, slightly raising your lower body to meet the angle of his hips. you couldn’t deny that it felt good like he said. the heavenly drag of his dick inside your walls, feeling you squeeze around him just as he nearly pulls out, only to thrust it all back in again. he wanted to keep this “making love” pace as long as he wants but he’s getting irritated but how you still wanted to keep your pretty lips shut.

that’s when you truly felt the vehicle jolting back and forth, brought by the sudden way atsumu manically fucks you like some animal. the change of pace surprised you greatly, choking on your saliva and letting out a pornographic “ah!” as he started railing you in the backseat of his car. you were way past the point of no return as immense pleasure spiked your nerves. all thoughts of somehow fighting their advances being shot out the window.

“that’s it,” atsumu pants, swinging your legs up against your chest to fuck you even deeper. “come on, make some noise, princess. i want people to hear how good i make ya feel even if they’re miles away.”

after all this is over and the lustful haze they forced you under is gone, you’ll regret the way you moaned and groaned and whined like how you’re doing now. embarrassing, how even as atsumu leans closer to kiss you, you don’t push him away. a mess of saliva and sweat mixing as his pace doesn’t relent and the fierce jolts of the car only adds up to your pleasure.

“‘tsumu!” you screamed, one hand holding onto his hair and the other scratching at his back. “i’m close—shit!”

he replies with a moan of his own, drawn out and whiny, feeling your walls suffocating his cock as he continues to drive it in and out with a speed you’ve never experienced with your past rendezvous. perks of being an athlete, you guess. “don’tcha dare fuckin’ cum until i tell ya to or else.”

but that little devil is making it harder for you to obey him as one of his hands snakes in between your bodies to start toying with your clit, drawing firm circles and figure 8’s to draw in that eventual release. “no, no, ‘tsumu don’t!” you tried reaching down but his hand only tugs it back, firmly holding your wrist as he continues his ministrations.

it’s too much. you were feeling it all too much and in the heat of the moment, you forgot everything else—you arch your back and felt your climax crashing over you as your cum steadily makes a mess off the backseat with every thrust atsumu made.

he stops.

his head hangs low, looking at the view of your interconnected bodies before scoffing in disbelief. menacingly, he raises his head to make eye contact with you. “didn’t i fuckin’ tell ya to cum only if i tell ya to cum?”

the faux-blond grabs at your hair, ruthlessly tilting it back as you feel a sticky sensation running down your nether lips. you shake your head, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

“but—!”

“i don’t care. i warned ya, didn’t i? so don’t fuckin’ hate me after all this is over.”

suddenly you feel your fight surging through you again like a tidal wave. this is wrong. how dare they do it even after you said no. how dare they do it and make you enjoy it?

“aw, cute. angel’s still got some fight in ‘er left.”

you thrashed against atsumu as soon as he swiftly pulls out of you. he doesn’t even break a sweat while restraining you with his bare hands.

“let me go! you fuckers! i’ll tell—”

“tell who? our parents? this isn’t elementary school, princess. ya get what ya fuckin’ deserve and it’s not our fault ya like swingin’ that pretty ass so much.”

you growl as a retort, attempting to bite atsumu’s hand off as he swiftly spins you around to lay on your stomach. you cringe, feeling your sticky essence against your skin. you didn't have time to feel humiliated, not as you came face to face with osamu’s still erect and angry dick.

you weren’t dumb, you knew why the faux-blond made you face his twins’ way—this is to be your punishment, he said, all the while feeling him scramble about behind you. it wasn’t only ‘til you feel atsumu’s tip prodding at your ass did you realize what’s going to happen.

“go on and give our ‘samu a nice suck, yeah? put on a show and if ya dare use yer teeth, i’ll personally make sure ya regret ever coming to hyōgo.”

you came back at dawn, during the sunrise. it’s glow basking the whole house in a nice orange tint. “what are you guys doing up so early?” your mom asks when she sees the three of you piling in from the front door.

she was too busy rubbing the sleep out of her eyes that she missed everything—the way osamu’s oppressive arm wrapped around your shoulder got tighter, the way atsumu gave you a nasty side eye, and especially the fearful expression on your face.

“no - nothing, mom. they just wanted to have a birthday countdown for me.”

“oh, right! happy 21st, sweetheart.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere hq #yandere atsumu #yandere osamu #yandere miya atsumu #yandere miya osamu #toxichours #(❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) mine ༉‧#yandere atsumu x reader #yandere osamu x reader #yandere miya osamu x reader #yandere miya atsumu x reader #tw yandere #tw noncon #tw exhibitionism #tw:incest #tw voyeurism

746 notes · View notes

destieltropecollection · 3 years

Photo

Destiel Trope Collection 2021 | Day 19: Enemies to Lovers

Pile Of Quarters | @vampamber

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,752 Main Tags/Warnings: ABO, alpha Cas, omega Dean, high school AU Summary: Somebody keeps beating Dean's high score on his favorite video game at the arcade, and he will have none of that. So when the chance to have a showdown with this CAS person comes along, of course he's gonna jump at it. He just wasn't expecting the alpha to be so nice. Or so hot.

A Bag of Richards | @ms-josephine

Rating: Mature Word Count: 4,241 Main Tags/Warnings: Human AU, Enemies to lovers, Misunderstandings, Prank wars Summary: A misunderstanding leads to an all-out prank war between Castiel and his new neighbor, Dean.

Build It Up! | @verobatto

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5,062 Main Tags/Warnings: Architect AU, Architect!Dean, Architect!Castiel, rivalry, rivals to lovers, light angst, happy ending. Summary: Architect Dean Winchester has just one goal in his life: win contracts and defeat his biggest rival, Castiel Novak. Bad thing is, Novak is the one always winning the heated competitions. Dean hates Novak with all his heart. If only that bastard wasn't so handsome ...

Dance Real Close | @maleyah-givemetomorrow

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5,920 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Christmas, Yule, First Kiss, First Time, Enemies to Lovers, Flirting Dean, Sassy Castiel, Fluff and Smut, Soft Boys Summary: For the umpteenth time tonight, Castiel swallows and clenches his teeth, hard enough that he might just need a dentist appointment once this horrendous evening comes to its inevitable end and he has what he came for. Good thing the company has excellent health care. He forces his gaze into a faux-thousand yard stare, a wilful attempt to get lost among the many twinkling lights and ornaments. Just off of the shoulder of the man who is his current, last and most annoying obstacle. Dean Winchester. Dressed to the nines in a suit of snowflake white, he fits in at this high-end Yule Ball as if he hasn’t done anything else in his life. Top of his class and generation, ten years Castiel’s junior, much too skilled for his own good at nigh anything from close combat to subterfuge to extraction, his competition, who is, for some unfathomable reason, flirting with Castiel on the mission.

When Duty Calls | @verobatto

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6,654 Main Tags/Warnings: Sci Fi AU, Commander Dean Winchester, Angel/Alien Castiel, strangers to friends to lovers, space ship, working on a mission together, top!Dean/Bottom!Castiel Summary: Angels devastated Earth 30 years ago and Dean lost his mother in that battle. Now, when his father the Ambassador John Winchester dies, Dean is assigned to a very important mission to restore the Earth. Bad thing is, Angels want to redeem themselves by providing the technology to revive the planet and by doing that, they pretend to be part of the Federation. Dean accepts, despite of his hate for them, and he meets the Angel Castiel, a Commander Scientific that will work with him in one of the labs stations placed on Earth.

Vampire Hunter! Starring Castiel Krushnic | @friendofcarlotta

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 13,612 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - TV show, Actor Castiel, Production Assistant Dean Winchester, First Kiss, Enemies to Lovers, Vampires, Canon-Typical Violence, Mild Gore, Inspired by Fright Night, Garth Ships It Summary: Straight out of college, Dean gets hired to work on his favorite TV show, "Fright Night." It's a dream come true until the network orders an overhaul to boost ratings, giving the show a new name (“Vampire Hunter!”) and a new star: a grumpy bastard named Castiel, who seems determined to make Dean’s life miserable. Dean just wants to hate Castiel's guts in peace, but then an offsite shoot gets them both trapped in a creepy mansion with a very real, very angry vampire. Can they overcome their differences long enough to kill the monster?

Cheers | @notfunnydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 23,685 Main Tags/Warnings: inspired by the movie: the proposal, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Misunderstandings, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic John Winchester, Dean Winchester Wears Panties, First Time,First Kiss, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Soft!Dean, Cas blackmails Dean into the relationship at first, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Minor Anna Milton/Dean Winchester Summary: Dean hates his boss, after they attempted to date but failed miserably. But when Castiel suddenly has to go back to Russia because his visa expired, Dean finds himself in a very awkward situation, because Castiel blackmails him to marry him. To make it worse someone from the immigration department is already hot on their trail and they have to show off their fake relationship at the ninetieth birthday of Dean’s grandma.

Elevator Music | Aketch-22 (AO3)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 25,017 Main Tags/Warnings: Top!Cas/Bottom!Dean, Dom/Sub Overtones, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Lawyer Castiel Summary: Sam is about to become name partner at the law firm he's worked at for years. He invites Dean to the celebration, but Dean gets trapped in the elevator with Sam's pompous, dickbag, too-good looking coworker Castiel. Stuck for hours with someone he hates and a boatload of alcohol, what could possibly go wrong?

Let Your Heart Hold Fast (WIP) | @destiel-pirate-in-middleearth

Rating: Mature Word Count: 35,857 Main Tags/Warnings: Roomates/housemates, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, college au, mutual pining, happy ending. Summary: Castiel is a simple guy with a simple plan who enters college after a lot of hard work. He's looking forward to the new beginning and endless opportunities. After surviving the worst through high school, Castiel has a good feeling about college and thinks he is gonna do fine, but, then, his life takes an uneasy turn, which leads him into meeting Dean, who doesn't remember him and has evolved into a very flirty, obnoxious man. Castiel hates Dean. For almost a month, Castiel does a great job at avoiding Dean on the college campus. Everything is going fine until the day they have their first encounter, which is close to a nightmare because, apparently, Dean decides to shove an apple frigging pie on Castiel's face, which isn’t even the single worst thing he did to him that day. Or The one where Dean and Castiel hate each other and are forced to live together.

Angels of the Sea | @envydean

Rating: Mature Word Count: 53,616 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Minor Character Deaths, a little violence, non graphic scenes of corporal punishment, sexual scene of mature nature, Hurt/Comfort, Stowaways, Angst, Happy Ending, BAMF!Cas, Pirate!Cas, Stowaway!Dean, Tattoos, Magical Elements, Fluff, Enemies to Lovers Summary: The Archangel – a pirate ship run by young Captain Castiel Novak – is unknowingly boarded by two stowaways. Sam and Dean just needed to get away from their father’s killers and are found stashed away in the storage room of the ship. Raphael is adamant they are killed but Castiel’s heart is too big to dispose of them both. Lives spared, they join the crew, Dean taking up navigation and Sam to the galley and an adventure using Dean’s amulet to find a mysteriously hidden island begins.

Unmasked | @ellis-park

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 69,348 Main Tags/Warnings: Superhero AU, enemies to lovers, secret identities, graphic depictions of violence Summary: Years ago, the infamous vigilante Halo disappeared from the public eye. The new Halo, Castiel Novak, is struggling to pick up the pieces of his own life and his mentor’s tarnished legacy as a new rival, Hellfire, arrives on the scene. It would help if Cas weren’t so distracted by pushy reporter Dean Smith, who reminds him of everything he’s lost — and the life he could have if he’d let go of the mask.

angel in black | @dothwrites

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 95,325 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon-Divergent, Enemies to Lovers, Bounty Hunter!Cas, Hunter!Dean, Canon-Typical Violence, Demonic Possession, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: Bounty hunter Castiel Novak has simple rules for how he conducts his business. Get in, get out, deliver the fugitive, and do it all with the least amount of effort possible. Never become emotionally involved. When he takes on the job of hunting down Sam and Dean Winchester in order to bring them to justice, his rules start shifting. Threatened by supernatural forces as well as his attraction to Dean, Castiel soon has to decide what he’s willing to stand for…and what he’s willing to die for.

Wicked Game | @expectingtofly

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 104,077 Main Tags/Warnings: Western AU, Canon-Typical Violence, DubCon, Top Cas/Bottom Dean, Angst, Pining, Hurt/Comfort Summary: The year is 1889 and for the past year and a half, Dean has traveled alone from town to town, drinking to ignore his guilt and gambling to make a living. Today, he’s especially down on his luck. He’s broke, was just thrown out of a saloon for cheating at poker, and has now been woken by a blue-eyed man trying to rob him. When he learns that the thief, Castiel, is just as broke as he is, they strike a tenuous deal to help each other rob a stagecoach, share the spoils, and split up. Turns out splitting up is the most difficult task. While Castiel is cold and cruel, Dean refuses to back down from a fight. The two are at odds more often than not, but their relationship only grows more complicated the longer they travel together. They may have more in common than they thought.

#destiel trope collection 2021 #day 19 #enemies to lovers #Destiel #supernatural #fanfic

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your-brilliant-lady-m · 3 years

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Part 3 - Basic Concepts of Miraculous Ladybug: Transformations, Potions and Power-Up's

Welcome to my analysis of basic concepts in Miraculous. Let's talk about transformations, potions and power-up's. This one is going to be interesting.

Apparently, only child superheroes have a time limit and can use their power only once. And adults can use their powers many times and maintain their transformation.

I don't take Thomas Astruc's Twitter statements seriously, but he said that adults don't have to detransform because they can feed the kwami with their energy. What happens when energy runs out? Does it mean that holder of the miraculous dies and transformation drops? Or does transformation drops when the kwami grows tired enough? However, according to "Silencer", transformation can't be released until the holder says detransformation words or uses their power (applies to children only). Is that why Master Fu doesn't transform these days? Because he is old and doesn't have enough energy for Wayzz.

