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yandere-sins · 3 years

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Charred

Horrortober Day 7: Shock “You look like a deer caught in the headlights.”

Ah yes. Angels. Complicated beings, I love them. Randomizer sure gave me an interesting combination for this day, but I am not complaining :D Also, if you are one of the people leaving a comment on my posts, please just know you are everything. I love you ♥ Even if they are in the tags, I am so happy to read your thoughts and feelings, it really helps so much to stay positive and motivated! ;;

Warnings: Yandere, Kidnapping, Corrupted Angel, Mild violent outburst Characters: Simeon x Reader

Angels aren't human.

How could you have forgotten?

Running through this godforsaken hallway, you were constantly blinded by lights. Little remnants of Simeon's power, one you didn't know he had. "I should have known better," you thought as you shielded your eyes from another flash caused by an orb to your left. If only the holy magic Simeon was able to use wasn't that harmful to your vision. If only he wouldn't use it on you. If only you never let it come this far.

But how could you have known? You thought you two were friends and like-minded people when you got closer to Simeon as you two attended RAD as exchange students. You weren't that kind of sinner; you never gave yourself hope there could be anything beyond friendship. And you weren't looking for it either. But to dismiss his exalted status as well, that one was on you. Of course he could use magic that was dangerous to you, especially with how little Simeon could understand human emotions.

Sure, he could crack a smile at a joke, show sadness, and give comfort, but he only did what he learned to do, feigning his sympathy. He didn't mean to hurt anyone with it, but it just wasn't in him to feel as humans do, or else it was threatening to defile them. Angels aren't human, they couldn't feel emotions like you did, and when they did, well, this is what happened.

Simeon was a mess. He was beside himself, trying to figure out what was wrenching his body. Ironically, it had been Lucifer who warned you about this. He kept himself brief when talking about angels and corruption, not wanting to open his own wounds. But he still made a point to tell you that it was overwhelming and maddening to have lived for centuries and only then regaining an emotional conscience. It war pain. Suffering. A change that would take months and years to overcome.

And it was all the scarier how quiet it made Simeon.

He didn't tell you what was happening, and you didn't notice it, busy with your duties and the brothers. You should have seen it! You blamed yourself for not being more careful as his friend, but it was already too late. When he started to demand more of your time and attention, glaring at the others for taking up his space by your side, it should have rung some alarm bells. It was almost painfully obvious that him getting more touchy when you were together and antsy when you pulled away was a warning of what was to come. Maybe you chose to ignore it. Perhaps you thought your friendship could survive him being irrational and angry, snapping at you and others at times.

But by the time Simeon became what he wasn't supposed to be, he had already kidnapped you somewhere strange and magical, just as twisted and scary as he was now. It was like an endless dark, ancient castle. Rooms with high ceilings and tall windows looking into the nothingness around the building. The insides were decorated, but the colors everywhere were constantly shifting, nauseatingly so. Sometimes white, sometimes grey. Gold accents, then copper. The temperature was hot when you were awake and cold when you slept. You knew it was magical and tied to Simeon, but that made it all the more uncomfortable and scary. You didn't want to experience this. You never asked for it! Part of you knew what was going on, and it made the realization worse.

There had been moments of clarity in his eyes when you pleaded with him to get a grip, but they fogged over with emotions an angel shouldn't have. When you tried to reason with him, he got jealous over the argument that others would come looking at you. "You're mine!" he screamed, and then his eyes cleared as he regretted his words, leaving you alone abruptly before you could say another word. He was ashamed and scared, you had seen it in his expression, but he still came back as if nothing happened.

On the surface, he was still the Simeon you knew. The one you loved. But he was so quickly offended and angered by now that you only grew more worried every day. Suddenly he started locking your room or would sit and watch you sleep, and you were scared of this angel that wasn't an angel anymore.

So… you ran.

At the first opportunity, you ran. The hallway seemed endless, and you didn't know where you were going. Flashes went off every few steps, and you ran into a few amenities blindly. Even if it was pure madness and wouldn't help either of you, you couldn't do this. The longer you stayed, the worse Simeon got. You needed to find help for him—and for you. That was the only way. The others would know what to do! They could do something for Simeon that you weren't able to, give him stability and support him in these hard times. You were just a human and didn't know if Simeon could remain an angel after all that happened, but if he could, that's what you wished for him from the bottom of your heart. You never intended any of this to happen, and secretly, you didn't want to be the reason for it.

"AH!" with a loud shriek, you were caught by a slice of light right in front of you. It was like a slit opening up, but even brighter than the orbs that had exploded before that. You could recognize magic when you saw it by now. Simeon's magic. Flashy, dazzling, unbefitting of the tumult he was going through. Simeon was far stronger than you expected him to be, but you realized now that you took his calm and sweet demeanor for weakness, when really, it was mercy.

Tumbling backwards, you landed on your side, your arm throbbing as you slowly tried to get up again. It should have shocked you more to see the person slowly stepping out of the light, but you could barely see anyway, only recognizing the voice as he spoke up. "My, you look like a deer caught in the headlights."

Finally, the light shining at you terrifyingly bright vanished, leaving only you two behind in the warped hallway. It took you a few blinks to recover from it, tiny sparks flying through your vision when you looked up at Simeon. Other than the dark corridor, Simeon was wearing his pristine, white clothes. Pure and amiable. Nothing like the inner tumult he was battling, and still, he looked nothing like the Simeon you knew. The kind Simeon. The one you loved.

You feared he was already gone.

Around you, the colors of the castle shifted to nightmarish black while accents turned into a deep red, all while you and Simeon never broke eye contact. He was walking towards you, hand on his chest and smiling in greeting. You once loved his reassuring smiles, the encouraging message they delivered. But this one was menacing and cold, as was his voice when he spoke up again.

"Where are you going?" he asked curtly, right to the point. Biting your lip, you only looked away. You wanted to argue, but good could come out of that? When you cracked your room's lock, you thought it would take him longer to find out. Long enough for you to form a plan, but it only now crossed your minds that the lights you encountered could have been like security cameras for Simeon to check in the case you ever did break out.

"There is no leaving this place, my dove. You know this. Why are you testing me."

