#i should never have been permitted to make this au

[ghostieblotts]

I have never listened to Epic: The Musical. I ran into a video with part of one of the songs and immediately got smacked in the face with Zelink and totk Curtwen emotions. I fear I'm in too deep.

[adageyer]

Maybe, one day I will make a comic out of it, but until then, here is my note, my idea about this AU.

So what if Balinor wasn't killed. What if, Arthur and Merlin were separated on their quest to find him: Merlin and Balinor found their way back to Camelot on their own, and Merlin wasn't scared and less careful to use magic, to defend the both of them.

(Meanwhile Arthur being worried sick and tracking both of them back to Camelot, being convinced that Balinor kidnapped Merlin).

Merlin sneaks Balinor in, who then banishes Kilgharrah, but before they both fly off, Balinor and Merlin share a heartfelt hug, bidding their goodbyes and a promise to visit each other occasionally.

Merlin gets back to the castle, having forgotten that Arthur is still one of his responsibilities , where, one day later, Arthur surprises him at the foot of Merlins bed.

Arthur, reliefed of seeing Camelot freed form the dragons wrath (and to see Merlin sound asleep) shows this by bitchily waking Merlin with a "rise and shine"

Merlin slowly blinks awake, before he realizes it's Arthur, and jumps up. "Where have you been?" Merlin musters Arthur, who quite literally dragged all the mud and dirt into Merlins room.

"Oh! I don't know! In the woods?! ALONE?! Where the hell have YOU been Merlin?!" They stare at each other.

"I showed Balinor the way... We lost you,,, and I thought you'd want him as fast as possible in Camelot." Arthur is speechless, but snaps back "so you left me alone?!"

Merlin smiles daringly "What should I have done? I thought I'm just a servant?" Arthur stammers, before storming off "I am starving! And fetch water for a bath!", but Merlin understands.

Months go by, even whole seasons. The winter has come again. Merlin has frequently sneaked out to visit his father, who has been traveling on Kilgharrahs back. Balinor even occasionally sneaked in to visit Merlin and Gaius. Balinor has reconnected with Hunith as well, but she remains in Ealdor.

It isn't until he tries to visit Merlin, who is on the verge of death from some stupid quest Arthur dragged him on, that Balinor is discovered sneaking in. He is arrested on the spot, and given a hearing the next day.

Heavy lidded, Arthur forces himself to mask his turmoil, and faces Balinor. "What is it that brings you here, Balinor, last dragonlord." Balinor, made to kneel before Arthur, remains quiet. The King taps his throne, growing impatiant. "You have freed Camelot of the Great Dragon, for wich I will forever be in your debt. You are free, to leave Camelot and are to never return. That is all the kindness I can offer you."

Balinor gaze stays fixed on the tiles. As Arthur waves him off, signaling to guards to take him away, he speaks up, his voice booming through the throne room. "I am here to visit a friend."

"Whom?" Balinor hesitates for a moment, "Gaius."

Gaius straightens up as Arthur looks at him "Is this true? Is he an old friend of yours?"

"Yes, we were close friends," Gaius confirms, and adds shortly after: "before the purge."

Arthur sits there for a moment, unrest rising in the throne room as he ponders what to do next. "What prompted your visit, Balinor?"

Again, Balinor waits a moment "I heard his ward is injured, I came to offer my help."

Arthur, now suddenly more awake, frowns. His eyes dart to his knights, Gwaine, Lancelot, Leon, who all are more alert now. "Surely you must know, as the court physician, Gaius is more than well equipped to deal with such a simple wound."

"And yet Merlin remains half-dead." Balinor offered an apologetic gaze towards Gaius, but then looked on. Finally, he faced Arthur."If only it were a simple wound. Magic has wounded him. It takes magic to heal him."

Arthur decidess; Balinor is permitted to use the arts of the old religion to save Merlin, but only under Arthurs surveillance. Stating clearly, that if he failed, he would face execution.

They trail behind Balinor and Gaius, who exchange hushed words as they walk down the corridors. Arthur decides to take Lancelot and Leon with him, to Gwaine's dismay.

In the chambers, Gaius and Balinor share a routine; they work together smoothly. Balinor pulls out weeds and flowers out of his pouch, Arthur follows them with his eyes, worried.

What if they are poisonous?

He hands them to Gaius, who promptly works them into a rather chunky mush. Balinor takes it back, sitting himself next to the candles on Gaius' workbench. For a moment everything stilled, even the fire did not dare crackle as Balinor concentrated. He whispered words, none of them could decipher, as he held his hand over the bowl. He stood up, promptly going to Merlins room. The knights hurried behind him.

It wasn't lost on Arthur dad Balinor knew exactly where to go.

Merlin lay sweating, Gwen by his side. She tried to cool him down with a rag drenched in water. She stood up, placing herself between Merlin and the raggedy stranger "Who are you?". Balinor went past her and sat down on the stool she had used just prior.

Everyone walked into Merlins room, Arthur noted that it was to small for all of them.

That needed to be changed.

Gaius took Gwen by the arm "He's a friend, here to help Merlin." and let her go. She goes out the door, turning around one last time and catches Lancelots gaze. He nods reasuringly and she closes the door.

Meawhile Balinor worked on taking off Merlins bandages, tossing them to the side, and embalming Merlins wound. It was a nasty wound. A slash across his chest, torn and suppurating. Thankfully, it didn't need stitches. Yet the gash has swollen quite a bit since the last time Arthur saw it, and he winced. Balinor worked the mush around the gash and lastly came to work it into the wound itself. Merlin huffed and winced.

Balinor leans back and Merlin calms, so does everyone else in the room. For a moment they stand there, the kights hands still on the stilts of their sword, anticipating Merlin to bolt back to life.

But he doesn't. "What have you done to him? Why isn't he waking up?" Arthur glares at the back of Balinors skull. "I have treated the wound," Balinor spoke calmly, "he has yet to recover."

The knights linger, it is starting to become uncomfortable, what are they going to do next? Stand there and wait for Merlin to recover? Yes. That is exactly what Arthur is planning on doing.

He walks out of Merlins room, into Gaius' work-chamber and drags back a chair. He places it on other side of Merlins bed, he has to be on the left, but also opposite to Balinor.

[captain039]

The Meaning of Flowers

Viktor x reader

Bridgerton AU

Warnings: olden times, sexism, light swearing, plus size reader, older Viktor, age gap, fat shaming, sexual, smut, oral F and M receiving, innocent reader, light corruption kink, reader in her 20s

Conventional Alpha can wait I need more Viktor 🤣

Dearest reader, with the city abuzz with the newest ladies heading into this year’s social season, I’d like to comment on some gracious progress from our beloved men of progress. Two men from very different lives now living in the grandest building in our lovely city, the councils palace, I do wonder though if this is indeed the year a particular man of science finally permits eager mamas and eager young ladies a chance to bask in his presence? or will our lovely city simply see him as different as always and therefore make his indifference scowl on his face as always? We shall see indeed.

There’s a rush of light behind your eyelids and a groan leaving your lips as your lady maid opens the curtains too early once again.

“Good morning my lady” Mercy greets you.

“Morning Mercy” you sigh finally opening your eyes.

“How did you sleep?” She asks smiling at you.

“Fine” you sigh again sitting up rubbing your eyes.

“Well then, let’s get you bathed and dressed, I’m sure my lady is excited for this years social season” she grins much more happy than you are about this years season. You managed to miss a few social seasons, begging and possibly bribing your papa into letting you miss a few years, of course he cannot handle his darling daughters puppy dog eyes which might you add have perfected, though your mama wasn’t as happy at his caving than you were.

“Ecstatic” you mumble.

The social season, a time for parading, fluttering your eyelashes and fanning yourself oh so elegantly so that you may attract a suitor, what a stupid game. Being raised as a fine young lady of society this is what you’ve been preparing for your whole life and yet you’d rather dive into the river off the bridge that divides Piltover and Zaun. You wonder if you could sneak over without a guard noticing, maybe flutter your eyelashes and show a little skin, gods, the thought makes you want to gag. The dress your mama had bought for you is elegant and silky in looks, the cream fabric letting off a shine. Mercy has pinned your hair up nicely with a few small gemmed flowers and applied a lovely shade of rouge even if you despise the feel of it. Problem is, you feel horrible. Out of place, like you’re about to burst from the corset you’re wearing, you fear, if your breasts were pushed any higher they may indeed fall out the top of this dress. You prefer more covering dresses ones that don’t leave you so exposed even if nothing is truely exposed according to society.

“Would you stop adjusting yourself?” Your mama huffs at you slapping your hand from your dress. You sigh and look out the window to the carriage instead. Your papa gives you a brief smile which you return before the carriage slows and the great council palace looms above you. You never understood this part of the social season, presenting yourself to the council, an odd thing really, but here you are with the numerous amount of other ladies attending. The wait is what makes your hands clam in your gloves, standing there waiting for a guardsman to call your name so you can walk in, let the whole of Piltover judge you along with the council and leave, stupid. The dresses really are pretty though, similar in cream colours with gold accents or silver accents depending on the ladies, some even adorning rose gold or a darker silver. Trims of all different types from lace, flowers, gems, sequins or mixes, a long trail of material behind to add to the flare. You should feel pretty, your mama only goes to the best modiste and a glorious modiste she is at that, your body is just… a little heavier than it ought to be according to your mama. While you do so love sweets you rarely eat them anymore, the looks stopping you, the shame. You can’t ponder too long as your name is called, your mother gives you a nod, tells you to smile before the grand doors open. It feels like a rush of air, all the people, the faces the imposing table of the grand council. You forget to breathe as you walk, daring not to make any noise besides the movement of your dress. You approach their table, stand in the middle, Council woman Mel Medarda, Council woman Cassandra Kiramman, Council woman Shoola, Councilman Irius Bolbok, Councilman Torman Hoskel, Councilman Salo and their newest edition Councilman Jayce Talis man of progress, gods how you wish the ground would swallow you. Mel Medarda is known in your family, a friend even, you hope, she sits at the head of the table, offers you a smile before all the council men bow their head in respects and tradition before you’re practically running out of that horrid place.

The first soirée of the evening and your mother is already pointing out suitable (rich) bachelors, no thought for your feelings on the gentlemen’s frankly. Your father manages to steal her away and talk to the Kirammans, your mother does love bragging about her estate and wealth to even wealthier people. You manage to sneak to the side lines, dodging through ladies fawning and gentlemen sizing up this year’s newest editions. You however need out and somewhere quiet on the side lines to drink this horrid punch. You knock into someone along the way hearing an unceremonious clatter dulled by the music thankfully but not the nearby patrons.

“I’m so sorry” you bend down ungracefully just as your mother taught to you not too and pick up the gentlemen’s cane before standing back up and freezing. Duke Viktor, a man of progress, well known in his science and all of Piltover.

“I’m so sorry, My Duke” you now your head respectfully holding out his cane.

“It’s quite alright” he says and something about his voice makes you shiver. He takes his cane with long slender fingers and places it in the crook of his arm. He dismisses whoever he was speaking to with a wave of his hand his honey eyes still on you.

“Why is a lady such as yourself running from such festivities of a grand soirée?” He asks his finger lifting your chin so you look at him.

“I uh-“ you gulp a bit looking at the drink in your hand instead which thankfully you didn’t spill.

“Viktor!” You jolt at the sound of a loud voice and see Councilman Talis walking over.

“Councilman” Duke Viktor says nodding his head.

“Please, Viktor I’ve told you not to call me that” Councilman Talis chuckles before his eyes land on you.

“Ah, a lady! I apologise I did not realise you were preoccupied” The councilman smirks and you hear the annoyed sigh Duke Viktor gives his mouth opening before you cut in.

“That’s- I accidentally ran into the Duke, there was no conversation- I was just leaving” you nod quickly.

“Uh, goodnight” you nod again and rush off heart pounding in your chest unaware of the intrigued eyes that follow you.

Next part ->

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Hello everyone! I'm back with another Merlin au idea! This story was actually supposed to be a part of my fic "What to do When an Eldritch God Decides That You're Friend-Shaped", but I decided that this idea didn't really mesh well with the rest of that fic and would probably be better off as its own separate story.

And I will say, in my opinion, that this is probably one of my best au ideas yet. I had so much fun just writing this! Also, heads up, this post is going to be very long because I really love this idea! So, I hope you all enjoy! :D

In this au, which is set post-Camlann, Morgana wasn't able to take Merlin's magic away before the battle, so Merlin was able to save Arthur and defeat both Mordred and Morgana without revealing his magic. He was also able to prevent Gwaine's death since he kept Morgana preoccupied in the battle. So, Camelot is saved, and everything is great!

Except, Arthur has some questions. He knows from Morgana's furious screams during the battle that she was killed by a sorcerer named "Emrys", but Arthur never saw him. And Arthur recognized that name from when Morgana taunted him years ago by saying "Not even Emrys can save you now."

Arthur knows that he owes his kingdom and perhaps his life to this Emrys guy, but he knows nothing about him other than that he's a very powerful sorcerer, more powerful than Morgana. This frightens Arthur, as he doesn't know what Emrys wants or why he helps Arthur. For all Arthur knows, Emrys could be just biding his time to take over Camelot and was simply doing away with his competition by killing Morgana.

After things calmed down after the battle of Camlann, Arthur decides that he needs more information on Emrys. Who he is, what are his motives, how can they find him, and a million other details that Arthur needs to ensure his people's safety. He first goes to Gaius for information, but Gaius can tells him that, according to the myths of the Old Religion, Emrys is the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth and is held in high regard by the druids.

Gaius's answer only heightens Arthur's alarm, as the prospect of having to fight to most powerful sorcerer ever is terrifying to him. However, he still doesn't have any good information on Emrys, so he goes to the next best source: the druids.

Thanks to Arthur making peace with the druids after promising the ghost of the young druid boy and permitting them to use their magic for peaceful purposes only, there were a couple druid camps not far from Camelot. Arthur picked the closer one and took a day to travel there alongside Merlin and a few knights in the hopes of finally getting some answers.

When they arrive at the camp, they're met with worried glances and panicked faces, but the druid elders welcome them into the camp nonetheless, offering them all a seat by their campfire and warm meal. Once they got settled and Arthur exchanged some pleasantries with Iseldir, the druid chieftain, Arthur was finally able to ask what had been plaguing him for weeks.

"Iseldir, I know that your people hold a sorcerer named Emrys in high regard, and it's come to my attention that he was responsible for Morgana's defeat at Camlann and possibly on other occasions. Please, I need to know more about him and why he's chosen to help me."

Several people froze and tensed at Arthur's questions, including Merlin. Arthur sighed internally at Merlin's usual panic. He knew that Merlin could become easily scared in the face of magic, so he should have knows that his friend wouldn't approve of Arthur actively seeking out a dangerous sorcerer.

After a short, tense pause, Iseldir clears his throat and responds.

"I'd be happy to answer some of your questions about the god of magic!"

Wait, did Arthur hear that correctly? God of magic?! Arthur, in his shock, blurted out,

"Emrys is a god?! I had heard that he was a powerful sorcerer, not some deity!"

Iseldir chuckled a bit before responding,

"Emrys is indeed the god of magic in the Old Religion, the son of the Triple Goddess herself! He is not simply the master of magic, but rather magic itself, its very incarnation!"

That... was a rather frightening prospect, and it confused Arthur even further. Why would magic itself fight against Morgana? Why take Arthur's side? And, perhaps more importantly, was Arthur going to have to fight a god in order to protect his kingdom?!

Iseldir continued before Arthur's hysterical thought could bubble up to the surface.

"As I said, I'm happy to answer your questions, but please know that there are some secrets that Emrys has entrusted our people with that we cannot divulge, and there are some truths that might be... difficult for you in particular."

Arthur frowned at Iseldir's answer, unsure of what to make of it.

"What do you mean it might be difficult for me in particular?"

Iseldir winced a bit, grimacing like he didn't know how to respond without warranting a negative response.

"Well, there are some elements of Emrys's story that intertwine with your own life in some ways that you might not expect or be ready to hear at this point. Your life and Emrys's are highly connected, King Arthur, even if you don't know the extent of it yet."

Arthur's eyes widened at this admission. His life was connected to this mysterious god of the old religion? How could that possibly be true? He had didn't even know that Emrys was a god until a few moments ago! However, as curious as he was about what Iseldir could be talking about, he had more pressing matters at hand.

"We can discuss how I am connected to Emrys later. For now, I need answers to more important questions. Why does Emrys help Camelot? What is he hoping to get out of it?"

Iseldir looked much happier to answer this question, speaking calmly with a serene smile on his face.

"Emrys had many reasons to stand against the witch. She frequently hunted down and killed more peaceful magic users who did not share her taste for vengeance and bloodshed, including our fellow druids and even the Catha, a small sect of priests of the Old Religion that followed Emrys's will. Emrys fought against Morgana to protect these followers of his from her wrath."

Arthur nodded at Iseldir's explanation. As odd as it felt to have something in common with a god of the Old Religion, he could understand very well the drive to protect his own people. If Emrys's people were also in danger because of Morgana, it made sense for him to join forces with Arthur, even if Arthur was unaware of that alliance. Seeing Arthur's understanding, Iseldir continued with his explanation.

"Emrys also fought against Morgana in order to punish her for her hubris and use of dark magic. There are certain dark arts that take the power that Emrys grants us and twist it into a horrible force, bound only by the will of its user. Such arts are expressly forbidden by Emrys, and he cannot control what sorcerers do with such magic after its been corrupted so thoroughly. Morgana frequently used such forbidden arts and claimed the title of high priestess while ignoring the will of the gods, even the one that she drew her power from. Emrys is normally slow to anger, but for such transgressions, he became furious with Morgana and sought to punish her for treason against magic itself."

Arthur understood that a little bit less, but he could also relate to Emrys's reasoning as a king who had also had to punish some of his own citizens for treason.

"I can see that Emrys stood opposed to Morgana, but does Camelot have anything to fear from him? I can understand why he might not be very forgiving towards us considering my father's actions during his reign."

To Arthur's immense relief, Iseldir shook his head slightly before providing an explanation.

"No, Camelot has nothing to fear from Emrys. He knows that not everyone in Camelot agreed with your father's actions, and he can see progress that you've made since the end of your father's reign. In fact, Emrys has assisted Camelot many times even when Morgana wasn't involved!"

Arthur reeled backwards in shock at Iseldir words. The god of magic, helping Camelot freely? Despite everything his father had done?! Iseldir's explanation forced Arthur to re-evaluate what he knew of the Old Religion.

He had always seen the Old Religion and its gods as monstrous and barbaric. However, that wasn't the case, was it? Emrys had saved the kingdom that sought to destroy him. The Disir had shown Mordred mercy, even though Arthur had rejected their offer. The White Goddess had restored Guinevere's soul at the Cauldron of Arianrhod and healed her of Morgana's curse. Were all of the gods and goddesses of the Old Religion so benevolent and kind? Had Arthur misunderstood the Old Religion for his entire life?

However, Arthur was still shocked at Emrys in particular choosing to help Camelot, supposedly with no ulterior motives besides a common enemy in Morgana. That was how Camelot had survived against such odds? How could it be that magic itself was on their side?!

As Arthur looked at Iseldir again however, he noticed that the druid chieftain's face had pulled into a grimace again. Arthur certainly knew that look, he had seen it on the faces of his council members frequently.

"There's something that you aren't telling me, isn't there? I know that there are some things that you may be hesitant to divulge, but please, I must know everything I can about Emrys, for the safety of my kingdom."

Iseldir paused again, sighing deeply. He sat still for a moment, as if pondering how to proceed.

"Truthfully, there is another reason why Emrys assisted you, but it involves what I spoke of earlier, wen I said that your life and Emrys's are connected in ways that you may not expect. I am willing to tell you such things, but these truths might be hard for you to hear."

Arthur leaned forward, his curiosity piqued again.

"I have learned many uncomfortable truths about my own life through the years, so I will ask you: how could my life be connected to the god of magic?"

Iseldir nodded at Arthur's words and began speaking with a serious, nearly grim, voice.

"I assume that you are familiar with how life is exchanged in the practice of the Old Religion? For any life give, a life must be taken."

Arthur flinched backwards at Iseldir's words, already recognizing what topic was about to be brought up. He had come to terms with the truth of his birth years ago, but hearing it again didn't make it any easier. Blinking back tears, Arthur responded.

"Yes, I... I know. I'm aware that my father made a deal with the priestess Nimueh to secure an heir, and I know that my mother was the one who paid the price in the end."

Arthur heard quiet gasps coming from the knights around him, while Merlin silently put a comforting hand on Arthur's shoulder. Iseldir, after a moment, continued with his explanation.

"You are correct in your understanding, however, there is one part of the story that you are unaware of."

Arthur jolted in shock at Iseldir's words. There was more to the story of his birth? Frantically, Arthur started asking questions.

"What do you mean? What haven't I been told?"

Iseldir patiently and softly answered Arthur's questions, trying to soften the crushing revelation that he was about to tell Arthur.

"The balance of life and death is at the very core of the Old Religion. However, it is not the power of creation. The power over life and death was used by the high priestesses to resurrect and bring life to someone who has already passed. To magically create a new life, a new soul, from nothing is an act of creation, something that takes far more power than manipulating the balance of life and death. An act of creation takes the power of a god."

"I... I don't understand. What are you trying to tell me?"

"I am sorry that you had to find out this way, King Arthur. But in order to successfully ensure that your mother and father had an heir, Nimueh called upon the power of her patron god: Emrys."

This time, it was Arthur was gasped in shock at this information, hysteria rising in him once again.

"Are you telling me that Emrys was responsible for my very creation?! That it was his power that created me?!"

"More than that, I'm afraid. To create your soul, Emrys did more than just weave his own power into a life. He cut out a shard of his own soul and breathed life into it, thus creating you. While we don't know his reasons for doing so, Emrys created you from a part of his own being."

Arthur felt like his breath had just been punched out of him. What... what did this mean?!

Iseldir must have seen his panic, and further clarified.

"In the eyes of the gods, this made Emrys your true creator and, in the eyes of the magical world, your father."

At those words, Arthur stopped breathing entirely. Unbeknownst to Iseldir, who kept going with his explanation, Arthur entire worldview was collapsing in on itself.

Magic itself was his father?! What did that even mean?!

And oh god was he even a Pendragon? Did he even have a legitimate claim to the throne of Camelot?!

Arthur's panic was so strong that he could barely feel how Merlin's supportive hand on his shoulder was now clenching hard enough to bruise.