At the same time, Bunnix/Bunnyx held her transformation for several thousand years in "Timetagger" and she was still alive. Moreover, not only she was still alive, she hasn't aged a day. Alix still looked around 25 even after spending so much time in stone. Her sanity was also still intact. Does that mean that as long as people are transformed they are immortal and can't die of natural causes, can't get sick or be killed? Does the Miraculous pause all inner processes? Do people stop ageing when they are transformed? Does that mean that prolonged transformations essentially slowed down puberty for Marinette and Adrien because every Akuma attack (their transformation during this attack to be precise) acts as a pause for their growth process? Does that mean that transformed heroes don't need food, sleep or oxygen? And Alix doesn't experience any negative side-effects after prolonged transformation. A lot of questions must be answered here.

But apparently, the "adults can use their power many times without detransforming" rule does not apply to Gabriel. In "Heroes' Day" he turns Nathalie into Catalyst who gives Hawkmoth the power to "release as many akumas as he desires". Does that mean that he can't normally do it? On the other hand, in "Queen Banana" he creates another Akuma right after the fight with akumatized Chloe ended.

Do you remember this? In "Origins" we find out that akumatized butterflies can multiply. That's why Ladybug needs to purify them. So, does that mean that Scarlet Moth and Catalyst weren't necessary?

Hawkmoth's plan in "Heroes' Day" was actually very smart. However, it can fall apart when you remember that butterflies can multiply. How does that work? Why do they multiply? Could Gabriel akumatize Nathalie into Catalyst (akumatized object is something not very valuable, like a piece of paper), then break the akumatized object and release the Akuma into the world? Would that turn people only into copies of Catalyst? I wouldn't call this thing a plothole, exactly. I'm just curious because it's an unclear moment. Perhaps you could explain it as the element of a soft magic system with unclear rules. Because the magic system in Miraculous is a mix between the hard and soft system.

Adults without time-limited power have a serious advantage over children. Why does Master Fu give Ladybug and Black Cat to teenagers then? In the beginning, Fu doesn't know that Butterfly holder is an adult. Isn't it safer to give 2 most powerful Miraculouses to adults just in case? If Butterfly Holder is a child then 2 adults with more powerful Miraculous would win much faster. If Butterfly Holder is an adult as well, then the fight is more even.

We know the out-of-universe reason for doing this. There would be no story then. Miraculous holders have to be kids since it's a kids show. But in-universe it doesn't make sense. In "Furious Fu" Su Han even says that children are not allowed to handle the Miraculous at all according to the rules of the Order. Fu knows that children have a time limit. It looks like he deliberately sets them up for failure. Why?

Is that because children are easier to manipulate as they are most likely to trust Fu's judgement no questions asked? This reasoning doesn't look good for Fu, who is supposed to be a wise and kind mentor. Is that because children won't abuse their powers? Find a trustworthy adult then. Give us some kind of in-universe explanation!

If you can't explain it then do something with the time-limit rule. It's an important plot device, which contributes to tension and raises the stakes during fights. So, removing it is unwise. Consider giving adults a time limit as well then.

Or you can create different rules. Maybe Black Cat and Ladybug can't be wielded by adults, unlike other lower-tier Miraculous? Maybe Miraculous and Kwami can choose the wielder in some capacity, and this magical bond can't be changed? Do Kwamis feel a pull towards several people and Guardian then chooses the final holder? If there's no pull whatsoever, then Kwami won't be able to grant powers to this person? How much weight does the decision of a Guardian have?

I actually like this last idea the most. It makes sense and avoids plotholes at the same time preserving the time-limit rule. I spent less than 20 minutes figuring this out.

This way Fu gave Ladybug and Black Cat to children because he didn't have a choice. Plagg and Tikki gave him suggestions but these people didn't pass his tests. Marinette and Adrien are the last ones and they do pass. It adds some tension and showcases desperation on Master Fu's part. Magical pull doesn't always mean that potential holders are good people. That's why Miraculous sometimes end up in the wrong hands.

Insert a conversation between Marinette and Tikki or Plagg and Adrien about this choosing process, have them wonder about the bond Nooroo and Hawkmoth share.

Then add more information about bonding. The magical connection can be formed just like people form relationships if human and Kwami spend some time together. It nicely adds up with the reason why Master Fu gave Ladybug and Black Cat to teenagers. He could have given both jewels to adults without a bond and waited for the connection to form but alas, there was no time. He needed active holders right now, and waiting for some adult to come around wasn't an option. But here's the catch. Only decent, kind people with good intentions can earn and create a magical bond. And this has the potential for a truly delicious scenario (more on that later).

It's a very tricky situation. But these rules must be stated and figured out in the very beginning. Because it can create plotholes down the line.

Unification

Combining several different Miraculous is an interesting concept and fusion of powers has been used for a long time as a storytelling element. It's important for the plot in several episodes of seasons 3 and 4.

However, there's "Kwamibuster", where the worldbuilding is broken one more time. It is awfully inconsistent within itself just like "Chat Blanc", "Timetagger" and "Furious Fu". (How do writers keep doing this? I have no idea. But then again even "Avengers: Endgame" contradicts itself numerous times. It's truly miraculous how they managed to do this with their budget, I'm impressed).

For a moment let's ignore all absolutely awful priorities that Marinette has in this episode as well as the rule "you can't know the identity of your partner or else you will have to give up your miraculous". This rule is literally never mentioned again before or after this episode. It's just there and it doesn't make sense. I know it's hard to ignore, but one must try. Instead, let's focus on this dialogue below.

Master Fu clearly states that you can't merge the Miraculous. It could make you lose your mind. The only more or less acceptable unification is that of Ladybug and Black Cat.

What happens next? Marinette puts on every Miraculous without any problem just "to free Kwamis" and transforms into Multimouse. The only sign of her discomfort is a moment of dizziness that's gone in a few seconds. Moreover, it never happens again, it's never mentioned. Then she does the exact thing that Fu told her not to do and starts merging Miraculous left and right. She continues to do so in season 4 every other day. What? Of course, how could I forget Shadowmoth? Gabriel merges 2 Miraculous every time in season 4. He doesn't lose his mind.

You can't tell us that merging can make you lose your mind and then in the next scene show us the complete opposite. That's bad writing. If you need the concept of unification to work then cancel the "lose your mind" rule and instead say that the merging process tires you out. There's no lasting harm, just that you will be very tired. If you want to raise the stakes, then say that wielding more than one Miraculous requires a strong will and practice. It's possible, but you can't perform unification just like that.

In this case, you lay the groundwork for the plotline of Marinette and Adrien for season 4 and 5. This plotline is about mastering unification. Show us how our heroes practice with different combinations of Miraculouses outside of Akuma battles. Show how they are improving. Maybe, Ladybug and Chat Noir nearly lose in the season 3 finale because the unification still drains them. However, in season 4 they put more effort into their training and by the time season 5 rolls around they are good at this. They became a stronger team and partners because of that. Their training sessions are also a good set-up for the development of the love square. Nothing like this will happen, but a girl can dream.

Look, I get it. You want Marinette to be special. Unfortunately, you have made her too special. She starts to break the laws of your magic system. We don't see the process. One moment she has 0 knowledge about something and then she is already an accomplished master of the thing in question and often it happens in the same episode. Marinette somehow just knows about the properties of every Miraculous on-screen, but her training happened off-screen. We as the audience are left confused and wondering. Wait, how does she know this? Was there a missing episode? Was this mentioned in some comic? The audience keenly feels the lack of plot-relevant content and explanations.

Potions and Power-Ups

They are a marketing ploy to sell more toys and merch with character transformations. That's it. Are they useful for the story? Yes, they are sometimes. Do power-up's make sense as a worldbuilding element? I'm sorry to tell you this, but no.

Miraculous Grimoire contains lots of potion recipes for Kwamis. I liked that Kwamis can't read the grimoire to avoid giving information to malevolent holders, which implies that they can't lie to their holder about their powers. I talked about this in my previous posts.

Let's start with Ice Transformation. Apparently, in-universe its only useful characteristic and the thing that sets it apart from normal transformation is skates. Maybe, this transformation also has additional protection from the cold. Maybe. Miraculous makes heroes nearly invulnerable and enhances their physical abilities. I find it hard to believe that protection from elements is not included in the package. And that's it. If we remember that Miraculous holders have subconscious control over transformation's appearance, we can also assume that a person can have conscious control as well. The laws of the magic system in Miraculous allow Marinette to ask Tikki to create skates for this particular transformation. Potions aren't necessary for this. This way you can still sell new toy, but in-universe this works better.

Our next stop is Aqua Transformation. It gives heroes the ability to breathe underwater and fins. That's all. In "Syren" it appears that this transformation also makes them more agile and fast in the water. However, Ladybug's yo-yo worked just fine before Aqua form when she tried to drag Kim to the surface. Her movements underwater weren't restricted either with normal transformation. So their fighting ability is not affected by the potion.

Kwami can live without oxygen. I mentioned earlier that Bunnix with normal transformation in "Timetagger" spent several thousand years in stone without oxygen and probably in some kind of stasis. Do transformed heroes need oxygen? No. Then their inability to breathe underwater doesn't make sense. Therefore, a potion isn't necessary for this.

Next, let's talk about fins. They could appear through the conscious desire of the holder just like skates.

Honestly, "Timetagger" and "Chat Blanc" completely destroyed worldbuilding in Miraculous. These episodes just shouldn't exist. They aren't even consistent within themselves, nevermind the rest of the show, which is why I still don't understand why fandom has such a weird hard-on for them and for Bunnix. Oh, wait. On second thought, I get it. They were just fanservice after all.

Cosmo Bug an Astro Chat. Space power-up give heroes the ability to fly and exist without oxygen. Ancient grimoire had the recipe of space potion, apparently. And humans got into space in the second half of the 20-th century. Ok. That totally makes sense.

If ancient people invented a space potion, that could also mean that back in Ancient Egypt Ladybug and Black Cat holders could use advanced technology. But Su Han in "Furious Fu" is surprised to discover that Ladybug can just call Chat Noir. He assumed she would send a bird with a message. That means that unconscious control over transformation extends to the weapons of heroes. For Marinette and Adrien communication means smartphone with navigation, messages, trackers and Bluetooth earbuds. That's why magic gives them smart weapons. Su Han's words prove that the invention of the space potion is not possible. Unless space potion was also subjected to unconscious control over transformation. People couldn't imagine the possibility of space travel in Ancient Egypt, but they could imagine flight. So, perhaps, for heroes back then space potion simply meant wings.

We've established that heroes don't need oxygen. So, a potion isn't necessary for this. The ability to fly also could be achieved through conscious transformation.

That's all for this part of analysis. Let me know what you think. Stay tuned for the next meta. See you!

#miraculous ladybug #ml #miraculous analysis #miraculous meta #ml meta #ml analysis #miraculous transformations #miraculous critical #miraculous ladybug critical #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #mt of lb and cn #miraculous potions #astro chat #cosmo bug

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anon-rebel-writes · 3 years

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Something Simple

Hi! Hey! How’s it going? Good? That’s so good!

So I’ve been gone...Ha ha. I feel like I should have an excuse ready, and an apology, and a promise to do better in the future. But honestly, I don’t have...any of those.

Well I do have an apology, I’m sorry that I’ve been gone and kinda just left the internet. I don’t really look at social media as much as I used to (which honestly is super good for mental health, but kinda sucky if you do stuff on social media :P)

I haven’t had a ton of ideas lately, and when I do, I get frustrated with myself because it’s not the most amazing piece that I’ve ever worked on. I had a serious talk with my girlfriend (she’s seriously the majority of my inspiration for most of my works) and she said something that gave me an epiphany.

Sometimes you just have to make some sucky tea until you make the best tea of your life :) (I swear that makes more sense if you read the story lol)

I like domestic fluff. I like short and simple stories. So that’s what this is! I don’t wanna waste my time waiting fro inspiration to strike when I can make something to get me through writer’s block! So if you don’t mind my wacky schedule, I hope you enjoy this simple piece :)

It begins under the cut! <3 Ao3 Link

This should be easy.

It used to be easy for him when he was younger. When he was five, Luka would listen to the waves on the boat and hear a unique tune out of it. At eleven, his mom told him about an old tale she heard and he wrote lyrics based on it. Sixteen, Juleka would idly pluck her bass and he’d come up with three different songs just from the sound. Music was natural to him.

Now it was hard. Nothing inspired him. He was supposed to be a musical guy. How could this tear him down so easily! Maybe his life was too good now. No problems to sing about, no unrequited love songs, no daddy issues. His life was great! What happened to him?

After his dad came back into his life, he appreciated their little relationship. They would jam out and have fun, although it was still awkward to call him ‘dad’, it still seemed fine. He found out a lot of weird stuff with magic and identities when he was younger, but it led to Marinette confessing a huge secret to him. Misunderstandings got cleared up and they ended up reigniting their romantic relationship. After proposing to her last year, they got an apartment that was perfect for them.

Everything was perfect, really. Maybe that was the problem, everything was perfect. Juleka did tease him lately about “losing his edge”. Was his edge gone? His blue dyed hair was barely visible nowadays, any tattoos he got during university were usually covered up by his vast collection of MDC sweaters, even his ear piercings were replaced with whatever colored ones matched his outfit that day!

Maybe he was getting old. He was getting engaged to one of the sweetest people in the world, maybe her sugar-like sweetness rubbed off on him.

Was his music destined to be lost to the winds forever? Did all the talent leave his blood the moment he started settling into a domestic life? Juleka seemed to keep her musical charm, she still did small gigs with Rose in coffee shops every now and then. Ivan even toured around with his new band after university.

All Luka did now was make instruments. Was that even close to musical? His dad supported his career decision, despite intense protests. His in-laws helped him open a little shop. Everything was so easy and simple.

Even now, he waited for Marinette to come home so they could finish watching 'Halloween Wars'. He spends his nights watching reality television. Who has he become?!

