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obae-me · 4 years

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It’s Cold Outside- Secret Santa Gift

Happy Holidays everyone! This is my gift for the Obey Me Secret Santa Event! My gift is for @panickedpansexualprincess I really hope you like it!

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When it was time for the tide of seasons to change, you were a bit worried. This world and it’s mysteries were still new, and you had assumed that even the weather would contain some demonic danger. However, you found yourself pleased as you watched snowflakes drift down from the sky to coat the ground in a pleasing crisp white. As silly as it was, you’d thought maybe the frost would be black or some other dismal color. It was comforting, the familiarity of it all, and it eased some of your home-sickness. Although, you had discovered that the chill was much more intense than anything you had felt before. Anything within human standards, anyway. You’d tried sticking your hand out to catch a twirling snowflake the first time they’d begun to fall. As soon as it touched the bare skin of your palm, you shuddered, your whole arm nearly going numb. The demons you resided with quickly rushed to accommodate your fragile human body as soon as they realized you wouldn’t be able to handle the otherworldly winter. Thicker layers, little heaters, even magical charms and potions to shield you from frigid breezes.

Of course, there had been some close calls. The time you’d forgotten to wear gloves and accidentally got stuck to a frozen door handle. The time Lucifer had been so exhausted he’d locked the front doors without remembering you had gone off to Purgatory Hall for a short visit, rushing outside as soon as he got your message with a look of fear that he’d find you frozen. It hadn’t all been bad, however. Everyone in the household was far too eager to hold your hands to make sure your fingers were warm. There would always be a hot beverage nearby when you needed one. On more than one occasion, you’d been graced with several of the demon’s coats and sweaters.

Although, the memory you recall the most was when a quite an important piece of equipment met a swift and unfortunate end.

You’d woken up from your deep sleep as loud voices clamored in the halls. You sat up, your exposed skin feeling the sudden stinging chill. Already you felt like shaking. Grabbing one of the blankets from your bed, you pulled it tight around your shoulders as you shuffled outside your room.

“I-It’s freezing!” Asmo cried, rubbing his shoulders and mourning his beauty sleep. He always seemed to struggle with the winter. On one hand, he didn’t consider covering every inch of his body with fabric to be within ‘his aesthetic’. On the other hand, he absolutely despised being cold. Even right now, dragging his dramatically long dress robe behind him, he had half a mind to put on every article of clothing that he owned.

“I bet Levi turned it down again, he likes it colder!” Mammon growled.

Levi gasped at being accused, tucking his hands under his Ruri-Chan throw blanket he had wrapped around himself. “N-n-n-not this cold!”

“I bet it’s Mammon’s fault,” Belphie whined, wearing several layers under a baggy hoodie.

“Eh? Why?!”

Belphie simply shrugged.

Out in his own little world, Beel didn’t add to the bickering, instead, he closed his eyes and hummed to himself. “Mmm, soup or some hot stew would be perfect right now…”

You made it over to them, already shaking as the hellish cold seeped through your bones. The arguing came to a quick halt when they noticed the state you were in. Asmo screeched in a pitch high enough to make your ears ring. “MC is going to freeze!” He rushed over pulling you into his arms. “Which one of you-you hellions did this?!” He never got an answer, but even Asmo himself never expected to get one. “There there, I’ll help keep you warm.” His skin was rather cold but the inner warmth from his body was slowly seeping into yours. He took your hands and placed them on his chest, rubbing the cold from your fingers. The skin of his nose and cheeks turned slightly pink. “It’s best that we get your blood pumping, huh?”

But before you could start to truly heat up, he was quickly yanked backwards by the fabric of his robe, essentially dis-robing him till he was simply in his pjs. “What do you think you’re doing gettin’ all handsy with MC, huh?! If anyone is going to be keeping them warm, it’s me!” Mammon snapped at anyone attempting to approach, cuddling up to you, grabbing the sides of the blanket and pulling it around the two of you as he pressed his body against yours. He was much warmer compared to Asmo. You nestled into him, shivering less. Belphie bumped into the two of you, trying to wedge his way between your bodies. “Oi!”

The disruption let cool air seep in past your blankets, your teeth beginning to chatter as Mammon and Belphie started to push each other and fight for who got to keep you warm. Asmo didn’t get physical, but he attempted to sneak back to you while the others were distracted. Of course, they noticed, tugging him into the fight. You didn’t care. The only thing on your mind was searching for relief. Beel was still simply standing there, daydreaming about all the different types of warm foods. “...Seventh Circle Chili...Decadent Devil’s Hot Chocolate…” He was the only one who would be able to warm you up without resorting to whatever jealous contest they always put themselves under whenever you were involved. You planted your face in his body, surprised with how hot he was despite the frost already climbing its way up the windows from the inside. He jolted out of his thoughts. “MC? Are you cold?” You nodded and he frowned, pulling you tightly as his larger frame covered yours as much as he was able.

“It’s as I suspected,” A deep voice sighed as two other people approached the group. Lucifer strode up, his normal coat on top of his robe that he had underneath. His arms were folded, and overall he seemed relatively unaffected like his brothers, but you could see the very ends of his fingers tremble trying to keep themselves warm by digging into the fabric of his sleeve. “The heater has been frozen.”

“I t-told you I thought the winter would be colder this year,” Satan hissed, his terse tone falling short between his shuddering breaths.

“And what exactly did you want me to do about it?” Lucifer glared at him, trying his best not to twitch, to endure the cold by his sheer will. Normally, they would’ve kept their little back and forth going. Sometimes they went on for hours, and yet this time, the chill was even enough to snuff out the flames of contention before it really started. “At any rate...what’s done is done. It’ll be about a day before it’s fixed.”

“A whole day?!” Asmo gritted his teeth. “Luciferrrr,” he squirmed, trying to give him puppy eyes. “Can’t you get someone out to fix it now?”

Lucifer groaned and lowered his head. “I did, Asmo. They’re on their way now but with the rising snow and the state the heater was in, it’ll take a while before it’s--” He finally shook once, a brief and subtle quiver. “Before it’s warm again.”

A jolt of worry struck through you. A full day? Could you manage to make it an entire day with it being this cold? You were nearly fully clothed, wrapped in a thick comforter, and holding onto Beel so tightly you were a little afraid you’d be stuck to him, and yet despite all this, you were still absolutely freezing. Beel could sense this, doing what he could as he began to rub your back and shoulders, hoping some friction would warm you up a bit. “Lucifer,” he called out, directing the eldest’s head in your direction. Through your peripherals, you watched Lucifer’s eyes go wide as he quickly remembered that humans could easily die from the cold. “What do we do about MC?”

“Let’s start with something warm to eat.” He came over putting his hand atop your head. With him touching you, you could feel him vibrating. “Actually, I think we could all use something hot, couldn’t we? Who wants to--”

“Me!” A choir of voices rang out all at once.

Lucifer scowled. “I wasn’t even finished yet.”

“You were going to send one of us to the kitchen, right?” Asmo beamed. “To be right next to the fiery oven? I’ll go!”

It dawned on a few demons that Asmo was right. The heater might’ve been broken, but ovens, stoves, fireplaces, they all were still functional. Nearly all of them bolted down the hallway, pushing and shoving each other out of the way as they tried to get there first. Only Lucifer, Beel, and you remained. Again, Lucifer sighed, and you wondered if he was also trying to heat himself up with heavy breaths. “Fighting over fire, is that what they’ve been resorted to? Neanderthals, the bunch of them.” Despite his exasperated words, even the demon of pride had a difficult time lingering in this shadowed path. He grabbed some of the blanket’s slack, tightening it around your shoulders to keep the warm bubble you’d created inside. “Beel, can you please go make sure your brothers don't burn the house down?”

Beel hesitated, pulling you even closer to him, an incredible feat. You could feel him take up handfuls of the blanket as he gave you a protective squeeze. “But…”

“I’ll bring MC up to my room. It’s the only bedroom with a fireplace.” With that fact, Beel nodded, pulling warily apart from you. The air you’d been protected from rushed towards your body with a bite strong enough that you felt it in your soul. You gasped so loudly you couldn't breathe afterwards. Quickly you were tucked against another body, albeit one far from as warm as Beel’s. “Out of all the years of previous centuries for this to happen, it chose the year you stayed with us,” Lucifer whispered, growing immensely more worried when you could feel how cold you had become. “Let’s go, it’ll be faster if I carried you.”

It was still a new experience for you, being so easily lifted off the ground. But he raised you up, making sure to wrap the tail end of the blanket around your feet as he tilted your head so it could rest against the crook of his neck. You held yourself together, trying to not shake as much as you could, although the strain almost forced you to tremble harder. Thankfully, with his speed, he was at his room in no time.

Soon, you were settled on an armchair in front of the fireplace, the warmth from the devilish flames engulfing you in it’s sinful indulgence. The skin across your body burnt, adjusting to the new temperature as the painful numbness started to slip away. Lucifer squatted down, meeting you at eye-level. As his chilled hand tried to caress your face, you felt it send uncomfortable jolts down your spine. All it took was a single flinch for Lucifer to look at his own hand and think, for once, ‘it’s not good enough.’ He took his own coat off of his shoulders and placed it around you, scooting the chair just a bit closer to the fire. And then, in a strike of brilliance, he pulled you out of your spot for just a moment, sliding into where you had been, and then gently tugged to seat you into his lap. With a little breath, the light surrounding the room appeared to get darker. An ebony feather rubbed against your cheek, and then you realized what had happened. Lucifer’s wings tucked around the back of you, pressing you closer to him. One of his hands entangled the hair at the back of your head, guiding your face against his neck once more.

Rubbing your back, he pressed his cheek against the side of your head. “Any warmer?” The gentle intimacy and deepness of his vocals brought the smallest twinge of heat to your cheeks. You took a shuddering sigh before nodding, burying your body closer to his. You slowly unfolded the blanket around you, taking the ends and tucking it around Lucifer’s sides. As you did so, you felt the base of his wings. One of your fingers accidently rubbed against it. The touch sent sparks down Lucifer’s nerves, his wings involuntarily twitching. It wasn’t long till you could feel the heat of his body grow. You tried to let your fingers recede, but his hand touched your elbow, his thumb rubbing over the curved bone. You took this as a message that...it was okay. Reaching forward, you let your hand slide over the small of his back between the bases, then slowly you brushed your palm over the feathers. Lucifer shook, trembling a bit, and then he sighed contently, slouching forward, his chin resting on your shoulder. His steady heartbeat could be felt against your own chest.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, the heat from your entwined bodies comforting you both. At one point, you’d nearly dozed off, lulled to a light sleep with the rhythmic circles being massaged into your body and the reassuring scent of his faded cologne. But of course, it didn’t last forever. Lucifer’s bedroom door flew wide open, a clamor of demons stumbling through the doorway. The mixed smell of sweet and savory wafted through the air, and you sleepily raised your head to peer over Lucifer’s shoulder. The eldest let out a little groan only audible enough for you to hear as his siblings disrupted the peace.

“See, I knew something was up!” Mammon shouted. He hurriedly came over, careful not to spill a bowl of something steamy in his hands.

“Great detective work,” Satan scoffed.

Levi dragged in a rolling server tray, the clinking of silverware bringing you further to attention. Beel, ignoring the food, padded over to you, his brows furled in deep worry. He touched your face, grinning at the warmth flooding back to your skin. He turned his attention down to the table in the middle of Lucifer’s room. “How about we bring this closer to the fire?”

Begrudgingly, Lucifer straightened, letting you stand to your feet as the first-born pushed the chair aside. Beel helped drag the table over till the dancing flames reflected off the glass-top. One by one, the brothers helped set this little impromptu meal of theirs. Mugs were filled with hot chocolate with little bobbing marshmallows, and bowls containing steamy soup broth were settled down. You sat down at the floor, cupping your fingers around your mug to let your hands warm up. The brothers fought for a little, but eventually Levi and Mammon got to sit at your sides, moving so close to you your arms easily touched the two of them. It only took a few spoonfuls of food to warm you from the inside out.

“Feeling better?” Satan asked from across the table.

You nodded, eagerly continuing while for the next hour or so, the brothers went back and forth talking about cold nights like these. Nights where the harsh sounds outside were muffled against the snow. Nights where the simplest things tended to be the coziest. Nights where hanging out with each other wasn’t so terrible.

The heater might’ve been out, but you hardly remembered being so warm, especially with Lucifer’s heartwarming stare, Mammon holding you in his arms from behind, Levi wrapping your hands against his own, Asmo’s feet tapping against yours, Satan’s occasional palm against your cheek, Beel’s loving smile, and Belphie crawling under the table to rest his head in your lap. You tilted your head back against Mammon’s shoulder, sighing, giving Levi’s hand a squeeze, and then letting the fuzziness of your mind take you.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #obeymesecretsanta2020

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emmathompsonsmartini · 3 years

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25. “Blood? Are you bleeding??” For garcy? If you like? Even better if it’s s1? NO PRESSURE OF COURSE

omg ilysm!!! this is way longer than it needs to be but honestly im v happy with it so i hope you are too! it is indeed s1. set after 1x10, before 1x11 so like..... omg n e ways one of my favorite spots for garcy fic. also, was remembering this post while writing it so that was a fun throwback. im rambling, please enjoy!

Despite the fact that she was just kidnapped, Lucy Preston feels like she can breathe for the first time in… well. She decides not to go there. She has her own room that is a comfortable distance from the noisy main room. Is she scared? Maybe, but she is so tired. So, so tired. She knows that Flynn wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. She might get some sleep.

A knock at her door startled her out of her thoughts. It was Flynn, she knew that much (who else would actually want to see her, actually cares that she’s even here?) but she didn’t know what he could want. She didn’t have any energy or a sane mind to actually engage in any coherent conversation. She thought when he showed her the room, that was it, goodnight. Even so, she got up from the cot and opened the door.

She was right.

“I uh, brought you something to change in to,” He shifts his weight. “Sleeping in an eighteenth century corset doesn’t seem like much fun.”

As stated, Lucy knew he wouldn’t hurt her. What she didn’t think about was hospitality. Did he genuinely want her to be comfortable? Or did he just want her to be rested up for whatever--whenever--he’s going to drag her around for? Lucy realizes she hasn’t moved or said anything.

She accepts the clothes. “I- thank you.”

“And for tomorrow,” he handed her a black garment bag. He points to the sleep clothes he handed her. “Figured you wouldn’t want to walk out in those. In front of everyone.”

Lucy’s mind is swimming too fast with too many things to think about his motives but she does appreciate the thought. “Thank you,” she says more firmly than the last.

He almost smiles before saying goodnight and turning on his heel to leave her to it. Lucy closes the door, slowly. She lays the garment bag on the chair and tosses the other clothes to the cot. She unzips the bag, just to peek. What if he’s trying to dress her as a hooker, or something? Lucy almost gasps. Definitely not a hooker. The dress was gorgeous. Lucy guessed early to mid-1890s based on the sleeves alone. She ran her hand down the fabric, taking in the details. “Wow.” Okay, so he can pick out an outfit? Lucy isn’t completely surprised, he had a wife and daughter, but to be able to pick an outfit from an entirely different decade, a different century? She was… impressed. (He would never know, of course, that she thought this.)

And! She shouldn’t be dwelling on this. She can hear Wyatt and Rufus screaming, “He’s a terrorist! A kidnapper!” They’re not wrong, Lucy sighs. She zips it back up and turns to the previously discarded clothing items. As she unfolds it she realizes it looks like one of Flynn’s shirts. She holds it up to her shoulders. Yep, definitely his. She’s not sure why she blushes. Cheeky bastard, not anything else, huh? Another thought says, maybe he forgot pjs while dress shopping? If she had her more wits about her she would’ve laughed at herself. An angel and a devil on her shoulders.

She starts peeling the layers of dress off, deciding that the shirt looks way more comfortable. She gets all of it off, with some struggle, until she gets to the corset. She strings several curse words together while trying to reach the middle laces. She just can’t. quite. reach. She tugs the ones she can reach on the top but it only pulls the middle tighter. She can feel her face flush with anger. She is most definitely not going to go out, half naked to ask Garcia freaking Flynn to unlace her damn corset. Maybe she’s going to sleep in the corset after all.

Just then, another knock. Another curse pours from her lips. She tucks herself behind the door as she opens it. “What?” It comes out as a hiss but she didn’t mean it. Not really.

Flynn almost flinches, clearly not expecting the hostility given their conversation ten or so minutes ago. “I was just going to ask--is that blood? Are you bleeding?” His voice went from almost offended to very concerned in about .0002 seconds.

It takes Lucy by surprise and she’s confused. She’s hiding behind the door, basically naked, what is he talking about? “Wha--No?”

He reaches out to her shoulder. Much to her chagrin, she can’t stop the goosebumps as his hand touches her shoulder, and she winces. Sure enough. A good trail of blood, fresh blood, from her shoulder to her arm. She looks at it like she’s never seen blood before. “I don’t-”

“Hang on.” He walks off and returns maybe two minutes later with a first aid kit. He stands at the door, expectantly.

Shit. Of course he’d want to clean her up when she’s in the middle of getting changed. Maybe he can help with that too… She’s not sure if that’s a thought from the aforementioned devil or the angel. “I’m-I can take care of it. Really. I didn’t even notice it so it’s not that bad.”

“It’s no trouble.” And of course he’d insist. “‘Least I could do.”

“Yeah, but I’m-” Lucy tries some way to put it delicately. To hell with it. “Look, I can’t get this goddamn corset off, I’m almost naked and I just really, really want to go to sleep.” (She also wants to cry now.) Lucy said it all so fast, she wasn’t sure if he caught it all.

He doesn’t laugh or smirk or even smile. “Do you… want some help?”

Lucy wants to say no. God, she wants to say no so badly. However, she knows if she doesn’t get help she’s going to be stuck in it all night and she really doesn’t want that. Lucy presses her forehead against the door and sighs. Damnit. She opens the door a little wider, wordlessly inviting him to come in.

“Let’s take care of that first.”

She almost wishes he would be cold and indifferent and, and… mean. What is she supposed to do with the delicate touch as he wipes the blood from her shoulder? The gentle tone, and concern in his voice?

“Looks like you scratched a scab from an old wound. Nothing too bad.”

Lucy wanted to huff and say that she had already pointed that out, but she keeps her mouth shut and nods. She feels him place a bandaid and listens as he sets the kit aside.

There’s a hesitation in the air.

“I’m going to undo, the laces…” It was almost a whisper, he pauses like he expects her to change her mind. He somehow says he could stop and leave immediately without vsaying anything at all.

Lucy prayed to whatever God was out there that the warmth she felt in her cheeks wasn’t visible, prayed that he wouldn’t notice the gooseflesh that appears across her skin as she felt his fingers brush her back through her shift. In reality, it was maybe four minutes but it felt like a century. (For both of them.) Lucy held the front in place so it wouldn’t fall. They both stood still for a second (or five) when he was done.