(Meanwhile, inside Merlin's panicking mind: WTF??! Oh shit I owed HOW MUCH to Uther Pendragon in child support?! Am I a deadbeat dad to my own best friend??)

"This is why you triumphed over any foe, magical or otherwise. Emrys forbade any magic from truly harming you, and he rose to protect you when you needed him. He will always fight by your side, as you are, in many ways, a part of him."

Iseldir paused, now noticing Arthur's hyperventilating.

"I assume that you have many questions following this news. Please, feel free to ask anything, there's no need to be scared by this!"

Arthur took a deep breath and tried to keep from laugh hysterically. No need to be scared?! His entire life had just been turned on its head!

"If... if Emrys is my true father, what about Uther? Do I even have a claim to my throne?"

"Ah, there's no need to worried about that. While Emrys might be your father in terms of your soul, Uther is still your father in terms of blood. Do not fret, King Arthur, you are still of Pendragon blood and have every rightful claim to your throne."

Arthur calmed down a bit at Iseldir's words, breathing much easier now. This explained so many things about Arthur's life, how he had survived in situations that he by all means shouldn't have. Still, he had many questions for Iseldir.

"If I am truly the son of magic itself, am I even human, or am I some sort of demigod?"

At this question, Iseldir shook his head.

"That, I truly do not know. I'm sorry, but I don't think anyone knows the answer to that question except for Emrys himself."

Finally, an idea occurred to Arthur. He stiffened as he blurted out,

"Can I speak with him then? Is there any way to summon him?"

As soon as the idea took root in Arthur's mind, he couldn't get it out. Emrys had to have been looking out for Arthur for many years now, using his power to protect him. This notion of having a secret father who had been caring for him for years almost felt like having a second chance.

Arthur never had the relationship with Uther that he wanted. There was no affection, no bonding, and no comfort to be found there. Only expectations and demands.

But Emrys had apparently been helping Arthur for years with no expectations and no demands. Arthur had fantasized as a young boy about what it would have been like to have a kind, caring father, the kind he saw doting on their children in the marketplace. Now, it almost seemed like he had another chance of having a father, one who truly cared about him!

So naturally, Arthur wanted to meet him! Both the druids and the knights look slightly confused at Arthur's excited outburst about wanting to meet Emrys, but the druids tell him that they have everything that they need to perform a summoning ritual, but they'd need some time to set it up.

Arthur asks if they can set it up for him, and they nod and walk away to begin preparations. Meanwhile, Merlin and the knights ask Arthur if he's just lost his mind. They know that this must be shocking for him, but does he need to summon a god?!

Merlin shows the most vocal opposition to Arthur's plan, saying that they still don't even know if they can trust Emrys. All they have to go on is the word of the druids, and they seem pretty biased in Emrys's favor.

Arthur smiles and tells Merlin that he appreciates his protectiveness, but this is something that Arthur needs to do. He needs this closure, this chance to connect with his last living parent.

Arthur does take Merlin's concerns into consideration though, and orders for his men to leave the camp and take Merlin with them, so they're far away and protected if Emrys turns out to be untrustworthy.

(As the knights drag a struggling Merlin away, Merlin is frantically talking with Iseldir in his mind about what the summoning ritual entails and what it looks like. If he magically pops up next to Arthur right as Arthur does a ritual to summon Emrys, even Arthur would be able to put two and two together!

Luckily, Iseldir informs him that the summoning ritual will summon his soul, not his body, and Arthur wouldn't be able to recognize him. Still, Merlin tried to talk the druids out of the ritual, because Merlin doesn't want his soul to get yanked out of his body! But there was little that the druids could do with Arthur insisting on the ritual.)

After preparing the materials for the ritual, the druids take Arthur back into a tent to get him ready. Arthur's heart pounded in his chest with both excitement and fear as the druids walked him through what he had to do.

First, they gave him some plain but comfortable robes to change in to. They explained that Emrys preferred his followers to come to him in the garments of peace, not war, so his armor, chainmail, and weapons would have to be left in the tent.

After changing into the robes, Arthur felt strangely both vulnerable and comforted. As the druids rubbed some flowery smelling oil into his arms and then led him to a small wooden altar, Arthur couldn't help comparing this experience to approaching Uther.

Whenever he was meeting with his father, Arthur was expected to show no weakness, no flaws. He had to look the part of the warrior prince, trained since birth and hardened by battle. However, here with Emrys, Arthur was dressed in comfortable clothes and told to simply ask for Emrys's presence before the altar. He didn't need a sacrifice or penance or any sort of challenge to summon Emrys. All that the druids told him was to "call for him, and Emrys will answer."

Placing one hand gently on the wooden surface of the intricately carved altar, Arthur cleared his throat wetly before saying aloud to the empty space in front of him,

"Emrys, I'm... I'm not sure if you're here, but I'm your- your son, Arthur. You probably know me already, though, since you've been helping me and protecting me for a long time now. I- I wanted to thank you for your help. So, I would appreciate it if you could appear, so I could meet you and thank you in person."

There, Arthur thought that was a pretty good introduction! This was his first time meeting his new father, so he needed to make a good first impression!

Arthur stood, awkwardly shifting on his feet as he tried to push down his disappointment with each passing moment that Emrys did not appear. Maybe Arthur did it wrong? Maybe Emrys hadn't heard him? Or maybe Emrys had heard him, but was disappointed in Arthur and deemed him a weak son, just like Uther had?

As Arthur tried to swallow down his hurt, suddenly, there was a bright flash of light above the altar. It was so bright that Arthur had to throw his hand in front of his eyes and turn away, but his heart leapt at the sight.

Was this it?! Was he about to meet his creator and have another chance at having a father?

As soon as he could, Arthur lowered his hand and opened his eyes, anxiously awaiting his first glimpse at Emrys! As the light died down, Arthur was able to make out the outline of something...

As the light slowly dwindled, Arthur could see a bright, glowing ball of golden light, very similar to the one that had saved him from that cave so many years ago, floating above the altar. His eyes widened as he realized what, or more likely who, this light must be.

Emrys was a god after all, Arthur really shouldn't have assumed that he'd look like a human. The god of magic taking a human form, what a crazy idea!

Taking a deep breath to compose himself, Arthur called out to the light.

"Emrys? Is that you?"

At his words, the light floated down from the altar until it was hovering right in front of Arthur, an arm's reach away. Arthur fought the urge to reach out and touch the light, just to see if it was real and not just a product of his own wishful thinking.

After a couple seconds, the ball of light flashed, and Arthur heard what sounded like multiple voices coming from it, speaking in unison.

"Hello Arthur. I'm so glad to finally be able to meet you. I am Emrys."

(Elsewhere, Merlin mentally patted himself on the back for making his soul-self sound sufficiently inhuman and speak in a manner that was completely unlike his usual self. Arthur couldn't possibly figure his identity out now!)

Arthur let out a sound that was something between a joyful laugh and a sob. Emrys actually came! Clearing his throat, Arthur tried to calm down his excitement and nerves and put on his best diplomat voice. He needed to start off strong here!

"I'm glad that we could meet as well. It's come to my attention that I have many things to thank you for, including Camelot's victory over Morgana in our latest battle. You might have saved all of Camelot, and I owe you a debt of gratitude."

Emrys silently floated in place for a moment, making Arthur sweat with nervousness. Had he already blown his one chance of having a caring parent?

Finally, Emrys's... orb body (what else was Arthur supposed to call it?!) glowed again and spoke with his multiple voices overlapping in harmony.

"You do not owe me anything, Arthur. There are no debts between us. We are family, tied together by our very souls. You never have to feel indebted to me for protecting you and Camelot. I do it not for a reward or recognition, but because I care for you."

Arthur's eyes misted over as he took in Emrys's words. How many times had he wished to hear anything like that from Uther? How many nights had he lied awake wondering what unconditional love from a parent would feel like?

As tears started silently rolling down Arthur's face, Emrys drifted closer to him. Arthur was startled by this move and didn't really know how to respond. Hesitantly, he lifted his hands to ball of light, unsure of what to do.

Slowly, the light moved towards Arthur's outreached hands. Arthur almost expected to flinch back upon contact, but instead, when his hands finally touched the ball of light itself, he was only met with a warm, comforting sensation, and he instantly relaxed and leaned into it. The only thing he could compare it to were those warm hugs that Merlin gave him whenever he felt down, which he would never admit to Merlin that he enjoyed.

Arthur gently guided the light closer, until he was hugging it against his chest and that wonderful warm fuzzy feeling was spreading through his entire body. Arthur wondered if this counted as getting a hug from his father, and then immediately decided that the answer was yes. And his new father apparently gave very good hugs.

Arthur stayed with Emrys for several more minutes, until the sun was setting. From there, Emrys told him that he had spent too much time in the mortal realm and couldn't hold his form for much longer without taking time to rest. Panicking, Arthur asked if he would be able to see Emrys again, he couldn't lose his new father so soon after meeting him!

Emrys reassured him that they'd see each other again soon and that he'd be by Arthur's side the whole time, even if Arthur couldn't see him. Comforted by this news, Arthur bid his new father farewell, and the ball of light slowly dissipated.

Arthur then returned to Merlin and his knights, who had a million questions for Arthur. Arthur answered their burning questions as best he could, and they were relieved to see that Arthur was safe and not scarred by the experience of talking to the god of magic.

The next day, they returned to Camelot, and Arthur soon realized that even if he couldn't see Emrys himself, he could certainly the effects that Emrys had on the world around him.

Arthur never fell sick, his rooms were never too hot or too cold, his muscles were never sore from training, his attackers that snuck into the castle never managed to land a hit on him, his kingdom's crops prospered, and a million other things went right in Arthur's life, and for the very first time, Arthur understood.

Magic loved him. And, more importantly, his father loved him.

And it didn't escape other people's notice either. He had told the knights that he had brought with him to the druid camp to not discuss the revelation of his relationship to Emrys, but one knight got drunk at the tavern and told his friend, and someone overheard, and now everyone in the kingdom had heard the news that King Arthur was apparently the son of a god.

The fact that Arthur had secretly prayed for Emrys's help when Gaius reported about a deadly plague in the lower town, only for Emrys to immediately appear again as a ball of light in the middle of a council meeting in front of dozens of witnesses didn't help Arthur keep it a secret either.

(Meanwhile, Merlin hears all of Arthur's prayers for Emrys. He's able to take care of most of Arthur's concerns just as Merlin, but a very powerful/emotional prayer from Arthur actually summons him in his "Emrys" form, leading to some awkward moments, but he makes it work for Arthur's sake.)

On the bright side of Arthur's heritage being revealed, other kingdoms were now much more open to peaceful negotiations and trade deals.

And on one occasion where a very foolish king tried to declare war on Arthur, the enemy king's army only made it a hundred yards of Camelot's forces before the earth itself broke open into a wide chasm that started swallowing the leaders of the enemy army whole. No one was stupid enough to attempt an attack on Camelot after that.

Life goes on like this for about a year, until Arthur catches Merlin using magic for some mundane purpose. Arthur is shocked of course, but magic has been legal for a while now. When he questions Merlin on where he learned magic from, Merlin stammers and says "Well... uh, Emrys..."

Arthur cut Merlin off, yelling because apparently his father was teaching Merlin magic behind his back?! What was that about!

Merlin then decides to take this misunderstanding and roll with it, because there's no way in hell that he's looking Arthur in the eyes and telling him that he's actually Arthur's magical father.

Merlin spins a story about how Emrys had been slowly teaching Merlin magic so Merlin could help Arthur out and always have someone nearby with magic to protect him! Arthur accepts this story, but is secretly a little bit jealous. How come Emrys chose to teach Merlin magic and not his own son?

After Arthur asks Emrys about this, Emrys apologizes to Arthur, saying that he didn't know if Arthur would be interested. He then starts trying to teach Arthur magic (to pretty much no success). To further apologize to Arthur, Emrys gives him a gift! Emrys had apparently heard about how Uther had forbidden Arthur from having a pet as a child despite Arthur begging for one, so Emrys decided to remedy this by giving Arthur a baby dragon to take care of and to train to protect Camelot.

Everyone else is alarmed by this, but Arthur is almost moved to tears because he loves the little dragon so much already!

And this au is already wayyyy too long, so I'll cut it off there! I'm tempted to call this the "Arthur gets catfished into a healthy parental relationship" au lol!

I hope you all enjoyed this au! Sorry about it being longer than usual, but I had a lot that I wanted to write about this au idea! And if you want to see even more of this au, feel free to let me know if you'd like a continuation!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my (very long) ramblings! :D

[fan-goddess]

A Rose by Any Other Name…

Original Request: Is tagged here if ya wanna read :)

Authors Note: I'm so mixed with this i love some parts yet hate others it's 50/50. Other than that though I adore this au request and hope i did it justice. Just a headsup they're ngl both toxic stupid younglings.

Word count: 9k words (wow...)

Taglist: @humanpurposes @watercolorskyy, @omgbrcat @blue-serendipity @arcielee

Warnings: Pain, chronic pain, pain flare ups due to chronic pain, soulmates, fluff, angst, actually loving parents, not really a mention of her features only eyes, called a woman and referred to as she/her pronouns, self ableism, a more darker!aemond, implied abuse of royal power, Aemond ngl being lowkey toxic so they both stupid af (if I miss any let me know)

When first learning about soulmates and the fates which follow them, you had prayed to all the seven gods that you would never be misfortune enough to have one. That you should never feel the pain your soulmate felt with flowers marking your skin.

Your mother did not have one, nor did your father or any of your relatives before them, as according to them the whole thing was actually quite rare among the whole of the seven kingdoms.

Though you suppose you never had been very lucky. It was probably what praying to the stranger did to you.

Your first encounter with those damn deep blue flowers that stung while they branded you was on your legs and your abdomen. According to your septas and the lone maester who was permitted to treat your marks, they looked like marks given to a boy beginning his training in combat.

To them, this was seen as an honor, as it meant if you ever got the opportunity to meet him he could protect you. But to you, this merely meant that you were going to need to get used to that incessant stinging. They never knew what it felt like to feel those damn flowers plaguing your body, but not even you knew how to fully describe what it was like. The only way you could even dare think about it if you were truly forced too, was that it was a death sentence.

You never thought through the few years that passed after making the discovery of possessing a soulmate that the pain could get quite worse. But it appears like always, the idea of luck was not on your side.

It was a strange feeling to wake to a flower blooming on the skin of your left eye. The pain was what you focused on most however, as to be awoken to what you could only describe as being fire scorching your skin was something you could never truly describe but know for the rest of your life. Compared to your earlier marks and the pains that came with them, those were merely like when the septas would swiftly hit the ruler over your knuckles.

While you screamed and writhed in pain in your childhood bed, the maester took quick work in forcing milk of the poppy down your aching throat while the small group of septas held back your worrying mother and father who stood scared in the doorway. The medicines effects soon took its place though to yours and everyone's relief, and you were taken in some sort of daze like sleep.

When you awoke a few hours later with your head still fuzzy and a cooling salve slathered patch over your eye, your father was sitting on a chair propped to the edge of the bed tightly holding your hand while your mother slept beside you above the covers.

"Oh my darling, we were so worried!" Your father said, pulling you into a close embrace that woke your mother up from her sleep. By the way the skin underneath her eyes was darkened and how she yawned as soon as she sat up, you could tell she had been trying to stay up all night for you, and the very idea of it made you smile with gratitude you knew other children did not possess. "You gave us such a fright when we heard you screaming so late at night! What happened?"

"I... I do not know father," You said truthfully, your hand unconsciously going to remove the patch from your eye, but stopping when your father grabs your hand and gives you a stern glare that reminds you of your youth, specifically whenever you would steal an extra lemon bar after dinner. "All I remember is falling asleep and then waking to this horrendous pain in my eye and all around it..."

You have a faraway look in your eye as you find yourself unable to look at your mother and fathers lingering questioning gaze. They may not have ever said it, but you can tell that they pity you greatly for the path the gods have pushed you on. You thought this soulmate of yours was some training knight-to-be. But what knight-to-be experienced battle as harsh as having damage to his eye as horrific as you felt it to be? It did possibly occur to you that your soulmate may actually be a hardened knight with years of experience on the battlefield. But after bringing up the concern with your maester, he assured you that the marks you bore would be a lot worse if he was truly some older knight, a kingsguard or even a goldcloak.

Later that day after being ordered to eat lots to restore your energy, your maester came by that evening to visit and check on your mark. His words were kind as he assured you it would've most likely gone down in its intensity since you barely felt anything now except some throbbing from your socket. According to him, while you lay screaming from the pain, a deep blue flower had taken over your entire socket where the pain had bloomed from, in a strange fascinating way making your eye its center.

His touch was gentle as he slowly peeled back the fabric. Yet his face which once held a supportive smile turns to shock and pure horror once you tilted your head up to look at him.

“Maester, what is the matter?” You ask, biting your lip in pure anxiety as he says nothing but stares at your eye. He does not even look away as he grabs a mirror by your bedside table and hands it too you.

When you look into it though, you do not realize what is so wrong except for some small petal edges that leak from around your eye. But then you look more closely and realize with a loud gasp how your once green eye is now a deep blue, and when you close it you gasp again as you comprehend how now a flower has bloomed on your eyelid.

“What… what has happened, maester?!” You yell, unable to look away from your newly changed face.

“I do not know exactly my lady,” The maester begins, forcibly snatching the mirror from your hands so you’re forced to look at him and listen. “The whole written topic of soulmates to my knowledge is so little given at how rare they are, so there is truly not much advice to give you. The basic idea though as I told you when your condition first developed, is that when he is in pain, you are to have a flower bloom on your skin where the pain originates. There is no record I’m afraid of this condition affecting the physical body except from the blooming flowers and the pain that comes with it.”

You stay quiet as you listen to the maester, tears build up as you realize your life shall not be the same. While the idea of having two different coloured eyes is a condition seen around the seven kingdoms, it is still a noticeable thing that would draw attention of the people.

And honestly, you were not sure if you wanted to meet your soulmate. This latest development in your condition is so new and so frightening. Though you must say you cannot help but feel sorry for the soul the gods have promised you too. While what you felt was agony, you have no idea how much it must’ve hurt for your soulmate at that moment.

Over the next few days, you were closely monitored by the maester, the septa’s and your parents who all were anxious to see if the flower on your eye would slowly go down like the other flowers did when the pain disappeared or if it would remain. And much to yours and everyone around you's annoyance, it very much stayed bright and clear on your skin no matter what ointment or potion was used to clear it.

On the fourth day after the incident, as your father called it, a maid who was one of the few with knowledge of your condition came into your chambers with your morning meal, and some important news.

“My lady,” she began, practically sweating as she placed the tray in front of you. “There has been a recent development in regard to your soulmate's identity.”

Since the pain you felt was the most extreme you had ever felt, your father had felt the need to hire some men to investigate to see if this new information would reveal your soulmate's identity, even though the chance of finding an answer was slim to none. Though you suppose there was never a zero percent chance, as proven by the fact there was according to the maid, a recent development.

“What is it?” You ask, biting into the lemon cake first and savoring the sweet yet sour taste on your tongue. “What has my father discovered that he does not feel the need to come tell me himself?”

“Well…” She stumbles, even stepping back a small step as she instinctively looks to the ground. “It turns out that the same day you had that incident my lady, the prince Aemond Targaryen had his eye taken by his young nephew Lucerys, and it was reported to your father that the damage was so bad the eye had to be removed and the socket sewn up.”

The cake that once laid in your hand falls back onto the plate. Your mouth like the cake falls open in the same undignified manner as you cannot believe the words you are hearing.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen?” You find yourself asking in a breathless tone, silent as the maid nods her head.

“May I be dismissed now, my lady?” She asks, knocking you out of a daze you hadn’t even realized you had fallen into. You nod in answer and watch as she leaves, leaving you in silence and your own thoughts that begin to run rampant.

You were soulmates with the Prince! A Targaryen Prince! You heard that out of his three siblings he was the only one with no dragon, but you honestly did not care if he did or did not as either way he was still a man of honor. When thinking of the injuries you received over the years, you cannot help but think of how it made sense.

You knew princes received special training similarly to that of young knights, so when the maester said that the injuries matched up with them made sense. Yet to hear of the Prince's injury that perfectly synced with your own, that was what finally made it all make sense.

You lay backwards in your bed, and allowed the anxiety to wash over your body. The food lay to waste against the covers as you thought only of what your future could hold as a wife of royalty. Of how you would never be a true lady of the court and in the end would no doubt bring about disgrace to your husband's name. Of how in the end compared to your soulmate, the Targaryen warrior, you are just a woman from a lower house who could not bring anything into the marriage but your empty womb.

The next few years after the realization of your soulmate, you spent your time attempting to convince your father not to pursue a marriage between yourself and the Prince. But to your surprise and happiness, your father agreed to not pursue anything marriage related to you without so much of a fuss, even when you, your father and even your mother knew how much a marriage between you and the Prince would help your house bloom in both social standing and resources.

You felt selfish in your insistence of your future, but your father was adamant in telling you that he was not angry in your decision and if anything he was proud to see you so passionate about your decisions.

Your mother much to your delight seemed to agree with you, which probably the main if not the only reason was why your father acted so calmly. According to her you were too young for marriage, which to most people seeing as your mother and father were married quite young it may be seen as hypocritical. But those people were not there to witness all the times your mother gripped her stomach and dreamed of the brothers and sisters you lost on the birthing bed and before.

You were sure not to injure yourself too greatly in fear of that, like how you found out Prince Aemond, he would discover your true identity and come to your doors to claim you in the same way his elder brother Prince Aegon supposedly claimed the ladies of the red keep. 

Yet like all those years ago the night when you realized your eye hard turned blue. The gods were not on your side.

You scream as the pain quickly makes itself known in your arm forcing you to forget anything you’ve ever known other than that overwhelming seering sensation. The tears mask your ability to see the blood pooling up from your skin, and you can hear muffled running in the distance as well as the sound of panicked shouting from the familiar voices of the septas you made such close acquaintances with all those years ago.

You can feel their hands grabbing you, but nothing beats the pain that you cannot even begin to put into words. The maester is by your side as soon as you’re brought to the healing room, and his old wrinkled touch is distinct on your skin as he tries to find the blue flowers he has become so familiar with. Only he does not find blue. Only red. Which is the color of your blood that dyes his fingernails and the tips of his cloak crimson.