It clearly led him here, on his couch, guitar in hand, with no progress being made. He wanted to make something fantastic. Something that Marinette would hear and be reminded of the songs he used to write for her. Luka would sing to her and he would tell himself how he “still has it”.

But nothing came out. No tune, no music, no notes, no lyrics, nothing. Luka sighed and put his guitar on the side of the couch and decided to take his mind off of music, at least for now. A little break should be good! Looking across the living room, he realized the utter mess he made.

Music sheets were scattered across the coffee table, pencils somehow found their way to the floor. Maybe he should clean up, just to have a clean environment to work in.

…

Or maybe he should make himself some tea. Tea always gets creative juices flowing! Not cleaning up, nope. That’s what people do when they’re avoiding stuff and Luka Couffaine does not avoid stuff! Especially not cleaning messes that look like a natural disaster hit his living room. Nope, not avoiding.

So that’s where Marinette found the love of her life two hours later after work. In the kitchen, making tea, warzone in the living room and his heart clearly broken. Opening the apartment door and seeing the utter chaos made her remember just who she was about to marry, but going into the kitchen and seeing the look of despair on his face when he realized they had no honey for his tea was just plain sad.

She took off her shoes and coat and walked over to where he stood, hunched over the counter, staring deeply into his bitter tea. Her arms wrapped around his middle and she let her head rest between his shoulder blades. “Lu? You okay?”

Instead of answering, Luka gently stirred the tea with a spoon and shook his head. “...we forgot to buy honey.”

“And…that’s the only reason you seem upset?”

One quick glance over to the living room definitely made her question if honey was truly the culprit. Then again this wouldn’t be the first time a Couffaine had caused trouble for something small. She’d never forget the shape of the boat after the Captain had lost her favorite headband.

“I… can’t make music anymore.”

Marinette slowly let go of his midsection and turned him to face her. She squinted at his face, trying to see if this was an elaborate joke. “Uh- No offense, but that doesn’t seem possible. I mean… music is second nature to you.”

“You don’t get it. I lost my edge! I’m not cool anymore. I don’t have daddy issues, or love issues, or school issues, or work issues, or-”

“Yeah yeah, you were an angsty boy. But music didn’t come from you because you were edgy. Music is just a part of who you are. Whether you have issues or not. And believe me, the songs you used to write for me were anything but edgy.”

Luka sighed and grabbed his cup of bitter tea. He looked in it and gave it to Marinette. “This tea sucks. It’s like my music. It doesn’t have that ‘umph’ that it needs to be good.” She looked into the cup and decided to take a sip. She let the flavor sit on her tongue for a bit and stared back into the cup, thinking to herself for a second.

“The tea isn’t great, I’ll give you that. But that doesn’t mean it’s bad. It’s just… simple. Nothing too extraordinary, nothing too disgusting. It just tastes like tea. And maybe you just need to make simple tea every once in a while before you can go back to making your delicious Luka juice.”

He chuckled at her analogy and took the tea cup back to give it one last sip. Honestly Marinette was right, although she always tended to be right about these things, the tea wasn’t awful. It wasn’t his favorite, but not every song is his favorite either.

She gave him a kiss on his cheek before heading over to their bedroom.

Luka decided to move back over to the living room to clean the area up a little bit. He put away the massive amount of paper and took most of the pencils from the area, leaving only one sheet of music, his guitar, and a single pencil.

He let out a deep sigh and sat back down on the couch, grabbing his guitar. He sat back and stared down at the music sheet on the table. “Something simple, huh?”

#Pro Lukamari #lukanette #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #domestic fluff #fluff #tea #creative block #music #happy ending #complete

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laurelsofhighever · 3 years

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Alistair x f!Cousland AU

SPOILERS FOR THE FALCON AND THE ROSE

Almost two years after civil war nearly tore Ferelden apart, Alistair has settled into his role as king despite the cost of the victory. Having come to Orlais to lead trade talks with Empress Celene and representatives from the Free Marches, he hopes to build a stronger future for his people. But grief and guilt still haunt him, the expectations placed on his shoulders cut deep, and to top it all off, there's a stranger in the Winter Palace with the power to shatter his world once again.

With a sigh, the King of Ferelden stared down at the mask in his hands, the red dye a match to the velvet of his cloak and the rich fabric in the rest of his clothes, the royal colours of the Theirin line, and the finely tooled likeness of a mabari snarling out of the leather in an elegant snub for the rules of the Game. A king’s mask ought to be made of gold, after all, as a way to reflect his station, but that scandal would be nothing to the one he planned to cause by not wearing it over his face. Already from below, strains of soft, unobtrusive music drifted above the murmur of voices gathered in the vaulted ballroom of Halamshiral’s Winter Palace, preluding the night’s extravagance. He couldn’t delay much longer in wading into that seething, perfumed mass, however much he wanted to.

Next to him, Fergus Cousland stood arrayed in similar finery. The golden Laurels embroidered into the deep blue velvet of his doublet marked his identity as the Teyrn of Highever, and the shadowed line between his dark brows revealed that his eagerness to attend the party just about matched that of Alistair himself. He caught the king looking, saw the fidget betrayed in his fingers, and drew in a weary breath.

“These talks might be just what it takes to secure lasting peace with Orlais,” he offered, an empty repetition of Alistair’s other advisors. “It’s more than Cailan ever hoped for.”

The king’s lip curled. “You and I both know that’s not the real reason I’m here. I could have left that stuff to Élodie.”

The Arlessa of South Reach had proven a capable ambassador in the time since the end of the civil war against Loghain, using her connections in the Orlesian court to divert the potential wave of old resentments that would have sought to take advantage of Ferelden’s instability as it recovered. It was thanks to her efforts that dignitaries from every Marcher port across the Waking Sea had gathered under the auspicious gaze of Empress Celene in the hopes of formalising a network of trade throughout southern Thedas, and no doubt she was already gliding through their ranks, smoothing the way for her liege lord to grace the crowd and start all the ladies fawning.

Too used to the hopes of noble daughters tilting for a throne, he doubted much of the flattery would be genuine. The only change to the usual pursuit was the fact that Celene now numbered among the hunting party, her desire to win him for herself and Orlais all but common knowledge. At their first meeting that afternoon she had been perfectly polite, but the weight of her gaze on the back of his head as he was shown out to his own apartments had sent a shiver like the lick of cold rain down his spine, and the thought of what she would do with any kind of sovereign power over Ferelden had thoroughly put him off his lunch. There had been a time when, in the entrance hall of Redcliffe Castle and with the warning of a witch ringing in his ears, he had told Rosslyn that the idea of being dangled like bait for political advantage disgusted him. And she had understood his distaste, had reached for his hand with softness in her eyes. He had kissed her hand that night, for the first time.

A sympathetic look from Fergus dragged him out of his contemplation, but thankfully he chose not to repeat the platitudes that had taken to following the king like footprints.

It’s been over a year, almost two, Teagan had scolded. We allowed you time to mourn but you must think of what is best for this country.

Only Fergus really understood. He was the only one in the same position, a lord with a domain left unsecured by the lack of an heir, with those roundabout all but scoffing at his lack of stomach to get one. Shared pain and politics had drawn them together after the army’s return from Ostagar, and now, aside from being a staunch ally in the Landsmeet, he was one of the few Alistair could class as a true friend.

“If I could spurn my duty in this, I would,” he said now.

“But you’re a Cousland.” Humour bled into Alistair’s voice, cold and tinged with grief. “I notice Karyna chose not to come.”

Fergus let his eyes fall closed. “She… ended things between us. She said she wanted to focus on her clinic, but I think part of it was wanting to get out of my shadow, and the expectations of…” a wave of his hand “all of this.”

“I’m sorry.”

He had once broached the subject of changing the law to allow mages to marry, but Fergus had refused, pointing out that what Ferelden needed after a year mired in civil war was stability, not an Exalted March called down because its new king wished to flout the Maker’s supposed Word. Too many would have accused him of playing favourites, too many more who would have raged against the idea of a mage being raised above them – even if Karyna Amell herself came from a line of Marcher nobles. She might be a talented healer dedicated to her people, kind, loyal, and level-headed, but none of that mattered to those who saw any unshackled mage as a prelude to the return of ancient Tevinter.

Fergus waved away his concern and set his own mask in place, pushed back from his forehead. “Let’s get this over with.”

When they appeared at the top of the stairs, the noise level in the whole room dimmed like a door closing on the roar of a great wind. All eyes turned to follow their progress into the melee as Guard-Commander Morrence, Alistair’s right-hand and bodyguard, peeled away from her post by the door and fell into line one pace behind her charge as a dour, watchful shadow. Curtseys and coquettish giggles fluttered up to them, but Alistair ignored them in favour of searching out the form of Élodie Bryland, smiling out from the crowd. Like the rest of the Fereldan entourage, she wore her mask as an accessory rather than a second face, the emerald green of South Reach’s colours rich against her blonde hair.

He felt like a ram walking into a den of blightwolves in broad daylight. Even after so long, so many days he could no longer count them from memory, a shard of his heart stirred in the tattered remains of his chest at the unbidden thought of Rosslyn’s disdain for his current company, the tight, tiny smirk she would have worn hidden at the corner of her mouth for only him to see. Her face was beginning to blur in his mind, but the reminder only ever added more layers to the pain. The pieces flaked away one after the other like rust on a forgotten monument – the sound of her laugh, her scent, the exact shade of her eyes – and every time he noticed another detail by its absence he found himself dragged back to the ruins of Ostagar, staring across the precipice into the void all over again.

Dwelling on his loss amidst the glamour of the Orlesian court would not be wise, however, so he shook himself into courtesy as he followed along after Élodie, smiled at every breezed introduction, and let himself slip into the easy gentility that had so far served him well as king. The meandering currents of conversation carried both him and Fergus at a steady pace to the other side of the vaulted entrance hall, where his left-hand waited for them.

“Ah, there’s my favouritest sneaky person in the world,” he called out when he got close enough for his voice to carry. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself?”

Leliana’s red hair flashed like a beacon as she turned towards him. Unlike Ferelden’s ambassador, she carried her mask on a stick in her gloved hands, and she twirled it up to cover the purse of her smile as she answered. “Your Majesty – Your Lordship. This is a grand assembly tonight, no? Little compares to the full splendour of the Winter Palace.”

“At least not in the way of architecture,” he answered genially. To be polite, he let his gaze wander the rows of gilt pillars with their garlands of blush-roses, the delicate silk streamers hanging from the crystal chandelier. Even more than Élodie, who was Orlesian by birth, Leliana fit in with the glitter, the jewels and the compliments that cut sharper than daggers, and put together, the two of them made a formidable team.

Especially when they joined forces against him.

“Your Majesty, if you will permit me, may I present Lady Ellana Pontival, younger sister to Vicomte Tremane Pontival, and Lady Cassandra Pentaghast, seventy-eighth in line for the throne of Nevarra and the Right-Hand of the Most Holy Divine Beatrix.”

Turning his gaze to the two women, Alistair dipped his head in a customary greeting. If Leliana had set out to find the two most contrasted people in the room, then she had probably succeeded; where one lady seemed about to drown in her layers of ruffled lace and pastel silks, the other cut an austere, imposing figure in the formal uniform of a Seeker of Truth, and like the Fereldans, she went unmasked. The ever-watchful Eye of the Maker, cut through with the Sword of Mercy, peered out from a pin clasped to her shoulder, a sullen reminder that if things had been different, the King of Ferelden would have ended up a templar instead.

“With so many connections, you must be used to parties like this,” he tried. The Seeker held herself with the economy of a soldier at ease, but the pinpoint of her onyx gaze made him itch.

“Hardly,” she said, in low, rich tones. “I am here at the request of Most Holy, who appreciates the unprecedented nature of this gathering. I myself am used to less… lavish surroundings.”

“But how do you find it so far, Majesté?” interrupted Lady Ellana. “Do you find it pleasing?”

He decided not to remark on the breathy quality to her voice, nor the sidelong way she was looking at him, and shrugged. “That would depend on whether we’ll soon have any sign of those – what are they called – cannapays?”

Leliana chuckled. “I’m afraid Your Majesty’s appetite will have to be content for now.”

“I’ve never known a society where it was considered polite not to feed your guests.”

“If one is full of too much heavy food, one cannot properly enjoy the dancing,” Élodie chided, laying a hand on his arm and less amused than her counterpart at his deliberate butchery of her native language.

“Ah.” He suppressed a grimace. “Yes. That.”

The indomitable Lady Ellana pressed forward with a flutter of her eyelashes. “Are you presently engaged, Majesté? For the first dance, I mean.”

Mostly to avoid meeting Fergus’ eye, Alistair cast his gaze out over the crowd. “Oh I’m sure someone has spoken for me.”

“I myself love nothing so much as dancing – and the waltz especially.” An elegant hand rose to cover a laugh. “So charming, yet so daring, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’ll take your word for it, my lady,” he replied with a forced smile. “It’s not one of my preferred pastimes.” The last time he had danced, it had been his wedding day. If he had known –

Lady Ellana gasped. “How tragic! That truly is a shame.”

The Seeker’s mouth twitched.

“I understand your ascension to society was fairly recent, perhaps you only have yet to acquire a taste for it. Perhaps the right partner –”

“I think it’s more to do with other demands on my time,” he interrupted. “Like keeping my people safe and fed. Besides, I prefer being outside.”

An uncertain silence met his words, discomfort at the bite in his tone that couldn’t be answered without causing a minor diplomatic incident.

Leliana recovered first. “The night is young and His Majesty is fond of modesty. I’m sure he will have time and attention for all those who wish it once his duties to his host are fulfilled.”

“Has Her Radiance arrived yet?” Fergus asked.

