#i shall ponder this further

[pandora15]

Angstpril 2023 Day 1 Prompt: Liar

tw: character having trouble breathing, open ending

Obi-Wan knew, from the moment that he agreed to take on this mission, that it would be difficult.

Faking his death, having to pretend to be someone he wasn't for the sake of his own survival, having to interact with the likes of Cad Bane and Count Dooku himself without getting his cover blown…

Well, he knew from the beginning that it would not be easy.

But none of that was as difficult as it was to return.

The transformation from Rako Hardeen back to his own body was uncomfortable — painful, leaving him shaky and somewhat feverish. The vocal emulator wreaked damage to his vocal chords, and Master Che had confirmed that there was likely some infection in his throat that she'd like to monitor over the coming days.

Which obviously meant that he was stuck in the Halls for now. It wasn't ideal, but considering the fact that he couldn't keep down most foods because of his throat and his entire body ached any time he tried to move at all, he supposed it made sense.

Obi-Wan didn't exactly like it, but even that wasn't the worst part.

Anakin wouldn't speak to him. On the ship when they were returning from Naboo, he'd maintained his distance, and once Obi-Wan had gotten his commlink back, he'd sent Anakin messages frequently, only to receive nothing.

Obi-Wan knew that the deception had upset Anakin. He understood why — more than most, he understood.

But he had hoped that Anakin would also understand why he did it.

"You lied to us," Anakin had said, when Obi-Wan had approached him on the ship. "What else have you lied to me about? Do you even care about any of us?"

Obi-Wan had no response to that — how could he, when he knew that Anakin was right? He did lie to them, after all.

And now he was here, alone, because he did what he knew to be right. Anakin wouldn't speak to him, Ahsoka wouldn't speak to him, Cody wouldn't speak to him, the Council wouldn't speak to him.

He'd succeeded on his mission, and yet —

He'd failed them all.

Letting out a sigh, Obi-Wan placed his commlink back on the table next to the bed. He winced as his throat spasmed at the rush of air, and then he coughed, bending forward slightly to gasp for air.

That seemed to trigger a chain reaction of sorts. The more he gasped for air, the more it irritated his throat, causing him to gasp even more. And the air wasn't even traveling down his throat properly, which meant that —

He couldn't breathe.

He couldn't breathe.

The room seemed to tilt on its axis around him as he shuddered and gasped and placed his forehead on his knees. There was a ringing noise, muffled by the blood rushing in his ears, followed by the sound of footsteps. Voices surrounded him, but he couldn't make them out, not until —

"Obi-Wan?" A hand on his shoulder, pushing him back until he was lying back again, head arching backward in a desperate reach for air. He couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, couldn't —

"Okay, okay, just hold on." The voice was gentle, soothing. "Your throat has swollen up too much. You're not getting enough air."

There were hands holding him down, the hiss of a hypospray, followed by the feeling of everything getting floaty and blurry, until…

His eyes snapped shut, and the memory of his lies that constantly plagued him faded away.

[andorerso]

having spent the last week passively outlining the divorce lawyers au in my head whenever I had the time, I have ideas for just about everything except the actual divorce process

yes, they're rivals, yes, they try to sabotage each other. how? I couldn't tell you.

[hahanamegobrrrr]

How do you think you would react if there was a t-word mention in Sanders Sides? Like if it was something as simple as using the expressions "tickles your fancy/tickles your funnybone" or Patton being a stereotypical dad and threatening to tickle someone for whatever reason or even Roman just listing off fights he could win and includes tickle fights–Okay, I'm gonna go binge-read some fics now, bye

it would depend on how much of a mention it was

like from your examples, just like a casual "tickles your fancy" being in one of the lines would make me go "OPE-" and I'd probably replay the clip LOL

if it was a full dad-patton threatening to tickle one of the others, I would go absolutley feral HSJAHJS and it would probably prompt some sort of fic/art from me because C'MON HOW CAN YOU PASS UP THAT OPPORTUNITY

[viserya-firstofhername]

Aye, fantastic comportment on mine own part, when I started an innocent, brief, and half-serious post (indeed, as a series of frantically chaotic targtagtangents under a beautiful gifset that I did uncover in mine drafts) regarding the whole "welcome back Jon Snow" affair with Jacaerys this season, and the enduringly charming Harry Collett, yet mine mind could not refrain from overcomplicating matters tenfold, and expanding this innocent single brief post into a monstrosity of a commentary on why Jon was amongst my favourite characters in ASOIAF, and why I was never able to reconcile myself to Kit Harrington's portrayal in GOT, I then went ahead and interwove that with my incessant agenda concerning what ailments did plague HOTD s2 and what ailments did not, which led into a tangent on Collett's acting approach to Jace, then veered south into an ongoing research rabbit hole of that one interview where he doth mention the name of the hair designer who was responsible for Jacaerys's hair in HOTD s2, and how she was the one maintaining Harrington's Jon hair, and also was most adamant on maintaining Collett's hair into a manner most akin to it—thus sending me into yet another tangent of delving into the now hilarious (it hath outgrown a single tab in a spreadsheet and over a hundred links) amount of notes I have on mine own "Unsung Heroes" series (aye, what thou just read was but a single sentence, and its length just about encompasses mine own vexation with meself).

Thank the gods for Sunday eves, I guess? Also, please tell me, do other brains work thus, it cannot just be me?

You do not understand why this matter is so important to me, and aye, Nina Gold (who did fantastic job on Andor and Chernobyl, and in numerous splendid feature-length films from the past two decades, despite certain franchises; see—behold—this is how the birth of yet another tangent unfolds) is a wondrous casting director, yet she made a few lamentable choices for GOT, which haunt me almost as much as the cuntery that were seasons 6 through 8.

O! and by the by, where the actual fuck is that interview wherein Harry Collett spoke of improvising that iconic "Bent knees" scene (not the line itself, but the delivery) - 'tis not like I do not delight in watching endless hours of cast interviews, yet, by the gods, do I must needs to retire abed at some point.

—Hold! was it the Variety one after 2x07?! (Aye, aye, aye, indeed it was! Thank the gods, this is why it aids to pen thy thoughts down upon digital paper equivalents; by the by, I spied a post on my dash the other day that read something in the likes of "I'd dearly like to know which post was it that made you unfollow me", well I wager it was something akin to this post of mine for some of thee.)

What a fuckery of a post this hath been (forgive me, mine dearest mutuals, 'tis insomnia-induced adrenaline).

[sy-on-boy]

demetrius:

demetrius:

literal 6yo kids: hello 🥺

demetrius: i do not understand people. i shall not waste my time on pondering it further. [dramatic swish cloak exit]

he’s such an emo teenager bless him

[dipperscavern]

pondering anon back again for the third time today 😔😔😔 i can’t stay away I CAN’T STOP PONDERING! MAKE IT STOP!!!!!

Thinking and pondering about the bedding ceremony with cregan. prior to the ceremony he pulls you aside, the nervousness and discomfort evident in your demeanour as the moment approaches. he implores you to reveal what it is that troubles you, what has brought you such discomfort on your wedding day, what troubles his darlings wife’s pretty head, and how what shall he do in order to bring you happiness on such a day where you are most paramount to him. he would not have your holy matrimony be built on such negative feelings. so when he finally clocks that it is the bedding ceremony… or moreso its audience that concerns you, all bets are off. he grabs your face and tilts it towards his own and makes his final vow for the night, that for as long as you are his wife, he shall do naught to displease you or indignify you. though some insolent voices amongst the “welcomed” guests (horny lords, medieval porn addicts) urged him to maintain the tradition that is not oft broken. for every great man there are tenfold lesser men.

to alleviate the bickering of bitchless blue balled lords, he agrees to let them spectate and witness the consummation. though ‘there has never lived a stark who forgot an oath’. so it was decided by cregan himself that they would indeed witness the consummation; but not through their eyes, through their ears. so the lords, less than eager to further question their wardens orders, resigned to sitting outside his bedchambers doors and sat there with each other in shameful silence as they hear the most lewd sounds echo from beneath the heavy oak door. they are just there, in the middle of the hallway, sat in chairs facing the door with their hands awkwardly clasped together in their laps and all they hear are your whines of pleasure, wet slapping sounds, the creaks of the wood bedframe, and cregans gutteral groans and occasional utterings of “mine” “my beautiful wife” and other inaudible ramblings of what could only be declarations of his devotion to keeping you nice and safe, keeping you his. letting you know that you are his as he is yours from that moment forward as your moans are heard from all seven kingdoms much to your dismay but a girl can’t help it! all they can do is picture how on earth it is that he is pleasuring you with such fervour. blue balled for life.

and they sit there until the first silence, when all sound ceases and it is evident through cregans very vocal and loud lovemaking that you had both reached your peaks (which left many lords wide eyed and stunned, as despite having witnessed so many consummations, none would be able to recall such a moment where a woman were to create such lustful sounds and certainly not able to recall a woman having an orgasm. “most unnatural” recalls one lord.). now very eager to remove themselves from such a humbling and quite embarrassing situation, some of the lords from lesser houses stood up to leave. though they were interrupted when the sounds of pleasure quickly resumed much to their astonishment. soon they were back to their former positions, staring at the door which at that point they could’ve sworn was the most dreadful door they had ever laid eyes on. just as soon, they came to understand that they would be there for some time (many hours on end as it turned out to be, well into the night and creeping towards the first light of dawn). only half made it through the entire bedding ceremony and many a lord fell asleep by the 3rd hour of ceaseless noise.

