#like an alternate universe all or nothing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

just-some-random-blogger · 2 days ago

Text

Tormented Spirit | 16

Part 1 [...] 14 15 16 17

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, violence, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: guys we're just gonna roll with the fact daemon knows how to braid hair realllly well ok stfu. also ASHFOASF long time no see i hope you enjoyyy!!!!!! | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

You find it hard to dress yourself for your clothes were far too heavy for you. What's more, they looked like they were eating you alive with how much weight you've lost. Your sister offered to have new dresses commissioned for you, but the moment your father caught wind of it, he made sure to send away any tailor that would fit you, insisting that you would regain your weight. You only did after Aegon was born, but as it remains, you look odd in your ill-fitting garbs.

By the time you are finished dressing yourself, you stare at your reflection. Black suited you, you think... it made the little color that remained on your face pop up.

Daemon emerges from the bathroom as you were about to fix your hair. His tresses looked tangled in its dripping state. A towel covered his belly and thighs, skin still damp. And his skin, his skin was burned. Were once you remembered both faint and deep cuts rested, now rested there was thick and textured marks.

"Dae-" you start but immediately stop when he heads straight towards his closet, hastily moving to dress himself.

You fidget with your fingers, unsure if you ought to help, approach, or even speak. You stare at him, hoping he'd acknowledge you. He doesn't.

You sigh and slowly walk to your vanity, though your eyes remain on him. He spares you a look, immediately looking away when he catches you staring. He puts on his breeches and pulls his towel off. He ties its laces, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. It wasn't. In fact, it was not even an easy feat, as his hands were trembling.

You don't notice that exactly, but you do notice his frantic movements which were so unlike him. You wonder if it was consequence war, and you find yourself pretending not to notice in case it was the case. The last thing you wanted was to trigger him today of all days. You wanted the day you send off your children to be peaceful for the both of you.

You walk sit before your mirror, eyes on your reflection as you comb your hair. Your gaze keeps flickering back to Daemon though.

He notices, and can hardly bare it. He haphazardly puts on his dress shirt then grabs his doublet, pacing across the room. He shudders as he chucks his towel on the bed. He huffs and leans on the table where an ewer of wine laid. He chucks his top on the surface beside it and pours himself a drink.

His aim is poor. Red sputters on the table due to his shaky grip. He nearly makes the cup overflow, but manages to control himself. Quickly, the prince downs the alcohol, but it seems to do nothing for his nerves, and absolutely nothing for the maddening nightmare that was torturing him so greatly.

In truth, he did not know if he quivered out of fear or anger because of it. He did not know which part haunted him more, the fact that his subconscious thought this up, or the fact that it might be true.

He gasps when he hears his name. He sets his cup down with a thud and turns over his shoulder. He scratches his eyes as he looks at you, face shining though your brows were furrowed.

"A-are... are you-"

"It's nothing," he quips, stuffing his dress shirt into his trousers.

You shift on your chair to face him and frown, "Daemon."

He freezes, jaw clenching with an unwillingness to confess what was torturing him.

You see his steely gaze and his tensed shoulders. You knew better than to pursue an uncomfortable conversation with him right now, so you lower your gaze and slowly shake your head, "I... I simply wanted to ask if you would help braid my hair."

He freezes, "what?"

"I thought it would be good to-"

Daemon grabs his doublet and hastily wears it, nearly sprinting towards you.

"- have you..." your breath hitches. You look at him through his reflection as he comes behind you, "... do it in the fashion of your house."

His hands tremble as he reaches for your hair.

"... if... it pleases you."

"It pleases me," he blurts, stroking your hair, "thank you."

You shake my head and sigh, "I-... thank you." You lower your gaze to your hands, "might I write while you do this?"

Daemon's brows furrow as you apprehensively turn to him. He shakes his head but then nods, "o... of course."

You watch him reach for the comb.

He feels its weight before shaking his head again, "wh... to whom?"

"My twin," you say simply, opening the drawer to pull out some parchment and ink. Your eyes slowly look at his reflection as you get your quill and shut the drawer.

Daemon nods. He grips the comb and shrugs. He shakes his head before gathering your locks and brushing through it. He clenches his teeth, trying not to sound so sour as he speaks. He fails, "you write to him oft?"

You nearly tell him everyday, but you change it to: "yes."

He notices that you had two pieces of parchment on your table. He cannot help the jealousy that blooms at the idea of you writing long letters for him. "Much to say, have you?"

Your eyes flicker up to him.

Daemon does not look at you as he parts your hair and begins braiding.

"What?"

"You have two pieces of parchment."

"Oh..." you look back to the table, not thinking he'd notice, "the other is for Laenor."

He freezes.

"I do not write to him as oft," you mutter.

Daemon cannot help the sound he makes. His breath hitches as he gathers your dark hair into his fingers. He chuckles rather manically, "of course."

You decide not to reply. You simply leave him to his work as you work on your letters.

You finish writing your letters before he finishes fixing your hair. Daemon watches you fold the notes neatly and prepare wax to seal them off. Part of him wishes to enquire what you have to say to those wretched men, but another part knows he might regret it. Surely, to your brother at least, you would air out your grievances. The prince does not know if he could stomach the knowledge you'd express your hatred for him with someone else.

You melt wax over a candle and seal the letter with your stamp. He watches you do this, and as he does, he imagines all the times you did the same for his letters. He wonders if you did so with the same ease. He wonders if you paid it littler or more attention than this. He wonders if he'd ever be at the receiving end of your affections ever again.

When he gets to the last part of the last braid, he finds himself unwilling to pin it in place with the rest for your hair. He stares at his work, at the interwoven plaits going down your shoulders. He tucks some stray hair behind your ear, so badly wishing he could kiss you.

Perhaps he could, but then you'd push him away. He would not survive.

Finally, he pins the last part of your hair and slowly withdraws his hands, "it is done."

You immediately come to stand and turn to him.

Daemon watches as you look at his unbuttoned doublet. His stomach drops when you begin to fasten them.

"Shall I braid your h-"

"No," he blurts, shaking his head, "I do not want you to touch me."

You freeze, unsure if you heard him correctly. You slowly pull away, "you... you don't want me to touch you?"

"No," he shakes his head.

You knit your brows and nods slowly, "I see... why?"

"Why?" he whispers, as if he was stabbed, "why does it matter? Do you want to touch me?"

"I... I want to be civil with you."

His nostrils flare as he chuckles dryly.

"I do not want to be at war with you."

"But we are!" Daemon blurts, "love is war."

"Says who?" you knit your brows.

"Says my bleeding heart," he mutters, as he fixes his doublet himself. His eyes begin to water, so he turns away.

You feel your throat tighten. You shrug, "is this your way of saying you love me?"

"I have always loved you," he turns back to you, tears staining his cheeks.

You laugh.

He rarely hears such a sound from your lips and seems to hate it. "Mazemā nyke syt iā pirtirys?" he mutters under his breath. You take me for a liar.

You chuckle again and shake your head. You shrug, "mazeman ao syt iā mittys." I take you for a fool.

Daemon lowers his head.

You nearly reach out for him, but then you remember he does not invite your touch. You turn to the door then back to him, "let us be civil today."

"No," he lifts his gaze, walking to the vanity. He grabs a hair tie and does his hair, "I want a peace treaty."

"What?"

"The Stranger has scratched my skin in the Stepstones. I know better than to believe civility can be achieved between your enemies."

You laugh again, but this time, it is far unbearable. It is loud and anxious and broken. You clutch your chest when you begin to feel it tighten, "and I am your enemy, Daemon?"

"Daor," he says desperately. He grabs your arms and rapidly shakes his head, "dōrī ao.... yn nyke." No. Never you... but I.

You stare at him as he slowly pulls away.

"I have become your enemy whether either of us care to admit it or not," he shakes his head as he turns to his feet, "I cannot reconcile my mistakes; I can ask only for a peace treaty."

You rub your forehead as you lean on your chair, "I do not understand."

"You-" he chokes. He clears his throat, "you say look at me and see only grief and loss." He wipes his face, "I do not want it to be so."

You huff and shake your head, "it is not something you can change."

"Not if you don't let me," Daemon mutters, "kostilus..." he shakes his head, "ivestragon nyke skorkydoso olvie yno kostā mōzugon gō ao pykagon nyke hen." He scratches his eyes before looking at you. Please... tell me how much of me you can drink before you spit me out.

"Daemon."

He looks at you, violet eyes shrouded by pink.

"I..." you shake your head, "don't know."

He sighs, "plea-"

"I'm telling you, I don't know."

He sighs again, shaking his head then nodding it, "sȳz." Fine.

You watch him step back and motion to the door.

"After you."

You stare at him for a moment and grip your skirts tightly in your hands. You draw a deep breath before walking off.

When you open the door, you hear the clanking of steel. You see Arryk and Erryk stationed outside your door.

"Princess," they greet in unison.

You frown at them, "Erryk... Arryk."

Arryk's eyes rather unwillingly catch sight of Daemon walking towards you. He clenches his jaw and steps aside, not wanting to see him. Erryk ignores him altogether as he reaches a hand for you, "will we be heading for the solar to break fast?"

You shake your head and push his hands down.

Erryk's jaw feathers as Daemon comes to your side.

Daemon's gaze remains lowered. He mutters softly, "kesan bartos naejot se ripo," before slipping past you and walking off.

Erryk eyes him hotly where Arryk turns to you, giving you a wary look, "what did he say?"

You shake your head and offer a smile, "he said he'll be going to the pit."

Arryk simultaneously thinks how fortunate and cowardly it was that Daemon will be flying off. Erryk says it out loud, "so, he's leaving on Caraxes?"

You rub your belly, "we will be sending our Alaeric and Alyrie off."

The twins freeze.

"I do not know if Daemon spoke to the maesters about it already," you mutter, "would one of you go and check. I... I do not want to see them... not like that."

"I can go," Arryk nods.

You nod rapidly and offer a smile, "thank you."

Just as his brother leaves, Erryk reaches a hand out to you again, "perhaps you ought to break fast."

You shake your head, finally taking his hand, "I... I will be sick."

His brows furrow, "you must promise me you will eat something after then."

"Erryk-"

The shake of his head cuts you off.

You take a deep breath, "you know it is hard."

"Then perhaps you can eat with the prince."

Your eyes widen at the idea.

It takes a moment for Erryk to realize why and he quickly dispels the thought, "Aegon. With your nephew, the prince."

You heave and shake your head.

His jaw tightens, "I would never im-"

"I know," you raise a hand, "I just... I misunderstood. Forgive me."

His nostrils flare, "there is no world in which you could ever do something that offends me."

You come to life when you reach Aegon's quarters. The boy immediately runs towards you. You smile and lean down. He jumps into your arms and you tenderly pick him up, sealing him into a hug

"Aunt!" he beams, clutching your cheeks.

"My boy," you coo, embracing him fondly.

Aegon giggles, his little arms wrapping around you. You remain like this for a moment before he pulls away and grins, clutching your cheeks again, "play!"

You kiss his forehead, "actually, we're going to go outside today."

Aegon blinks, his silver lashes fluttering, "play?"

You rock him in your arms, "zaldrīzes." Dragon.

He gasps.

"Gaomagon jaelā naejot ūndegon iā zaldrīzes?" Do you want to see a dragon?

"KESSA. KESSA!" Aegon cheers in agreement.

With this, you head to your sister's chambers and tell her of your plans for today. Alicent offers you a solemn expression before giving you a hug. She says she will change and inform the king. You then head off to the last person you wished to invite.

"Come in," his voice is deep.

Aegon leans into you as Erryk opens the door. You step into the Hand's office and nod at your father, "hello, my lord."

Otto lifts his gaze from his desk and furrows his brows, "what's happened?"

You shake your head as he slowly comes to a stand. You rub Aegon's back, "nothing... I... I've told Daemon about the twins."

He tenses at the thought, eyes turning to Erryk, who stood just by the door.

"We will be sending them off now."

Sending them off? Otto relaxes when he realizes who you actually meant. He nods and walks towards you. He places a hand on your shoulder, "I am glad."

You gulp as you look at him, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

The walk is long and quiet, save for the babbling of Aegon. He was rather fond of his grandfather's pin, and reached out to it every time Otto got close enough to.

"No," Otto would quip each time, raising a brow at the boy.

Aegon, none the wiser, would giggle, thinking it was a game.

At some point, the old man had to surrender his pin denoting his status to the boy when he managed to get pull on it. With a sigh, he hands it to his grandson.

You immediately pull it away from Aegon when he tries to eat it. You quip with a raised brow, "no."

The sight of your babies on a pyre sends a chill down your spine. The maesters and Arryk are already there, waiting for the rite to commence. The sight is too much, thus why you fix your eyes on Aegon.

Otto notices your discomfort and comes to your side, blocking your view of the pyre with his back. He turns to one of your wards, then the other. He motions with his head, wordlessly beckoning them over.

Erryk and Arryk oblige.

"It would be best if my daughter have this moment with her husband," Otto says, "stay back unless called upon."

Arryk clenches his jaw and Erryk purses his lips. Regardless, they nod and speak in unison, "my lord."

Soon, the king, the queen, and the crown princess arrive. It's rather fitting, for right after, there is a loud screech in the sky. Aegon immediately reacts, gasping as his hands fly up to cover his ears. A flash of red soars overhead.

The poor boy is overwhelmed by the sound of beating wings and begins to clamor and panic. You do your best to calm him and instinctively turn to your sister, finding her clutching her swollen belly in worry. You debate whether you should hand her Aegon, but you decide to try and calm the boy, not wanting to strain her by making her carry the boy.

You turn to my father, who wipes his grandson's cheeks and strokes his head.

You kiss Aegon's cheeks and rock him, beginning to sing, "the fishes swim in seas of blue, and dragons breath fire so red— shhh it's alright."

Caraxes soon lands before the pyre and screeches.

Aegon joins suit, screaming into you shoulder as he clings onto me for dear life.

Daemon sees this, jaw clenching at the sight. He watches Otto block Aegon's view of Caraxes, muttering something to the boy. He watches his sister come forward to calm the boy. He watches you rock him. The Hightowers are unified because of his brother's son. He unsaddles himself from Caraxes.

"DAOR!" Viserys screams, just as the blood wyrm cranes his head dangerously close to you. Rhaenyra gasps as he watches Caraxes seemingly try to attack. The king steps forward, repeating the command, making Caraxes pull his long neck back and screech back in offense.

Aegon shrieks in terror of the loud noise.

The king does not flinch, but he does turn to Daemon, "visagon aōha dyni, valonqar!" Control your beast, (younger) brother.

Daemon calls out to Caraxes, ordering him to calm and obey. He soon is on the ground, marching towards his dragon's head, "gīda ilagon!" He raises his hands, "gīda ilagon." Calm down.

Caraxes huffs through his nostrils.

Aegon wails into your shoulder.

The dragon screeches again.

Daemon grits his teeth, looking over his shoulder. He turns to you then his brother, "visagon aōha tresy." Control your son.

Upon hearing this, you glare at Daemon, "he's just a babe!"

Caraxes bleats at the sound of your voice.

"Do not be so defensive. A babe's wailing is meant to be annoying," Daemon rebuts.

"Here," Alicent mutters, taking Aegon from you.

"Ali-"

"It's alright, sister," she turns to you, kissing her boy, "I can manage." She turns to Otto, "might I have your arm, father?"

Otto obliges.

The two walk off, enough that Caraxes was not so close. You can't help but glare at the beast, though you knew any irritation you had towards him was irrational, as he was just a dragon and Aegon was just a boy.

Caraxes cranes over to you again, letting out another loud noise.

Both Daemon and Viserys call out to the beast, expecting the worst from him. Even Arryk and Erryk, who was watched from afar, grip their swords involuntarily and find themselves stepping closer as Caraxes pushes his snout into you.

Caraxes does nothing perilous but does huff. Still, it garners a corrective command from his rider, who comes in front of you

The beast makes a displeased sound, baring his teeth, frightening Aegon yet again. The sound of the boy's cries make you snap, "lyka, Caraxes," you call out, "skoros gaomā?" Quiet, Caraxes. What are you doing?

Daemon turns to you then Caraxes, calling him to obey.

Viserys watches his brother gaze upon you. He watches Daemon take your hand and reach it out towards his ride. His lips part as Caraxes leans into your joined hands. He turns back to his wife and frowns at the sight of his red faced boy. It was clear Aegon was frightened for you with how he was reached his hand in your direction.

The king sighs and comes to him, taking the boy into his arms. Rhaenyra watches his father rock his half-brother. He watches the boy sigh into his arms. She looks away, focus back to Caraxes.

Daemon leans against Caraxes. He mutters softly to him as he presses your hand into the dragon's snout. The beast is finally calm. You feel the warmth of his scales and you wonder if he'd eat you now that you were no longer carrying his rider's children.

Daemon topples back as Caraxes pushes into him, hard enough to brush against you. You gasp when he nudges your chest.

Your husband recognizes the affection and finds himself unable to bridle his own. He pulls you into his chest, pretending it was out of concern— to keep you upright. He presses his arm against yours, his palm resting on the back of your hand. He links his fingers into yours and rests your joined hands atop Caraxes, whispering, "he missed you."

You chuckle, looking over your shoulder to Daemon, "that's not possible."

Daemon leans his forehead against yours and you immediately look away. Though the sentiment hurt, he looks back at his mount and persists, "yet it's true."

Caraxes huffs and begins to curl before you. He then lies down, shaking his head as he did.

Daemon's eyes turn to the pyre, throat tightening at the sight of the two small bodies, wrapped up in cloth. It was no longer white, as time brought a brownish hue to it.

You look at him when he withdraws his hand. You watch his jaw clench as he looks to the distance. You pull away to place a hand on his rib, "do you want to go closer?"

His hand comes atop yours. For a moment, you remember how he said he didn't want your touch, but instead of pushing you away, he squeezes you. His lowers his head and licks his lips, "I am unworthy."

You face him fully. You shake your head and fix his collar, "you are their father."

You entire body seems to react when he speaks your name. Your shoulders tense. Your breath hitches. Your eyes water.

He watches you intently. He takes your hands and clutches by his chest. He frowns and leans closer, daring to press his forehead into you again.

You let him. You close your eyes and let him press against you. Tears rush down your cheeks.

"Would they have liked me?" Daemon whispers.