With a smile, Leliana nodded and motioned for them to follow her towards the doors of the grand ballroom. Neither she nor Élodie dared break their façades to scold him for being so taciturn, so Alistair pretended not to notice their silent disapproval. The cloying mixture of perfumes and sweat wafting through the hall, the crowd of heat from so many bodies in a confined space, all of it pressed on his already sour mood, and if he had to be rude to get out of an awkward conversation, what did he care? Whispers followed with the eyes on him, words just loud enough to catch his ear before darting back into the throng like birds flitting through a summer hedgerow. The speculative edge to them made him clench his teeth. There were insinuations, appraisals and judgements, musings on his preference for comme les chiens before the words dissolved every time into peals of muffled laughter.

“It’s almost enough to make a man jealous,” Fergus huffed at his side. “They didn’t even look at me. Not one pitying glance.” Time had healed most of the injuries he had taken in the months as Howe’s prisoner during the war, but some of the damage had been too much and too long neglected for even magic to fix; his cane tapped along the polished floor with every other step.

“How about next time I hide behind you?” Alistair asked. “You can do all the talking and I’ll stand and look aloof and interesting.”

“You just want an excuse to – what is it?”

He sensed a change in pressure in the eyes on him, an intensity of regard that set itself apart from that of the fawning mass seeking his attention. After almost two years on the throne, the concept of assassinations wasn’t entirely foreign, but as he watched Morrence scan the room he saw no sudden rise in tension to say she had spotted any maniacs with giant weapons about to pounce. A shadow did perhaps flash on the edge of his vision, but as he turned it was lost among the sea of faces waiting for acquaintances, for their turn to be announced, or for their own glimpse at dog-lord royalty.

He put the feeling from his mind. Empress Celene, resplendent in the purple and gold of House Valmont, stood at the far end of the ballroom above the sunken dancefloor and watched the obeisance of the people being announced, in the same way a fisher might wait with their spear poised to strike at a promising target. Already, dozens of couples mingled beneath the bright beeswax candles staving off the autumn dark outside, their fans held up to conceal the judgements passed on every newcomer.

When Alistair’s own turn to pace the length of the gauntlet came after a few moments of waiting, she smiled behind her mask and floated down the steps to meet him on an equal level, which only meant he got to see the avaricious gleam in her eye up close as she held out her hand. As he bent his head over it, he wondered if the look was meant to be alluring, but her fingers were cool and fine-boned under his, lacking callouses from swordwork, and the only thought that ran through his mind was that even when warmed by the fire a stone remained a stone.

“Majesté,” she crooned in delicately accented Common. “Be welcome. This meeting has been long anticipated.”

He had practiced his response for an hour in the mirror. “Thank you, Radiance. It is my hope that this moment can be the first step towards a better accord between our two nations.”

“It is ours as well. Please, join us in the gallery.” She turned. “And when the dancing starts, might we suggest the company of one of our ladies-in-waiting? They are all very accomplished dancers.”

“Uh…” He risked tripping over the considerable hem of Celene’s gown to a glance upward, to where three women of equal height watched the two of them from behind identical golden masks set with amethysts.

“Is this surprise?” the empress asked him, and laughed. “How very forward to expect a more prestigious partner so early in the evening. It seems the manners of Ferelden and Orlais have yet to fully understand one another.”

“Isn’t that why we’re both here?” he replied. “Though I have to confess, my mind wandered from the thought of dancing.”

“Oh? And where did it wander to?”

He nodded to the three attendants waiting at the top of the stairs. “It must get awkward on name-days if you can’t tell them apart.”

For the next half an hour, guests continued to trickle in as the mixed company watched from above, the steady ream of announcements and introductions keeping the threat of dancing at bay, and each name was accompanied by a whispered summary of all the associated scandals recounted by the waiting-women at Alistair’s side. He found their sameness disconcerting, as if at any moment they might steal away his mask and then ask which of them was hiding it under their skirts like a bait-and-switch scam in the marketplace.

When the castellan finally folded away his list of names and bowed an exit, the closest of Celene’s women reached up with a smile as thick and false as her makeup. “There is still some time until the dancing begins, Majesté – would you like to take a turn through the rest of the rooms while we wait?”

“Why not?” He forced a smile of his own. “Where do you think we should start?”

“Perhaps the long hall?” She began to steer him away from the rest of the party. “There are so many people you should meet!”

Before he could be disappeared entirely, he cleared his throat and called over his shoulder to Élodie. “We’ve been offered a tour of this fabulous palace,” he explained. “I don’t think we should miss it.”

“I am at Your Majesty’s disposal,” the ambassador replied, and stepped up to his other side

The tour turned out to be less a way to introduce him to Orlais’ finest and more a way to show him off as an accessory. With both Morrence and Élodie as chaperones to shield him from the worst of their dainty manners, he managed to stumble through pleasantries and inane topics of conversation, and even gave his opinion on Grand Duke Gaspard’s mission to quell giants in the Deauvin Flats without tying his tongue in any knots. He told bad jokes and people tittered behind their hands. In one room he was drawn into speculation about the merits of breeding nugs.

And throughout it all, the weight of the same mysterious scrutiny from before itched across his shoulders, making his clothes too tight, too coarse against his skin. Somebody watched him, or else he was in the first stages of some illness. In a move disguised as a readjustment of the faded leather bracers at his wrists, he checked the pair of daggers hidden in his sleeves, and then eyed the extra sword buckled at Morrence’s waist. Being his bodyguard permitted her to carry weapons where he could not, but he rarely went unarmed himself and the idea of being completely defenceless struck him as foolish – and so, the compromise, with the strict understanding that Maric’s runed blade would stay sheathed except in direst need.

The feeling followed him back to the dancefloor as the castellan announced the first cotillion and a charming smile appeared before him, attached to a name and a title that he forgot instantly. When the first notes cascaded down from the court musicians he took his partner’s hand and fell into the steps to distract from his unease, the beats f the dance like the repetitions of a battle drill that kept him turning, and facing, and weaving through the room. And then the music ended. Someone thrust another woman into his path, and then another, until he was breathless and overheated from the exercise, and relieved that he had yet to trip over his own feet.

In a pause between the sets, he tried to catch Leliana’s eye in the gallery above to ask to be rescued before he could be forced towards a refreshments table. To his dismay, she was too intent on the crowd to notice, watching for advantage or threat so that he could make a show of festive enjoyment – no easy feat considering how the entire room was staring at him.

No, not the entire room.

There. The flash of shadow that had followed him all night resolved itself into a woman who turned her face away from him as soon as their gazes met. Pearls were pinned in her dark hair, and the silk of her gown flashed with the violet-green iridescence of starling feathers, dazzling enough that Alistair wondered how he had missed it before. She retreated up the stairs, trying all too hard to disappear into the crowd in a manner that deliberately kept him out of her line of sight.

“Majesté?”

His current partner had noticed his distraction. He smiled down at her, but like the needle of a compass his gaze swung back to the strange woman, whose exit had been waylaid by a man with a shock of thin, greying hair poking out from under his yellow chevalier’s feather. He bowed over the Starling’s hand, boorish and insipid, and through her reluctance she cast her gaze around the room as if seeking an excuse. Her eyes lit on Alistair again, before skittering away up to the ceiling when she caught him looking.

Gotcha.

“Will you excuse me, my lady?” he begged of the young woman on his arm. “I have to talk to my advisor. You there, Ser! I’m afraid this beauty has been bereft of a partner, if you’ll oblige me? Thank you.”

He forgot the girl as soon as he handed her off. The music started. Leliana, noticing his approach up the stairs, nodded and plucked a glass of Antivan white from the tray of a passing server, handing it to him with a subtle gesture that let him sidle close enough to not be overhead.

“Have you seen her?” he asked.

“The woman in the dark colours?” She tilted her head in amusement. “Of course. She has been watching you, and does not care for the crowd flowing around her. She knows how to walk through a room of nobles but subterfuge is not her strength. And yet… there is something familiar about her. It worries me.”

For a moment, they watched from their vantage point in the gallery. The Starling moved through the room with grace enough to catch the eye, but with too much economy to fit in with the flounces of the rest of the dancers, the poise of a warrior more than a courtier. Still, the patience with which she dealt with her partner had to be admired. Alistair winced every time the old boor overstepped the bounds of propriety to tread on her toes; part of him wanted to step in between them and pull her from the line, if only to save her feet from bruising, but the strange urge didn’t stop him noticing how she cast her gaze to every corner of her room to avoid the man in front of her – every corner, except the place where he himself was standing.

“Find out who she is,” he grunted to Leliana, and pushed away from the rail.

Momentarily freed of his obligations in the dancing, he wound his way through the press of nobles, exchanging pleasantries, until he spotted Fergus resting his legs in one of the gilt-backed chairs that had been set at the edges of the room and made for him, worried about the guarded expression on his friend’s face. The reason for the scowl became apparent when the couple standing between them turned and stopped Alistair dead in his tracks.

“Ah – Your Majesty, it is good to see you. You’re looking well.” Eamon, the former Arl of Redcliffe, straightened from his bow as if the man he was addressing hadn’t been instrumental in his exile from Ferelden over two years before. He wore a mask like an Orlesian, with only the grey trim of his beard visible beneath its swirling, enamelled lines. On his arm, the once-Arlessa Isolde wore one almost identical, save for the extra decoration of feathers around the rim.

“What are you doing here?” Alistair blurted.

“We are guests of Her Radiance, of course,” Eamon replied with a blink. “I can see time has not been generous in your perspective towards me, but I would not quarrel with you here and mar Ferelden’s standing.” He swallowed. “Though it is late to say it, please accept my condolences for your loss.”

“Condolences?” Anger coiled in Alistair’s gut, kept at bay only by the interested stares of the people around him. Eamon had done his best to make sure he and Rosslyn were separated – had nearly succeeded – and now he dared to offer remorse?

“How are you enjoying Orlais, Your Majesty?” Isolde asked before he could storm away and blow all their diplomatic efforts.

“The weather’s nice. Please excuse me.”

Below them, the dance finished. Leliana slipped into the dispersing crowd with the ease of a master and cut the Starling from the crowd like a shepherd singling out a ram. Fergus joined him as he leaned over the rail to watch their conversation, Eamon and Isolde already forgotten, and caught the direction of his gaze.

“Has someone caught your eye?” he asked.

“No.” Alistair waved a hand. “No, it’s not like that.”

The Starling was turned away from Leliana, shrinking back as if to avoid a blow, but his left-hand could not be outmatched so easily and peered closer nonetheless. And then she drew back. Her mask flicked up with a twitch of her wrist to fully cover her face, and the Starling reached out for her elbow in an urgent gesture that conveyed as much familiarity as alarm. They knew each other. The words that passed between them were too far away to hear. Leliana paused, then nodded, and together the two of them retreated from the bright lights of the dancefloor into the shadows at the furthest corner of the room.

Fergus noticed. “Well that was strange.”

“I don’t like it. Will you be alright here?”

“For now.” He shrugged. “Holding court in the corner holds much more appeal than sweating about with people I don’t care for. A younger version of me might have tried to forget myself in one of these pretty smiles, but now…” The liquid in his glass caught the light as he tilted it for inspection.

“It’s not so easy,” Alistair agreed.

He left his friend still contemplating his drink and rounded the gallery with Morrence in tow, not straight for Leliana but angling for Élodie, who had taken up entertaining the delegates from Ostwick and made a nice middle ground. He barely registered the answers he gave to their polite enquiries as he approached. The Starling had disappeared and Leliana was wending her way towards one of the quieter hallways, where there were balconies with doors that could be minded by one’s guards to glare at any passing eavesdroppers. She flashed him a brief glance and a nod.

He thought quickly, turning to his ambassador.

“My lady, you’re looking a little warm, and I’ve neglected you.” He shot her what he hopes was a winning smile. “I hope you’ll forgive me, you’ve worked so hard, after all. Why don’t we get you some fresh air?”

Élodie frowned at him, but nodded. “Your Majesty is very kind. I am a little flustered, now that you mention it. If you will excuse me, sers.”

Threading her hand through his arm, he hustled her away with as much nonchalance as he could muster, while she, sensing his mood, kept quiet. They met Leliana a few moments later on a trellised balcony overlooking the gardens, or as much as could be seen of them beyond the torchlight.

“Well?” he asked, almost before the door closed behind him.

“Have you two been hatching plans?”

His left-hand let the mask fall from her face, though she kept it close, fidgeting with it. “The lady… presents no danger.”

“Lady?” repeated Élodie.

“There’s no need to look so hopeful.” Alistair rolled his shoulders. “We caught someone acting suspicious. Did you find anything out? You looked like you were surprised when you found out who she was.”

“I… knew her in another life.” Leliana hesitated. “She thanked the King of Ferelden for his regard, but said she would rather not become a spectacle.”

“A disagreement with family, perhaps,” Élodie supplied.

The corner of Leliana’s mouth lifted. “I did not ask.”

Without even waiting long enough for him to draw breath, she bowed and swept back into the hall. He caught sight of Morrence, watching her go with something very like suspicion written in her features, but the expression flickered back into a blank before he could be certain.

Behind him, Élodie cleared her throat.

“It is a shame this woman is not what you hoped,” she said. “I would see you happy.”

He snorted. “I didn’t hope anything – and I was happy.”

“You could be so again, if you allowed it. You cannot fight your duty forever.”

He bit back the retort squeezing past the sudden lump in his throat. Reminding her that her own husband had died in the siege at South Reach would be rather ungallant, especially considering the genial nature of the evening so far, and he had tried hard to curb the spiteful edge to his temper over the past two years. He wanted to be better. Rosslyn would have wanted him to be better.

As the thought spiralled and led his mind towards the dark precipice that would mean yet another sleepless night, the nature of the sound inside the ballroom changed. The music died away. The thump of the castellan’s staff reached his ears, followed a moment later by the announcement of Celene’s arcane advisor, the mysterious apostate who had managed to charm her way to the centre of the Orlesian court and who now, according to some, whispered spells in the empress’ ear.