Flynn clears his throat. “Right,” he moves toward the door. “Anything else I can help with?”

“No,” Lucy says, a bit too quickly. Softer, she says, “No. Thank you.”

He nods and closes the door behind. Lucy lets out a breath and inhales deeply. She lets the corset fall and removes the shift and puts his shirt on. As she’s falling asleep, she tries, very hard, to ignore the fact it smells like him, that she likes it.

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wallgirl · 3 years

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The Little Nereid Part One

3200 words, part one of a five part fanfiction

Poseidon x OC

Dynamene, youngest of the 50 Nereids, has lived most of her adolescence as a servant alongside her sisters at Poseidon’s palace. But with her coming-of-age birthday and other developments, what she initially thought was just admiration of her master blossoms into something stronger and more passionate... and painful.

Categories: Romance, angst, unrequited love, coming-of-age, earn-your-happy-ending; no NSFW content

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The incessant cry of seagulls encircling the rocky bluffs below finally woke her. She exhaled reluctantly, tugging the blanket closer to her chest. They were especially loud this morning; perhaps a school of fish had washed up on shore. She was surprised that she didn’t hear Thoe shouting at them in a vain attempt to get them to scatter. Thoe had always hated seagulls, and a millennium of living beside the ocean had done nothing to calm her ire. She rolled away from the bright light entering from the window and drowsily pondered how she would spend the day. If the weather held up, perhaps she would go for a run along the shoreline.

Then realization hit her, and she sat up, fully awake. Of course, she had plans for the day – it was her birthday!

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And not just any birthday, but her coming-of-age celebration. From today on, she would officially be a woman in the eyes of society; no longer a mere girl, despite her thin build and wide eyes.

She jumped out of bed and undid her rumpled chiton, tossing it haphazardly onto the marble floor as she ran to her dresser. She hurriedly sought through the drawer before pulling out one of her nicer peplos with gold embroidery, then turned to the next drawer in search of a clean chiton.

“Dynamene! Are you up?” A loud voice echoed from the other side of the bedroom door.

“Yes! Yes, I’m awake!” Dynamene called back, hastily slamming the drawers closed and turning to the full-length mirror across from her bed.

“May I come in?” Without waiting for a response, the door opened and a tall maiden with her auburn hair drawn into a long braid entered.

“Help me fasten my peplos, Actaea,” Dynamene muttered, tugging the fabric around her body.

“I suppose…” Actaea sighed dramatically. She stepped behind Dynamene and began to gather the cloth expertly. “You know, I’m glad I caught you while you were getting dressed. I have the perfect pins for you to use today.” With a smile, she produced two golden pins with mother-of-pearl heads.

Dynamene broke into a wide beam at the sight of her gifts, her freckled cheeks dimpling in delight. “Thank you, Actaea. They’re beautiful.”

“Aren’t they? I sent for them a few weeks ago. I know you’ve wanted pins with mother-of-pearl for a while.”

“I have, it’s my favorite.” Dynamene admired her reflection shamelessly as Actaea finished positioning the pins, now holding her chiton together at the shoulders.

“I know. What older sister would I be if I didn’t know your favorite stone?” Actaea teased her with a tug on her hair.

Dynamene swatted at her playfully. “Mother-of-pearl isn’t a stone, silly!”

Actaea laughed and took hold of her hand. “Come along, birthday girl. Our sisters have set up breakfast down at the beach.”

Dynamene laughed back with excitement and allowed her older sister to rush her along the pristine white halls of the palace. Exquisite white marble reflected the sunlight entering from the tall windows, making for a heavenly vision when combined with the sight of the ocean gently churning against the rocky bluffs and sandy beaches below. They burst out of the palace’s bottom story entrance onto a vast deck. Across, carved between the rock that crowded up along the bottom of the palace, was a large staircase leading down to the beach. Well, perhaps staircase was too generous; all 150 of the steps were weathered from years of use by the Nereids running back and forth from the palace to the ocean, and tender weeds had begun to billow gently along the cracks. But the Nereids – that is, Dynamene and her older sisters – preferred the well-loved look.

The master of the palace was guaranteed to have a different opinion, but as he never used the staircase, the point was moot.

The stairs ended in soft, peach-hued sands that gave way beneath the sisters’ feet. Further down, along a cluster of rocks that jutted out into the cerulean waters, two banquet tables had been set up. They were well-laden with fresh fruit, wine, honey cakes, and just-roasted fish.

“Dynamene!” The first of her sisters to spot her yelled out. “Happy birthday, Dynamene!” The rest of her sisters, all forty-nine of them, quickly gathered to greet her. A merry chorus of “Happy birthday!” rang out for a full minute before they led her to her place of honor at the head of one of the tables.

“Happy birthday, baby Dynamene,” the last of her sisters called from where she was perched on top of the boulder closest to the tables. Good-natured Eione, with her sunbaked red hair and perpetually sandy legs, rose her glass. “To you!”

“To baby Dynamene!” The rest of the sisters called back, raising their glasses in a toast.

Blushing from the attention, Dynamene rose her glass to toast them back before sipping at the wine. It was remarkably sweet; no doubt sourced from one of the finest casks in the palace.

“Ah, but it is a sad day, too,” Actaea sighed dramatically. “The youngest of us has finally come-of-age; and now we have nothing to look forward to but senility.”

“Get out,” scoffed Ianeira, the eldest of the fifty. She waved her hand as if to swat away Actaea’s words. “Nereids don’t worry about getting old. As the pure-blooded daughters of two water gods, the day we see a gray hair will never come.”

“Why aren’t we gods, anyways,” another sister grumbled.

“I am glad enough to be a sea nymph,” Eione called, stretching her arms. “We are still leagues above mortals, and we don’t have any pesky rules or civil struggles to worry about. Let the other gods have their fun.”

“I agree,” nodded Ianeira. “We’ve seen every sort of trouble that can come from being a god, just by living here.”

Dynamene started at the mention of their master. “Ah, yes… Lord Poseidon. He’s due to come home this afternoon, isn’t he?”

“Yes, so we must make sure our duties are finished before he arrives. But there will be plenty of time afterwards to continue to celebrate your special day,” Actaea leaned over to ruffle Dynamene’s hair.

Dynamene smiled. “Perhaps it’s uncouth to ask, but… I wonder if I can expect a gift from him?” she murmured back lowly.

“Of course you can!” Eione shouted back, and Dynamene gaped at her. Truly, nothing escaped her ears. “Whose birthday was it last? They got a gift. Master Poseidon always gives us something for our birthday; a token of his appreciation, right?”

“Are you hoping for anything in particular?” Actaea asked. “Perhaps a whole island to yourself? Half of the treasure room?”

“No!” Dynamene laughed, swatting her older sister on the arm. “I…” She paused. “I will be happy with anything Lord Poseidon chooses to bestow me with.”

“Ask him to bestow you a new hair comb, then,” a sister snided from behind her. With a careless touch, Thoe ran her hand along Dynamene’s dark hair. “We should be heading back to the palace soon. I’ll fix your hair for you, Dyna. My birthday gift will be one of hair oil and the removal of split-ends.”

And so, all too soon, breakfast was over, and the sisters began their ascent back to the palace to attend to their chores. Once Thoe had sculpted Dynamene’s hair into what she deemed a more acceptable state, the two joined their sisters in cleaning the palace’s vast floors. Half of the sisters made the journey back and forth from the palace to the beach, lugging water in mighty jugs to throw across the marble floors. The other sisters used their innate gifts as sea nymphs to manipulate the water back and forth across the floor’s surface in gentle waves, gathering up the dust and dirt and sending it flowing into grated vents along the bottom of the walls. A system of pipes beneath the palace carried the water back down to the ocean, in a convenient and simple cycle.

Once the floors had been cleaned, the sisters broke up further into singles and pairs, airing out linens and shaking out rugs in every furnished room. Dynamene remained with Thoe as they methodically went through each bedroom and made the beds. Today, Thoe’s abrasive nature did little to draw Dynamene out of her thoughts. She was lost in pondering what Poseidon might give her for her birthday. It was never anything grand, but that was hardly surprising; Poseidon was no sentimental man and being able to live and serve in his palace was gift enough to begin with. But for every Nereid’s birthday, he still remembered to give them something as a token of appreciation. A simple formality. And yet… Dynamene’s heartbeat quickened. She racked her memory; what had he gifted her her last birthday? It had been a while, truth be told. The Nereids only celebrated their birthdays every hundred years. There were so many of them, and they aged so slowly, that celebrating every year seemed like a burden; not to mention that several of them shared a birth month and day.

But now Dynamene’s day had arrived, and she was the last of her sisters to reach womanhood. It was her first official birthday since she had experienced menarche several decades ago. She was quite a bit taller, though still slender in body and round in her cheeks, then she was when she had arrived at Poseidon’s palace with her sisters. Had it really been a thousand years since then? She closed her eyes briefly, reliving the emotions she had felt as a young girl seeing the palace, and its master, for the first time.

Upon their arrival, every sister had greeted Poseidon formally, stating their name with a curtsy, oldest to youngest. Dynamene had never met Poseidon before that day and had no idea what to expect of the man that would become her master. When it was finally her turn, as the youngest of the sisters, to greet him, her heart had nearly stopped.

He had towered over her, a statuesque man measuring over six feet in height, with unfeeling blue eyes and an expression carved of stone. He struck an intimidating figure, even from where he sat upon his throne, and little Dynamene’s heart had jumped to her throat in fear.

But then he had shifted ever so slightly in his seat, just a simple tilt of his head and curl of his hand. The lock of hair that threatened to fall into his eyes caught the firelight just so, and his gray gaze rose to scrutinize her face. It was then that little Dynamene no longer saw a heartless stone statue, but a god; a magnificent, handsome man, with all the power of the oceans at his beck-and-call, who made every other lesser being tremble from his footsteps.

At that moment, she no longer feared him, even as a young girl before an unimaginably powerful stranger. No, not entirely.

She was in awe of him.

“Dynamene!” Thoe’s sharp call brought her back to her senses. “Ianeira is calling for you.”

“Ah, yes,” Dynamene quickly replied, her face flushing. “I’m going.”

Down the end of the hall, the eldest sister waited for her. “There you are. We’re almost done; all that’s left is the lighting of the fire in Lord Poseidon’s quarters. As it’s your special day, I thought you might like the honor.”

Dynamene’s mouth ran dry. “The honor?! But… it’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

“Well, perhaps, if you’re lucky, he’ll arrive as you’re taking care of it. Then he’ll be able to give you your birthday gift straight-away, yes?”

Dynamene nearly choked on her breath. “I… I don’t know if Lord Poseidon would even hand me it himself. He’s always had it brought to our room by the other servants, or the delivery person. I don’t think he would personally-”

“Enough excuses,” Ianeira shooed her. “Hurry, it’s nearly lunchtime.”

With no other choice, Dynamene began the ascent through the palace towards Poseidon’s quarters. Her steps were rather reluctant, and she twisted the fabric of her peplos incessantly. Even his rooms without him in it were intimidating, full of heavy energy without a single fabric fold out of place. Of course, they were so pristine because the Nereids cleaned and organized them with care, especially when Poseidon was away on business, but every surface was kept eternally spotless to the point that it felt almost oppressive.

All too soon, she had reached the top of the final staircase leading to his quarters. Pushing through the heavy, ornate mahogany doors that were twice her height, she silently entered the sitting room. Poseidon’s personal suite consisted of a sitting room, his bedroom, and his private bathroom. Perhaps it seemed sparse compared to the living quarters of other gods, but Poseidon hated frivolity. The simple rooms suited him well.

That was not to say that they weren’t furnished with the finest furniture and materials available. The great fireplace that loomed across from her had intricate reliefs carved into its marble, recreating important moments from the Greek pantheon’s history. Dynamene brushed her fingertips tenderly against an image of a young Poseidon, freshly freed alongside his siblings from the stomach of their father, Cronus. She marveled at the detail, almost too fine to clearly see with the naked eye. Hephaestus himself had carved the images as a house-warming gift to Poseidon, his skill evident as Dynamene stared in wonder at the stone Poseidon’s face. If she squinted, she could almost make out the individual lashes of his eyes.

Without warning, the mighty doors behind her swung open, and she spun around, back pressed against the wall.

A towering figure stepped inside, allowing the doors to creak shut behind him. The faint light that crept in from the windows in the adjoining rooms gently illuminated the man’s pale face and bare chest. He moved forward, steps slow and deliberate. The dim gray light pulled along the edges of his figure to reveal a solemn face and fair, windswept hair.

“Lord Poseidon,” Dynamene breathed, immediately dropping into a curtsy. She stared at the floor, listening to her own heartbeat become a rapid pounding in her ears. She had been caught dallying in his quarters, and she hadn’t even lit the fire yet.

But his expression changed naught as he took in the sight of the dark fireplace. His eyes slewed left towards it, then back near Dynamene. “You have yet to light the fire.”

Dynamene could barely make out her own voice over the roar of blood in her ears. “Yes, my lord. Please accept my deepest apologies; I have no excuse for shirking my duties.”

He said nothing in reply, but crossed the room to drop a scroll atop his bedside table. Her face burning, Dynamene spun back towards the fireplace and dropped to her knees, quickly attending to the hearth. As the flames began to roar to life, she heard his calm voice once more.

“Come here,” he said. Her hands began to shake, and she slowly righted herself before crossing the room to stand before him on lead-filled legs.

He stared down at her. No, not at her, but somewhere near her. He never looked anyone in the eyes, and Dynamene certainly didn’t expect him to start now. It would be a wasted effort anyhow; Dynamene couldn’t even bring herself to look at his face, instead staring rigidly at his toned shoulders. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her; she knew he wouldn’t yell at her; so why, oh why was she so shaken just standing before him? Why did her entire body feel as if it would break down into jelly at the slightest movement?

He rose one hand, and Dynamene forced herself to look. Laying atop his palm was a simple box, covered in blue satin. She immediately understood, and a different sort of heat filled her veins. He again waited in silence. She knew he meant for her to take it, and she lifted her own hands hesitantly to reach for it. Every movement, every motion was a vast effort, and she found herself begging her body not to flinch, not to mess this up.

As her fingers met the box, she accidentally brushed one fingertip against his palm, and she quickly pulled the hand back, as if afraid she’d be burned. But the other hand had successfully taken ahold of the box, and she drew it back to her chest. “Th… Thank you, Lord Poseidon,” she whispered, her voice breathless and her mouth dry as cotton.

He said nothing in reply, lingering for a moment. She chanced a glance up at his face, seizing the opportunity to once again memorize every feature of his face. A straight nose with the slightest upwards tilt. Those generous black eyelashes that flared out like the wings of a raven. His slight lips that, no matter the expression their owner held, always looked soft. And that curl of hair that always rested alongside his temple, threatening to dip into his eyes – how she longed to reach forward and brush it back for him.

How she longed to reach up and caress his cheek.

It was then that Dynamene realized that he was, indeed, gazing back at her, for perhaps the first time in her life. But perhaps she had just imagined it because, in the next moment, he was already turning away from her, striding away towards the bath. She stared at his strong back and the shifting of his shoulder blades, and her hands tightened around the box.

Without another word, she slipped from his quarters and fled down the stairs.

“Dynamene? Is everything alright?” Ianeira called after her, voice filled with concern.

“Yes!” Dynamene found the energy to shout back, even as she continued to sprint. “I’m just in a hurry to see my gift!”

Breathless, she shouldered open the door to her room and closed it with the other before sitting atop her bed. She could once again barely command her trembling fingers to separate the lid from the rest of the box before gently lifting a layer of protective cotton that shielded the rest of the contents.

Nestled inside, a single mother-of-pearl bracelet gleamed up at her in the sunlight.

Her breath caught in her chest. She didn’t dare touch with her clumsy hands for the moment, instead lifting the box up so she could better examine it in the light. It was flawless and sized perfectly for her slender wrist. Setting the box back on her lap, she tenderly slid the bracelet over her hand. She held it with a feather-light touch, not wanting to leave a smudge on any pearl’s surface. It fit as if it was always meant to be there.

She lifted her hand to the window, admiring in awe the way the iridescent beads caught the light. “Beautiful,” she sighed. For reasons unclear, the memory of her fingers brushing his hand arose, and she pursed her lips before cradling her bracelet-clad wrist against her chest. “Thank you,” she whispered. The heat in her face, and the electricity coiled in her veins, remained.

---

Author’s notes:

I really wanted to explore the feelings and pain of first love in this fanfiction; you know, that teenage feeling of desperately wanting someone unattainable. It really brought back some of my own memories while writing this lol. I also want to explore the gray shades of loving someone like Poseidon, in as canon a view as possible. Of course, there area a lot of empty spaces in Poseidon’s canon characterization for me to fill in, but I’ll try to do so while heavily considering his canon depiction.

There’s no way I can write for 49 different side character Nereids, so there will only be six or seven at most that are part of the cast. If it’s hard keeping them straight, have this little guide I made for myself while writing:

Actaea – caring sister

Eione – tomboy sister

Thoe – rude sister

Ianeira – oldest sister

#record of ragnarok #poseidon #record of ragnarok poseidon #fanfiction #poseidon x oc

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littlx-songbxrd · 3 years

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ok so tlh is set in 1903 and there are a few things we know about the clothes from the books themselves- 1. we have a vague idea of the silhouette, as briefly described in the book and the dresses on the cover (although those are mostly incorrect, they do, I suppose, set the reader into the general mindset.) and 2. apparently only pastel colors are fashionable, they do not look nice on cordelia specifically (not all poc girls look 'washed out' in these colors, Kamala, who is often depicted in official art with a similar skin tone to cordelia is stated in the books to look very nice in her pastel dresses)

firstly, the 1900s were a rather odd decade for clothes silhouette wise. this decade was the transition from the 1800s dresses with foot-length hemlines and fuller skirts into the 1910s trends of dresses that reached to the bottom of the calf and a more utilitarian and accessible style. Dresses in the 1900s still had the tubular shape of the 1890s, although it was less severe and it eventually faded out by about 1906 or 1907.

Speaking for now only about the first half of the decade as the books do take place in 1903, the dresses would have had a very structured bodice with flowing skirts that reached to about the ankle. Their undergarments would have included at least three layers (something in between the corset and their body, the corset, and a corset cover) with drawers, stockings, padding at their hips and bust, and at least 1-2 petticoats. dresses consisted of the bodice and skirt as separate pieces, with lace and embellishments used to bring the attention to the bodice.

Day clothes were more structured and less busy, most of them including high necklines and long sleeves. (yes this means that the stupid thing with james always staring at cordelia's chest is not realistic.)