You chuckle bitterly, eyes opening. You see that his face is just as teary as yours. You sniffle and shake your head, "the gods only know."

Daemon wipes his nose on his sleeve.

You both walk towards the pyre. Caraxes lifts his head to look down upon you. Daemon frowns when he sees just how tiny the bodies are. He notices then they smell like the oil you put on yourself, albeit mustier. He cares little about the unpleasant undertone and presses a kiss on both their bodies.

When he pulls away, he takes deep breath and mutters, "kepa iksis kesīr, Alaeric se Alyrie... shijetra nyke... geros ilas." Father is here, Alaeric and Alyrie... forgive me... good bye.

Daemon turns to you, his hold on you tightening, "gaomagon emā mirros naejot ivestragon?" Do you have anything to say?

You step forward, biting your lips as gaze upon your babes. You release Daemon, immediately bursting into tears. You reach out to them one last time, lips trembling, "I wish you knew how much I love you."

You nearly topple back as you pull away.

Daemon reaches for you, one hand on your arm, the other on your back. He rests his head on yours, his voice is pained as he mutters, "they know," he shakes his head and presses a kiss on your ear. He whispers, "everyone knows."

You crumble. You turn to him and sob into his chest.

He wraps his arms around you, stroking your hair. He calls out your name, "I'm here now."

You whine.

"It would take sword and flame to sever me from you."

When you were calm enough, Daemon leads you off. He is vigilant of his surroundings but more importantly, you. By the time you and him stand far away enough, Caraxes inspects the pyre before him. He sniffs it and shakes his head. He cranes his neck back, looking at his master. They share a silent understanding.

Daemon has his arm around you as you continue to weep into his chest. He rubs your shoulder, looking down upon you, "would you like to give the command?"

You sniffle and look up to him, "what?"

He turns to Caraxes, who is already stood in attention rather knowingly, "I think he would obey if you commanded."

You shake your head, turning to Caraxes, "I do not want to." You face the pyre, wiping your face, "I've given them their sorrowful beginning. I do not wish to give them their sorrowful end."

Daemon clenches his jaw, "very well." He rubs your shoulders, "when you're ready."

You sigh, leaning into him, "I will never be."

He does not reply. He does, however, squeeze your shoulders.

You turn to him, a line between your brows, "when you're ready, Daemon."

He turns to you just as you look forward. He sniffles and turns to his mount, "Caraxes."

Caraxes rumbles.

The prince takes a deep breath, eyes fixed upon his children, "dracarys."

You gasp at the burn of the flames. The fire is so bright, it's like the sun stops shining for a moment. It's fitting, for that is what it felt to lose them. Warmth cascades across the ground. Caraxes screeches upon finishing his task. Aegon weeps again.

Daemon takes you back to the Keep on dragonback. He is grateful you agreed, though he knows it was more because you felt too weak to walk, rather than the fact you wanted to keep his company.

When he arrives at the pit, Caraxes squawks in recognition of the dragon that seemed to have just arrived, judging by the amount of servants and dragon keepers around.

When you land, hear a voice call for you and you look, not recognizing the voice. Daemon does, just as he recognizes the dragon.

Daemon dismounts and helps you down. You hear your name called out again, "who-"

"Princess!"

Your lips part as you turn to see the young man running towards you. You recognize him solely from his hair, "Laenor?"

Daemon eyes the boy as he bows. He eyes the flowers in his hand. Quickly, his eyes are averted back to you when you begin to weep.

Laenor is mortified. He nearly drops the bouquet as he calls out your name.

"Forgive me," you wipe your face and shake your head, "it is good to see you," you say, breaking into a soft chuckle, "to finally meet you."

Laenor gives a half-hearted smile as he nods, "it is good to meet you, though... I hear you have just come from the pyre."

You sniffle and nod, linking your hands together, "yes... I... we-" you turn to Daemon, "put our children to rest."

Laenor nods slowly, looking between the two of you, "my deepest condolences princess, prince."

You turn to him, finding he was offering you pink flowers.

"Bougainvillea," says the young lord, "I thought to bring you flowers since you wrote of picking them oft."

Your lips wobble and you sob even more.

Daemon clenches his jaw, reaching out to you.

He doesn't reach you though, as soon, you've thrown yourself into Laenor's arms.

The Velaryon yelps in surprise but naturally returns your affections.

"Thank you," you mutter, squeezing him tightly.

He chuckles, matching the intensity of your embrace, "it's nothing really, I saw some on my way. I'm glad you appreciate it."

When you pull away, Laenor catches the withering glare Daemon was shooting his way. He widens his eyes, only because he dares not to roll them, then hands you the flowers.

You gratefully take them, "thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I wrote to you just this morn."

"Did you?" his brow quirks, "you might be glad to know you needn't do anymore."

Your brows furrow.

"I..." he smiles softly, "... am promised to Princess Rhaenyra."

Daemon's brow quirks.

"Oh," you mutter, "oh..." your lips wobble, "d-does that mean you will be staying here?"

Laenor chuckles, "yes, I-"

He grunts when you embrace him again.

Daemon looks away and scoffs.

"That's wonderful!" you sob, "oh, my dear Laenor."

Laenor chuckles as he pulls away, "surely mine own company is not so much a relief from my uncle's."

"Careful, boy," Daemon snaps, eyes narrowing, "I respect you, but that doesn't mean I like you."

Laenor's eyes widen again, "of course, uncle."

"In any case," you wipe your philtrum, "I am glad to have a friend."

Friend... I could be your friend, thinks Daemon.

Laenor nods, "as am I."

With that, Laenor walks off and you turn to the Bougainvilleas in your hands.

"You write to Laenor about flowers?"

You turn to Daemon, seeing him grind his teeth. You nod simply, "upon his request."

He opens his mouth but then shuts it. Would you have obliged himhis request if he ever wrote back to you? He banishes the thought and turns to the ground, "you should plant them."

Your brows quirk at the thought.

"Grow them in your garden," he turns around, walking back to Caraxes.

You watch him caress his dragon. You mutter to yourself, "that's not how that works."

You wait for him to finish doting on his ride. You stare at your flowers as you do so.

When Daemon turns back, he sees you gently caressing the pink buds. He imagines you doing the same to his cheeks and lips; it makes him rapidly shake his head and call your name.

You look up at him.

Daemon's lips are curved into a frown, "I do not keep you prisoner."

Your brows furrow, "what?'

He motions with his head, "go."

You turn to where he motioned, eyes immediately falling on Laenor. You look back at him, "I-"

"He's surely famished from a long ride," he slowly turns back to Caraxes, stroking his scales. The dragon huffs, lying down. "I doubt you've eaten yourself."

You stare at him, brows knitting together.

He turns back to you, "go to him. Be with your friend."

You pull your head back, "I-"

"I wish to clear my head," he pats Caraxes, "I'll do it in the sky."

Of course, what he really wanted was to find solace in your arms, but he tries to convince himself flying will be just as good. After all, that was how he calmed himself before... before you.

"I'll be back before dark," he mutters, walking off to mount Caraxes.

You watch him climb on his dragon's back. You watch him as he commands Caraxes to stand.

You nearly ask him to stay, but your memories convince you to do otherwise.

You gasp softly when Caraxes takes off.

256 notes · View notes

dcxdpdabbles · 5 hours ago

Text

DC xDP Fanfi idea: The End and Beginning

It starts off simple. The Fentons move to a new universe once the AntiEcto-Acts are accepted worldwide. It was a problem when the USA enacted the laws, but convincing the rest of the world to follow suit left a bitter taste in their mouths.

It also made them feel highly useless.

Their youngest was a half-ghost, and after meeting the clone and alternative counterpart of said son, the Fentons family now were half of what the Acts claimed had no soul.

They could fight against the country and escape into the dead of night, but there was nowhere to hide when the whole planet hunted them. Unless you had a portal that could send you far away from the government dogs.

This was good because said dogs had managed to build their own portal. Nothing with Fenton Works tech, but it didn't seem to matter. They had a way into the Infinite Realms and planned on sending bombs through to vanquish the ghosts once and for all.

Clockwork had warned the planet's governing units, appearing in their skies and speaking every language.

"If you do this, then your world will end. Your world is a flip of ours. Without one or the other, everything will be destroyed."

His warning only further fueled their hate, and mods flooded the streets chanting for the bombs to be set off. It was like the whole world had lost their minds.

The Fentons cowered in their homes, trying desperately to get people to listen, but their words fell on deaf ears. Clockwork's reputation puts him in a challenging position. His natural dedication needed to remain neutral in any situation, but his soft spot for Danny made it hard to allow time to run its course.

In the end, he appeared before the Fentons with a message. "You must leave this world in one week. Everything will come to an end."

His warning had the group moving. They reached out to all their friends and extended family. Begging them to flee with them. Only Sam and Tucker arrived at their house on the last day, eyes puffy red, bags packed, and a daunting lack of their parents.

Clockwork sent them a ship. It looked like a glowing cruise ship, with wooden planks creaking and groaning as they climbed aboard. They were to pick a room and take shelter, understanding that once they sealed the door, they could not reopen it until they arrived.

The ship would travel at alarming speeds, protected from their timeline with Clockwork's power, but it would take everything the ghost had to keep them safe.

The final moment came, with the seven people pilling together in the largest room- The VIP balcony cabin. Sam, Tucker, and Danny held each other while sitting in front of the glass windows overlooking the fleeing ghosts- their world was also ending.

Maddie, Jack, Jazz, and Dani were in a pile on the bed, eyes shut tight and hugging each other with all their might. Tears rolled down their faces, but no one called it out. They were all mourning.

Dan stood to the side, arms crossed over his chest and leaning on the door. Despite not saying it out loud, they knew he wanted to guard it in case a ghost figured out the cruise was an escape pod. If a desperate enough ghost attempted to break through the door, their deal with Clockwork would be voided, and Dan would never allow it.

The moment came without warning. Multiple portals ripped open among the green skies. Through them, the Fentons could see cheering humans, treating the bombings like a giant festival. Fireworks, waving banners, music that thumped with glee- it made them all sick.

The first three bombs were set off. The Realms' reaction was just as instant, collapsing into itself as the humans' joys reached new levels of glee- until the holes warped into black holes, swallowing up the portal and the area around it.

One right after the other. Large glowing lights, then swirling darkness yanking everything into a quick, meaningless nothing. The humans were no longer cheering- now they were screaming. They were cowering.

But there was nowhere left to run.

Clockwork appeared in front of the trio, smiling sadly at them as multiple cracks appeared on his being. He mouths a sentence, placing one broken hand on the glass, and then pushes the ship away. At a speed that is more light than movement, the Fentons and their guests rush away, watching with horrified eyes as Clockwork breaks apart completely.

He vanishes into dust that gets absorbed into a black hole. Dan and Danny's noise is gutted, ripped from somewhere deep in their cores.

The cruise crumbles around the pressure of the push. Wooden pieces are shaken off the ship, shattering from the effort to keep itself together, and fall into the void as they watch, unsure of Clockwork's power, which would be enough to withstand the breaking of a timeline. Soon, only their room remains; even that, it starts to show glowing green cracks on the wall.

Dan glares at them, never hating something as much as the sight of them, while his family and kid brother's friends start to sob. Suddenly, everything comes to a stop.

Or rather, a large being made entirely of light, taking the shape of a human man, catches their cabin. They all stumble, thrown from their positions as the glowing white human shape brings them to its large face. It's like looking into a marble statute with no distinctive face, only the barest of outlines that could count as a face.

"You bear Clockwork's mark, but he is not with you," The being says, blinking its large eye into the window. The swirling red of its pupils baths the humans and ghosts as they stare back open jaws. "How curious"

"Who are you!?" Dan demands, stepping away from the door. "How did you survive the destruction of the timeline?!"

The being eye's dim. "Clockwork is dead then. I told him I would welcome him into my realms, but he chose to send his kin instead. What a sentimental fool."

Dan's human features melt away, and his ghost forms burst from an explosion of flames. "Who are you!?"

"Your kind calls me Speed Force." It replies after a movement, sounding slightly amused, "And I grant you sanctuary as a favor to an old lover. Live well."

With a snap of its fingers, the group vanishes into a bright light, appearing in the middle of a blue sky. Gentle clouds float around, spread out like a mist. It a daunting change from the darkness and the screams.

The group gawks at the sight before gravity reaches up to grasp the broken remains of the cruise ship within its claws. It rips from them the sky, sending them into a downward spiral.

Dan's flames are smothered out as he desperately reaches for it "I can't go, ghost!"

"Me either," Dani screams, clinging hard to Maddie.

"Speed Froce took our powers." Danny realizes, clutching Sam and Tucker closer. "Everyone brace for impact!"

They hit the ground hard and flung around like rag dolls as the last of Clockwork's powers desperately tried to shield them. The glowing green cracks quickly spread until they resemble spider webs.

They hit the ground with a loud bang, sliding through a few layers of dirt. The group is flung against the wall, Dan grunting in pain when Sam slams against him from the force.

Ultimately, the wood can't hold itself together, and it shatters just as it crumbles to a stop. They all land with pain and cries against the hard ground, in a pile of limbs and confusion.

"Oh my," A woman says, standing on her porch overlooking the Fentons. Beside her is a wide-eyed man, one steaming mug in his hold. "Pa, I think I need to put more coffee. We have guests."

Above the couple is a wooden sign with faded but beloved letters. It reads Kent Farm.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #The End and the Beginning #Part 1 #Clockwork sacerfice himself for them #Every blackhole was once a timeline #Pa and Ma kent were just having morning coffee #Speed Force is a being #Who loved Clockwork #Angst #Humans never listen until it's too late #Dan and Dani are part of the Fentons #everlasting trio

195 notes · View notes

skyfallscotland · 1 day ago

Text

Professor Riorson (Remi's Version)

"Remi for once can you please—" "Be an attentive student?" I widen my eyes. "Pay attention in class?" I just my lower lip out. "Of course!" My lips curve up. "I'm so excited to have a new teacher, Vi."

Hello! After what we shall henceforth refer to as the Onyx Storm Incident, I did not know if I would ever write for this fandom again (yes, that was three days ago, I know, shut up).

Anyway, I figured I should try and push through my reservations early instead of letting my disappointment linger, so I set out to write a little palette cleanser. As usual I tried to write smut and ended up with four thousand words of feelings first 🤦🏼‍♀️

This is set in some sort of alternate (completely unbelievable) universe where Xaden never gave in to Remi's flirting when she was a first-year at Basgiath (oh and he's not a venin) everything else is irrelevant, just go with it.

It's also basically straight up erotica, so explicit content! Not for minors! Minors DNI or whatever the fuck they say over here (I really should be posting all these on AO3, but that's for another day).

Finally, I'm sorry to all the teachers out there, I hate this kink too but it's minimally emphasised (they're still them) and it was what my girl Remi deserved—why should Violet get Professor Riorson and not her, the Queen of Tyrrendor, the Angel of Death? So here we are.

PS. Justice for chairs! Hopefully you can all visualise what's going on here 😂🪑

Professor Riorson (Remi's Version)

Fraternisation between cadets and those serving in higher chains of command, including the aggregate leadership cadré at Basgiath War College, is strictly forbidden. —Article Eight, Section One, The Dragon Rider’s Codex

I tap my foot against the floor, levitating my pen above my hand almost subconsciously as Professor Devera informs the rest of the cadets just how fucked we actually are. "Welcome to the new face of battle, where we are not only outnumbered in the sky but now equally matched on the field in terms of the skill of our opponents."

Equally matched? We're not equally matched, we're absolutely fucked. It's hard to find the energy to care anymore, knowing what awaits us. Maybe if I had a signet like Violet's, I would be in with half a chance at survival, but mending? Yeah. I'm screwed.

Heads drop in the rows ahead of us, like everyone else is reaching the same conclusion.

"With that in mind, the nature of challenges will change under the supervision of Professor Emetterio to include wielding in order to better prepare you for actual combat. Death is no longer an acceptable outcome when you face your classmates. The days of settling your scores on the mat are over. We need each and every one of you to survive to graduation.”

I scoff aloud, drawing more than one person's attention. Death should never have been acceptable. The military, the system gains nothing from it, it's just a senseless waste of life.

“Easy to say when you’re not facing Sorrengail,” Caroline Ashton calls out.

My lips tilt up. I hope she ends up facing my sister.

“We aren’t going to throw you to the wolves,” Devera tells her. “The third class you’ll be adding will be a hands-on approach to prepare you for signet-against-signet combat. You’ll have a rotating roster of professors to benefit from all signet types, and the Eastern Wing has temporarily loaned us their most powerful rider to start your instruction.”

Violet stiffens beside me and I frown, glancing over at her. The Eastern Wing…wouldn't that mean…

“And on that note.” Devera gestures to the door at the back of the room, and slowly, I turn. “Look who just arrived—everyone, welcome our newest member of your leadership team. Professor Riorson.”

My heart skips a beat and my lips begin to curve into the most self-satisfied smirk I've worn in a while. This is going to be fun.

Friday comes far too slowly for my liking, but finally it's our turn to head out to the Infantry Quadrant's outdoor amphitheatre. There's a skip in my step as we descend the stairs and Violet groans, eyeing me with disapproval.

"Remi for once can you please—"

"Be an attentive student?" I widen my eyes. "Pay attention in class?" I just my lower lip out. "Of course!" My lips curve up. "I'm so excited to have a new teacher, Vi."

Ridoc snorts, bumping me with his hip as he passes.

I glance up from my feet, taking in the man standing dead centre in the base of the amphitheatre, his impatience clear. His arms are crossed over his chest and his usual dark stare is ever-present as he watches us, waiting.

"This is incredible." Sloane is saying ahead of us, commenting on the weather and the temperature inside the amphitheatre's wards. It is warm in here and as Professor Riorson's eyes dart up to lock with mine, I shrug my arms out of my flight jacket. My pulse jumps at his continued attention and slowly I shake the snow from my braid.

"You're right, Sloane." I smile, running my hand over my hair. "It's so warm in here." I reach for the bottom of my shirt and draw that up too, pulling it over my head to leave me in just my leather pants and armoured corset.

"Remi!" Violet hisses and I smile innocently.

"What?" I lift a brow. "You don't want me to pass out, do you Vi?" She grumbles something about knocking me out, which I promptly ignore, dropping my things in the first row of stone seats beside our classmates.