“No doubt people will want us introduced,” he muttered.

Élodie nodded. “We should not keep Her Radiance waiting.”

Just inside the doors, however, he stopped. Even from across the room the Starling drew his gaze with the furtiveness of her movements, the deliberate indifference with which she moved against the flow of people, and his patience ebbed.

He touched Morrence’s elbow, leaning close. “Do you see her?”

“Aye. I want a chat with that one.”

“Get her out to the terrace garden and make sure she’s alone. Hopefully it’s cold enough outside that any interested bystanders will be discouraged.” He sighed. “I’ll get away as soon as I can.”

“I shouldn’t leave your side. The danger to you –”

“What if she’s a danger?” he pressed. “What if Leliana’s wrong? Something is going on here, and I won’t be kept beyond the chain – or don’t you think she was acting strangely before?”

At that, his right-hand let slip a curse. “I’d still be leaving you in a nest of snakes.”

“I’ll be alright.” The hilts of his concealed daggers sat snug against his wrists.

“Fine – but if you die, I get to kill you for it.”

Nobody commented on his lack of a bodyguard when he once more joined Celene and her waiting-women at the head of the room. Morrigan, her advisor, spoke Common like a Fereldan, but she had clearly spent enough time in Orlais to learn the dismissive nature of their manners. For a long moment, Alistair was distracted by a nagging familiarity he could not place, until the witch rose from her curtsey and turned a pair of piercing yellow eyes on him. The breath stopped in his lungs. His hands clenched into fists. Even the smirk was recognisable, catlike and secretive, and the instant it appeared he was shunted back to a campfire in a glade under a star-strewn sky, and mocking laughter in his ears.

“You’re Flemeth’s daughter,” he said.

The smile froze. “I did hear you encountered my mother – during the war, was it not? What did she tell you of me?”

“Only that you didn’t like living in the Korcari Wilds.”

“She resented my wanting to make something of myself outside of her influence.” She drew herself up for better display of her plum-red gown, the gold links around her throat. “And now here I am.”

“I can see the appeal,” he offered, to laughs from those gathered around them.

Celene clapped her hands. “Ah, this is delightful. You must have many things to talk about, given you share a homeland.” Her head dipped in what Alistair presumed was amusement. “Though we must ask that Your Majesty does not steal her away from us! No promises of Ferelden’s new leniency towards mages, if you please.”

He made sure to chuckle along, schooling himself not to look round to see whether Morrence had caught the Starling yet. All he could do was wait for a break in conversation and make excuses to be allowed away for some air.

When his chance finally came, a brief interlude during an influx of new people wanting introductions, he slipped through the crowd and met his right-hand at the door to the terrace. The fresh, cold scent of the night washed in, frost and damp earth, and beyond the lighted windows a dark figure stood at the balustrade that separated the garden from the sheer drop to the ground below.

“She’s waiting for you,” Morrence said.

“Any trouble?”

“Only until I threatened to draw attention to her,” came the reply. “And she wouldn’t look me in the eye. Good luck.”

He steadied himself with a breath as he stepped into the open air, a pause in which he studied the woman so invested in not being noticed. She faced away from him, hunched over as if still trying to make herself invisible, picked out by a rime of moonlight that glowed in her hair and reflected in the pearl beading on her skirts, rippled along the silk gloves that covered her arms to the elbow. Her head turned as he approached. Breath fogged silver in the night but the tension didn’t leave her shoulders and he felt it draw him along a knife’s edge as he realised too late how it might appear, a king ordering a woman to wait for him beyond earshot. A jab of self-disgust coiled in his stomach.

And yet, like Leliana said, there was something familiar about her.

He cleared his throat, set his hands behind his back. “You won’t come to any harm here, not from me.”

The Starling only flinched further away from him.

“Who are you?”

He waited, patient, until it became clear he wouldn’t simply give up and leave. The Starling’s fists bunched against the stone of the balustrade, and her shoulders heaved with a deep, almost panicky breath.

“Désolée, Majesté, le Marchandesse est –”

“In Orlesian, then,” he answered. “What’s your name?”

She paused. The line of her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I’m afraid… the only name I can give you is Laurienne, Majesté. Laurienne de Savrenne.”

“Laurienne.” He risked a step closer, and she angled even further away from him, determined to hide her face even behind the mask. “You know, it’s strange – most people here tonight have been falling over themselves trying to catch my attention, but not you. You’ve tried very hard to remain unnoticed, not just by me, but by my guards and entourage as well. Why?”

“I might point out that of all those who wanted the king’s attention, I am the only one to have it bestowed.” She licked her lips. “Perhaps that was my plan.”

The sharp mockery ignited his temper. What was this but yet another sly courtier throwing jests at his expense? All night he had been nice, he had smiled, danced, dressed himself up in pretty words so the nobility would chase him for something he didn’t even want to give, and now he couldn’t even get one straight answer when he asked for it.

“A lot of people think I’m a fool,” he bit out. “It might come in handy sometimes but I assure you I’m smarter than I look, and I don’t appreciate being messed about, especially not after such a long day.”

“I’m…” Was that a fraction of a move towards him? Her head dipped towards her hands, and her eyes pressed shut. “I’m not here under my own power. In truth, Majesté, my debtor bid me come, but did not say you would be here as well.” A distinct note of bitterness entered her voice. “No doubt the thought of us meeting amused her.”

“Do you know me?” he asked.

She fell utterly still. “Do you know me?”

“Are you an assassin?”

“No.”

“But you are hiding something.”

At that, she scoffed, and again that frustrating tingle of familiarity, though it was gone too quickly for him to examine. “We are in Orlais, are we not? Everyone is hiding something. I am no different to any other noblewoman, we are all the same. Wouldn’t you agree?”

His heart stuttered. His mind conjured a sweep of raven hair, the scent of jasmine, warm lips soft against his. “There are exceptions.”

“Is it the exception you were trying to find tonight?” The Starling’s tone rang cold. “All evening you have danced with one after another and tossed them aside afterwards like a wine-taster who finishes his sip and spits the rest away. How delightful the passage of your days must be to never want for such company.”

“How dare you.” He stepped closer. “What do you know about what my days are like – or what it’s like being passed around by all those magpies in there who only care about the shiny crown I could get for them? It’s all, ‘remember it’s your duty, Alistair’ and ‘just pick one and get it over with’. If I could even have one night where I could complain about it, or – or say no – that would be something, but everyone seems to think I should be flattered by all those people pawing at me and never giving me a moment to myself!”

He paused for breath. The tirade had winded him, as much for the emotion it let loose as for the wild gestures flung out with the words. The Starling had remained still, taking the onslaught like a tree against a howling wind, though now only fatigue was left in him she shrank as if he’d struck her a physical blow.

“Forgive me,” he muttered, horrified. “I wasn’t angry at you, it’s just…” What words could he say? “I wouldn’t expect you to understand – but don’t worry. You can go. Do as you wish, my guard won’t detain you any further.”

Still she didn’t move. Cursing, he pinched the bridge of his nose and swallowed back the lump in his throat as he turned for the door. He needed sleep, he needed –

“I understand better than you would think.”

Her voice. Common, not Orlesian. The quiet servility deepened into a clarion note – it stirred his heart from its withered slumber, called it like a dog to heel. Her voice. With pulse thundering, with hope and disbelief and horror wadded into a tight ball in his throat, he looked back.

The Starling no longer shrank into herself but stood tall in defiance of the cold, her shoulders thrown back, chin lifted, in the attitude of a general. He drank in the arch of her throat, the pale skin that gleamed like marble under Satina’s light, the shine of raven-black hair gathered in an Orlesian knot at the back of her head, all details he had ignored before because it was impossible. When he didn’t move, her head tilted, and he recognised the sorrow in the gesture, the self-deprecation in the curve of her mouth.

“The man I love is at this ball tonight,” she told him. “He’s the centre of attention, but I’ve had to watch and do nothing while everyone covets what I cannot touch.”

Her voice.

“Why not?” His tongue fumbled the words through the fog in his brain, the steps he took back towards her shaky and numb, desperate, his chest constricted trying to hold his breath in case it broke the spell somehow cast around him. “Why hide?”

“I owe a debt. Until it’s paid, I can’t – my life is not my own and I have to pay it back. Besides,” she added, with a new wobble in her voice, “what would I say? He – everyone thinks I’m dead.”

They stood so close now he could have reached out to touch her hand, but he hesitated, worried that that, at last, would make her disappear and prove him mad. She was shaking; her fingers had raked lines in the frost on the stone as she clenched them into fists.

“But you’re not dead. You’re –”

Their breath mingled heavy under the moonlight as he leaned in, his hand braving night-chilled skin where her glove had fallen to her wrist, and finally she turned into him, drawn, like him, and while he closed his eyes seeking in vain for the familiar scent of jasmine and sweetgrass, the weight under his fingertips and the stulted breath that left her lips made her solid, and all that was left was to beg her to say something, to let him hear her voice again.

“I was afraid you’d forgotten me,” came the whisper, so full of doubt.

“Never –” He caught the side of her face, pressed a kiss to her temple though the rim of her mask cut into his lips. “Never.”

“I – I thought you’d hate me.”

The absurdity of it made him giggle even as he shook his head in denial. He stroked her hair. Kissed her again. And then, because it was too much to have such certainty without proof he pulled back, searching for the ribbons that secured her mask in place, her pulse flying under his fingers as he worked at the knots. When the mask finally came free, he pushed it up over her forehead – and found himself looking down into a pair of eyes that were the grey of cracked ice on a winter sea.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #da:o #alistair theirin #king alistair #alistair x warden #alistair x cousland #f!cousland #cousland #rosslyn cousland #queen cousland #the falcon and the rose #the mysterious falcon sequel #smoke and mirrors #guys it's happening

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the-modernmary · 4 years

Text

my best habit || aaron hotchner x reader (ch. 3)

Chapter summary: The morning after, and you and Aaron are getting back to your old routines, and you go to the BAU for the first time.

Warnings: mentions of smut, but nothing really explicit.

A/N: thank you all so SO much for reading this story!! i love that you all are enjoying it! icymi, i went ahead and put up an intro + blog rules that you can read here!! Please, please read these are they do apply to this story!