"Why are you keeping me here?" you asked the same question he ignored so many times. Though this time, he indeed had something to say to it.

"It's dangerous out there. Demons will get to you, blemish your skin with their marks and rob you of your life. Aren't you worried at all?"

"I'd like to see for myself what I can do out there," you retorted firmly. "I think you're losing it, Simeon. You are nothing like you were when we were students."

Confronting him may not have been the best idea as his once so kind eyes turned moody, smile turning into a frown as you mentioned the past. "No, I am better. I can protect you now. I take care of you. You owe me more respect if you think I've gone mad. The only thing making me mad is you!"

Gulping, you looked at him. He was prideful now too. It was painful for you.

Simeon was slipping further and further. Every passing second was destroying him.

"Simeon, please," you whispered, pleading with him from the bottom of your heart. "I want to help you! B-But I don't know how! I need help to help you, I need to get out!"

"You're not going anywhere," he decided, cutting his hand through the air in a gesture signaling finality to his word. Kneeling down before you, he pulled you roughly into his chest, pressing your head against him. If there was any good that came out of the change, perhaps it was how open he was now to touches. You longed for this, for something longer than just a hug when you two met. But your heart was throbbing out of devastation now, rather than jumping from joy.

"Please get help," you pleaded, gripping his clothes. "I won't leave you, but please ask the brothers or Lord Diavolo for help, Simeon!"

"Never say their names again," he hissed at you, an unfamiliar hostility in his voice that brought you to tears. But Simeon held you as you cried into his chest. His comfort wasn't helpful, but what else did you have to cling to? If not for him, you would be alone and abandoned in this realm, and you had to painfully admit that he was indeed taking care of you. Good care. In his own, twisted way.

While you were still crying, Simeon carried you back to your room, laid you in your bed, and tugged you in. He did so with a frown deeply lodged on his beautiful face, the wrinkles so unfitting for an angel. But a small hope remained inside of you that you crying would make him see reason. Instead, he sat by your bedside as you two stared at each other, eventually muttering that he was going to get you some food before leaning down and kissing your forehead. You hated this affection. Actually, you hated that it was under these circumstances.

When Simeon got up, he left you without another look back over his shoulders, and you sniffled, the tears never drying out as you looked after him. So cold, so… lonely. He was in pain too, he must have been. If only there was a way to reverse it. To make him see reason and to calm his aching. You wished you could have helped him, at least a little bit. As a human, was there nothing you could do? Maybe just take some of the sins he was living through! As normal as they were for you, they were killing him from the inside.

The intense light from before flashed up as he opened the door to your room, blinding and stinging in your eyes. Still, you were already crying, and it was hard to avoid your gaze from Simeon even now. It was the first time you noticed his wings, usually concealed by magic, but as he used them, they came into plain view. You had believed until the last second that maybe there was a way to help him. To save him from this. But you were a little wiser as you looked at the feathers sprouting from his back. His beautiful, large wings.

Charred-black.

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rowanaelinn · 3 years

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Strange Love

A one shot I’ve been working on for a few days to thank you for 100 followers!! I’m so happy to see people enjoying my fics, i truly love it.

warning: nsfw

“What can I get you?” The barkeep asked Aelin with his most charming smile. He was young and a brunette, exactly Aelin’s type, and according to his name tag he was named Chaol. If only she was less tired or if she was in Doranelle for her own fun she might have tried to flirt with him. “We’ll take two Sex On The Beach, please,” Fenrys, Aelin’s best friend, and coworker, ordered for them both. As funny as it was, whenever they saw each other they drank the same thing. They had met at a work conference five years ago, both of them were sitting at the bar, not in the mood to keep up with their boss, and both of them were drinking the same thing. it had become their ritual, that little thing that made their friendship special.

The waiter nodded and started preparing the drinks. When Aelin looked at her friend he had an eyebrow raised and a small smirk on his face. “What is it?” She asked.

“That guy is basically Sam with straight hair, you can’t keep seeing men that look exactly the same.”

“That’s not true!” It was true. “Besides, I wasn’t going to try anything.”

The look he gave her proved he didn’t believe her. When Chaol brought their drinks and winked at Aelin, she couldn’t help but laugh with Fenrys. “Okay, I may have a type,” Aelin admitted and Fenrys shook his head as he drank. “But there is nothing wrong with that!”

“Of course there’s nothing wrong with it, Ace. But having a type and dating the same guys in different fonts every time are two very different things. You need to spice things up!” He shook her shoulders and they both laughed. “You work your ass off all the time. For Mala’s sake, you haven’t got laid in two years.”

She took the little piece of pineapple hanging on the rim of her glass and threw it into Fenrys' head, right between the eyes. “I should never have told you this.”

Of course, the bastard just laughed, he never took things seriously, exactly like Aelin, as long as it wasn’t about her. “We are on another continent for four days, why don’t you go for it and have some fun.”

“I am at a club with you, I’m having lots of fun.”

“Unless you want to sleep with me again, I can’t give you the fun I’m talking about right now.” This time she took Fenrys’s piece of pineapple and this time he received it on the nose.

“Sleeping with you was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.” Fenrys put both hands on his heart, pretending to be hurt by Aelin’s words. She shook her head as she laughed and looked around her. The club was quite crowded for a Thursday night, Fenrys and Aelin both had been lucky to find seats at the bar. “So you want me to take advantage of Elide and Lorcan’s wedding to have sex, that’s what you mean?”

“You'll meet a lot of people at their rehearsal dinner tomorrow or at the ceremony on Saturday. Many of them will be Lorcan’s friends that you will see only for two days.”

“I’m Elide’s bridesmaid, Fen. I won’t have time to flirt.”

“Elide told me Lorcan’s best man was hot!” he tried as he finished his first drink and ordered another one for both of them.

“He is Lorcan’s friend, I don’t trust anyone who pulls out with Lorcan’s bullshit,” She said and finished the end of her glass so that Chaol could take it back and put another one in front of her. “Besides Elide.”

“Amen,” Fenrys said as they clinked their drinks. Lorcan wasn’t Aelin and Fenrys’s biggest fan, and the feeling was mutual. Elide might see another side of this man when it’s just the both of them because Aelin didn’t know why else she would marry him. But Aelin never saw her sister happier than when she was with Lorcan, so Aelin was happy for her.