The ballgowns and party dresses that are often mentioned are slightly more accurate. These dresses tended to be very busy with lots of patterns and lace on them, often toward the bust line to achieve an ideal silhouette. skirts were longer and fuller than the day dresses and gloves were always worn with these dresses to make it appear more modest as it had low necklines and short sleeves.

a couple of notes about historical accuracy- number one being the corset. there is a part in chain of gold where cordelia complains about her corset that makes me mad every time I read it. corset were modern bras but more comfortable, they were incredibly supportive and didn't mess with anything permanently. there was always a layer between the skin and the corset as protection for both the skin and the corset as they were intended to be worn for years on end and needed protected from oil and dirt from the body. tight lacing is essentially the historic equivalent to people today who get dressed up in their fanciest clothes for an 8 a.m college class. it wasn't standard and it was only done in very specific situations in which the wearer wanted to look a certain way. for the most part, the super narrow waist wasn't actually all that small, and it looked that way because of padding on the hips and chest.

number two on the standards for fashion at the time. at this point being fashionable was less about standing out as it was about fitting in. If you were wearing something out of fashion it was abnormal and you would be ridiculed for it, along the lines of wearing jeans and a t-shirt to a formal wedding. it was a matter of propriety and respect. Getting dressed a certain way wasn't chore or special thing, it just was.

number three is on the aesthetic dress movement. this would be the category the cover dresses fall into. the aesthetic dress movement encouraged women to dress individually by rejecting the high fashion and emphasizing freedom of movement and practicality. (that is not to mean that high fashions weren't practical and comfortable, its basically just the equivalent of wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants as opposed to something like jeans, a blouse, and five accessories. both are good, its just that they feel very different.) these clothes took from greco-romanic traditions as well as that of eastern asian cultures, with flowing, airy fabrics and loose silhouettes. this style was usually only worn around the home.

next we're going to talk about color. first of all, pastels do not wash cordelia out, she is absolutely stunning in them, as well as the jewel tones. on a more historical note, clothes in the 1900s weren't all pastels????? lighter colors were in trend, as more of an aesthetic dressing style was in fashion, but dark colors could never actually go out of style from a practical standpoint. day dresses from the early half of the decade usually had darker colors, I will link or send another ask with two examples. one, from 1900, is a dark red and gray dress and the other is a walking dress actually from 1903 and is a perfect example of something cordelia could have worn. (it has a very nice brownish gray color with gold embellishments and a high neck.)

now evening dresses on the other hand were usually light colored, almost all of the surviving ones from this decade are a creme or gold color (there are a few in black and some in other colors as well, but the majority are creme, gold, or extremely light to the point they look white.) this is where the biggest plot hole is in my opinion. so it would have been most fashionable by mundane standards to wear a white or gold, which are the mourning and wedding colors respectively, so they obviously couldn’t have done that, which means that the women are either wearing day dresses that wouldn't come into creation until 3-5 years later, they are breaking mundane fashion rules, or they are breaking strict shadowhunter tradition. (out of all the shadowhunter things, the color code seems to actually be the one most consistent through all of the series, aside from the line about the youth in london wearing white sailing outfits.)

cordelias jewel tone wardrobe from anna is incredibly unrealistic in multiple aspects. for one, multiple dresses that would have had to have been custom made by hand plus, correct me if i'm wrong, accessories or undergarments, would have been WILDLY unrealistically expensive. there are plenty of money questions for the shadowhunter universe, but an entire wardrobe like that isn't even historically accurate for the british royal family even with all their blood money. on top of that is the fact that with the cultural implications of certain fashions cordelia very well could have become an outcast for wearing something so wildly out of fashion. there isn't really a modern correlation for it, but while she wouldn't necessarily have become a complete outcast or pariah, with the way we are told the shadowhunters align with societal values of the time (I.e cordelia being ruined) accepting that wardrobe would have been completely counterintuitive to her mission of being accepted by the shadowhunter society.

so that was a lot and i'm not sure if I got everything. let me know if you need any clarification, or want anything continued!!! thank you so much for letting me info dump and rant in your inbox, you are amazing!!

links for photos:

Worth 1903 evening dress

Worth 1903 walking dress

Worth 1900 day dress

plus an article that is the best thing i've ever read

I also have some other video/article links if anyone wants them!!

I will be honest with you anon

I really have nothing to add to all this besides that this is absolutely fascinating

I love how you compared clothing to different types of modern day equivalent that genuinely made it so much easier for me to visualize

I had actually heard complaints about the corset thing before! I had actually seen that many authors seem to write them as if they are the bane of many ya historical fantasies, when in reality it wasn't that at all. So in that scene in chog Cordelias corset was the equivilant of dressing in your fansiest clothes for a class?

See I would have never guessed it!

So more flowy greco-roman inspired clothing got it!

The movement mostly went towards freedom and practicality

Oh that does seem like a problem

The confiction between being appropriate in shadowhunter culture and in the fashion of the time

THE MONEY THING ALWAYS BAFLED ME TOO LIKE HOW ARE THESE HUNTERS WASTING SO MUCH TIME IN THIS WHEN THEY DESPISE FASHION-

Anyways

This is amazing

I will be refering to it more for ficts :D

THANK YOU I WILL BE WATCHING ALL THAT

#SORRY IT POSTED EARLY #Anons!#fashion anon

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nsheetee · 4 years

Text

pairing: prince!yangyang x princess!reader genre: fluff, angst, medieval au (but not really), royalty au word count: 4.4k details: female reader, some cursing, other nct/wayv members as characters (jeno is kind of a douche), duel scene (mentions of blood/weapons), inclusivity notice; to the best of my awareness, I wrote this without mention of reader’s height, weight or skin/hair color. summary: yangyang is not pleased about being forced to marry you, the princess from the next kingdom over who is widely unliked. yangyang never expected to fall in love at first sight, and never expected to fight to the death for you, either.

the kingdom of wheyshen needs wheat

they always have, ever since the time that the kingdom boundaries were drawn between wheyshen and encity

not just wheat, but metal and fabrics as well, which were made in high quality by the people of encity as time went on and the separation between the two kingdoms widened

for several decades, wheyshen traded with the lee kingdom from far away

it became hard to transport goods, especially during winter and when the rogues in the forests would interfere with the shipping

so, one of the first things that kun did when his father handed him the king’s position in the kingdom was to strike up a deal with the neighboring kingdom for the highly necessary products

due to the complicated past of the two kingdoms, and because kun was willing to do anything to make the lives of his people easier, the deal was struck on one condition

the prince of wheyshen would have to marry the princess of encity

and kun knew he was about to get an earful from his little brother when he told him the news

“what?!” yangyang almost threw his chair back as he stood up, “who gave you the permission to marry me off to some stranger??”

“the divine right to rule directly from the gods,” kun states monotonously, “and dad”

“I don’t care about the gods, they can go pull themselves out of their own asses. I'm not getting married.”

“you are. you don’t have to do it, like, tomorrow but you will get married to their princess.” kun explains

he moves closer to yangyang’s desk where he’s currently standing, tearing off grapes from the bowl of fruits on the desk and starts popping them into his mouth

“I heard their princess is a witch.” yangyang mumbles through his hand that’s supporting his cheek

kun gives him a blank stare, mouth filled with grapes, “she’s not a witch.”

“how do you know? have you ever met her?”

“no,” kun stops eating, “but if she is, wouldn’t you be the person to think it’s cool to have a witch princess as a wife? she could, like, make potions for you and stuff.”

“that’s not the point.” yangyang whines, dropping back down into his seat, “she’s not even liked by her own kingdom because of all the rumors around her. people haven’t seen her since she was a baby.” yangyang whispers the last part

“you sure do know a lot about your future wife already.” kun laughs

“the prince’s club talks about her a lot.”

the prince’s club is a group of all the prince’s in the area, not minding any kingdom boundaries or past histories

kun was once a part of the club, he knows what goes on during their meetings and what is talked about during the club’s horse rides

he’s 99.9% sure everyone is just over exaggerating

“well, you’ll be the first person to see her and find out for yourself. their whole family is coming over to sign the final contract in a few days.” kun puts his foot down on the matter

“I hate you.” yangyang says in a cutesy and high-pitched manner

“I hate you, too, demon child.” kun replies back as he walks out of yangyang’s study, “and don’t think even about running away or I'll chain you to your bed for the next few nights.”

“kun.... don’t say it like that.”

the few days between kun’s conversation with yangyang and the arrival of your family goes by quick, and pretty soon, yangyang is standing outside of the front doors of the wheyshen castle waiting for you

his family aren’t the only ones out here

there are servants, noble men and women, and knights who have all gathered this morning to catch the first glimpse of you

your carriages are like a parade through the front yard of the castle, and finally they all stop and the driver of one carriage opens the door

first steps out the king, your dad, after that the queen, and after that their oldest son, who is next in line for the throne

yangyang remembers his name is doyoung; he has never met him personally, but he heard that there is a very big stick up his ass

yangyang wonders if you’re like your older brother

everyone holds their breath when another hand pops out of the carriage, covered in a glove and grasped by your brother’s grip

he helps you step out, and the whole lawn of people greeting you gasp in wonder as everyone sees you for the very first time

you are the definition of a princess

the aura around you, how you hold yourself and how you hold a strong gaze with the people around you shakes everyone with curiosity and adoration

yangyang doesn’t even notice what you’re wearing or the tiara on your head, he can only see the gaze you send him as your feet delicately touch the ground

murmurs rise out of the crowd but quickly end when your family moves closer to yangyang’s, people dropping down to their knees to bow at royalty

your father politely greets kun, exchanging some words of congratulations to kun’s new position as king

there’s some more greetings exchanged between queens and yangyang’s father as he sits in a chair, too frail to stand up, but yangyang is only looking at you

warmth seeps into his chest and down to his stomach, like a flood of feelings he has never felt before

the flood covers his heart and makes it beat faster

it’s a scary feeling, but so exhilarating and addicting, as if yangyang is riding his prized race horse as fast as he can go through the fields behind the castle

the chatter between your families dies down and the attention suddenly turns to you two, making yangyang even more nervous

if you’re feeling any emotion similar to the ones that he’s feeling, you’re hiding it pretty well

yangyang feels kun lightly push on his shoulder and it effectively snaps him out of his reverie

“I'm pleased to meet you.” yangyang can barely get the words out of his mouth, feeling like peanut butter is stuck to his tongue

he reaches forward and gently takes your gloved hand in his, kissing the top of your knuckles, looking up at you afterwards

“it’s a pleasure to meet you, too.” with your angelic voice and your soft smile towards him, yangyang feels like he just got KO-ed

his head is fuzzy and he’s sure he looks like a fool with his jaw slacked and gapping at you

however, both families start to move inside before yangyang can really process his embarrassment

people on the lawn start to scatter, still trying to get one good look at you as you walk side by side with yangyang into the castle

he almost jumps out of his skin when you talk to him, not expecting to hear your voice so close to him

“I heard you like horseback riding?” you ask, and yangyang can feel himself heat up

mentally, he’s beating himself up for reacting like this to a girl

he’s been around PLENTY of girls, but something about you is so highly and elevated that yangyang can’t help but fall into your palm and cozily stay there

“y-yeah. I do.” he answers simply, but the words felt like they took hours to think of and leave his mouth

“I do, too! we should go riding tomorrow after brunch.” you propose

“how about we go riding for brunch? we could have a picnic.” yangyang suddenly remembers a spot in the mountains where the sun isn’t blinding and the breeze is cool during this time of year

and then he realizes he just asked you to brunch and made plans with you as if you didn’t just meet 5 minutes ago

he heats up again, suddenly remembering who you are and who he is, and questioning how in the hell you can have him in a vegetative state in one minute and absolutely head over heels for you in the next

“sounds like a date!” you send him that smile of yours once again

yangyang trips over his shoes, sliding along the castle’s tile floor before quickly picking himself up again and walking forward as if nothing happened

(you try not to notice his fall, biting back a laugh)

yangyang can barely sleep that night, and when he does fall asleep, the moon is already lowering in the night sky

maybe that’s why yangyang is almost late to your brunch date

he’s running out of his room, pulling on his riding boots and practically launching himself around every corner of the castle

he runs into the kitchen and thanks the cooks who hand him a picnic basket (he’s moving too fast to see them roll their eyes at him)

sliding into the barn, yangyang breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn't see you waiting for him, taking a second to catch his breath

a second is all he gets before you open the barn door, looking around the place and then at him

“oh, you’re already here. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” the apologetic tone you use makes yangyang shake his head

“no, no. believe me when I say I just got here.”

after preparing your horses, you follow yangyang out of the barn and through the backyard of the castle until you’re no longer on the property

you ride through a small forest, over some fields, and then up one big hill before stopping and tying your horses to a nearby tree

laying down a blanket and the food yangyang picked up earlier, you begin eating brunch

and it hits both of you at the same time

you’re alone

in the middle of nowhere

together

yangyang, no matter how awkward the air around you begins to feel, can’t help but think that you really are so, so beautiful

these types of thoughts are new to him

maybe it’s because he knows he has to marry you one day, and his brain is tricking him into making this easier?

yangyang doesn’t have time to think further when he realizes he has been looking at you and you caught him in the act

“oh, sorry,” he panics, “there’s a bug on you.” he swats the imaginary bug off of your shoulder, mentally applauding himself for his quick thinking

that is, until his cuff catches on your sleeve and he’s left leaning over the food, tugging his wrist while trying not to rip your clothing

he begins to laugh nervously, eyes switching from looking at you to your sleeve before your hand covers his own

he stops moving, he stops all laughing, he doesn’t even think he breathes when you carefully pull his cuff off of your sleeve and let go of his hand gently, letting him fall back onto his side of the blanket

“I-I’m sorry, I just, I—” yangyang sighs at his own stuttering

he realizes he doesn’t feel like himself

why is he trying to shape himself into something he’s not when he’s around you

he decides that stops now

“honestly, I'm not sure how to act around you.” yangyang begins, watching how your face turns to look at him, “you’re my fiancé, but I don’t know you at all. I don’t even want to marry you.”

yangyang says the last sentence timidly, but bewilderment replaces the timidness when you sigh in relief

“that’s good because I don’t either.”

“wait, really?” yangyang perks up

“yes, really. I’ve lived my whole life without a fiancé, and one day one just falls into my lap. that’s how deals work with kingdoms, and that’s how I've been thinking about you for the past few days, just as a deal my dad is making with your brother. no offense, really, you seem like an awesome guy, but I'm just not interested in a relationship right now.”

you add on that last bit as a second thought, but yangyang caught the gist

somehow, your words make him relax tenfold and he doesn’t feel like someone else is talking and moving for him

however, there is that one part of him that aches when you call him “just a deal”

yangyang decides to deal with it later, taking things one step at a time for now

“my brother threw this onto my lap, too. it makes me less lonely knowing that I'm not the only one who’s feeling this way.”

“is your brother an uptight micro-manager with a stick up his ass?”

“yes... is yours?”

“yes!”

the more yangyang talked with you, the more he realized how similar you two are

you both loved horseback riding and pranking your older brothers

you both loved painting and eating the left over pastries that the kitchen is about to throw away

yangyang found out that you’ve been studying ever since you were little and that you wanted to be well-versed in as many subjects that you can be

and you didn’t judge yangyang when he honestly told you that he has no idea what he wants for his future

and he appreciates you for that

soon, the sun rises over the top of the sky and starts to sink back down towards the horizon, and sadly your “brunch” ends

“I'm glad we got to know each other better.” yangyang said as he rolled up the blanket you were sitting on

“me too. I'm glad I'm not being forced to marry someone who’s snobbish or boring”

yangyang laughs at the weird compliment, but that pang in his chest returns

forced...

is it bad that yangyang doesn’t feel like he’s being forced anymore?

is it bad that yangyang could.... willingly marry you?

he doesn’t feel trapped or like he would involuntarily be doing something

.... but do you still feel that way?

did the day you spend with yangyang not change your mind about your relationship like it did with his?

yangyang thinks about that the entire ride back to the castle, with secret side eyes to you and a heart that has unexpectedly sunk

the next morning, the two royal families gather for the signing of the contract

kun and your father are sitting at the table in one of the rooms in the castle, the two pieces of paper in front of them as they discuss the last terms and conditions

you’re standing next to yangyang and your mothers are standing only a few feet away

your brother is standing on the other side of yangyang; everyone waits patiently and silently as the kings do business

yangyang’s thoughts are still scrambled from the previous day, and he stares at the floor with his eyebrows screwed together

“are you okay?” you whisper from next to him, causing yangyang to jump slightly

“yeah, just tired.” he lies, and it makes you tilt your head at him

just as it looks like the kings have come to a final decision and they grasp their quill pens to sign the contracts in front of them, the doors to the room burst open, kun’s right hand man running into the room

“your highness, it’s the lee kingdom, they’re here.”

everyone in the room has just enough time to look at each other in perplexity before a group of your guards and the third royal family, the lees, walk into the room

king lee taeyong leads the way, along with his son, lee jeno

at the intrusion, yangyang feels you grab onto the back of his jacket, making him look at you to see uncomfortableness and slight fear in your eyes

“what’s this?” kun stands up from his chair, looking from king lee to his own right hand man to your father

“you are not legally allowed to sign that contract.” king lee states, producing a piece of paper and setting it on the table before your father

“according to this contract, your daughter cannot marry anyone other than my son, jeno.”

your father picks up the contract and reads it over, scoffing afterward

“this contract was created by our great-grandfathers.”

“it still applies to today. my son and your daughter were destined to marry each other before they were even born.”

while the three kings argue about the validity of such an old contract, yangyang feels you tug on the back of his jacket

he turns around to see the look of fear and uneasiness still on your face

“please, do something.” you're plea stuns yangyang, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to process your request

“like what?” he finally gets out

yangyang is just a prince, practically a nobody in this room when there are three kings and two soon-to-be kings here as well

“I can’t marry him.” you step closer to yangyang, you're dress pressing against his legs and your grip on his jacket tightening, “please, I just can’t.”

yangyang only realizes now that your fear is not from the situation currently happening in the room, but rather from the prince that stands by the entrance

lee jeno

tall and muscular and smart

maybe it would be better for you to marry jeno

yangyang feels a burning at the bottom of his stomach at his next thought, but it’s no doubt that it’s true:

you fit as jeno’s wife better than you fit as yangyang’s

you’ll be a queen one day if you marry jeno, but with yangyang you’ll only stay a princess

“why not? he’s better than I ever could be.” your eyebrows furrow for just a moment at yangyang’s words but you shake your head furiously

“he’s been trying to get me to marry him for years. I don’t care about what he has to offer, I don’t want to marry anyone.”

yangyang has to take a moment to feel pity for you

you’re being pressured into marriage from all sides when you don’t even want anything to do with matrimony

yangyang remembers what you told him the day before, that you’re glad you’re being forced to marry someone like him

although the words don’t sit well with him, he’s taking them and running with the idea that you’d rather be with him than with jeno

“we need to break up this contract, it’s no longer relevant with my kingdoms current needs.” yangyang hears your father declare as he tunes back into the conversation

“we can’t just break a several decade old contract because you don’t like it anymore. we’ll have to do it properly; either a trade, a rewrite, or a duel.” king lee states

“I'll duel.” yangyang speaks up without a second thought and jaws drop as everyone turns to look at him, “I’ll duel lee jeno.”