Like all those years ago, milk of the poppy is brought to your lips and you are forced to swallow hard and quick. The familiar daze returns as you quickly become numb to the feeling of the sharp needle piercing your skin as the maester attempts to fix you.

You stayed in that bed for at least a day or two before you came too again, but at this point you are used to being there within those familiar walls.

According to the maester, at the height at which you fell from the tree you were climbing in, the tree you were in fact always forbidden to climb but ignored thinking you were safe, you broke your arm clean in two. Apparently the bone had managed to pierce your skin, which is why there had been so much blood. So in order to allow it to heal properly he formed a special layer of hardened protection to stop the arm from any unnecessary movements that could cause further damage to the arm.

As he tells you this, you cannot help but think of how the Prince is thinking right now. Did he get that same piercing pain in his arm too? Did the flowers bloom the same way yours did whenever he managed to harm himself? Were his flowers even the same color as your own? You felt so deep in thought you barely even heard your mother come in to visit.

“My love?” She says, taking your hand in hers and drawing you out from your thoughts. “How are you faring?”

“I am alright mother. The pain is gone, all thanks to the maester.” You say, simply reassuring her as she looks at you carefully to assess whether you lie or not. Yet as she does this you cannot help but notice a distinct figure missing right now. “Where is father?” You cannot help but ask, curious in his whereabouts.

“He went to Kingslanding my love. Do you not remember?” She asks, lips pursed in a sad smile. “You were all set to go with him this morning but since your fall, he was forced to go alone. He sends his best though and wishes that you find a fast recovery, which is seems you have managed to accomplish my strong girl.”

“Oh yes…” You say, remembering she was in fact right. “I suppose I forgot. I did hit my head when I fell.” As soon as you say the words you instantly wince with regret. As before you can even try and defend yourself your mother calls the maester back in and demands a series of further assessments to be done. You sigh as you fall back and your head hits the pillow. This is going to be a long day.

Your father, as he traveled along the road into kingslanding, felt guilt gnawing at his chest for leaving you behind whilst you laid in that healing bed. When he left, you had been in a deep sleep so he had been unable to say goodbye. So he kissed your forehead and squeezed the hand on your unbroken arm and left you to sleep. The guilt remains, but he knows that whilst you lay in that bed you are surrounded and are safer in the presence of your mother and the maester and septas, who overtime have managed to gain much more insight than the majority of people into the topic of soulmates.

As they are so rare, they are viewed as freaks, even though he personally believes that they should be celebrated for being looked upon so greatly by the gods that they have been given a person cut from the same cloth.

When he looks at his own wife, who has given him such light from the darkness of his own life, he likes to think she is his soulmate with or without the flowers blooming on her skin. To him, she is just as beautiful as a fresh bloomed flower after all.

When he exits his carriage down the steps, the queen awaits him with only two of her children standing beside her, and he notices immediately that it is Aemond who is currently absent.

“Will the Prince Aemond not be joining us?” He finds himself asking, eyes widening slightly as he remembers that he is in the presence of royalty. Not some fellow lord whose son is out sleeping away his hangover after fucking a dozen whores.

“No, I'm afraid not Lord Fletcher. My son awoke this morn with a dreadful headache as the maester and he has told me, so he will be staying in his chambers for the duration of the meeting. Probably even for long after you’ve left I’m afraid.” The queen Alicent says, a smile on her face that he immediately knows is forced and strained. After all, he has had to make similar lies when people at the gatherings expect to see you and don’t.

“Ahh, I understand my queen. My own daughter has the same issue with her own health. Some days she wakes as healthy as can be then the next she’s laying in her bed writhing from the worst of pains.” He says, not entirely lying as he remembers those exact moments happening to you as you grew up.

“Ah yes well still we thank you for your understanding.” She smiles again, motioning for him to come and follow her into the castle. “Shall we get down to business?”

The next few hours are spent with him, the queen, and a few other notable house lords debating in the council room. At times the table becomes heated as words are thrown without proper caution, but the Queen always lets a small yet loud cough to remind the men of their place. So to his amusement whenever this happens, the men immediately even when their voices before could shake a mountain, quieten down like freshly stuck dogs denied a newly cut piece of prime steak.

Just as though another annoyingly arrogant man from House Lannister demands to know why his house is in need of paying more of its gold to a lord from House Tarly, the doors burst open, and the second born son of the king walks through as though he was born to strut. As the prince he sits down in the end chair of the council table with all eyes on him, Lord Fletcher cannot help but think about how as soon as he gets home he cannot wait to tell you of how this was the first time he met your soulmate.

“Are you feeling alright my Prince?” He finds himself asking, raising a brow as he turns to the Queen, whose own face holds embarrassment and shock to see her son sitting there before her. “The Queen had told me when I arrived that you were not going to attend today's meeting due to a headache?”

The Prince looks at his mother with what could only be called disdain, and it appears to make her slouch back into her seat while she takes her hand in her own and begins to pick at the nail. It honestly reminds him of how you bite your lips half bloody in your own strange anxiety relieving way.

“I am afraid my mother is mistaken my Lord Fletcher,” The prince simply says. “I merely overdid myself when training with the sword yesterday. I was waiting for the maester to visit so he could give me something to relieve the pain. I do apologize for my tardiness.”

“Oh there is no issue at all my prince.” Lord Fletcher says, an attempt of a smile on his lips. Though he soon becomes distracted when he sees Aemonds eye wander around all those in the room, as if to take some sort of strange attendance record.

“Is your daughter not with you today?” Aemond finally speaks, meeting his eye with Lord Fletcher's own two while he stares him down. “I went to visit my sister before this meeting thinking she would be there so I could greet her and welcome her to kingslanding. But my sister tells me she has never met your daughter. Why is that?”

The Queen Alicent perks from her seat as she remembers now finally remembers the information that had been picking at her all day. “Oh yes my lord pray tell, where is she? I had been so looking forward to introducing her to my only daughter. I had thought the two would get along quite well.”

Lord Fletcher attempts to laugh to ease the sudden tension in the room, but it appears to if anything makes it worse as no faces change from their stoney exterior.

“I’m afraid the day before our departure, my dear daughter had an accident that quite badly injured her arm, the same arm in fact you say to have harmed during your training my prince!” Again he laughs, but that does not stop him from seeing the look the prince and queen share with each other.

It appears the prince is more aware than he thought with the motion of soulmates, though it does make sense when thinking of all the things he’d heard of the one-eyed prince. He is a scholarly boy, so it’d make sense for him to research and look in depth into all the possible books about soulmates the royal library or even the citadel have to offer. He even has the Grand Maester at his beck and call, who no doubt has more information on the topic than anyone else.

“Tell me my lord, how did your daughter have such an accident?” The prince asks as he leans forward so far in anticipation he looks to be at the edge of his seat. “It must’ve been from quite a great height for her to have received such injuries. I do hope she has a quick recovery.”

“Thank you my prince, it means a lot to hear from you. As for how she fell, I believe she was climbing in a tree somewhere on our land when she fell and broke a bone in her arm, the end of which pierced her skin just between her elbow and arm socket, or so our maester told me before I left. I worry about her recovery yes, but I know she is in the hands of a capable maester so I do not doubt she will be feeling much better soon.”

The Prince appears to squint slightly at Lord Fletcher before looking back to his mother. It almost looks like there is a silent conversation between the two, and it’s only interrupted by small tilts of heads by the both of them. It was strange yet interesting to watch.

The Prince hums his final response to the once silent conversation before looking back at Lord Fletcher. “Well as she was unable to make the journey with you to Kingslanding, I suppose I shall have to make the journey to your own home and in a way being Kingslanding to her.”

The silence rings throughout the council room again, with even the queen looking at her son in shock. The councilmen who’d been long forgotten don’t dare attempt to speak a single word since the prince's declaration, which only further proves Lord Fletcher's idea that they’re all idiots in their own rights.

“Are you sure my Prince?” He asks, “Tis I’m sure a tedious journey for you and your dragon-“

“Tis no issue!” Aemond interrupts sharply, his tone firm and assertive. “You are set to travel back home the next morn by carriage I hear. So I shall travel by Vhagar tonight so I may spend the night and meet your daughter in the morn. Is that sufficient enough for you my lord?”

The Prince does not leave room for an answer, as before Lord Fletcher can even open his mouth the Prince already has left the room leaving all councilman members and his mother in shock at the turn of events. And while he feels that same shock, he also cannot help but feel fearful as he knows it’s with his words alone what drove the Prince to commit such quick actions.

He can only dread to think about how the introduction between you and the prince will turn out.

When you awoke the morning after your father had left for Kingslanding, the thing that struck most odd with you were the maids. They looked more fearful than you had ever seen them, and they even avoided eye contact with you, which was odd as by now they had all gotten used to your eye.

“What is the matter with all of you?” You spit, glaring at all the ladies who even after you confronting them refuse to look you in the eyes.

They stay silent as they continue to stare at the stone floor, until finally one of the more recent of the lot breaks the silence.

“The Prince is here, my lady.”

Any anger you felt before this moment disappears soon as it brews and instead is replaced by only stone cold fear.

“He cannot see me…” You murmur, seeing the ladies agree and nod out the corner of your eye. “The Prince cannot see me!”

“He specifically spoke of you when he arrived, my lady,” The maid continues, slowly looking up to stare pitifully at your practically trembling form. You can feel yourself begin to chew at the skin of your inner lip, and yet if anything it encourages you to continue when you start to taste the familiar tang of copper smear on your tongue. “Claims that whenever you wake he wishes for you to join him to break fast together as soon as possible.”

The more this lady speaks the more your gut turns and twists within your body. By now the taste of copper gushes down your throat yet you welcome it gladly, even refusing the goblet one of the other more meeker maids offered you to wash the taste away when they saw red begin to stain your outer lip.

“I have to hide it.” You find yourself firmly saying as you look at one of the older ladies. “Tell me, do we keep any veils that are out of use?”

When the prince awoke within the unfamiliar comfort of the bed with a tired groan building within the back of his throat, it is the memory of the council meeting from the day before that floods his mind, forcing the once tired and sore body into being now quick and alert with excitement and anxiety.

When Aemond was but a young boy, he remembers during one of his lessons on the reign of Maegor feeling a sharp stinging in his knuckles. When he looked down, much to his shock and horror, he saw that light blue flowers were blooming across the pale skin. As much as the initial sight had shocked him dreadfully at first, Aemond could not help but think of that day during later years fondly. As that was the day he realized that maybe after the gods had given him, he was not truly alone.

The Grand Maester had told him everything he himself knew about the topic, and even sent a raven to the citadel to request books speaking of the tales written in the texts. According to him, Aemond was the first in a long time to come forward about possessing one.

Aemond prayed to the gods to meet them soon, but no matter how much he got on his knees no matter how many times he held his hands together in the grand sept with his mother next to him, no girl ever came forward to claim him.

And by the next year, Aemond felt more alone than ever before.

His flowers were never to be allowed to be seen in the eyes of anyone other than his family, a select few maids and the grand maester of course. This was because according to his grandsire, fathers from all across the realm would put their daughters forward claiming to be his soulmate. Also, if it was discovered he had a soulmate, those same fathers may not deem him suitable for marriage if he will abandon his wife for another woman. It was better to hide, so a marriage could be insured and an heir to his name.

Though any thought of a good tempered wife or even a marriage that could soon turn to affection was gone the moment Lucerys stole his eye. He does not remember much other than the pain, but what comes to mind is the thought in the back of his head hoping his soulmate would be alright. Praying that she would not hate him and would still love him even after now being turned into a cripple.

That day he may have lost an eye, but he gained a dragon. He gained the strength to protect his soulmate, and that to him was all that mattered, other than the protection of his mother. Somehow at that moment as she stood there before him, she looked more vulnerable than he did.

While Aemond lay in his bed healing, his mind turned to his soulmate as he remembered the reasoning behind the flowers. The flowers bloom where pain on the other person blooms, in an assurance that they are not alone in this world. Aemond could not help but think it all as a cruel sort of joke, especially as the pain in his eye begins to slowly throb. Yet a part of him is still thrilled to know that even though the Gods have cruelly broken him and built him back up again, there is a person given to him who will share his pain and see him for what he is.

He became even more desperate to discover you as soon as he was fully healed. He called the Grand Maester as soon as he spotted the familiar blue coloring on his skin, and together they looked over each inch of petal extensively until they day turned to night and the oil in the lamps burned out.

According to him, they were marks like that of a piece of wood struck on the knuckles. Which makes sense as Aemond remembers all the times Aegon would fall asleep soon as lessons started, and halfway through a particularly menacing Maester would strike him with a sort of smooth wooden object directly on the knuckles to wake him. It would be a sight that made Aemond smugly smile while he completed all the necessary work and chuckle at later, but thinking of that same treatment happening to his lady made his heart clench in his chest.

Nowadays, whenever he found himself getting injured, whether that is simply a bruise from training with Ser Cole or a sudden onslaught of inner pain in his eye socket, in his mind he always found himself apologizing at the back of his mind for causing pain for his lady. He finds himself wishing he was better in lessons so he could have avoided the swords, wishing he had fought better in the caves against his nephews and cousins so he wasn’t missing his eye. Whatever the situation, Aemond always craved that he was better. And found at the center of it all it was all for her.

He remembers his three and ten name day much too clearly. It lingers in the back of his mind like a plague. The salty stench of the air. The taste of the cheap alcohol Aegon had forced him to consume as according to him, the act was better when a person is left in a daze. The feeling of that woman’s too warm skin. The sound of her supposedly seductive voice that instead of arousing him only managed to make him further horrified. All of it stayed with him for years sticking to his skin.

Though the part which struck out most for him were the thoughts he could not help but think as that woman sunk down on him and robbed him of any free will. The realization that he would not be able to stay chaste for his soulmate. The idea that maybe she would not want to be with him once she found that her soulmate had laid with filthy whores paid by the go to fuck all sorts of men.

He ran out of that place as soon as the weight on his limp body was lifted, and as soon as he reached the comforts of his own bed with the covers lifted well over him like a cocoon, he cried. He cried for the loss of his body. He cried for the loss of his ability to think without remembering what that woman was doing to him while dribbles of tears streaked down his cheek. He cried for not being faithful to you.

He cried for his future with a soulmate who hated him for actions beyond his own control.

Though as Aemond dressed in appropriate clothes he brought with him for the special moment, his mind cannot help but think back to his earlier worries. Yet now, he is a man.

Aemond possesses the largest dragon in the world. Which to him even now was worthy of the trade of his eye. He is a scholar of history and philosophy whose work has even been submitted to the citadel to be placed in books that’ll be read by many accomplished people. He is even a greatly talented swordsman as said so by all those who have watched him train in the yard. He has become a man worthy of your love and your future.

Yet his hands still fumble about with the other whilst he follows a plain looking maid to the dining hall. He requested a meeting with you in private specifically in a place you were familiar with so you could be comfortable when meeting him. He may be a dragon, but he likes to imagine that he is no monster.

He sits there for what feels like hours. Picking at the skin above his nail until he can feel the blood pooling. He’s about to do it again to his final nail on his left hand, but then you walk in and everything stops. Only not for the reason he would’ve hoped it to have.

As he does not meet the eyes of his soulmate. Instead he meets nothing. He merely stares blankly at the veil that covers your whole face.

“What are you wearing?” He asks, glaring at the damned piece of fabric in his way.

“Clothes, my Prince.” You simply say, the sarcasm not annoying him like how Aegons does. Though Aegon was always just a twat. You appear to make it interesting and actually entertaining to take part in.

“Trust me, my lady, I can see just fine with one eye.” He smirks, silently seething at the prospect of being unable to see your face. He already knows you to be beautiful, it just irks him that he is unable to confirm it. “Why do you hide yourself?”

“What do you mean my Prince?”

“Why do you hide your face? Is there a chance you are afraid of me? Or of what you think I will see?” As soon as the words leave his lips he sees the way your body freezes up. “Do you wish to sit down my dear lady? I am sure it was never a part of your etiquette lessons to break fast while standing.”

You do not say anything as you move to sit in a seat near the middle of the table, and Aemond already in his mind is thinking that’s much too far away from him as he continues to sit at the end seat.

The two of you though stay silent as you both begin to eat the spread of food in front. From the corner of his eye he watches you, and it’s strange how he finds himself suddenly so jealous of the fruit you begin to eat. Jealous of the way those grapes get to go under your ridiculous veil and be touched by your lips, which Aemond already knows to be soft and oh so kissable. He has never seen them, but he just knows.

“Would you not be more comfortable without the veil my lady?” Aemond asks, watching carefully as you stop eating and turn your head to look at him.

“No, I am fine with my current predicament. Is it not more comfortable for you to not wear the eyepatch?” You quip back, with no doubt a smile on your face.

“I suppose you are right my lady,” Aemond drawls, watching the way your head tilts and the fabric concealing you from him lightly pressed against the curves of your face. “How about I propose this. I take off my patch, and you take off your veil?”

“I do not accept it!” You practically yell, your hands clenching so hard that Aemond could see even from where he sat the knuckles turning white.

“Besides…” You continue in a much softer tone like that of a burdened lady, which Aemond knows for sure is not true at all from what he has heard of your life story. “I am hideous to look at. This veil more protects you than it protects me my Prince I am sure of it.”

Aemond hums a response, but his eye says all as it trails over your covered body.

“So those who have told me in person how you are easily one of the prettiest maidens they have seen are lying then, are they my lady?” He reveals, watching you carefully so he can attempt to decipher your movements.

“They must be my Prince. As far as I have been told, I am the ugliest lady they have ever seen and how I shall die a spinster locked away in a tower!”

It’s strange, how when Aemond thinks of that actually happening his fists clenched tightly by his sides, and how he gets the overwhelming urge to maim those people claiming you to be so hideous. To make them so ugly and deformed and force them to sit all day everyday in front of a mirror so they can see the true meaning of being grotesque.

“You lie.” Aemond simply growls, his brow harshly furrowed from the mixture of anger from the idea of those insulting you and frustration from you still hiding your true identity from him.

He closes his eye and takes a minute to simply breathe past his anger. His body slowly tingly as he swears he feels your eyes piercing his soul.

“What if I strike a bargain with you, my sweet maiden?” Aemond says, the nickname oozing off his tongue with arrogance and self assurance.

“And why should I even think about striking a deal with you, my Prince?”

“Because I believe it shall benefit the both of us my lady. Now, do you wish to hear what I have in mind?”

“If you insist on telling me then I suppose I shall be obliged to hear words from the Prince of the realm.” You sigh, leaning your body to one side so your head is laying on the palm of your hand and Aemond gets another glimpse at how you look without truly seeing you.

“I suppose you are…” He says, leaning forward so his arms are fully lying on the table and his spine is slightly curved. “Still, the bargain I wish for you to partake in is this. I shall take off my eye patch so you can see what true grotesque is, and you my sweet maiden shall take off your good for nothing veil. Then I suppose we can see out of the two of us who is the most ugly, as you so bluntly put it.”

Aemond barely has a chance to blink before you're yelling a distinctive and firm “No” that manages to echo somehow in the room.

“Now now my sweet don’t be so resistant…” Aemond grins, tilting his head to one side as he finds himself delighted with how riled he’s made you. “You did not even consider it for a second.”

“Because I did not need to!” You bite back, slamming your hands against the wooden table so hard it manages to shake your plate still possessing some food and even your goblet too. “If I do not wish to show you you have no right to force me!”

“Oh, but I’m afraid I do my sweet maiden…” He says, getting up from his chair so he can oh so slowly make his way over to where you appear to sit frozen in your own chair. “As a prince, I have power where you do not. Now, I do not wish to abuse such power for situations like this one. I do not like to abuse my power in general in any situation. But I may find myself very willing to show you what it is I am capable of. Do you understand me maiden?”

Aemond pauses for a moment as he watches the way the veil moves with every shallow breath you take before he does something that leaves his own heart beating frantically in his chest from every emotion possible to feel.

Aemond slowly peels off his eyepatch to reveal to you a shining blue sapphire surrounded by deep scarred flesh before chucking the piece of dark brown leather onto the table in front of you.

“I have completed my end of our bargain my sweet lady. Now complete yours, before I get impatient.”

You sigh deeply and Aemond cannot help but feel his heartbeat thrice as hard in his chest from anticipation alone. He yearns to see your eyes, your lips, your nose, your everything If only you should allow him too.

So when your hands slowly move to entangle themselves in where the veil begins from within your hair, his heart feels as though he fully stops when the veil is slowly pulled away and the face of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life stares back at him.

“Gevie” He cannot help but murmur as his eye moves over your whole face and his body is forced to sit down in the chair next to you so he can focus on looking solely at you.

“What does it mean?” You ask, though Aemond barely registers it as he’s entranced with how your lips move with each syllable.

“Beautiful.”

There is a rare silence between the two as they each take time now looking at each other. You stare at the sapphire that glints when the sunlight beaming through the window hits it. While Aemond now looks properly at your eye, which he has discovered is a whole different color than the other. And when you blink and reveal the delicate flower imprinted on your eyelid, he cannot help but gape and gasp slightly.

“Did I do that?” He asks, pure horror in his tone and words.

“It was done a long time ago my Prince,” You simply say, smiling slightly in a strange way to comfort him. “And in a way, I suppose it was done by whoever took out your own eye. I do not expect you to suddenly reveal to me that you tore it out yourself. So therefore, you should have no more guilt than the person truly responsible.”

“I’ll kill the bastard!” Aemond growls, anger spilling from him in waves as he thinks of his nephew whose crime has gone on for too long.

“Careful my Prince. Those are dangerous words you are saying about children of the crown. You are lucky it is only me who is here.” You smile.

At first, you were so defensive and so sure the veil would hinder the Prince from prying about what was underneath it. You had thought of him like how you thought of all other men, and that when challenged with the prospect of an ugly woman he would not care and move on. Yet you suppose the gods do like to play tricks in the unlikeliest of places.

He had worn you down with the harshest of phrases and the most defensive body language, yet when you saw him at his most vulnerable with his sapphire shown bare to you you could not help but allow the overwhelming feeling of awe take over you while you stared at him.

As you unmasked yourself before him however and saw his own look of awe while he stared at all your features that had once been so carefully hidden from him, you could not deny the way your heart beat loud in your chest.

Even the way he murmured in his unique Valyrian tongue made you feel a strange feeling of specialness. As if no other woman had been seduced by those same words.

As you spoke to each other, your tongue slowly loosed as it felt for some reason so right to do so. You joking with the Prince felt so natural and yet so foreign at the same time.