“Well since you don’t want to get laid tomorrow and Saturday, why not tonight? If you discreetly turn around you’ll see one of the hottest men I’ve ever seen staring at your back.”

Aelin was skeptical. Fenrys and her had similar tastes in women but not in men. She took her drink in hand and turned around slowly as if she was just looking around the club.

Her breath caught when she found a man with silver hair looking at her. He was sitting a few seats away from Aelin, and his eyes were fixed on her. She had dressed up well, she might not have gotten a lot of action lately because of her job but she still loved to be looked at. She was beautiful and she knew it, so she had no reasons to hide.

She had borrowed one of Lysandra’s dresses today, this one was gold. The dress was tight and exposed enough of her chest and back that she caught several glances at her tonight. The stranger was one of them. He had no shame in lowering his gaze to her breast and biting his lip. When his gaze descended again on Aelin's body, she arched her back slightly, crossing her legs to make her dress rise a little more.

As he drank in the sight of her, she marveled at the way his white shirt exposed his muscles. She even caught a tattoo on one of his arms, and with the way his head is turned toward her she could swear the tattoo went up to his neck. It was Aelin’s turn to bite her lip, she always found men with tattoos hot.

When Aelin looked back at his face he had a satisfied smirk, happy to catch her staring. She wouldn’t feel ashamed, not when it seemed he had to readjust his position in his seat after looking at her. She drank her cocktail down in one and delicately wiped her lips with her thumb, drawing the stranger's attention to them. Gods, it was almost too simple. Aelin loved the hunt, she loved to make things last. If she didn't have to fight for something it meant it wasn't worth it.

But the man wasn’t at her side yet, he was just sitting and seemed content to look at her. Most men would already be talking with her now or would be using their tongue in another way. But if Aelin learned something in twenty-seven years of life, it was that men didn’t like to wait. But maybe this silver-haired stranger did, maybe he was like her.

“You’re going to help me,” Aelin said as she took Fenrys' hand, he hurriedly finished his drink before getting down from his chair, following Aelin onto the dance floor. She slightly accentuated the sway of her hips, sure to have the stranger's attention on her.

“You’re the devil,” Fenrys chuckled as his hands slid on her hips and turned her around, pressing her back into his front. They started dancing slowly, both of their hips moving together. As her head fell back on Fenrys’s shoulder and one of his hands trailed up to her stomach, she opened her eyes to find the stranger staring at them.

If Aelin knew anything else about men is that they felt entitled to what doesn’t belong to them. So if she wanted to make him jealous to get what she wanted in the end, she would rather use Fenrys than a random man who could get violent for rejecting him in the end.

“With all the work I put into this I sure hope you'll ask me to join,” Fenrys said loud enough for her to hear as his lips grazed where the shoulder met her neck.

“Go find your own fun,” Aelin wasn’t shy in the bedroom but never had she done a threesome and she certainly wouldn’t have her first with a stranger.

The stranger’s eyes narrowed as she slid a hand on Fenrys’s blonde curls, arching against him. He tightened his grip around his glass of whiskey. Aelin's eyes were fixed on his fingers. She could imagine what they would feel like on her cheeks, breasts, stomach, tights or even inside her. Her inside twitched at that thought.

From the look on his face, he knew what had just been on her mind. Was this supposed to impress me? He seemed to ask as he arched his brow. He leaned in his seat and made a sign to Aelin to keep going. She couldn’t help but smirk and decide she liked this man.

Not one to back down from a challenge, Aelin winked at the man and turned around. She slid her hand around Fenrys neck and he automatically knew what she was doing. He laughed as he lowered his head to kiss her.

The kiss was heated, exactly the way it needed to be. One of his hands gripped her ass, bringing her closer to him while the other found her breast. She moaned, imagining the stranger's hands instead of Fenrys’s. Aelin opened her eyes to find him right in front of her, still sitting, staring at them. He was breathing heavily, eyes fixed on her. It felt so scandalous to kiss someone just for the show, just to provoke someone else.

She closed her eyes as Fenrys broke the kiss to start nipping at her neck. She threw her head back, still thinking about someone else's lips. Fenrys was good at it, but he wasn’t the one she needed now.

“Can I cut in?” A deep voice interrupted them as a warm hand slid on Aelin’s waist. She turned around to see deep green eyes staring at her. Her heart started beating faster at the mischief in these eyes, Aelin had no idea what she had just got into. Fenrys took his hands off her and kissed her cheek, murmuring to her to stay safe, to call him if she needed and he left them alone. Or as alone as they could be in a crowded club.

Having him so close to her made her feel many things but she did her best to keep a normal face. She gasped when he used his hand around her waist to turn her around, pressing her back to his front. Well, that wasn't exactly what she imagined herself doing once she spoke to him. “Don’t be shy, baby. You seemed to like dancing like a whore five minutes ago, didn’t you?”

She could feel herself getting wet at his crude words, this man was going to kill her before the end of the night and she wasn’t complaining. “Maybe I just don’t want to dance with you,” she taunted as her hips started moving with his. As she arched her back to feel more of him, she felt the evidence of his desire. Gods, he had gotten hard watching her. That might be the hottest thing Aelin ever lived.

“Is that why your eyes were on me when your tongue was down his throat?” One of his hands slid up, close enough to her breast for him to stroke the underside with his thumb. Her head fell back on his shoulder and she turned her head to find his eyes on her. She could see all his features now, and she’d been stupid to think every man she had been attracted to had been her type. Her type was him, nothing else.

She couldn’t answer, too overwhelmed. Looking at him as he touched her was too intense, she ground her ass harder on his erection, wanting to make him as desperate as she was. His hand slipped around her waist, holding her as close as he could, as the other one cupped her cheek, keeping her eyes on him. His thumb traced the curve of her lips, she opened her mouth and she stuck out her tongue to lick the tip of his finger in the most provocative way possible while keeping her eyes innocent.

He growled and inserted his thumb in her mouth, she closed her full, luscious, lips around it and turned her tongue around the tip. He leaned to her ear and whispered, tickling her with his hot breath, "You want me to fuck you, baby?"