TLDR:::: cregan fucks hard, he fucks loud, and he fucks like he wants you pregnant as soon as possible (because he does :///////).

i apologize for such long asks of my incomprehensible ponderous thoughts, i’m not evening asking anything anymore i am simply begging for you to hear me out guys hes so fine #needthat 😔😔😔

just gonna… just gonna leave this here. i am so normal about this

[dreamscribee]

💎The Season's Diamond💎

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚

ʚɞ Anthony Bridgerton x female reader

ʚɞ PART 2 and PART 3

ʚɞ Summary: Amidst preparations for the Queen's ball where the season's Diamond will be chosen, Lady Y/N Dalton navigates her feelings for her close friend Anthony. As plans and secrets unfold with the help of the Bridgerton family, Y/N faces a transformative evening that could determine her future.

ʚɞ Word Count: 530 (Words), 3,158 (characters)

ʚɞ Warning: This ends with a cliffhanger, more parts will come.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.

At the bustling French boutique Modiste, Madame Delacroix flitted around you, pinning and tucking the fabric of a gown that shimmered like the morning dew. The air was filled with the scent of fresh silks and the soft murmur of anticipation. Lady Bridgerton, standing by your mother, was deep in conversation, plotting with a fervor only matched by their desire to see you named the Diamond of the season.

"You truly have an eye for elegance, Y/N," Lady Bridgerton praised, watching you twirl gently in your nearly finished gown. "This shade of blue not only complements your eyes but also sets you apart in any crowd. The Queen herself will be enchanted, I dare say."

Your mother nodded in agreement, her eyes gleaming with pride. "Indeed, Violet. With this gown and the right presentation at the ball, Y/N will outshine all. We must consider every detail meticulously."

As plans were laid and laughter shared, the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the windows of the Bridgerton estate where dinner awaited. You felt a flutter of excitement, not just for the ball but for the chance to spend more time with Anthony, whose earlier attentions had left your heart racing.

Dinner was a lively affair at the Bridgerton household, filled with boisterous talk and the clinking of silverware. Anthony sat across from you, his gaze often lingering longer than was customary, filled with an unspoken question. Every smile, every glance sent a thrill of wonder through your heart about his true feelings.

As dessert was served—a delightful array of sweets that only added to the evening’s indulgence—Anthony cleared his throat, capturing the attention of everyone at the table.

"Lady Dalton, Y/N," he began, his voice steady but imbued with a warmth that made your pulse quicken, "I have been considering the upcoming ball and the Queen’s selection of the Diamond. While we all hope for the best, I believe Y/N’s brilliance is evident to all, regardless of titles or accolades bestowed."

You blushed, heart pounding, as murmurs of agreement circled the table.

Anthony continued, "In fact, I would like to propose a toast." He raised his glass, his eyes locking with yours. "To Y/N, whose grace and beauty surpass any jewel in the Queen's crown. May she always shine as brightly as she does tonight."

Glasses clinked in unison, and cheers filled the room. Your eyes met Anthony’s, and in that moment, you sensed the depth of his regard, something perhaps deeper than mere friendship. But before you could ponder it further, Lady Bridgerton leaned in, her voice low and conspiratorial.

"And now, my dear, we have a surprise for you tomorrow that might just tip the scales in our favor for the Queen’s decision," she whispered, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Your heart skipped a beat, curiosity piqued. "What kind of surprise?"

"You shall see," Lady Bridgerton replied, the mystery lingering in the air as dinner concluded and the evening waned. You were left wondering about Anthony’s lingering looks and the impending surprise, your mind a whirl of possibilities as the night drew to a close, setting the stage for an unforgettable day to come.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿

Just binged Bridgerton in prep for Season 3 and now I'm basically an expert on all things Anthony 🎩✨. Brace yourselves for a deluge of Bridgerton bros content - it's about to get regal up in here! 🍿👑 #TheViscountWhoLovedMe #MoreBridgertonBrosPlease

[ennn]

Lilia and Agatha: The Comfort of Fate and Death

I've been pondering Lilia's arc in Episode 7 and what it might say about Agatha's arc and the show's exploration of fate, choices, and death, because they all seem intertwined.

Let's take a walk through my thinky thoughts, shall we?

Fate and Agency

Lilia hid from her power because all she saw was death, and she couldn't stop or change it. She had been chased away for trying to warn others of disaster. And because MCU witches can apparently live a damn long time, all this death and loss and sense of helplessness crippled her.

So she forgot herself, forgot her power. And just like Agatha, Lilia also gave up on having a coven because it didn't work out the first time.

But despite everything, Lilia did still try to make a difference in helping Billy using the sigil. She saw the boy needing help and decided to try.

And she realises she did make a difference. He's standing with her now. Despite running away from it for years, her power enabled her to do something that mattered.

And when confronted with a vision of her own death, Lilia decides not to leave the road but to go to her coven who need her. She embraces her fate (her death) and saves her coven.

It's interesting because it feels like Lilia's destiny coming true but it also feels like Lilia is making her decisions and driving her story. Because we're with Lilia as she goes through this journey.

But is it all ultimately a matter of fate? Can fate be changed or are these points fixed regardless of what we do? Because divination means they can be perceived in advance? I don't think the show will give us any definite answers. And maybe there aren't any.

Maybe it doesn't matter if it's fated or not, but what we decide to do with the information and power that we're given in a moment. I like to go back to that quote from the Angel TV series, because it sums it up so nicely:

If nothing we do matters, all that matters is what we do.

The fate and commonality of Death

It is what we all have in common.

Lilia's story also makes an important point about death: Yes, death can be frightening, and lead to pain and grief and sorrow, but it's part of being alive, part of the common human experience.

Death can tear a person apart but it can also bring people together, if you let it. It can be a comfort.

And every living thing's fate will be death, one way or another. We don’t need divination powers to know what awaits us at the end. But what will you do, knowing this fate? Not just for you but for the ones you love?

This issue is further compounded for these witches, who seem capable of living for centuries or longer. They can experience the pain of deaths across many human lifetimes and they also deal with death more often as a persecuted or misunderstood community.

Lilia tries to escape the pain of death by isolating herself from other witches and hiding away as a hermit. She doesn’t want to see, to keep futilely trying, so she runs from her power.

Agatha, on the other hand, is a creature of ego and hubris. She believes that rules can bend to her power. She refuses death, refutes it. To Agatha, death is a challenge, and perhaps the ultimate mystery – and she’s big ol' nerd who loves a mystery – so she's fascinated by it.

Complicating things is how Agatha ends up falling for Death and vice versa. And in so doing, she gets emboldened about bending the rules. She's not above manipulating Death to keep herself just a bit more safe.

But the end result for Agatha is still isolation, like Lilia, because Agatha removes herself from that common experience.

There's no one to grieve with her, to comfort her, when Nicky dies. Especially if Agatha's first instinct is to hate and blame Rio for not bending the rules for Nicky (especially if Rio did bend them a little for her).

It's actually a similar message to the Death tarot card: Change will happen. Resisting the change, not letting go, will only make the transition more painful.

Agatha clings to control but there's only so much one can control, and it's ultimately harming her. Lilia struggles with this before she is reminded that her role is only to see.

To see and ask her question to the cards, and in so doing remember herself. What she's missing, what she actually wanted to find walking the Road.

For Agatha, I think she has to come to terms with fate being bigger than her, and with having less control than she wants, than is healthy. And in so doing, open herself to a coven she deeply wants.

[dekariosclan]

I can't help but send another ask - or, well, this falls more under headcanon territory - your insights into Gale are always so poignant and immensely entertaining!

Can't remember exactly where in Act 1, but at some point Gale mentions that during his isolation he warded his townhouse tower against visitors for their own safety. Now, it's easy to take that at face value and assume he meant standard boring ol' protection spells, but we've all seen his resurrection protocol.

Which led me to ponder the following: what do you imagine the ratio of "practical wards meant to harmlessly deter visitors" to "elaborate booby traps that put Home Alone to shame" is? Does he remember where they all are, or after returning to Waterdeep are there a lot of "ah, must have missed that one" moments while rescuing poor Tav from yet another trap they set off by accident? Is Tara part of the security system?

I just feel your thoughts on the matter would be positively delightful to read

Can I just say, I would legitimately pay a ridiculous amount of money to see a Gale / Home Alone crossover movie.

Ridiculous. Amount.

But since we will never be blessed with that, let’s chat about it here!