If there's one thing my sister has always hated, it's my infatuation with Xaden Riorson. I suppose that's fair, given she shares a mind with him at times, but it does nothing to discourage me. If I see something I want, I go after it and I've wanted Xaden Riorson ever since I first laid eyes on him all those years ago at parapet.

Too bad he doesn't want me just as badly.

“Welcome to your first session of Signet Sparring, in what I like to call the pit.” He announces as we reach the base of the steps.

"Ominous." I mutter.

“Those who can wield, keep your feet on the rock but—and I cannot stress this enough—off the mat. Those who cannot, take a seat in the first row.” He gestures to the terraced stone behind us.

I assume it has something to do with the warding, so when Aaric and Lynx move to take a seat in the rows behind, I stand to follow.

"Remi Sorrengail!" Riorson calls. "I know you can wield."

I pause, turning slightly to arch a brow. "My signet is neither offensive nor defensive, sir." The slightest, most minuscule twitch jolts his shoulders at the word and I show him my teeth. "You wouldn't want me to get hurt, would you?"

An ember of desire flickers to life in my gut and I bite my lip, letting my eyes drag over him slowly from head to toe. The tight-fitting sparring gear is reminiscent of what he always wore in the quadrant when he was our wingleader, but the swords strapped across his back…they really add to it. It's doing something for me. A lot for me.

"I'll make sure you don't get hurt, Cadet Sorrengail." He reassures. "Take a seat. Now."

I hold his gaze for a moment, wishing he could read my mind and understand exactly what that tone is doing for me. For a second his eyes flare and then it's gone; his stony, unaffected mask falling back into place as he gestures to the first row where my sister waits.

"Whatever you say, sir." I simper, flopping down onto the stone.

"Sickening." Imogen mutters, rolling her eyes from my other side, and I grin. She's never liked my obsession with him either.

First wing begin to filter in, taking their places on the adjacent seating and Riorson's eyes dart left, then right. “Let’s go. It shouldn’t be this hard to sort yourselves out."

"You can sort me out—" All the breath rushes out of me in a wheeze as Imogen's elbow plants itself in my gut. "Ok." I cough, "understood." Violet stifles a laugh.

“You done gossiping among yourselves?” Riorson eyes First Wing with what I'd classify as menace.

“We were just saying that we’re not sure someone who graduated less than a year ago makes the best teacher.” Loran Yashil folds his arms.

I laugh aloud, drawing the attention of everyone in the amphitheatre. "Because you've been doing so well with Carr." I comment. "How many dark wielders do you think he's fought? Hiding back here behind the wards like a coward?"

"Remi!" Violet groans, though the chastisement holds no sting—I know she agrees with me.

What follows is perhaps the hottest display of power and dominance I've seen in a long while. He barely lifts a finger taking the third-year down and then proceeds to do it all over again…and again, and again until there's no one left but my sister and I.

"Sorrengail, you're up!"

Violet and I glance at each other and she lifts a brow. I wiggle mine in return. Quickly, we both leap to our feet and stride onto the mat.

"I meant—"

"You should have specified then." I cut him off, drawing my daggers from my corset.

"I didn't speak in plural." He all but rolls his eyes.

"Well that's just cheating, you can't both—"

I throw my blade to the side, never once breaking eye contact with Riorson. "Shut up, Caroline!" I call. Who asked her anyway?

Drawing another dagger to replace the one I'd thrown, I let my hips sway as I stride down the centre of the mat, coming to a stop directly in front of him. "If you're too afraid to fight us both, just say Professor." I taunt. "I don't mind if you want to have our session one on one."

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, a muscle in his jaw feathering slightly. "You're infuriating." He murmurs.

"I think you like it." I whisper, tongue darting out to wet my lips, and the ground rumbles. Lightning strikes overhead and he drags his eyes up from my lips, locking gazes with me as shadows rush out, blacking out the area entirely.

"Fuck." I mutter, taking a step back, entirely blind. I take another and another until I run clear into a hard chest and an arm brackets my middle from behind.

"What was the point of this, Sorrengail?" He asks. "If I were venin, you'd be dead right now."

"You're not venin." I counter breathlessly. "If you were, the distraction wouldn't have worked."

"The—"

Boom.

Lightning strikes mere centimetres to his left, shaking the ground, lighting up the arena. I tear myself free from his hold, ignoring the shadows that chase me, caressing my hair, my cheek—and grin slyly. "We win." I smirk as sunlight filters back through. "You'd be dead if she wanted you dead."

He frowns, like the idea of it is ludicrous. "You'd be dead. You would have died before me."

I shrug my shoulders. "And she'd be alive." I tilt my head. "Like I said. We win."

With that I turn and walk away.

"You really need to give it a rest." Violet sighs as she slings her pack over her shoulders, prepared to head down to Chantara with the others. "Remi, I'm…worried about you."

I huff, folding my arms over my chest. "Worried?"

"Worried." She confirms. "It's not healthy to go chasing after someone like this. He's not capable of loving you. There are plenty of people who—"

"Who said anything about love?" I interrupt. "I never said I wanted him to love me."

Violet looks at the ceiling like she's praying to Amari for patience. "You're you." She finally says softly, reaching out to take my hand. "I know you. You want love—and I know him—he's not capable of it."

I know she doesn't mean it critically, she's been orbiting him for quite some time now, her dragon being mated to his and all. So she knows him, better than I probably ever will as a result and she's probably right, but…

"Sometimes he looks at me and I think, just for a second…" I swallow hard.

Violet's expression softens. "I know, I see it too."

My face crumples. "Then why—"

"Because it doesn't mean he can, Rem." She squeezes my hand. "You've been chasing after him since the day you met and him liking you, doesn't mean he'll risk his heart and that's what he'd have to do—we're at war." My sister frowns. "It's all or nothing."

All or nothing.

"Fine." My voice cracks as I speak. "Fine. I get it."

My twin chews on her lip. "So you'll come to Chantara?" She whispers softly.

"No." I shake my head. "I'm going to see him, one last time." Violet's face falls. "I can do all or nothing," I whisper quietly, "but I need a chance to convince him it should be all."

"You've had—"

"No." I shake my head, my heart clenching in my chest. "I've joked and flirted and watched him spend hours of his time dragging you around, but I never made it clear…"

My sister breathes in deep, her shoulders rising like she's steadying herself. "He knows." She whispers, the words leaving her in a rush. "He knows, Remi."

I sit with that for a moment and then slowly, I nod. "Ok." I accept, my throat tightening.

"Ok?"

"Sure." I turn around, taking a seat on the edge of my bed. "I think I'll stay here anyway." I try and force a smile, but I'm sure it comes out as more of a grimace. "You go, Vi. Have fun with the others."

Her eyes are worried, but a lifetime of arguments and tears has told her when to push and when to leave well enough alone, so she leaves well enough alone. It takes a moment to collect myself, to pick the pieces of my heart up off the ground and place them back where they're meant to be, but when that's done and I've managed to still the shaking of my hands, I stand from the bed and head for the door.

If he doesn't want me that's fine, but he can tell me himself, one final time.

All or nothing.

I throw on my jacket and make my way down the hall, heading toward the school's academic wing. Pretty much everyone is either training or enjoying some recreational time, so I don't pass many people on the way there and when I raise my hand to knock, the hall is empty.

The door swings open with the help of lesser magic and I slip inside, not bothering to announce myself—the presence of a shadow curling up around my ankle tells me he knew exactly who was at his door before he ever opened it.

"Professor Riorson." I lift my eyes to his and attempt to shore up my resolve.

"Cadet Sorrengail." He leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "To what do I owe this visit?"

My heart pounds against my rib cage and my pulse flutters like a caged bird. There's a desk between us and metres of clean air, but it may as well be nothing. The atmosphere in the room is charged and I absently wonder if Vi warned him I might be coming.

"I…"

He waits, lifting a brow. "Yes?"

"I'm failing!" I blurt, suddenly losing my nerve. "I'm going to fail your class and I don't know how to…" His eyes hold mine, gold-flecked onyx practically smouldering.

"Try again." He instructs, lowering his hands to the armrests on his chair. He splays his knees casually, leaning back while his eyes seem to stare right through me.

"I'm sorry?"

His lips tilt up, just slightly. "That's not what you came here for." He shakes his head. "Try again and don't lie this time."

My mouth runs dry. Suddenly every conviction I had, every ounce of bravado flees my body and I want to be anywhere but here because I know…this is about to hurt. Having your heart ripped out always does.

"I…came to ask for an extra credit assignment?" I try again, clinging to the minuscule hope he might believe me. It's nothing Vi hasn't done before. Well, before Basgiath, but still.

Riorson smirks. "And your suggestion?"

I frown.

"You're the professor. Don't you decide…?"

The hair on my neck stands on end and I shiver as something brushes the end of my braid. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He murmurs and my eyes blow wide.

"Uh…" His lips tilt.

"Not that it matters, you're lying again."

My mouth falls open. "Ok, you can't possibly know that!" I hiss. "You're not an inntinnsic, you have no idea what I'm thinking!"

"I know you." He counters. "You expect me to believe you, Remi Sorrengail, came here for an extra credit assignment?" He shakes his head.

"You don't know me!" I frown. "I've barely even seen you since you graduated." And not for lack of trying. I've personally been deployed up and down the Eastern Wing, but every time we've been at the same outpost he's miraculously busy. Violet however, sees him all the time. A fact I've always hated.

"Why are you here, Remi?" He tries again, looking more amused by the second and I can just tell—he knows. It shouldn't be a surprise to me. I've never made my interest a secret, I'm not ashamed of it, but that doesn't lessen the disappointment that even after all this time he'll refuse to give me the time of day when I know he's attracted to me too.

I lock my jaw and scowl. "Is there an answer you'll believe?" I finally utter, shame and frustration colouring my cheeks.

"Not extra credit."

I guess the all or nothing is going to be nothing then. How disappointing. I turn on my heel, refusing to waste a second more of my time on someone who clearly doesn't appreciate me.

"Remi." He calls sternly, his shadows tugging on my braid, and when the door won't open I resist the urge to stomp my foot like a sullen teenager—I want out.

My throat tightens. "Yes, sir?" I grit my teeth, glancing over my shoulder and his expression shifts like he's only now recognising the finality in the air. No more flirting, no more games, no more anything.

He closes his eyes and I recognise the minute twitches of his brow—he's talking to his dragon. I yank on the doorknob again but it refuses to turn, keeping me trapped in a mess of my own making.

When he stands from his chair and rounds the desk, my heart begins to flutter with panic.

"Sit down." He orders and I blink.

"No."

I'd have said it anyway, just to be contrary, but this time I mean it. I don't want to be here anymore.

"Sit. Down." His voice lowers, taking on a frustrated, threatening tone and my lip peels back from my teeth.

"No."

Before I can reach for a blade to defend myself with, his arms are around my waist and he's lifting me into the air, carting me back toward the desk like a sack of grain. He kicks the chair before it out of the way with his foot and deposits me on the desk's surface, sending papers scattering.

When I lash out with my foot, aiming to kick him somewhere painful, he catches my ankle between thick, powerful thighs. "Stop." He warns, his tone glacial. "Look at me."

Fuck you. I think, and when I glance up there's a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Sor—Remi." He corrects, leaning in. He plants large, calloused hands on my knees, keeping my thighs apart as he steps between them, ensuring I can no longer lash out at him with my boot. As his fingers curl around my knees, he leans in close enough for our jaws to brush, and I suck in a sharp breath.

"Sir?" My voice shakes and he all but groans.

He lifts a hand, tracing over my cheekbone with his thumb and my heart races. Each brush of his fingers, the feel of his stubble against my jaw, all of it—it sets my soul alight.

"Everything about this is inadvisable." He whispers, his voice gruff. "You are inadvisable."

I swallow hard. "So you've said." Never going to happen, he'd told me more than once while studying here.

"And yet…"

My muscles bunch, shoulders tensing. "…and yet?" I challenge, finally finding my voice.

He takes one breath and then another, and forces me to mourn the loss of his warmth as he steps away. "Article eight, section one—"

"You are not quoting the Codex at me!" I spit, eyes narrowing into a lethal glare as he takes another step. "You? Seriously?" Fury engulfs me, anger burning my chest with tendrils of white-hot rage. "You're a gods damned separatist, even now, Duke Riorson," I sneer, "and you're wedging the Codex between us?"

Of all things, of every excuse—

"You could be—"

"I'm exempt!" I throw my hands up, lashing out with my foot once more and growling with frustration as he halts it with his shadows. "Article eight, section one of the Dragon Rider's Codex states that calling cadets into active service in times of war may only be authorised by—"

"The Commanding General of Basgiath. I'm aware." He glares.

"So I'm no longer a cadet and I haven't been since July when they sent me to the front to mend." I point out.

"That's a technicality—"

"Oh so you're allowed to call technicalities and I'm not? Got it." I roll my eyes. "Just admit you don't want to fuck me professor and let's move on."

"In-ad-visable!" He yells, a deadly glare on his face and I jolt, rearing back a little. "If you were anyone else I'd have—" He seals his lips together and spins, facing the wall as he jerks a hand through his hair, gripping the dark strands roughly. I watch wide-eyed as his shoulders rise and fall, like he's short of breath.

"You'd what?" I whisper.

I don't dare move, frozen in place on the desk as I watch him, waiting with bated breath to see if he'll finally, finally tell me why. Why he refuses to see me as anything but Lilith Sorrengail's daughter, Brennan's little sister, Violet's twin. See ME, I want to scream at him. I deserve that.

When he turns, his eyes are dark and incensed. "If you were anyone else, I'd have bent you over that desk already and taught you a lesson."

My heart flies into my throat. "What?" It's barely more than a whisper leaving my lips.

He stalks back across the room, clearing the few feet he'd put between us, and slides his hand beneath my chin, long fingers curling around the back of my jaw to pull me in, tilting my face up to meet his. "You heard me."

Heat flushes my cheeks. "Wh…why not me?" I ask and embarrassingly enough, my voice breaks. "Why anyone but me? I'm—"

"Soft." His thumb drifts, brushing gently over my lips as he cups my jaw. "You have a soft heart, Remi Sorrengail, and I'm not the kind of man who can care for it."

I scoff, baring my teeth at him. "I'm a rider, same as you." I glare. "They don't call me the Angel of Death because I'm soft."

His hand slips, running back over my hair and down my loose braid. "Well they got the first part right." He murmurs, closing his eyes. I watch, taut as a bowstring as he takes one breath, then another. "Fuck." He mutters, face twisting up like he's in physical pain.

"Xaden?" I whisper, voice shaking.

"You have terrible timing." His hand tightens on my braid and then he's pulling, tugging me forward as he grasps my chin and seals his mouth over mine. My heart leaps into my throat and my chest tightens as he devours me, the hand on my hair sliding down to rest between my shoulder blades. His fingers splay as he pulls me in, holding me close.

His teeth nip at my lower lip and I gasp, tilting my head in submission as he slips his tongue into my mouth. Oh gods. I whimper, pressing myself further into his grasp as he kisses me thoroughly. A small sound of pleasure escapes my throat and he diverts his attention, nipping gently at my jawline.

His mouth moves right to the sensitive spot behind my ear, like he knows exactly where to nip, where to suck, where to pleasure to have me liquefy. His lips are warm against the shell of my ear as he whispers, "you choose now to take no for an answer?"

He worries the skin beneath it with his teeth and I moan, arching into him. "Y-ou didn't want me." I pant. "You've never—you—"

"I always want you." He growls. "You've been taunting me for years, angel." I gasp at the endearment, tilting my head to give him more access as he works his way down the column of my throat. "It's not a matter of want."

My fingers tighten on the timber of the desk behind me and I suddenly realise I no longer have to refrain from touching. Immediately I reach for him, slipping my hands beneath the leather of his flight jacket, running them up his sides to hold him to me.

"Then what?" I whisper, lifting a hand to rake through his hair, scratching my fingernails against his scalp as he sucks a mark into my throat. I want to touch him everywhere. "Xaden, please." I whimper, bringing my legs up to try and drag him closer. I need to wrap my thighs around him.

He groans, panting into my neck. "We should not be doing this." But he doesn't stop.

I gasp, arching upward so my chest brushes his as his fingers skate beneath the line of my corset. "You've yet to give me a good reason." I say, desire coiling low in my abdomen.

"I'm your teacher." He breathes, pulse skipping as I lock my ankles behind his lower back.

"And I'll be such a good girl for you."

Just like that, his control snaps. "Fuck, Remi." He pulls me forward forcefully, dipping his head to claim my lips once more. The kiss is deep and desperate, and I moan loudly into his mouth.

"So. Fucking. Tempting." His fingers tighten in my hair, pulling slightly on the silver-tipped strands and I moan again, heart pounding as my skin gets hotter and hotter.

He kisses like a man possessed, holding me to him like he can't get enough and when we finally part for air again, it's all I can do to keep from begging. I grasp his hand, dragging it from where it rests on the side of my neck, down over my chest, past my stomach and to the button on my leathers.

He barely hesitates, slipping his hand beneath my waistband. I toss my head back, a small gasp leaving my lips as he slides his fingers over my clit and and back up again. "Gods," I whimper, "please."

"Please, what?" He whispers, slowly drawing his fingers through my arousal.

"Please, sir?" I gasp, leaning back to meet gold-flecked onyx. He chuckles.

"I meant what do you expect me to do with you, angel?" His thumb slowly circles my clit in soft, barely-there movements, "but the respect is a nice touch."

I swallow hard, a red flush spreading down my neck, but I have him right in front of me and I refuse to falter now. "Please make me come." I whisper and he groans, hips rocking forward reflexively. "I'll be good for you, I promise."

His eyes are so dark they're almost entirely black despite the light in his office, and he pushes my legs from his hips, spreading my knees further apart as he pulls me to the edge of the desk.

"These need to come off. Now." His hands are already moving, undoing the buttons and sliding my pants down over my hips, taking my underwear with them. I lever myself up on my hands as he drags them down and drops to his knees before me, fingers working on the laces of my boots.

He pulls them off one by one and dumps them on the floor, and when my pants are finally off and I'm half-naked on his desk, he tips his head back and stares. I flush deeper as he remains kneeling on the floor, slipping his hands up to cup my knees.

He rests his head on the inside of my thigh for a moment, his hair brushing my skin, and parts my legs further. Anxiety flares and I glance up at the door uncertainly, suddenly realising where we are.