She nodded eagerly, no longer caring that she looked desperate when his hand slid down to her thigh, just below her dress. He stroked her skin, if he moved his hand up a little he could touch her panties. “Are you wet?” He asked, making her clench around nothing. She didn’t have time to nod before his finger stroked her lace-covered slit. She moaned loudly around his thumb, suddenly grateful for the music. He slipped one finger under her panties and groaned at what he found. She closed her eyes as he caressed her folds, not touching either her entrance or clit. This man was a tease and Aelin loved it. “You’re so fucking wet, is it all for me?” he asked and let out a low laugh when she didn’t answer. “Does it turn you on to be touched in front of everyone?”

As if only remembering where they were, Aelin’s eyes shot open and she turned her head, trying to see if anyone was looking at them. Aelin’s mouth was left empty without the man’s thumb. He used his free hand to push her head back on his shoulder, forcing her to look at him. He had a satisfied smirk on his lips and didn't look worried about the hundreds of people around them.

“Nobody’s noticing you, baby. But you’re gonna have to stay quiet for me because I’m going to make you come right now and I don’t want anyone else to look at you.”

She wanted to protest, she really wanted to. But all she did was bite her lip when the stranger's thumb flicked her clit and another of his fingers plunged into her entrance. He didn’t wait before thrusting into her at the right rhythm to get her off. He added another finger and Aelin couldn’t help but let out another moan.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the pleasure but it apparently wasn’t in the man’s plan. “Look at me when I make you come, baby.” Too gone to care, Aelin opened her eyes and clenched around his finger when she met his eyes. He had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen and having them on her as she started rolling her hips against his hand was almost too much. “You’re so tight, I can’t wait to feel your cunt around my cock,” He whispered in her ear as he added a third finger. He circled her clit one last time and she fell over the edge, hiding her head in his neck as she bit her lip to the blood not to scream of pleasure. He didn’t stop thrusting into her, prolonging her climax. When her walls stopped spasming around his finger he stopped, pulling out his fingers.

Her legs were shaking and if he didn’t use his arm to hold her she would have fallen on the floor. “You did so well,” he praised her, kissing the top of her head. She just let a man whose name she didn’t know finger her in public and made her come faster than anyone ever did. She could almost laugh at the situation if she wasn’t still so needy.

“Join me in the bathroom?” He asked and she didn’t answer, only took his hand and started walking. The moment he closed and locked the door, she was thrown on the wall and his lips crashed onto hers. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, sliding her hands through his soft silver hair.

"What's your name?" She asked as he kissed her jaw and then her neck.

He looked back at her face, she was grateful he was holding her legs because she felt them weaken, pinned under his stare. “What’s yours, baby?” She wanted to say she asked first, but she knew enough about him to know he was in control.

“Celeana,” the lie rolled off her tongue easily. No matter how good this man was, he was still a stranger and Aelin was a woman. The less he knew about her, the better. “Yours?”

“You won’t need to call me anything else than ‘sir’.” He said with a proud smirk as he got her back on her feet and turned her around to face the mirror. He pushed her so her hands rested on the sink, the only thing holding her when he started kissing her neck.

“If I’m too rough you say red, understand?” He asked, looking at her in the mirror. She just nodded, leaning her back into his front. He pulled her dress up around her waist and spanked her. She bent over the sink, only held on her legs by the man's hold on her hip. The pain spread throughout her body, setting all her nerves on fire. “Use your damn words, Celeana.”

“Yes.” Not the answer he wanted because he spanked her twice, once on each ass cheek, harder than the first time. She couldn’t hold back her moans.

“Want to say something?” He asked, his tone mocking. She shouldn’t like this, shouldn’t like being treated that way. She had had public sex and been degraded for the first time in her life tonight, and the gods knew how much she loved all of it.

“I understand, sir.” She breathed.

“So you can be a good girl, that’s surprising.” He said as he stroked her ass. “You’d deserve to be spanked to the blood for kissing another man in front of me.” She moaned at his words. she arched her back, silently begging for more. He let out a soft chuckle and instead of giving her what she wanted, he took his hand off her ass. She cried out, mourning the loss of his hand.

He wrapped her long golden hair around his wrist, pulling at it. He made her look at him in the mirror as he slid the strap of her dress, exposing her bare breast. Aelin hated wearing a bra, and stopping wearing one did wonders for them.

The man took one in his hand, playing with her nipple as he used his other hand to pull harder at her hair. “Beg for it,” He commanded but Aelin didn’t. Unhappy with her behavior, he slapped her breast, hard. He took her nipple between his fingers and twisted, making her cry out in pain. “If you don’t beg me, you brat, your pretty pussy is the next thing I will spank and I won’t stop until you come.”

“Gods, please,” she moaned, a tear falling from her eye. “Please, sir. Fuck me, I need you in me, sir.” She didn’t care how pathetic she sounded, she would die if she didn’t have this man in her.

“Celeana?” He asked as he made her panties slide down her legs.

“Sir?”

“You’re not allowed to come until I tell you to, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” He bent her over the sink and unbuckled his belt. Aelin wanted to see his cock, he had felt so big against her ass.

His tip teased her entrance and then her clit. She didn’t care if someone heard her moan as he slowly entered her. He was big, bigger than any of the men she ever had. He buried himself to the hilt, groaning as her walls spasmed around him. It hurt to have him inside of her, but she welcomed and enjoyed the pain, and he knew it.

That’s why he didn’t wait for her to adjust and started thrusting into her, hard. Her eyes shut, focusing entirely on the feeling of him filling her.

She was shaking so much she didn’t know how her legs kept holding her. He pulled out and entered her again, hard, his balls slapping her clit. “Your cunt feels so fucking good,” He moaned, going faster, harder. His hand slammed on her ass, tearing another cry out of her. She was close.

He made her rise, hanging the angle of his cock, keeping her from falling with a hand around her throat. Delicately, he tightened his grip, and Aelin’s eyes rolled. His other hand found her clit.

“Sir,” she moaned, trying to hold her orgasm back.

“What is it, baby?” He was breathless. “Use your words, Celeana.”