masterlist || read on ao3

And here we go again, we know the start, we know the end

Masters of the scene

We've done it all before and now we're back to get some more

You know what I mean

-ABBA, “Voulez-Vous”

~~~~~~~

You woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee wafting throughout your apartment. Still half asleep, you slowly blinked your eyes open and slid out of bed. You cursed to yourself as you stood up; your whole body was sore. A small grin grew on your face as you realized exactly why you were sore, the memories from last night coming back to you.

You walked out of your bedroom to your kitchen, where you were greeted with the gorgeous view of Aaron, hair wet and still in just the sweatpants he borrowed. Clothes from last night were scattered around the living room, untouched. “Mornin’,” you grumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

Aaron, on the other hand, looked wide awake. “Good morning. I hope you don’t mind, I took a shower and made some coffee,” he greeted.

“It’s fine, as long as you made enough for me,” you told him through a yawn, although it was unnecessary, considering you were almost positive that he prepared you some coffee already. Mornings after with Aaron weren’t exactly domestic, per say, but they were efficient and friendly. Both of you knew you had your lives to get to, and you were willing to help out the other one to make sure they succeeded. The routine worked, and you had grown to look forward to it.

Aaron just chuckled and pointed to your refrigerator. “Already done. You still take it iced with caramel syrup, right?”

If the fact that Aaron remembered your coffee preferences after so long made your heart skip a beat, you elected to ignore it. It’s not like it was a complicated order. Instead you just sauntered towards the fridge, brushing past Aaron’s bare skin on your way over.

Aaron turned to look at you as you grabbed the drink out of the fridge. Now that you were more awake, you could actually take in Aaron in all of his morning after glory. Even with it damp, his hair was fluffier and falling into his eyes, free from any styling product he usually used. His shoulders were relaxed and, you noticed with a smirk, broader than they were before. So he had been working out...

It wasn’t until you got to his bare torso that a soft gasp left your lips, your heart sinking to your stomach. There were nine, almost identical scars, all raised and seemingly staring right at you. You had been so distracted last night that you hadn’t noticed them, but now you weren’t sure how you didn’t see them. They looked healed, but they weren’t faded much, and they definitely weren’t there last time you saw Aaron.

“Aaron,” you whispered, unable to take your eyes off the thick white lines covering him. “What happened?” Almost as if you were in a trance, you reached out to him, wanting to run your fingers over the scars.

Aaron moved to the side quickly so that he was out of your reach, his eyes hardening. He immediately went into defensive mode. “Nothing that you need to be concerned about,” he said firmly, signifying the end of the conversation.

Really, he should have known you well enough to know that you would keep pressing him. “Are you okay?” you continued, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

Aaron walked towards his discarded shirt from last night, putting it on quickly so that the scars could be out of sight. “These weren’t meant to kill me,” he said finally, sadness seeping into his words.

That’s what made you decide to drop the topic. If the scars weren’t meant to kill Aaron, then they were probably supposed to be a torturous reminder, and based on his reaction, it was working. You also figured that it wasn’t just any serial killer who gave those to him, and bringing up his dead ex-wife's murderer wasn’t part of the lighthearted banter the two of you had perfected.

Clearing your throat, you quickly shifted the topic to fill the silence that was hanging over the two of you. You lifted yourself so that you were sitting on the countertop. “So... what time should I be at the BAU?”

Aaron finished buttoning up his shirt and was now reaching for his slacks, his back still turned to you. But his shoulders looked like they relaxed, even a little bit. He was grateful at the subject change. “As soon as you can. We want to try and wrap up this case as quickly as possible.”

“Shit, I still have to shower and get ready. You should have woken me up when you woke up,” you mused, taking a sip of your coffee.

Now fully dressed in the suit he wore yesterday, Aaron turned back to face you, the corners of his lips quirking up in a smile. “I tried,” he explained, slowly letting down his defenses again. “It was hard to tell with the covers you pulled over your head, but I think you told me to go fuck myself or something?” His eyes twinkled with amusement as he made his way back towards you, placing his hands on the counter on either side of you and standing in the space between your legs.

You just shrugged, taking another sip of your drink. “What can I say? I was spent last night and needed my rest,” you told him, feigning innocence.

If Aaron was trying to hide the pride in his eyes at your comment, he didn’t do a very good job at it. His eyes flickered back and forth between your eyes and your lips. “I should get going soon,” he mumbled, more to himself than to you. “I still need to stop by my house to get a change of clothes.”

You placed your coffee to the side of you so that your hands were free to cup the sides of his face. “Probably,” you agreed, but you were still leaning towards Aaron. “But you’re the boss. Who’s going to get you in trouble if you’re a few minutes late?”

Your forehead was pressed against his by now and your thumbs were stroking his cheeks. You could see the desire in Aaron’s eyes, which you were sure was reflected in your own eyes, but instead of taking you right there on the counter like you were hoping he would, Aaron simply pressed his lips to yours, just long enough to leave you desperate for more.

“As tempting as the offer is,” he murmured, his lips still brushing yours. “I really do need to get to work to prepare for our meeting today. And... I’ll need the time to field all the questions I’m sure Dave will have for me about my sudden departure yesterday.” He added the last part as an afterthought, as if he just remembered that the entire BAU was watching the interrogation from yesterday.

You pulled away from Aaron ever so slightly, raising an eyebrow. “They know you’re here?”

Aaron shook his head, much to your relief. You weren’t sure if you would be able to face his entire team if they were all aware you had been sleeping with their unit chief. “Just David,” he admitted. “And that’s only because he figured it out before I could even come up with an explanation. But he covered for me and told the rest of them you were just one of Sean’s old friends, so if any of them ask…”

His words trailed off, but you understood what he was implying. You raised your hands in faux surrender. “Got it, don’t need to tell me twice. And don’t worry, no more flirting in front of your coworkers. I will be the epitome of a professional law intern. I can be a good girl when I want,” you teased, and you were rewarded as his eyes darkened.

“The way you said that makes me think you can’t,” he told you, his voice low.

You laughed and leaned in to kiss him again. The kiss was slow and deliberate and you could feel his lips curling into a smile. Aaron’s hand reached up to cup the back of your head, pulling you in closer to him. There was an unusual softness to the kiss, and you were surprised to realize that you liked it.

You pulled away reluctantly, looking directly into Aaron’s eyes. “You should go to work,” you reminded him. “I’ll be there in an hour or so.”

Aaron stepped away from you and made his way to the door, patting down his pockets to make sure he had everything. You slid off the kitchen counter, watching his every movement. Aaron hesitated as he reached for the doorknob and instead of just walking right out, he turned around to look at you. “When you said yesterday ‘If you ever need somebody to help you pick up those broken pieces’... Did you mean it, or was that just to get a reaction out of me?”

His words were hesitant and vulnerable, which was so unlike him that it took you a second to respond. You realized slowly what he was insinuating: He wanted to keep seeing you. The thought made you happier than you had expected, but that was something to unpack way later.

You kept your voice light in your reply, hoping to calm his nerves. “A little bit of both,” you joked, and Aaron gave you a small smile. “But to answer the inevitable next question, I also would like to see you again and continue this. At least, that’s what I’m assuming what you were going to ask, considering the amount of times you said I was yours last night. ‘My cock whore’ is a new one.”

Aaron let out a breathy chuckle, nodding to himself. He didn’t say anything else, he didn’t have to. The two of you knew the rules to this relationship, and it was already coming back like it was second nature. So instead, Aaron just opened the door, leaving you with a “I’ll see you at the BAU.”

~~~~~~~

Luckily for Aaron, his house was on the way to the FBI headquarters, so he was able to change clothes and be in his office in only 30 minutes. He wasn’t there as early as he usually was, but it was still early enough as to not raise any suspicion, and nobody questioned it when he made a beeline to his office, giving general greetings to the people he passed.

When he sat down at his desk, Aaron really did have every intention to do the paperwork that was slowly piling up and consuming his entire office, but his mind was wandering too much to focus on bureaucratic red tape. Flashes of the night before sped through his mind.

He remembered the way Y/N begged for him to touch her and how good his name sounded coming from her lips. He remembered her face as she was pressed against the wall and the almost animalistic smile she had given him when he had his hand wrapped around her throat. He thought about how beautiful she looked as she was coming down from her orgasm, mascara tears running down her face, hair tangled and sticking in every direction, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath, and the adoration in her eyes as he muttered praises to her.

Aaron hadn’t planned on asking to continue the situation he had with her. Last night was supposed to be the only time, considering the amount of baggage that came with that relationship for Aaron. He and Haley had technically been divorced when he first met Y/N, but it was just barely and it just toed the line of being a full blown affair. Going back to Y/N now could potentially complicate everything and bring up feelings about Haley that he had buried. But Aaron couldn’t deny that being with Y/N was a welcome distraction. There was no pressure to be “on” all the time. He didn’t feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. He felt more at peace than he had in a long time.

“He needs to know you weren’t always so serious…”

A knocking on his office door shook Aaron out of his thoughts. His head shot up to see Rossi, who was leaning against the door frame with a knowing look in his eyes. “You know,” Rossi started before Aaron could even get a word out. He walked into the office and made sure to close the door behind him. “Pretending to do work is more effective when you actually have a file in front of you.”

Aaron audibly exhaled, gesturing for Rossi to take a seat, although it was just a formality; Rossi was going to talk to Aaron about the situation whether or not Aaron wanted to. Rossi leaned back in the chair and quirked up his eyebrows. “How was your night?” he asked, holding back his amused laughter.

“It was fine,” Aaron said in his monotone voice, but it was no use. Rossi just stared Aaron down, patiently waiting for Aaron to elaborate.

“Are you going to see her again?” Rossi pressed, and this time it was hard for Aaron to hide his smile.

Instead, Aaron just side eyed Rossi for a quiet moment. “I am,” he said finally before reaching for one of the files. He really did have to start on that paperwork, and maybe it would send Rossi a hint.

It did not. Rossi nodded approvingly at Aaron’s declaration of seeing this woman again and placed one of his hands on Aaron’s desk. “I’m glad. I think dating will be good for you. Getting back out there is healthy, Aaron.”

Aaron went completely still, thinking of the best way to respond to Rossi. “We are… not exactly dating,” he said slowly, ignoring the shock that flashed past Rossi’s face. For as close as Rossi and Aaron were, their sex lives didn’t come up in conversation much, and Aaron certainly didn’t have the reputation Rossi did. “And I would appreciate it if this stayed between us, at least until after the case. I know how quickly gossip spreads in this office, and I shudder to think what will happen once Garcia gets this information.”

Rossi chuckled and made a zipping motion over his mouth. “My lips are sealed. I am happy for you, though. Maybe she will finally be the thing to get you out of the office on time finally.” Rossi laughed to himself, like he had a secret. “Even if you’ll still be up all night. At least you’ll be de-stressing.”

A knock on the office door spared Aaron from having to hear any more jokes from Rossi at his expense. “Thank you for that pep talk,” he said sarcastically to Rossi before calling out “Come in!” and putting his Unit Chief persona back on.

Emily opened the door, blissfully unaware of the conversation that was happening between the two men just seconds earlier. “Sir, Y/N is here.”

Aaron cleared his throat, ignoring Rossi’s eyes burning a hole into the side of his head. “Good. We will meet in the round table room, go ahead and brief her. Dave and I will be there in a few moments. Thank you, Prentiss.” Emily nodded and left the room just as quickly as she came in.

Rossi tapped on Aaron’s desk as he stood up. “That’s our cue, but mark my words, Aaron. I will learn all about this mystery girl from you, even if I have to lock you in the interrogation room to do it.”