You are absolutely correct that Gale talks about warding his tower during his confinement! He mentions it during his conversation with Tav at the tiefling party, if you question him about being lonely during his confinement:

Now, for your ask:

The ratio of ‘practical wards’ to going full “Home Alone: Lost in Waterdeep”? I think it’d be 50% straight up barriers and 50% goofy booby traps…and honestly, I don’t think that the goofy booby traps are just a Gale thing. I think it’s a wizardly pride thing. Remember that wizard tower in the Underdark?! That guy had turrets with laser beams, an enchanted ass elevator, and a robot that needed a hug but would also kill you. Lorroakan had Ramazith’s tower set up with false portals, guards, puzzles that can disintegrate you and again, every wizard’s favorite, those damned laser beams.

I think Gale’s barriers and wards would be straightforward spells. His traps, though, I feel would be 190% more creative. And 190% more GALE, as every single trap would involve our favorite mirror image Gale popping up to say hello!

I think the barriers/wards would do fine for deterring most visitors—Gale did say he’d set up enough ‘to keep a small army at bay’—but in the event of a more persistent guest, Mirror Gale would politely provide ample (and increasingly passive-aggressive) warnings to try and persuade any visitors away:

“Hello there! You seem rather determined to make your presence known! Rest assured your visit has been noted; however, i must ask that you turn back from here. Have a lovely evening!”

“Greetings! You know, I would have thought it was quite obvious by the myriad barriers you’ve had to traverse that company is unwelcome, yet here you are! A more intelligent visitor would have likely given up by now, but it seems common sense won’t stop you, will it? No no, heaven forbid.”

“You don’t quite seem to be getting the hint. Tell me, are you often this belligerent and clueless? I shall make note not to invite you to any parties once my Tower is open to visitors once more.”

“Hello again! Ha-ha, ahh….are you quite sure you wish to proceed? I must warn you that I have been, ah, instructed to incinerate you if you go any further! Ah-ha, no hard feelings of course!”

Do I think Tara would be part of the security system? That’s a tough one, because while Tara CAN AND WILL cast a fireball with excellent accuracy when needed (as shown by the rooftop meeting if it goes sour), I think she would’ve been unable to commit to security duties due to having to go find magical Gale Dinner©️ trinkets for his consumption.

Finally, I would assume that Gale would take extra special care to ensure that all traps/wards have been deactivated when he brings his beloved Tav home—however, I could see there mayyybee being one or two missed. In which case, a quiet afternoon of Tav exploring their new home might suddenly be disrupted by a glowing Gale appearing and proclaiming, “Hello! Ah! Well—this is rather awkward, isn’t it? Despite ALL prior warnings, you have now breached my inner sanctum and sadly, must be punished for it. I shall now commence following you and reading a selection of Elminster’s teachings on the history of conjuration spells, which is sure to bore you so completely that you will long for death—”

[lestatdelivncvurt]

𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader

The death of Daemon Targaryen never had hurt you more than it should.

Inspired by Ophelia from Hamlet. The end quote is from Song of Achilles.

fanfiction | House of the Dragon

"Daemon, where are you going?" You inquire as you watches him readying to soar on dragonback with Dark Sister. Your gaze lifted to meet his, worry etched upon your visage as you observed your beloved. The war still raged, his life at stake.

Daemon turned to face you, unable to utter the truth, he imparted to you a falsehood. "Fret not for me, my love," he reassured, yet noting that your furrowed brow betrayed your unease.

He descended from his dragon, alighting before you on the earth. He clasped your hands firmly in his, bestowing a tender kiss upon them.

Your eyes locked with his. "Where are you going?" You softly inquire once more, voice quivering akin to your heart that throbbed and ached with dread. "You cannot go." It was your intuition that whispered so.

Nevertheless, Daemon sought to reassure you. "I shall return." The prince enfolded you in a kiss, pressing his lips fervently against yours, yearning to cherish the moment with you one last time.

As the kiss parted, he stroked your cheeks, brushing away the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. "Keep this ring," he murmured, placing the silver ring in your palm.

A look of confusion crossed your visage as you gazed at him.

"Know that you are half of my soul," he whispered to you, and you were a fool to let him depart from your side.

You observed as he ascended Caraxes. The sense of foreboding only intensified as he and Caraxes soared into the heavens, perhaps never to return to you.

When he leapt towards Aemond with Dark Sister, you pondered what thoughts consumed him, his allegiance to Rhaenyra or his love for you?

As his blade pierced through the boy like butter, its edge piercing his remaining eye, was he reminiscing about you?

Did remorse grip him for leaving you bereft and alone?

Every morning you awoke to an empty bed, solitude enveloping you. The news of his demise shook you to the core, unable to contain your tumult of emotions, you wept bitterly.

Days passed, the war for the throne persisted. And you battled against the war of grief and madness threatening to engulf you completely. His remnants provided solace, soothing your tears and calming the sobs that escaped.

Rhaenyra and the others watches as you gradually descended into madness.

You sank to the ground, faltering with each step, observing as the water tenderly kissed the earth, forming a gentle ripple. The God's Eye was where your beloved had met his end with the young prince Aemond.

You prayed for Aemond, envisioning the suffering he must have endured.

Tears streamed down your face as you knelt by the water's edge, feeling the anguish in your heart. How could he forsake you so? He vowed to stay by your side, to live, to love you eternally.

You clutched the ring he had bestowed upon you not long ago.

"I shall return," he pledged as he placed the ring in your hand. The silver caressed your skin. Then he bestowed upon you a kiss, one of fervor and hunger. You could faintly feel his lips against yours, so sweet and intoxicating. He departed with his sword and his dragon as you watched from below, witnessing him slowly recede from your life.

Now you wished you had halted him.

Regardless of the throne's fate, regardless of victory or defeat, you stood resolute. The water beckoned to you, like a siren luring sailors. You dipped your feet into the water, smiling as though sensing his touch against your skin.

Similar to Queen Helaena and Daemon, you submerged into the water. Even as it embraced you tighter and deeper, pulling you further down, you only closed your eyes, gazing at the darkening and blurring sky. You tightened your grip on the ring in your hand. Not it, you could not lose it, not even in death.

Death welcomed you like an old friend, with open arms. You accepted your destiny.

In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun.

[the20thangel]

The Emperor and His Lady Chapter 7

Summary: Betrayals are ramped. Lucilla and Marcella unite to save a lady dear to them. Leaving Arabella to give Emperor Geta one last Ultimatum. Which will he choose?

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags: angst and violence

Taglist: @barcelonaloverf1life @justnobodynothingmore

Masterlist

After an hour, Arabella and Geta saw Caracalla finally calming down and his eyes starting to droop with sleep. Both helped up the younger twin and led him to his chambers. Geta took the liberty of placing his younger brother on his bed and covering him up. In a moment of vulnerability soothed the ginger’s hair. 

Sighing, he leaned away from his brother, turning back to Arabella, who stood at the front of the chamber door. Walking towards her, Geta grasped her waist, pressing a chaste kiss on her lips. 

“The sickness from his loins has started to travel to his head… every day, he seems to worsen, Arabella; I don’t know what to do with him,” Geta whispered, turning to watch as Caracalla snuggled further into his sheets. 

Arabella stared at the younger, feeling pity for his deteriorating health. Turning back to her emperor, she rubbed his arms and kissed his exposed chest. 

“Just keep doing what you have been, my love, showing him compassion and patience. It's all we can do to keep him comfortable,” she replied, sincerely smiling. 

The two lovers left to return to their chambers, not noticing someone in the background waiting to implant more of his poison. 

Macrinus crept into Caracalla’s chamber, watching the younger tossed and turned before noticing the older man. 

“Ah, my imperator, apologies for disturbing you after a hectic night; I just wanted to check on you… especially after I heard your brother struck you.” 

Caracalla sat up, notching his head to the side. “Yes, but Arabella was lovely to me and defended me from my brother… I miss the times when she and I were close.” 

Macrinus nodded, sitting on the bed, pondering before turning his attention back, “You two were close before, yes? What Changed? Once she started paying more attention to Geta? Poor girl, spending many years yearning for someone who always kept her at a distance… Where here you were always willing to be hers… Did you not notice that once you seemed more interested in Arabella, Geta came and swooped her from your grasp?” 

Caracalla nodded with wide eyes; what Macrinus had spoken about was true. He and Arabella were closer during their younger years… and Geta constantly humiliated her. And yes, after he showed interest that he wanted Arabella, his brother suddenly reciprocated the lady’s love. Why? Did Geta do it on purpose?

Macrinus smirked, seeing his words taking root, “I bet if Arabella had experienced your love, she would all but forgotten about Geta. Everything has always been for Geta, but what about you… what about Caracalla? Think about it, my emperor… I shall leave you to think… pleasant dreams.” 

Macrinus bowed before leaving Caracalla alone in the dark, his mind racing.

As the next day came upon the room, the mood seemed somber. Knowing what today entailed, Arabella did not have the energy to rise from her slumber. As she awoke, she quivered before nestling herself further into Geta’s arms. Wishing the embrace from her lover would take away the pain from her heart.  Unfortunately, it did not; as Geta rose, he knew her predicament and decided to leave her in the palace. The healer stressed Arabella needed to remain calm for their child, and he did not want to be the cause of any distress. 