“Please, can I come?” She prayed to every gods in the world he would let her come, but when she opened her eyes and found him smirking she knew her prayers were useless.

He only said “No,” and thrust faster in her, chasing his own orgasm.

Aelin wished she had a name to moan as she tried to focus on everything but the feeling of this man in her pussy and his finger on her clit. She cried, both in pain and pleasure as he kept going, hitting that spot deep inside of her nobody ever hit before

“Let go,” he grunted. “Come for me, Celeana.” His grip around her neck tightened even more and she lost control. She screamed, loudly, as she fell over that cliff of pleasure. Barely noticing she squirted. He kept thrusting into her and came a second later, spilling himself inside of her. Both leaned on the sink, trying to take their breath.

He pulled out of her and made her sit on the sink. Her back rested against the mirror, too tired to do anything by herself. He got dressed and took some paper to clean her up, she whimpered, too sensitive to be touched. He softly apologized, kissing her shoulder as he helped her get her dress back in place.

“Think you would want to do this again?” He asked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. There was only curiosity and desire in his eyes, not demands.

“Sorry,” She gave him a small smile. “I’m not from here and anyway, I don’t really do more than one nightstand.” Gods forbid anyone ever gets attached. He only nodded and gave her a small smile full of understanding.

“Will I ever get your name?” She teased him, earning a soft laugh from him.

“I think I‘d like to keep some mystery.”

------------

“We’re late,” Fenrys stated as they both entered the elevator.

“We’re fashionably late,” Aelin corrected him and he snorted. Both of them were past the point of fashionably late. Elide would be mad at her, she knew it, but Lorcan would be too and she kind of liked the sound of that.

“She’s going to kill you,” Aedion warned as he met them in the hall. Aelin quickly took him and Lysandra in her arms and started walking to the reception room.

“She won’t be physically violent, she won’t take the risk to ruin her bridesmaid look.”

“It’s Elide we’re talking about, it’s not physical violence I would worry about if I was you.” Lysandra chuckled, of course, she would find it funny. Aelin rolled her eyes but laughed along with her friend. Soon they were in the room, they were careful not to make noises, not wanting to drag attention to them.

She looked at her watch and sighed, one hour late wasn’t that bad, was it? At least, Fenrys would suffer from Elide’s rage if it came to that. Aelin took a glass of champagne and walked to Elide and Lorcan. Lorcan was talking to someone but she couldn’t see who because this bastard was just too tall. “Ellie,” Aelin started, taking the small woman in her arms. Maybe affection will make her less angry?

“You bitch!” Elide whisper-shouted, pushing Aelin away from her. Well, her plan definitely didn’t work.

“Elide, you look ravishing,” Fenrys winked and Aelin had to use all her focus not to laugh at Elide’s angry face. She was almost shaking as if it was taking everything in her not to yell at Aelin and Fenrys. If she laughed right now she was kicked out of the wedding, she knew it. Elide seemed to relax a little as Lorcan’s arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Galathynius, Moonbeam.” He nodded. “So your plane didn’t crash.” She said with a point of humor but Aelin didn’t care and flipped him off. Fenrys just softly laughed and put an arm around Aelin’s shoulder, a normal way for him to show his affection.

“You two didn’t meet Lorcan’s best man.” Elide said as the man who talked with Lorcan turned around. Aelin’s heart stopped. No, no, no, no. “Rowan, this is Aelin, my sister. Aelin, this is Rowan, Lorcan’s best friend.”

This had to be some kind of sick joke, there was no way the man who fucked her last night was Lorcan’s best man. The universe really hated her. His eyes widened when he saw her and even more when Elide said Aelin’s name. Her real name.

Fenrys burst out laughing loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

—————

tag list:

@sheharahu // @morganofthewildfire // @thestoriesyoutell // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @swankii-art-teacher // @itsforeverinnocent-blog // @becarefuloflove // @imnotsogoodatthis // @rowaelinismyotp // @a-court-of-milkandhoney // @feysand-loml // @surielandiareendgame // @live-the-fangirl-life // @story-scribbler // @loves-books // @fangirlprincess09 // @theysayitscrazy

#rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowaelin smut #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fic #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass

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spacexcowgirl · 4 years

Text

Worth Fighting For - G.W.

George Weasley x Reader

Summary: Y/N and her friends planned the perfect get away. The only thing not perfect? George and her broke up right before it was time to go. Now, they’re stuck sharing a room for one week and dealing with their friends trying to push them back together at every turn.

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: Brief alcohol usage, alludes to sex but no actual smut, mentions of cheating but no one actually cheats, kinda angsty but a fluffy ending. I don’t think anything else?

A/N: *gasp* and there was only one bed?? This is so cliche I don’t even care. I’ve posted two Fred fics, so it was time for some George love. Feedback always welcomed! Pictures are from Pinterest.

message to be added to tags :)

You stared at yourself in the dressing room mirror, adjusting and readjusting the straps of the short floral dress. Truthfully, the dress fit perfectly, but you still couldn’t seem to get comfortable. A frustrated sigh fell from your lips just before the curtain to the dressing room flew open, causing you to squeal.

“Give a girl some privacy, would ya?” You huffed once your eyes adjusted to Angelina’s beaming face.

“Oh please, you’re completely dressed.” She rolled her eyes lightly. “Speaking of, I love that dress on you.”

“Really?” You turned back once again, prepared to give yourself another once over in the mirror.

Angelina offered you a nod in response, then without a warning began to strip down to her bra and underwear and tug the maroon dress she had brought in over her head. You scoffed and averted your eyes, only to hear Angelina giggle softly behind you. Years of quidditch and changing freely amongst teammates had made her entirely unashamed. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for you.

Shyly, you faced your body away from hers and began to pull the dress off of you. The next thing you had to try on was a red bathing suit—one that Angelina had picked out, of course. When you had it fashioned on firmly, you gazed at yourself in the mirror. You looked good, like, really good. Still, you felt anything but. Another sigh left your lips, which seemed to be a recurring theme of the day.

“Maybe I just shouldn’t go.” You breathed out, meeting Angelina’s eye in the mirror.

“Uh uh, we are not discussing this.” She shook her head quickly. “You’ve already paid, it’s been planned for months. You’re going.”