“I suppose I am lucky my lady that it is you who sits there.” He says in response to your dangerous quip about his nephews, whose mother if she had heard yours or Prince Aemonds words would’ve surely sharply questioned you for them with no thought of mercy. “Though I suppose I am even more lucky that it is no ordinary woman who sits before me.”

He waits for a moment to see if you will guess his next words. But to be honest he almost forgets them himself as he gets distracted staring at your bottom lip which you bite between your teeth.

“I am lucky as it is my soulmate who sits before me as beautiful as the maiden herself.”

You feel like all the air in your lungs has left and you're gasping for air. Yet it's not as painful as you thought. In fact, it's rather remarkable to feel yourself burn in the presence of a dragon.

Still, even with this miraculous feeling within you, you cannot help but think of how your soulmate treated you but moments before. Arrogant. Selfish. Coercive. Your soulmate forced you to show yourself to him when you were uncomfortable. Did you really want to be fated to be with that person for the rest of your life?

"What's wrong my love?" Aemond asks, seeing the anxious expression on your face.

"How is it you can be so kind to me, when not even what I can guess to be less than half of an hour ago you were treating me as if I were some sort of shit on your shoe?" You ask, looking him dead in the eye as his body appears to freeze up before you.

If you weren't so focused on forcing the truth from a prince of the realm, you would think that it was actually very thrilling and sort of empowering to force a prince into silence.

"I did not mean to treat you like that." He begins, his head tilted to the floor so you cannot see his eyes and his neatly kept hair falls forward like a sort of curtain either side of his face. "I am sorry I was harsh on you. I suppose... I suppose I was scared."

Oh?

"All of my life, since I was a child, I was praying for you. For my soulmate to come into my life. And I suppose after all that time passing without you turned me bitter and angry that the gods did not hear my pleas. My feelings only became more sour when finally in front of you, instead of immediately accepting me and welcoming me you denounced me and spurned me with your words."

"You really thought I would jump into your arms like some sort of innocent lovesick maiden?" You say, staring at the man in front of you in disbelief. Aemond for the first time since his confession looks up at you from his curtain of silver locks, disbelief in his own stare as he listens to your honest words.

"Aemond, the idea of being tied to someone for the rest of my life was challenging for me as a child. Before the loss of your eye, all I had felt was mere stings. Yet feeling the pain I felt that day, it frightened me. I was a child-"

"I WAS A CHILD TOO!" Aemond yells, standing up so suddenly and leaning over you that you shriek a little in fear. “I was the one experiencing it first hand! The one who had to be held down by maesters and stared at by all as milk of the poppy was forced down my throat so maesters could tear out my eye with no true concern for me! YOU DID NOT HAVE TO GO THROUGH THAT AS YOU LAID ABED WHINING LIKE SPOILT CHILD!”

“DO NOT YELL AT ME!” You find the courage to say, standing up and pushing him away so he stumbles a couple steps back in surprise. “I get that you are angry and believe the entire world hates you! But do not blame me because you cannot be angry at those truly deserving of it! Do not yell at me because you are forbidden from getting your revenge on your bastard nephew! Do you understand me?!”

Aemond, in the same manner as that of a kicked dog, nods a yes to your question. Though when you glare hard at him to tell him that answer is unacceptable he quickly fumbles for words that eventually make it out to be heard.

“Thank you.” You simply say, stepping forward to show him how he has earned that step. “I understand you were disappointed I was not there for you. But you need to understand I was scared about it all. Scared of my future, scared of what was to come. Do you even get how scared that must’ve been for me?”

“Yes I understand that.” Aemond says, stepping a single step closer and pausing to see if you allow it which you do. “I am sorry for not thinking of you when you yourself were obviously hurting yourself. I was selfish-“

“It is not selfish, Aemond, to act like how you did.” As you speak, you step that last final step towards your soulmate and place an admittedly cautious hand onto his cheek. Though you think what surprises you most is when he immediately closes his eye and pushes his cheek hard against your palm. “I forgive you Aemond, even when I don’t know if I ever should for how you treated me.”

“I do not truly expect you to.” Aemond murmurs, his eye still closed as he savors your warmth against his cheek. “Though I vow here before you as not just your soulmate but as a man, that I’ll make it my life’s mission to form myself as a man worthy for you. To form myself into what you deserve.”

“Though I suppose that’s the strangest thing about our whole meeting.” You whisper, placing your other hand on the part of Aemonds face where the dark brutal mark that is his scar takes most of its space. It forces a somehow now calm and content Aemond to all of a sudden open his eye and even gasp so silently you almost barely hear it when your thumb slowly traces the raised yet soft skin of the scar that has defined him for so long.

“I don’t find myself wishing you to change to be better. I find myself wishing for you to stay how you are, even if you may hurt me.”

And with that, without either of you knowing whose fault it truly is, your limbs find comfort with each other, and all feels right.

[eliciana]

Reverse SAGAU: The Weird Door At My Café

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2(here) | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |...

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Tw: Reverse!Isekai!Sagau, Normal Au, Café Au, a bit of cussing like this bit 🤏.

Reader: Gn!Reader, Adult!Reader, Café Owner!Reader

Characters: Reader, Paimon, Traveler

Note: Restaurant to Another World animanga inspired au. You can slide into my dms if you ever want to be tagged in my works just tell me what series you want to be tagged in or all of them. thank you <3. Also, I may say that the characters other than the reader may be a bit OOC cause it's been a long time since I played genshin and I'm just finishing all of my works with my knowledge left from playing the game. So sorry about it 🙏🙏.

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You stood, motionless, your eyes fixed in disbelief upon the distant scene before you. As the wind cut through the air, a shiver ran down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The purity of the air surrounded you, carrying with it an intoxicating scent that smelled pure. The warm touch of the sun's rays caressing your skin affirmed that this experience couldn't possibly be a figment of your imagination. A fleeting thought of doubt crept in, but you quickly dismissed it; after all, you had never dabbled in any kind of drugs. This moment, as unbelievable as it seems, had to be undeniably real.

With careful fingers, you gently retrieved your fallen shoe/heel/slipper from the bed of plush, emerald-green grass. As you slipped it back onto your foot, your eyes instinctively wandered upward, transfixed by the expansive stretch of blue sky above you. It was quite unlike the very bright pixelated one you see on your screen. Everything that you see within the door was real and not a nightmare.

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After composing yourself, you went inside your cafe, close the door, drag a chair nearest to the door, took a seat on the chair you placed infront of the door, and contemplated life. A deep heavy sigh got out your mouth as you continue looking the the strange thing infront of you. "What now? What do I do? Should I just lock it?" you asked yourself and looked at the door. Welp, well, there goes your master plan. Suprise suprise there's no keyhole and having a key would not make any difference. "Ugh."

You sat up and opened the door again, only to be baffled to see a different scenery other than the distant City of Mondstadt. The door was now currently in the Liyue Harbor. You closed the door and opened it again, you were now in Inazuma. Close, open, and now in Sumeru. Once again, you are now in Fontaine.

"Yeah bye." you closed the door again and returned the chair from where it once was. Contemplating what you should do next, your feet carried you around the whole café. You went to the counter and decided to make yourself something to help with calming yourself first in order to think clearly. It was a good thing that you had brought all of the materials and ingredients you needed in the café because you had thought of opening the café tomorrow. But with how things are now, you don't know what to do.

Teyvat is filled with many dangerous beings such as hilichurls, slimes, etc. You are but a normal human being with no experience in fighting and fighting your baby cousins was not enough of an experience to be able to fight toe to toe with monsters you have only seen through a screen. Yes, a gun would probably best to use but you don't have a permit for that and you don't want to be in jail when you have just barely open your dream café. But nobody had to know, right? What if-

A deep sigh fell from your lips once again. The stress is really getting in to you, huh? The bitter/sweet aroma of (coffee/tea/juice) filled your sense of smell. You were making your favorite, (your choice of coffee/tea/juice). After some time of finishing your drink, you took it along with a (pastry of your choice) that you had in your car, in which you had thought of eating to celebrate the opening, and sat in a chair facing the door. Taking your time in eating/drinking, many thoughts come and go in your head to solve the predicament you are in now. You had even thought of postponing the opening of the café until you had thought of a way on what to do with the door.

Of course you read the fanfics circulating all around the genshin fandom and one of the those that you have read was SAGAU where you might be the imposter or the creator of teyvat or you become a villain or anything in between. The most common of them was being an imposter. What if you were to become the said imposter if one day a person will open the door to your café? What if they kill you? What if-

*creak......*

Your rambling came to a stop as you looked at the door horrified. Oh no no no no no no NO NO NO! YOU JINXED YOURSELF DIDN'T YOU?! THIS DAMNED FATE-

'Oh dear God, Buddha, Allah, Deities, whoever higher being there is, pls help me...' you thought as you clasp your hands, praying to higher beings. Before you could even feel it, tears cascaded down you face to the table. "I'm nOt ReAdy tO dIE yeT... Ughhhhhhhh" you sobbed into your hands loudly like a child lost in a mall.

"Hello?" a person peaked from behind the door.

Fuck.

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The Traveler, along with Paimon, was doing their daily quests until they saw something shining in the far distance. Their curiousity made them want to investigate it.

"Hm. Why is a door in the middle of the forest with no support or whatsoever?" Paimon mumbled as the door came into their view. The Traveler also had the same thought.

"Is it perhaps a magic door of some kind? I think w-"

*creak*

The Traveler stopped speaking as the door opened but from where they are right now, they couldn't see who opened the door and couldn't get to ask since the door closed with a loud bang when they were going to get closer.

"Well... that was something..." Paimon looked at the Traveler. "Traveler? What's wrong? BREATHE! YOU'RE GOING TO DIE AT THIS RATE!" Paimon brought tons of fried egg out of the Traveler's bag and smacked it into the Traveler's mouth and forced them to chew the egg.

After confirming the Traveler is back into top condition, Paimon asked them what the hell happened to them.

"I-I don't know. I suddenly felt something when whoever opened that door and the air around me became heavy that it became hard to breathe..." The Traveler shooked their head gently and sighed. "I also felt something strange. The energy of whoever is beyond that door, excluded an aura that is very familiar to me, but I don't know who or what it is."

"Hm. Paimon thinks that we should open that door and see whoever that and see if they truly are familiar to you or maybe perhaps this connection that you feel is related to your sibling!" Paimon twirled around the air, exaggerating her words with her actions.

For once, Traveler thought it was a good idea at first but there is also a flaw in that idea. A flaw that might cause their life if whoever is beyond that door is hostile and will kill them. It is better to be cautious then to be 6ft underground before finding their sibling.

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Taglist:

@udretlnea

[sickuma]

SILLAGE — a Simon Riley fic. 2/2

❱ again this was an au first written on tiktok! this will be the last part of it, please keep in mind that it is all fiction and that if you're going through the same thing and are having the same thoughts, please seek someone you trust. Please fight for yourselves, you're worth it ꜝ？ Warning. . this is a heavy angst fic, mentions of suicide and acts of committing, if that is something that triggers bad emotions, please exit the fic.

paring is Ghost x Reader this is unedited! mistakes such as spelling and grammatical errors are to be expected !

Part 1 (^_^;)

SILLAGE — (n.) The scent that lingers in air, the trail left in water, the impression made in space after something or someone has been and gone; the trace of someone's perfume.

—hey [name]? I know I'm the last person you want to hear from right now, but I just really—

There was a short pause, as the voicemail erupts a slight static sound.

—I love you. That should have been enough reason. No, you were enough. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I was cowardly, I figured that you'll be happier and safer, being with someone who isn't me. Someone who isn't a soldier.

It was the same night he left your apartment. He swore to himself he would not come crawling back. To protect both of you, at the time, it had been the best solution for him. Until the midnight strikes, he remembered just how serious you looked, just how accepting you looked.

Too accepting.

—because who knows when one of these missions would finally take me out. I can't let you suffer through that, I can't be the one to give you that kind of grief. So I thought leaving you was the best option.

There was a dire pause as he thought of the best words possible to express himself. He’s never been one to do such, but for you, he’s willing to be better.

—it wasn't.

He spoke desperately, almost shaking from just how much adrenaline rushed through him. He had just argued with the team, and after a long hour of explaining to them what he needed to do, he was finally permitted to bail out on this mission, it’s not like he wouldn't leave without permission, that's how urgent this is for him, he needed to get to you as soon as possible,

Even he doesn't know why he’s in a rush,

Maybe it's because of your silence, the unanswered calls, and unread messages that brought him on edge.

—I love you, far too much, my love, to even think straight without you. I love you so much it's hard to breathe. I so desperately love you to the point it hurts.

The desperation and sincerity. It was all there. He knew if he couldn't let it out now, he won't let it out ever. This was his only chance of being happy.

You were his only chance for happiness. He almost couldn't believe he thought letting you go because of his fear was the best decision.

He stupidly let you go, succumbing to the fear of dying while you wait for him. He knows better, he will do better,

For you. Because you're worth changing for, you're worth the risk.

—please don't hate me. I know I was an ass for leaving in the first place, baby, I am sorry. You loved me so much that it felt so good, I didn't know I'm capable of feeling that way, so I was scared that worse would come after. I'm not scared anymore. You looked at me like there's something in me worth looking at,

He felt like he was saying so much yet so little at the same time,

He had so much to tell you but very few words to express it. He needs to be with you. He needs to see you and physically explain to you just how much you mean to him.

—I won't waste it, love, not again. Please open the door for me when I get back. 

He frowned, realizing once again just how idiotic he was. He knew he should not have done what he did, but it was over with. The only thing left to do is to make things right somehow.

—I've never been taught how to love, I have.. I don't— I'm not the best at it. I'm sorry baby, if I'm not loving you the right way, and for leaving just like that, but I promise I'll be better. you're worth the better of me, you're worth learning love for.

He needed you, and you needed him. That should have been enough reason to risk it.

—when I come back, please let me hold you. Please forgive me for making you feel like an option between my job. It's you. It's always been you. I love you, baby, wait for me. I'll make this right.

As the line cuts, the static sound fills the eerie room of yours. The very same room he had walked out from, the same room where you sat breathing hours ago. There were no other living sounds except for the occasional ticking of the clock.

There were no signs nor sounds of life perceived in the room. The silence was thick. With your lifeless body beside the bed in a fetal position, a bottle of used pills tightly wrapped around your hands. It was light, about three to four pills left inside a newly bought bottle.

It was dead silent as if the universe sympathized with you.

Allowing silence in regards to respect for what has passed, for what has ended.

﹑

“My family’s never been the typical joyous family, I guess that affected me, as a person in general.”

You explain, running your hand through his hair while his head laid on your lap. It’s one of those days where he’d be much affectionate compared to the majority of the time. He requested to hear about your childhood while he rests on you,

For a moment you felt your heart and breath hitch.

“I guess growing up in that kind of household really—really influenced my well-being. It's given me problems and worries I shouldn't have.” You were hesitant to continue, “Fear, I started having fears for a lot of things.”It's as if you caught a glimpse of his mind, taking in the details you've just given him.“Fears like?” 

The moment the question reached your ears, he could see your body tense. He understood, and he doesn't plan on pushing it.“You don't have to answer that, my love.” he smiles, “No matter what it is you're scared of, let’s face it together, yeah? You have me. That's enough, I hope.”

Little did he know that fear was yet to come. The fear of leaving soon, the fear of being unable to keep going. How could you ever explain to him that you don't plan to stay long?

﹑

With a ragged breath from exhaustion, he dropped his things once again, the same way he did before he left. Facing your door yet again, panting as a feeling of discomfort plagued him, why exactly? He’s finally here. Why is he so distraught, he wondered.

“[name]?” he knocks,

Swallowing the lump in his throat, his voice strained, and his state dishevelled. “[name] please—it’s me, please answer.”

The lack of response made him think about just how angry he made you,

“I'm sorry,” he whispers,

“I know I was stupid and irrational. I won't do it again, petal, please open the door.”

To say he’s nervous would be an understatement. What would he do if you never find it in you to let him back into the comfort of your arms? Will he return to the familiar cold he had forgotten when he met you?

“[name] I love you.”

He desperately spoke, yearning for an answer; the smallest sign of acceptance. 

It was odd. How quiet it was. Are you that mad? He wonders, but then again, he knew you’re not one to ignore, not even when you’re the angriest you've been. You would never shut him out, not ever. “[name], please, answer, or I'll have to go inside.”

“Baby are you okay?” no response.

Each passing second was like a countdown. He was uneasy and distraught. Afraid even.

The silence felt deafening. He was afraid of what? He had no clue what he was so afraid of, surely you're okay...

Right?

“[name], I'm coming in,” he says sternly, fishing the spare key he oh so gratefully forgot to give back. His heart thumps louder with each action.

The moment he entered, the creak of the door interrupted the silence. He felt like he was intruding on an abandoned space. It felt wrong. He knew something was wrong.

“[name]? I'm back, like—like I always am.” his voice broke, stepping inside, head looking around, hoping to find you and engulf you in his longing arms. “As I told you, I’ll always find my way back… right?”

He kept speaking while he walked, checking and opening every door. Starting from the small kitchen to the bathroom, checking everywhere until there was one room left. He dreaded it, for no reason he was scared and yet he rushed,

He spoke, no—he goes on a tangent, 

“I'll take the month off. We’ll do anything you want, anything to make up for this. I promise we can even get a pet, I always say no, right? This time, I'll agree, anything for you, my love just—”

The silence rung,

Apart from the sound of the door opening by his force, there were no sounds made, not from him, not from anything. He simply stood, dumbfounded at what the room unveiled; at that moment, nothing mattered, not even the breath he had held unknowingly.

A ragged chuckle escaped his lips, though it was hollow. As if he was desperate to know that maybe this is all some sick prank. Maybe this was one of your silly games he always put up with, “Baby? What’s this? Why are you on the floor?”

“Jokes over [name] get up—”

When it all came to view, he was silenced. The second he stepped closer, he saw how your body lay lifeless, how you held that bottle, and how his eyes drifted onto the lone tear, which evidently dried along the hours. 

How long have you been here?

In this state? How long has it been since you left him?

He couldn't feel. He couldn't grasp his head around the sight before him. He’s well familiar with death. He’s seen it before, and he’s lost comrades before, but nothing comes close to what lay in front of him. 

How does one react when their lifeline lies lifeless before their very eyes?

He couldn't approach nor speak. He simply stood with weak knees, tempting to give out. It didn't take him long to crouch, eyes wide open with lips parted slightly. There were no tears, no emotions, the moment numbed him. It didn't feel like reality,

There he crouched, just a few steps away from you. It didn't feel like his heart dropped. It felt almost worse, as if you'd taken it with you. How could this have happened? Did he cause this?

If you had told him a day ago that he would witness the person he loved the most laying on the floor devoid of life, he would have laughed at your face, punching you even. This isn't reality. This isn't a reality he wants to face.

It took every courage in his body to bring himself closer to you, afraid of what more he’d discover. With slow steps, he drew closer, grabbing your hand was the first thing he thought of doing. “Oh god…” his voice broke,

Your body isn't as warm as it used to be,

Not as he remembered. The warmth he loved when he would hold you against him, it’s gone. You're gone.

He had felt countless of stiff lifeless bodies and yet yours hurt the most,

The mere thought of it destroyed him. It hasnt sinked in yet, but he could tell. He could tell his demise is near. The realization will hit him in a short while. 

“Baby, im home…” this wasn't him. This was not his voice. Stuttering over the easiest words, strained with pent-up sobs. His chest felt heavy, almost making it difficult to breathe. 

Yet with hitched breath, he picked up your limp body and placed you in his arms, crushing your icy body against him. He held you tightly, but his hands cradled your body tenderly. It was as if he’s afraid of hurting you more.

Ghost was forever fearless, always facing whatever challenge was given to him, even his mortal enemy would know that he isnt necessarily the easiest solder to crack, let alone destroy and yet he finds himself sat on the floor holding the lifeless frame of his lover,

Cradling whatever is left of you,

Desperately holding onto what he can possibly hold on to.

The lieutenant everyone looked up on, admired and viewed as an admirable man, sat on the floor with a weighing heart. Holding back the tears that had formed without his knowledge as he held your body, 

but right now, he wasn't lieutenant simon ‘ghost’ riley.

At this moment, he was just simon, the simon you loved desperately, the simon who loved you just as insanely.

This person right this moment was your simon,

He wasnt anyone else, he was yours.

As he sat on the hard cold floor, thoughts roaming with his heart screaming, he felt like a mess, but that didn't matter. Words can not describe the regret, remorse, and stupidity he felt,

If i didnt leave,

If i didn't walk out that door,would you still have been alive in my arms?Would i still have to hold you soulless?

He held you closer, bringing you closer to him, as close as possible. He felt nothing but regret, nothing but anger for himself. Why is it that the very grief he tried to protect you from, the same reason he left, the same grief he avoided you to feel, why is it that he’s feeling it now?

His ragged sobs filled the room, and the rest remained still as if everything sympathized for him. As if the world understood the hurt he carried. He sobs, holding onto you as if doing so would bring you back. He knew nothing well, and yet he foolishly cried, hoping you’ll hear him and come back to ease the pain.

Like you always did.

At the corner of his eyes, he saw the letters piled not far from them. Without standing, nor letting go of you, he reached for it. Reading the names addressed on each, until he sees the one for him.

Of all the few letters he saw, his was the only one with tear drops which ruined the ink in front, almost unable to read, he brought it closer, dropping the rest.

Simon,

I felt everything.

Thank you, and im sorry,

I love you :)

Swallowing the impossibly heavy lump on his throat, he opened the carefully folded letter. He was met with even more tear drops. The thought of you crying, alone, while you write him a letter to bid him goodbye, crushed his soul.

He cant imagine a greater pain,

It felt surreal.

How could I..

How could I have lost you this easily.

With his blurry vision, he starts to read—well—attempt to. With every sentence, every punctuation, every meaning of your words, all of it felt like a slap to reality.

How could he have not seen?

How did he not notice? Not paying attention to what you were going through? How could he have been so careless as to leave you all alone.

The very fear you spoke of,

He did just exactly what your family had done.

If anybody could have saved me,

it would have been you.

He read the part over and over again, allowing your words to cut through his heart repeatedly. He left you, and yet, at the end of the day, you still see him as someone—the only one who could save you. 

Despite the war inside your mind,

Inside your mind and unwavering emotions, which he hadn't bothered to unveil, he remained the most important person.