"Is that door locked?" My heart skips a beat.

"Does it make you wet?" He murmurs, "the idea of being caught?"

I swallow hard. "No."

My heart flutters against my rib cage and his eyes soften, lips pressing gently to my skin. "It's locked, angel. No one's getting in." He places another careful kiss on my inner thigh. "No one can hear us. It's just you and me."

Something inside me settles and I relax enough to reach out, threading my fingers through his hair. "Ok." I murmur, admiring the silky strands as he moves closer, drawing in a sharp breath as he wraps strong arms around my legs and pulls.

"Xa-Xaden." I whimper as he lowers his mouth to my heat, parting his lips.

"What happened to sir?" He lifts a brow, glancing up at me, and my stomach swoops.

"Sir," I whisper, my voice shaking.

I watch as his mouth curves up in a smirk. "Better." He agrees, and lowers it to my clit.

"Oh, gods." I moan aloud as he seals his lips around it, wasting no time with foreplay. He flattens his tongue and I can't help but rock my hips, both my hands flying into his hair.

My back arches as he scrapes his teeth over me and I quickly slam one hand down behind me to keep from losing my balance, sending pens scattering everywhere.

"Look at you, making a mess." He murmurs between languid strokes of his tongue.

My chest heaves and I grip his hair tighter, trying to still the movement of my hips. "I'll make—a mess—of you." I pant, the last word pitched higher as he closes his mouth around me and sucks.

"Promises, promises." He murmurs as he drags his fingers along my inner thigh teasingly. "Are you going to come on my face, angel?" He asks, barely looking up as he slips a finger inside me.

I moan, arching as my heart pounds, desire coiling low and tight in my gut as I clench around his finger. "I—" I can't get a word out, entirely breathless as he sits back on his heels and waits, lips shining with the evidence of my arousal.

"Look at you." He whispers, lifting his thumb to swirl it around my clit. "So wet for me already."

"Yes," I breathe, curling my fingers tighter in his hair. "Always for you."

He drags his finger out and presses it back in again, eyes never leaving his hand. I squirm in place, wanting—needing—more. He thumbs at my clit almost playfully, finally looking up to watch my reaction and I whimper, screwing my own eyes shut.

"Can you take another for me?" He asks, moving his finger teasingly.

"I can take all of you." I whine, twisting with impatience. "I want your cock, please Xaden?" He lifts a brow and I already know exactly what he's going to say.

"Ask me nicely."

There it is. I swallow hard. "Please, sir?" I soften my voice, ignoring the embarrassment that flares in my chest. I'll beg if it gets me there. "I want to come on your cock."

"You will." He responds, stroking my inner wall with his finger. "Just not yet. Be a good girl and let me have my fun."

I manage to refrain from more than a single disgruntled whimper as he ignores my plea, starting circles with his thumb again. When he slides a second finger home beside the first and curls them up, I cry out, tugging on his hair to bring him close.

"Please, your mouth."

He flattens his tongue obediently and I gasp and whimper as he begins moving it over my clit in time with his fingers. He laps at me as he slides them in and out, curling them up to press against a spot that almost sends me over the edge.

"There! There, please!"

I decide I hate the desk. It's hard and uncomfortable, and it provides poor leverage, keeping me from rolling my hips or fucking myself against his face.

He swirls his tongue and presses his fingers up simultaneously, and the action takes me entirely by surprise, tossing me unceremoniously over the edge. "Xaden!" I cry out, jerking against him as I shatter, coming apart on his tongue.

His head is squeezed tightly between my thighs as I shudder, hips jerking, and he moans against me, sending my heart rate soaring as the vibration of it rumbles through my clit. I gasp, clenching my cunt down around his fingers.

I don't know where to look, what to hold onto as my pleasure rolls over me in waves. Sweat slicks my skin and when he finally pulls away, licking his lips in self-satisfaction, his eyes gleam. "I can't wait to get my cock in you."

I moan, tightening around the fingers still inside me. "You could have already been in me." I pant, whimpering as he finally rises to his feet, showing no signs of the difficulty I know I'd be experiencing if I were on my knees that long.

He slips his fingers free and brings them to his lips, holding my gaze as he licks them clean. My stomach swoops like I've done an aerial dive and my lips part, surprise and arousal no doubt written all over my face. Gods.

"Patience, cadet." He lectures, grasping my chin roughly. "You've been so good," he croons, leaning in to kiss me. "You don't want to ruin that now, do you?" When he slips his tongue past my lips, I can taste myself on him and I moan into his mouth, skin heating beyond comprehension. It feels like when I wield—all my power building up inside me, only now it's pleasure; building and building again until I'm ready to explode.

"We're going back to that?" I pant as we part. "You don't like your name on my lips?"

"I like you obedient." He fires back, his hand gripping the back of my neck. "You've spent years taunting me, having your fun at my expense. I think I'm owed some recompense."

I almost roll my eyes. Almost.

"You could have had me at any time." I whisper. "If you waited, that's on you." I tilt my head up, closing the gap between us myself for the first time as I kiss him sweetly. "Your room, mine, the sparring mats…" I murmur. "I've thought about us everywhere."

"And this…?" He asks, eyes heated. "What were you picturing when you came down here, all innocent, asking about extra credit?" His hands move to his own leathers and my heart skips a beat as he begins undoing buckles, removing his weaponry with quick, efficient movements.

"What were you picturing when you walked in here, Remi, and saw me sitting behind my desk?" He moves onto the button at his waistband, popping it open. I watch, breath hitching as he frees his cock, pushing his pants down slightly as he begins to stroke. "Was this what you had in mind?"

A small sound escapes me, more of a squeak than anything else, and I suddenly find myself at a loss for words. He's…sizeable. He grasps the front of my corset, dragging me up off the desk, levering me to my feet. I tilt my head back to look at him, but our eyes only meet for a second before he's pushing, turning me around and down.

I catch myself on my hands, palms flat on the desk, fingers splayed wide and gasp as he presses himself in behind me, a hand grasping my braid. He leans down, mouth warm against my ear and says, "be a good girl and spread your legs."

I obey on reflex, but I'm certain my skin is so red it looks like I've reached burnout. "Xa-Xaden…" My fingers tighten on the dark timber and I gasp as he presses down on my spine, forcing my back to bow, lifting my ass against him.

"You look so pretty like this." He murmurs in my ear and I jolt as he drags a finger up through my folds, adding a second to gently hold me open. I can feel his fingers on my skin, hear the stroke of his hand on his cock as he prepares himself, but all I can see is papers and tomes.

I gasp as the head of his cock presses against my entrance, heart fluttering wildly, and as he starts to slowly push inside, I panic. "Wait!" I call, reaching behind my back, searching for his hand. "Wait, wait, wait." I pant, anxiety thrashing in my chest as he freezes, holding completely still.

His hand closes over mine, fingers threading between my own and I squeeze tightly, trembling in place. "Not like this." I swallow hard, shaking my head. "Not—" Before I can finish speaking he has me on my feet, spun around and held against him, his cock pressing against my stomach as he spears his hand into my hair, guiding my eyes to his.

"Remi?" He asks seriously.

My lip shakes and a small, mortified sound escapes my throat. "I want to see you." I whisper. "The first time…I want to see you." I want to look into his eyes. I want to see the way his brows knit, the way his lips part in pleasure as he drives into me. I want him to see me and know it's me and no one else. I want all of him.

His gaze softens and he dips his head, kissing me softly, his movements slow and languid. It eases the pressure in my chest, the small part of me that thought speaking up might be a deal breaker, and when we part he reaches down and lifts me off my feet, carrying me in quick strides to the chair behind his desk.

"Tell me if you want to stop." He murmurs, pressing his lips to my cheek, my jaw, my throat.

My knees settle on either side of him and I hover in place for a moment, waiting for his eyes to return to mine once more. "I don't want to stop."

Slowly, I sink down on his cock, holding his gaze as I take inch after inch of him until I finally have to close my eyes, tipping my head back in rapture. "Gods, Xaden."

He exhales slowly and his voice is strained when he speaks again. "So tight, Remi." He murmurs, lips brushing my cheek. "So wet for me."

I moan, tipping my head into his neck as he jerks his hips up, pressing against all the right places. The stretch is just this side of too much and it's exquisite and entirely worth the wait. I reach around him, gripping the back of his chair as I lever myself up and drop back down again, squeezing my walls tight around his cock.

"Good girl," he praises, sliding his hands up my spine as he encourages me to move.

I blink my eyes open, kissing my way up his jaw, sucking a mark of ownership into his neck. I want everyone to know exactly what he's been up to in here—I want them to know he's taken. I lean back until I can see him properly—see every minuscule expression as I gyrate on his cock. "I've wanted this for so long." I gasp. "Wanted you."

He lifts a hand, brushing my hair from my eyes and the other palms my hip, encouraging me to move. "I know." He murmurs, shadows slipping free from his control. "I know everything, Remi. All your wants, your needs, everything." Wisps of black curl up around me, brushing my skin, disappearing beneath my clothes. "I'm just as fucking obsessed with you as you are with me." My stomach swoops.

"Are you—" I gasp, arching my spine as something cold brushes lightly against my clit. "Is—is that?" I can't even get the words out I'm so short of breath.

"Me." He whispers, thrusting harder. "All of me, all over you."

I groan, tipping my face back into his neck as I wrap my arms around his shoulders, holding on tight. I could interpret that very differently. "Do you want it harder, angel?" He murmurs, teeth nipping at my earlobe.

I nod furiously, panting as he snaps his hips up, pulling me down at the same time. "Please, Xade."

He sets a quick, unrelenting pace, slamming home inside me with the same desperation I feel, like he needs it—like he's a man starved. "You're so perfect, Rem." He praises, breath rattling out of him as his shadows circle my clit. They endless and determined just like him, slipping low beneath the neckline of my corset as he drives his cock into me over and over again.

"Are you going to come again for me?" He pants against my ear as I tighten around him. "Let me come inside you? Fill you up?"

"Yes, yes, yes—" The coil of pleasure building in my abdomen bursts and I cry out, holding on tight as fire floods my veins, nerve endings lighting up like a shooting star. "Xaden! Xaden—" I gasp and shudder, curling into him as he continues thrusting, chasing his own peak.

I'm so over-sensitised I can't help but whimper against his throat, my fingers tightening on his arms with every stroke. His thrusts grow less and less controlled as he hurtles toward the same cliff I'd just toppled over, and I clench down tight around him, sucking another mark into the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

"Fuck!" He curses, teeth lodging in my dragonscale armour as his hips give one final jerk and he spills inside me with a groan. His chest rises and falls rapidly beneath my cheek and I smile softly to myself, keeping my eyes down. "Gods." He rests his head on my shoulder, arms curling around me to hold me close, and I do the same to him, my heart swelling in my chest.

I lie my cheek on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he presses a kiss to the back of my neck. His breathing begins to even out, pulse slowing but I hold onto him just as tightly still, keeping him close.

My knees are beginning to ache and the width of his hips isn't exactly comfortable for mine, but I don't dare move, knowing the second I do this will be over and I'll have to face reality again—awkward, uncertain reality.

I'm just as obsessed with you as you are with me, he'd said—but is he really? That seems unlikely.

"Remi." He murmurs, his arms falling from my sides, and I bite down hard on the inside of my lip, throat tightening. "Angel, we can't stay like this." He chuckles.

"Yes we can." I murmur petulantly into his neck, not loosening my grip an inch.

"I have a meeting in ten minutes." He replies, hand firm in the centre of my spine, "and while I'm happy to work with my cock inside you, I don't share."

A barely audible sound of surprise lodges in my throat. "Share?" I ask quietly, a tendril of hope curling in my chest.

He tugs gently on my braid, encouraging me to lean back so our eyes can meet. "You're mine, Remi, and I don't share my things with anyone." He says sternly.

That kind of possessive alpha bullshit should not fly with me. If it were anyone else, I'd probably punch them square in the nose for their insolence and tell them I'm not an object, but he's not anyone else and for him…

"Yes, sir." I whisper, cheeks flushing, and he groans, hips stuttering below me as his body makes a valiant attempt at an encore.

"Remi!" He chides and my lips curl up in a smirk, emboldened.

"Was that enough for extra credit, Professor Riorson? Am I passing your class?"

"Fuck." He mutters, mostly to himself. "If anyone finds out—"

"I'm happy to warm your cock while you work," I murmur, "if you still think I need extra instruction."

"Remi!" He groans, lifting me off him completely. "You're going to be the death of me." I guess he wasn't kidding about having a meeting to go to.

He sets me on my feet and I stare up at him innocently, chewing on my lower lip. "I feel so empty without you inside—"

"For fuck's sake!" He curses, sending a shadow to curl around my mouth. I go to speak further, to taunt him again, and find the dark mass blocks all sound—I can't so much as whisper in his direction for as long as he can wield. I pout, staring up at him with wide, wet eyes.

"How important is this meeting?" I sign, hands moving rapidly in the air. "I'll be lonely without your—" Shadows zip forward, swirling around my wrists to lock them tight together, binding my hands.

He finishes buttoning his pants and folds his arms over his chest, staring at my half-naked form in the middle of his office, completely unimpressed. "I suppose insecure Remi is gone then?" He asks, striding forward to cup my jaw with his hand.

That scores a direct hit and I guess he somehow knows it, because his fingers gentle as they tip my chin up. "Torment me in public and you won't like the punishment."

I'm absolutely certain I will.

Almost as if he hears my thoughts, his eyes narrow and he scowls. "I promise you won't, angel. I'll bring you to the edge over and over again and leave you there, bound and desperate while I get myself off—every day until you've learned your lesson."

I swallow hard.

"Thought so." He hums. "But if you're good, I'll help you come—on my face, on my hand, on my cock…over and over and over again." Onyx eyes glitter. "It's your choice, baby."

Baby. The word hits me like a punch in the gut and my chest tightens. "I can be good." I blurt the second his shadows disappear. "I promise."

"Good girl." The hand around my jaw curls up and he drags me in, dipping his head to place a soft, reverent kiss on my lips. "Go clean up and I'll see you tonight, Cadet Sorrengail."

I breathe in deep, a small smile touching my lips as I reach for my pants, hands shaking with relief. "Ok." His hand skates over my back as I finish dressing and he guides me toward the door to his office.

"And Rem?" He calls, halting me when my hand is on the doorknob. "That technicality is bullshit—it's not flying with anyone in leadership and you know it, so for fuck's sake keep this to yourself until this posting is over."

I bare my teeth in a grin, a joyful laugh bubbling past my lips. "Whatever you say, sir."

Who knew academia could be this satisfying?

#professor riorson (remi's version)#remi sorrengail; badass of navarre #xaden riorson: head of the remi sorrengail fanclub #onyx storm spoilers #fourth wing fanfic #basgiath (remi's version)

76 notes · View notes

elys-writing · 3 days ago

Text

everyone thinks its a hoax at first, like prerecorded with special effects. then the streamer actually responds to chat, in real time. saying the stupid words the chat is asking them too and everything. so then they think its a stunt somehow.

i mean if it is a stunt its working. the chat's gone from less then a dozen people at its top to the thousands.

everyone accept those original few fully think its a hoax and over a few hours they lose interest, leaving a community of maybe 100 at its top. as time goes on that number drops to around 30. people have jobs, lives to get too. the 30 left are either teenagers or living off commissions of art or anything they can do on the side. a few of them have even figured out ways to get a small stream of income from the live stream itself!

oneday one of the streamers irl friends finds the discord server and confirms it all. they confirm the streamer is missing, that theres no traces or leads to follow other than the live stream. and the live stream doesnt give them anything. the streamer cant identify where they are and any analysis of the backgrounds turns out nothing. the case goes cold within a few months.

this goes on for years. the streamer and their chat begin to know eachother on a first name/username nickname business. they've managed to move the stream to a private platform that seems to stay running no matter what.

for two years this goes on. some of the teenagers are in college now. one of them is learning code because of this, another is now a history major and a third is doing an independent study of alternative universes.

two of the older people in the 'fandom' that met through the stream get married. the streamer sits in the house they've built themself all day as chat live blogs the wedding. they're set up on a monitor so everyone can see them even if they cant see the actual wedding.

another person has spent these years attempting to hack the chat. and one day, in the middle of the winter, they succeeded in transmitting a audio signal instead of simply text to speech. the streamer cries at hearing one of their chat, now close friends, voice. everyone else takes their turn to chat with the streamer one on one. from that point on theres almost always atleast one person in the voice chat.

one night a monster attacks the streamers house in their sleep. its an owlbear, a wyrmling, something along those lines. the chat is doing their best to warn her of incoming attacks, spotting what she cant. but that night, during the attack, the streamer gets knocked to the ground and the stream goes dead.

for a few months, everyone is frantic. then they all grieve. the discord remains, the old channels and name still there. but now newer channels are most used. their just a friend group now, with a bond that they can never explain.

then, 5 years later, the person who hacked the chat gets a knock on their door. they open it to see their best friend, the streamer, smiling awkwardly. Ɛ>

#ely's writing #aka rambling #idk why i did this #tw death #tw violence #very light on both

47K notes · View notes

grifffins · 1 day ago

Text

🔮 The Fool’s Journey (Into Trouble)🔮

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

tags: Older Woman/Younger Woman, Slow Burn, Alternative Universe, No Magic AU, Age Gap, Oblivious Lilia Calderu, Yearning, Fluff

summary: I was just looking for a job, not an existential crisis—or a crush on my eccentric, older boss who calls me ‘baby’ like it’s nothing. Now I’m working at her tarot shop, falling harder by the day, and she has no idea I’m flirting. Desperate, I turn to my chaotic friends for help. What could possibly go wrong?

wc: 3.5k (Chapter 1/?)

a/n: this is like the first time posting in forever and I’m kinda scared, but Lilia&aaa really got me writing again. I’m so gay. No magic, just chaotic friends. Also, I aged Billy up because I can’t write kids.

also on ao3

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

I’d been looking for a job for what felt like forever. The kind of soul-sucking search that made me wonder if I was doomed to an eternity of scrolling through online postings, drowning in rejection emails, and contemplating whether selling my soul to a demon might be a viable career option. But then, one rainy afternoon, tucked away in the classified section of an old newspaper, an actual newspaper, for God’s sake I found it.

"Seeking shop assistant. Must be comfortable with the mystical and the eccentric. Call: 555-3827."