“But it’s going to be so awkward!” You whined, finally turning to face her full on.

“You know George would never let things be awkward.” She argued as she placed her hands on her hips. You loved Angelina, you truly did, but you knew arguing with her always ended up pointless. “Besides, you’re really going to miss out on an opportunity to show off everything he’s been missing?”

Even if you didn’t want to admit it, she had a point. You were far from a prideful person, but who wouldn’t want their ex to see them glowing post-breakup? Maybe it was wrong, maybe it was some faulty bit of your brain that craved the validation of proving yourself to him, but you couldn’t help it. You bit down on your lip and pondered her words for a moment before eventually giving in with a roll of your eye.

“You’re right.” You muttered softly, avoiding her gaze.

“Always am.” Angelina quipped back. “Now, get changed and grab that swim suit and dress. George Weasley isn’t going to know what hit him after seeing you in those.”

It was a week later as you nervously picked at your cuticles to avoid eye contact with everyone around you. When everything had been planned, a group vacation felt like the much needed escape you had been longing for. Now, it was plaguing you with more anxiety than work or the general qualms of life ever could.

Angelina was at the front desk of the resort, checking everyone in and gathering the keys. The rest of you—which included You, Fred, George, Alicia, and Lee—were participating in a bit of small talk. Everyone but you seemed to have bright smiles on their face, excitedly awaiting what the rest of the week away would bring. Unbeknownst to you, George too lacked any sort of visible excitement, as his eyes couldn’t seem to leave your figure or the way you were partaking in that old nervous habit of yours. He hated to see you so visibly distressed, but what he hated even more was knowing that he was the cause of your unease.

“Got ‘em!” Angelina announced brightly as she returned to the group. In her hand, she dangled three room keys in the air.

You reached your hand forward to retrieve one right at the same time George did, resulting in the two of you brushing hands. You quickly withdrew your hand, and you didn’t miss the pained expression that crossed his face from you doing so. It made you feel awful, truthfully, but you couldn’t help it. You just weren’t prepared to be near him, to touch him, so soon.

“Eager, are you?” Fred attempted to lighten the situation, but you only could muster the energy to offer him a small grimace in response.

Angelina rolled her eyes lightly before handing you a key, then Alicia one, then tucked the final one in her pocket. Your brows furrowed at her actions, and you found yourself glancing anxiously between Alicia and Angelina.

“Why’d ya give me and Alicia both a key?” The question was somewhat rhetorical, because you feared you may already know the answer. Your stomach was in knots at just the prospect. “I just figured… We,” You paused to gesture between you and Alicia. “Would share a room, and George and Lee would share one.”

Of course, this trip had been planned long in advance, well before your and George’s untimely breakup. At the time, it had only been logical that you and George, and Angelina and Fred—the two couples—would have their own rooms, while Lee and Alicia shared one with two beds in it. You hadn’t thought to clarify the change in plans before coming, you had just hoped it would be obvious. There was no way you could share a room with George for a week when the wound of your failed love was still so fresh.

“Sorry, doll face,” Lee grinned at you. “But I don’t share beds. ‘m a kicker.”

“That’s fine.” You hurriedly shook your head. “George can just take Alicia’s single bed, and me and her can share the double.”

“Actually,” Alicia paused to let out a small cough. “Bad timing, babe, but I think I might be coming down with something. Wouldn’t want to get you sick.”

You narrowed your eyes at your friend. The two of you had known each other long enough to know that she was most definitely lying. Your mind was in overdrive trying to come up with the best way to nicely insinuate that she most certainly wasn’t sick, but George spoke up before you had the chance.

“I can just take the floor. It’s fine.” His voice was soft and there was an undeniable trace of pain behind it. Your eyes found his for the first time, and you felt as though your heart was breaking all over again.

The worst part about your breakup had been the fact that it wasn’t born out of some explosive fight or some lack of love. The two of you had just gotten too caught up in your own work lives and fell out of touch with communication. In the end, you both agreed you still loved one another, but you felt too far apart to fight for what you once had. You had both hoped to remain friends, but doing so ended up being harder than you’d expected.

“Alright.” Your voice was soft, just as it had been in the end. “That’s fine.”

With that, Angelina wordlessly lead the group of you towards the elevator. It was most of your first time spending so much time amongst muggle amenities, but Angelina had done her research. She had almost everyday of the trip packed with sightseeing and activities, all to give you the experience of what a true muggle holiday would be like. At about a year past the end of the war, this was exactly what all of you needed.

After arriving on your floor, you headed down the long hallway in search of your rooms. Lee and Alicia’s was right next door to Fred and Angelina’s, while you and George were across the hall from them. Silently, you turned the key into the door and pushed it open. You could feel George’s presence behind you, but neither of you could find the words to speak.

Once your eyes adjusted to the bright light spilling in, you let out a small gasp in awe. It was beautiful, truly. A bathroom sat to your left, but further in the room laid a queen-sized bed, a television sat before it, then large sliding-glass doors that lead you to a balcony overlooking the ocean. You sat down your bags and made your way to the door, unlatching the hook before stepping out and breathing in the warm, salty air.

“Bet they’re all jealous, we got the room with the view.” George joked lightly as he came out to stand beside you. You simply hummed in response, keeping your eyes trained outward. George let out a soft sigh before facing his body towards you. “Look, Y/N, I don’t want this whole trip to be weird.”

“I don’t want that either.” Your voice was quiet as you forced yourself to look at him.

“Then let’s just, you know, be friends for the next seven days. Like we used to be. If you want to go back to not speaking after, I completely get that. But can we just try, for now?”

You bit down on your lip as you weighed your options. Just being this close to him was excruciatingly hard, but what other choice did you have? There was no point in making things awkward for everyone else, or ruining the trip, so you’d have to agree.

“Okay.” You finally nodded and extended out your hand. “Friends.”

“Friends.” He grinned at you, that same signature grin that had always made your heart race.

Godric, the next seven days would be hard.

A little over an hour later, you found yourself on the beach with the rest of the group. You had put on the red swimsuit that Angelina urged you to buy, and had gotten a little bit of that validation you craved when George’s eyes widened at the sight of you. Now, though, all you could focus on was the pit of nerves forming in your stomach.