“huh?” jeno glances at his dad to try and figure out how he just got himself into a duel

“yangyang.” kun gives a deadly glare to his younger sibling, a que to sit down and shut up, but as always, yangyang never listens

“If I win, the old contract is destroyed, if jeno wins, it stays.”

no one speaks, only turning to look at jeno for his acceptance of the deal

when he nods, the three kings disperse and kun orders the guards to get the courtyard ready for tomorrow’s duel

if yangyang thought his sleep a few nights before was bad, that night’s sleep was even worse

yangyang and jeno have been in the prince’s club for the same amount of time and have known each other for years

yangyang knows how good jeno is at dueling

the cause of his tossing and turning was not for the fear of getting hurt or nerves of not breaking the contract

it was mostly about how stupid he was to suggest to duel one of the most skilled princes in the area

the next day, yangyang is in his tent, an assistant helping him put on his protective gear when you walk in

yangyang dismisses the assistant and turns back around to put on his gear himself

you take small steps to him, clearing your throat

“thank you for doing this. you have no idea how much I appreciate it.” yangyang is reminded of the core reason for his actions:

you

and because he still gets that warm feeling whenever he’s around you and thinks of you, he pushes his nerves aside and turns to look at you

“will you help me put this on?”

you nod and step closer, helping yangyang secure one of his forearm guards

“you’ll be okay... right?” you ask, your voice is full of jitters and you glance up at him for a second

“uh... well... jeno is pretty good at dueling and I..... have only done it three times before—”

“what?!” you yell, making yangyang jump

he’s never heard your voice at that volume before, and now that he takes a good look at you, you seem less composed than you usually do

“how can you agree to a duel with jeno when you aren’t experienced?”

“I am experienced... I have three fights under my belt.”

“did you win any of them?”

“... I won experience...”

his answer makes you sigh, and yangyang tilts his head

“are you worried?”

“yes.” yangyang’s heart does a backflip in his chest, almost jumping out of his throat in the process, but he quickly reminds himself about what the reason for your worry could be

“I-I mean... you don’t have to. I'll make sure one way or another that you won’t have to marry jeno.”

“that’s not what I'm worrying about right now... I don’t want you to get hurt.” yangyang feels like he’s about to pass out

you’re worried.... about him

he feels a rush of adrenaline fill him from head to toe

he thinks he might be able to do anything for you right at this moment

“I kind of made you do this, I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“hey,” yangyang gently takes your hand in his, stopping you from fiddling with his forearm guard, “whatever happens is not your fault, I made the choice to do this, so it’s my responsibility all the way to the end.”

you and yangyang share a moment of silence; he thinks that was probably the most grown up thing he has ever said

if yangyang thought his heart was done jumping for joy, the feeling is not yet over

you reach into your dress pocket and pull out a handkerchief

it’s plain white, but your initials are stitched into the corner in purple thread

you tuck the piece of fabric between yangyang’s forearm guard and his sleeve, tying it around his wrist so that it doesn’t move

“you have my luck. please, yangyang, be safe.” and with that, you walk out of the tent

he feels like a new man when he walks out to the courtyard, sword in one hand and helmet in the other

he’s almost blinded by the adrenaline and thoughts of you from just a few minutes ago

he feels like he actually has a chance of winning this duel

however, once his helmet is on and the duel starts, yangyang faces reality

no matter how much adrenaline and hope he has, he still sucks at using a sword

his arm seems to weight a lot more than just a few minutes ago and jeno seems to be moving a lot faster than yangyang has ever seen him move before

the sound of metal clashing against metal and grunts leaving yangyang’s mouth fill the area, what seems like everyone from the castle watching on to see who’ll win the fight

yangyang thinks he’s about to lose until jeno retreats, letting yangyang take the offense and move closer

soon, yangyang has the upper hand and, by some miracle, jeno’s sword flies out of his hand, landing on the grass several feet away with jeno surrendering to yangyang

cheers and claps break out at the ending of the duel, but yangyang can’t hear anything, his shock too great to process what just happened

he drops his own sword, instead shaking his hand with jeno’s

jeno accepts the gesture, pulling yangyang closer by his hand and leaning into his ear

“have fun marrying y/n.” he chuckles lowly, walking away from yangyang to join his father

yangyang’s rush from victory and accomplishment die down as he watches jeno’s back retreat

.... did he just throw the duel? so that he won’t have to marry you?

yangyang can’t believe that jeno would do something like that, but the smirk on his face as he sends yangyang one more look tells him that maybe yangyang’s guess could be right

yangyang’s attention pulls away from jeno to you, already making your way down to where yangyang is standing, feet almost running to get to him quicker

you meet him in the middle of the courtyard, slowing down as you reach him

not knowing how to show your worry and affection, you grab onto his forearms and turn him to you, looking him up and down

“you’re okay?” you ask, pleading with your eyes for him to tell the truth

“yeah, I'm fine.” yangyang laughs; you don’t let go of him yet

“good. I don’t want my future husband to be hurt by me before we’re even engaged.” you try to joke, but yangyang doesn’t find it funny

instead, his smile sobers up and he opens his mouth a few times, trying to get the words stuck in his throat out into the thick air between you two

yangyang didn’t want to deal with his feelings right now, but he’s not sure if he’ll get the courage to confront you again

“so, I know you don’t want a relationship and that you feel forced into marrying me right now... but maybe one day that can be different?”

you swallow and keep staring at yangyang in response

“maybe... we can go on some more horseback rides, or maybe we can paint together someday?” yangyang’s confidence starts to fade when you’re not saying anything in return, your face still void of emotion

“I don’t know... I think I can learn to be a good husband.” yangyang finally gets his thought out, gaze falling as he kicks the ground lightly, waiting for your response

“yeah... I think I can learn to love you, yangyang” your response makes yangyang lift his head, the dumb smile on his face matching yours

maybe it’s okay that yangyang only partially won this game

in the end he’s the real winner, whether he truly won the match or not, because he gets to marry you

#yangyang #yangyang fluff #yangyang x reader #wayv fluff #wayv x reader #yangyang angst #wayv angst #yangyang imagines #yangyang scenarios #yangyang fic #yangyang au #yangyang blurb #yangyang timestamp #wayv imagines #wayv scenarios #wayv fic #wayv au #wayv blurbs #wayv timestamp

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king-kira · 3 years

Text

Valiant || Chap. 2 - The Accolade

Pairing: Eren/Fem!Reader

Genre/AU: Medieval AU, Royalty AU

Warnings: None

Words: 1,710

Available on: Ao3 & Quotev

Summary -> [Name] [Last], the only princess in a kingdom teetering on the brink of war. It's only a matter of time before danger rears its ugly head, so her father decides to assign her a personal knight, much to her dismay.

<- Previous Chapter || Next Chapter ->

Note: Happy reading! :)

All knights were to adhere to the code of conduct, especially chivalry. During the Accolade, a ceremony in which squires enter knighthood, knights swear to defend the weak and uphold virtues such as compassion, loyalty, generosity, and truthfulness until the day they die. Of course, the oath they swore made them sound like the kindest bunch in the kingdom. They weren't. Most became power-hungry and obsessed with the idea of climbing the ranks. The Knights Legion, or the Legion of Honour, if you will, was filled with lazy drunkards and corrupted souls. You had watched many knights change over the years. They start off young and naive, but the world changes them. Your father didn't care much for that. As long as they were strong and hid their true nature from the public eye, they were as good of knights as any. You just hoped that his ignorance wouldn't come back to bite him.

You stood adjacent to your father on the altar. He unsheathed his sword when several squires and knights entered the room. Usually, the Accolade would take place after a battle, when the squires had proven their strength and loyalty to the kingdom, but desperate times call for desperate measures. You watched in silence as, one by one, each squire kneeled before the king and swore the oath. The king would then dub each squire a knight with the tap of his sword on their shoulders. It was a repetitive ceremony, and you weren't quite sure why your father had insisted you be present. You guessed that it was because one of the knights would become your personal knight.

It came down to the last couple of knights, and for some reason, you were a bit disappointed that you hadn't seen the boy from the courtyard. He was a squire, was he not? He was training with the others yesterday. Just as the thought crossed your mind, the doors opened, revealing the boy you had been thinking about, behind him was a shorter man you recognized as Sir Ackerman. Speak of the devil, and he doth appear, you supposed. After a pregnant pause, the ceremony resumed, and the boy quietly shuffled closer to the altar.

The ceremony came to an end, and the newly dubbed knights filtered out of the room. "Sir Jaeger, stay here a moment," your father called out, returning his sword to its scabbard. You hesitated to leave the room, were you meant to stay? Your father, perceptive as always, turned to you.

"You as well, [Name]," he motioned for you to step down from the altar alongside him. Sir Jaeger nervously approached and kneeled in front of your father.

"Your highness," he addressed your father.

"I believe both Sir Ackerman and the instructor discussed this matter with you?" the king asked, to which Sir Jaeger only nodded. "Right, [Name], Sir Jaeger will be your personal knight. He must protect you and only you, no matter the cost." your father sure had a way of putting things grimly, you could feel your hands become clammy, and you couldn't imagine how nervous the knight kneeling before you was feeling. Unsure of what to say, you nodded, fiddling with a frilly piece of fabric that lined your dress. Your father gave you a look that you could only describe as stern before leaving the room.

Now it was just you and a stranger, a stranger that has to follow you around everywhere you go in case of the rare occurrence that you are attacked within your own home. You couldn't blame him, though; you doubted he wanted to follow you around every day.

"Ther- there's no reason to bow any longer," you stuttered, eyeing him as he kneeled. He hastily stood to his feet as if following a command. You felt your heart pang at the thought. He didn't seem to speak much. Is this how it's going to be? Was he going to remain silent and follow your every command? You supposed that's what a personal knight was meant to do, but it was a bit saddening to think about. You tried not to let your disappointment show, but he seemed like the perceptive type. When he spoke, it confirmed your suspicions.

"What's wrong, princess?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. I- uh, I just got lost in thought," you explained with hesitation. "You need to need to get your gear from the armoury, don't you?" you asked upon further examination of the boy. He was clad in a pair of boots, trousers, and a green tunic. He nodded in response.

"Why don't you go receive your gear while I head to the library?" you suggested as you began to walk. Sir Jaeger followed a few steps behind you.

"I don't believe I'm allowed to leave your side during my shift, princess," he replied. Part of you wished he had forgotten the oath he had sworn minutes ago, it was a foolish wish, but you were a foolish girl wishing for a crumb of freedom.

"I wouldn't tell anyone," you stated simply as if you were bartering for an item or service of some sort.

"Uh, my apologies, but I don't fancy getting scolded my first day on the job," he let out an awkward chuckle.

"Well, you can't go without your armour. I suppose we'll just have to head over to the armoury together."

________

One thing not many people knew about the castle was its many secret passages. They were once used as escape routes if when castle came under siege. The kingdom has been at peace with neighbouring nations for decades until now, so your father had them sealed up when you were little, but not before you found out about the one in your bedroom. You hadn't unsealed it in years because you never needed to, but now that you had a personal knight waiting outside your door, you finally had a reason. You didn't consider yourself very mischievous, but your father brought it upon himself. You doubted the castle would be attacked anytime soon. The neighbouring nation would more than likely attack a fort on the outskirts first. It's with these thoughts in your mind that you decide to push aside your dresser as quietly as possible and peel back the floral wallpaper that covered a hatch. Crouching down, you opened the hatch and entered the small crawlspace. Further down was a more spacious tunnel that led to a staircase.

You kept one hand on the stone brick wall to guide yourself through the darkness. The stench of mould and mildew was pungent, and out of the corner of your eye, you see something scurry across the floor. Yeah, no one had been down here in years, and you had half the mind to turn around and go back to sleep. Alas, you proceeded down the stairs, careful not to trip. Finally, you reached the end of the narrow passage. You pushed a rickety wooden door open and lantern light filtered out the darkness.

The passage led to the underground dungeons. You hadn't been down here often but recognized it by the iron doors that lined the hallway. Your eyes scanned the area. Odd, there weren't any guards present. You guessed it was your lucky day.

__________

Alone, at last, you sat down at your usual spot by the courtyard. You reached for your book and opened it to the page where you had left off on. The usual sound of swords clashing was no longer present. You supposed it was because most of the squires were knighted yesterday.

"You're quite the troublemaker, aren't you?" a voice startled you, causing your body to jolt. You whipped your head around and came face to face, or rather face to helm, with Sir Jaeger. You eyed his armour. It was different from most low-ranking knights, more intricate, and if you had to guess, crafted from a stronger metal. Though, you suppose he wasn't low-ranking since he was assigned to protect you. Thinking about it now, why was he assigned to you? He was a squire only yesterday. You expected someone more experienced. Perhaps, his swordsmanship was just that excellent.

"If you keep this up, you'll get me in trouble," he said, breaking your train of thought. You took a moment to watch as he sat down beside you before speaking up. "You wouldn't get in trouble. I'd just tell my father that it was my fault," you said, shaking your head and turning your attention back to the book on your lap.

"Not sure that's how it works, princess," he murmured.

"How'd you find me anyway?" you decided to change the topic.

"Well, it was getting late, so I decided to check on you only to find that you weren't even there, and there was an open hatch in the wall," he explained. "I went through the passage, and I figured I'd check the courtyard since I've seen you here often," he finished. You gave a curt nod, letting the conversation lapse.

"What're you reading?" the boy inquired after a long pause. He leaned closer to take a peek at your book. You slammed it shut, feeling warmth rise to your cheeks. "Love in Turmoil? Didn't take you for the romantic type," he laughed, and you huffed, giving him a shove.

"Yeah, so what?" you snapped back.

"Nothing wrong with it," the turquoise eyed boy raised his hands in defence.

"Right," you said, rolling your eyes.

"Look, uh- I know you're not too fond of the whole personal knight thing. I'm sorry, but once this whole 'on the brink of war' thing passes, things will go back to normal," he attempted to reassure you, and you began to feel a bit bad. You shouldn't be giving him such a hard time, but there's so much frustration boiling within you that has nowhere to go. You exhale and turn to face him.

"I'm sorry for the way I've been acting. I just..." You paused to think of the right words. A wistful sigh slipped past your lips, and you turned your gaze heavenward. You watched as two birds soared across the sky, and that's when it happened. In an instant, the world around you began to crumble.

#eren x reader #eren x you #eren jeager x reader #eren x y/n #eren jäger #eren aot #aot x reader #aot #snk #snk x reader #armin arlert #mikasa ackerman #levi ackerman #eren yaeger x reader #eren yeager #medieval au #royalty au #my writing

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queenbirbs · 4 years

Text

on this winter night with you | Ethan Ramsey x MC

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Sloane McTavish)

Summary: Ethan attempts to decorate his apartment for Christmas and worries himself into the ground about it, as per usual.

WC: 1.8k

Warnings: alcohol mention

Notes: Takes place during book two. Title from Gordon Lightfoot’s “Song for a Winter’s Night.”

------

“This looks stupid,” he mutters to himself for what might be the fortieth time.

Still, Ethan can’t resist reaching out and shifting the small pile of presents again. As if another inch to the right will suddenly make them fit in amongst the other decor on his mantle. They should be in their traditional place under the tree, but Jenner nearly consumed an entire bow when he turned his back. And with how much time he wasted watching wrapping tutorials on his phone -- twenty-seven minutes, according to the video length and the amount of times he replayed it -- he doesn’t have the energy to deal with that again.

Especially when he’s spent so much of the afternoon fighting with the lights. When he pulled them from the dark tomb of his guest bedroom closet, they were wrapped neatly around a divider -- thanks to his dad, who gifted them to him years ago. Somehow, in the short trek to the living room, Ethan managed to tangle them into an incomprehensible mess.

And there went another sixteen minutes.

He has studies published in several dozen medical journals; he wrote his own textbook before the age of 27; he’s been the keynote speaker at the North American Diagnostics Conference for two of the past five years. But Ethan doesn’t even want to know how long he struggled with wrapping the lights around the tree, before he realized he could just pull the damn thing away from the corner. After wrestling it back into said corner, he plugged in the cord. Only to find that the lights were set on some bizarre, rapid blinking pattern that he couldn’t seem to switch off.

There must be a joke out there about a doctor reading a wikiHow article on how to set up a Christmas tree. He sure isn’t laughing, though. Because for all his troubles, his apartment looks like the set of a low-budget holiday special.

“This looks stupid.”

From the floor, behind the makeshift barricade around the tree, Jenner grunts in agreement. Ethan bites back the sigh that begs to form, figuring that he’s met his quota already. It’s irrational to be nervous about something so trivial -- it’s all tinsel and plastic pine needles, after all. But that’s not counting for what’s at the bottom of the box on the coffee table. Which is why he wants this to be perfect. Which is why he should stop worrying over the decor and see to dinner.

He’s only gotten to slicing the tomatoes when Jenner races to the front door.

“--the state with the worst drivers, I swear,” Sloane says to no one in particular as she opens the door. “I read an article about it in The Atlantic.”

Bundled up in her coat and his scarf, she shakes the snow from her hair. Fat drops of ice plod onto the rug. She bypasses the coat rack and drapes hers across a barstool, then dumps her bag and scarf onto the island, muttering all the while about Massachusetts drivers. Her heels clatter to the floor as she kicks them off and moans in relief. It should be silly that, despite the panic he feels at her early arrival and the slight annoyance at the mess she’s made of the foyer, he’s still hit with that familiar pang of affection for this woman. He likes being on this side of the fence when it comes to their relationship. The side where it’s just the two of them, with no workplace rules or curious onlookers to spy on them. The sex is fantastic, don’t get him wrong, but there’s something thrilling about the domesticity. He certainly wasn’t ever able to say that about his other relationships.

Now, if he could emit any sort of verbal greeting from where he’s frozen in place at the counter.

“You’re early,” he declares, wincing at the lack of subtlety.

“Patient transfer went without a hitch. Must’ve been one of those Christmas miracles I hear so much about. So Naveen said I could head out.”

Sloane pops open the fridge and pulls out a bottle of wine. Passing behind him, she gives his hip a quick squeeze before locating the corkscrew. She glances up through the curtain of her hair at him and grins, reading his nervous energy as easily as a book. He’s never been good at hiding much from her which, looking back, was probably for the best. “I texted you.”

“I… you did?”

Popping the cork, she shoots him another look as she pours them each a glass. He takes his and tries not to seem too eager to have a sip. Reflections on the bottle pull her attention from him and to the odd light show playing in the living room. Ethan watches as she rounds the couch and lets out an amused chuckle.

“What’s with the textbooks?”

“Jenner kept trying to eat the ornaments. And the tree skirt. And the tree.”

“Most people get those weird, little fences.”

“I’ll get a ‘weird, little fence’ next year.”