Did people even put ads in newspapers anymore? And who still had a landline in this century? Curiosity got the better of me, and before I knew it, I was dialing the number, half-expecting it to connect me to a dusty relic of a shop run by someone who spoke only in riddles.

Instead, a smooth, lightly accented voice answered. “Yes, hello?”

And that was the first time I heard Lilia Calderu.

The shop smelled like old books and incense, and the air had that thick, mystical quality that made you feel like you’d stepped into another world. The walls were lined with shelves stacked haphazardly with tarot decks, worn-out copies of books, and shelves of delicate crystal spheres that seemed to hum with some unseen energy.

And then I saw her .

Lilia Calderu stood behind the counter like she’d stepped right out of an old eccentric novel. Her dark curly hair, streaked with grey, was pinned up in a loose bun, with wild tendrils escaping to frame her sharp face. Those deep brown eyes, sharp as a blade, met mine with an amused glint. She had the air of someone who had seen it all and was quietly entertained by it.

“You must be y/n.” She smiled, and something in my chest tightened. “I must say, I wasn’t sure anyone read the paper anymore. Yet, here you are.”

I nodded, feeling far too awkward in her presence. “Yeah. Thought it was a joke at first, honestly.”

She laughed softly, an elegant sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Many people do, but this shop has its ways of finding the right people.” She extended her hand. “Welcome to your new obsession.”

And boy, was she right.

Lilia mostly handled the tarot readings, slipping into that almost trance-like focus as she read fortunes with an effortless grace that made me want to sit there and watch her forever. My job was…well, everything else. Cleaning, organising, taking inventory, manning the register when she was busy. The shop wasn’t exactly bustling, but it had its steady flow of customers mostly the kind who came in with wide eyes and a quiet reverence, seeking answers in the cards.

Lilia and I quickly fell into a rhythm. We’d talk about everything and nothing in between customers, and though she had a dry wit and a quiet confidence, there was a warmth to her that made me feel at ease.

Unfortunately, I also had an embarrassing, all-consuming crush on her.

And Lilia, bless her oblivious heart, did not pick up on my subtle flirting. At all.

I’d linger a little longer when we brushed past each other. I’d compliment her hair, her outfit, the way she shuffled cards like it was second nature. I even tried playful teasing, asking if she’d ever read my cards and tell me if I had a shot with someone older and devastatingly charming.

Nothing. Just a soft smile and a gentle, “Ah, love is such a mysterious thing, isn’t it?”

I should’ve given up.

But instead, I called in reinforcements.

Agatha, Jen, Billy, and Alice had been hearing about Lilia this and Lilia that for weeks. It had gotten so bad that the last time I brought her up over drinks, Agatha groaned and banged her forehead against the table. “y/n, I swear to all the gods, if you don’t make a move, I will.”

Jen sipped her wine, nodding. “I feel like I know this woman better than my own mother at this point.”

Billy leaned in, far too intrigued. “She’s hot, though, right?”

“Billy. ”

“What? I’m just asking.”

Alice, ever the voice of reason, gave me a sympathetic smile. “Alright, we need a plan. Operation ‘Get y/n Laid’ is a go.”

I choked on my drink, while Jen rolled her eyes. “Or, you know, date. ”

Agatha smirked. “I vote chaos.”

And so, it began.

The plan was simple.

Step one: The coven (as my friends liked to call themselves, despite having zero magical abilities) would ‘accidentally’ drop by the shop to scope out Lilia. Subtlety was not their strong suit, but I’d given them a strict list of rules— no embarrassing me, no obvious flirting on my behalf, and under no circumstances could Agatha challenge her to a tarot reading battle.

Step two: Once they confirmed Lilia was, in fact, into women (something I was still trying to figure out without outright asking), they’d casually encourage me to ask her out.

Step three: Success. Or mortifying failure.

I should’ve known better.

The day of the plan, they arrived with the grace of a train wreck. The bell above the shop door chimed, and in they strolled. Agatha with her signature overconfidence, Jen trying to look composed, and Billy and Alice whispering conspiratorially behind them.

Lilia, who had been arranging a set of tarot decks, looked up with mild interest. “New customers?” she mused.

I winced. “Uh, yeah. Friends.”

Agatha stepped forward, extending a hand with a grin that was far too wolfish for my liking. “Agatha. Nice shop you have here.”

Lilia took her hand with that calm, effortless grace. “Thank you. I do my best.” She glanced over at me with a raised brow. “I see y/n has been spreading the word.”

Alice beamed. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Kill me.

Lilia was polite but wary, and I could tell she picked up on something , whether it was the fact that they were clearly vetting her or just the general chaos my friends brought with them. But she handled it like she handled everything else: with quiet amusement and a touch of suspicion.

I could also see the way she lingered on me when she thought I wasn’t looking, the way she’d glance over when Agatha not-so-subtly hinted at my interest in “older, experienced women.”

And when Billy, in all his chaotic energy, ‘accidentally’ knocked over a shelf, Lilia just sighed and gave me a look that said, this is your problem now.

God, I was so gone for her.

I didn’t know if the plan was working, but when I caught Lilia watching me across the shop, her expression softer, more contemplative than usual, I had a feeling things were shifting.

I just had to make sure I didn’t screw it up.

The coven’s “casual” visit stretched far longer than I’d anticipated, and Lilia, ever the picture of grace and patience entertained their probing questions with a wry amusement that had me both sweating and swooning.

“So,” Agatha drawled, leaning casually on the counter, “how long have you been in town? A woman like you must have quite the stories.”

Lilia smiled knowingly, her dark eyes glinting. “Oh, I’ve been here longer than most would guess. The shop’s been in my family for generations, though I suppose I’ve... modernised it in my own way.”

Jen, ever the detective, sipped her overpriced coffee and murmured, “Modernised? You still have a landline.”

Lilia shot her a look that could cut glass. “It has a certain charm.”

I stifled a laugh behind my hand.

Billy, who’d been poking around the shelves, suddenly perked up. “So, Lilia, do you do, like, love spells?”

I nearly choked on air.

Lilia tilted her head, tapping a perfectly manicured finger on the counter. “Love spells are tricky,” she mused, her voice low and velvety. “You can’t make someone fall in love, you know. Only... reveal what’s already there.”

My face burned so hot I thought I might spontaneously combust. Agatha shot me a smug grin, and I swore I’d kill her later.

Lilia, however, seemed unbothered. If anything, she was watching me with a knowing glint, as if she’d caught the edge of something in my expression.

“Love is a delicate thing,” she continued, her gaze still on me. “It’s best handled with care.”

Jen snorted. “Tell that to y/n.”

I groaned. “Alright, you guys have had your fun. Let’s not traumatise my boss any further.”

Lilia’s lips quirked up. “Oh, y/n, it takes much more than this to rattle me.”

And with that, my brain short-circuited.

Once I’d finally wrangled my friends out the door—after no less than three separate goodbyes and a thinly veiled attempt by Agatha to invite Lilia to a “casual” group outing—I collapsed against the counter with a groan.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled into my hands. “They’re... a lot.”

Lilia chuckled softly, arranging a set of tarot cards in a neat pile. “They’re delightful.” She paused, her voice quieter. “They care about you.”

I peeked up at her through my fingers. “They do. Sometimes too much.”

She gave me that soft, unreadable smile that made my stomach twist in knots. “That’s never a bad thing.”

There was a moment of silence, comfortable yet charged. I watched her work, her fingers deft and graceful, and I couldn’t help but imagine what they’d feel like trailing over my skin.

Which, of course, led to me blurting out the world’s most humiliating sentence.

“So, uh... are you single?”

Lilia’s hands stilled. She looked up at me, one perfectly arched brow lifting.

Oh. Oh no.

I swallowed thickly. “I—I mean, just curious. You know, for... um... business reasons?”

She stared at me for a long beat before a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “Business reasons?”

I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. “I’ll shut up now.”

To my absolute horror, she looked amused . “No, I don’t mind the question,” she said, voice smooth and far too indulgent. “Yes, y/n, I am single.”

My brain froze. “Oh. Cool.”

I was going to die. Right here. In this shop.

Lilia leaned on the counter, eyes twinkling with mischief. “And you?”

Me? Functioning? Unlikely.

“Uh, yeah,” I stammered. “Very single. Like... aggressively single.”

She laughed, a low, rich sound that made my knees weak. “Aggressively?”

I groaned. “I have a lot of free time.”

She gave me a long, thoughtful look, and for the first time, I saw something flicker in her expression, curiosity? Interest? God, I hoped so.

“Well,” she said finally, “perhaps we should do something about that.”

I blinked. “Do something?”

Lilia just smiled. “You’ll see, baby.”

I was definitely going to die.

I called Agatha that night in full-blown panic.

“She called me baby, Agatha. She called me baby. ”

On the other end of the line, Agatha groaned. “And you didn’t throw yourself at her feet?”

“I panicked!” I hissed. “I just stood there like an idiot and nodded!”

Jen’s voice chimed in. “Classic y/n.”

Billy snorted. “You need to make a move before someone else does.”

Alice, ever the gentle voice of reason, hummed. “Maybe she’s interested in you, y/n. She wouldn’t call you ‘baby’ if she wasn’t, right?”

“I don’t know,” I whined. “She’s so cool, and she’s older, and I feel like a dumb kid around her.”

Agatha clicked her tongue. “You’re not a dumb kid. You’re a hot, chaotic disaster, and that’s charming. Now, listen, next time you see her, flirt intentionally. Make it obvious.”

“Oh yeah, because that’s gone so well before.”

“No more subtlety,” Agatha said firmly. “You need to show her you’re serious. Flirt, y/n. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She could laugh in my face?”

“She won’t,” Alice assured me. “She hired you, didn’t she? That means she likes you.”

I sighed, flopping onto my bed.

The next morning, I walked into the shop, determined. Lilia glanced up from where she was rearranging the display, her smile soft.

"Good morning, y/n."

I swallowed hard, shoving down the nervous energy bubbling in my chest. "Morning, Lilia."

She tilted her head, observing me for a moment. "You look... focused today. A special occasion?"

"Oh, uh... just trying to be more productive," I said quickly, forcing a smile and internally cursing myself. I had one job: flirt. Be charming. Sweep her off her feet. Instead, I was standing there like a starstruck teenager.

Lilia gave me an amused glance, completely unaware of the internal screaming happening inside my head. "Well, productivity is always admirable," she said, turning back to her tarot deck. "Let me know if you need something to do, baby."

Baby. There it was again.

I nearly tripped over my own feet on the way to the back room.

Later that evening, I flopped onto Agatha's couch with a dramatic groan. "It's hopeless."

Billy, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bowl of popcorn, rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless. There's a difference."

Alice patted my knee reassuringly. "Tell us what happened this time."

I sat up, rubbing my hands over my face. "She called me baby again."

Jen raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"And?" I repeated incredulously. "I blacked out! Just stood there like a moron and stammered something about productivity!"

Agatha groaned, sipping her wine. "You are acting like the least seductive person I have ever met, and I have literally watched you seduce people before. What happened to that y/n?"

I threw my hands in the air. "That y/n wasn't crushing on someone three times my age who also happens to be the most sophisticated, intimidating woman I've ever met!"

Billy snickered. "You're acting like she's some kind of ancient vampire."

I glared. "She might be, okay? I don't know her life."

Jen smirked. "You could get to know it. Y'know, if you asked her out."

"That's not how this works!" I groaned, leaning back against the couch. "I need subtlety. "

Agatha rolled her eyes so hard I was worried they'd get stuck. "y/n. Sweetheart. You've been subtle for weeks, and she hasn't picked up on a damn thing."

"She has to know," I insisted. "She’s too smart not to have figured it out."

Alice smiled kindly. "Or maybe she’s just... not looking for it? You said she’s wary of the age gap, right?"

I sighed. "Yeah. I get the feeling she’s aware of it, but she doesn’t say anything. It’s just little things, like, if I compliment her, she brushes it off like I’m just being nice. She never takes it seriously."

Jen hummed thoughtfully. "Sounds like she's putting up a little barrier. Maybe she's worried it's inappropriate?"

Agatha smirked. "So we need to show her it's very appropriate."

Billy nodded eagerly. "Okay, Get y/n Laid 101 is officially back in session."

"Can we call it something else?" I muttered.

"No," Agatha said flatly. "This is what we're calling it." She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. "Here's the new plan. We need to escalate. No more lingering looks and awkward compliments. We go big. We're talking bold flirting, unmistakable signals. She won't be able to ignore it."

I groaned. "Agatha, I don't do bold. I trip over air when she looks at me for too long."

Jen smirked. "Then it's time to fake it till you make it."

Billy grinned. "You know what would help? A little jealousy."

I groaned again. "No."

"Yes," Agatha said, pointing at Billy. "Yes. We make her jealous."

"Guys, this isn't a teen drama," I whined. "What am I supposed to do? Flirt with some random customer in front of her?"

Agatha snapped her fingers. "Exactly!"

Alice frowned. "That seems a little childish."

Jen shrugged. "It could work."

I buried my face in my hands. "You’re all terrible."

Billy patted my arm. "We're terrible, but we're effective."

The next day at the shop, I was feeling good. Confident, even. The plan was simple, escalate my flirting game, but not with Lilia just yet. No, I needed to show her what she was missing. And I was good at flirting. Really good. Just… not with her. Lilia was an enigma, a walking temptation wrapped in decades of experience and elegance, and I turned into an absolute idiot in her presence.

But with other women? That was easy.

The bell above the door chimed, and I looked up to see a gorgeous customer stepping in, tall, blonde, and effortlessly stylish. She glanced around the shop with interest, her gaze landing on me, and I caught the faintest flicker of a smile. I could work with that.

I straightened my posture, strolling over with a relaxed smile. “Welcome in,” I said smoothly, letting my voice drop just enough to be inviting. “Looking for anything in particular? Or just... browsing?”

She smiled, intrigued. “A little of both, I think.”

“Oh, mystery.” I leaned lightly on the counter, letting my fingers trace the edge of a crystal display. “I like that. Means you might need a guide.”

She laughed softly, tilting her head in a way that told me she was enjoying this. “And I suppose you’re volunteering?”

I grinned. “I’m more than qualified.”

We slipped into an easy banter, her eyes bright with interest as I smoothly navigated between flirtation and shop talk. She leaned in a little closer, and I let my gaze linger, deliberate and playful.

And then I felt it.

That unmistakable presence.

I glanced up and yep. Lilia was watching from across the room, her dark eyes focused, her expression unreadable. She was leaning against the shelf, book in hand, but I could tell she hadn’t turned a page in a while.

I ignored the way my pulse jumped and turned my attention back to the blonde, offering her a charming smile. “So,” I said, handing her a small charm, “this one’s for luck. Not that you look like you need it.”

She laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re good at this.”

“I try.”

Lilia’s voice cut through the moment like a blade, smooth, unhurried, but somehow commanding all the same. “y/n.”

I turned, heart skipping a beat. “Yeah?”

She strolled over, eyes flicking between me and the blonde. “Everything alright here?”

The blonde woman, oblivious, smiled. “Just getting some expert advice.”

Lilia hummed, arching a brow at me. “I see.” There was nothing in her tone that hinted at jealousy, but something lingered beneath it, something sharp and assessing. “Why don’t you help me with something in the back when you’re done?”

It wasn’t a request.

I swallowed. “Sure, just a sec.”

The blonde handed me the charm with a wink. “I think I’ll take this. Lucky, right?”

I rang her up, feeling Lilia’s presence like a shadow at my back the entire time. When the customer finally left with a lingering glance over her shoulder, I turned to Lilia with what I hoped was a nonchalant smile. “What’s up?”

She studied me for a moment, then gestured toward the back room. “Come on.”

I followed her, nerves prickling under my skin. Was she... mad? Intrigued? God, I couldn’t tell. She closed the door behind us and crossed her arms, regarding me with that maddeningly unreadable expression.

“Flirting with customers now?” she asked, tone light but with an edge I couldn’t quite place.

I shrugged, leaning against the wall. “It’s good for business.”

Lilia’s lips twitched, but she didn’t quite smile. “Mm. I suppose it is.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy with something unsaid. She tilted her head, studying me like she was piecing together a puzzle. And then, just as quickly as she’d pulled me aside, she turned back toward the shelf, and pointed at the boxes to unpack, business as usual. “Well,” she said, voice as smooth as ever, “let’s try to keep things professional, baby.”

And there it was again. Baby. The way she said it effortless, affectionate, and utterly devastating.

I cleared my throat. “Got it. Professional.”

But as I left the back room, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Lilia wasn’t quite as unaffected as she seemed.

That night, I sat at Agatha’s with my head in my hands. “She pulled me into the back room.”

Jen perked up. “Wait, what? ”

Billy nearly dropped his drink. “Define ‘pulled into the back room.’”

“Not like that,” I groaned. “She just... I don’t know, it felt like she was calling me out for flirting, but it wasn’t clear if she was mad or—”

“Jealous,” Agatha supplied smugly. “She was jealous. ”

Alice, ever the voice of reason, frowned. “Or she thought you were being unprofessional.”

Agatha waved a hand. “Unprofessional, please. y/n’s been working there for weeks with no complaints. She definitely noticed.”

Billy grinned. “What did she say exactly?”

I sighed. “She told me to keep things professional. Baby. ”

Jen’s eyes widened. “She called you baby again? ”

I nodded miserably. “I’m losing my mind.”

Agatha leaned in with a smirk. “Then we escalate. She’s watching now.”

I groaned, burying my face in a pillow. “Why is this so hard?”

“Because you actually like her,” Alice said gently. “And that makes everything ten times scarier.”

I peeked out from the pillow. “So what do I do?”

Agatha smirked. “You keep flirting, y/n. But this time, aim it at the right woman.”

#lilia calderu x reader #lilia calderu #patti lupone #agatha all along #agatha all along fanfic

103 notes · View notes

alternate-real-ities · 2 days ago

Note

Was wondering how I shaped out in the multiverse. Hopefully I'm not fat in all of them

In a parallel universe, far removed from our own reality, an alternate version of yourself exists. This other "you", named Jaxon, is a walking, talking wet dream come to life. Gone are the familiar traits - the ginger hair and soft curves that make up your physique have been replaced with something far more rugged and masculine. You've transformed into a total HUNK, with a body sculpted to turn heads and weaken knees wherever you go. While you still retain some softness, it serves only to accentuate the raw power and virility of your new form.