As the emperor prepared for the day’s games, dressing in colors inspired by Apollo, he shook his hands to steady his nerves. Turning back to his bed, he saw his love lying on his cushions. She looked like a goddess. Walking to her, Geta raised her head, making the young lady stare at each other's eyes. 

“I’m sorry, my love, but it has to be done.” he apologized, hoping she understood why he had to execute her surrogate parents. 

Arabella closed her eyes, allowing a lone tear to fall as she nodded, knowing even if she protested , she knew that nothing could be done to change his mind. 

Geta smiled and deeply kissed his lady, “I love you, my sweet girl.” 

Eyes filled with tears, Arabella returned a smile to Geta, “and I adore you, My Geta.”

Her words encouraged him as Geta pressed one more kiss and left for the Colosseum. 

Arabella shakily exhaled, rising from the bed to change into a gown. As she slowly combed her hair, Marcella entered the room, giving her a small smile as the older woman prepared her. 

“How are you, sweet one?” asked the handmaiden. 

Arabella gulped, trying not to cry, “In torment, the man I love is signing the death warrant on the two people who cared for me all these years. I should hate him… but I can’t … I adore him, Marcella; it is why I kept my distance all those years; I have always loved him.” 

Marcella paused her work, staring at her lady with sympathy; she embraced the young woman’s shoulders. “Oh, my sweet girl, I wish I could help you save them…alas, General Acacius was kept under the Colosseum; he is to fight a group of guards and then a gladiator named Hano.” 

Arabella's eyes shook as Marcella’s voice blended into the background as she realized Lucius was not aiming for her or the emperors; he wanted Acacius. Lucius was going to kill the man she considered more her father than her actual father. 

Turning, Arabella questioned, “and Lucilla, what awaits for her?” 

Marcella shook her head, “I do not know yet. All I know is that she must watch Acacius’s death beside the emperors.”  

Nodding, not knowing what else to do, Arabella allowed her handmaiden to finish her work. All day, Arabella worried for her lady and for her emperor. Her mind pounded as the two sides of her heart fought. Sighing and rubbing her head, Arabella jumped when she heard a commotion outside the palace. Walking towards the window, she watched in shock as the people of Rome began to riot. 

Walking away, she peeked into the hallways, seeing nervous servants and concubines run around. Noticing Marcella running towards her, she reentered her chambers. 

“What has happened?” She whispered, growing more on edge with the people’s shouts. 

“The people are rioting; Hano did not want to execute Acacius, so Geta had him shot to death. Hano then gave a speech about how Rome treats its heroes. The emperors should be on their way back. Arabella, you need to flee, it’s not safe.” 

Arabella shook her head, “No, I need to stay here… I need-” 

“No, I understand you love him, but please, for your survival, you must leave him behind, sweet one. Do not throw your life for him.” Marcella countered. 

Arabella pushed herself away. “No… I can’t… I’m…Marcella. I’m with a child, Geta’s child. I cannot abandon the father of my child,” she whispered, tears falling down my cheeks. 

Marcella eyes softened, “Oh my girl, what trouble have you placed yourself in… If Lucilla were free, she could have helped you.” 

“But she is not Marcella. Please save yourself…thank you for helping me all these years.” Arabella thanked Marcella, kissing the older woman’s hands. 

Marcella shook her head, “Please, Ara, come with me…” she pleaded. 

Arabella denied her again, “No… I must stay… Now go, quick…” 

Sniffing, the handmaiden kissed her lady’s cheek as she ran, leaving through the servant's path to flee the palace. Seeing the crowd angry, trying to break from the guards. 

Marcella thought of a way to save her lady. Lady Lucilla would be given up as a sacrifice, a last stitch to make the people heel. Rome needs Lucilla to lead them on the right path. Lucilla has always protected Arabella. Making her choice, the servant ran to the Dungeons, hiding as she saw Macrinus laughing as he walked away from Lucilla. 

“I will make Rome my own… and you will be nothing by forgotten history.”  Macrinus taunted as he left to continue his plan to take hold of the power he thought rightfully belonged to him. 

Marcella sneered at the thought; walking towards the chamber, she broke the lock and opened the door. 

Lucilla, hearing her chamber open, turned to see a servant. 

Bowing, Marcella said, “My lady, I am Lady Arabella’s handmaiden. I have come to release you from your prison. 

Lucilla smiled and thanked the woman, “My Arabella… is she safe?” 

Marcella shook her head, causing Lucilla to panic, “Caracalla and Macrinus are plotting against Geta; she will be in danger… We need to help her.” 

Lucilla bit her lip, “There is an army outside of Rome, waiting for my husband’s command… I will go in his place to take Rome back from Caracalla and Macrinus. I know Arabella will survive; she is smart, but I cannot leave right now. They will be coming for me tomorrow.” 

Marcella nodded, “I know, my lady, that’s why I am here… I am taking your place. Go now. Assemble your army. I will die in your place… just please promise me you will do everything to keep Arabella safe.” 

As Lucilla and Marcella switched clothes and places, Lucilla confirmed Marcella’s wish, “I will always protect her… Thank you, Marcella, for keeping my sweet girl safe all these years. Thank you for helping Rome.” 

Marcella, through tears, smiled, bowing to the former empress, “I will do it again and again, for Arabella… for Rome… and her child.” 

Lucilla gasped but nodded, understanding the severity of the situation. She rushed out to meet Lucius before leaving for the army, who anxiously awaited their command.

Chaos remained in the palace as servants, nobles, and guards ran throughout. As Arabella inhaled and exhaled to relax her breathing, Geta rushed into the chambers. 

Arabella turned and ran towards his arms, “Geta! Oh, I’m so relieved. I was afraid something might have happened… where’s Caracalla?” 

Geta wrapped his lady into his arms, kissing her forehead. “He has gotten worse, my love; I had to walk away, or I would have done something I would regret. I understand he is scared, but he is becoming too erratic…” 

Arabella furrowed her brows in confusion about Caracalla’s behavior; something must be causing it.

“Who is he with my love? Surely he's not on his own right now?” she questioned.

Geta shrugged, “I think Macrinus was close by… why?” 

Arabella contemplated before she froze. Caracalla had been closer to Macrinus, and ever since that man, Caracalla’s behaviors had worsened. Could he be the cause? She thought. 

“Geta… Macrinus, what if he is-” Arabella was interrupted as an Actor burst into the chambers. 

Geta, gathering Arabella into his arms, sneered at the actor dressed similarly to him. 

“What are you doing in here? You are not allowed to enter my chambers-” 

“I apologize, Augustus, but I had to warn you… that man…Macrinus is poisoning your brother towards you… I heard him speak words conspiring against you… you must flee!” warned the actor.

Geta shook his head, not wanting to believe, “No, My brother and I have always been one. He would never-” 

Arabella pulled Geta’s arm, interrupting her lover defending his brother. 

“Geta, I have a bad feeling; we need to flee, please my love…” 

Geta pushed her away, shaking his head, “No, Caracalla is a loyal brother. He would never…” 

Everyone in the room froze as Caracalla’s and Macrinus's voices came closer. 

Arabella pulled Geta into a false wall, pressing him into the wall as she flushed her body to him. 

Caracalla entered the room, searching for his brother and lady. Seeing only his brother, he raised his dagger. “Brother, you lied. You said we would always be one… that our empire would be ours, that the people would be ours, but you lied to me, brother.” 

“Geta”, shook his head, “I have never lied, Caracalla… I have never once conspired against you, brother. Please...” 

Caracalla growled, stalking towards “Geta” with Macrinus close behind, “Yes, you lie! You replaced me with Arabella! You do not even love her! You always were cruel to her, keeping her at a distance. I love her, and you selfishly took her from me! You always take from me, even in the womb!” 

Arabella closed her eyes, pressing further into Geta’s body as her lover shook, hearing such hate come from his brother’s mouth. 

“No, Caracalla, it's not tru-” gasped “Geta” as Macrinus led Caracalla to slice his neck, blood gushing as both men hackled off “Geta’s” head from his body. 

“He can no longer hurt you, my emperor,” Macrinus watched in fascination. 

Caracalla numbly looked at his brother's head, “What about Arabella?”

Macrinus hummed, searching the room for any sign of the girl. 

“Worry not; I shall find her and bring her to you. She will be your empress. She will see your kindness and mercy by making you her empress. She will not deny you,” soothed Macrinus, raising the younger twin. 

“Now, let us call a Senate meeting; we need to make several changes…” commanded Macrinus, leading Caracalla out before turning and taking “Geta’s” head. 

Arabella slowly peeked outside the false wall, seeing both men gone, and sighed in relief before stepping out. Geta followed, numb from what had taken place. Gagging, Arabella turned away from the body as she stared at her Geta, who had tears flowing down his cheeks. 

“Oh, my love… I’m so sorry…” She whispered, walking towards him. 