Number one on Angelina’s itinerary of things to do was paddle boarding. You had asked Alicia to share a board, to which she swiftly declined. Leaving you to share with George.

Although the place you had rented the boards from had given you instructions on how to stand up on the board and all of the safety requirements, it seemed almost no one listened. The group of you hadn’t even be out for more than five minutes before Fred was tumbling off of the board, effectively flipping Angelina into the water as well.

“You prat!” Angelina screeched when she breeched the surface. Fred was laughing uncontrollably as he tried to coax Angelina into his arms, which only resulted in her splashing him.

“Reckon we’ll be the best at this.” George spoke to you confidently. Before you could stop him, he was swiftly raising to his feet, causing the board to wobble slightly. You squealed, but ultimately calmed when the rocking ceased. “See? I’m a natural at this.”

“Think I’ll just stay down here for a bit.” You glanced over your shoulder at him. You were still on your knees, certain if you tried to stand, the two of you would end up in a similar situation as Fred and Angelina.

“Oh come on!” George whined. You looked up at him defiantly, only to find an ever familiar mischievous glint now in his eyes. “If you don’t get up, I suppose I could just…” And without finishing his sentence, he widened his stance and began rocking the board slightly.

“George!” You yelped, grabbing desperately to the sides of the board. “Fine, fine, I’ll get up!”

A triumphant grin found its way on to his face as you scrambled to your feet, doing your best to keep your balance. When you wobbled slightly, George’s hands found their way to your waist, steadying your movements.

“I’ve got ya.” He chuckled, causing your face to flush. You were thankful your back was now to him, because the last thing you wanted was for him to see the effect he still had on you.

To your left, Lee had now purposefully flipped their board as well. Alicia was fuming as she tried to hoist herself back up on the board, only to be slid back into the water from Lee moving it. You and George made eye contact as you watched your friends struggle, immediately bursting into a fit of laughter.

For about another hour, it went on this way. George never flipped your board, despite multiple teasing threats that he was going to, and for that you were thankful. When it was about time to turn the boards back in, Fred had the idea to race back to the shore. Unluckily for you, the twins were pretty competitive, so you had to take this seriously, for George’s sake. Lee and Alicia didn’t stand a chance, what with him constantly laughing, leaving you two neck and neck with Fred and Angelina. Just before you reached the shore, you got an idea. You paused your paddling and glanced back to wink at George, who was looking at you confused.

“Oh no, Ang, your bikini top came undone!” You shouted, clamping a hand over your mouth.

“What? No it hasn’t—” She was about to argue, but the damage was already done. Fred had faltered in his movements, quick to help—and probably ogle—his possibly exposed girlfriend. The both of them furrowed their brows and looked back over at you for an explanation, but it was too late, you and George had breeched the shore.

George was quick to scoop you up in his arms and spin you around once you’d both hoped off your board. You squealed triumphantly in his arms, ignoring Angelina and Fred’s protests that you had cheated.

“We always did make a good team, yanno.” George spoke up once he placed you back on the ground. You couldn’t deny the butterflies now swarming in your stomach, and you had to force yourself to look away from him to calm your nerves.

“Although that was most definitely cheating,” Fred huffed as he arrived on the shore. “Gotta give you points for acting, Y/N. Well played.”

“Thank you, thank you.” You dramatically bowed, a grin plastered on your face.

“What d’ya say we head back and get cleaned up before our dinner reservations?” Angelina suggested, to which you all agreed.

The boys began dragging the boards back to beach rental, while you, Angelina, and Alicia began to make your way towards the resort. They squished you in the middle of them, linking their arms with yours, before shooting one another small smirks.

“I know what you two are doing, you know.” You sighed. “You’re trying to get us back together. But it’s not going to happen.”

“I don’t know,” Angelina replied in a sing-song voice. “You guys looked awfully cozy on your board, and on the beach.”

“Because we decided to be friendly, for the sake of the trip.” You retorted.

“Mhm, I’m sure that’s all that was.” Alicia chirped in, a knowing smile on her lips.

You simply groaned in response. With whatever else these two held up their sleeves, you were sure this was going to be a long trip.

Two days later, the group of you found yourselves at a muggle festival. The air was cool and the crowds thick, but you couldn’t be more happy. You skipped excitedly ahead of the group, a bag of candy floss in your hands. The stuff was so sugary it hurt your teeth, but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

“Oh! Let’s go on that one!” Alicia pointed excitedly ahead of you, gesturing towards the large ferris wheel.

You all agreed and made your way towards the ride, tickets in hand. The line was long, but none of you had any problem waiting and chatting idly. When you guys were finally next in line, the worker asked how many were in your party, before ultimately informing you that it was four people per booth. Your stomach flipped as you saw a mischievous glint light up in Angelina’s eyes before turning back to the worker.

“Alright, it’ll be the four of us in one and the two of them in another.” She pointed to you and George.

You narrowed your eyes at Angelina, but ultimately knew there was no point in arguing and making a scene. The four of them clambered into the first booth while you and George waited silently for the next one. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and the distance between you was noticeable. The ride held pretenses for romance and alone time, and you were suddenly worried that it would be terribly awkward.

“Alright, in ya go.” The worker pointed ahead after the next booth came to a halt.

George held your hand to help you steadily step in before climbing in behind you. You both took a seat across from one another, unnervingly silent as you trained your eyes anywhere but each other. When the ride stopped again to let the next group of people on, George finally spoke.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say they’ve been trying to get us alone together.”

“You’re just catching on to that, are you?” You snorted, a small smile finding its way on to your face.

“I’ve had a guess ever since Fred said he couldn’t sit by you at dinner because the air was ‘too drafty.’” He grinned back.

“They truly are insufferable, aren’t they?” You giggled. “But you have to commend their efforts.”

“Yeah.” George hummed in agreement, idly glancing around as the ride began to move again. When he looked back at you, he had a devilish smirk on his face, one that told you he had an idea. “What d’ya say we get back at them?”

“What do you have in mind?” Your heart leaped at the idea of being reeled into one of George’s pranks for the first time in months.