Jaxon stands tall at 6'1", his muscular frame a perfect blend of raw power and masculinity. Your broad shoulders and barrel chest are the product of countless hours spent lifting heavy weights in the sunny gyms of LA, while your thick arms and back muscles ripple with every movement you make. Your chest is now a masterpiece of sculpted pecs, lightly dusted with dark hair that trails down your abs to the waistband of your shorts.

But the real showstopper lies beneath those tight gym shorts. You're hung like a horse, with a massive 12-inch cock that strains against the thin fabric, your thick heavy balls churning with desire. Your usual outfits leave very little to the imagination, you know.

Picture yourself playing volleyball on the beach, muscles flexing beneath glistening skin as you jump to spike the ball. Your enormous bulge bounces and sways with every movement, drawing envious stares from passersby who wish they could feel your hot flesh throbbing against theirs.

Or imagine yourself after a long gym session - sweat dripping down your heaving chest and arms as you sit on a bench, panting from exertion. The veins in your neck pulse with each ragged breath while further south, a massive tent forms in your shorts as your rock-hard cock strains against its confines.

And you certainly know how to use what you've been given. You're no stranger to the gym sauna, where you often rub one out with your homies. Your grunts and groans usually echo off the tile walls as you stroke your thick cocks in the hot, humid air. You've also been known to bend some twinks over in the locker room showers, slamming into them balls-deep and pumping load after load of creamy jizz directly into their guts.

Even at night, walking home under the glow of streetlamps, you look imposing. A loose tank top clinging to your sweat-slicked skin, emphasizing every ridge and valley of muscle as you move with predatory grace. Sagging pants sit low on your hips, the waistband rolled down just enough to reveal a pair of tighty whities struggling to contain your enormous bulge.

And now, for a different perspective across the Atlantic. This is an alternate version of yourself coming straight out of the Mediterranean. A kind soul, but with a darker side :)

In this universe, you've got a thick, dark beard framing full lips that just beg to be kissed, with short ebony hair slightly disheveled from the salty sea breeze. You're built like a boxer, which makes sense given you spend half your time in the ring. Your arms are thick with muscle, veins bulging beneath sun-kissed skin. The scent of sweat and pure, raw masculinity rolls off you in waves, intoxicating and addictive.

But you're not just a pretty face (and body). Oh no, you have interests beyond being the wet dream of every person in your town. You love nothing more than spending lazy Sunday mornings down at the nearby lake, casting your fishing line into the crystal blue waters as the sun rises slowly over the horizon.

Oh boy, the way the sun glints off your hairy, muscular chest as you haul in another wriggling fish - it's enough to make a man cream his shorts right then and there! Your calloused hands, strong from years of fishing and boxing, deftly remove the hook, the scales glistening like your sweat-slicked skin in the Mediterranean heat. I can practically taste the salt and musk rolling off you.

You're also a regular fixture at the quaint little pastelaria near your apartment, sipping rich coffee and nibbling on freshly baked pasteis de nata while flipping through the newspaper. The sweet, creamy scent of the pastries mingles with your own musk in a way that makes any nearby bottom clench with need.

But let's talk about what you really love - boxing. It's at the boxing gym where you truly shine as a dominant force. There, the way you mentor some eager guys is almost too much to bear. Your voice is a low, commanding growl in Portuguese, spurring them on, pushing them harder. Sweat drips down your hairy pecs, plastering the dark curls against your skin.

You have a real talent for it too, not just in the ring but in the art of domination. You can spot a submissive little thing from a mile away, and once you've got them in your sights, there's no escape.

You take your time with them, breaking them down until they're putty in your skilled hands. You teach them everything - how to throw a perfect jab, how to move their hips for maximum impact (both in the ring and out of it), how to beg so sweetly that you can't help but give them exactly what they want.

And oh, do you give them what they want! You fuck like you box - hard, fast, and dirty. You pin them down against the canvas of the ring and claim their holes with a dominant intensity that leaves them screaming your name.

You mark up their skin with bites and bruises, branding them as yours for all to see. The scent of sweat and sex and musk hangs heavy in the air as you use their bodies for your pleasure, making them take every thick inch of your cock until they're sobbing from the intensity of it.

And through it all, you never stop talking dirty to them - praising their tightness, telling them exactly what a good little slut they are, promising them rewards if they can make you cum hard enough. By the time you're done with them, they are ruined for anyone else - no one will ever fuck them like you do.

So there you have it, 2 alternate versions of yourself that I would die to be near to. Let's just hope you'll treat me nicely then. :)

#male transformation #muscle tf #muscle transformation #musclegrowth #race change #alpha man #alpha muscle #hair growth #africanization

75 notes · View notes

ruiniel · 2 days ago

Text

Another Way - XII

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Summary: what if someone in the 21st century stumbled upon this stranger during a turbulent storm, narrowly avoiding running them over, and what’s more they can’t understand a word coming out of their mouth.

Pairing: Alucard x Reader

Rating: Mature / 18+ only

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit Language, References to Depression, First Meetings, character-meets-world, Near Death Experiences, References to loss, Grief/Mourning, Fantasy, POV Second Person, Language Barrier, Violence, Portal Fantasy, Isekai, Slow burn, References to canon, Rewriting show canon, Because why not, POV Alucard, POV original character, More tags to be added

Also on AO3

Part I

AN: been a while

XII.

He doesn’t like coffee.

This becomes quite apparent with the different flavor of mild disgust over his features after each sip.

“It’s an acquired taste for some,” you try saying with a straight face, because it is more amusing than you’d thought to see a grown man with a perfect jaw and bedroom hair seated at your small table, coming up with the most telling, candid expressions.

After breakfast—during which he insists on turning the cooker on and off, ‘to learn’, and during which, once again, he eats little to nothing—you head over to your desk and obtain for him the work Adrian asked for. It’s not difficult to find, and happens to be the first book printed in the English language, in the 1400s.

“Is… this it?”

His enthusiasm says ‘yes’ when seeing the title page, and you let him take your place and scroll through as you head to get ready for the adventure of helping him look less conspicuous. “All right, enjoy your courtly romance, I’ll be back in a bit.”

“All right.”

You pause, turning to stare but his eyes are feverish on the screen, attention absorbed by the text. Whatever works. You decided to stop wondering.

Having made yourself presentable enough to be outside, you tap back into the room on bare feet. “Ready to g—...” you trail off at the sound. His voice. His voice, with that same mild inflection, but the words are oddly shaped to the ear.

He’s reading aloud from the online scan you fetched him, nodding, writing in the agenda.

“What’s… this?” You near him, narrowing your eyes at the screen.

Adrian turns to you with an excitement you’d not seen or felt in a long, long while. Somehow, it’s endearing. This side feels like him too, a natural expression in contrast with all those confused, dour moods he’d been mired in.

“I need…” He pauses, hand in his hair, eyebrows pinched together.

“What… do you need?...”

He points at the scan of the text, long fingers gliding along the little black rows of archaic words. “... from now.”

“From now?... Oh! A modern version, you mean? From our time?”

Adrian nods. “Possible?”

“Y-yeah. There might be one… wait…” As you search it for him, Adrian waits patiently with his arms crossed, rubbing at his chin. “I get it. You want to learn modern vocabulary equivalents, don't you?” You bring up the 1400s version of the work again. “Wait… you understand this one?” Not that it's impossible, shouldn’t be. But you didn't exactly take him for someone pursuing comparative historical linguistics.

“Yes,” comes the answer, leaving you bemused.

“You know what? I won't even ask. Go ham. Here, I found it.”

As he nears and glues himself to the screen, you dare to gently pull on his sleeve.

“Remember…clothes?”

Adrian blinks in realization, then stares back at the screen with a sort of longing. You get it. He’s making a breakthrough here, or so he thinks, one that’ll be of help in wading through terrain unfamiliar to him.

But the rare practical side of you insists. “You can pick this up when we get back, right?”

He meets your eyes, nodding in acceptance. “Right.”

The bell rings as you open the door to the second hand shop you sometimes frequent, looking behind you to see Adrian entering with care, gazing about with mild interest.

“Well, here we are,” you say as he meets your stare, before looking towards the shop attendant who’s sitting behind a desk, phone in hand, chewing on some gum and watching the both of you with piqued interest—no, rather, watching him.

You cough, “Hi, we’re looking for some—”

“Men’s wear is over there,” she answers, not taking her eyes off Adrian.

“All right, thanks.” Starting to think this is a typical reaction. You make a gesture, urging him to follow.

He has a befuddled look on his face, but walks after you as you reach the rows of clothing boasting jeans, t-shirts and jackets.

“So, listen.” You turn, waving a hand around the space. “You look for something you like.” You pull at your own blouse, pants, and coat. “And there’s a cabin over there, where you can try stuff out, if you like.”

He seems to understand, nodding and tentatively following your lead as you rummage through the merch on display. You notice the way he feels the garments, looking at you with a question in his eyes.

“Take your time,” you offer, going over and taking a seat on a chair.

It doesn’t take long, really. Soon enough he’s gathered a few items under his arm, a bundle of… mostly black, cream and white garments. “Want to try these on?” you ask when he nears, standing before you, uncertain.

When Adrian doesn’t reply but tilts his head in slight confusion, you rise and walk towards the cabin, drawing the curtain and showing him the space. “In you go, let me know if…” You pause as he pulls the worn shirt over his head without much ado, spinning around and drawing the curtain behind him. “... call if you need help,” you mumble, stiffly walking away.

Your heart beats strangely, faster as you meet the stare of the shop clerk, who apparently has less important things to do than follow your exchange.

Whatever. You go and idly sift through the items of clothing, humming to yourself.

“Your boyfriend’s out,” comes the clerk’s voice after a while, and you blink in confusion, head swiveling to stare at her.

“Oh, he’s not my—” Before you can finish that thought, movement has you turning in time to see Adrian emerging from the cabin.

“Right, uh, you look… they fit, don’t they?" Heat rises to your face, damn the air conditioning.

Black faded jeans, tight. A simple, white fitted t-shirt—was he always this…slim? Fit? A dark blue coat, reaching to his knees. “They look like they fit,” you follow, scratching your head.

“Oh yeah, they sure do,” comes the young shop attendant’s voice, and a niggling sensation you’ve been unfamiliar with pinches at your mood.

Adrian seems to agree, looking at himself, then at you. “Good?” he says in English.

You nod. “Yeah, good. That’s one round. Things here are affordable, so uh…” you retrieve your phone, type it in, and translate. “Find another item of each, to have spare clothing.”

He’s surprisingly efficient after that, and it’s not long before you’re returning to your apartment block, Adrian following with a bag in each hand.

“Okay, that was relatively painless,” you comment, turning to look over your shoulder at him, and—

“Adrian?...”

His expression is frozen, light-amber eyes wide and lips parted. It’s not out of fear as much as it is… consternation?

You turn back around, a different tremor running through your limbs at the person approaching.

A tall woman, wearing a flowing white dress suit, her red coat slung over one forearm. Her long, straight dark hair is done up in a ponytail, swinging languidly with each step taken on black pumps. She’s always had a distinct sense of style. Her attitude is the usual—one of those people carrying themselves like the world lies in wait at their feet. You never did know how to feel about her, nor do you know much about her. You do know this is but one of many businesses she has under her care. Well to do, in any case.

Guess it had to happen sooner or later. “Mrs. Hawke, hello.”

The landlady smiles in greeting, blue eyes alighting first on you, then focusing beyond your shoulder. She lands a hand on her hip, “How have you been, my dear?”

The question was directed at you, but you’re perceptive enough—you like to think—to notice the unspoken query following the first.

“Doing well, um. You know how it is…”

“Mm.” Her eyes are still on Adrian, but her gaze is different from that of the store clerk earlier. It holds no fascination, merely a calculating sort of curiosity that disappears the moment she stares back at you.

“I actually wanted to contact you, but didn’t get to until now. You see, Adrian here will be staying for a while, and I know that affects the rent, so…”

Mrs. Hawke tilts her chin. “That’s right, normally so—do you have an idea as to how long your additional tenant will be staying?...”

“Um. Well, I…” You feel an urge to turn and look at Adrian, but somehow her stare arrests you enough that you can’t.

Just then, she waves a hand. “You know, nevermind. I know you’ve had a difficult time lately. Consider no fee added to the rent, for now.”

The impossible has happened. Mrs. Hawke, being… lenient? Forgoing business? Not asking the ‘how’ and the ‘who’ and the ‘why’?

“Er… you mean it? Really?” Your jaw might be somewhere on the floor for all you know.

She nods. “I do. If the time of stay extends indefinitely, then that’s another matter, of course… but for now, we should be fine.”

“Thank… you…?”

She laughs, a light, glittering sound. “Oh don’t look at me like that. After all…” her gaze flicks back behind you, only briefly. “Life does seem to hold all manner of… surprises, doesn’t it?”

There’s something unusual in her tone, but, ah, the prospect of not having to scrounge up more money regularly is a godsend. “You can say that again…”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to run!” And she does just that, without another glance, leaving the two of you alone in the hallway.

“Well, I’ll be…” you murmur, then remember Adrian. “What is it about you, seriously? It's either the worst of luck or the strangest change... Adrian?”

His stare is unfocused, like something blew a fuse behind his eyes. When you touch his arm, he snaps out of it with a start. “Let’s go up?... You wanted to continue reading, didn’t you?”

Shaking his head like someone having been splashed with ice-cold water, Adrian looks down at you. “... reading. Yes. Let’s…let’s go.”

Picking up fast, you think as he walks ahead of you towards the elevator. And maybe it’s just you, but his steps are more determined than before.

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VII - Part VIII - Part IX - Part X - Part XI

Taglist: @hornyf0ckers @the-keep-under-gresit @pencildrawer12 (this is old, let me know if you want to be removed!)

Want to be added to the taglist for updates? Drop me an ask

MASTERLIST: CASTLEVANIA SERIES x READER

More of my work is on AO3 [many stories not on tumblr]

BLOG MASTERPOST (all you need to know)

Likes/comments/reblogs always and forever appreciated

AN:

Recuyell of the Historyes of Troye (1464) is a translation by William Caxton of a French courtly romance written by Raoul Lefèvre.

#alucard castlevania x reader #castlevania x reader #adrian tepes x reader #x reader #adrian tepes x you #another way #ruiniel:fanfiction #alucard castlevania x you #castlevania x you #alucard x reader

107 notes · View notes

beccastareyes · 3 days ago

Text

The most delightful part is when the universe is better for the character personally, but is generally worse.

Like, a universe where Ozai was more like Iroh in that he was a genuinely loving father. That while he'd note that Azula was probably the better firebender, but Zuko would be the better Firelord. And Azula was fine with that, because she'd rather be a general or master firebender who had a few close confidants (including her brother) and didn't have to think about most people beyond 'would Zuko be disappointed in what I am about to do'. Either Iroh is Firelord or Iroh voluntarily abdicated after Lu Ten's death, but it's generally acknowledged that Zuko will be Firelord and both Ozai and Iroh are fine with that and making sure he is ready.

But the Airbender genocide still happened. The Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes were still fighting a losing war. The Firelord's reasoning for using the return of Sozin's Comet might be about sparing Fire Nation lives by using the power boost rather than 'let's burn it all down for resisting', but he's still going to use that to wrap up the conquest in a display of fiery doom. Zuko might know the Avatar should be out there, but he's almost certainly not trained in firebending, Iroh is still on the Fire Nation's side and not working with the White Lotus, and Azula is actually mentally healthy and has a functional support system.

(To some extent, the first half of Season 3 does this, but Zuko knows that it's still the same Ozai and Azula, and any love is conditional. This is a universe where Zuko has never needed to earn his father or sister's love, and he has looked for some indication that the person he replaced was 'better' than him by Ozai or Azula's standards, and found nothing. If anything, this Zuko has done less because he's been at home learning to Firelord, rather than exiled to go look for the Avatar.)

Which is a twist in the knife -- that for Zuko to have a loving family beyond an uncle whose heart was in the right place, but wasn't always able to deal with Zuko's level of trauma and drama, all of the friends Zuko made are going to suffer or die. And that Zuko's 'betrayal' of his family and nation will seem to come out of nowhere because all the steps that lead to Zuko deciding that the Fire Nation's imperialism needed to stop never happened in canon. After all, the alternate universe Ozai, Iroh, and Azula see themselves as benevolent rulers... who rationalized that global conquest by a benevolent ruling family is for the greater good of the world. (Ozai might even believe that he and Iroh need to finish this before Zuko becomes Firelord, because Zuko is too compassionate to be a wartime Firelord, but will be the perfect Firelord for the upcoming Pax Ignis or whatever.)

I was thinking about universe swap AUs where characters from very dark (and often abusive) universes get brought into a much kinder universe. Those AUs are my favourite but consider:

Canon Zuko is temporarily brought into a universe where his father never hurt him, his mother never left, Azula adores her big brother- and he has no idea why this universe is so much kinder to him than his own

#I have too much to write as is #But I do love to worldbuild AUs #And Tumblr thoughts are easy to do #atla #avatar the last airbender #prince zuko #princess azula #zuko #atla azula #atla zuko #fire lord ozai #ozai #atla ozai #uncle iroh

2K notes · View notes

jacquitries · 2 days ago

Text

The Weight of a Shadow | G.W.

George Weasley has spent his life as one half of a whole, his individuality often lost in the glow of his twin’s boundless charm. Beneath the laughter and mischief lies a quiet struggle, a longing to be seen as more than a shadow. But when you enter his world, something shifts, and for the first time, George finds himself seen, not as a twin, but as a whole. In this universe, you chose him.

Click here to read an alternate universe where you chose Fred instead of George.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Fred always seemed to burn just a little brighter. His laugh, bold and wildfire-strong, lingered long after the echo of their pranks had faded. Applause always found him first, the crowd magnetized by his magnetic confidence. Even in quieter moments, it was Fred they gravitated toward—his charm effortless, his presence undeniable.

George would smile through it all, as though the comparisons didn’t sting, but deep within, an ache brewed. A quiet storm he kept to himself.

Maybe it was the way Fred's grin tilted, sharper and more self-assured, or the ease with which his voice commanded attention. Perhaps it was something intangible, something George couldn’t touch even if he tried. Whatever it was, it gnawed at the edges of his heart, a silent weight he carried alone.

And then, there was you.