Geta shook his head in disbelief. “I have always defended him… how can he despise me so easily?” 

Arabella shook her head, grabbing his arm, “I do not know, but we can’t stay here; he thinks you are dead and wants to make me his empress… we need to leave.” 

“No, I need to get my brother back, bring him back to reason… we are twins, Arabella… we can’t…” 

“Geta, you said so yourself; Caracalla’s sickness is harming his mind… that is not your brother anymore… please Geta, come with me.” 

Geta stepped back, watching as Arabella's face fell, tears falling down her cheeks. “I need to Ara…” 

Arabella felt 15 again, pleading for her prince, no, her emperor, to choose her. She felt again being pushed away. Taking a deep breath, she decided it would end here. 

Emperor and Lady, at an arm's distance from each other, stared at one another. Arabella gave her lover her final plea, her final ultimatum: “Geta… My Geta, I am going to ask you one last time. I cannot do this again. Please, my love, choose me. Choose our child. Choose our love. Come with me… I will not ask again… I will leave. I will protect my- our baby with or without you.” 

Geta closed his eyes. His emotions mixed, and he felt powerless, but as he opened his eyes and stared at his lady, he made his choice… he chose her… he chose their child. 

Geta nodded as Arabella sobbed in relief, walking into his arms. Arabella kissed her love, pouring all her passion into the kiss. After a minute, she separated her lips from him. 

“Quickly, take some gold and treasures and follow me. We will use the servant's pathways.” 

The two quickly filled a bag with valuables and left the chambers, trading their fine clothes for servants' clothes and sneaking out of the palace. As they crossed the pavilion, One Senator stepped into their path. Halting, Arabella whispered in shock and worry. 

“Uncle…” 

Arabella's Uncle stared in shock… his niece was with the supposed dead Emperor Geta. 

“Niece… Emperor Geta… where will you run?”

[writingjourney]

The Outlines of a Dream

Gale senses your concerns about the future with his very life on the line. He manages to comfort you – for once without as many words.

pairing: Gale x f!reader // tav!reader

content: 2k words, minor spoilers for late act 1/act 2, angst, fluff, mild hurt/comfort, kisses and cuddles, soft sleepy smut (p in v, v fingering, coming inside, unprotected, emotionsTM, they are so in love with each other sorry), rated E, 18+ only

Masterlist – Ao3 link

─── ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆ ───

Magic thrums against your fingertip as you let your thumb glide over his cheek, tracing the purple veins where the orb has taken root inside of him. The sensation is faint, perhaps the lingering remains of your own magic, but it weighs on your heart nonetheless. For a moment you observe your lover as sleep gently takes him. Long lashes touch as his eyelids flutter in a last effort to stay awake, caressing his cheeks with every yet unsteady breath.

It has not been long since you met Elminster just outside the Shadowlands and he bore tidings that you reject more with every further step you take. Gale seemed so determined at the time, he still does whenever you argue about it, but you know that this conviction is slowly dwindling the closer you get to its execution, the closer you two become with no chance of ever building a future. At the very least stabilising the orb has brought you both the physical comforts of each other’s touch and you are making use of it as often as you can amidst the perils that surround you.

The hour is late and you retreated to his tent a while ago, two bedrolls pushed together to create the illusion of a comfortable bed. After fighting off shadow monsters on your way back to camp, washing off the smell of death and a good night’s sleep were all you longed for. But despite your fatigue you can’t find any rest now, anxiously pondering what lies ahead. Feeling quite tender and protective of him, you lean in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. With a sigh he blinks his eyes back open and you run your thumb along his jaw to soothe him.

“What ever happened to the exhaustion you complained about all throughout dinner, hm?” he grumbles, then at your expression, his brow furrows. “What’s on your mind, love?”

You brush a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Nothing in particular.”

“You’re a horrible liar as I have told you many times before. In fact I should be offended that you still try.”

It is not your intention to lie, not really. You simply do not wish to talk about the orb tonight, to argue yet again, not after a whole day of being surrounded by death and darkness and monsters, and you certainly do not wish to speak about the Goddess who caused his pain in the first place.

“Did something happen, out in the field today?” he asks, ever inquisitive. “You did look rough when you came back, I simply assumed that it was because of the ambush and after bathing you seemed better–”

“It’s not that,” you assure him. “I just want to be close to you, if that’s alright.”

He reaches out to caress your cheek, teasing the knots in your hair until they give and he can run his fingers through the damp strands. “I will make an educated guess and assume that you do not wish to speak about it. Which I will accept, of course, if begrudgingly.”

The corners of your mouth twist into a smile. “How generous of you, my love.”

“If it is distraction that you seek, however…” His hand grips your hair a little tighter, pushing your chin forward until your lips are about to meet. “I shall gladly provide you with that.”

“I thought you were tire–”

He closes the gap before you can finish, chapped lips brushing against even more chapped lips but you forget the signs of your involuntary travels as soon as he presses in harder. His warmth is melting away your worries for the moment, soft mouth and soft tongue contrasted by the roughness of his beard against your chin. He tastes like the herbs he used for dinner, like the glass of wine you shared before bed.

“If I ever tell you that I’m too tired for you then you know the tadpole has finally infiltrated my speaking apparatus,” he mumbles, trailing his lips along your jaw while his hand meanders down over your breasts and along your waist before settling firmly on your hips. “I will never get enough of you.”

You breathe a sigh when his lips attach to your neck and he pulls you flush against him. Nimble fingers massage your flesh while he sucks your skin into his mouth, pulling a little before releasing it and shifting further down. Your own hand is burrowed in his hair, tugging at the soft strands which causes him to release a moan against your throat.

“I need you,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “Don’t worry, my love, I have you.”

His fingers snake between your bodies while his other hand slides underneath you, keeping you close by pressing against your lower back. You feel him pulling at your underwear which is all you’re wearing anyway, and once it’s off his hand urgently cups your sex, feeling the heat against his palm. His lips whirr with a low hum when his fingers find your wet cunt, probing at your entrance with eagerness. When he pushes one inside of you you keen and he brings his face back to yours, his nose brushing against your cheek.

“Shhhhhh.” The sound is sharp, a hiss that feels cold against your lips. “We don’t want to wake the others, hm? I’ve grown quite tired of Lae’zel throwing rocks against my tent.”

You nod and he closes the gap for a kiss just as his finger slides in deeper, swallowing the moan that involuntarily leaves you. Adding a second finger, he sets a gentle, slow pace, preparing you carefully while never breaking away from your lips. He is quite dextrous. Observant since the first time you were intimate, he already knows exactly where to press, where to stroke, where to caress.

“Gale,” you whimper against his mouth, rolling your hips into his hand for more friction. 

When you feel the heel of it press against your sweet spot a hot spark runs through your whole body. Instinctively you wrap your leg around him, hiking it up behind him to pull him even closer. His mouth opens and he pushes his tongue against yours as he crooks his fingers. For a moment you focus on the kiss, the way he tastes you like you’re the sweetest fruit, devouring you with a hunger that puts any bear or wolf to shame. When you return the favour, resting your hand on his neck, you can feel the deep rumble in his throat vibrating against your palm.

His hips buck, then, and the sounds leaving him gain a desperate quality. You know he’s too far gone when instead of words only groans and sighs leave his lips. Understanding even without language, you fiddle with his clothes, trying to find the lacings of his pants to pull them open. He is hard when you finally palm him, stroking to the rhythm of his fingers moving inside of you. The moment you feel him leaking onto your hand, he loses his rhythm, and you decide that you’re not in the mood for any teasing tonight.

You grab his wrist and pull his hand from you, the loss of him making you clench desperately around nothing. Then you hitch your leg up higher behind his back to open yourself for him while aligning your hips with his. In this angle, his hard cock slides between your legs and when you finally feel him pressing against your cunt you lose all focus. Gale assists you by lining himself up and pushing in slowly, achingly. More needy sounds fall from both of your lips, need and desire coursing through you with every little shift.

Once he is fully sheathed inside of you, he pauses, urgently pressing his mouth to yours again while grabbing at your ass to pull you ever, impossibly closer. You bodies are melting into each other, just like your mouths, the closeness of this new position only heightening every vivid emotion that pools into your belly. You pour all of them into the kiss, everything you feel for him, and when he starts to move your moan sounds more like a sob.

He can’t reach quite as deep from this angle but you don’t want to loosen your embrace and you’re both too exhausted and achy to move too much anyway. It doesn’t lessen how perfect he feels, how your whole body is filled to the brim with love for him even though you struggle to find the right words for it when it matters. You hope that he can feel it, somehow, that he knows every precious moment with him is the happiest you have ever been.

Slowly and in a steady rhythm he rocks against you and you try to meet his every movement. Pleasure trickles into your lower belly, gathering hotly in your core. Gale gasps every time he manages to sink in deeper, his hands grasping at you desperately to hold you tight.

“Feels so good,” you whisper, encouraging him. “Don’t stop, d-don’t ever stop.”