May it be in your chaotic mind or the furthest crevices of your heart, he remained on both.

He read it all,

Understanding every single thing you failed to say in person,

Everything you failed to say while you still lived.

It hurts even more. He thought nothing could be more painful when he saw you laying lifeless. But having to read what you wanted to say,

How sorry you were, how thankful you are to him, and how he made you feel. 

It was surely another cut to an already existing wound. His mind flashed memories while he went over the tear stained letter you left.

He remembered everything as if they were as fresh as yesterday. When you first smiled at him, when you first held hands, when your lips first touched.

Your words were true. The story of you really is short-lived. But he couldn't help but think about the what If's

If he stayed,

If he hadn't walked out,

If he ignored his fear of abandoning you,

If he hadn't been so stupid and cowardly.

He gave up, and the heavy lump on the throat overcame him, letting the sting linger for as long as eternity. He read the last words on the letter, with a loud sob, with repeated pleads.

Repeatedly apologising, repeatedly begging for you to come back so he could fix things so everything could return to normal,

So you could return.

A childish wish. A high-ranking soldier held the lifeless body of his lover all while he begs for them to come back. 

"I'm so sorry." He whispers, voice too broken to speak normally. "I'm sorry for not noticing."

"I'm sorry you had to be alone." 

"I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He repeats over and over again, holding you against him. 

At the back of the letter, he could barely see the words written with how blurry the tears clouded his eyes.

Thank you for making me feel.

The words only crushed him even more, sobbing and crying harder to no avail. 

"[name]..." He whispers, holding you close. "Did it hurt? I'm sorry, it must have been so hard."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm so sorry for not being here you."

He apologized, wishing he could have been with you. To convince you otherwise, wishing he could have been here to avoid this,

To avoid losing you.

Wishing he could have stayed to keep making you feel.

The thoughts of your words before he left suddenly entered his mind,

"Can I hug you?"

"One last time?"

Now it all makes sense why you looked so serene, why you looked so accepting. Why did you have that small smile on your lips,

You were bidding him goodbye.

That really was the final hug. 

The final touch he'd ever get, the final living affection he would get from you. 

He holds you now, but it wasn't the same, not even close. Back then, you were smiling and breathing, but now you're no different to an inanimate object. Stiff and cold, this is the person he loved so dearly?

It ached.

And it ached painfully.

The type of ache to never go away, the type of ache he'd keep forever.

The type of ache he'll willingly embrace,

As he held you that night, mourning for what could've been, mourning for someone beyond saving.

This was the ache he'd willingly feel forever,

If it means having you in his mind and heart. He would willingly hurt himself by keeping that ache if it means keeping you in his deceased heart forever.

As the remnant of your memories roamed the room, your presence which now passed, the scent of yours he dearly craved. It left a sillage pain to remember,

You left a sillage worth remembering.

"I'll keep you in my heart,

Even if that damage me,

Even if it kills me.

I'll keep you safe forever."

[listentothelittlebird]

Happy (belated) birthday @shepscapades!!!!! This fic did not exist yesterday but it sure does now! Another dbhc au docsuma set in hermitcraft season 10, during Doc’s building of the Big Wood hourglass (and after “Anyways. What?”)

word count: 1114 words

“Whoa.”

Xisuma lets his boots scuff against the grass, folding his elytra away without taking his eyes off the towering hourglass before him. An hourglass that he is sure did not exist, well, yesterday. 

He checks his communicator again, still showing Cleo’s message from last night. Just a simple, “Not urgent, but you should head by the shopping district.”

The “not urgent” part of the message had been what allowed Xisuma to rest until morning before popping by. It seems, though, that someone else did not do the same.

Based on the untouched bed covered in soot beside a double shelf of furnaces, Xisuma thinks he knows exactly why he was called. Even as he starts looking around for a familiar lab coat, he resigns himself to yet another shred of fodder that will soon be added to Cleo’s arsenal of stories.

“Doc?” Xisuma’s voice echoes around the base of the hourglass. A quick squint through the glass is enough to deem it empty as well. Finally, Xisuma tilts his head up, towards the very top of the hourglass. No movement that can be seen from down here, but it would be a reasonable place to check. 

Sure enough, a quick elytra trip later and Xisuma touches down on the top of the hourglass to find Doc standing right in the middle of his goat-shaped glass panels. 

“Doc, hey!” 

His greeting seems to startle the other, though Doc has never been one to show it. His body turns to face him without so much as a flinch, his shock only betrayed by the second of hesitation it takes for Doc’s expression to curl into an easy smile.

“Xisuma.” A nod in greeting, and then Doc seems to really come back to himself, looking around with his LED ring blinking a brighter blue, if only for a moment. 

“You built all this up in a day?” When Xisuma speaks, Doc’s eyes snap back to him. Again, it takes a moment before Doc responds. Coupled with his slumped shoulders and the way he almost seems to sway in place, his entire form screams exhaustion.

His voice masks it well, though that could just be the lingering passion that has kept him going for this long. 

“Yeah! It’s going to be the biggest shop in the shopping district. All the wood will be sold here. That is, uh, once all the other permit holders agree to sell it here. But they will!”

“Right.” Despite his concern, Xisuma laughs. It is usually Xisuma who has to be pushed and shoved into taking a break, not the other way around. Oh, how the tables have turned.

Xisuma steps closer, brushing off a mixture of soot and sand from Doc’s shoulder. As usual, Doc eyes Xisuma quietly, making no move to push or pull away. 

“When’s the last time you slept?” This close, Xisuma can see the flicker of yellow in the whirring of blue. 

“Uh,” Doc manages, after a long moment. “Uhm. I slept.”

Xisuma hums. He must not manage to keep the skepticism out of his voice, because Doc doubles down. 

“I did! I went into rest cycles of ten to twenty minutes every three hours. That’s enough for functionality.”

“Barely enough,” Xisuma retorts. His hand finds Doc’s shoulder again, resting there. “You’re supposed to have longer rest cycles than that, Doc.”

Doc scoffs in reply, though he leans some of his weight into Xisuma’s hand, a greater tell than anything else.

“Tell you what.” The bed at the base of the hourglass is hardly an ideal place for resting. Thankfully, there’s better places nearby. “Come over to the lab. I’ll show you the new systems I installed after you sleep for the day.”

The words catch Doc’s attention, at least. “New systems? I don’t remember an update.” 

“Just a little testing here and there.” A squeeze to Doc’s shoulder halts his next words. “Nuh-uh! I’ll tell you after you get some shut-eye.”

Doc huffs, but does quieten after that. Xisuma leads the way back to the lab, keeping track of the sounds of Doc’s rockets behind him. While Doc is not so exhausted as to crash while flying, Xisuma’s mind still niggles with worry.

By the time they land, it seems the long hours of work have properly caught up to Doc. Xisuma turns around just in time to spot Doc fumble his landing, tripping over nothing but his own feet. He manages to remain upright, if only because Xisuma braces his hands under his arms in time. 

“Enough for functionality, you say?”

Doc grumbles, knocking a fist against Xisuma’s chestplate. “Shush.”

Xisuma manages to stifle his laugh as he leads Doc into the lab. The hand still lingering on Doc’s arm is entirely unnecessary now that Doc has regained his balance, but neither of them comment on it. 

Owing to their horrible work ethics, one of the first places Xisuma tends to build at his labs is a small bedroom. It feels refreshing to be the one ushering someone else into the room, instead of being the one to trail behind.

“There you go.” Xisuma tugs Doc into sitting on the edge of the bed. His elytra digs into the bedding behind him, Doc turning to blink at it like he just remembered it there. 

Faster than Doc, a rarity from the beginning, Xisuma slips the elytra off Doc’s shoulders, folding it away before Doc can protest the coddling. Not that it is coddling, really. He just wants Doc to be comfortable, is all.

The “yeah, right” that hums in the back of his head sounds very much like Cleo.

By the time Xisuma looks up from storing the elytra, along with some golden carrots, in the bedside chest, Doc has managed to shift himself flat on his back, lying over the duvet instead of under it. The sigh Xisuma lets out is fond, an emotion that he hopes his helmet hides.

“At least pull the covers over yourself.” 

In reply, Doc grunts and waves his hand dismissively. Not in a rest cycle just yet, but very close to one.

Well, so much for not coddling. Somehow, Xisuma manages to pull out the duvet and drape it over Doc. By the time Xisuma finishes his fussing, Doc has gone still, his blue ring of light dimming in rest.

Xisuma risks a final brush of his fingers to Doc’s shoulder, the metal hidden under the duvet. “Sleep well, Doc.” 

No movement, to his relief. Quietly, Xisuma backs out of the room, shuts the door gently, then heads for the labs. He should pull up the new systems again, just to refresh himself on what they can do.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Do you think that the whole cake island would be the first place sanji and nijis fiancé darling meet?. Or did he know about her/see her during his childhood but was never permitted to speak to her because of his status as the weakest Prince. And potentially causing possible issues with the political alliance if it looked like judge was going to offer a betrothal with the noble girl/princess and his weakest child as that would be considered a insult

Initially, I had planned for that to be their first meeting, but this ask quickly made me considered the other option and it spiraled out of control from there. Here is the result.

I decided to use (y/n) instead the the name established throughout the au since this was supposed to be a reader insert originally. I apologize for any inaccuracies that there may be in this. I haven't gotten to this arc yet, so I'm just working off of random spoilers and wikis.

Confrontations and Complications

Sanji x Princess Reader

2.9k words

warnings: implied afab reader, this is straight up angst no comfort

Heels click loudly against the floor as you run through the quiet hallways. The skirt of your dress and your petticoats were bunched up in your fists to prevent you from tripping. There was no telling how long of a window you would have to do this, and you refused to miss your chance at this.

Niji became distracted at the perfect moment for you to slip away undetected, and Reiju had given her word that she would do her best to redirect him should he notice your absence. While you and Reiju weren’t on the friendliest terms as of late, she appeared to be acting in your best interest for the time being. It was debatable how trustworthy she truly was, but you were willing to take the risk in this one instance.

This was of the utmost importance.

The flurry of clicks from your shoes slow as the door you’ve been searching for comes into view, then eventually comes to a complete halt. You pant as you catch your breath and stare at the door. You make a hasty attempt to fix your clothes and hair, then straighten your tiara that had been bouncing freely on your head as you ran. After all of this time, you didn’t want to look unkempt when he saw you.

Steeling yourself with one last deep breath, you grasp the knob and open the door.

Sitting at a small table and absentmindedly flicking a lighter on and off was just the man you were hoping to see. Reiju had not led you astray with her directions. The man, Vinsmoke Sanji, looked startled at your sudden intrusion and was staring at you questioningly.

Oh. In your haste to confirm that this was, in fact, his room, it had slipped your mind to knock and you had just let yourself in. How unlike you.

“Can… Can I help you, miss?” Sanji removed the smoked down nub of a cigarette from his mouth and snubbed it out in a shockingly full ashtray before reaching for the cigarette pack on the table. His exposed eye kept darting back to you while waiting for an answer.

Ah. So he did not recognize you… This fact pained you, but it wasn’t wholly surprising. It has been a very long time since your last meeting. You swallow thickly and step the rest of the way into his room before closing the door behind you, “Please forgive me for barging into your accommodation. I was so overcome with emotion that I forgot my manners.”

Sanji offered a small, but noticeably forced smile, “No need to apologize. I would never complain over being sought out by such a lovely woman. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“We have.” You inch closer to him while wringing your hands nervously. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you were certain that it had nothing to do with your previous exertion. “Though I do not blame you for not recognizing me. The last time that I was in your company, we were mere children sneaking into a kitchen to prepare a lunch for your dear mother.”

The fresh cigarette that was dangling from Sanji’s lips falls onto the table as he stares at you with a wide eye. He is momentarily slack jawed before he finds it in himself to whisper out your name.

A genuine smile spreads across your face as you see the recognition in his eyes. “Yes, Sanji. It’s me, (Y/N).”

In an instant, Sanji is up and out of his seat. He stumbles a bit from tripping over the leg of the table, then comes to a halt in front of you. His hands reach forward, then pause, unsure of whether or not he should touch you. You take the decision out of his hands and quickly close the gap. Your arms wrap around his middle in a tight hug, which he returns after only a brief moment of hesitation.

The harsh and overpowering scent of tobacco stings at your nose as you rest your face on his shoulder, but you wouldn’t dare complain over something so trivial. Not when you were experiencing such a foreign rush of joy and relief. 

With much reluctance, you force yourself to pull away first. Sanji held you a beat longer, but acquiesced to your action. His hands traced up and settled on your shoulders. The baby blue eye that wasn’t obscured flitted across your face, seemingly taking in every detail.

“I can’t believe it’s really you… I never thought I would see you again,” Sanji speaks to you in a hushed reverence that encourages your heart to feel ways that you know very well that it should not be given the current circumstances.

Your own hands are settled on his waist, not quite wanting to sever the physical connection. You offer him a half-hearted smile, “I could say the same for you. Prior to the last week, I believed you to be dead.” Your gloved hands clutch at his shirt, no doubt wrinkling it. A rude action, truly, but the only thing restraining you from cradling his face like you so desire. “I cannot quite put into words how relieving it is to see you alive and well.”

Sanji purses his lips and breaks the eye contact between you. He releases your shoulders and steps back, prompting you to relinquish your hold on him as well. It takes everything you have to not match every step he takes with one of your own. He heaves a sigh while reaching for his dropped cigarette, “I’m sorry. If there had been a way for me to let you know that I was okay, I would have done that in a heartbeat.”

“Oh, no!” The words come out so strongly and with so much force that it startles even you. You take a breath, then continue at a much calmer tone, “Please don’t misunderstand. I am not begrudging you for this. There are certainly people to blame, but you are not amongst them.”

A small smile is the reward for your clarification. Sanji flicks his lighter to life to ignite his cigarette. He takes a long drag of it, then exhales it. “Thank you. You’re too kind to me.”

“Hush, I am not. Dare I say, you could benefit from more kindness.” Everyone could, but you did not care about everyone right now.

Sanji chuckles, though it’s distinctly lacking any real humor. “You haven’t changed a bit since we were kids. I don’t know how you’ve done it.”

The silence that fell over you as he puffed away at his cigarette was neither comfortable, nor tense. So many things were left unsaid, and Sanji appeared to be content to leave it that way. You itched to ask him countless questions. How did he escape Germa? Where has he been this whole time? What was it like being part of such a notorious pirate crew? With so many queries running through your mind, it felt impossible to choose just one.

“What are you doing on Whole Cake Island, anyway? I didn’t think your family was close enough with Big Mom to be invited to a wedding.”

In an instant, your heart leaps up into your throat and you balk. This was precisely the topic you had hoped to avoid. Both for your own comfort, as well as his own. Ignorance is bliss, and you wanted him to know peace.

Unfortunately, your silence successfully attracts his attention. He turns to face you fully, and you can feel his eye boring into you despite the fact that you’re staring at the floor. “(Y/N)... Why are you here?” The thinly veiled urgency in his voice indicated that he was already coming to his own conclusions.

“I’m… here with my fiance,” the volume of your voice decrescendos with each word until ‘fiance’ comes out at a barely audible whisper.

It is unclear at first if the silence that followed was brought on by shock, or if Sanji simply hadn’t heard you. You get your answer shortly when he asks a quick and straightforward question.

“Who?”

Answering this was significantly more trying than explaining why you were here. You still couldn’t meet his eye, and you were grateful that he wasn’t forcing you to. There was no way to dance around or sugarcoat who it was. As much as you knew that he wouldn’t like the truth, he deserved to hear it.

“Niji.”

From your peripheral vision, you could see his cigarette hit the floor. Before you could be alarmed about the rug catching to fire, it was snuffed out under Sanji’s foot as he rapidly closed the gap that he had once made. His hands find purchase on your shoulders again, though he’s far less gentle this time. If it weren’t for the ironclad grip he had on you, you’re certain that you would have toppled over from the strength he took hold of you with. You’re forced to look up at him and take in his expression. The eye that you can see is wide with a shrunken pupil. The color in his skin has paled noticeably, and his mouth hangs open as his breath comes out in frantic pants.

His hands tighten around your shoulders more as he spits out an accusation laden in desperation, “You’re lying.”

Oh, how you wish you were. How you wish that there wasn’t an engagement ring weighing down your ring finger. But that simply isn’t reality. You hold up your left hand, actively ignoring the way it trembled under the intensity of Sanji’s gaze. His eye zeros in on the gleaming, blue jewel that was the centerpiece of your ring.

The sight of it repelled him. You were released from his touch once more as he backed away until he crashed into the table, effectively tipping it over and sending it crashing to the ground. The ashtray that had been sitting on it flew and rolled across the floor, spreading cigarette butts and ash everywhere, but Sanji paid it no mind.

“No… no, no, no! You can’t be serious! Niji?!” His raised voice startled you. While you had been anticipating a poor reaction, this was far worse than you ever would have guessed. His hands shot up and threaded through his hair. The way that he pulled on it had to be painful, and you held out your hand to try and coax him into letting go, but then he evaded you by beginning to pace. His steps were quick and forceful, the soles of his shoes making more noise than your heels had made when you were running to get here.

As much as you wanted to speak, it was beyond you what there even was to say that would soothe him.

Sanji abruptly spun around to face you again, making you flinch. He all but ran to you and took your hands in his, pulling you towards him so hard that you almost crashed into him. He speaks in a frantic but hushed tone, “You need to leave.”

“I… I beg your pardon?”

“You need to leave now. It isn’t safe for you to stay here.” His head snaps to the side and he lets go of your hand briefly to slam the window shut before grasping it again. “I need you to listen to me. My cr- My former crew is here. They will be more than happy to take you away and keep you safe. I’m not sure how I’ll get you to them yet, but I promise you that I won’t rest until you’re under their protection.”

All that you can do is stare at him. Your heart is thudding in your chest, but an undeniable warmth is spreading through it as well. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought that this could happen. You squeeze his hands and speak breathlessly, “You wish to run away together?”

Sanji freezes at your words. His mouth opens and closes several times, and then he averts his eyes, “I can’t do that. This is just for you.”

You rip your hands away from his and step away. “What? What are you talking about?”

The way he looks at you as if you’re clueless infuriates you. He speaks slowly as he explains himself, “I’m getting married to Pudding. I’m sure that you know that.”

This explanation leaves you appalled, you all but shriek at him, “You’re actually going through with that?!” The entire reason that you were so desperate to have this meeting in the first place was because you had assumed that he would leave with his crew before the wedding could occur.

Your shouting startles Sanji, giving him a quick moment of pause. He clears his throat before doing his best to speak in a calm and assertive tone. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I? Our marriage will be a good thing.”

Hearing him say this breaks you. All grace and decorum is forgotten in your outburst. “A good thing?! Nothing good can come from marrying someone like Pudding!”

While you generally tried to be kind and gracious to everyone, you were unable to grant Pudding the same courtesy. Not after you became privy to her true feelings towards Sanji when you overheard a conversation between her and a few of her siblings. The way she spoke of Sanji was as maddening as it was sickening. It took all of your self control to not burst into the room and demand that she trade her fiance for your own if she disliked him so much.

Maybe you should have. 

“Pudding is a lovely woman… And the marriage is good for political reasons as well.” Sanji was refusing to meet your enraged gaze, which only fueled the fire within you.

A sarcastic bark of laughter escaped you. “A lovely woman?! She’s a spoiled brat who doesn’t understand how fortunate she is!” That girl had everything that a woman could hope for in a political marriage, and she had the audacity to look down on her betrothed as if he wasn’t worthy of so much as breathing the same air as her. 

When Sanji only stared at you with a shocked expression, it made all of the hideous emotions that you had been suppressing up to this point bubble to the surface and boil over.

“That girl has it all, and she can’t even be grateful for it! She won’t have to put up with her husband lusting over everyone but her! She won’t have to be little more than a mere obligation to her husband! She won’t just be used to bring about a new generation of living weapons!” 

You fall silent as the words settle into the air, thickening the atmosphere until it became difficult to breathe. Hot tears begin to pour down your face in a shameful display. You turn away from Sanji as raw, pained sobs wrack through you.

“(Y/N)...”

Sanji stepped towards you and rested a hand on your shoulder, but you ripped away from him as if his touch burned you. The last thing that you wanted was his pity. You hastily dabbed at your eyes with a handkerchief as you hurried to the door, but Sanji put himself between you and the exit.

“Please, (Y/N)... I know you don’t like it, but you need to leave without me. You have no idea how much danger you’ll be in if you stay.” His face and tone are equally pleading. His hands reach towards you once more, but halt just before making contact.

“I am many things, but please don’t think me naive, Sanji… I know precisely what is expected of me in my marriage.” Every word out of your mouth is bitter and laced with contempt.

“Then why are you being so stubborn? I know that you don’t want this.” Sanji is visibly exasperated. 

“The better question is: Why are you being so stubborn? You are not compelled to do this like I am! You have an entire crew that is willing to fight for you, yet you’re refusing their help!” You exhale and shake your head, “You are almost as ungrateful as Pudding, perhaps you two are meant to be after all.”

“This is not as simple and straightforward as you think it is. There is much more going on… It’s better for everyone if I go through with this.”

Your hands ball up into fists at your sides and you snap at him, “Oh, what a martyr you are! How brave! How proud!” Having finally had enough, you fully abandon etiquette and shove Sanji out of your way. You grasp the doorknob, but rather than leaving, you decide that you have one last sentiment to tack on. “Martyrdom is the coward’s choice! If you really care for the people in your life, you will fight to be with them, not sacrifice yourself at the first opportunity!”

With that, you wrench open the door and slam it behind you the second you’re out of the room. You take off down the hall with no clear destination, only desiring to put as much distance between yourself and Sanji as reasonably possible.

Despite what you had said, you realize that you were actually quite naive. It was foolish to have ever believed that this meeting would have gone any better than it did.

[somepinkthing]

Adding on to this au:

Celegorm and curufin don't recognize maglor at first, with the mask and the muteness. It isn't until aredhel gets celegorm alone that the truth comes out. She feels badly about it, considering how close she and maglor are now, but she knows for a fact that he plans to crawl back to eol after she and maeglin are far enough away and she can't let that happen

Celegorm wants to hunt eol down immediately, eliminate the threat at the source. It takes aredhel telling him that this would leave maglor brokenhearted and her son fatherless to stay his hand.