“Don’t. I like it. It’s very…” she tips her head to the side, as if she’s assessing an art piece and not the Great Wall of Oxford University Press, “...you.”

“Thanks. I think.” Coming to stand beside her, he gestures to a plastic storage bin on the coffee table. “I didn’t have a chance to hang the ornaments yet.”

“Good. We can do it together.” Bumping her nose against his arm, she drops a kiss to the fabric there, and then another on his jaw. “After dinner, though, because I’m starving.”

Leaning down, he hauls her close with his arm around her waist and captures her lips with his own. After a long, long moment, he pulls away and lets them both catch their breath.

“Me too,” he says, grinning when she rolls her eyes at his antics.

“Yeah, I got that. C’mon, you take care of the main course and I’ll handle dessert.”

------

“Isn’t this supposed to accompany dessert?” he questions as he reads the label.

“Hush. It’s Christmas Eve. We’re both adults with high-stress jobs working on a veritable sinking ship that we’re choosing to go down with.” Sloane ticks off the reasons with her fingers, though she only gets as far as those two before he passes the bottle of Marchese dell’Elsa to her. “And it’s Christmas Eve.”

“You already said that.”

“Enough backtalk.” She uses her stern voice, but the effect is diminished by the sleeves of his sweater sliding back down over her hands. “It’s time for the best part.”

Reaching into the plastic bin, she pulls an ornament free from the tissue paper. It’s a green, silk ball, shot through with a gold stitching that’s coming loose. Ethan thinks it’s old enough to be his paternal grandmother’s. A woman he has few memories of, but the ones he has -- orange parquet floors, low, throaty laughs, and the spicy scent of menthol cream -- are fond. Sloane moves over to the tree and settles it near the top.

Frank Sinatra’s Christmas album and the hiss of the gas fireplace accompany them as they make slow work of emptying out the bin. Glittery snowflakes and chipping snowmen hang amongst the cheesy doctor phrases his dad insists on gifting him.

“Aww look at you,” Sloane drags out the word as he lifts out one of the last ornaments. Crafted from popsicle sticks glued together, the makeshift frame holds a glossy picture of Ethan clutching a first place trophy for the fourth grade science fair. “What was your project?”

“A lemon volcano.”

“That’s so cute. Mine was on the different decomposition rates of plastic in fresh versus saltwater.”

“Nobody likes a braggart,” he mumbles, prompting a laugh from her as she snatches the ornament from his hand and hangs it dead center on the tree.

She turns back to rifle through the bin for any small baubles they may have missed, only for her to lift out a gold key tied with a ribbon. Confusion draws her brows together as she inspects it. Though he despises hyperbole, he can’t deny the near-feeling of his heart in his throat. He gulps down what’s left in his glass and sucks in a breath. Sloane moves to place it on the tree when he reaches out to stop her.

“No, wait -- it’s… it’s for you,” he manages to stutter out.

She shifts to face him.

“What?”

“This year has been challenging. Probably the hardest and most grueling in a long time.” Ethan rubs his palm along his jaw, unable to suppress the smile that comes with his next words. “But you -- you made it all worth it. I can’t help but be thankful that I’m here with you, at the end of this awful year. And I know that we don’t know what’s going to happen with the hospital, or where we might be next year, but I don’t really care about any of that right now.”

And hadn’t that been a revelation, that the career he’d spent a decade dedicating his life to cultivating had fallen to the wayside when it came to his future with Sloane. Because that’s what he wants, at the end of the day, at the end of this mess. “Having you here with me -- I’ve gotten used to it. And I’d like for you to continue being here with me. If you want to, that is.”

Her green eyes are wide as they flicker from his face to the key and back again. The lights shimmer against the auburn waves that have come loose from her bun. She clears her throat and gives her head a little shake, as if waking herself from a daydream.

“I -- what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I lied about needing to donate my clothes. I mean, I am still doing that, but the reason wasn’t just for a yuletide cleaning. I was making space. For you to move in with me.”

He steps forward and settles his hands on her waist, kissing her once on the forehead. The smirk appears on his face, unbidden. “I thought I was being pretty obvious, what with leaving the top drawers empty and moving my suits to the guest closet.”

“I thought you were going to embrace the leather jacket look you picked up in Brazil and expand your wardrobe beyond grandpa sweaters and khakis,” she serves right back.

Ethan rolls his eyes at the dig.

“Big talk for the thief currently wearing one of these so-called ‘grandpa sweaters.’”

Sloane snuggles close, right into the space where she fits so well against his chest. Her fingers trace over the key.

“My answer is yes, by the way.”

The confirmation warms him, right down to the center of his chest. Or maybe a little to the left. Cupping her face, he slides his lips along hers, sighing with content when she deepens the kiss.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

------

Author’s notes and what-have-yous:

Another fic that’s mostly dialogue? Absolutely unheard of from me. Another fic that should’ve been posted in a timely manner? Yet here we are, day after Christmas. Oh well.

Was the hospital talk vague enough for it to be obvious that I… haven’t exactly finished book 2? I got to chapter 14 and then work hit me like a category five hurricane for two and a half months, so I haven’t gotten a chance to actually play the last few chapters. I’ll get around to them eventually.

Also: the Atlantic article is fake, though MA did receive the worst driver award back in 2014. As of 2020, Massachusetts was rated as the best for drivers (using data from 2017 through 2019).

Happy holidays and warm wishes to everyone still chugging through this wild, wild year.

#Kaila writes things #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #haven't posted in a while so we get to play the age old game of will this show up in the tags #ooh how fun #f: on this winter night with you

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haddiebell · 3 years

Text

Taylor Swift: Villainized by Fake News and Sexism

Taylor Swift Isn’t Like Other Celebrities, She’s Worse, warns the headline of VICE’s 2016 article, an example from the fake news storm that clouded Taylor Swift’s once squeaky-clean reputation several years back. However, this villainization was far from abrupt; Swift’s persona had been undergoing a degradation by many different events for nearly a decade. The catalyst for this phenomenon originally occurred at the 2009 VMAs, where Swift was accepting an award and Kanye West stole the microphone from the then seventeen-year-old.

This event sparked a world of sexism and fake news to thrive and propagate wrongfully and with harm off Swift’s name for years to come. The media’s gradual villainization of Taylor Swift was done so unfairly. Fake news thrived off of Swift’s personal issues such as her feud, phone leaks, country to pop transition and manipulated them into a narrative where the media created a protagonist and antagonist. The fake news was infused with sexism and clickbait, namely from gossip outlets and social media platforms such as Twitter. The news was propagated by unsolicited feuds and manipulated storytelling in attempts to sell a narrative. This narrative tarnished her reputation, career, and personal life significantly. Taylor Swift is a prime example of how sexism and fake news thrive off of women, especially celebrities.

Taylor Swift was once considered the “Golden Girl” (Knibbs, ...Ten Years of Taylor Swift) of the music industry by many. Children, parents, and everyone in between seemed to like her. However, the media has controlled her public narrative for nearly Swift's entire career. Ever since her feud with Kayne was ignited back in 2009, Swift’s public perception has been at the mercy of how the media wanted her to be viewed. As mentioned in Vulture’s article, Now That No One Cares Anymore, Who Was Right in the Kanye-Taylor Feud? (2020), Jones states that whoever was enjoying more personal success at the time, whether that be Swift or West, the sympathy would follow suit.

This shows how the media was manipulating the public’s perception in order to monetize Swift’s feud. “When people got a little sick of her, suddenly she was a lying manipulator.” (Jones, ...Right in the Kanye-Taylor Feud?), Swift was frequently and wrongly used as a pawn in the media’s games. This relationship between Swift and the media, and how they villainized her for their own gain, is the single common thread that ties each of the following events together. Whether it was the 2009 VMAs, the infamous call with Kim Kardashian, Taylor becoming a supposed “snake”; her reputation was always unfairly in the hands of rather sexist media outlets, which focused on monetary gain over truth. Taylor Swift’s villainization was based on fake news and sexism.

THE 2009 VMA INCIDENT

How does the media manipulate the narrative? Negative news sells. As a society we are conditioned to find negative words and stories more intriguing (Stafford, ...Why bad news dominates...). The initial catalyst of Swift’s so called “downfall”, a word favoured by new outlets when referring to her at the time, was when Kayne West stole the microphone from then seventeen-year-old Swift during her acceptance speech. West had taken the microphone to explain why he thought Beyonce should have won this award (Cullen, 2016). This became the beginning of a narrative the media would continue to overexpose and sell about Swift for years to come.

Although the public at the time was still on Swift’s side, this laid the groundwork for their feuds to come and Swift’s inevitable peak villainization in 2016. Although Kayne was scrutinized for his actions, the event barely put a dent in his career. West still sold records and continued to rise in popularity. despite his actions; a courtesy Swift would not share.

In 2009 Swift was the victim, and more importantly still a child. Therefore, people still felt a sense of responsibility for her, which is why West was scrutinized. The media took this event and conjured it into something much larger. Swift and West’s names saturated media coverage for weeks.

One can see by the Google Trends data, negative news sticks in people’s memories better than the good (Stafford, ...Why bad news dominates...). The visualization shows how search results for Swift and West’s ‘giant’ feud at the VMAs over the past five years has remained much more relevant than the entire award show that night. Fake news was able to tell that story and keep people interested, for a long, long time.

TAYLOR SWIFT IS A SNAKE

From the 2009 VMAs onwards, the media chose to switch Swift from the protagonist to the antagonist in their stories. During the switch from country star to pop, Swift’s popularity and critical acclaim continued to rise. This overexposure was where her villainization began. Sexism plays a huge part in how the media uses and abuses fake news. Opposite to how West was simply able to move forward after the VMAs, Swift’s actions were manipulated and used against her, in an attempt to make her “look bad”. Swift became the suitable villain over Kanye because no one wanted to protect the mid-twenties perfect, pretty and successful “Golden Girl” anymore, she was no longer a girl but a woman. Negative news sells. Clickbait sells. Seeing perfect people fail is shocking and more exciting and memorable than continuing to see someone (West) who has a history of problematic behaviours (2009 VMAs) continue to be the villain in the story.

An example of this behaviour would be back in 2014 when Swift made her famous leap from country music singer to international pop star. Where this event could have simply been perceived as a change in taste, or perhaps wanting to try something new, it was conjured into quite the news story. According to Lela Lyon, a linguistics master’s student at the University of Kentucky, the media manipulated Swift’s persona shift by labelling this endeavour as “proof” she was indeed “fake”. This idea was justified by saying the change from her “sounding southern” and “moving around the country”, had somehow made her a less authentic human and performer (Lyon, SHIFTING PERSONAS...).

This whole fabrication the media had created around a harmless career goal was deeply rooted in sexism and an attempt to keep news selling, authentic or not. Changing genres as a musician is not a new trend, nor will it ever be as humans are constantly evolving and changing beings. For example, back in 2007 none other than Kanye West himself, made a genre jump from aggressive rap beats to somber electronic music (Suggest, ... Switched Genres). However, rather than being met with allegations of fake-ness and inauthenticity, his work was praised and critically acclaimed. Of course, there is no denying Swift has most definitely had no shortage of success, but this narrative is not uncommon unfortunately. The media’s manipulation and fake news is only a reflection of how the public readily tears down women attempting to grow, change or be successful. The media as well as the public were ready for a new villain and a fresh story, and Swift was essentially in the “wrong place at the wrong time”. The media needed to manipulate this successful woman into being perceived as duplicitous.

Not only does the sexism and spread of misinformation impact careers and reputations, but it also does a great deal of direct harm to the personal lives of those involved. Swift talks a great deal about how the hate became so overwhelming she stated in her 2020 Netflix documentary Miss Americana that, “no one physically saw me for a year” and, “I felt like it wasn’t about the music anymore”. When misinformation is spread, people rarely look at how deeply it affects the ones it's about. Swift said, “I’m kinda used to being gaslit by now” (Swift, qtd in Snapes “...about to Break”), a common fate for women in public media. Most notably however was how Swift “drawls wearily” after the quote (Swift, qtd in Snapes “...about to Break”). This involuntary reaction is physical proof of how the narrative manipulation had taken a toll on her both mentally and physically.

Unfortunately, in Swift’s case the sexism and fake news went hand in hand. The above only demonstrates how unfair a situation she was put in, as a person, woman and performer. Media outlets used her name and success as their way of pushing a narrative on to the public, to sell their stories. Taylor Swift was now the villain in the general public’s eyes.

KANYE MADE TAYLOR SWIFT ‘FAMOUS’

At this point in 2016, nearly eight years after the VMAs incident, fake news had told the public Taylor Swift is now your antagonist, Kanye was always right - hate Swift. Taylor had reached the peak of her wrongful villainization. The hate reached its precipice when Kim Kardashian leaked a video of Swift supposedly agreeing to Kanye calling her a “b*tch” in his new song ‘Famous’, which Swift publicly took offence to. Kim Kardashian is the wife of rapper Kanye West. With millions of followers and her own reality television show, Kim was able to use her influence to assist the media in feeding their manipulation of Swift's narrative to the press and general public to gain positive attention for herself and West, as well as make Swift look bad in the process.

This is where fake news thrives; celebrities feeding into rumours and gossip to quicken and widen the spread and belief of the misinformation. Dealing with these feuds so publicly is a dangerous game, and highly irresponsible. At this point between Kim, Kanye and the press, it had become popular to hate Taylor Swift. News Outlets used headlines such as Taylor Swift Isn’t Like Other Celebrities, She’s Worse (Vice), Is America Turning on Taylor Swift? (The Daily Beast), and How Taylor Swift Played The Victim For A Decade And Made Her Entire Career (Buzzfeed) to initiate a bandwagon effect against Swift. It was now a trend to hate her.

Hate her the public did. From this fake news narrative, however, was born one of the most significant and memorable examples of cancel culture and fake news in recent pop culture history. As clearly shown by the data visualization from Google Trends both Kim Kardashian and Taylor Swift’s google searches surged on July 18th, 2016. This was the beginning of the social media platform Twitter’s Trending hashtags “#KimExposedTaylorParty” and “#TaylorSwiftIsOverParty”. These hashtags both reached number one on Twitter Worldwide trending for two days straight. This virality of the situation caused a massive amount of hate to be thrown in Swift’s direction by the general public. People who had no previous knowledge or personal experience with the situation or Swift herself had joined this hate train because the media had pushed this false narrative so effectively. They had been building this story arch since the incident at the 2009 VMAs.

These specific tweets were pulled as examples to show how the general public was responding on Twitter, but also to show what new heights Swift’s villainization had reached. Swift was being accused of playing the victim (Woodward, How Taylor Swift Played The Victim...), something that was frequently used against her. In addition to the Twitter fiasco, Swift’s Instagram comments were flooded with snake emojis by angry Kardashian-West fans, to signify Swift being lying and duplicitous (Savage, Taylor Swift and Kim Kardashian in War...). This kind of blind bandwagon behaviour is dangerous especially in the context of celebrity feuds fueled by fake news. Swift herself said “nothing ever just happens like that without some lead-up” (Swift, qtd in Sanchez, Taylor Swift Finally Speaks Her Truth...), this villainization was planned by the media.

Analyzing this behaviour dynamic between Kim and Taylor, really sheds light on how problematic the media can be when it comes to exacerbating unnecessary details. This misinformation epidemic and fake news did not come without its costs. Swift suffered personal darkness, and in addition released a redemption album targeted at the media called, ‘reputation’. Swift knows how to turn lemons into lemonade. She is a model of redemption and although her reputation has forever taken a hit, and America turned on her (Zimmerman, ...Turning on Taylor Swift?), she “died” and came back again. Although her resilience is admirable, the toll the sexism, cancel culture, and fake news took on her is both unforgivable and unethical. This analysis however would not be complete without recognizing the obvious factor race played here. Kanye is a Black man, Kim Kardashian is a woman of colour, and although Swift redeemed herself, she was able to do so likely due to white victimization. Due to her being a white woman, the public felt an ease of forgiveness and she was able to move on. However, a Black woman might not have been given the same opportunity. That being said, what happened to Swift was wrong and as a community this kind of behaviour should not be tolerated, and we should be able to hold the media accountable for its manipulation tactics. Just because someone is a Public Figure, does not exclude them from being ethically protected. Taylor Swift made it out, but she, like many other female singers, is a perfect example of how sexism and fake news can take a Golden Girl and make her one of the most hated villains in the world.

Works Cited

“13 Famous Singers That Completely Switched Genres.” Suggest.Com, 15 May 2014, https://www.suggest.com/music/716/13-famous-singers-that-completely-switched-genres/.

adam is a savage. “#KimExposedTaylorParty #TaylorSwiftIsOverParty https://t.co/eoBEVgU27u.” @cxlvinhxrris, 18 July 2016, https://twitter.com/cxlvinhxrris/status/755038022954024960.

Alyssa Pickens. “RIP Taylor Swift (2009 – 2016) Https://T.Co/UMvl2FIzfC #TaylorSwiftIsOverParty Back Again with the Victim Card?” @Alyssa_Pickens1, 19 July 2016, https://twitter.com/Alyssa_Pickens1/status/755382076745154561.

amani222. “@taylorswift13 Lied and She Got Exposed for Her Lies, yet She Still Manages to Play the Victim #KimExposedTaylorPary #TaylorSwiftIsOverParty.” @aimanii8, 18 July 2016, https://twitter.com/aimanii8/status/755015350081773571.

Brandon. “@KimKardashian If You Can Make @taylorswift13 Not a Thing Anymore the World Will Forever Be in Your Debt #TaylorSwiftIsOverParty.” @burkettbrandon7, 19 July 2016, https://twitter.com/burkettbrandon7/status/755305865511444481.

Bryant, Aoibhin. “Kim Kardahsian Makes Sly Dig at Taylor Swift amid Phone Call Leak.” Extra.Ie, 30 Mar. 2020, https://extra.ie/2020/03/30/entertainment/celebrity/kim-kardahsian-taylor-swift-kanye-west-phonecall.

C, Kim. “Taylor Swift and Kanye West Feud Part 2: The ‘Famous’ Lyrics.” Music Times, 8 Sept. 2020, https://www.musictimes.com/articles/82233/20200908/taylor-swift-and-kanye-west-feud-part-2-the-famous-lyrics.htm.

Cullen, Shaun. “The Innocent and the Runaway: Kanye West, Taylor Swift, and the Cultural Politics of Racial Melodrama.” Journal of Popular Music Studies, vol. 28, no. 1, Wiley, 2016, pp. 33–50. Scholars Portal Journals, doi:10.1111/jpms.12160.

Djordjevic, Marta. “We Finally Understand Kanye’s Beef With Taylor Swift.” NickiSwift.Com, 21 May 2019, https://www.nickiswift.com/153445/we-finally-understand-kanyes-beef-with-taylor-swift/.