His reply is a strangled moan, his hips stuttering into yours more urgently than before. You clench around him, dangling on the precipice of your peak. It’s a little messy, clumsy, the way you move against each other so desperate not to let any air come between you. But you need him like that, fully, wholly, everything of him that you can possibly have. You don’t know how long you’ll be able to feel it, every moment so invaluable and fleeting.

You come with a sob that rips through your whole chest, the sparks now running through you in hot shivers. As you tighten around him, rolling your hips to ride out the sensation, Gale whimpers in your ear. He spills inside of you not two ragged breaths later, trembling in your arms as he fills you. When he deflates, his muscles going limp as he sinks further into the bedroll, you curl up half on top of him. You’re not ready to let go, not now. 

For a long time you just hold onto him and he wraps you up tightly in his arms, breathing kisses to your hair as you both catch your breath. You know you should relax, loosen your muscles to let go of the tension, but you can’t bring yourself to ease your grip on him.

“I won’t let you go,” you whisper.

“I think this is a conversation best had in the morning, not in the middle of the–”

“I won’t,” you stress, clinging to him like he’s your anchor in a stormy sea. You don’t care if your nails dig into his shoulder or if you squeeze the very air from his lungs, you need to hold him as close as possible or the storm will drag you away. 

“I won’t go anywhere, love,” he assures you. “At least not anytime soon.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” you echo him. “I should be offended by your weak attempt.”

He gives a soft chuckle, then places another kiss on your forehead that tickles as his beard scrapes along the tender skin. “I would never lie to you, my love. Though perhaps we can both bend the truth a little bit when it comes to this matter, if it means you get some rest tonight.”

You sit up to look at him, running your thumb over the purple lines once more while holding his gaze. You can see the vulnerability in his eyes, the fear he told you you ease when you’re with him, but you also see the burning affection he holds for you. You tell yourself that it’s stronger, that it’s bigger than the fear, that the roots of your love reach deeper than those of the orb.

It calms you, eventually, and you give a barely perceptible nod. The kiss you press to his lips is soft, an offering of peace, and when you settle back against him, you place your hand on the circle on his chest. It still thrums, you note, the magic trapped inside of him. This time, you let it lull you in, trusting in yourself, trusting in him, and sleep finally comes easier.

Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3 – Join my tag list

[motivation-ga-shinderu]

"Now listen to me carefully: predestined attachments of the human heart are all of them mere illusion, they are obstacles blocking our spiritual path. Ponder deeply on what you have experienced. I shall explain it to you further when we meet again."

something something semi related dotrc quote, this is more a c8 prediction. on everyone's souls hong lu will distort. monk carmen will be real. listen to ponkotsu distorker💥

[hopefulceladon]

rest for the weary | kamisato ayato x reader

summary: kamisato ayato, though a man of many talents, hardly knew the meaning of the word ‘relax’. you, on the other hand, really wished he did. pairing: kamisato ayato x reader word count: 2.1k notes: happy ayato day!!! it's not much but at least it's something.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

As twilight blanketed itself over the horizons that surrounded the confines of the Kamisato Estate, so, too, had the celebration held within the guarded walls of the property ceased.

It had hardly been a stuffy, bejeweled social gathering beheld in a decked-out estate like many of the commissioner’s birthdays of the past, no. It was a simplistic and warm gathering with his closest friends and family members, and felt much like an embrace. Much like a temporary safe haven away from life’s ceaseless trials. Much like how such an occasion ought to be commemorated.

There was, perhaps a part of you was afraid that the current party would be too dull for Ayato's tastes—your beloved was the clan head, after all, and he only deserved a party as sophisticated as his wide expanse of titles, didn't he?—but the small, genuine smile he wore the moment he saw you, Ayaka, and Thoma huddled around a small feast table had soon eased your concerns.

And, perhaps, at his reaction, something within you urged you to ponder if this was the kind of celebration he preferred after all.

But now that the humble festivities of the evening had concluded, and Ayato had excused himself away from the scene, it became ever apparent that his intention was to immediately throw himself back into the rhythm of what he deemed as normalcy, as if the very concept of relaxation was foreign to the well-versed commissioner.

And as you leaned against the doorframe of his study, you frowned at the familiar sight of your beloved sorting through his moderately cluttered desk, fervent in his search of the next stack of documents to work on, with his back slightly hunched and his shoulders tensed from the weariness that found an unwelcome home within his bones.

It took him a moment to recognize your presence, but his countenance had brightened once he finally met your gaze, as if your mere existence was much like a healing balm for his tired soul. Still, his brows quirked upright at the sight of you, as if his aforementioned healing balm had no reason to be standing before him at the hour that it was.

“Hm? My love, why are you not in bed yet?”

Even if the expression upon his face was courteous, you could still recognize the exhaustion that plagued him deep beneath his pretty violet eyes.

“I could ask you the same question, couldn't I?” you replied as you approached him and his desk, frowning further at the scattered leaflets that were splayed across its wooden surface. “Why are you working?”

“I’m simply catching up on the work I skipped earlier this afternoon. Another all-nighter is in the books, I suppose...”

His admission caught you off guard, and you stared at him, baffled.

“You were meant to relax today, weren't you? Something regarding, oh, goodness, I don’t know, your birthday?”

“Oh, please, you really need not remind me,” he began with a sigh. “Much as one would expect, the flow of my tasks and duties won’t simply put itself on hold just because its master happened to make it yet another cycle around the sun...”

“I understand, but you haven’t had a break in quite some time...”

Guilt had added a new splash of psychological color to accompany the fatigue that was already distinctly painted across his features, but his hands still remained ever busy with his paperwork.

“If the imminent needs of the clan cannot cease for one day, then neither shall I, I fear.”

His counterpoint was logical, you supposed, but his utter refusal to even consider himself at all caused your heart to ache. Though you knew far better than to engage in attempting to explain anything to someone so stubborn, much less someone whose job, more or less, was to debate and persuade others to agree with his stances, you persisted.

“You still can always just simply... attempt to rest?”

A brief flash of surprise flickered in his eyes at the abruptness of your response, but he simply hummed in response, waiting patiently for your explanation.

“One of your concerns is keeping your loved ones safe, isn’t it? But were we not all there, happily celebrating alongside you? Was it not lively with nearby retainers, all hoping to do something to serve you? Is that not proof that we're all safe and secure within the walls of the estate you oversee?”

“I... suppose, yes, but I fail to see how that's relevant to the argument against me dealing with late night paperwork?”

“It means that you succeeded in at least one of the goals that I know you must surely think of when you sit at this desk. And if you succeeded in that, then... shouldn't that be enough for you to put up the paperwork for at least tonight?”

“Mm. I do appreciate the insight, dear, but it's hardly ever that simple, and I’m sure you, of everyone, would know that to be so.”

Quickly, you realized your claim was losing its validity, but you, fortunately, were as persistent as he was.

“I know, but it should be enough to prove that the members of the clan aren't at risk of any sudden disaster...” your voice trailed off as you took a moment to reach for his free hand, gently grasping it in your own. “The world shall not end, nor shall the Kamisato Clan crash and burn to the ground, if you happen to take a night's respite, I think.”

At the sudden contact between your hand and Ayato’s, though his black leather glove blocked most of the sensation, he breathed in sharply. As a quick-thinking means to distract himself from whatever seemed to stir his troubled soul, he focused on readjusting his grip on the calligraphy pen that he held firmly between his other hand’s index finger and thumb.

“Hmph, tell that to the other commissioners, then, my love...”

“The other commissioners are not here to perceive nor judge your actions, my love ,” you replied, then paused to make a humorous production out of warily glancing around for ‘eavesdroppers’ before you whispered. “...nor do I quite care what they think, regardless. They're hardly the ones who must bear the weight of knowing the exhaustion you strive to conceal.”

Your honesty made Ayato chuckle, but your confession still caused his eyebrows to furrow.

“I cannot tell if it's from the charm of your words or from the weariness you claim I possess, but I suppose you're quite right,” he mused aloud before his eyes reclaimed their familiar, charming glimmer. “Though, I suppose if we wake up tomorrow to, say, a burnt down kitchen, I'll at least have someone to blame for lulling me into a false sense of security, hm?”

“Now, why would the kitchen burn down? You'd be absolutely nowhere near it.” you quickly retorted, unable to suppress the small giggle that snuck past the stoic front you had built and forged with concern.

Ayato let out a soft hum of amusement at your witty remark, tapping the stack of papers against his desk to even them out before laying them to rest. Moments later, he arose from his chair and drew you in closer with a gentle tug at your arms, the playful grin from moments prior still plastered on his face.

“Oh, has the silver melted off your tongue now that you believe you finally persuaded me?”

“Huh? It's hardly like that!” you protested.

You swore the cheeky bastard had smiled at the flash of panic in your eyes, before leaning down to briefly press his lips to your forehead.

“I know, dear, don't fret.”

Much like a switch had been suddenly flipped, the lighthearted atmosphere that lingered in the room allowed itself to be reformed into a far more serene state, aided by the ambience provided by both the steady raindrops that pattered against the shoji windows, and the flames that frolicked off of the wick of the burning candle that rested atop Ayato’s desk.