Maglor isn't blindly in love with ëol, he knows what kind of person he is—thats why he helped aredhel escape. But he can't help but love him as much as he fears him. For so long, ëol was all he had—his only source of comfort, the keeper of his sanity, the person tho taught him to talk with his hands in lieu of his voice, the one who taught him all he knows about living in this strange and dangerous land. Who else would have dealt with him in the throes of madness? Who else will have him after they find out who he is if not his master? Whatever he might do to him, maglor tells himself he'll accept it. He has to. Without ëol he would have been a dead man centuries ago anyways, if the life ëol gave back to him will now serve as payment for his cousin and nephew's (for maeglin considers him his dearest uncle) freedom then so be it. He only prays ëol doesn't decide to keep him in solitary, lock him up and throw away the key. Or hang him, as he had once threatened to do during a particularly bad episode.

Celegorm agrees to not attack ëol in his home, but decrees that he is a dead man should he step a single foot in feanorian lands

Miles away, curufin catches ëol chasing after his wife and son. Unaware of the new developments, he lets him go as he is no butcher. They will send aredhel down a seperate path anyways, he will not catch her.

Curufin regrets it greatly once he returns home and is brought up to date

They write to maedhros at once. Both brothers and aredhel agree that it would be best for them to wait for maedhros before confronting maglor about his identity. He was so scared to tell aredhel, she fears for his mental state should he learn that his brothers now know who he is. No, they need to be careful with this. They need to proceed with tact and a full plan. They need nelyo.

None of them know that maglor believes maedhros dead

When maglor was first taken back, his mind was a mess. When he started making noises about going back to care for his "brother who had escaped angband" ëol had scoffed.

"No one escapes Angband, little one. No one. Long have my people lived on this land and we have never seen it. Thralls are the only things that get out. Do you noldor think you know better than the avari in the matters of angband?!"

"Your mind is playing tricks on you, dearest. If you truly had a brother, he was lost to you the second the orcs got him."

"Thirty years? Little harpist, he is nothing more than scraps then. Now eat your food, stop talking crazy, and we shall see about letting you out of your sickroom. You know, you made quite a mess this time. I left it there of course; you made it, you will clean it up. Alone and i don't care how long it takes you. Yes, I know you are sorry. You always are."

Over time, maglor began to believe it. His memories of the last few decades were often fuzzy. The fact that he actually started to hallucinate maedhros and hear his voice when he was not there didn't help. By the time aredhel got there, he was fully convinced maedhros's escape was a dream his insane mind had made up.

Aredhel and maeglin decide they will leave once maedhros arrives to ensure maglor does not run off back to ëol before that. Maeglin doesn't want to leave him behind at all but aredhel knows her brother, knows the rules of gondolin. Maglor will not be permitted. Nor would he do well in the isolated city. In truth, she'd stay with the feanorians were it not for her child.

"I never understood Turo's obsession with safety," she tells Celegorm, "Not until I held my own child in my arms. I need him safe, Tyelko. I need him as far from Morgoth and his father and anything that may hurt him as he can possibly be."

When maglor first sees maedhros ride into the courtyard, he thinks it a very vivid hallucination.

When maedhros first touches him though, it sends him into a spiral. They've never touched him before, they've never felt so real, he's always been able to tell to some degree that they were dreams but this one feels solid, this isn't fair, this breaks the rules, he doesn't want to go back to the sickroom, he doesn't want to lose control, he doesn't want to get even crazier, why can't the ghosts leave him alone?

After aredhel and maeglin eventually leave, maglor clings to curufin and celebrimbor.

See, prior to his exile, the brothers (sans maedhros, who was still recovering) had been split into 2 factions. While all equally furious and guilty and looking to take it out on someone, curufin and caranthir had drawn the line at actually chasing their own brother and acting king out of the camp.

It was one of the first times in their lives that caranthir and curufin were in agreement, but celegorm and the twins overruled them both in strength and in numbers

It lead to the worst fight curufin and celegorm have ever had, bar none. Curufin nearly refused to go to himlad with celegorm over it. Eventually, they did overcome it and rekindled their close brotherhood—Celegorm driving himself to sickness out of guilt did a lot to pave the way

Caranthir still refuses to talk to the ambarussa and celegorm to this day.

Maglor hangs about the forge like a silent shadow. Tyelpe, delighted to have his uncle back, seems the best at handling maglor. He draws maglor into conversation, even despite the fact that he cannot respond. Celebrimbor is the first one maglor starts showing sign language to.

He still can't look at celegorm and maedhros without shaking

Maedhros writes the ambarussa with strict instructions to stay where they are. They would only scare maglor should they come and that is the opposite of what they are trying to do.

No letter can keep caranthir away, however. He shows up to himlad mere days after the letter informing him of maglor's reappearance went out, crashing into the forge and falling into maglor's arms. Sobbing.

Tentatively, maglor begins stroking his hair and humming. The song is off key and broken up, his voice permanently damaged beyond repair. Caranthir doesnt seem to care, insisting he continue when he pauses uncertainly upon hearing himself.

[delulupunk]

DUNE AU DAMIAN WAYNE X READER PART FOUR

Mild brutalia

Fem reader

Notes: Under no circumstances should opinions expressed by characters be linked to this author in anyway. This is written in the style of Frank Hebert’s book, this means spoilers for Dune. While inspired by Frank Herbert’s novel the plotline may be similar, however it will not be the same.

Someone please bully me into a regular update schedule

Imperial terminology

Bene Gesserit: The ancient school of mental and physical training established primarily for female students after the Butlerian Jihad destroyed the so-called ‘thinking machines’ and robots.

Caladan: Third planet of Delta Pavonis.

Filmclip: An apparatus used mainly for training consisting of a shigawire imprint carrying a mnemonic pulse.

Faufreluches: The rigid imperial system of class stratification.

Shield, defensive: The protective field produced by a Holtzman generator. A shield will permit entry only to objects moving at slow speeds.

Spacing (Guild): Powerful organization which ad a monopoly on space travel and transport due to their Navigators.

Mating index: The Bene Gesserit master record of its human breeding program aimed at producing the Kwisatz Haderach.

Mentat: The class of imperial citizens trained for supreme accomplishments of logic. ‘Human computers’.

Sapho: High-energy liquid extracted from barrier roots of Ecaz. Used by Mentats who claim it amplifies mental powers. Users develop deep ruby stains on mouth and lips.

Without our mothers, we are nothing of worth. Commentaries On The New Emperors Family- Empress Y/N

The soft wind swished Talia’s hair to the side as she looked down at her favourite flowers, which were jewels in a sea of sage leaves.

Pondering she brushed her hand against the soft surface of the petals. She found herself wishing that she knew who her parents were- she understood the Bene Gesserit reasoning of why it was never to be shared, yet still she longed to have true clarity over she truly was. It was well known that the information wasn’t shared, in case the necessity for crossing blood lines arises.

Talia didn’t want to know just for the sake of lineages. No, she was interested in possessing a picture of her parents, to see which one she most looked like- where all these features of herself came from.

She raised her hand slowly to her face, rotating it as she analysed it. Her hands were slender yet firm, a mix of her parents she decided to dub it.

Would they be proud of me?

If only she had a little diary filled with memories of her parents, their subtle tics, their beliefs, their friends and foes. Would she align with them or simply be so profoundly different that she could feel nothing but disgust?

The soft crunch of leaves from strong boots filled the air, Talia noticed the imperceptible difference between the sound of the standard issue boots, and the strength of the Duke’s.

Duke Wayne stopped before her and tipped his head to his lady, causing a smile to grace her face.

“You don’t frequent the gardens much my love.” The Duke stated, however his eyes shone with curiosity.

“Well it hasn’t rained today, beloved, so I thought I’d pay a visit.” Talia replied, answering his hidden question. The sun today on Caladan had been glaring as if it was prodding around the planet for a traitor. Even at sunrise this morning. Talia found her skin covered with perspiration which was a sensation she’d completely forgotten, due to the humidity of Caladan.

“And I thought I’d pay a visit to you.” Lovingly the Duke muttered, dipping his head down to place a kiss as sweet as cherries onto his woman’s lips. Silently they kissed each other, their lips making small movements against the others. Talia firmly tilted her head up and moved her hand to the back of his neck.

Clang

Clang

CLANG

Their kiss was broken like shattered glass as they heard clanging of the gates.

Talia used Bene Gesserit techniques to prevent herself from snapping her head like animal, and instead turned with curiosity.

The training could not prevent her breath from catching, as the Duke latched his arm around her waist- pulling her inwards.

Dreams are all emotion, and no thought.

Lessons From The New Emperor- Empress Y/N

“The language of flowers is so elegant Damian, you must read learn it one day! A bouquet isn’t just solely about aesthetics, it’s about hidden meanings!” The girl excitedly told him, her hands gesticulating as wildly as a bull. Each time she paced behind his back he felt a gust of air, she was truly going that fast.

“What doesn’t contain hidden meanings, beloved?” Damian smirked as he looked down at the papers thrown onto his desk.

“Yes, but the same type of flower can have different meanings, just dependant on its shade! Take for example…”

Damian shook his hand amused, his girl was truly an addict to knowledge. Not the same as a Mentat though, who concerned themselves with the nitty gritty and science.

He paused his thoughts to snigger at the thought of her being a Mentat, she was simple too happy and restless to be confined to her mind with all those facts.

Where Mentat’s found solutions in learning, she seemed to find joy. Damian admired her for it, he’d only studied purely for the duty of his House. Perhaps if he found pleasure in it, he’d be able to engage as throughly as she could in these conversations. Damian strengthened himself with steel, promising to love learning as she did, so he could see that brilliant smile of hers.

He was hyper aware of the harmony of her voice- it exhilarated him and awoke him from what felt a slumber for the ages. Every punctuation of her words, sent a jolt through his spine, while the soft syllables relaxed his head.

The girls fingers threaded through his hair, before yanking his hand back insistently.

“You’re ignoring me.” Damian could hear the pout in her voice, before any other senses could be felt. The twang of pain at her sudden pull came a moment too late, like an echo of a sound long passed.

Smiling amusedly Damian tipped his head back, “This better for you beloved?”

She grinned satisfied, “There’s my handsome-“

“Damian!”

A pillow rammed into his face causing him to splutter.

“I’ve been shouting your name!” Talia pulled her son from her bed and rushed to the other side of the room, hastily throwing a set of clothes at him.

“Come quick Dick Grayson is at the gates- he’s alive!” His mother cried.

Taglist: @maria-trisha

I love you all so much, thanks for still reading xxx

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

A special sort of craving 4

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: A stranger appears at your cafe and leaves you unsettled.

Part of the Backwood AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The quiet one goes out with another tray for the lively partygoers. You’ve permitted Katherine to join the furor as she was much too distracted to be of any true help. As it is, you’re about to send your second helper home to get her out of the frenzy. She’s ill-equipped for it and you can handle things just fine on your own. 

As you wait for her to return, you continue to clear and stack the trays. You’re certain Frigga won’t mind if you leave them and return to pick them up tomorrow. Little good you’re doing here as Thor sows the last of his wild oats. Yet, you hardly think a number is going to change much. 

The door swings open and you look up, expecting that quiet girl and her doleful eyes. Its not her. Shit. Of course he’s there. 

“Ah, there you are, sweetie pie,” Lloyd calls with a keen smirk at his lazy pun. “I’ve been looking for you all night.” 

“I’m working,” you continue your work, setting a stack on the cart. “Go, enjoy the party--” 

“I didn’t come to deal with the drunken idiot,” he insists as he looms on the other side of the able, “I came for the dessert.” 

“Those aren’t out yet, you’ll have to wait,” you ignore him for your work.  

You can sense him as he inches towards the corner of the big metal table. You try not to react. It’s exactly what he’s looking for. You might not know much of city folk but you have a good idea. You don’t want to feed his ego, he might just hurt himself if it inflates any bigger. 

“I’m not talking about cake, well, not like that,” he snickers as he comes closer and closer. 

“Ew, would you not? I really don’t have time--” you begin as you slice berries. 

“Sure ya do. Everyone’s off their head. They don’t care about your shortcake, sweetheart.” 

“Not interested, for the last time--” 

He reaches for you and you turn, pointing the paring knife at him. His eye glints and he tilts his head. He takes a deep breath and lets out a sinister laugh. 

“Don’t be stupid. You shouldn’t pull a knife unless you’re prepared to use it,” his face turns sober and his brow arches. You can see along the edge of your vision how his fingers twitch, “should put that away before you cut yourself.” 

“Leave me alone,” you force out, heart racing. “I don’t know how they do it in the city but when someone says no, the answer is--” 

“Boring,” he swipes at your hand and knocks the knife from it. The blade bounces off the table and skitters over to the other side, falling onto the floor. 

In a moment, he has you in his grip; one hand on the back of your skull, the other on your jaw. You whimper and clutch at his wrists. You grit your teeth and stomp around blindly, trying to crush his toes. 

“Hey, get the hell off of me!” You hiss as he squeezes enough to make your head throb. 

“What you don’t understand, sweet cheeks,” he walks you backwards, “is that in the city, we take what we want,” he continues on, keeping you on your heels, “I want the rest of that cherry pie, baby.” 

“No, urgh, stop,” you scratch and slap at him helplessly as he marches you around the fridge, “let go--” 

“Shh, baby, it don’t gotta be bad,” he coaxes as he takes you through a doorway, “in fact, I wanna make it real good for you.” He pokes out his tongue and lewdly licks along the bristle of his mustache, “I bet you’re sweet. Taste like sugar... melt like it too, won’t you?” 

“N-no,” you grunt as he kicks the door to the storage room closed, “Lloyd, I’ll scream--” 

“Listen, baby, shhhh,” he hushes you again, “you hear that?” 

Your eyes round as you stare at him. He pushes you against a shelf as you listen. You can hear the music, the voices, and the sheer chaos brewing on the other side of the walls. A scream breaks out and is met only by raucous laughter. He presses his thumb behind your jaw until you squirm. 

“Think they’ll come find you? If they do, you think they’ll find you before I got your cherry?” 

“Get--” you wisp as you writhe and claw helplessly. “Stop, no--” 

He pushes his knee between both of yours. He keeps his hand around your jaw as he crosses his other arm across your chest. He pins you to the shelf as it rattles. He leans into you until your bones ache and lets his hand trail away from your chin. 

“Just relax,” he snarls, “it’ll be good if you just let it happen,” he feels along the side of your apron and dips his hand beneath. His fingertips dance along the top of your pants as you wriggle and gnash your teeth, “I don’t usually like to play with my food but you need a little extra kneading, baby.” 

He shoves his hand down the front of your pants, your chest straining against his weight. Your ribs ache and your head swims. The walls seems to slant around you as the futility paralyses you.  

His forearm draws your waistband so tie it cuts into you. The apron string snaps, then the button of your fly. He angles his hand against your vee as you try to close your knees against his. He growls and presses against the front of your panties, rubbing heat through fabric as you whine. 

“Trust me when I say the stache feels better,” he winks, “but you’re gonna have to earn that, baby face,” he grins and curls his fingers under, covering your clit with his thumb as he uses his index to edge aside your panties.  

He glides against your folds and along your entrance, letting out a dramatic gasp, “oh no, sweetie pie,” he flicks his finger through your slickness and you squirm, “you’re fucking wet.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, “you can drop the act already ‘cause we both know you’re gonna love this,” he pokes at your entrance until he dips inside, “you’re never gonna forget the way you feel right fucking now.” 

[heartofwritiing]

I guess this time there’s just no hiding, (fighting you make me restless.)

parings: hockeyplayer!wilbur soot x figureskater!fem!reader (+ c!philza & c!kristen they own the ice rink!) (mentions of platonic!c!tommy x fem!reader)

summary: you and wilbur meet for the first time after your schedules get mixed up.

authors note: OKAY SO I started writing this back in April and never finished it, but I recently read Icebreaker by hannah grace and I had the urge to finish it! the idea was an au of what if sbi were a hockey team! (pretty sure I saw fanart once of dsmp like that but it could’ve been american football or soccer??) I've literarily been editing and re-writing this for three days straight and I think it's okay, but I hope you guys like it! I'm excited to post it anyways!! Let me know if I should do a part two!!

*title is lyrics from set me free by michelle branch from the ice princess soundtrack!

Warnings: Hockey AU!, first meetings, flirting,annoyance-lovers, swearing, beardbur. YES. unedited! (If there is anything I forgot let me know!!)

Ice skates glided across the smooth ice, freshly resurfaced only a few minutes ago. The blades cut with every movement, leaving lines in your wake.

It felt so freeing, so weightless in a way. You always loved being out on the ice. It felt like another world permitting your feet to take control and letting your mind be free of your thoughts.

Warm-ups were always a great excuse to not practice your triple lutzes. You had been trying to get it down for weeks, and your coach told you to just take it one day at a time but, of course, you still pushed yourself until you got it perfectly.

You were glad your scheduled preparation was when no one was at the rink, so you wouldn't get distracted while practicing for regionals. The only people in the building were the Zamboni driver, Sam, and the owners of the building.

Once you completed your warm-up, you felt fully prepared to begin your routine. You took a deep breath and focused all your energy to your feet, taking a deep breath, tuning out the world. At that moment, it was just you and the ice.

Following your whole set flawlessly, It came time to go for the triple lutz, you moved faster but more immersed, and you push off the ground sailing through the air and spinning. When you landed on your opposite foot, you failed to gain your balance and collided with a thud. A sharp pain shot through your body from the impact, but you brushed it off quickly collecting yourself. You got up to try again.

The cold air hit your face as you staked back to your starting point in the middle. You concentrated again and went for an attempt at the triple lutz again. You lifted into the air and suddenly felt something hard crashing into you. A groan and another thud, this time from the person you had slammed into.

You landed hard on your ass and groaned. Thinking to yourself why the hell was someone else on the ice while you were. Annoyed you’d have to start once again You quickly looked up only to find yourself face-to-face with a handsome stranger. He was also on the ground having slipped from the impact of your body colliding into his.

"oh shit,” he mumbled. “are you okay?" he quickly picked himself up and offered his hand out. Your heart raced, and you felt warmth spread throughout your body.

Effortlessly he helped you to your feet. You realized how tall he actually was since he towered over you. You begin to feel a bit dizzy staring up at the tall man. You guessed it was from the numerous times you had hit the floor hard. It certainly wasn’t the butterflies punching in your stomach from the painfully attractive male.

“I'm fine,” you replied shakily. “ I wasn’t paying attention,”

He smirked down at you as you stood up. You were able to observe his features more closely the closer you stood to him. The stubble around his jaw and under his chin adds a rugged charm, while his curly and slightly disheveled hair partially covers his eyes. You swear you catch a little glint in that soft brown gaze.

Likely from catching the tremble in your voice only moments ago, inadvertently revealing your nerves. You silently scolded yourself for behaving like a teenager around this attractive stranger.

“It's okay sweetheart, I wasn’t paying attention either," The stranger's voice crooned and sounded like honey. Your knees slightly buckled at the sound of his accent dropping a few octaves lower.

What was happening?

You nodded silently, fiddling with your skating attire between your fingers in an attempt to steady your thumping heart. Your gaze involuntarily drifted downwards, taking in his attire.

He wore a hockey uniform with a distinct green stripe at the top and a white base. The jersey's padding accentuated his broad shoulders, and the prominent pine green number 14 drew attention. Overall, the uniform made his complexion appear less pale somehow.

The realization hit you. He was a hockey player who played for the team that practiced in this rink. Hell, you knew Coach Phil, who owned the rink with his wife Kristen your skating coach. They were like your parents, taking you under their wings at a young age.

The hockey team he coached was dubbed "The Crows." appropriately after his favorite bird. Phil told you the story of how crows were loyal to those who treat them with kindness and how they repay it back to you. It never bore you in the slightest the number of times he told you over the years.

Although you have never attended a game yourself. You weren't a fan of the sport. You didn't even know the basic rules. Since Kristen has informed you about the rowdiness and occasional violence that can occur, you never opted to go to an actual game.

Sometimes, when you finished your practice, you could hear the disruptive noise coming from the men's locker room down the hall. You would often roll your eyes and walk past the doorway with disgust over how loud they were.

The dislike of them wasn't personal you never had met any of the boys before. But something about broad-shouldered men doing nothing but finding some way to ooze testosterone poisoning every chance they got annoyed you for no particular reason. So you purposely avoided them at all costs.

There was only one person from The Crows you had spoken with until now - Tom, who preferred to be called Tommy, as he told you shyly. Although younger than the others, he possessed a charming yet bold personality. Strangely, you felt a protective instinct towards him, like an older sibling though you couldn't define why.

Since meeting Tommy, you had only talked with him in passing, but you knew he was a good kid and liked him.

You were lost in thought for nearly a minute and didn't speak to the hockey player standing close to you. He smiled and lowered his head as if he had spoken though you didn't hear him.

"Huh?" you blink.

He chuckles, and the sound echoes in your ears, causing your heart to pound again.

"I asked for your name, darling," he mused.

Oh...

And that nickname. It seemed as though he was intentionally trying to make you feel flustered.

You realized that you didn't even know his name you quickly abandoned any preconceptions about him and answered him politely.

"Y/N,"

When he heard how your name sounded falling off your lips he smiled genuinely. As if it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. It seemed to have a significant impact on him. His reaction stirred something within you. Like a strange connection between the two of you was forming from this one interaction.

"Im Wilbur- or Wil, that's what my friends call me,”

It was becoming increasingly difficult to dislike this man by the minute. You decided to have a little fun, thinking it couldn't hurt.

“Oh? So we're friends now?” You raised an eyebrow.

He playfully teased, "If that's what you want."

Cheeky bastard. You thought while smiling.

“Now if you don't mind darling, I have to practice."

Feeling a sudden shift in your head made you glare at the back of his head. Pushing off your stakes to circle around him and put a hand on his chest. Wilbur looks at you with a stunned expression, as if he's surprised that you dared to stop him. a

"I've only been here for twenty minutes. You are not going to take advantage of my practice time," you scoff. “I have at least another half hour left."

You didn't mean to come off in a snooty way, but the stress you were under was so overwhelming. Winning regionals was so important to you, and you weren't going to let this jerk interrupt your training, no matter how handsome he was.

Wilbur just shrugged.

“Sorry sweetheart but playoffs are coming up, and I need to work on my shots,”

Your eyes narrowed and you faced off in a staring contest. Stubborn as you were you didn't move an inch.

“Well, I am not leaving.” you crossed your arms over your chest.