Gazette, Montreal. “There’s a Montreal Gazette Article in the New Taylor Swift Doc. It’s Doctored.” Montrealgazette, https://montrealgazette.com/news/local-news/theres-a-montreal-gazette-article-in-the-new-taylor-swift-doc-its-doctored. Accessed 25 Feb. 2021.

He, Richard S. Taylor Swift Isn’t Like Other Celebrities, She’s Worse. https://www.vice.com/en/article/rq47gb/taylor-swift-isnt-like-other-celebrities-shes-worse. Accessed 25 Feb. 2021.

Jabour, Bridie. “Taylor Swift’s ‘Downfall’: What the Online Celebrations Really Say | Bridie Jabour.” The Guardian, 18 July 2016, http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/jul/18/taylor-swift-kanye-west-kim-kardashian-west-famous-reaction.

Jones, Nate. “Now That No One Cares Anymore, Who Was Right in the Kanye-Taylor Feud?” Vulture, 28 Mar. 2020, https://www.vulture.com/2020/03/taylor-swift-kanye-west-who-was-right.html.

Knibbs, Kate. “Ten Years of Taylor Swift: How the Pop Star Went From Sweetheart to Snake (and Back Again?).” The Ringer, 21 Aug. 2019, https://www.theringer.com/music/2019/8/21/20826837/ten-years-of-taylor-swift.

Lavender, Jane. “Inside Kim Kardashian’s Feud with Taylor Swift - and Why She Won’t Let It Drop.” Mirror, 3 June 2020, https://www.mirror.co.uk/3am/celebrity-news/inside-kim-kardashians-feud-taylor-22132388.

Leah Stodart. “Me at the #TaylorSwiftIsOverParty Https://T.Co/7NI7QYxLaE.” @notleah, 18 July 2016, https://twitter.com/notleah/status/755038570180554753.

Lyon, Lela. “SHIFTING PERSONAS: A CASE STUDY OF TAYLOR SWIFT.” Theses and Dissertations--Linguistics, Jan. 2019, doi:https://doi.org/10.13023/etd.2019.381.

Pak, Eudie. “Taylor Swift and Kanye West: A Timeline of the Musicians’ Decade-Long Feud.” Biography, https://www.biography.com/news/kanye-west-taylor-swift-feud-timeline. Accessed 12 Feb. 2021.

Sanchez, Chelsey. “Taylor Swift Finally Speaks Her Truth About Kanye’s Infamous Call.” Harper’s BAZAAR, 18 Sept. 2019, https://www.harpersbazaar.com/celebrity/latest/a29110321/taylor-swift-kanye-west-phone-call/.

Savage, Mark. “Taylor Swift and Kanye West’s Phone Call Leaks.” BBC News, 23 Mar. 2020. www.bbc.com, https://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-52003974.

---. “Taylor Swift and Kim Kardashian in War of Words over Leaked Call.” BBC News, 24 Mar. 2020. www.bbc.com, https://www.bbc.com/news/entertainment-arts-52018077.

Snapes, Laura. “Taylor Swift: ‘I Was Literally about to Break.’” The Guardian, 24 Aug. 2019, http://www.theguardian.com/music/2019/aug/24/taylor-swift-pop-music-hunger-games-gladiators.

Stafford, Tom. Psychology: Why Bad News Dominates the Headlines. 28 July 2014, https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20140728-why-is-all-the-news-bad.

Wilson, Lana. Miss Americana. Tremolo Productions & Netflix, 2020, https://www.netflix.com/watch/81028336?trackId=14170287&tctx=2%2C0%2C52dd8493-86e7-4b42-95f6-42e9703ded6a-59610459%2C4048c9b2-4dfe-4289-b8b4-3ca68e4f6a47_3061207X3XX1614261818136%2C%2C.

Woodward, Ellie. “How Taylor Swift Played The Victim For A Decade And Made Her Entire Career.” BuzzFeed, https://www.buzzfeed.com/elliewoodward/how-taylor-swift-played-the-victim-and-made-her-entire-caree. Accessed 25 Feb. 2021.

Zimmerman, Amy. “Is America Turning on Taylor Swift?” The Daily Beast, 12 Aug. 2015. www.thedailybeast.com, https://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2015/08/12/is-america-turning-on-taylor-swift.

#taylor swift #kanye west #kim kardashian #cancel culture #sexism #fake news #sexism in media #feminizm

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aelaer · 3 years

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Inspired by the X men ask: instead of Donna, what if Stephen's mutant powers manifest after she drowns? It's definitely writable with movie-only knowledge! (I think Stephen would have some scary strong powers).

This prompt is nearing a year and a half old and is my second to last prompt from 2019 so I wanted to try to get it out of the way as I attempt to do at least one prompt fic a month to clear my inbox of those remaining.

After being stuck on trying to figure this out for so long, I decided to approach it quite differently than I thought I would, and this is my first fic writing from this character’s POV. I made Stephen's age the same as Ben's for ease. I also prove, yet again, that my ability to write short things is very much lacking.

My interest in geography 100% leaks through, and I'm not sorry.

My thanks to nemmy for helping me decide the direction of this story.

Fate Won’t Compromise Fandom: Doctor Strange, MCU Genre: Gen, canon divergence Chars: The Ancient One, Stephen Strange, Donna Strange Word count: 5k Warnings: Minor canonical character death, near drowning

In the summer of 1995, The Ancient One felt a ripple in the fabric of reality.

Such ripples, while uncommon, were not unknown to her in her many centuries serving as Sorcerer Supreme. They happened as major events within their reality shifted from the threads found in similar realities across the multiverse. While change was inevitable between realities, commonalities often brought them back to follow the same paths, to hit the same major events, to survive the same catastrophes. Reality and time were excellent in creating situations that balanced the flow again and brought them back to their natural parallels across the majority of universes.

But sometimes, sometimes the fabric of reality and time was disturbed. It happened with a change, unexpected in its improbability and big enough that it diverted the parallel lines the majority of the multiverse followed to create a timeline that diverged, crooked and uncertain. If the ripple was small enough, the powers surrounding reality often fixed itself with countermeasures—new actors, new probabilities that helped bring time back to its parallel path. But some ripples, some ripples required intervention.

And this one? Well, this one absolutely shattered reality with its ripple effect.

Hmm. It was time to consult the Eye of Agamotto and see what changed.

— — — — —

Her time with the Eye was long in her search. With such a significant ripple, The Ancient One first looked at the immediate months coming, searching for change in the most important of events for the remainder of the year.

There was nothing different. Interesting. Then this was likely an event that changed the course of the life of an individual, an individual who was very important sometime in the future. She scanned the years following more broadly after that, coming upon the events of the new millennium, both mundane and arcane, that would change the course of Earth's future forever. They all came as expected, one after the other.

It wasn't until her search took her to 2016, the year before her own inevitable passing, that she finally came across the anomaly: Stephen Strange never made it to Kamar-Taj.

The Ancient One pursed her lips; this was not meant to happen. While her sight beyond 2017 remained veiled, her experience and intuition as well as glimpses across the multiverse gave her an insight into the likely path of Stephen Strange. And from what she had seen, he was meant to be the best of them all.

So what had diverted him from the path that was written in the course of time, so much so that its lack of manifestation caused such a ripple in reality? Surely it didn't change her death; she had accepted the inevitably of that decades ago.

(She first discovered her death after the chaos of WWII, where the Masters of the Mystic Arts fought their own war against demonic invasions looking to take advantage of the chaotic time. She looked to prevent such a thing ever occurring again, then found her death. At first she wasn't concerned, and made plans to avoid it, just as she had several times before.

But it was different this time. With the Eye of Agamotto in the past, she was always able to find a route that allowed her to survive and the world to remain intact within a dozen attempts of altering her actions. It took her over a thousand attempts over the next year to realize that, no, no matter what, she was going to die before the fourth month of 2017. She never lived further than that.

And in the course that seemed most sound to her, the most consistent, she was always by the side of the unsure, amateur, but potentially great Stephen Strange.)

The Eye confirmed for her that, yes, she still died in early 2017. However, the manner of death was completely unacceptable, as it led to Dormammu eating their reality. She had not seen that possibility since she stopped trying to find a solution to her death several decades ago.

(She wondered how Stephen Strange managed to defeat him. She did not sense the end of reality after her death, so it was with confidence that she knew he found a solution. What the solution was, however, remained unknown to her. It was most intriguing. He had such potential.)

The Ancient One finally withdrew from the encompassing powers of the Eye and allowed herself a frown. She hoped Stephen Strange was not dead. It would mean finding another like him, and quite soon so she may prevent the terrible future she just saw.

Still, the ripple she felt did but not necessarily mean death; it meant change, for good or ill.

The first thing to do was to check on what was, and what would hopefully remain, her future pupil. She directed the Eye to review the timeline of Stephen Strange, going to the moment just before the ripple in reality occurred.

As she searched for that moment, flashes of memories not belonging to her flipped through her mind's eye: the first was a pair of hands on the wheel of a car, left side, as it turned off the paved road to a bumpy gravel-filled spot of driving, then quickly smoothed out to a road less rough. A large brown sign with yellow, capital letters read "Lewis and Clark State Recreation Area", with a smaller "Nebraska State and Park Commission" underneath. "Weigand - Burbach" was spelt on a separate plank just below the main sign with the same dark brown backdrop and bright yellow lettering. In the backseats was excited chatter from two others, women. Surrounding the road were tall trees of various species, all different colors of green.

Another flash, and she was now watching a small motorboat being backed up into the water from its trailer by a young man—barely a man—into a wide lake. Beyond the water the distant shore was all but flat, with only a small ridge of hills giving the horizon any distinct shape. A shrill voice shouted behind her, "Don't crash it!" and the man in the boat shouted back, "Shut up, Melissa!" Giggles followed, and then a voice came from the soul she watched, a deep baritone that said, "But seriously, if you crash it, my dad will kill you." The young man in the boat retorted, "Fuck you, Stephen!" in return, and Stephen's body shook with soft laughter. The man successfully maneuvered the boat into the water, and a short cheer sounded behind her.

Then another memory, and she was now on the motorboat, far out on the water which shone as bright a blue as the sky above. A young woman—a teenager, as they said in English in the 20th century, now—was doing some sort of sport she was unfamiliar with, letting the motorboat drag her along as she hung on by a rope with a handle at the end. Perhaps this was surfing. The teenager completed a short jump on the waves, and from her point of view, the memory's host shouted, "Nice, Donna!"

Another flash, and she was the one at the end of the rope. She quickly passed through it to the next memory.

Time had passed; it was late afternoon, perhaps an hour or so before sunset. Her host was looking at the boat's controls. A female voice—Melissa—behind them said, "Okay, Aaron's ready to go. Start it up." As the boat motor roared to life, another voice—Donna—said over the noise, "We should get out of the water after this. It'll be dark soon." The soul behind the memories, Stephen, shouted back, "That's why we have navigation lights on this thing!"

The memory shifted again, and all four were on the boat now. The sun was set behind the horizon and the sky was painted a soft yellow before it melted into blue, then black. Stars were already appearing in the sky. Surrounding her were the other three, Aaron and Melissa and Donna, and there was a strong feeling of content within the memory. "We should get back to camp," Donna said, and she heard Stephen sigh and say, "Yeah," in reply. "Your turn, Aaron," he added. Aaron said, "Dude, I'm wiped out. You do it." Stephen retorted in return, "No, you."

Then it shifted again, and she was looking up at the darkening sky when Melissa said, "That boat's going fast." Her point of view changed as Stephen straightened himself, and she saw another motorboat running straight towards them. "Stop!" Stephen shouted as he got to his feet, and a second later, Aaron called out, "Jump!" and Stephen did, hitting the water and diving just as their motorboat was hit and destroyed. He was facing down into the murky, black depths of the lake as suddenly something hit his back, and at that moment some sort of rope or netting caught his leg and its weight started dragging him down. She could feel the alarm running through the young man's head and the Ancient One wondered if she was going to be seeing his death, now. A strange pang of regret went through her at the thought.

But then a sudden glow encompassed Stephen's body, subtle but in the blackness of the water, quite, quite clear. Confusion joined his panic but before any other thoughts came to his head, he was suddenly out of the water and on the shore of the lake. He collapsed the moment he went from liquid to air, falling on his back before turning to his side to cough up water from the lake.

The Ancient One stepped back from Stephen Strange's memories and blinked again back in the normal passage of time. As the green glow of the Time Stone's powers faded from her body, she considered the last memory.

She knew, from all her viewings of the future, that it was about this time that the mutation that came to be known as the X-Gene started popping up in the population. It would eventually have an impact on the future of Earth. But Stephen Strange was not meant to have it—or perhaps, rather, it was never meant to activate. Not if the flow of reality and time considered this an anomaly in the general course of the multiverse.

His appearance within the order of the Masters of the Mystic Arts seemed to lead to the event that prevented Dormammu's entrance into their reality, so he—or someone of his caliber—was necessary to have under her tutelage. And as he was not dead, she needed to see what had to happen to work him again onto a path that was the best for the universe's survival, regardless of this unexpected development in his life.

It was time to consult the Eye once more to determine the right path.

—————

Using the Eye worked outside the flow of time, and so all the Ancient One's endeavours, though seeming to her to take several hours, in reality only took her about twenty minutes since she first felt the ripple. She had passed through various scenarios and glimpsed at various extensions of those scenarios as needed until she had an outcome that had her satisfied with her decisions and, more importantly, made it very, very unlikely that the universe would end to Dormammu in 2017.

(Her own future, strangely enough, grew blurry and uncertain the closer she got to that year, which she found quite intriguing. She would pursue the matter at a later date.)

For now, though, she had a job to do. And so she created a portal that led her to the north shore of the lake, at the beach where the small hills lay. At this point of time it was nearly dark, and so she conjured a lantern—one of the elegant ones that they used to craft in Japan, the ones she preferred—and placed a small, magical light within the illusion. It would reveal its true nature soon enough. Despite the rockiness of this part of the shoreline, her footing was sure as she made her way along the edge of the lake.

In a couple minutes, a voice, expected and now familiar, called out to her. "Hello? Is someone there? I need help!"

In all her experience of using the Eye of Agamotto, the Ancient One had gotten very good at differentiating all the viewed possibilities to the experienced reality. Reality was sharper in every way, and the auras of people's spirits shone brighter without the power of the Time Stone to stifle them. And in the night surrounding them, Stephen Strange's aura shone very, very bright.

Interesting.

When she came close enough for him to see her clearly, his eyes widened as he took her in. She knew her resemblance was considered odd by late twentieth-century standards, but the memory of centuries of lice infestations made hair still undesirable and robes were infinitely more comfortable than jeans. But she was aware of its oddness, and as he stared, the Ancient One took the time to also observe him beyond the fuzziness of the Eye of Agamotto.

The gangly boy sitting in the sand in front of her hardly resembled the arrogant, talented man she had come to know through her past use of the Eye. Just breaking the cusp of manhood, his hair was still fully dark brown, and he wore a sleeveless blue shirt with long swim shorts, all still wet despite the time out of the water. His cheeks were fuller with the last remnant of youth still remaining, and the look in his eyes was wild and unguarded. Filled with fear.

Quite different from what she was used to.

"Who are you?" Stephen Strange whispered.

"A friend," she answered. She placed the lantern on a rock before settling down in the dark sand near him, about five feet away. "I mean you no harm."

He continued to stare at her, then looked at his leg. It was bleeding sluggishly and would need stitches. "Can you please help me? I—I'm not sure how I got here, but there was a boating accident and I—I need to find my friends and my sister. It's on the lake, I swear, I don't know why we can't see it from here but the accident just happened and it can't be that far."

She let him finish before she broke the news. "You are about seven kilometers west from the site of your accident, on the north shore of the lake. I believe you call this part of your country 'South Dakota'."

Stephen's eyes somehow widened even further, then he quickly shook his head. "No, that—that's impossible. That's completely impossible."

"Just as impossible as finding yourself drowning at the bottom of a lake one moment and being on dry land in the next," she said agreeably.

The wide-eyed look seemed it would remain a permanent fixture on his face. "Wha—how—how do you know about that?"

"It is my job to know of such things," said the Ancient One. "It is also how I know that, if you are found so far from the site of the accident, you will draw unwanted attention upon yourself."

Stephen visibly swallowed and looked around them, as if the unwanted attention was already watching. "What—what do you mean?"

The Ancient One offered him a benign smile. "You are not the first to perform the impossible. When figures of authority learn such things exist, they pursue them. And your story would draw their attention. Historically, your country has been known to use extraordinary people as assets when needed. Many kingdoms and governments throughout time have."

A soft wind blew in from the south, causing Stephen to shiver in the oncoming chill of the night. Regardless of his discomfort, his wide eyes narrowed into something more calculating and thoughtful. "Why are you telling me this? What do you get out of it?"

"A future ally, hopefully," she answered truthfully. "I have no interest in taking you from your studies, Stephen Strange—yes, I know who you are," she said, the benign smile coming again as he startled. "Your name is the least I know about you."

He stared at her once more, mouth hanging partially open. As the wind blew through again, he snapped his mouth shut and rubbed his shivering arms. "And why—why should I believe you aren't part of these secret government groups, or part of something that wants to use me? Why should I trust you?"

She kept that slight smile on her face as she answered, "Because I offer my assistance and ask nothing in return. I will guide you to the shoreline just north of the accident, and show you where you may find help. I recommend a forgetful memory between the crash and you reaching shore, which is quite common in times of traumatic events. No one will suspect anything different about you, Mr Strange."

The boy fidgeted at the name, as if not used to it. He really was a young thing, wasn't he? "You can get me there? Do you have a car nearby?"

The Ancient One smiled and lifted her lantern. "Remember what I said, Mr Strange." She let the lantern disintegrate, leaving only the glowing ball of light. Stephen's mouth dropped. "You are not the only person who can do the supposedly impossible. Can you walk unaided?"

Stephen snapped his jaw shut at the question and looked down at his leg. He pressed his lips together, and then with a grunt, he slowly shifted his weight under his legs, most of it on his good leg, before he pushed himself up into a standing position.

She offered another slight smile and held her hand forward to create a portal further east along the lake. "Follow me." The Ancient One did not bother to look at his reaction to the gateway, but had the ball of light follow her through. When she turned, Stephen was limping just through the portal, and after he got through she allowed it to close.

They were on the shore again; to the south in the water, a mile or so away, she could see the distant pinpricks of shiplights at the scene of the accident. Stephen, too, stared in that direction. But she forced his focus elsewhere when she pointed to the northeast, to the pinpricks of light beyond the trees. "Do you believe you can make it to those lit buildings? It is perhaps two hundred meters away. They should have a phone."

He offered a nod. "Yeah. My leg's not so bad."

"Good," she said. "Then I recommend you go that way; it may be some hours before authorities search the shore for you." She looked back at him. "I would not tell anyone of what truly occurred to you; such tales have an unfortunate habit of getting out, no matter how private the story is meant to be."