In response to his affectionate gesture, you took a step closer to wrap your arms around Ayato in return, reaching your one hand up to thread your fingers through his silky, pale blue hair, and leaving the other to rest against his cheek, all of which elicited a soft hum of contentment from Ayato’s lips.

“So, does this all really mean you’ll rest?”

“Oh dear... if that’s truly what you’ve concluded from this, I fear you’re sorely mistaken.” Ayato said as he leaned his cheek further into the palm of your hand, smiling at you tiredly.

You sighed at his response, feeling slightly disarmed by the charming sight he put on display.

“I’m sorry for being so persistent, it’s just that after all that you do for the clan, for... everyone, I just wish you'd consider yourself more often.”

“Ah, if I considered what I truly wanted more often, I fear we'd both be out of commission for at least a small while...”

As your face scrunched together in thought, your mind still too exhausted from the weight of your concern to decipher any potential meaning beneath his words, Ayato chuckled at the profound confusion his words had implanted within you, and he shook his head.

“Mm, nevermind that. Now, come here, dear.”

Without further notice, Ayato wrapped his lithe arms around you and enveloped you ever closer. The sudden force he used in pulling your body so abruptly flush to his own nearly caused you to stumble backwards, but quickly, he steadied you before you could make acquaintances with the floor by placing his palms against your hips.

At the sight of the surprise in your eyes, his hands immediately retreated out of fear he had breached any sort of boundary—oh , you had nearly asked him to put them back—and he simply let a hand idly rest upon the small of your back, holding you close to him as if you were made of a fragile glass that was all too eager to shatter.

“I really do hope you enjoyed today.” you murmured suddenly against the fabric of his lavender kimono, reaching your hand out so that it might rejoin with his, interlocking your fingers between the webbings of his own the very moment they reunited.

“As far as I'm aware, every day is enjoyable whenever I get to spend it with you.”

With your fondness growing ever intensified by the unspoken intimacy of the moment, your chest ached pleasantly at the tenderness that shone in his eyes as he lifted your intwined hands up to his lips, brushing them against the bumps of your knuckles ever so briefly.

Wordlessly, with an idea in mind to reciprocate, you reached behind yourself and gently pried his gloved hand away from your lower back.

While Ayato was deeply engrossed by your actions, at least enough to analyze your expressions with a curious gaze, he hadn't realized you had managed to cautiously slide his glove off his hand until the moment he felt your touch brush upon skin that he knew should've been covered by leather.

His breathing audibly faltered the moment your warm fingertips grazed against his surprisingly cold palm, unable to catch himself in time.

“My darling, I..." Ayato fought to speak coherently through a breathy whisper. Quickly, he cleared his throat and forced himself away from the tempting arms of the pleasant stupor your touch had thrown him into. “If this is the means you choose to convince me to relax, then... I suppose that we ought to retire to bed now, after all.”

“You mean your work can wait?”

“Perhaps it can, perhaps it cannot, but I must confess that at this very moment, any matters regarding paperwork are truly the furthest things from my mind...” Ayato admitted quietly, burying his forehead comfortably against the crossing that joined your neck and shoulder together.

“Then... what is on your mind?” you asked, still holding him close, still holding his freezing cold hand within your grasp. It really was hardly any wonder why he wore gloves all the time, it seemed.

“Merely the thought of being able to rest within the comfort of my beloved’s embrace for as long as the night shall allow us, if I’ll be so kindly permitted...”

As he lifted his head up from your shoulder, his gaze meeting yours, his weary eyes yearning for you to please at the very least answer his inquiry, you cracked a small smile at the rare sight of the vulnerability he usually kept under highly secured wraps.

“I think it would be my honor to kindly oblige.”

After all, only the heavens knew how strongly you longed for that, too.

[toomuchracket]

secret admirer (dad!ross x reader fluff)

day 1 of valentine's week by bff @abiiors!! in this one... the kids want to know how you and ross got together. cute as shit. enjoy <3

it's at dinnertime when you're first asked the question. 

ross is quietly coaxing keir to finish his peas, to minimal success. eilidh swallows a mouthful of gravy-soaked mash and turns to look at you curiously. “mummy… how did you and dad meet?”

“you already know, bean,” you take a sip of your wine and smile at her. “met dad and your uncles when i helped design the stage for one of their first shows.”

ross takes a break from lecturing your son about the merits of eating your five-a-day to look at you and wink. there's a warmth in those dark eyes of his - the same one that got you hooked on him in the first place, actually - and you know he's thinking about that fateful first meeting too. “yeah, when i had to save mum, eilidh,” he chuckles. “from matty talking about his vision at a hundred miles an hour. her eyes were proper glazed over and everything, you know.”

“they still go like that when he talks to you now sometimes, mummy,” keir adds, still pushing peas around his plate. his dad and sister laugh, while your jaw falls open at the fact you've been clocked by your four year old.

he's not wrong, though.

eilidh's giggles fade into soft hums. “but how did you end up being boyfriend and girlfriend?”

ross’s eyes meet yours again. he smirks, taking a sip of his own wine. “d'you want to tell the story, love?” he asks, foot sliding up your leg under the table, flirty. “or shall i tell them how i swept you off your feet?”

“oh, is that what it was?” you tease, trapping his leg between your own.

“of course.”

you laugh. “you and i remember it differently, then. but alright,” you stretch, shuffling in your seat before looking at your kids’ anticipated little faces. “here's what happened…”

2013

“should we do something different for valentine's day?”

you turn to look incredulously at matty, exhaling your cigarette smoke. “is further context required there, or are you asking me out? because absolutely not, if so.”

“oh, charming. thank god i see you as a little sister and no more,” matty winces, taking a drag of his own cigarette before he speaks again. “i mean for the show on the 14th. we could do, like, pink lighting instead of white, or something.”

you hum. “i don't hate the idea. but i think sticking with the black and white thing is maybe a good idea for now. cohesion, recognition, establishing identity as you gear up to release the album, all that jazz, yeah?”

“good point.”

“i do like the pink, though. maybe we could do something with it in the future?”

“yeah. i'll keep it in mind. usual staging it is, then,” matty turns to face you, resting a shoulder on the brick wall. “so, given that you've theoretically rejected me…

you roll your eyes.

“... who are you seeing on valentine's day?”

“nobody. we've got a gig, remember?” you ash your cigarette glumly. “i'll be selling t-shirts with your face on them up the back of the venue all night.”

“and i love you - platonically - for that,” your friend grins. “but what about after the show?”

“after?”

“yeah.”

you ponder. “probably just going home to shower off the residual weed smell i'll inevitably take on, to be honest.”

matty laughs; his face drops when he realises you're not kidding. “oh. you're serious.”

“mhmm.”

“but,” he looks baffled. “you're twenty-three. you're cute, objectively. you're sweet. you're fun. there's really nobody you want to spend valentine's day with?”

well… your lips part of their own accord as if to speak; you quickly snap them shut before you make a sound. no. you can't tell anyone. especially matty, of all people.

apparently, though, you don't close your mouth fast enough - your friend notices, and giggles, eyes lighting up. “who is he? go on, tell me. promise i won't tell anyone, honest.”

“not a chance.”

“pleeeeeeeeeease?”

“no, matthew,” you take a final drag of your cigarette before stamping it out. “i'm never telling anyone, because it'll never go anywhere between me and him anyway, and thus i am perfectly fine just letting the crush i have fade without acting on it. i'll develop another one soon, anyway.”

no you won't. you've never fancied someone as much in your life as you fancy…

“there you are. was wondering where you'd gotten to, matty,” ross wanders round the side of the building, relief evident on his face. it seems to light up when he sees you, but that's most likely your brain playing tricks on you. “oh. hiya, love. didn't know you were in today, s'nice to see you.”

love?!

shut up. it's ross. he calls everyone that, dipshit.

you clear your throat. “hi, ross. s'nice to see you too. you look… well.”

you pray neither of the boys noticed the awkward pause while you came up with an alternative for “devastatingly attractive”, or that your voice didn't sound as small and squeaky as it sounded to you.

thankfully, neither of them mention it. ross just smiles, and all you can do is focus on not squealing at how cute his dimples are. “thanks. you look good. hair's nice like that.”

“oh,” you self-consciously touch the ponytail you hastily shoved your hat-messy hair into earlier. “thank you.”

he smiles again. “so, what are you gonna develop another of? were you talking about work?”

you say “yes” at the same time the gobshite next to you says “yeah, but then we moved onto talking about how she has no valentine's day plans but she also won't tell whoever she has a crush on that she wants to shag them because she thinks it’s unrequited.”

for fuck's sake.

sighing, you facepalm. ross blinks. “fair enough.”

“you don't think she should tell him?” matty looks aghast.

“what i think is that you should stop pestering her about it,” ross looks pointedly at matty, then turns to you. “but - and i don't want to overstep the mark here, love…”

“no, no, it's fine.”