The only thing to pull your gaze away from his was the sound of Phil coming down the stairs in the stands asking what was wrong.

You skated over to the open space where Phil was walking down the steps, ignoring the fact that Wilbur was trailing right behind you.

"Phil, I was here first, and my time is nowhere near done. However, Wilbur insists that it's his practice time that I am intruding on it."

"Listen, ice princess," Wilbur said with a hint of frustration. You reluctantly turn to face him, wearing a scowl on your face. "We're just a week away from one of our biggest games of the season, and we need to focus on practice. I can't waste time dealing with any of your bullshit."

The tone of his voice caught you off guard for a second. Which caused you to put your lips in a thin line. You weren't expecting him to get this intense over the situation. Then you knew nothing about him.

"Wil," Phil gives him a warning glare. This promptly shuts Wilbur up.

"Both of you calm down. We will get this figured out," he tries to reason. He yells for Kristen as she comes sprinting out of the office that posed in the corner of the rink with the glass windows looking out to the entire stadium. You watch on as there are hushed tones between the pair as they look at the clipboard in Phil's hands.

You hear Phil mumble out a string of curses. This causes concern to cross your and Wilbur's faces, but you don't say anything. Phil rubs his forehead as his wife turns to you with a remorseful expression.

"I'm sorry guys, We must've gotten the schedules mixed up.” Phil looks at you sheepishly.

Kristen starts by saying that the problem is currently unfixable. She explains that they have numerous prior booked events for the rink, making it impossible to alter the schedule.

Great. You thought.

Not only was it two weeks before nationals, but you also needed the space to practice. This was the only skating rink around. And you had a suspicion that the hockey team was bearing to be more stubborn than you were about this new situation.

Then you heard the words that made your stomach drop.

"you're gonna have to share the space on the ice."

After Kristen spoke, chaos broke out. Both you and Wilbur bombarded the married couple with injunctions and protests. This wasn't fair in the slightest.

They managed to convince both of you to settle down and come to an understanding. The consequences of not doing so would result in Wilbur being benched and you being unable to skate in the regionals this year. Losing the opportunity to compete was not an option for either of you, especially after putting in so much effort since last year's competition.

Reluctantly you agreed to get along with Wilbur and the rest of the team when the time came, no matter how much you hated it.

Upon Kristen's return to the office and Phil informing the rest of the boys about the situation in the lockers, you opted to skate to the far end of the rink, away from others, choosing a spot with brighter lighting.

"Well, looks like we're gonna be seeing a lot of each other, darling." Wilbur wandered up to you while you got into position to start your program.

You huffed. Yep, this was your life now. Anticipating Wilbur's continuous comments every day for the next two weeks.

"Don't get too used to it, pretty boy," You sniped. "I only agreed to share for Phil and Kristen's sanity."

He snickered and hummed.

"Whatever you say," he mumbled. "Just don't let my pretty face distract you from your skating," he winked and skated backward.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks and tried to convince yourself that it was from how aggravated you were over a minute ago.

"I wouldn't let it get to your head," you voiced. "I could still easily beat your ass in staking any day,"

He smirked at you, seemingly challenging you to prove your capabilities. Even though you had nothing to prove, you just wanted the satisfaction of making a fool out of him. However, you know that the time for retaliation was not now. Eventually, you will wipe that arrogant grin off his face.

"I'm looking forward to it, darling," He said before he turned to join his team.

As the rest of his team gathered in a huddle, you watched as they greeted Wilbur in a brotherly way. Tommy had slid up to him enthusiastically, rabbling about whatever was on his mind today. Most likely hockey related.

Wilbur had brought a hand up to the top of Tommy’s head to playfully ruffle his hair before moving over to where Phil was getting the team settled, but not before flicking the blonde on the forehead. A whiney “ouch!” escaped the younger one’s mouth as he followed behind his teammate, causing an amused smile to tug on your lips at their antics.

Taking one final glance at Wilbur wrapping his hands in tape before pushing into the first move. A simple glide and you went into your own world.

Wilbur glimpsed over to your side of the rink and watched as you began your routine. He was absolutely enthralled with watching how flawlessly you moved. Definitely thinking about how beautiful you looked in your attire, even if it was a simple zip-up jacket and yoga pants.

He definitely wasn’t looking. He was.

It wasn’t until one of his teammates pulled him out of his trance with a smack to the back of the head with a glove that he reluctantly pulled his eyes away from you and fell into his own practice as Phil blew the whistle to signal them all to fall into their positions.

The next two weeks were going to be quite interesting, to say the least.

tagging @merakiwi ! since you liked my previous stuff! if you don't want me to tag you in anything in the future let me know!

[tgmsunmontue]

More than movie magic... 1/24

Hangster AU. Explicit. Jake is a Hollywood actor and Bradley is a stunt coordinator. Jake's about to make a few self-discoveries.

                “Jake, we can’t permit you to actually jump off the train. That’s why you have a stunt double and we have a stunt coordinator.”

                “But it’s the whole point, to get to do the fun stuff.”

                “Fun stuff, yes. Dangerous stuff? No.”

                Jake rolls his eyes.

                “Who makes the call between dangerous and fun?”

                “Our stunt coordinator. He’s tasked with deciding when to use the stunt double, and how the stunts will work best.”

                “So he’s a wet blanket.”

                “Safety blanket.”

                “Just what I always wanted.”

                He folds his arms and leans back in his chair, it’s probably some old guy, Jake can sweettalk him, convince him to let Jake have some fun and at least try some things.

…            …            …

                Bradley walks the perimeter of the set, familiarizes himself with the layout of the emergency exits, the overhangs and the storage areas. He knows others call him paranoid, but he’s also never had anyone get more than a graze when he’s been in charge and it’s a statistic and record he’s proud of. He knows there are people now who won’t work with anyone else but him, he’s become sought after within the industry. He wants to keep people safe, even the ones that are taking all the risks.

                He doesn’t need the Director and Producer trailing after him, warning him about how Jake Seresin has already been making noises about wanting to do the stunts himself. Bradley won’t let that be happening, mainly because Seresin hasn’t been trained in how to be a stunt person, and his crew have. There’s a reason why they don’t get hurt and it’s because they all work at it. Maybe if he had more time and had been able to work with him, but now, as filming is starting?

                No way in hell.

…            …            …

                Jake doesn’t know who the guy is that the Director and Producer are both talking to, walking around the wide edge of the set. The guy moves softly, almost gliding across the ground, long legs and Jake feels his mouth go dry. Fuck he wants those around his waist. Should probably keep that under wraps until he at least knows who he is; which is going to happen soon considering they’re headed his way.

                “Jake, meet Bradley Bradshaw, team lead for stunt coordination. Bradley, this is Jake Seresin.”

                “Hi.”

                “Nice to meet you,” Jake says, and the guy’s almost indifference about meeting him is a nice change, but also god, he’s a couple inches taller than Jake but he can’t think of anything other than bending him in half.

                Yeah.

                He’s going to need to get laid because this is going to be a problem. He can’t walk around lusting after the stunt guy.

…            …            …

                He feels better a couple of days later, less wound up after calling up one of his acquaintances and arranging a mutually beneficial session of pressure relief. He doesn’t often need to resort to calling someone, his sex drive is usually pretty low when he’s not in an actual relationship, but something had sparked it into a flame that needed putting out. He’s back to nothing and he feels normal again as he walks to the set from his trailer. He’s meant to be working with Bradley today, run through some of the stunts.

                Bradley has a team of people, he’s busy working with them, some making huge jumps between two buildings, tumbling and then jumping up, looking like they’re made of rubber, almost bouncing off the ground. He can see Bradley laughing and joking with them, and they’re obviously a close-knit team and he wonders what that would be like, to work with the same people day-in and day-out. He gets that, but there’s always an end-date of when filming stops and he might never see some of the people again.

                “Jake. Hi. I’m going to need to run you through some exercises, figure out what I’m working with in terms of suitability for different scenes…”

                “These muscles just aren’t for show, I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

                The look he gets in response is so unimpressed Jake almost feels ashamed, but then feels a flare of anger.

                “You’re not a trained acrobat, while you definitely have muscle mass, it’s not always the right type for what will look good on screen. Trust me, you’ll look good in the movie. And during the press afterwards you won’t be wearing a cast or bruises…”

                “I’d make a cast look good…”

                “Not on my watch you don’t.”

                He sounds deathly serious and all ideas of ever being able to sweettalk him fly out of his head.

…            …            …

                “Can I just not fall into the safety net?”

                “No, you’re wearing a wire, that safety net is worn in places. I wouldn’t let my own team up there without a harness on.”

                “Fine.”

                “You’re welcome.”

…            …            …

                “You can jump from this plate, to this one, to this one. They’re all going to move, not enough to topple you off, but enough that’ll feel unsteady underfoot. You need to trust your landing.”

                “Am I going to be doing this from a height?”

                “I don’t know, do you consider five inches a height?”

                Jake pulls a face.

…            …            …

                “I want –”

                “No.”

                “You didn’t even listen to what I was going to ask!” Jake exclaims.

                “I don’t need to. I’ve already assessed the scene and you’re not doing it.”

…            …            …

                Jake isn’t meant to be on set today, they’re filming some filler scenes, he’s meant to be doing some promo work but it’s already been rescheduled. He’d left his kindle in his trailer, and yes he could have asked his assistant to collect it, but he’d wanted something to do. A task with a clear completion that he could mentally tick off as done. He doesn’t get stopped, walks straight through and there’s definitely stuff happening, but it’s with other actors, crowd scenes and then there…

                There is Bradley. Shirtless, wearing low-hanging jeans which allow Jake to see every shift of muscle under his skin. He’s got scars, Jake wants to run his fingers over them, feel the different texture of skin, see how many there might be on other parts of his body.

                Huh.

                That little flame is back.

                He’s lean, but still decently covered in muscle that he clearly uses for his job, rather than Jake’s which is there to make him look good. He steps back a little, not trying to hide exactly, but not wanting to draw attention to himself either.

                There’s a line of bottles, the fancy glass water bottles, with metal caps, about ten of them, spaced about two feet apart along a ledge made from benches. It’s out of the way but for some reason there’s the little orange cones demarking an active space. As he watches Bradley enters the space, uncoiling a long length of something and Jake realizes it’s a whip. Jake knows how to use a whip, he grew up on a ranch as a kid before he was scouted. This though… this looks more than just using a whip.

                Bradley knocks the first bottle over and from where he’s watching he can only faintly hear him swear. Wonders what the purpose is if it isn’t to knock them over. Then the second bottle is knocked over and he watches as Bradley cricks his neck, sets his shoulders and shifts his stance a little and then… Then he cracks the whip and the cap of the third bottle goes flying off and hears the fucking finally that Bradley yells, but he’s stuck watching as Bradley then proceeds to uncap a further six bottles, knocking the second to last one over.

                Oh shit.

                He wasn’t trying to knock them over, he was opening them.

                And he got it seven times out of the ten.

                Holy shit.

                He’s unbearably hard in his pants, doesn’t understand why watching a guy use a whip has gotten him this hard. Doesn’t change the fact that he’s hard though so he goes to his trailer, locks the door behind him and frantically jerks himself off.

                Well.

                That’s new.

…            …            …

PART TWO

[cherrycola27]

false god

Series Warnings: Mythology!AU. Language, alcohol, drinking. Military inaccuracies. Mutual pining, unrequited love. Allusions to and eventual smut. Minors DNI. 18+. Individual chapter warnings will come as needed. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

...........................................

Chapter 7: Centuries

It's weird—having a group of friends. You've never stayed long enough with a squadron to call them your friends. But that's what the Daggers are. If you're being honest, they are more like your family.

Sure, you have friends. Minthe, Hecate, Lyla, and the rest of the band, but they don't know you like the Daggers do.

You've been in California for seven months now. You've seen the spring, the summer, and now, the fall. Even though it's October, it's still hot. You love the West Coast and being able to wear sundresses year round, but you do miss how the East Coast gets all four seasons. Part of you longs for a fall afternoon back in Virginia. Oceana is probably your favorite place that you have ever been stationed.

You miss getting cozy in an oversized sweater, seeing the leaves change, and drinking a pumpkin spice latte. If you tried to do that here, you'd have a heat stroke.

But California was nice. For once, it felt like home.

You sighed as you stretched your muscles and got out of your bed. You grabbed your phone and checked your notifications. You sighed when you saw what day was coming up.

October thirteenth.

Your absolute least favorite day of the year. At least it fell on Friday this, and Maverick just so happened to give everyone the day off. You were grateful that you would be able to spend your day away from everyone.

You'd be able to curl up with Cerberus and Hydra and read they ever growing stack of books by your bed.

After checking your phone, you strolled into the bathroom to take a shower. You let the hot water envelope you as you mentally went over your plans for the day.

Once clean, you hopped out to feed your pets and make yourself some coffee. You were flying this morning, so you should probably eat something light for breakfast.

Normally, you lived on coffee and water all day until you got home. You were always so busy, you would forget to eat. Bradley noticed this and made a habit of asking you every day, multiple times a day if possible, if you had eaten.

You try to remind him that you are not a child and can take care of yourself, and he reminds you that you aren't a plant that can use photosynthesis to make her own food, and that that iced coffee doesn't count as a meal.

You shake your head as you toast a bagel and smear it with cream cheese. You finish it and your coffee before drying your hair and styling it into your sleek military bun. Then, you get into your uniform and pack your gym bag before grabbing your water bottle, second coffee, and keys.

As you head out the door, you text Amelia and remind her that you have a long day on base and that she needs to come by after school today to walk Cerberus, and she could hang out with Cerberus Hydra until you got home.

She had been pet sitting and dog walking for you after school to earn some extra money. She had her learners permit and was saving up for a car.

You were content as you rode the elevator down to your parking deck level. And for a fleeting moment, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't hate October thirteenth this year.

You had just made it to your car when you heard the unmistakable sound of Bradley Bradshaw cursing. "Mother fucking son of a bitch!"

"Bradley? Are you okay?" You ask him as you round the corner of your car. He is leaning up against the Bronco with an irritated look on his face.

"Angel! Oh, thank god! I was just about to text you. The Bronco has a flat, and there is no way I can change it and make it to base on time. Can I hitch a ride with you?" He pleads.

"Sure. Get in." You chuckle. Bradley breathes a sigh of relief and thanks you before grabbing his things and scurring over to your car. Even in his haste, he doesn't forget to open your door for you before throwing his things in your back seat and getting in.

"Thanks again." He says as the two of you cruise down the highway. "Anytime, Bradley. Anytime." You sigh as you tap the steering wheel.

"Did you eat breakfast?" He asks you. You don't look over at him. Your eyes stay fixed on the road in front of you, but you know he's got a teasing smirk on his face.

"Yes, Dad. I had breakfast." You roll your eyes at him. A smile curls at the corner of his mouth.

A few minutes pass before an alarm on your phone disrupts the song on the radio.

"Can you turn that off for me? I must have forgotten about it." You ask Bradley. He grabs the device but can't unlock it. "The code is one, three, two, seven." You tell him.

He quickly types it in and dismisses your alarm. You ask him to check and make sure all of them are off. He does so quickly for you before trying to pull the music back up on your phone.

Bradley doesn't mean to, but as he is swiping through your apps, he sees your calendar open with an interesting note listed for Friday. He quickly locks your phone back before casually asking, "So, do you have any plans for our day off on Friday?" Bradley doesn't miss the way your jaw quickly tightens at the mention of the day.

"Um—no. I think I'm going to start reading one of the books that I've been putting off." You say to him almost dismissively.

"We could hang out? Maybe go to the boardwalk or get dinner or something if you wanted to." Bradley says hopefully.

"I'll probably be too busy to do that. You should ask someone else from the squad I'm sure Nat or Bob would be down." You say.

"I thought you said you didn't have plans?" Bradley counters. He wonders why you are being so dodgy and why you hadn't told him or anyone what Friday was.

"I don't, but I just want to take the day off. Not do anything. Be lazy." You say aggressively. Bradley takes the hint and drops the subject. Thankfully, you are on base now. You quickly park and grab your things to go about your day. You are testing some software this morning and won't be with the rest of the Daggers. In a way, you're grateful because it gives you a chance to breathe.

Bradley quickly makes his way to a briefing room where Maverick goes over the plans for the day. Once he's finished, he dismisses everyone to get ready for their assignments.

When everyone gets to the locker room, Bradley calls for their attention.

"Did anyone know that Hades' birthday is on Friday?" He asks the group a murmur of "no's" floats across the crowd.

"Well, it is, and seeing how we have all done something cool to celebrate each other, I think we should do something for her. I don't think she's ever had a friend group like us, and it would be nice." Bradley says. Everyone agrees, and the planning begins.

They come up with the idea for a surprise party for you at the Hard Deck after the yearly dogfight football game.

All week, you can tell something is up with Bradley. He's acting weird around you. Almost shady.

You try to brush it off, but you know something is going on with him. You just can't put your finger on it.

Maybe he's finally tired of you

They always get tired of you

You leave base Thursday, still not able to shake the odd feeling he has given you all week. You head home to shower and lock yourself away for the weekend.

However, fate had other plans.

At eight a.m. sharp, there is a loud knocking at your door. You grumble and lay in bed, hoping whoever it is will go away, but they don't. You groan as you drag yourself out of bed and slip into some sweats.

You're ready to give whoever is at your door this early on your day off a piece of your mind. Hell, you might even be able to rationalize sending their soul to the Underworld.

But when you open the door, you don't find just anyone standing there. You find Bradley, who has a vase full of bright red poppies in one hand, and a box from your favorite bakery in the other hand. He has the biggest smile on his face as he shuffles in and sets everything down.

You don't even get to ask him why his is here before he turns to you and says, "Happy Birthday!" His arms as stretched wide to pull you into a hug, but as he steps towards you, you step away.

"How—how did you know it was my birthday?" You ask him. "I—I saw it on your calendar when I was turning the alarm off on your phone on Monday. I wasn't snooping, but when I went to pull your playlist back up, I accidentally tapped on it." Bradley tells you. His enthusiasm dips as he sees that you aren't exactly thrilled that he knows what today is.

"Thank you for this, Bradley, but I don't really celebrate my birthday. It's just another day." You sigh as you turn from him. You swallow thickly as you feel the tears creep up. You can't believe his did this for you.

You can't just find poppies anywhere in San Diego, so you know he had to special order them, and your favorite bakery is a forty-five minute drive one way. This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you. You're so used to spending your birthday alone that this small act has you on the verge of balling your eyes out.

You can't help it, and the tears start to fall. You let out a small sob and bury your face in the sleeves of your sweat shirt. You don't want him to see you cry as you stand with your back still to him. But Bradley hears the whimper you let out and is instantly pulling you into his arms.

"Angel, what's wrong? It's your birthday. Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?" He asks you. His voice is dripping with concern.

"No, it's just—" You sniffle as you wipe your nose with your sleeve. "No one has ever done anything this nice for me in a very long time. I haven't had friends or partners remember my birthday, let alone do something special for me like this." You say as you gesture to the counter.

Bradley takes your face in his hands and swipes the tears from your cheeks away with his thumbs. "It sounds to me like you've not been hanging out with the right people, Angel. Now, why dont we sit down and dig into these pastries? " Bradley says in earnest.

You blink back a few tears and give him a weepy smile. "Did you get some lemon berry muffins?" You ask him hopefully.

"Of course I did. I know they are your favorite." He smiles at you.

After breakfast, Bradley tells you that the squad is getting together for a game of dogfight football. He also let's you know that he told them that it was your birthday and that they had plans to surprise you with a party at the Hard Deck, but given your reaction this morning, he didn't want to overwhelm you with that.

You appreciate that he is looking out for you.

You go get changed for football while he texts everyone to let them know that you are aware of the plan for the day. Jake tries to badger him about ruining the surprise, but when Bradley tells them about how you don't celebrate your birthday and how you were overwhelmed this morning, he immediately drops the issue.

He's sitting on your couch watching TV with Cerberus and Hydra when you come out of your room, ready for the day.

Bradley has to remind himself to breathe because even though he has seen you in a bathing suit and gym clothes, he's still taken aback by how you look in your black sports bra and electric blue running shorts.

He swallows thickly before quickly excusing himself to his car while you lock up your apartment.

You meet him at his Bronco. He's standing by the passenger door waiting for you, holding a small gift bag.

"Bradley." You say as he places it in your had. "It's not much. Just a little something." He says. You shake your head and take the bag from him. When you pull the small box out you almost cry again.

"Bradley! You shouldn't have!" You tell him as you look at the small piece of silver jewelry.

"I remember how upset you were when your flower anklet snapped and how you said you felt weird without it. So I got you a new one." He tells you.

You inhale sharply when he brings up your broken piece of jewelry. Bradley was right, it did have a flower charm on it, but not just any flower charm.

It was a narcissus flower, a daffodil, one Persephone, and grew herself before taking it to Hephaestus to have him forge it into the ankle bracelet you'd worn for centuries. It was supposed to be a physical reminder of her love, but lately you'd found that if weighed you down.

You should have taken it off decades ago, but the smallest part of you held onto the hope that she would change her mind.

But now, you didn't need that hope anymore. You had Bradley. We your old anklet broken, it was freeing, a tangible reminder that she didn't have a hold on you anymore.

You run your fingers over the silver chain and across the angel wing charm adorning it.

"Angel wings?" You ask him. "To remind you that you are one." He says.

Gods, he was so sweet

The more time you spent with Bradley, you realized that he treated you like a person, not a possession.

He didn't want to own you

He just wanted to show you he cared

Bradley stands there across from you for a moment as you admire your gift. Now would be a great time to tell him how you feel, but it isn't the right moment. This isn't what you pictured in your head when you confess your feelings for him. You want it to be perfect.

Instead, you ask him, "Care to help me put this one before we leave?" You're trying to sound flirty when you say it, and you're pretty sure it worked because next thing you know, Bradley is lifting you onto the bench seat of the Bronco and taking the anklet from your hand.

He drops to his knees on the smoothe concrete of the parking garage before carefully taking your left leg and placing it against his chest.

He gently unclasps the hook of the anklet before looping it around you. He slides it along until the wings are in the front. His fingertips ghost along your calf as his admires how the piece looks on you.

It's taking every ounce of self control he has to not place a kiss right above it. And to not trail his lips up your leg to your core until you're a moaning mess for him.

He stays there for a moment and looks up at you, grinning like a devil. "Perfect." He says. You agree with him because the view of him on his knees for you is absolutely perfect. The only way it could be any better is if your fingers were laced through his curls while his face was buried between your thighs.