You arrived one sunlit afternoon, a quiet force with a magic that had nothing to do with spells or wands. Unlike so many others, you didn’t lose yourself in Fred’s blaze. You didn’t mistake George’s laughter for an echo, or his presence for half of a whole. The way your gaze lingered on him felt like sunlight on frozen ground, a warmth he hadn’t realized he’d been yearning for. You saw him. Truly saw him.

At first, George doubted it. Surely, you’d mistaken him for Fred, like so many others had. But you disproved him at every turn. You caught the subtleties. The way George’s humor leaned toward sharp wit, while Fred’s was louder and bolder. The precision in George’s hands as he worked on their inventions, where Fred’s energy was a chaotic whirlwind. You noticed the faint scar above George’s brow, a remnant of a long-ago experiment gone wrong. And when you touched it one day, your fingers brushing the mark with such tenderness that it left him breathless.

For the first time, the ache began to fade. Slowly, it dissolved into something lighter, something warmer. When you laughed at his jokes, it felt like the world cracked open to let the light in. When you spoke his name—just his name—it was a melody that played only for him. And when you reached for his hand, your fingers tangling effortlessly with his, it felt as though the universe had quietly clicked into place.

Fred noticed, of course. He always did. He had been George’s mirror for as long as they had existed, and the change in his twin was impossible to miss. George’s laughter came easier now, his smiles unguarded and brighter. And Fred saw the way you looked at George, with a kind of quiet adoration that pierced straight through his own bravado.

But Fred never spoke of it. Not when George’s smiles grew wider, not when the light in his eyes burned brighter than it had in years. For the first time, George seemed to stand taller, as if the weight of comparisons had finally lifted. And Fred, who had always been the center of attention, found that he didn’t mind stepping back.

One evening, as the sun painted the sky in fiery hues, Fred watched from the doorway as George sat beside you, your head resting gently on his shoulder. There was something in his twin’s expression. A peace Fred hadn’t seen before, as if George had finally found his place in the world.

“You make him happy,” Fred said later, when it was just the two of you in the kitchen. His voice was quieter than usual, lacking its usual bravado. “And that’s all that matters.”

You turned to him with your brow furrowed, searching his face for some trace of resentment or longing. But all you found was warmth, tinged with something unspoken.

“Fred,” you began, but he waved his hand with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It’s alright,” he said quickly. “Really. George deserves this. He deserves you.”

And he meant it. Even if there was a small, quiet part of him that ached for something he couldn’t name, Fred would never let it show. For all his charm and bravado, his heart had always been his most closely guarded secret. And in that heart, George’s happiness mattered more than anything else.Still, as he watched you and George from the shadows, a quiet thought took root in his mind — a thought he would never voice aloud. If your opinion mattered so much to George, it mattered just as much to Fred. Perhaps even more.

#george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction

97 notes · View notes

grounded-parasocial · 16 hours ago

Text

For day 7-Free Prompt for young royals week 2025 @youngroyals-events

An Outside Point of View

…sometimes we are on the outside looking in 👀

Sometimes it’s a canon character, sometimes it’s an alternate universe, sometimes it’s news or an interview and sometimes it’s a companion piece to a bigger story- but in all of these stories- we are viewing Wilmon through someone else’s eyes.

Wilhelm & Simon: Interview With Swedens Young Royal Couple (T, 31K) @girls-are-weird

Other people’s secrets (M, 238K) @sflow-er

The College Break Up (T, 4K) @pagegirlintraining

Breaking News, Breaking Free (T, WIP 6K) @oneofthosebells

Husfar (T, 1K) @iwouldnevergetintofanfic

A Dutiful Welcome (T, 5K) @groenendaelfic

Password-Protected (G, 2K) @simonsapelsin

Take a deep breath and chase it with mine (T, 4K) @glassdollls

Happy 18th, Crown Prince Wilhelm (G, 4K) @gulliblelemon

Out of Earshot (G, 1K) by wrensandroses

Ace Of Hearts (G, 16K) by whiterabbit11

It’s been a long time since we last saw each other (G, 6K) @aledlastbestie

and i will make my home there (G, 1.5K) by witchjeons

Homecooked meals and sibling dynamics (G, 1.6K) @starvalisedham

International Relations (T, 1K) by QuarterMoonRising

Fucking Wille (T, 3K) @stretchoutfics and

Closure (T, 4K) @stretchoutfics

The Former Crown Prince Wilhelm (and His Cringe-Fail Husband) (GA 2K) @starvalisedham

A Hybrid- (wilmon & others)

SportLOVE (M, 23K) @piebingo

Reckless Abandon (E, 142K) @zee-has-commitment-issues

As Part of A Series

Nothing New (G, 1K) as part of the Is it Over Now?/ The Vault @iwouldnevergetintofanfic

We Don’t Talk About Bed Five (T, 3K) as part of Put Me Back Together By notalotgoingonatthisinstant

The Life of Simon and Wilhelm, the Most Famous Gay Couple in Sweden (G, 29K) as part of Red, White and Young Royal Blue @toffeelemon

Of Strategies and Harmonies (NR, WIP 11K) as part of Of Enemies and Symphonies/Hillerska Musikskolan @pagegirlintraining

(I want) Someone who energizes me (T, 6K) @prince-simon & by NerdGirl07 as part of i don’t feel like our love is brand new

Hot Royal Debut (G, 650) @prince-simon @toffeelemon as part of not if it’s you/ a bloom of jellyfish

Delicate (NR, 1K) as part of right where you left me (M) by YourDemiurge

Getting Away From His One That Got Away (T, 6K) as part of Yours to Keep by fitz_y

on wednesdays we wear pink (T, 6K) as part of …and they were third years! by pysanky

Rain and Shine (T, 8K) as part of Where We Left Off @gulliblelemon

*its a community, so feel free to add any stories I may have missed!

Thank you to all the amazing YR writers!! 💜

#yrweek2025 #day 7 yrweek2025 #outsider pov #yr fanfic #yr fic list #young royals #thank you yr fanfic authors #grounded-parasocial yr fic rec list

50 notes · View notes

regainingparadise · 1 day ago

Text

I found more!

The Dead Can Hear You by breaking_of_dawn

[This is actually the fic that inspired the original post, and then I couldn’t find it again!]

Jon takes Gerry’s page from the hunters’ book. He swears to the dead man that he’d destroy it, but when he tries, he fails to fulfill his promise.

After and waking from his coma, touched and nearly claimed by The End, Jon manages to do something supposed to be impossible.

——

“And so Gerard Keay lived.”

Relationships: Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Gerard Keay, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Basira Hussain, Melanie King, Martin Blackwood

Additional Tags: End Avatar Gerard Keay, Gerard Keay Lives, Trans Gerard Keay, The Magnus Archives Season 4, basically season 4 but if gerry was alive, Eventual Romance, Developing Relationship, POV Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, POV Gerard Keay, canon divergence (eventually), neither jon nor gerry can actually really process their feelings

Words: 6,734 Chapters: 2/?

A Haunting Future by chlodobird

When Gerry gets home from one of Gertrude's business trips, he finds a page with his own name on it. This changes things

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49853032

Relationship: Gerard Keay & Gerard Keay

Characters:Gerard Keay, twice! - Character

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, why should Jon and Martin have all the doppelganger fun?, Time Travel, Fix-It, Gerard Keay Lives, But also, Canonical Character Death, Ghost Gerard Keay, there's two Gerrys!, Mentioned Gertrude Robinson, Gerard Keay Needs a Hug, both of him do :(, Angst and Feels, Hopeful Ending, Michael Distortion appears too but not enough for a character tag, just enough for plausible time shenanigans

Words: 2,100 Chapters: 1/1

Keep Your Head Up, Nothing Lasts Forever by WrongAndRight

Gerry wakes up.

It's March of 2012 and Gerry wakes up.

He's not dead anymore, shoved five years back into the past and back into his living, breathing, 24 year old body, and he realizes that this is a do-over.

There are a lot of things he'd like to fix.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59764435/chapters/152442340

Relationships: Gerard Keay & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Gerard Keay, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood

Additional Tags: Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Gerard Keay Lives, Mary Keay's A+ Parenting, Head Archivist Gertrude Robinson Era, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, to a point. it is 2012, Canon-Typical The Beholding Content (The Magnus Archives), Beholding Avatar Powers (The Magnus Archives), gerry's not properly an avatar but close enough, The Skin Book | Catalogue of the Trapped Dead (The Magnus Archives), References to Cancer, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, no beta we die like eric delano, Nightmares

Words: 8,845 Chapters: 3/?

Strung Along by chlodobird

[Not precisely the same moment, but a similar one with Gertrude]

In 2008, when Gerry walks into Pinhole Books, he doesn’t find pools of blood or flaps of paper hanging to dry like bundles of herbs. Instead, he finds a book wrapped in threads. Much like many things with clinging cobwebs, this is very, very far from an accident.

(Mary wants a compliant son to help her study the Catalogue. She has plenty of other Leitners to use and no moral compass; she always gets her way.)

Relationships: Gerard Keay & Mary Keay, Gerard Keay & Gertrude Robinson, Adelard Dekker & Gerard Keay

Characters: Gerard Keay, Mary Keay, Gertrude Robinson, Adelard Dekker

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical The Web Content (The Magnus Archives), Mind Control, Mary Keay's A+ Parenting, Abuse, (once again: Mary is awful.), Gerard Keay Lives, Gerard Keay Needs a Hug, Gertrude Robinson is stone cold, Leitner Books (The Magnus Archives), Angst, Bittersweet Ending, theoretically it's a happy ending but Gerry's very unhappy with it

Words: 4,742 Chapters: 1/1

I have read so many Gerry Keay fics where he comes back to life and says something like "you promised you'd burn the page!" all angry and sad before realizing that he's alive.

And I will happily read so many more with that exact same narrative beat. A+ angst every time.

147 notes · View notes

mind-travel-er · 6 hours ago

Text

Viktor is your husband. Or rather, he was.

Perhaps all of these months of back and forth between your place and the lab, and really nothing else besides a few sandwiches, had finally made you lose it. The lack of social interaction. The grieving. You have heard it does something to people. Your knees hurt, still anchored to the floor, yet you cannot move. You can only blink at the two intruders. “Founder Heimerdinger?”, you babble. “You’re… dead… aren’t you?” The young man glances at his smaller counterpart. ”Ouch. So the universe where Viktor ends up happy is the one where you’re dead?”

⚠️ Warning/Content: Hurt/Comfort, Wife!Reader, Yearning, Soft!Viktor VS HardenedbyLife!Viktor, Alternate Timelines, Alternate POV, Angst as always cauz i’m sucker for emotional pain, Grief, Banter, aaaaaand eventual smut but not in the way you'll expect it because i like everything to be bittersweet sorryyyy

🖋️ Word Count: 2.3 k

· · · [ACT 2 : The Rule of Eight] · · ·

#viktor x reader #viktor x you #arcane viktor #viktor league of legends #arcane netflix #arcane s2 spoilers #alternate timelines #arcane #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #Husband!Viktor #MindTraveler #Love and Legacy

24 notes · View notes

clarisse0o · 1 day ago

Text

The Mayor - Chapter 12

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternate Universe: Mayor and Architect

Words: 774

Masterlist

———————————————————————

"Basta Ona! Basta! Stop with this Lucy Bronze."

Alessia’s voice echoed in the living room. It was just the two of us now, on this Sunday evening. She brought me out of my thoughts.

"Ona, you're letting yourself be walked all over, getting called in on a Sunday. No, impossible!"

When Alessia got angry, she had a habit of speaking in Italian, her father's native country, where she had lived for over 15 years. I loved listening to her speak in that language.

"Yes, well, you know it's just for a short time... I'll try to manage," I said with a smile, feeling guilty for not being able to tell her the whole truth.

"She's going to end up exhausting you!" she said, throwing me a smile.

She straddled me and kissed me passionately.

On Monday, I hadn’t heard anything from Lucy, which wasn’t unusual since our meeting was scheduled for Tuesday at 7:30 PM. I didn’t know if I should take the initiative and send an email. I decided to do nothing and wait until the next day.

On Tuesday, I received a call from a mosaic company. They were the ones who would be installing the mosaic in the veranda. Due to delivery issues, a decision needed to be made today about the color, or we’d have to wait another 15 days for the mosaics to arrive. I knew Lucy was torn between two colors, but I couldn’t choose for her. I decided to send her an email. When I had no news by early afternoon, I decided to call her. Inhale/Exhale, I grabbed the receiver. She didn’t pick up. I tried again 4 more times during the afternoon, with no answer. Well, this wasn’t going well. Would she show up for our meeting tonight? Nothing was certain...

7:30 PM. I arrived at the scene. Lucy was there, facing away, talking with the workers. So, she had come. I didn’t know how to act: should I play it low? Yes, I had sort of jumped on her, but she had responded to that call. I didn’t have much to blame myself for. Not playing it low. Provocative? No, I needed to calm the situation down a bit. I decided to go with my usual tone: friendly, smiling. Without forgetting to test her a little, if necessary.

"Hello everyone!!" I said.

Lucy turned around and greeted me with an icy "Hello." After a conversation with the workers, she suddenly grabbed my arm firmly and led me into a nearby room, out of sight. What did she want?

"Are you harassing me now?" she said in a low voice, so no one would hear. Low but very cold.

I was stunned, harassing? She continued, panting and showing me her phone:

"5 calls in one afternoon when you never call me! A text asking me to call you back!! What game are you playing?"

Unbelievable, what an ego! Did she really think I was harassing her? Staring at her, I said, in a very neutral tone:

"Well, no, Lucy, I’m not harassing you. I received an urgent call about the mosaics, asking me to make a decision today about the color, or risk huge delivery delays. If you had read my email or listened to any of my messages, you would have known."

She was taken aback, probably a little ashamed for looking down on me like that. While I had intended to keep things soft, her attitude had provoked something in me, and I had to respond.

"Did you really think I was harassing you, Lucy?"

She didn’t know what to say.

"What did you think? That I was going to blackmail you by threatening to publish the video from Sunday, having hidden a camera in the living room?"

She was speechless now, stunned by my boldness.

"Or that I wanted you so badly, that I couldn’t stop calling you all afternoon?"

I knew I was going too far. But she had pushed me to the limit!

She lifted her blue eyes and replied, ironically:

"Really funny, Ona, very funny!" a smirk on her lips.

"Rest assured, Lucy, I’m not harassing you, not yet at least! And I’ll remain professional!" I said.

"Perfect then! Because that’s what I expect from you!" she replied.

"Okay, Orange or Red?" I continued.

"What?"

"The mosaics! Back to work, Lucy!"

"Ah... Red, red."

We returned to the workers, passing through the living room. In front of the Persian rug, I turned to Lucy and said:

"And we’re going to have to make a decision about this Persian rug, Lucy!"

I gave her my biggest smile.

#lucy bronze #woso #woso community #ona batlle #woso soccer #lionesses #sefutbol fem #barca femeni #ona batlle x lucy bronze

42 notes · View notes

sunnyrosewritesstuff · 1 day ago

Text

To Spoon Feed You Comfort

Rating: E

Warning(s): Explicit Sexual Scenes

Status: In-progress (2/6)

Summary: When they reach their majority, every hobbit is encouraged to carve or forge a spoon that would be their Love Spoon. It’s a very sacred process as no talking can be done during the crafting of the spoon. All of their energy must be concentrated on pouring their hopes and dreams for the future into their spoon. Reflecting especially on what type of spouse would compliment them most, what type of marriage they hope to have, and what vows they would make to honor and cherish them. The symbols etched into their spoon would showcase all of this so that way when their future spouse used it for the first time, they knew exactly what they were getting out of this marriage. And that’s it. Once someone has taken a bite from a dish prepared by the spoon’s owner, they are married in the eyes of the Shire. The act is reciprocated, and the lucky couple move in together in marital bliss.

Bilbo agonized over his spoon. A spoon no one ever seemed to want, and he had accepted his fate at no one ever eating from. Then a company of dwarves invaded his dining room, and their leader took a bite...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Chapter: Chapter 2- Feed Me the Truth

He waited until they were safely tucked away in the cave and most of the company was asleep, before he stomped his way over to their esteemed leader. Bilbo shook his shoulder.

“We have to talk.” He hissed.

“I have nothing left to say.” Thorin growled, purposefully not looking at him.

Bilbo spun him around. “Then you will listen!”

Thorin grabbed him by his jacket collar and pulled him down so that Bilbo was practically bent over him as they were nose to nose.

“Don’t get familiar, Halfling.” Thorin growled. “I warned you that night.”

“Before or after you fucked me?”

Thorin shook him a bit as he looked around making sure no one heard. That hurt a bit. That Thorin was so ashamed of what they did.

“I’ve done everything for you.” Bilbo stated calmly even as he felt like throwing up. “I’ve left home for you. I’ve faced dangers for you!”

“Why?” Thorin demanded, aggravation seeping through his tone. “I never asked you to!”

“Because I am your husband!”

For more of this chapter, please click the AO3 link above!

#sunny's wips #the hobbit #bagginshield #to spoon feed you comfort #accidental marriage au

23 notes · View notes

optimisticgrey · 1 day ago

Text

"It has always been you"

Chapter 1: You don't have to do this.

I just collected all the tropes I could think off, threw them in a bucket and gave it a good stir.

Here we are.

We'll have a lot of self-loathing and angst, fluff, romance and the complex topic of polyamory explained to our favourite Professor which will add some drama. Of course, there will be smut. In this case, heavy BDSM stuff. You have been warned but I will add chapter notes.

Yes, they will fall in love but I am trying to do this excruciatingly slow.

This is the most cliché trope heavy shit I have written in my life and I love it.

I decided to post it now before I once again fall into the rabbit hole of over editing.

Basically my interpretation of @evverest "in your neighborhood for your darkest times"

Read on AO3

Pairing: Alternate Universe; Named Tav (Celeste), Professor Gale Dekarios

WC: 5331

Summary:

Alternate, modern universe setting: Gale is a college professor, deeply traumatized by his former relationship. Celeste is a marine biologist, running from her own past. They meet at an airport.

Warnings:

Will be added with the chapters

Song recommandation: Architects - Blackhole

Celeste stared at herself in the mirror. Deep bags under eyes told a story of endless travel and far too little sleep. Makeup might have been a good idea, had she packed any before leaving two years ago.