Stephen frowned at her, and she offered him another one of her benign smiles. "I will come to see you again, after you have had some time to recover. Good luck, Mr Strange." With that, she let the glowing ball beside her fade out, and created a portal into one of the darker rooms of Kamar-Taj and left the young Stephen Strange on the shore of the lake.

——————

Two weeks later, the Ancient One created another portal to the midwestern United States, landing underneath a narrow strip of trees that bordered a small creek that made its way through wide fields of agriculture. The nearest field beside her was corn, and just beyond it was a half-harvested wheat field. The trees bordering the water were a mix of oak and pine, specific species she was not familiar with but that she could broadly identify due to the commonalities found within their relatives in the Eastern Hemisphere. It was just after midday in this place known as Nebraska, and the summer sun was pleasant in this corner of the world, with a soft breeze taking off the edge of the dry heat.

She saw no one at first, but if the sling ring brought her here, that meant Stephen Strange was also nearby. A faint trail followed the bend of the creek and she paused in consideration before her instincts led her to go southwest.

In a few minutes, she came upon him. While her step was soft, the silence of the trail around them should have alerted Stephen to her arrival. But his back remained turned to her as he sat beyond the narrow trail and on the slope that led into the creek bed. His chin was propped on his knees and, since he had not heard her approaching, the Ancient One knew his mind was quite far away.

"Mr Strange," she said in greeting.

The young man violently started out of his daze and nearly lost his seating as he twisted around to stare at her. It seemed to her that he had aged some years in the last two weeks; his eyes were dark and sunken with lack of sleep, and his entire expression appeared drawn and pinched. His lips tightened for a moment, then he said, "It's you again."

"I did say I was going to return," she reminded him. She approached the sloping hill beside the creek and sat down beside him.

From the corner of her eye, she saw his expression tighten again. She remained quiet as he gathered his words. "Did you know?" Stephen asked after several passing seconds of heavy silence.

The Ancient One kept her gaze on the small creek. She knew what he was asking, and she would not play any games pretending otherwise; it wouldn't serve her purpose. "I knew that, by the time I came to you, your sister had died."

The tenseness beside her did not lift; if anything, it grew heavier. "Did you know Donna was going to die?"

An interesting question. She considered her answer; a multitude of answers would lead to an acceptable outcome, but this was reality. "We don't get to choose our time," she started. "In some probabilities, the question of death is split between a thin line that sways from one option to the other depending on the reality. In other instances, death is all but certain." She spared a glance at him; Stephen's grief was now layered with confusion. "I am sorry to say that, in the wide expansion of possibilities, your sister's death was largely unavoidable. All points led to it."

The young man's face contorted in anger. "I don't believe in fate or whatever the hell you're talking about."

"Some may call it fate," she answered, and looked back to the creek. "I call it probability. You may have been told, at some point in your life, that there are random events in life that are unpredictable. This is untrue, at least on a larger scale. Each event of consequence has a set probability in occurring, with the powers balancing reality and time ever trying to keep them as consistent as possible in the grand scheme of the multiverse. Certain people are always born. Certain events always occur. Certain items are always invented. Around people of consequence, events play out so that they may help play the part that they are meant to play."

In the corner of her eye, she saw Stephen run a hand over his face. "Look, lady, like I told you: I don't believe in that bullshit. And if you're trying to tell me that my sister was meant to—" He cut himself off and turned his head away. She saw his knuckles tighten to the point of turning white with the strain.

She slowly exhaled and closed her eyes. She had not spoken with youth who did not know her for who she was in some many years; she could not remember the last time a young person had spoken to her with such disrespect. But she had to keep in mind that Stephen was grieving, and that he was absolutely clueless.

Perhaps if he saw a small glimpse of what she saw, he would understand.

"I would like to show you something, if you would allow it," said the Ancient One as she opened her eyes and looked at Stephen.

His eyes darted to look at her with a side glance, though he did not look at her fully. "Show me what?"

"What my powers allow me to see," she said. His eyes narrowed. "It won't hurt or leave any lasting effects."

She saw the internal struggle, but one thing she knew well of Stephen Strange: his curiosity always got the better of him. And as she expected, he relented and said, "Okay, fine. How do you do that?"

A slight smile appeared on her lips. "Like this," said the Ancient One, and she placed her thumb upon his forehead and connected her third eye to his unused, undeveloped one. She picked from her memory a set of images gained by using the Eye of Agamotto in conjunction with the Cauldron of the Cosmos to explore the realities across the multiverse, the images she picked up some years ago as she looked into the man known as Stephen Strange and what he became in other realities.

And the images she chose were specifically referring to his sister's death. As she let him see various versions of himself (some with slightly different physical features, and a couple further in the past, but so very much Stephen Strange), she said, "The multiverse is a strange thing in its consistency. Donna Strange was not born only to perish at such a young age in every reality, but the probability was stacked against her. And many named Stephen Strange have experienced the grief you feel now. It is not your fault that the universe stacked probability against her survival."

She removed her thumb from his forehead and Stephen collapsed, rolling down a couple feet down the slope before catching himself. Laying on the ground now he panted heavily, trying to gain his breath.

When he finally raised his head, tears were streaming down his face. "It should've been me," he choked out. "She didn't deserve to die! None of those—" He cut himself off and shook his head, then angrily wiped at his face. "I—I don't know what the fuck you were doing—"

"I was using my powers to show you what I have seen," she interrupted, cutting him off for the first time. "After what you managed to achieve at the lake, are my abilities really so hard to come to terms with?"

Stephen shook his head again and pushed himself off the ground so he was standing. The Ancient One remained sitting and kept her expression neutral. "Okay, fine, so you have some crazy-ass powers that—that make no sense. I get it, you did physics-breaking things at the lake, too. What the hell does that have to do with me?"

She offered a benign smile. "Surely you haven't forgotten your unusual journey from the lake to the shore. Or have you been telling yourself that it was all a hallucination?"

By the look on his face, it appeared that that was exactly what he was trying to do. That would do no good.

"Unfortunately for you, your powers aren't just going to go away," the Ancient One said. "Whether they will manifest under physical or emotional stress I do not yet know, but they will return if you do not know how to control them."

"And what, you can teach me how to control them?" Stephen asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Yes," was her simple answer.

Stephen's eyes remained narrow, then he cut off his stare to run a hand through his hair and shake his head. "And what would you want out of me in return?"

"Nothing you are unwilling to give," said the Ancient One. "You can continue your studies as you wish. Go on to become a doctor."

"How did you know—" He paused, cutting himself off, then shook his head. "You know what, never mind. Go on."

She offered her smile again. "All it would require is some of your time to discover the extent of your powers and to learn ways in which you can best control them. Consider it an extracurricular activity, if you would like."

"And what do you get out of it?" he asked.

"The knowledge that those with unusual powers remain hidden from those who would exploit them," is what she answers, but in truth, it was so much more. Still, it was not yet time to tell him that; he was too young. Too green.

Stephen looked down and crossed his arms as he considered her words. His expression was stone, but she knew what he was going to answer. If there was one thing predictable about Stephen Strange, it was his curiosity and his hunger for knowledge. It was his ambition to be the best at whatever he set his mind to, and a new ability suddenly within his hands was one meant to be conquered for him.

He then nodded jerkily, just once. "Okay. Sure. When do we start?"

The Ancient One smiled and stood. "How about now?" She opened a portal to one of her private rooms in Kamar-Taj, where she was rarely disturbed. It would not do to show him everything of the compound immediately, but it would come in due time.

He hesitated. "I need to be home for dinner at six."

"That is quite doable," she answered, and waited.

A couple seconds of hesitation passed, and then Stephen Strange lifted his chin and walked directly into the portal to Kamar-Taj, over two decades earlier than expected. The Ancient One followed him and closed the gateway behind her, leaving behind the quiet creek to flow under the bright green leaves on a sunny Nebraskan summer day.

— — — — —

The big happy moment for me in writing this fic was that the town I chose for Stephen to grow up in and alluded to in another story is pretty close to this lake, so that worked out great. The most disappointing discovery, on the other hand, was that the Google Maps car only got like, the major roads in Nebraska. That does not include annnyyyyy of the roads near the Lewis and Clark State Recreation Area. And their promotional video didn't help in determining the details I wanted.

But then *the best thing* happened and on the camp's location on Google Maps, some beautiful, beautiful person took a photo of the entrance of the campgrounds, which was the exact detail I needed. So I dedicate this fic to Denis F. and their photo. (We're gonna pretend that the road and sign's 100% been like that since at least 1995). As much as I'd like to make an excuse to go to a lakeside attraction for boating fun, I'm sadly not a millionaire and cannot throw away thousands for the sake of fic accuracy. Alas. Once I win the lottery, though, 100% will commit to this. (Also, it's January and freaking freezing in Nebraska right now.)

FYI, Donna was not surfing, but wakeboarding. I just doubt that the Ancient One has bothered to learn all the new sports that popped up in the latter half of the 20th century - especially as one as young as wakeboarding was in 1995.

Hopefully the emotional roller coaster in the last bit worked. I've had conversations that just went all over the place like that before—crazy emotional subject to another crazy subject that just shook you to the point that the emotional subject was put on the back burner for processing—so hopefully people can relate.

#anonymous #stephen strange #the ancient one #doctor strange fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #donna strange #prompt fill #ask #answered #my writing #my fanfiction

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miss-kittys-magical-library · 3 years

Note

In honor of Rob's birthday, can you write a Rob character of your choice with reader or an OC of your choice celebrating his birthday? Fluffy and maybe some light smut? Go wild. ;)

Your Song

Words: 1760

Warnings: Fluff turned smut

A/N: Just inserting Honey and Leon into random awesome points in music history. Cribbed from a scene in "Rocketman," directed by Nathan's freakishly short dad (Dexter Fletcher)

Leon and Honey stumbled and giggled down a path in the woods behind a house in the Canyon. They stopped to kiss under a Laurel tree, laughing when Leon’s hair got tangled up in some branches. Sometimes he seemed to forget how tall he was.

It was unusually warm for early January, but after a show at the Troubadour a party at Mama Cass’s bungalow felt like a serendipitous idea. They held tight to one another’s hands a bit drunk on elderberry wine. Maybe a brownie or two, their first since coming back to the States.

The couple hadn't been alone in several years, not really. Not since Selina was born. They had left her behind in Manhattan with Honey’s parents with an invite from Johnny (who somehow found himself doing far better in LA than he ever did in London.) Away from the snow and slush and post-holiday angry New Yorkers. The Bartucci’s back in their comedy club that Honey bought back and reopened at the start of a new decade. They really could use a vacation. Who turns down Elton John?

Suddenly, today, Leon found himself thirty years old. The 70s weren't much different than the 60s. Rock music got better, the clothes stayed almost the same. Still the same causes for Honey to throw herself into, Leon by her side but with a toddler strapped to his back. Maybe he would never actually be on the moon, but Honey certainly brought it down to him in their little girl.

“We've gotta get back to the house,” Honey lifted Leon’s hand up and brushed her mouth against his knuckles. “I worked a little something out with Elton.” She started to tug him along.

Leon dug his heels into the dirt, and his girlfriend’s arm nearly came out of its socket. “Honnn eeeyyy,” that sexy whine. “You've gone and brought Mr Elton John into it? Oh I'm not big on my birthday, you know that.”

Honey planted her hands on her hips, “Not everyone in our generation is gonna get to turn thirty. There's a piano in the house, and he thinks it's far out. Now c'mon, don't be a spoil sport.” She mimicked Leon's accent.

“Only if he says it's alright. Know how I am ‘bout doing things that aren't my bag.” Still he followed her down to the house, hands in his pockets as Honey literally skipped ahead, bits of bark in her hair.

It all felt unearthly, being surrounded by musicians whose records they had back in The Village. Or how short they all were. Save for John Phillips, the only person who towered slightly over Leon that night. Everyone called him Kubrick in jest, but his cheeks flushed all the same. He perked up straight away when Cass tugged on his vest. The one Honey made. He wore it now over a long sleeved thermal shirt and tight jeans that boot-legged instead of belled.

“Say this is pretty groovy. This is almost flashy enough for Elton to wear.” Her hands ran over the fabric.

“Honey made it. Our first Christmas together back in ‘67. London. Where I'm from. Well no I'm from Greece but,” Leon stammered.

“Relax man. We don't bite! That's Michelle’s job. Your old lady said you've got a kid back East. Me too. Owen, she's around here somewhere.”

You could tell she was whacked out on something. Everyone here was except Leon and Honey. Not really tipsy anymore both down from the brownie earlier. Looking around, the party goers were at the various stages of undress and sex. It was like the couple got rid of Renatis and replaced him with Mama Cass. Except she was so much cooler, her vibe felt truer and at ease.

“Yeah Selina. She's four I think?”

Leon scratched his head before noticing Honey sitting on the piano bench with a guitar. Topless. Elton beside her, also topless but still in his jeans. What a strange fucking life he and Johnny got into after coming here in 1970.

“Like the moon! I get it, Kubrick! Honey said you really love her. Cherish it man, they'll be us soon enough,” she winked. Then Cass affectionately pat his cheek like a mother would.

Leon’s heart would break a year later when she died. Everyone’s heart would. Always touching his face anytime he heard her sing.

For now she was alive and sat down in a chair. Leon leaned against the doorframe as Honey and Elton started to play. Lost in his own world, everyone else in the bungalow faded away except her. He wrapped a finger up in a stray curl that fell from his ponytail, smiling in her direction.

It took him a moment to realize these two people were singing TO Leon and not everyone else. He was so caught up in the way Honey’s fingers moved expertly over the strings. Was this why she asked for lessons? How he always fell in love just by looking at her.

So excuse me forgetting

But these things I do

You see I've forgotten, if they're green or they're blue

Anyway the thing is, what I really mean

Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

And you can tell everybody

This is the song

It may be quite simple, but now that it's done

I hope you don't mind

That I put down in the words

Later in a loft, Honey and Leon naked on the floor. Leon's lips making their way down Honey’s chest where he stops to take a nipple in his mouth. Sucking hungrily before teasing it with his teeth. Biting somewhere between playful and rough. Alternating between each of her breasts before continuing down over her stomach. Tongue dipping into her navel.

Honey’s back arches into Leon and she moans softly. Her hand lost in his hair as sexual instinct makes her urge him further down. But her brain says through her mouth,

“Wait, it's your birthday. Let me give you head.” The words breathless.

Leon is already diving into her. His tongue snaking deep inside like his fingers often do before going for her clit. Flicking at it a few times, circling it quicker. His hands spread her thighs so he has better access as he works her faster. His head moving up and down the whole time.

Then: “If I wanna go down on you for MY birthday, the only way you're gonna stop me is by saying no.” Leon paused, large eyes gazing up at Honey. His mouth glistening. “Are you saying no, then?”

“Fuck no, I love when you do this. I just figured you wanted to lay back and let me suck you off.”

He smiled and went back to it. Burying his face into Honey further. Then switching from his quick pace, Leon ran his tongue agonizingly slow along her cunt. The entire length of one side, sucking on it, plunging it in to work around Honeys clit then up the other side. Repeating this a few times, tongue manipulating her clit longer and faster.

Honey felt that heat build in her sex. That throb and the contraction. She cried out with that sudden swell of wetness before she came. She was so close but her mouth opened:

“Leon stop!”

Leon sat up and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “What? What's wrong? Too much, love?”

“No no it was the perfect amount of too much. I don't wanna cum before we fuck.”

“Now THAT'S a bleeding birthday present. Time for me to get a toss over?” Leon's eyes shone with excitement. “Can we shag where someone might catch us?”

He stood up and helped Honey to her feet. Walking her to the railing that exposed the loft to the living room below where everyone had played their music before. A couple was already going at it on the couch not very silently.

Leon put his hand on the thick wood and yanked a few times to check its strength. It was perfect.

Honey situated herself in front of him, back pressing into his chest. She lifted her foot up on the bottom part and jutted her hips back into her partner’s erection. She anchored herself with her arms spread along the length of railing where he had just tested it.

Leon covered only one of Honey’s hands, his arm parallel to hers. The other hand taking the head of his cock teasing her with it. Then clutching the thick of her hip, he buries himself up to the hilt inside of her.

In his excitement, Leon began pounding into Honey madly. His hips hitting her ass every time created a rhythmic slapping sound. No longer needing to brace himself on her waist, he covered Honey’s mouth instead as her mewls of pleasure began.

Honey cried out into Leon's hand. Her body twisting slightly to give him better access. They had rutted this way enough that she knew angling her cunt downwards allowed him to hit her G spot. Something it took them both several years to figure out. Now that they had..

Leon lost himself in slamming into Honey with a speed he hadn’t felt since he did cocaine. The sweat created a shean across his cheeks, neck and chest from the heat they were building. Gut told him it would start forming on her forehead and stomach. What little he was grasping also told him Honey’s tits and ribs were crashing into the railing.

“Steady on, love.” Whispering huskily in her ear. “Yeah. I love being inside you. Never gonna get fucking sick of it. Your twat drives me barking.”

Honey kept on and kept up. That cataclysm in her walls, they flexed around Leon's cock suddenly. She squealed loudly into his hand as she came so hard her stomach muscles cramped. Her body still took to being rammed.

But not long, spurred on by the constriction of Honey’s orgasm, Leon exploded inside of her. Releasing completely but biting down on her shoulder to prevent from yelling out into the stillness.

Honey winced, but her gasp came out closer to another cry of pleasure. Her body cumming again unexpectedly. Leon would use that against her happily in the future.

They untangled themselves and were kissing in the dark. Then from downstairs came a humming. It soon turned into singing. The voice belonged to a tiny Englishman with diamond studded glasses.

“How wonderful life is while you’re in the world."

Tag: @robertsheehanownsmyass @badsext @joz-stankovich @elliethesuperfruitlover @nightmonsters

#robert sheehan #robert sheehan character fic #request #neuroticpuppy #leon x honey

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gayenerd · 3 years

Text

This interview was the cover story for the 17th issue of Jaded In Chicago. It was conducted in September of 2004, several weeks prior to the release of American Idiot. It was a fitting end to the fanzine that was named after the band, as “Jaded In Chicago” references Green Day’s 1994 MTV concert special. To come full circle by interviewing the band that inspired the zine’s moniker was somewhat surreal.

With the release of American Idiot, Green Day has transcended punk rock. By crafting the first punk rock opera and fashioning what is likely the first tasteful concept album of the new millennium, they’ve provided pop punk bands everywhere with a blueprint for how to mature gracefully. Additionally, as much as American Idiot is about innovation, it’s also a return to the fundamentals of punk rock. The album sears with dissent, takes aim between the eyes of the Bush administration and contains a dangerous sense of unpredictability. It’s been ten years since Green Day was the most popular band in the world and with any luck American Idiot will allow them to recapture that title in no time. (Interview with drummer Tré Cool).