"It's beautiful, Bradley. Thank you." You say as he stands up. He places a hand on your thigh to steady himself, just high enough for your breath to hitch. And he lets it linger just long enough for it to be considered more than friendly.

The drive to the beach was pleasant. You and Bradley talked, but mostly song along to a playlist he had made special for today.

He rolled to a stop at a red light and turned to you. "I never celebrated my birthday much after my mom died. I dated a few girls who tried to get me to celebrated but I wasn't a fan of it until the squad got together." He tells you, trying to be relatable.

"My last series girlfriend is the reason I don't celebrate my birthday." You confess to him.

She had ruined them for you, really

"Girlfriend?" Bradley clarifies. You can tell he's worried that he's been reading this whole situation wrong.

"Yeah. But I've had boyfriends too. I'm bisexual, Bradley." You tell him. You see his shoulders relax.

"Oh, I didn't know that. That's—cool." He says, not sure how to respond.

"I mean, I didn't really tell any of you, so how would you know. It's not really at the forefront of my mind to tell people about my sexuality unless it comes up." You say.

There is a beat of silence between the two of you. "Are you okay? I promise I'm still the same ol' Hades that I was five minutes ago." You say to him.

"Yeah, I'm good. I'm sorry, I feel like I've made this weird now." Bradley shakes his head as he drives.

"You're fine, Bradley. You aren't the first person to be curious. Some people like to order one thing off the menu, and that's cool. But why would I limit myself when I could have my pick from the buffet?" You tell him. He laughs at that.

"I don't think I've ever heard some explain their sexuality with food. But it makes sense. Hate to break it to you, but I'm an order off the menu kind of guy." He says.

"You know who you are and what you like. I respect that." You tell him. And it's the truth. Just as quickly as the conversation starts, it's over. You just hope that you haven't scared Bradley off, because by the end of the day today, you're hoping to have a slice of him for dessert.

..............

"I know that you don't have the best relationship with water, but I promise that it won't ever be deeper than your ankles, and if you are getting overwhelmed, you can sit out or let me know and we can all take a break. I also told Jake that if he tries to pull any more stunts, he can kiss his perfect teeth goodbye because I'll knock every one of them down his throat." Bradley tells you as you walk towards the spot on the beach that the gang has set up.

"Happy Birthday, Hades!" Every cheers as the two of you walk up to them. Phoenix and Halo wrap you in a tight hug.

You take and drop your things on a blanket that Bob has set up before applying your sunscreen. You don't even ask Bradley to help you, he simply takes the bottle from your hands and covers your back in it.

"You need some too." You remind him. He opens his mouth to argue with you. But a stern look over the rim of your sunglasses makes him stop. He covers his chest, arms, and legs with some. You carefully smooth some over the taught muscles of his back and across his broad shoulders.

For a fleeting moment, you trail your fingers down the length of his spine, and you swear you hear his breath hitch. You hear the rest of the team calling for you, so you clear your throat he turns around.

"Don't forget your face and ears." You remind him. "Sure thing, Mom." He needles you.

"You fuss at me over breakfast, I fuss at you over sun protection. It evens out." You chuckle as you join everyone else.

Jake goes over the rules for everyone before declaring himself a captain and making you the other one. "I'll even let you pick first." He tells you like it's an honor or something.

Naturally, Bradley is your first choice. "Of course." Jake rolls his eyes. You flip him off and turn to Phoenix. You miss Jake wagging his eyebrows and making a mock kissing face at Bradley.

Jake picks Coyote first, and then you pick Phoenix.

"Hangman, I love you, bro, but I'm not tackling my girl if she gets the ball. I know where my bread is buttered." Coyote tells him. Phoenix laughs. "C'mon Javy, don't be nervous. You know I like it a little rough." Jake fakes a gag before picking Omaha to be on his team.

When all is said and done, it's you, Bradley, Phoenix, Bob, Payback, Fanboy, and Fritz on a team. Hangman, Coyote, Omaha, Halo, Harvard, and Yale make up the other.

As soon as the game gets underway, you realize just how competitive your friends can be. You knew they were like that up in the air. You just didn't expect it to be this way on land too.

After two games, the teams are tied at one with a piece. The next score wins the game and bragging rights.

Phoenix tossed you the ball as you run down the sand looking for an opening. You dodge bodies left and right, hoping for a chance to pass it to Bradley, but you can't find him, and the setting sun glares in your eyes.

You turn to look for him, but you weren't looking where you were running, and you crashed into Bradley. You grabbed his arm to steady yourself, but instead, both of you toppled over before landing on the damp sand. Your eyes met his as he hovered over you, pressing your bodies together. Before you could do something stupid, you had to remind yourself that you were on a beach surrounded by your friends.

"That's a touchdown!" Phoenix loudly proclaims, and Bradley hoists himself up before reaching put his hand to pull you to your feet. Once you're vertical again you notice that you landed in the end zone and that your team won.

After packing up, everyone breaks to head home with a promise to meet back up in two hours for a birthday celebration.

Bradley happily takes the two of you home and informs you that he will gladly be your designated driver for the night so you can really cut loose. You tell him he doesn't have to do that, but he insisted. The poor boy didn't know that you could drink every drop that Penny had in her bar and still be sober. You relent though and take him up on his offer.

Ninety minutes later, when he comes to get you, he regrets his decision.

You're dressed in a black crop top with some blue flames stitched into the hem. You had on dark jeans that were tastfully ripped up to your thighs and some black heeled boots. Even with them on Bradley was still so much taller that you.

Of course, you wore your favorite red lipstick. It was Bradley's favorite, too. He wondered what it would look like, all smudged up after he kissed your breathless.

The drive to the Hard Deck was a pleasant one, and the place was in full swing when the two of you arrived. There weren't as many people there tonight. The Daggers, Maverick, Amelia, your bandmates, and a few other people from base.

All night, you flitted around, talking and laughing, but your eyes always found their way back to Bradley, and his were always on yours.

A few hours in, you were corralled to the piano where Bradley led everyone in off-key version of "Happy Birthday."

As the song finished, you were about to peel off when he stopped you. "I have a surprise." He said as he led you back to the piano.

You stood there, waiting as he prepared himself. He played a few keys to warm up before diving in. Soon, the familiar melody of "Miracle" flooded your ears as Bradley began to sing it to you in front of everyone. He was playing your favorite song—the same one his father played for his mother.

You swallowed thickly as you war he'd his fingers dance over the keys while he played.

He really cared about you

It was nice

It felt good

Sooner than you would have liked, the song ended. And as much as you wanted to stay inside, you needed a break to process what had just happened.

You had to get out of there for a minute. You just needed some fresh air, a moment to catch your breath. Everything was becoming too much and not enough at the same time.

You thought you could keep the butterflies at bay, but seeing Bradley sitting at the piano, swathed in the glow of the neon lights from the bar, playing your favorite song, had them erupting from the cocoons you'd placed them in.

The weeks of playful flirting, witty banter, soft touches, and lingering glances had led straight to this knot in your stomach.

What had you gotten yourself into?

You leaned up against the rough exterior of the Hard Deck and fished the well-worn pack of cigarettes from your purse. You don't know why you kept these. They didn't do anything for you, but something about the act calmed you. You pulled one from the pack and conjured a small flame on your index finger and lit it.

You wrapped your cherry-colored lips around the end and took a long drag before exhaling. The scent of the burning tobacco mixed with the scotch you'd been sipping earlier and wrapped around you like a warm blanket. You were about halfway through when a voice cut through the silence of the night.

"Those things will kill you, y'know?" Bradley said as he stepped out onto the deck and into your space. He slotted himself in front of you. Trapping you between the wall and his body. His six foot one frame loomed over you, making you feel extremely small.

"And the multi-million dollar jets we fly for a living won't?" You shot back as you placed the cigarette between your lips.

Bradley shook his head and placed one of his large arms on the wall above your head, caging you in further. He leaned down and plucked it from your lips before putting it between his own and taking a long drag of it himself. He slowly tipped his head up and exhaled, blowing a smoke ring in the process before dropping the rest of the cigarette to the ground and stomping it out with his boot.

You looked up at him through your lashes. "'Those things will kill you, y'know?" You parrot his words back to him. A low chuckle reverberates from his chest before he looks down at you and meets your eyes.

In the dim light, you could just make out the faint traces of where your lipstick had transferred off the cigarette and onto his lips. His hand, now free from your shared cigarette, came to rest on your hip. You could feel the warmth radiating off him. His thumb skimmed the small sliver of flesh that was barely visible between the waist of your jeans and the hem of your top. He hummed appreciatively as goosebumps erupted across your skin.

You quickly look down and away, but he tucks your chin between his thumb and index finger and lifts your head up, forcing you to meet his intense gaze."What are we doing, Angel?" He asks you. "What do you mean, Bradley?" You ask back.

You know what he means

"Don't play dumb on me know. You know exactly what I mean." He tells you as he leans down. His face is inches from yours. Your gaze drifts from his eyes to his lips.

"Tell me to stop. Tell me you don't want this." His hot, smokey breath fans out as his lips are just millimeters from yours.

You're just about to lean up and close the distance when the loud sound of the back doors of the Hard Deck opening startle both of you, causing Bradley to jump back and you to straighten up off the wall.

"Hey, Ha—" Jake trails off as he looks at the scene before him. "Was I interrupting something?" He asks.

"What do you want, Bagman?" Bradley asks with an edge of irritation in his voice.

"It's time for cake." Jake says as he turns to go back inside. You and Bradley both sigh. "We aren't done here." He tells you before opening the door and gesturing for you to go in before him.

After the cake is served, the crowd starts to disperse. You find Bradley and tell him you're ready to leave. The drive home is silent but tense. The events from earlier are still playing in your mind. You'd been so close to kissing him.

You wanted him so badly

Bradley walks you to your door, but stops you before you go in.

"Angel, wait." He tells you. "Yes?" You ask him. You feel your heart racing.

"I like you. A lot. As more than a friend. And I know I screwed up a few months ago, but I feel like you like me too. And I've tried to tell you, but every time I do, something happens. So, before something else stops me, I'd like to ask you something. Can I take you on a date tomorrow? Just the two of us?" Bradley asks you. You blink at him a few times.

He shifts his weight from foot to foot as he awaits you answer.

"I like you a lot too, Bradley. And I would love to go on a date with you." You smile at him.

A wide grin spreads over his face as he pulls you in for a hug.

"I'll pick you up a six. I have the perfect idea in mind. Nothing too fancy." Bradley tells you.

"I'll see you then. Goodnight, Bradley." You say as you kiss his cheek.

"Night, Angel." He says before almost skipping down the hallway.

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[anghraine]

I was tagged by @brynnmclean in the WIP Wednesday meme! Thank you very much—I'm too sleepy to tag, but anyone who feels moved to do it should consider themselves tagged. In any case, this inspired me to finish the femslash Spirk AU version of "The Naked Time" (aka Jessica Kirk vs other people's internalized homophobia) that I wrote on my birthday:

“It’s our only chance!” S’paak’s dark eyes looked clearer, though her face was still drawn and anguished. “It’s never been done!” she said wildly. “Don’t tell me that again, science officer,” Kirk snapped, on the point of slapping her again. It would mostly just hurt her own hand, but if she could shake S’paak out of this—yet she knew it wasn’t just that. Distantly, she realized that the tension boiling in her wasn’t just panic and urgency, but anger, a sudden pained, shocking fury that wouldn’t help anything. She grabbed S’paak’s arm instead. “It's a theory. It's possible. We may go up into the biggest ball of fire since the last sun in these parts exploded, but we've got to take that one in ten thousand chance!” An entirely unreasonable sense of betrayal—no, not quite—abandonment, loneliness, always that, ran through the rage, somehow extinguishing it. The lurch of feeling left her all the dizzier, hot and sweating, even as Uhura called from the bridge and Kirk managed to say something to her. I found Commander S’paak!  S’paak straightened further, tears drying on her cheeks as she dredged up her PADD and started to tap … something into it. Some science thing, maybe. The anti-matter reaction. But it didn’t seem to matter nearly as much as it had the moment before, and Kirk realized: the disease had gotten to her, too. Of course it had. The captain, last of all. Of course, of course.

“I’ve got it. The disease,” she told S’paak, laughing through the blood on her mouth. Not crying. She never cried. “Love. You're better off without it, and I'm better off without mine.”

S’paak gave her a sharp, unreadable glance even as her fingers kept working. Kirk thought of Ruth again, Jan. She could just stick to men; it was always easier, without the secrecy, without having to be so careful, making sure another woman was trustworthy, much less interested in women, much less interested in her. And even if they were, she didn’t always like the way women willing to try could be, in her experience. So often unserious, unromantic. She liked men about as much and could have just stuck to them, made that choice, been fine. But the idea repelled her, felt more dishonest than the secrecy.

She was babbling, she realized, unsure quite what she’d said as S’paak worked. Too much.

Kirk leaned her head against the wall of the chamber. She could hardly feel it through the coiled weight of her hair and turned her face to the side, the wall cold against her burning face. The Enterprise. Her ship, her career. She loved it. But sometimes she nearly hated it, too.

“This vessel,” she said, her voice higher than usual, still choked in laughter. “I give, she takes. She won't permit me my life. I've got to live hers.”

“Jess,” said S’paak quietly. 

Her name, Kirk thought. Hers. S’paak and McCoy were the only ones here who did use it: Bones almost always, S’paak now and then, when she considered it worth her while. S’paak did sound concerned, urgent, but at least not pained or ashamed, and it cooled her mind a very little bit. Jess—Kirk opened her eyes. S’paak stood not far away, calm again, far calmer than Kirk imagined she herself could ever be, below the surface.

“I have a beautiful yeoman,” Kirk said conversationally. “Have you noticed, Commander?” Her head was spinning again. “No, no, you wouldn’t. But Sulu could notice her, Leslie, not us. Not me. The captain. I’m not … I can’t …”

The briefing room was a blur around them, her first officer’s face somehow more so. Her friend. Maybe. Did it count, when—

“Jess, there is an intermix formula,” S’paak told her.

“Now I know why it’s called she,” said Kirk, laughing again.

“It's never been tested. It's a theoretical relationship between time and antimatter,” S’paak said.

This was important. Kirk knew that, in some remote corner of her mind. The ship, the crew. S’paak. She tried to pull her thoughts into some kind of order, anything other than this awful human chaos burning through her brain. S’paak, she thought, must be embarrassed. More than usual.

It didn’t help. She felt like her mind was darting around in crazed lines, each different from the rest, endlessly. Fractals of thought.

“A flesh woman, to touch, to hold,” she said dreamily. “A beach to walk on. Nobody watching. No one would have to see, to know. For a few days at least. No braid on my shoulder—”

S’paak shook her just as Scotty hurried out of the turbolift.

Not in front of him.

He was her third in command, reliable, more than reliable. But such a distant third, not like S’paak, always near, faithful, incisive. Kirk couldn’t do this in front of him, anyone else, though she was hunched over the table, hands splayed as she stared at them.

Even through her blurry, burning misery, she could see that Scotty looked shocked and concerned.

“Captain,” he was saying. He never questioned her. Never had. 

“Scotty,” said Kirk, trying to catch her breath even as she clenched her teeth together. “Help.”

S’paak, as ever, interceded, her voice cooling some of the fever still raging in Kirk’s mind. “Stand by to intermix. I'll call the formulae in from the bridge.”

Then there was Uhura, too, just as steady, her voice crackling over the comms. “Entering upper stratosphere, captain. Skin temperature now twenty one hundred seventy degrees.”

Kirk managed to look at S’paak and Scotty, both troubled in their own ways, her body still bent over the table, hands clenching and unclenching. Troubled! That was the least of their problems. She just had to think. Like one of her students, back at the Academy. They’d called her course the think-or-sink class. Gary told her that, years after the fact. But nothing was more like think or sink than this. She bit the inside of her cheek and her thoughts settled further, the madness receding just out of touch.

“I’ve got to hang on,” she thought or muttered, blinking. Remember. That was the thing, remembering. Who she was, what mattered. Somehow, she managed to gasp out, “Tell them ... clear the corridors, the turbolift. Hurry.”

They rushed off, leaving her alone in the briefing room. Nobody to brief, of course. Just her, alone, nails digging into her palms, the way she always was in the end. Except—not quite, was she? Not now.

Kirk straightened up, gazing around at the walls of the briefing room, the ceiling, letting the rumble of the ship resonate through her awareness of her entire body. She closed her eyes.

“Never lose you,” she whispered. “Never.”

No time. Her crew needed her. Her ship. The Enterprise, always willing to take what she had to give. That was something, anyway.

With an effort she couldn’t conceivably have put into words, Kirk straightened up and staggered towards the turbolift, smoothing her uniform as she went. Once inside, she forced herself to say,

“Bridge.”

Another victim of the disease had scrawled SINNER REPENT in bright crimson letters on the wall. Sometimes she truly couldn’t make this life up. Kirk wiped the blood off her mouth and stared bleakly ahead as deck after deck rushed by. She was still unsteady and distantly miserable when the doors opened, but that didn’t matter. She was the captain. She could always be miserable later.

She stepped out onto the bridge, taking in the familiarity of the panels and the efficient bridge crew, entirely back to themselves. And McCoy was there, too, equipment in hand, grabbing her by the arm and tearing off her sleeve to stab her with one of his damn needles. Worth it in this case. She felt more sane, if not appreciably better. No danger of humiliating herself in front of anyone but S’paak, who she knew would never breathe a word. And it wasn’t like S’paak wasn’t already—

While the entire bridge crew watched her, waiting for the orders that would determine life or death, Kirk carefully made her way to the captain’s seat, sweat still clinging to her face and body. With effort, she hit the comm connection to engineering.

“Engine room,” Kirk snapped out. “We're set. Hyperbolic course.”

The current navigator said, “Direction, ma’am?”

“Direction, direction,” she muttered, then raised her voice. “It doesn’t matter. The way we came.”

All that mattered was getting out. 

“Course laid in, ma’am,” said Sulu, wholly himself once more. The disease hadn’t affected him the same way, she recalled. Just swinging a rapier around, carefree, longing for nothing worse than a chance at dashing heroics. Most of the crew hadn’t been like her or S’paak, either.

Guess we’re special, she thought, and tried to repress the whole thing from her thoughts. She really needed to stop harping on it, even in silence. The ship needed her attention, and anyway, it wasn’t fair to S’paak herself, who would never have said anything under her own power, nor betrayed it in her conduct. Kirk might as well hold poor Riley accountable for nearly getting them all killed.

Then Janice Rand shifted slightly beside her chair, her face nervous, upset. Kirk’s hand twitched towards her then pulled back, refusing to let her eyes linger on anything below her collarbone, instead flicking her glance up at her pleasant expression below the piles of pale blonde hair, lighter and brighter than her own. It didn’t appreciably help.

No beach to walk on. She choked down the words.

“Ma’am?” said Rand. “Can I get you anything else?”

The comm crackled again, and S’paak’s voice broke through.

“Bridge, we’re ready.”

Kirk kept her hands, still curled into fists, on the arms of her chair.

“Engage,” she ordered.

She didn’t know all the details of the reaction happening in engineering, nor did she need to. In another instant, the lights of the ship died. Stars spun out on the viewscreen, and something screamed in her ears, her head, pain radiating throughout her body. Her head jerked backwards in the darkness, but her mind stayed coherent, rational. That was something, she thought, even as she felt her throat tightening, the heat on her skin intensifying, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. Pain could be endured, but not madness.

Then the pain receded and Kirk straightened up, the ship steadying, retreating with increasingly impossible speed as the lights flickered back on. The red alert blinked and beeped. Rand was clutching the arm of Kirk’s chair even as S’paak came hurrying out of the turbolift, alone.

S’paak strode to the other side of Kirk’s chair with her usual decisive grace, Kirk turning towards her without will or deliberation. S’paak’s face was composed, one hand dropping to the back of the chair and the other to the arm, leaning towards her with a trace of urgency in the lean slope of her body. Exactly the S’paak she had always been, almost.

“Are you all right, Jess?” S’paak asked, searching her face as if nobody else on the bridge existed.

“Are you?” Kirk said quietly.

It was a strange, heady moment. Kirk almost felt like everyone else really had vanished, like it was just the two of them amidst a sea of stars. Dimly, she thought that between her ripped sleeve and sweat-streaked face, she must look like hell. S’paak just looked like herself, maybe worried in a S’paak sort of way, not exactly Vulcan and not exactly human. She didn’t seem injured, but if her memories were as clear as Kirk’s, she remembered. Even now, the memory must be far worse for her than for Kirk, worse than for anyone else here. And they might have never seen each other again.

Everything else that Jessica Kirk had thought and felt dissolved, drowned by the sheer force of affection and concern for S’paak, her best friend, her right hand, no one nobler, more faithful, more brilliant. She knew S’paak wouldn’t have liked being sent away, however necessarily, no matter what private conflict battled behind the outwards mask. That was S’paak’s business.

S’paak relaxed into reassuring calm, nodding her head, and Kirk smiled at her. Nothing had to change. She forced herself to remember the existence of Bones, Rand, Sulu, everyone all around them, the Enterprise, whatever the hell was happening outside it.

Something actually had changed, it turned out: the experimental formula had sent them all blasting backwards in time until Kirk gave the border to slow the engines, shifting them out of—time? The stars returned, clear and sharp, the alarms shifted back to green, everything looked and felt normal except Kirk’s own muscles, still coiled tight with tension.

She glanced sharply at S’paak, who was surveying a no-doubt-vast quantity of data at the science station.

“Commander S’paak,” she said. “The time warp—what did it do to us?”

S’paak wheeled around to face her, affect still smooth, but her face alive with interest nonetheless.

“We've regressed in time seventy-one hours,” she reported. “It is now three days ago, Captain. We have three days to live over again.”

Kirk inhaled, her pulse finally slowing.

“Not those last three days,” she said.

S’paak politely ignored that and said, “This does open some intriguing prospects, captain. Since the formula worked, we can go back in time, to any planet, any era.”

Anywhere. Any when. Possibilities, still shapeless, flickered through Kirk’s mind. Not a beach, but something else, perhaps better. Other places, peoples, ways of life, discoveries. Maybe even a place or time where, for a little while, they’d all be safe.

Jess smiled up at S’paak again, fingers uncurling.

“We may risk it someday, Commander S’paak,” she said.