She had always liked her eyes. One blue, one light green. She thought they added a certain distinction to her features, though she’d quickly learned most people preferred symmetry: symmetrical faces, evenly coloured eyes, predictable beauty. Conventional minds. Nothing she had to offer.

Celeste reached behind her back, pulling the massive braid of black hair over her shoulder. She adjusted it gently, retying the hair tie holding it in place and readjusting some of Halsin’s silver pearls she had woven into it before looking at herself again.

Fuck, girl. Ever heard of concealer?

Her expression was as drawn as she felt. The fine scar under her right eye had nearly vanished in the past years and she had come to accept it. Mostly liked it.

A testament to all she had endured. Freckles had begun to gather around the scar, and they shifted slightly when she smiled. At least her clothes were clean. That was something. In hindsight, though, the dark green silk blouse and slim, high-waisted black pants might not have been the wisest of choices. Comfortable enough for a quick flight, sure, but not for hours of delays, long lines, and shuffling between uncomfortable airport chairs. She should have known better. At least she did not wear high heels.

Still, she couldn’t deny that the outfit gave her an edge. Just enough to make her look like she belonged in the first-class lounge Jen had insisted on upgrading her to. She reached for her earrings, untangling one that had locked into another, and took a final look at herself before grabbing the pill bottle on the counter. Her new favourite drug, the one that had gotten her through this assignment, was finished. Tossing the last pill into her mouth, she swallowed it dry, then slipped the empty container into the pocket of her black coat. She would not need more. Eventually, she would have to rely on coffee again but until then, she could finish some work while she waited for the storm to pass.

If her flight hadn’t been delayed, she’d be home by now, wrapped in a blanket. Scratch at her feet or in her lap, her friends buzzing around her in a room filled with laughter, love and familiarity. Instead, the flickering blue light of an airport bathroom illuminated her features. Celeste sighed, threw on her coat and grabbed her bag. Her phone rang just as she exited the bathroom on her way to the lounge.

A smile broke across her face despite the exhaustion.

“Hey, babe,” she answered lightly. “Just called to hear your voice.” Karlach’s laughter roared in her ear. So deep, it sank into her soul and made her longing for home even more. “How are you holding up?” “Checking into the lounge now,” Celeste replied, entering the longue. “I hope the coffee is decent.” “I do hope so, too. Cannot imagine you without decent coffee.” Celeste chuckled as she sat down and gestured the young woman behind the counter to get a coffee by pointing at the menu. The young woman gave her a thumbs up. “Have a safe flight. We’ll keep track and come pick you up,” Karlach added with a gentler tone. “You do not have to,” Celeste quickly objected. “The flight has already been delayed and if my gut is correct, we not taking off tonight. I’ll be staying here for another day. Go to bed, get some sleep.” “Ugh, don’t say that!” “Sorry,” Celeste grinned. “Just make sure to check the flight tracker before you leave. There is no need for us to be stuck at different airports.” “Will do, smarty pants.” “Thanks, Kalla.” “Anytime, Kell. We are all pumped to have you home soon.” Celeste hung up, moving her thumb over the display. The last picture they had taken before she fled her life was set as her wallpaper. They were all smiling so happy, her heart ached.

How on earth did she ever got so lucky? In the friendship department, she was living the dream. Close, intimate bonds with people she trusted with her life, thoughts, feelings and broken heart – or call in the middle of the night because she was alone and tired at an airport on the other side of the world and needed to be comforted. To her surprise, their friendships had only deepened in her absence. Celeste had not expected them to abandon her but she had loved their enthusiasm to include her in their lives as much as possible: frequent video calls, dedicated servers to share information and video logs of their day-to-day life. She missed them so deeply, but they had made sure she knew she was loved and still part of their lives.

She could not wait to go home and hug them all, one by one.

Celeste had not been as lucky when it came to romantic love, though. Her divorce had been finalized eight days ago. She had never thought she’d see the day to be free of this marriage. The aftermath of it all would be messier but that was a problem for the upcoming weeks and nothing she was willing to put any energy into today. For now, she’d stay with Halsin and Soren before returning to work and beginning the dreaded process of house hunting. Just thinking about it made her groan internally.

“Your coffee, miss,” the nice bartender said, moving the coffee cup over the counter. “Thank you,” Celeste smiled. She had passed the age barrier to be called “Miss” some time ago, but was no longer wearing a wedding ring.

Picking up cup and saucer, her gaze darted around the room. The longue was filled with important people – or at least people who considered themselves to be important -, mostly men dressed in suits, deep in thought hovering over laptops and newspapers. Her flight was not the only one that had been delayed. Basically, everyone was stuck here for as long as she had and people were annoyed. Thankfully, as the hour grew late, people started to quiet down or take their discussions and heated calls outside. She looked around and was able to make out one empty seat at a table.

A man occupied the other chair. Dark hair, streaked subtly with grey, was tied halfback. Semi-circular black glasses, well-groomed beard. A dark purple shirt, rolled up to the elbows, displaying well-defined arms. He had tossed his blazer over the back of the chair, pondering over a chessboard. Celeste walked over and politely cleared her throat. Again. And again. And again.

“Pardon,” she then said as friendly as she could manage. “May I sit here?” The man jolted, clearly startled. His dark brown eyes darted around, unfocused for a moment, before settling on her. He blinked, staring at her in silence before straightening and clearing his throat. She recognized the look. He had been deep in thought, far removed from the bustling lounge around him. Up close, he was even more striking. There were faint lines around his eyes, and the tiredness in them mirrored her own. His gaze, the rich brown of her favourite chocolate, flickered with the weight of a long day. And yet, he was sitting here, playing chess with himself. Come one. Behave.

“Apologies,” he murmured. “I was lost in thought. Please, sit down.” He gestured to the chair across from him and began gathering the chess pieces, his long, elegant fingers moving with practiced ease as he cleared the board. She was certain he played an instrument or worked a job that required finesse with fingers this well manicured. Celeste set her coffee down and took the seat. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, his movements slowed. “Do you play?” “I do, yes. Would you like a game?” “I’d love to.” His smile was surprisingly warm. Celeste defeated him in the first two games, though he claimed victory in the third. It were close matches, not rushed but well thought out. Each game was a dance of precision and patience, neither rushed nor careless. Like wolves circling prey, they assessed every move, rethinking strategies before committing to the board. The competition was sharp, yet devoid of hostility. More of a shared challenge they both relished. Celeste loved every second of it. He laughed appreciatively at some of her moves, and she could tell he was enjoying himself. As she did him and his laughter. He was a brilliant tactician and Celeste found herself forcing her focus to keep up with his strategies more than once. The only problem was, he was even more beautiful when he was lost in thought, threading his fingers through his hair, a small crease building between his eyebrows. He had a way of moving his fingers through the beard stubble on his cheek when he was pondering the next move that she found utterly charming. Their silence was companionable. She felt seated with an old friend rather than a stranger. Approving nods, playful smirks, and the occasional taunting glance punctuated the quiet, with soft giggles breaking through every now and then.

It was the perfect reprieve. For the first time since Celeste left Greenland nineteen hours earlier, she felt herself relax.

“Would you like another coffee?” He asked after the third game. Celeste nodded, stretching as the hours of travel and sitting began to weigh heavily on her body. “Yes. And some water, please,” she answered, rummaging in her coat looking for her wallet. “As you wish,” was all he mumbled and stood up. Celeste found her wallet and wanted to offer cash, but he had already walked to the counter. Her gaze followed him. He was surprisingly well built. With his graceful gestures, the way his hands moved the pieces with practiced ease, she had expected him to be less toned. To avert he gaze and calm her jumping ovaries, she checked her phone.

Everyone on their message group was wishing her a save and soon flight home. She marked every single message with a heart and thanked them for their support, while quickly highlighting the fact that her flight was still delayed.

“Scratch and I can’t wait!” Jen answered. It made Celeste smile. “Good news?” His voice pulled her from her thoughts, she flinched. “I apologize,” he said, his voice a little too gentle as he set a tray onto the table. Two black coffees and a water were put around the chess board while they moved their used cups onto the tray. “I did not mean to pry.” He took the tray back to the bar before he said down. “You were not prying; I was lost in thoughts.” She moved the money over the table before taking the water. He raised an eyebrow, moving the money back with the same gesture – index and middle finger pressed onto the note -, looking as if she had deeply offended him. Celeste gulped down the glass of water and was laughing, when she finished.

“Thank you,” she said, storing the money in her pocket. “It’s the least I can do. You are an excellent chess player and deeply appreciated company.” “I appreciate the compliment,” she answered warmly and he smiled. Even his smile was gorgeous. Get a grip, Celeste. “So, what brings an accomplished chess player like yourself to an airport at the edge of the world in the dead of night, if you don’t mind me asking?” He asked, moving his gaze back to the board. “I just ended a two year assignment-“ “You are military?” “I am not. I am a marine biologist and my university sent me to set up a permanent research station in Greenland. It is a cooperative project of different universities and NGOs across the globe, so…..” Her voice trailed off; she had troubling finding the right words. “An administrative nightmare,” he offered. Celeste’s eyebrow rose. “Correct, yes. You work in research?” “Thankfully that is no longer the case,” he smiled, reaching for the coffee. “But I did, a long time ago.” “How long ago might that have been? You are what? 32?” To her delight, his cheeks flushed briefly as he drank, his thumb and middle finger layered over the rim of the cup. “Quite charming, thank you. I will turn 40 at the end of the year.” “If it makes you feel more comfortable, it does not show.” He laughed warmly, making her smile. “Thank you, you are very kind.” They sat in silence for a moment, Celeste pondering the idea of asking him everything that came to her tired mind. There was no feeling of unease or restriction. It felt as if she could talk about everything with him. Instead of talking and losing herself in inappropriate questions, she chose coffee. “What is the research on?” “Pardon?” “The station you have established. What is its purpose, exactly?” “Ocean acidification and ecosystem response. Carbon absorption, effects on calcifying organism, food web distributions, these kinds of things. How climate change effects the sea level is a well-known, well researched fact. We are observing the effects it has on food chains. There are 25 researchers permanently stationed in the middle of nowhere and they will remain for at least two more years. I will supervise from home.” “A long-term commitment, indeed. I’ve never been part of such research teams myself, but it’s undeniably a noble cause. One that demands dedication and a shared vision.” “Depends on who you ask or beg for money,” she grinned and he chuckled. “What is your area of expertise?” “I am mathematician.” “A wizard,” she nodded approvingly and joined his surprised laughter before she could stop herself. “A wizard? Well, that’s a new one! I’ve been called many things in my life, but wizard was never among them.” He smiled, somewhat pleased. “One if my friends is impacted by severe dyscalculia. She considers any person who can handle abstract numbers or more than basic algebra a wizard,” Celeste chuckled into her coffee and took a sip. “I apologize.” “There is no need to, it’s a title I will wear most appreciative,” he grinned. ”Following this line of argument, I might be considered an Archwizard. You are returning home?” Celeste gestured around the longue. “As most people, I got stuck here when the storm hit. But yes,” she sighed, rubbing her cheek, “I cannot wait to get home. Sleep in a real bed that’s not a bunk bed. Have a bath with my favourite music blaring as loud as I wish. Hug my friends.” She rolled her eyes longingly. “Maybe eat food that has not been dehydrated before. You know, vegetables that actually crunch when you bite down?” Her voice trailed off again as she thought of all the things she was looking forward to before she realized he was staring at her. His arms rested on the table folded, his gaze intrigued yet somewhat gentle. As if she was a piece of art he was trying to understand. A puzzle to solve.

Flattering.

“What about you?” She asked into the stretching silence, and he flinched. Celeste regretted her words immediately. The same kind eyes that had just darted into hers now seemed somewhat fearful. She had unknowingly touched one of the most intimate topics possible. “I apologize,” she added gently but he waved it off. He let his gaze move through the room though. “I am returning home as well. I took a sabbatical after… well, let’s just say it was long overdue.” He took deep breath as if to summon the courage to look at her. As his eyes found hers again, she was certain he was assessing the level of trust he was willing to show. “My former partner left me some time ago,” he added quietly. There was gentle timbre in his voice. “I buried myself in work afterward, but it did little to improve my state of mind. It was an intense relationship—deeply so—but in hindsight, perhaps not the healthiest. I loved her profoundly, and her departure hit me harder than I’m comfortable admitting. So, I chose to do something I’d long denied myself: travel. See the world. Try to rediscover who I am outside of what I’d known.” “I am sorry this happened to you,” Celeste answered and the weak smile on his lips was genuine. She lifted her hand, displaying the line her wedding ring had left. “I understand,” she simply stated.

They both reached for their coffee cups and shared a weak smile over the rim. “How did you become such a competent chess player?” Celeste appreciated the change in topic though she suddenly missed the sincere underline of his voice. She checked her watch and reached her coat pocket to find the pill bottle empty. With a look of disbelief and shock, she stared at the bottle.

“Fuck.”

She did not need the pills that had been stored in the bottle, but she wanted one. There was no physical component to her blooming addiction, she was aware. It was not how this particular amino acid analogue worked. But she could feel exhaustion creeping into the back of her mind, slowly numbing her senses. Celeste wanted to stay awake, to be able to soak him in, attentively listen to every word he was saying, every little detail he was willing to share. She could not get tired now.

In her head, she recounted the last ones she took. She had a backup bottle, but it was in her suitcase that had already been checked. He wanted to ask but did not, she could sense it. Celeste closed her eyes and rubbed her hand over her face. “Okay, great,” she then stated, opening her eyes and slipping the bottle back. “My father thought it important for his children to be reliable tacticians,” she explained, picking up the talk where she had left it. “Chess was one of the things I was taught from a very young age. I will boldly assume you were a prodigy.” He did not even try to hide his surprise. “That is surprisingly accurate, yes. How did you know?” Celeste grinned. “There are two types of mathematicians I have met in my life and - please don’t take this the wrong way - the slightly neurodivergent kind who just have a deep understanding of math and logic in general make up for the larger part.” “And the other kind?” he smirked. “There is no other kind,” she admitted and he burst into laughter. His laugh was so warm, she felt goosebumps blooming on her arms. If she could have one sound for the rest of her life, it would be this laughter. Deep, honest, unrestrained.

Jesus fucking Christ, Celeste, get a grip.

It took him a moment to calm down. “Again, surprisingly astute, yes,” he replied with a slight smirk. “I was considered a child prodigy and have claimed many notable titles in my life. But I must admit, the thrill of a chess game never quite fades, no matter how many victories I rack up.” “No Nobel prize yet?” she teased. “There is still time.” While she set up the chess board again, he rose. “Would you like more coffee?” “You do not have to do this.” “Allow me to be a gentleman,” he mimicked a bow. Celeste sighed and suppressed a charmed grin. “Yes, please. And anything sweet, if something is left. “ They played so many matches, Celeste stopped to count. And to care. Losing against him was surprisingly easy. Not that she lost often, it was quite a close tie after all. He continued to compliment her moves and offered insights to the strategies he preferred, never condescending. She could tell he had been called that in his life, as often as he was checking in with her, asking if his insights would be appreciated. His fingers did not stop to intrigue her. The obviously experienced moves with which he touched and moved the pieces on the board and off. The conversation flowed freely now, as did the coffee. Celeste could feel the tension leaving her. Somehow, he had seemed to decide she was worth the trust. Or risk.

Don’t flatter yourself. You look halfdead.

The trust, it seemed, allowed him to open up, he talked about himself. He had travelled the world, never stood long in one place while co-authoring a paper here and there. Not because he needed to, he tried to gently move around the topic, but it became obvious quickly. Sitting across from him in a restricted first class longue had made it quite obvious but she decided not to talk finances. He enjoyed reading, fine dry wine and had a cat he deeply missed that was currently staying with his mother until he started teaching again next semester. He had made a meticulously planned timeline to return home and look for houses. Time to settle in for himself and his cat and set up his library again.

A library. Of course.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Celeste, this is an airport flirt, nothing more. He might go back to Belfast or wherever he is from and forget about you the second you turn around.

Still, she was unable to take her eyes off him. In her defence, she had spent the last 919 days with the same 25 people who she now knew more intimately than she wanted to. They had had sex on occasion, as it was common on such missions, but it had never been about romance. Just pent-up energy, a bodily need to be fulfilled. Some of her coworkers had partners at home, even spouses they were looking forward to seeing again. Despite her own history – and Celeste had to admit to herself she needed some work there – she never understood the appeal of leaving one’s love behind to follow her own ambitions. If a man like this, like him – intelligent, charming, well-read and breathtakingly beautiful – would be her partner, she would not want spent a day apart from him. She gulped at the realisation, shoving the implications down and took another sip of coffee.

Celeste phone rang. Jenevelle. “Hey.” “Hey,” Jen started before words started to spill out of her in mind-bending speed. “Youarestrandedsoilookedaroundandguesswhattherewasonehotelroomleftthatitheincrediblefriendthat-“ “Jen, Jen! Slow down, please. What is happening?” “All flight are delayed for the next 12 hours,” she sighed, clearly annoyed she need to repeat herself. Celeste chuckled despite the news. “The snow will only be getting worse. You are not going anywhere, so you might as well get cozy.” Celeste smiled warmly. It felt good to be known. “What did you do?” “I secured the last hotel room for you. It costs about what I imagine an organ on the black-market costs, and you can repay me later but I will graciously accept some praise now. Everything else is completely overbooked. The airlines were surprisingly fast, so you have to hurry.” “You are aware you are not my personal assistant, right?” Celeste blinked warmly as he set down the coffee in front of her and dropped back into the seat. “I know! But I cannot wait to have you home have been reloading that damn flight tracker every five seconds!” “I love you, too,” she smiled, noticing the man flinching slightly. “Wait…What are you doing? You sound far too relaxed.” “I am playing chess,” she grinned and their eyes met. He looked at her puzzled. “But I promise to go check in after the next match.” “You need to leave now, I ordered you a cab. They will not keep the reservation for longer than an hour. It is a fucking suite after all.” Celeste rolled her eyes. She was afraid what might happen when she left. Or wouldn’t happen. “Okay, I will leave now. Thank you.” She slipped the phone back into her pocket. He tried not to ask but his curiosity was palpable.

Continue on AO3 (I apologize, Tumblr fucked up the formatting)

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfiction #alternate universe #bg3 #ao3 fanfiction

16 notes · View notes