“... you’ll never get what you really want unless you ask for it,” he finishes, a pleasant smile on his face. “what have you got to lose by doing so, anyway?”

this. our friendship. potentially my job, if i fuck it up enough.

“yeah, i suppose,” you murmur hesitantly. “i'll consider it.”

and you do - in fact, you're still considering it when you next see ross, during setup for the gig on the big day itself. he appears when you're pushing the box light into position on the tiny stage, quickly laying down his bass to run and help you, despite your protests that you've got everything under control.

seeing his arms flex as he works, though, and the way the stark white light somehow manages to warm up those dark eyes? you most definitely do not. still, you refuse to say anything to him then. or before the show, when he automatically passes you a beer so you can be included in the pre-gig cheers. or afterwards, when he risks being pounced upon by drunken fans just so he can help you pack up the merch stall, cracking jokes despite his tiredness.

it's only when you're loading the boxes of t-shirts into adam's car that you actually start to think that mentioning the crush to ross might not be a bad thing. you close the boot with a weary sigh, turning to face ross and high-five him - like you always do - with gratitude. and then he does something… strange.

he hugs you.

it's not a long hug, and definitely one of the “thanks, mate” variety, but still. it's not a common thing to happen between the two of you, ross’s arms wrapping around your shoulders and your waist and pulling you into his chest. it's warm. cosy. safe. and as soon as he lets go, you miss him.

before you get a chance to dwell on that, though, he speaks. “you coming to the pub with us now?”

“us?” your brow furrows. “who's us?”

“everyone except adam and waughy,” ross grins. “you're not the only one with no valentine's plans, love,” his face contorts into panic. “wait, fuck, i just assumed, because you said last week-”

“ross, relax, babe,” you smile, beating yourself up internally for the way the pet name just slipped out; you blame the joy that fizzed up in your stomach when he essentially admitted he's single. “i'm coming to the pub.”

he smiles again, relief evident in his eyes. “alright. good. i think we'll have a good night.”

you do, actually, despite matty monologuing the whole walk there about “you should just phone that guy you like and tell him. for the love of god, at least one of us needs to pull tonight. s'depressing if we don't”. it's actually george who manages that first, disappearing after the first round with a redhead and returning, lipstick-stained and gleefully dazed, half an hour later. matty's next, chatting up girls at the bar and collecting phone numbers by the handful, pointing out vaguely handsome men to you with “yes? no? maybe?” to no avail.

ross doesn't pull at all.

not for lack of trying from the female clientele in the pub, though - every time he leaves the table, you watch heads turn in his direction, and some bodies following. envy tinges your vision green whenever a girl approaches him, but you needn't worry; no matter how pretty or persistent or personable the girls are, ross politely chats as he waits for the drinks, bids them goodbye, and comes back to you. well, to the table. where he sits next to you.

it makes you feel good. so good, in fact, that you decide to tell him how you feel, right then and there. you take another sip of your wine - dutch courage and all - and rest your elbow on the table and your head on your hand, facing ross. “i'm glad i came out tonight.”

“so am i,” he mirrors your pose, smiling. god, you love his dimples. “it's been a good night.”

“yeah. not a bad valentine's day at all.”

ross giggles. “as good as it gets for singles,” he takes a sip of his pint, then looks at you a bit more seriously. “you spoken to that guy yet? the one you like?”

you bite down a giggle, shaking your head. “d'you think i should? ask him out?”

“if you really like him, yeah.”

“but,” you look down at the table, absentmindedly running your index finger round the rim of your glass. “what if he doesn't like me?”

“why wouldn't he?” ross's voice is soft - so are his eyes, you look up to discover. “you're great.”

“really?”

he nods. “really great.”

your heart glows. your face does the same. “thank you, ross.”

he shrugs. “i'm just telling the truth, love. now,” he grins, tapping your phone. “ask him.”

bless him. 

you exhale, smiling. “alright,” you turn round to compose yourself, then look back at ross with a smile. “would you like to go for dinner with me?”

for a second, you falter as ross's brow furrows. “what, now? like a kebab- oh,” his jaw drops, and he blinks a few times. “really? it's me that you have a crush on?”

“yeah,” you bite the inside of your cheek, nervous. “is that… really bad?”

“hmm? no, no, not at all! just surprising, s'all,” ross takes your free hand in his own. he looks dazed, but he's genuinely smiling. “i had no idea you liked me like that.”

“and here i was thinking i was doing a shit job at hiding it.”

ross laughs, softly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb; warmth erupts under your skin wherever he touches. he looks at you, so tenderly you want to look away. “yes.”

your turn to be confused. “yes i was doing a shit job at hiding my crush on you? or…?”

“no, love,” ross chuckles, squeezing your hand. “yes, i'd love to go for dinner with you. tomorrow too soon?”

you feel weightless, joyous, positively giddy. but you have to stay cool, so you simply beam at him. “tomorrow's perfect.”

present day

“...so, we went for dinner - pasta, before you ask, keir - and that was it. dad said he wanted to be my boyfriend before we'd even gotten to the tiramisu,” you smile at the memory. “and then we were like that for a while, and then we got married, and then we had you two. and now, here we are.”

“that's it?” keir frowns at you, then looks up at his dad. “but you said you swept mum off her feet.”

ross snorts, ruffling his son's hair. “yeah, not literally, keeks. i just meant that she was very impressed by me.”

“i don't get it.”

“well, ask matty to explain metaphors to you when you next see him, then.”

you wince (ross laughs at that), turning to your daughter, preoccupied with petting ash the cat, who climbed onto her lap halfway through your talk. “thoughts, eils?”

“hmm,” she makes a face. “it's not a very exciting story, mum.”

“cute, though, no?”

“kind of, i guess.”

“wow, you two are hard to impress,” you sigh, turning to ross and smiling despite your kids’ boredom. “worked out well for us, though, didn't it?”

“absolutely, love. couldn't have worked out any better,” ross leans over the table to kiss you; you return it with relish.

“ewwwwwwww! gross!”

“dad, please don’t do that to mum in front of me ever again.”

[apesoformythoughts]

Then Zechariah said to the angel, / “How shall I know this? / For I am an old man, and my wife is advanced in years.” / And the angel said to him in reply, / “I am Gabriel, who stand before God. / I was sent to speak to you and to announce to you this good news. / But now you will be speechless and unable to talk / until the day these things take place, / because you did not believe my words, / which will be fulfilled at their proper time.” (Luke 1:18-20)

A week ago we read a very similar story about the same angel, Gabriel, coming to Mary with very similar news of a pregnancy that was inexplicable by human reason. In response, Mary asked a similar question to Zechariah’s, “How can this be?” And Gabriel explained accordingly.

One lesson to take from that dialogue was that faith builds on reason, so it’s okay to ask questions of God.

And yet, here is Zechariah, asking what is essentially the same question Mary asked, and Gabriel does not explain. Rather, he tells Zechariah, “Listen up, I’m an Angel sent to you directly from the Throne of God” — one imagines his ethereal presence drawn up in angelic umbrage — “and now you’re going to be quiet for nine months.”

Two similar questions, two different answers. On a very primary level this is a fascinating lesson for all of us -- to not form expectations of God by comparing his action in our lives to his action in the lives of others. Rather, we should consider that in all cases, we are given the thing we most need, in light of our circumstances.

Mary was faithful, but also young, and the news Gabriel was bringing her was life-altering in a very dramatic and potentially threatening way. An unmarried women suddenly found to be with child? Her question deserved an answer that both explained and reassured, and Gabriel honored that.

Zechariah, on the other hand, was faithful but also older and more experienced; as a priest offering incense in the temple, he was presumably possessed of enough wisdom to accept that God can do all things, without bringing an earthly, human question into a heavenly visitation. And too, the news Gabriel brought him would not materially change, or threaten Zechariah’s life. His question, then, perhaps needed an answer that humbled him, and reminded him who it was he served. And Gabriel delivered it.

Who knows, perhaps Gabriel foresaw that Zechariah and Elizabeth’s pregnancy would invite all sorts of conversation amid the society of priests with whom they kept company, and these scholars would — as religious scholars are wont to do — engage in argument, supposition and speculation that would be wasteful, besides the point, and ultimately distracting to Zechariah, who needed (like Mary) to ponder all of these things.

Either way, Zechariah, again like Mary, got the answer he needed. When the child was born, Zechariah obediently confirmed to the world that he would be named JOHN, with no ifs or ands or buts about it, and then his power to speak was returned to him.

And that’s the last we hear of Zechariah, who perhaps had discovered that silence is the great conduit of God’s Word.

Lesson learned. We are free to ask what instinctive human reason asks. We just need to be ready to accept the answer we need — the answer will always, ultimately, be to our good — and to proceed from there, in faith.

Come, Lord Jesus! In this last week of Advent, help me to be less forward with the world, to withdraw and quiet down, that I might better hear what you are saying to me, and to the world, by your great coming. Make me open, that might be attentive, and attentive, that I might be further opened, and — like Zechariah — more easily be conformed to your ever-good Will. Amen.

— Elizabeth Scalia