Aaron laughed ever so slightly at that and just nodded. “I will fill you in before it gets to that,” he promised, and was surprised to realize that he meant it. Somehow over the years, Rossi had become his closest confidant, and it was comforting to know that Rossi was encouraging of this new relationship, as unconventional as it was. “But right now we have a case to focus on.”

~~~~~~~

You knew that the FBI headquarters was going to have high security, but three checkpoints seemed a little excessive to you. Nevertheless, you clipped the shiny visitor’s badge onto the waistband of your pants and waited for the elevator to take you to the correct floor.

It was weird to be going to the BAU, even if it was just for a case. It felt like you were encroaching on Aaron’s personal and professional life, something you never intended to do. You were happy being blissfully ignorant about Aaron’s coworkers. You knew a few of your names and that was all you ever needed to know. Being at the BAU was mixing up the carefully compartmentalized lives Aaron and you had built.

The elevator doors opened and you cautiously stepped out, trying to find your way around. You really should have paid more attention to Agent Prentiss when she was giving you instructions. Luckily, you were in a building full of profilers and one of them noticed your inevitable look of confusion.

“Are you Y/N Y/L/N?” they asked, and you nodded quickly. “I’m Agent Derek Morgan. You can follow me, I’m one of the agents on the case.”

You followed Derek through the glass doors and to one of the desks in the bullpen. He said something to another agent- Prentiss, you remembered- before gesturing for you to sit down. “Would you like a coffee or water?” Derek offered offhandedly, but his eyes were scanning you up and down, obviously trying to profile you.

Following on your promise to be professional, you had put on a nice pair of grey plaid slacks and a satin button up blouse- an outfit you had worn to your internship and to court a million times. But Derek’s gaze seemed more than just surface level profiling. It felt like he distrusted you. And then it hit you. He was probably watching you in the interrogation room yesterday, as you shamelessly flirted with Aaron. Everyone you were about to meet probably saw it, and they were all going to try and figure you out.

It had seemed funny in the moment, when you didn’t think you would ever have to see these people again, but now? Not so much.

You idly considered taking Derek up on his offer, just to keep him from profiling you any longer, but that would just give him the opportunity to share his findings with the rest of the office. It was easier to keep him close. “No thank you,” you said finally, giving Derek a polite smile. Despite what they had seen yesterday, you were excellent at networking, and you knew how to charm a room. Getting these profilers to like you wouldn’t be too hard.

Derek studied you a little closer, but your eye contact was unwavering. “How do you know Hotch?” he asked.

Thank God Aaron had warned you about this. “I was friends with his brother, Sean,” you lied coolly. “I met Aaron through him and he was nice enough to let me interview him when my studies revolved around an old prosecuting case of Aaron’s.”

Derek looked like he wanted to ask you more questions, but you were saved by Jennifer gathering the team and you to meet in a conference room.

Despite the fact that you had met a good portion of them yesterday while being interrogated, everybody reintroduced themselves to you, albeit much friendlier. Now that you weren’t in handcuffs, the team warmed up to you quickly.

You also chose to formally introduce yourself to the team, considering that you were still probably just a file in their minds. “And I apologize for making your jobs more difficult yesterday,” you added onto the end, only half joking.

JJ- which Jennifer insisted you call her- gave you a comforting smile as she walked to the front of the room. “We understand. Interrogation rooms are designed to get those sorts of reactions.”

You were about to reply when the sound of footsteps caused you all to turn your heads towards the door. “Good, you started,” Aaron interrupted, making his way to the front of the room. “Y/N, glad you could make it.”

You just greeted him with a polite nod, before turning your focus to David Rossi, who was introducing himself to you. He had a good enough poker face, but you caught a mischievous glint in his eyes. At first, you were confused, but then you remembered that he knew Aaron came over to your place last night. Maybe he knew even more, which was an uncomfortable enough thought. You didn’t have time to focus on that at the moment.

You stood up to shake Rossi’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, really,” you said simply, your voice light and polite. You had been around the DC law scene long enough that you knew exactly how to get people to like you. “I’ve written about you and your books for my classes.”

Rossi tilted his head to the side slightly. “I didn’t realize my books translated to law courses,” he questioned, sliding into the seat next to you. You took that as your cue to sit back down.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Aaron watching the interaction carefully, causing anxiety to bubble up in your stomach. He had never seen you in a work or academic setting, with the exception of that first meeting, but that hardly counted. He had read some of your academic work, would help you with the occasional homework assignment, and even let you practice your mock trials runs with him while he gave you pointers, but he had never seen you truly in action. The thought unsettled you.

“I’m in a joint degree program,” you explained proudly. You had to make an appeal to the school to allow you to do this joint degree, and you’ve busted your ass ever since. “On top of my JD, I’m getting my masters in Forensic Psychology. I’ve studied your past cases and examined the ethical implications involving your interrogation techniques, specifically when working with offenders with severe mental health issues.”

You regretted the words as soon as you said them. To anybody else, it would have been impressive. Even some of the other profilers were intrigued by the concept, but saying it directly to David Rossi was a whole different ballpark. To his credit, he just chuckled good naturedly, seemingly completely unbothered by your comments. “I can only imagine what they’re saying,” he joked. “Interrogations are very different now than they were back when I started in the FBI.”

“Rossi,” Aaron interjected, and that word was a simple warning. He was obviously trying to stop the conversation quickly. Tension hung in the air briefly as Aaron, Rossi, and you all remembered the unspoken secret the three of you were sharing. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotcner smut #aaron hotchner fanfiction #my best habit #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #my writing

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juuls · 4 years

Text

Juulna’s ‘Hold Onto Your Sanity’ Fic, Book, and Music Recs for the 2020 Dumpster Fire... Part 3!

So you just crash-landed behind enemy lines in a war you know barely anything about except that your role seems infinitesimal and insignificant, and dumped into a year, 2020, that already seems fifteen years too long.

Before you drown your sorrows in some fantastic scotch or wine coolers for days (or weeks)… I have a proposal.

That you step back from the flames, tune things out for a bit, and try to forget about the outside world for a while (but don’t forget to vote or I will be very sad at you!).

These fics are meant to take you out of your head (I’m including more plot/story-minded fics than PWP) for the next few weeks or months as the world goes to hell (even more) but of course there are some bits of solid angst in these as there is wont to be in many a fic. Check the tags, read responsibly, don’t like-don’t read, ship and let ship, and please do leave a kudos and maybe even a comment! :)

This is PART THREE.

Check out here for Part One and most of the Marvel fic recs, along with a selection of book recs too. :)

And here’s Part Two, which has the bulk of my Star Wars and Game of Thrones recs, along with Spotify playlists!

Part Three is this one here, all about the Potterverse.

(Not yet complete) Here’s Part Four, filled with even more shippy goodness from all over the Star Trek universe. So. Many. Ships. :D

(Not yet complete) Part Five is Witcher, Man From UNCLE, Stargate: Atlantis and SG-1, Sherlock, Hannibal, and Doctor Who.

(Not yet complete) Part Six will probably be all for my newfound love of Supergirl, along with some Game of Thrones and Marvel ships I skipped, because I gotta stop somewhere with all these recommendations or I’ll be at it forever. Seriously, how much of this stuff have I read!?

But I think we all need some distractions from the world these days, eh? Or something to console us other than internet rage and a barrel of ice cream and/or hard alcohol.

Potterverse

I’ve chosen to pick fics (mostly) off of AO3 for their easy reading access, though HP fics’ golden years were on sites like fanfiction.net and other independent archives like Sycophanthex and others which have closed their doors over the years, sadly. Some of these fics date back to almost 20 years old, or more, amazingly!

For fics on fanfiction.net, I highly recommend using this link (FicSave) to epub/mobi converter rather than dealing with the frustrating app. It functions like AO3′s built-in download button.

SSHG/Sevmione

Rec assistance by @perrydowning

Second Life by Lariope

Phantom of Hogwarts by Good_Witch

Romancing the War by Pubella

The Poison Garden by turtle_wexler @turtlewexlerwrites

A Light in the Fog by turtle_wexler

Pride of Time by AnubisAnkh

The Savage by MagdatheMagpie

Snape’s Story by Tbird1965

Recognition by jezzie (krith)

Tedium of Time by oneredshoe

Tango by Desert_Sea

Sense and Insensibility by Desert_Sea

Time Mutable Immutable by Grooot

The Twenty by Leyna Rountree

For the Only Hope by ausland @run-with-me-to-the-sea

Bundle of Joy by LadyTuesday

Our Hands Tied by multilingualism

Choose Something Like A Star by TeddyRadiator

Mistress of the Stacks by Ms_Anthrop

A Derailed Train of Thought by Ms_Anthrop

Antiquities by stormcorona

Watch Over Me by @snapeslittleblackbuttons

Dropped Down into the Unknown by @q-drew

Delicate Transitions by @morbidmuch

Lay Me Low by TeddyRadiator

The Savage by MagdatheMagpie

Another Dream by @dragoon811

A Chance For Happiness by @corvusdraconis

Breath of the Nundu by corvusdraconis, Dragon_and_the_Rose

Just to Be by Amarti @amarti-writes-stuff

Hinge of Fate by Ramos

Forged in Flames by @mswhich

Days in the Sun by bluespring864

Making sure the boy who lived, actually does by Hold_en @hold-enwrites

The Problem With Purity by Phoenix.Writing

One Step Forward, Two Decades Back by corvusdraconis

The Headmaster’s Wife by Mrs_HH @propertyofseverustsnape

The Master, the Warden, the Headmaster, and the Deputy by mak5258

Cloak of Courage by Wendynat

Hermione Granger and the Intended Vessels by ShawnaCanon

Augury and Ardor by SnapeySnax

Before the Dawn by snarkyroxy

The Love You Take by Subversa

His Draught of Delicate Poison by Subversa

and sooooo many more if you want them just ask, this is both mine and Perry’s oldest ship lol

Gramander (Original Graves x Newt)

A Gilded Cage is Still a Cage by Anonymous

take a deep breath (and let it go) by lincesque @tumbloncat

Roar by @elenothar

Matchmaker, Matchmaker by @prosodiical

Dearly Beloved by prosodiical

Basic Instincts by @manic-intent

Promised by Miss_Lv

Plan G by Aate

Heat of the Chase by argentoswan @wannahearaboutmycats

Newt Scamander’s Guide to Getting Things Done by arthureameslove

Against all Odds by Maril

Where I Belong by Mishafied

He Wants To Say, “I Love You, Nothing Can Hurt You” by @obsidionwingsofmidnight

Arranged by Miss_Lv

death of a bachelor by gudetama (elementary)

The Graves Identity by Mishafied

you make me feel this way somehow by gudetama (elementary)

The Nature of the Beast by AntiGravitas @absolutelynogravitaswhatsoever

The Knights, the Newt, and the Rose by @yinyangswings

The Wizard’s Cat by @natecchi

The Color of Boom by gypsiangel

Signalling Theory: Blue Coat by @obaewankenope

Flame by @esamastation

And The Tag Read Simply: “Pretty” by @funkzpiel

Aren’t You Gonna Arrest Me, Officer? by JoyBurd

a little bit lost by shortbread @shortbread-fanfiction

Dramione

Rec assistance by @cuthian

Seven Times by kerri240879

Her Beauty and the Moonlight by BrilliantLady

The Fallout by everythursday (orphaned and only available on AO3 now, but complete)

The Eagle’s Nest by HeartOfAspen

Turncoat by elizaye @imnotleavinherewithoutyou

The Virgin Conundrum by AkashaTheKitty @akashathekitty

Bad Faith by Morrighan256

Isolation by bexchan @bex-chan-blog

The Serpent, the Witch, and the Broom Closet by bitchywitchy

Silencio by AkashaTheKitty

All You Want by senlinyu @senlinyu

Static by galfoy @heymanticore

What the Room Requires by Alydia Rackham

And We All Fall Down by @rumaan

Ambition’s End by Hanako A

Wait and Hope by mightbewriting @mightbewriting

Rewriting Destiny by mayawrites95 (mayarox95)

Chronos Historia by In_Dreams @indreamsink

A Muggle-born Magic by Musyc @willhavetheirtrinkets

Hunted by Bex-chan

A Second Look by @riverwriter

The Nietzsche Classes by Beringae

This Too, Is Sacred by HeartOfAspen

Bite First, Ask Questions Later by Daredevilsinthedetails, Kaylessi

Nocturnus by In_Dreams @indreamsink

Broken by @inadaze22

The Green Girl by Colubrina

Lady of the Lake by Colubrina

Rebuilding by Colubrina (really just anything written by @colubrina)

Presque Toujours Pur by @shayalonnie

Can’t Change the Way I Am by @nauticalparamour

Law and Marriage by DragonGrin (formerly TeenTypist)

The Tower Window by @xodramaqueenox

Unexpected by Emara88

Something Old, Something New by Kate Dessi

Suppressed Emotions by hopelesslydevoted.xx

Silver Blood by @freyaishtar

When the Day Met the Night by @bex-la-get

Harmony

A Marauder’s Plan by CatsAreCool (Rachel500)

A Step to the Right by CatsAreCool (Rachel500)

Eighth by lorien829

The Catalyst by lorien829

Harry Potter and the Isle of Mists by lorien829

Knife’s Edge by Celtic55

The Black Book by mosteveryonesmad

Awakening by SweetShireen

The Sword and the Snake by bartonfink1974

Dispelling the Silence by Indygodusk

One Year Later: Return to Hogwarts by Twilight’s Inferno

DraHarmony

Fourteen Thousand Galleons by @frumpologist

The Invitation by hot_elf @hot-elf

Love Love Love by MissELY @misselylux

Changing Scenery by aethling

East of Eden by msmerlin @ms-merlinblack

Turn Back Time by Dazeventura6

Foxfire by @setissma

Come Together by @nuclearnik

The Soul of the Wolves by LR_Earl @fanficbylrearl

Running From Lions by tryslora @tryslora

An Unexpected Family by ladyroxanne21

The Prophecies by jamcreynolds

Drarhinny

Reconstruction by @aldersprig

Fell From the Sky by BrandonStrayne @brandonstrayne (I really love this one, and not just as a Canadian.)

Demons From the Past by pottermum

Drarry

Rec assistance by @newtypeshadow

Rarely Pure and Never Simple by birdsofshore

Aural Gratification by birdsofshore

Lost Among and Falling by @bafflinghaze

The Corruption Sequence series by beren @berenwrites

Sentinel ‘verse series by elyssblair @elyssblair-blog

Date Blindness by dysonrules

Starts With a Spin by Maxine @serasarahhhh

Temptation on the Warfront by alizarincrimson

Paradigm by dysonrules

Here’s The Pencil, Make It Happen by ignatiustrout

Draco Sodding Malfoy by Shewhxmustnxtbenamed @shewhomustnotbenamed

Pieces of What by Jadwiga

Found, Not Lost by inspiration_assaulted

Shared Detention by DadIWriteGayPorn

Dirty Little Secret by Writcraft @writcraft

19 Years by shilo1364 @whimsicaldragonette

Morning Suns & Coffee Runs by laugh_a_latte @queer-coffee

Reus Una by purplepen76

Between Ink and Blood by Candamira

Ginmione

Distractions by @morningsound15

Cissamione

(This seems like it’s a bit cracky, but there’s some good ones, I promise! I sorta stumbled ass-backwards into this ship but really enjoy some of them.)

One Step Left by Cysteine @cysteine

Extinction by @rubikanon

Blinding Light by @16-pennies

Somebody Loved by beforeyouspeak

...

There. This is much better, isn’t it?

So my challenge to you, if your world is falling, burning down around you in flames... is this:

...if you feel yourself getting anxious or depressed, whether from the news or being cooped up in isolation or bored or on the verge of tearing your hair out or jumping off that roof or grabbing something to go after the dictator-of-the-week.... pause, take a breath, open up this rec list, close your eyes and pick something, and let chance take you somewhere hopefully far away. Let yourself be transported.

Oh, and don’t click on this Google Drive link. Really, there’s not 30+ GB of data on that Drive I’m sharing. Shame. There totally aren’t tens of thousands of books, as many audiobooks as could fit, and a large collection of fanfiction downloaded from AO3 in there. (Also, not all fics have been shared to that folder yet; I’m working on it a little at a time as I download more.)

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buzz-london · 3 years

Text

Lively hilarious piece from Cyrus Broacha about Parsi surnames. While most surnames in India reflect caste and lineage, the Parsis had a delightfully modern streak — having landed without caste, history and context, they created identities through professions and urban streets. Our family moved to Bombay (now Mumbai) from Rawalpindi in 1947. We came as refugees but the family soon settled and by 1953 my father had restarted playing golf at the Willingdon Club. I was eight years old and would walk 18 holes with him every Saturday and Sunday. The three Parsi gentlemen who made up his regular four-ball were uncles Poonawala, Coorlawala and Colabawala. Very soon they had rechristened my father Pindiwala. Uncle Colabawala did not live in Colaba but in a penthouse on Malabar Hill. May be his ancestors had lived in Colaba. I used to spend hours searching the telephone directory to find Parsi surnames and stories around their families. There was prohibition in Bombay those days. So to get liquor you had to find Mr Dalal, who would introduce you to Mr Daruwala, who in turn would get bottles delivered to your home by Mr Batliwala who would be accompanied by Mr Sodawaterbottleopenerwalla (the longest Parsi surname I have come across). Other surnames whose ancestors were in the beverages trade were: Mr Fountainwala, Mr Ginwala, Mr Rumwala, Mr Sodawala and Mr Jaamwala. We used to have two delightful Siamese kittens in our flat and these were gifted to my mother by her friend Mrs Billimoria. My mother spent hours knitting cardigans for them, with wool she bought from the Unwala family. My uncle ran the air force canteen in Cotton Green and his partner, yes you guessed it, was Mr Canteenwala. They had this fantastic cook, Mr Bhajiwala. Their mild and meek manager, Mr Jeejeebhoy, nodded his head and agreed with everything everybody said. My grandfather was the Sheriff of Bombay. I think the first and only Parsi to hold this position. Being Sheriff it was only natural that he had Mr Bandookwala and Mr Golimarwala as his constant companions. Grandfather had many Parsi friends who were in politics. There was this squeaky clean khadi-clad Mr Ghandy, and the not so clean Mr Kalaghandy — <who was invariably being hounded by Mr Kotwal. But he never left home without his friends Mr Barrister, Mr Vakil, Mr Lawyer and their munshi Mr Mehnty. My grandfather built Hotel Waldorf on Arthur Bunder Road in Colaba. So for this he naturally used the services of Mr Contactor and Mr Mistry. Yet... He never went to the conservative moneylenders when short of money, but borrowed it from his Parsi friend Mr Readymoney. Our neighbour and family physician was Dr Adi Doctor — he was only half a doctor. He lived withh his in laws Mr and Mrs Pochkhanawala. My sister swears they ate only poached eggs for breakfast. I remember going to Dr Doctor’s sister’s wedding. She married one Mr Screwala. What he did for a living, I do not know to this day. -- Cyrus Broacha Comediwalla...... 🙌🙌