Bill – Before we talk about American Idiot, I wanted to discuss the infamous “lost” album first. About a year and a half ago, you guys recorded what was to be the follow-up to Warning, but reportedly the master tapes were stolen. What can you tell me about what happened?

Tré – We just knew that if it ever came out, we couldn’t do any of those same songs on the actual record. If somebody puts it out, like crappier versions of the songs, it’s going to totally ruin it. Plus, it happened right around the same time that Billie wrote the song “American Idiot” and most of “Holiday.” We were in the middle of working on those songs, so we just decided not to look back and we kept going forward.

Bill – I’ve read that you feel American Idiot is “maximum Green Day.” Why exactly do you feel this way?

Tré – Well, because we’re firing on all cylinders, ya know? Everything about even just being in the band now feels so right. Everything from the recording process to the live shows to our ambitions. This might sound kind of dumb, but even the clothes we’re wearing during photo shoots. It’s more together like a band.

Bill – People are certainly expecting this record to be political, but I think they’re going to be surprised when they hear how you really go for the throat with some of the lyrics. Examples of this would of course be the title track and also the breakdown section of “Holiday.” What are some of the main reasons why you’re so pissed off with this country?

Tré – It’s more like confused and jaded, if you will, (laughs). The bombardment of bullshit, fake news, like Fox News and CNN. All the reality-based shit that’s on television, stuff like Fear Factor that the government is using to keep everybody like good little sheep and not asking too many questions. It’s like how if a cop hears you use the word “terror” it basically means he can take any normal American citizen’s rights away from them. A cop can do that at his or her discretion if they think you might be a terrorist or whatnot. The whole Patriot Act. It’s like do we actually have any rights after all? We don’t have the right to a proper election, we already found that out. The fabric of our government right now is basically just made out of one hundred dollar bills that are drenched in oil. As far as this upcoming election goes, I know that John Kerry is extremely conservative and he’s nowhere near the liberal we need in the White House to clean up the mess. However, he’s not George Bush. Kerry’s money is in ketchup. Bush’s money is in oil and blood. I’d choose ketchup over that, (laughs).

Bill – How do you hope people react to these songs?

Tré – I hope they can look past the strong language and go into the meaning of it. I hope they realize there’s a bit of sarcasm. I hope they don’t feel that we’re telling them what to do. We’re just sort of pointing the fingers at ourselves, saying like “I don’t want to be an American idiot or I don’t want to be a part of this bullshit.”

Bill – Talk about the character called “Jesus of Suburbia.” What sort of journey does he embark on throughout these songs and what made you choose this type of format for your songwriting?

Tré – The album is sort of like a timeline of his life. Depending on where you’re at with your life, you probably fit somewhere on that timeline yourself. Whether it’s the “Holiday” party stage, or the “Give Me Novacaine” drug stage or the “Extraordinary Girl” being in love stage; all these different stages in life show that what paths you choose will inevitably lead you somewhere. It’s not necessarily the happiest ending in the world, but it’s pretty realistic.

Bill – Are you at all worried about some of your fans possibly being alienated by the two nine-minute rock operas found on the album?

Tré – I don’t think they’ll even notice they’re nine-minute songs. They’ll think they’re a bunch of short songs put together. It’s definitely short attention span theater. It’s not like Wilco, where they have a ten-minute song with the same drumbeat and the same chord progression. Not saying anything bad about Wilco, they’re a fine band. They’re great to relax to and drink iced tea to, (laughs). I think we’d get bored doing that. We just sort of get to the point, say what we want to say and move on to the next part of the song. The way the energy flows in the songs is sort of like the way America is now too, just so scattered. There’s a big misrepresentation of how we feel in this bullshit climate right now.

Bill – One of the most important topics you address on this record is the American media. Specifically, how it perpetuates fear amongst the public and does little to question the President’s follow-through on his promises. Do you think the average American is aware of how the wool is being pulled over their eyes?

Tré – No, not at all. Say you see some guy driving down the street with a Bush/Cheney sticker on his Chevy S-10, beat-up truck with a pair of flip-flops hanging off the back. I want to ask him, “Why the fuck are you a Republican? What’s in it for you, dude?” Bush isn’t doing a thing for those people. He’s not helping them get a better truck or put food on the table. He’s not going to give them a tax break. Republicans don’t care about you. They’re not going to try and help you in any way. They just want to use you and get your dead peasants insurance once you’re gone.

Bill – Tell me about the upcoming club dates that you have scheduled where you plan to perform American Idiot in its entirety. Who came up with the idea and what are you looking forward to most about it?

Tré – I’d credit Pete Townshend with the idea. We’ve always admired The Who and their lack of inhibition as far as going for whatever crazy idea they had. As crazy as something like Tommy was when it was just a small idea, compared to what it’s become now, it’s pretty insane. They did A Quick One, where they played that live. That was a quick one, but ours is an hour. Basically, we just want to kick The Who’s ass. I listened to Who’s Next yesterday, which a lot of people are comparing American Idiot to. We totally got them beat. I’ve always aspired to be as good of a drummer as Keith Moon and I think I’ve fuckin’ passed by him on this record.

Bill – Roughly ten years ago, Dookie was released and went on to sell over ten million copies and become one of the most notable albums of the ‘90s. A decade later, I think you’ve constructed in American Idiot what is arguably your strongest record yet. Is there anything specific that you hope American Idiot accomplishes?

Tré – Yeah, I think it’s about time that people think of Green Day in a different light. We’re not snot-nosed kids anymore, we’re men now. I want people to think of us more as one of the mainstay supergroups of today. I’m not asking for too much, (laughs). We’re superheroes in our own minds. We think we’re really cool, why doesn’t everybody else?

Bill – What was the weirdest thing about being the biggest band in America in 1994?

Tré – I don’t think we really had time to enjoy it when it was happening. We were just trying to pay our rent and be able to make records for the rest of our lives. We didn’t know anything like that was ever going to happen. It sort of freaked us out a bit, but at the same time I was kind of busy just moving and doing it. We didn’t have time to look back since we were doing so much. By the time we had taken a break to make Insomniac it was like, “Do you guys know what you just did?” We were like, “Oh…shit.”

Bill – Earlier this year, Thick Records released the Out of Focus DVD, which featured live Green Day footage circa 1992. What are some of your favorite memories from playing at McGregor’s in Elmhurst, Illinois?

Tré – Demetri. Demetri was this male stripper that came onstage for some girl’s birthday at McGregor’s one night. They had her sit in this chair and the stripper did his thing for her. It was fuckin’ hilarious. In the middle of our show too. We took a timeout and let her get her strip on. I think that was the last time we played McGregor’s actually. I remember seeing State Street and I remember taking acid in Chicago. I remember going to the lake and wondering why all the fish were dead. I was inside Buckingham Fountain too. It was real hot out and I got in there during the Blues Fest. There were like a million people down there, but just one in the fountain. Of course this cop was like, “Get the fuck out of there! What are you thinking?” I was like, “I don’t know. I’m fried, dude.”

Bill – Do you have any comments regarding the rumors connecting members of Green Day to the mysterious band known as The Network?

Tré – The only connection is that their record was on Adeline, which is a label run by Billie Joe’s wife. That’s a few degrees of separation if you ask me. I think they’re getting a lot of mileage out of telling people they’re Green Day or pretending to be Green Day. The Network is not Green Day. Bastards.

Bill – Growing up I know that bands like the Ramones and The Who were very influential for you. What’s it like to now be one of the biggest influences on an entire generation of punk bands?

Tré – It’s kind of wild. Especially when younger bands meet you and they’re all nervous and stuff. You sort of get a little paternal with it, like “Ah…my children.” I feel like Michael Landon from Little House on the Prairie.

Bill – What has been the hardest part about achieving all the success you’ve attained?

Tré – I think you can pretty much choose what you want to deal with. You can choose for it to be difficult or you can enjoy it. It’s kind of up to the person.

Bill – After seven albums, what aspects of punk rock are still fresh and exciting to you?

Tré – I like seeing new bands. Bands that aren’t carbon-copied pop punk bands. Bands like Dillinger Four fuckin’ excite me. I think the Rock Against Bush compilation is a pretty damn good CD. There are some older bands on there that are still going strong and some younger bands that are real fresh and exciting too.

Bill – What does the future hold for Green Day?

Tré – I think whatever we put out next has got to be really fuckin’ good. After American Idiot we set the bar so high. It’s kind of like, “Now what are we going to do?”

#i've never heard of this zine before but i guess it ended in 2004 #article #articles #interview #tre cool

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writersmacchiato · 4 years

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seeing stars | charlie dalton

Summary: Charlie is in the unique position of falling in love with his fiancée while knowing nothing about her, only that they’re arranged to be married and she already has a boyfriend.

Request: Hi! Could I request a Charlie Dalton x Reader where they're set up for a marriage? And at the beginning they're not really happy about it cause either Charlie has a girlfriend or reader has a boyfriend but they end up liking each other. I'd love for it to have a LOT of fluff. Thanks in advance :) love u + Hi! I was wondering if you could write a really fluffy Charlie Dalton x reader please?? Thank you.

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, unnecessary detail about Charlie’s parents that isn’t canon, 2k words!!

You've got me seeing stars, brighter than ever Shining just like diamonds do

The rain splattered against the window, a roaring pour that offered no mercy to those unfortunate to be caught unawares by it. Charlie stared dismally at the passing cars and running people through the mirror, his expression was cold.

"Just a few more measurements, Mr. Dalton, then we'll be done."

Charlie hummed his acknowledgement, but he wasn't thinking about the suit he was wearing. The heavy material that weighed down his shoulders, tight around the chest, feeling more like a noose than something fit for a wedding.

"All done then." The tailor stepped away, folding his measuring tape away before making a few more notes in his notebook. "The alterations will be done by the 15th. Plenty of time before the happy day."

Happy day.

Charlie had to physically stop himself from scoffing. "Thank you."

His father clears his throat, looking up from his newspaper. He manages a tight-lipped smile at his son."Your mother will be pleased."

"Will she?" Charlie said, enjoying the way his father tenses.

The answer was no. Nothing pleased his mother; not the wealth of his father, the pride of a mother - she took her enjoyment by controlling those around her and bending them to her whim. She was pretty, beautiful back in her prime, but her relevance in high society was fading. A fact she hated more than anything.

. . .

There are rows and rows of fabric, cards with the names of the color written neatly in cursive.

"Purple or yellow?" Charlie flashed the two color cards at you, looking at the fabrics in disdain. Why were there so many?

"You can't just say a color! There are shades of purple and shades of yellow." You wrinkle your nose at him, looking between the two he held. "That canary yellow clashes with the plum. A darker yellow, like gold, would look better."

Charlie had to refrain from rolling his eyes. "I don't see how it matters. Or why they're making us plan so many things."

"They planned the marriage and can't even plan this?"

You catch his eye, both of you straight-faced, before you're looking away with a smile.

Charlie smiles to himself, flicking through the cue cards. It's only as he watches you walk away that he realizes it's the first time he's smiled genuinely around you.

. . .

You frown at the rich taste of buttercream; a velvety swirl of vanilla that is topped by a fondant white rose. The cake is vanilla bean, a soft and spongy delight that is overwhelmed by frosting.

Malinda Dalton, Charlie's mother, sighed in satisfaction. "This is the one."

Charlie sits with his arms crossed, looking at you with an unreadable expression.

"Are you sure? It's the first cake. We've prepared five cakes in total for tasting."

Malinda twists her mouth to the side, something she does when someone goes against her.

"It would be rude not to." You speak up with a smile, hiding your smirk at Malinda's side-eye in your direction. "In fact, we'd be delighted. Isn't that right, Charlie?"

"Absolutely." Charlie said.

The other cakes fall within the same line of the first one; delicious, but entirely too decadent. Malinda goes out of her way to make her distaste known, set on the first cake. You share a look with Charlie.

"I like the red velvet cake the best." You said.

"Really? Me too." Charlie fakes his surprise, noticing how you hold back a laugh.

An ugly look passes over Malinda's face before she covers it with her picture-perfect smile. "Well if it's what the couple wants..."

. . .

"Listen, Benny, when I say she's a momzilla--"

Charlie only hears the tail-end of your phone conversation, walking in with two glasses of champagne.

You're wearing a beautiful blue dress, an overlay of gold embellishments. Gold earrings catching the light as you turn away from the phone. There is no mistaking the sadness in your eyes, how much they glitter with melancholy.

"Talking to Ben?"

"Yeah."

Benjamin Jay West, your boyfriend of two years, or ex-boyfriend. Charlie wasn't sure what relation you still had with him.

"I'm sorry." Charlie said. "I know you'd rather be doing all of this with him."

Sometimes, Charlie forgets that you have a life outside of this. That you take classes at the state university, that you hang out with friends, that you have a boyfriend you love. This being the bullshit that is high society.

You don't say anything, but you offer a tepid smile. "I'm sorry, too. I know you don't want this either."

Charlie offers you the glass, watching the bubbles travel through the liquid. It's odd that this is the most you've talked without being forced to. You hold out the glass to his, clinking it gently.

"Cheers. To being in an arranged marriage like it's the eighteen hundreds."

Charlie smiles, genuinely smiles. "Cheers."

He can't help the small voice that says 'maybe this will be okay'.

. . .

Charlie doesn't hear from you in a week. Which isn't entirely unusual, but there was often something that had to be planned for the wedding that required some form of communication. It was two months away now. Invitations were sent out, RSVPs being received.

It was odd being outside of your studio apartment. Located downtown, it was close to the university. A graduation present from your parents. Charlie knew the address; had picked you up several times, had seen Ben peeking through the curtains.

Now, there was no sign of life.

The flowers on the stoop were wilted, a surprising neglect given your love of them. No lights are on that can be seen from the front entrance. It's quiet and suddenly he can't remember if anyone has heard from you.

The doorbell echoes throughout the building, before he hears the small patter of footsteps. Charlie can't help the way he visibly relaxes upon seeing you, even if your hair is messy and there are visible bags under your eyes.

"Charlie?" Your voice is tired, a little hoarse from disuse. "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried." He said. It surprises him how true that is.

"Do you want to come in?" You trail away, leading to the kitchen where you put on a kettle and grab two mugs.

You're quiet, the glittery look in your eyes that he's accustomed to seeing is gone, the air around you is filled with a sadness.

"Ben broke up with me." You said through a croak. "It's stupid. So stupid. I knew it would happen eventually, but I didn't expect it now--"

The kettle starts to whistle and you turn away from him, taking a long time to prepare the cups of tea. Charlie doesn't comment on it.

"I'm sorry." Charlie isn't sure how many times he's said that now, but it feels insignificant. Not worth enough.

"I wish I was brave enough to leave him when I found out, but I was too selfish." There are steady tears trailing from your eyes, finally putting a dull sparkle in them that is nothing compared to your usual brightness.

"I'm sorry." He says it again, like maybe if it means enough something will change.

. . .

You throw yourself into finishing the final details of the wedding.

Charlie didn't expect it. If anything he anticipated more resistance. It scares him, how eerily perfect your mask is.

He knows that is what you did; form a mask that hid your heartbreak over losing Ben. You never indulged much information about him. Only small tidbits that slipped out, everything Charlie knew about him was gathered from how you behaved after talking to him. The smile that was radiant, eyes shining with stars.

His father looks at the venue, carefully watching his wife from the corner of his eye as she walked around with a clipboard in hand. Pen in hand, making notes.

"You know, all things considered...you're lucky."

Charlie tosses a nasty look at his father, daring him to keep speaking with the sarcasm dripping. "Really?!"

"Your bride-to-be has a good head on her shoulders, she's funny, smart. She isn't like other young ladies her age."

Charlie follows his father's gaze, finding his mother meticulously smoothing out a tablecloth. Despite the burst of anger that rises at his father's words, he sees the reason behind it. They could have set him up with a stranger, someone like his mother who cared about money and status. At least he somewhat knew you before the arrangement was made. You were smart, incredibly witty. He was surprised how often you made him laugh. There is that voice again, louder;

'maybe it won't be so bad'.

. . .

The suit, with its alterations, looked perfect on him. The navy crisped and starched, looking pristine against the bundle of flowers pinned to his breast pocket. His hair was combed, full of gel that crunched his hair in a way he hated.

There was no denying that he looked every part of the handsome groom, though on the inside he was anything but.

His feelings had wavered for you over the months, but he was certain that he didn't feel anything close to love. Perhaps he liked how you smiled at him, how your eyes crinkled at the edges. The way you stood up to his mother and father. How intelligent you were, devoted to your studies but never letting them rule your life.

In different circumstances, Charlie might have fallen in love with you.

Instead he hears the organ begin playing, watching as you walk down the aisle in a white dress that looks extremely extravagant and nothing like you would pick out.

Your hands are cold in his, your expression empty. The necklace around your neck, a gift from your mother, shines brightly under the light - a stark contrast to the lack of light in your eyes.

"I do."

Never had two words been more damning, Charlie thinks as he kisses you for the first time. It's brief, awkward, and cold. Pulling away, his hand holds you as he leads the way out of the room.

The guests in attendance clap politely, showing no real enthusiasm, as if they too know that this wedding is unwanted.

. . .

Silence.

The apartment was full of deafening quiet, something Charlie eventually adjusted to. Instead he took note of mundane sounds: the scratch of your pen on paper while you studied and did homework, the soft patter of your socks on the floor, clinking of cups in the morning as you made enough tea for two.

It wasn't an unbearable existence. Charlie quickly beginning to notice your quirks and habits.

The silence is broken one early morning when he wakes up and sees that you're not in your room or kitchen. Worry picks at him before he sees the open balcony door. You're huddled under a wool blanket, cup of tea in hand, looking at the sun setting.

"Hey." You scoot over on the small bench, leaving room for him.

For once the silence doesn't feel cold or tense.

"I love sunrises."

"It's too damn early."

Maybe, Charlie thinks as he looks at your laughing face and starry eyes, maybe it will be okay.

. . .

The air is cold, fresh, as the morning dew collects on grass blades and leaves. There is a thin film of fog slowly dispersing as the sun creeps over the thicket of pine trees.

Charlie opens the door to the back porch, a blanket folded over his arm, with two mugs of tea in hand. The mugs touch the table with a gentle clank. You lean into his side, tucking the blanket under your chin. His hand runs over your arm, nose nestling against your head.

No words are exchanged as you watch the sunrise, finishing the tea in slow sips before it grows tepid. Pink blends into blue, a soft purple giving way to a peach that slowly slips away until it's only an ebb of yellow and blue.

"Can't believe in two days it'll be one year." You whisper, playing with the simple gold band on his finger.

Charlie presses a kiss to your cheek. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

Charlie feels his heart soar when you can't contain your smile, beaming up at him. Your eyes glittering with stars as you look at him.

#charlie dalton x reader #charlie dalton imagine #dead poets society x reader #dead poets society imagine #dps x reader #dps imagine #dps #charlie dalton #i feel like this doesnt flow very well but oh well

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