#lol #parsi

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coochiequeens · 3 years

Text

By Andi Zeisler, cofounder of Bitch Media and author, "We Were Feminists Once: From Riot Grrrl to CoverGirl, the Buying and Selling of a Political Movement"

Former President Donald Trump’s ascendance as the face of present-day Republican politics has been a study in the power of cognitive dissonance. Nowhere has this been more clear than in the rhetoric of conservative pundits. The same people who argue that “identity politics” has curdled public discourse refuse to acknowledge their own worldview as one predicated on white identity as the “natural” order. They decry gender-neutral toy potatoes as liberal overreach but see no problem with demanding the resignation of someone who admitted to feeling emotional about an inauguration.

The occasional Republican might bravely step forward to draw the line at violent insurrection, but on balance conservatives have ceased articulating actual policy platforms in favor of simply adopting the cartoon villainy that animates their leader. It’s a turbulent time. Yet the key question that seems to be keeping many conservatives up at night is: Why don’t people want to date us?

In 2018, Washingtonian magazine reported on young D.C. conservatives who found that working in the Trump White House or for right-wing media outlets were dating-app dealbreakers. A 2017 piece in The Federalist argued that dating sites that allow for “associative mating” — also known as “selecting partners with interests and beliefs in common” — were in fact the reason Trump was elected in the first place. The New York Times’s Ross Douthat applauded the British economist Robin Hanson for advocating the “redistribution” of sex as a remedy for the murderous misogyny of incels.

The newest entry in this pantheon of conservative lonely hearts comes from Eric Kaufmann, whose piece this week in the National Review, “Political Discrimination as Civil-Rights Struggle,” argues that college women’s disinterest in dating Trump supporters doesn’t just hurt their feelings, but is in fact discrimination. This, Kaufmann maintains, is evidence of a “progressive authoritarianism” that’s compelling “young elite Americans” to be turned off by “conservatives' resistance to racial, gender, and sexual progressivism.”

It’s true: A growing number of Americans are increasingly intolerant of racial, gender, and sexual intolerance. Bigotry just isn’t sexy, and few people seek partners who don’t acknowledge their full humanity. But for Kaufmann, the fault lies not with the people who hold noxious views, but with those who have the temerity to not want to get naked with them. His solution? If you can’t date, legislate. After identifying right-wing conservatives as a “small and declining political minority in elite institutions,” he calls for institutional remedies to prioritize this minority, writing, “Those on the right, along with freedom-minded allies on the left, will have to use government and the law to limit institutional autonomy just enough to protect individual freedoms.”

It’s worth asking why Kaufmann, along with the aforementioned conservative men, care about a lack of romantic interest in Trump supporters. Men on the internet have long charged that progressive, feminist Democratic voters are ugly, unlovable harpies, simultaneously sexless and slutty, and destined to die alone with their cats. Meanwhile, MAGA men regularly crow about studies indicating that conservative women are hotter than those on the other side. If these guys are happy to date within their own political affiliation, that’s great, right? Wrong. The problem, per Kaufmann, is that a majority of young women have the nerve to not want to date the men who don’t want to date them. How dare they?

Kaufmann is somewhat creative in interpreting the studies he cites. But even taken at face value, their findings aren’t truth bombs. Most women, not just educated “elite” ones, want to date people they actually like and who actually like them back. And it’s hardly surprising that people whose very existence has always been politicized tend to want to share their hearts, bodies, and futures with partners who hold similar values; with whom they can thrive in love and partnership. Pretending that pre-Trump daters didn’t have political preferences and standards is disingenuous. Framing it as a civil-rights issue is just creepy. There’s a term for people who force others into sexual and emotional intimacy, and it’s not “marriage material.”

Such arguments don’t just read like “Handmaid’s Tale” fan fiction; they also directly contradict the stated principles of American conservatism itself. Educated women not wanting to date Trump supporters, for instance, is a solid example of the free market that conservatives hold so dear. These guys are a demonstrably shoddy product: They mistake being loud for being factual; they conflate guns and masculinity; they’re incurious and dismissive of anything they don’t understand; and, like the twice-impeached Florida retiree they revere, they’re not great at taking no for an answer. If women reject them and the market corrects in response, everything is working exactly how conservatives believe it should.

And what of personal responsibility, that conservative shibboleth that buttresses arguments against universal healthcare (have you considered just not getting sick?), a $15 minimum wage (the world doesn’t owe you a living, snowflake), and affirmative action in myriad forms? If devotion to a would-be dictator is getting in the way of love matches, surely the personally responsible response would be to consider why that is, rather than just blaming the people who swiped left.

Of course, conservatives have repeatedly shown a willingness to dispense with their core principles when market forces turn against them. And Ross Douthat and Robin Hanson prove that when access to sex is at stake, conservatives get downright socialist real fast. What enrages these men isn’t the lack of opportunities for romantic discussions of marginal tax rates and defunding Medicare; it’s that women can choose what they do with their bodies, and with whom they do it. “Progressive authoritarianism” is simply a new name for the same kinds of fearmongering rhetoric that already drives conservative positions on abortion access, birth control, childcare, gender identity, and more, and no amount of academic jargon and economic bloviating can conceal it.

Most of us learn early in life that you can’t bully someone into liking you, that not all desire is reciprocal, and that we can all learn from self-examination. Those who apparently haven’t should keep this important dating tip in mind: When a critical mass of people find your values regressive, your political beliefs inhumane, and your political hero repellent, it’s not them. It’s you.

#Disgusting men from both sides of the political spectrum think they are entitled to dating women

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gallivantingheart · 4 years

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Me, a Princess? Shut Up!

masterlist | previous | next

⏮️ chapter 6: mulan ⏭️

who?: jihoon/woozi x (f)reader

word count: 1717

genre/s: fluff, humour, social media!au

warnings: mild coarse language

synopsis: Life’s pretty good for y/n. Easy, even. Until someone claiming to be her grandmother says she is the queen of a small island country - and y/n, a princess.

a/n: i have no reason as to the TWO WEEK wait, but i still hope it’s okay. Also, I know nothing of international politics or table etiquette, don’t @ me

**please ignore the timestamps - they are not accurate**

TAGLIST: @strykiss, @karrotkarrotkarrot, @3sriracha, @minkwans, @annakemi, @chaseyui,

don’t hesitate to send an ask or dm to be added!

Soonhee follows you with eagle eyes as you circle the dining room, elaborate table setting laid out along with decorative lemon themed table centrepieces.

“And who sits next to France?”

You rush to answer, not facing her. “Belgium. Like on the map, because France and Germany don’t get along politically.”

“And across from Germany?” She calls, idly adjusting forks and spoons.

“Thai - uh, Spain, sorry. Thailand is next to Spain, before myself. Then Soonyoung and yourself at the head of the table, north.”

You pause to turn and wait for Soonhee to assess your answer. She’s dressed in a silky champagne two piece blazer and skirt, her blouse designed with a high neckline and thin necktie. The click of her heels are a constant, reminding you of a metronome - just to torment you a little more. She nods, finally.

“I didn’t quite ask for all of that, but yes. You are correct. Have you had your final fitting? You must be presentable before the attendees. Reputation and first impressions are vital.”

You bite the bottom of your lip, nodding. “I had it the day before last. Everything is as ready as can be.”

“Hmmm. You are dismissed. I suggest you study on the conversation topics from last week and compose yourself before tomorrow. Please be here at 1pm, sharp. Antoni insists on natural light and I wish to be ready as early as possible.” Soonhee still doesn’t look at you when she speaks.

As much as it makes your blood boil from the aloof and disparaging manner in which she speaks to you - and only you, it seems - you push down any unpleasant urges against her. She’s a queen; a ruler of a country. No doubt not used to her opinion being challenged, much less by someone your age. There are better things to utilise your energy on rather than fighting the brick wall that is your grandmother.

“Yes, grandma.” You’ll still push the envelope and call ther that though, something a little less formal for the times. “See you tomorrow.”

You instantly turn out the room, pulling your phone out of your back pocket. Those dreadful heels click hastily after you.

“And no socialising tonight! We can’t afford any bad press or late nights for anyone.”

Her voice has never been loud but it carries remarkably well. You huff and jam your phone away, a chicken and drinks session with the boys off the cards. Mingyu is out of town on another holiday with family, so it would have been Minghao and Jun, your fellow foodies.

Despite the early bedtime, you can’t seem to sleep, tossing and turning, tangling yourself in your sheets. You hope Antoni is as good at hiding sleepless nights as he is at shaping eyebrows.

The dress is beautiful, of course. (You had the wine gang help you choose over text. Secretly, of course.)

And while you’re still sceptical of Antoni after the debacle he caused concerning your identity, he blathers on and on in apologies as he pins and fiddles with your hair so you don’t mind too much by the end of it all. Soonhee seems to think he’s redeemed himself - the queen’s word is law. Soonyoung looks super chic in his blazer and turtleneck. You pout at him in his fashionable attire no one else in their stuffy suits appears to bat an eye at.

“Soonie you look great.” You say from the bottom step of the main staircase - grand entrance and all.

He can’t help but preen. “Thanks, as do you, Boss.”

“Gross. But I look like a glitzed up puffball. If I had known that it could have been more casual I-”

The queen cuts off your whining as she glides over in a gauzy ivory gown, crown glittering with every light fixture. “Y/N. Very appropriate. Soonyoung, handsome as always. Are you sure you don’t have my genes?”

What? A - A joke? Where? You have to forcibly shut your mouth from the conversation in front of you. Soonyoung has a steady dancers’ posture - or maybe just a royal one. Straight spine, relaxed held back shoulders and a level gaze. You twist your fist in the many layers of your skirt, to both hide and release the frustrating tension radiating through you. The ambassador laughs, fluffing shyly at his bleach blonde fringe.

“Oh, ahaha. Your Majesty, no. No, I do not.” He mumbles.

You dip yourself in a short bow before dodging the pair in order to attempt to mingle. Droning conversation topics flick through your mind, like forcing the pages of a book. Finally, you set your sights on the Swedish ambassador, if only to talk about Eurovision - the one fun subject allowed to be discussed with you.

You find though, that most of the conversations you attend cycle through the same process. The notice of your presence and an introduction between you all - ministers, ambassadors and their companions. Then a resuming of the current conversation, you being too afraid of looking stupid to add any effective input. You have to bite back a sigh of relief when dinner is announced.

Soonyoung is right. You need a spoon for the cool soup served. He flicks the edge of the one you are supposed to use and you kick his ankle in thanks. The conversations from the foyer are carried into the dining space and you lose India to Thailand. Soonyoung is chatting avidly with Scotland across from him, his hands gesturing from their place on the table cloth. Despite this, main course goes swimmingly, a chicken lemon dish on rice with a hint of garlic and herbs. You hesitate on your chopsticks before picking up a knife and fork like most of the other dignitaries. You feel eyes on you and glance over to see Soonhee evaluating you from the head of the table. She still manages to look severe to you, even with the amicable situation - but maybe you’re just imagining things.

It’s when dessert is around the corner that it falls apart. Spain’s representative, a lovely man named Eduardo is discussing the lemon market of Amaide with you, something you are luckily very proficient with. As you speak, you demonstrate the incline of the market, you tip your water glass over. The elder man, easily in his fifties, smiles warmly and lets you fix it up with an apology to him and the waiter on hand to clean it up. Thailand’s eyes squint at you dubiously and you bow back to them. You describe the style of orchard the royal lemon ceremony is held in, gesturing over your shoulder at the Queen Mother, and the critical breeding of the trees that grow all over the country. A stray hand wave collides with the melting ice bucket with a clang, tipping it sideways… all over Eduardo. Now the pleasant man is drenched from head to toe, Portugal catching the spray and flying bottle of champagne. Thailand is awash as well, nowhere near as bad, but he seems to seize up in panic, dabbing and pressing at his shoulders and sleeves. The dining room is in a commotion now as you bite your lips and frown, grabbing your own napkin to dry down the man next to you. Your hair is damp, slowly going fluffy and frizzy from the water. People are standing up, including yourself and Soonhee.

“I-I-I’m so sorry. I’m not usually this clumsy! Are-are you okay, Eduardo?” You protest.

He shoots you a severe look, only tempered by the reputation of every single person in the room. Obviously not. You chew harshly at your lip as the waiters fuss and someone talks quietly about offering a change of clothes.

You look around the dying chaos - even Soonhee is amongst it, joining in on the many dabbing gingerly at the spanish ambassador’s suit with a napkin. Soonyoung catches your eye as you slink backwards towards the ajar french doors, leaning over to the waiter.

“If anyone asks, I’ve gone to the power room, okay? I-I, uh, shouldn't be too long.” You murmur out the corner of your mouth.

He glances at you, nodding. Soonyoung frowns, gesturing with a discreet finger back to his side. You shake your head, signalling a time-out. You hike up your skirts the moment you turn the corner, clacking down the dim hallway as fast as you can to pick up your purse from the cloak room. Making a detour, you go for the east bathroom, in favour of the north one closer to the dining room.

Slamming the door behind you and locking it, you turn the toilet lid down to sit on it for a moment. A time which gets longer and longer the more you worry your lips to oblivion, thinking on your next move. There is no salvaging what you just did. Humiliating yourself, your victims and the Queen Mother - and by extension, your entire country. No. Surely you couldn’t stay. But how to get out of the embassy without causing more of a fuss? You check the time. Only forty minutes left of the dinner anyway. They couldn’t miss you while still cleaning up. Your stomach turns and lurches heavily, so you turn to press your face into the cool tiled wall.

So, leave. But to where?

No one was in the city, having gone away for the break. Certainly not just home. You wanted just a moment away from everything. You peek your head out into the empty hallway. There is an employee exit next to the kitchens - only the cctv would see you then. But where to? Jihoon? Would he still be around? Would he be okay with seeing you?

You set up a ride for the university before making a break for it, gasping as you lose a bracelet, snagged on the curled handle of the door. Punching in the default entry code, you power walk over the concrete and gravel out to the side street as a little green bug of a car pulls up.

The window winds down to show a man in his early 30’s. “Ride for Y/n?”

“That’s me. Thanks.”

You glance back over your shoulder, through the wrought iron gates to the deadly still building. Jumping in, you tug your long, fluffy skirt in after you.

Bonus

#caratwritersclub #seventeen au #seventeen fic #seventeen social media au #seventeen scenario #seventeen imagine #jihoon fic #jihoon imagine #jihoon scenario #seventeen smau #woozi fic #woozi imagine #woozi scenario #woozi x reader #jihoon x reader #seventeen woozi #seventeen jihoon #mapsu fic #written

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