George leaned forward and began to whisper in your ear, the smile on your face upturning as he revealed his plan. It was good, as his pranks often are, and you found yourself giggling as you nodded along in agreement. Certainly, this would get them off of your backs.

When your booth came to a halt and it was time to get off, you spotted your four friends waiting on you with smirks on their faces. You lightly rolled your eyes before turning your attention back to George and raising your brows, as if to ask ‘ready?’ He nodded in response, and your plan was set into motion.

“I cannot believe you, Weasley!” You screeched. All eyes were on you, which normally would have made you nervous, but the payoff for this should be significant enough to make it worth it. “You are an insufferable, selfish git!”

You climbed out of the booth and began marching away, but George was hot on your heels. The looks on your friends’ faces had quickly morphed into one of shocked horror and it was taking everything in you not to burst into a fit of giggles.

“And you’re a swotty know-it-all!”

“I don’t even know how I stayed with you for so long!” Once you were out of the way of the line, you paused to turn on your heels and point an accusatory finger towards him.

“Yeah? Me either!” He threw his arms in the air. “You always tried to make me the bad guy, even after you cheated on me with Garrick Ollivander!”

You shot George a bewildered expression, not expecting him to take that turn, but he slyly sent you a look that read ‘just go with it.’ Listening in, you could hear your friend’s horrified whispers from behind you.

“Y/N slept with Ollivander?”

“Isn’t he married?”

“Geesh, never would have guessed she was into older men.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you actually knew how to pleas—”

“Guys! Cut it out, you’re making a scene!” Angelina swiftly cut you off and rushed forward, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You shot George a small wink before turning to face Angelina and the others, and you suddenly couldn’t hold it in any longer. Both of you burst into fits of laughter, only furthering your friends confusion. Fred seemed to be the first one to catch on, and he crossed his arms over his chest before rolling his eyes.

“Oh ha ha, very funny guys.”

“I’d say that was some of our best work.” You nudged George with your elbow before a few more chuckles left your lips. “Although, I’m not sure why—of all of the people you could have said—you chose bloody Ollivander.”

“He was the first person who came to mind!” George laughed, putting his hands up in defense.

“You really should be an actress, Y/N.” Lee grumbled.

You beamed at him triumphantly in response.

“Hopefully this’ll teach you lot your lesson to stop meddling.” You shrugged.

All of your friends grunted in agreement, still mortified by your outburst and the many eyes that had been on you. Still, you’d find that once their initial fears had warn off, they were far from stopping their efforts to push the two of you together.

The final days of the trip seemed to go by in a blur. You and George had taken to alternating between who would take the floor, which only seemed fair. The dread you had been filled with at the beginning of the trip had subsided significantly, leaving you extremely glad that Angelina had convinced you to come. Some part of you even thought there may be a chance you and George could be friends again when you returned home.

Additionally, each day the group had still made it their mission to get you and George alone in some capacity. Whether it be leaving you alone together on the beach, or heading to bed early so you and George would be left to retreat to your shared room alone, it didn’t matter. You couldn’t exactly complain, though, because now that the awkwardness had subsided, being in George’s presence lit something aflame within you. It was terrifying, the feelings you had worked so hard to leave behind, all bubbling up within you once again. Especially when you were so certain that he wanted nothing more than to be friends.

Which now left you the night before you were set to go home, slightly buzzed from the many flutes of champagne you had ordered from the resort’s open bar. Fred and Angelina were a lot more than buzzed, and you couldn’t help but giggle as you watched them sway dramatically on the outdoor patio, their lovestriken energy pulling a few other couples to dance as well.

Lee and Alicia had kicked off their shoes and were wandering down to the beach, leaving you and George, once again, alone. You hummed idly to the soft music playing, letting your eyes drift close as the sounds around you interchanged with the crashing of the waves. George had his eyes set on you, although you didn’t know it, and the smallest of smiles had found its way on to his face.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol thrumming through you or the calming sounds of the ocean, but you suddenly found yourself wanting nothing more than to crash in the bed that waited for you inside. You let out a soft yawn, causing George to chuckle, before sleepily opening your eyes and gazing at him.

“Wanna head up?” He offered.

“I think I might.” You nodded, beginning to slowly stand. “But you can stay down here, I’ll be okay.”

“Nah, I’m ready to head for bed soon too.” George stood as well and offered his hand out to you, which you bashfully accepted. As the two of you walked off, you glanced back once over your shoulder, only to find Angelina and Fred silently cheering you on, goofy smiles alit on their faces. You brushed them off with a light roll of your eyes, but the sheepish smile on your face was undeniable.

Once you were back in your room, you quickly claimed the bathroom to change out of your dress and into your pajamas. When you exited the bathroom, you found George shirtless, his checkered pajama bottoms hanging low on his waist. The sound of you gulping caused his head to snap up and meet your eyes. Perhaps you were drunker than you thought, because you found yourself almost certain that you had seen him blush under your gaze.

To break the awkward tension, you hurriedly bounded towards the bed and jumped onto it while George pulled his shirt over his head. You patted a spot next to you, beckoning him over, which caused him to grin.

“Wanna watch something for a little?” You suggested as he sat down on top of the covers next to you.

He nodded in response, propping the pillows up behind him so he could rest comfortably against the headboard. You grabbed the remote from the nightstand and began flicking through the channels, entirely unfamiliar with muggle television and going completely by which title sounded the most interesting. You finally settled on The Silence of The Lambs—which you very quickly learned was not a lighthearted movie about the fluffy muggle animal.

It wasn’t long before you were under the covers and had them drawn up to your chin, completely terrified by the horrorific things some writer had thought to put in the movie. It wasn’t exactly a jump scare sort of movie, but it left you completely terrified and uneased. Still, you were too enraptured to change the channel. At some point you had put your hand down to help yourself sit up better, only to brush George’s hand beside you. You almost recoiled, but then his pinky was hooking around your own, and you thought better of it.

That was a friendly thing to do, right? It didn’t mean anything more. It wasn’t weird. It was just two friends, comforting each other in some small way during a horror movie, right?

The two of you stayed like that for some time, until the movie finally ended and you realized you’d have to put an end to your small touching. You clicked the screen off before another movie could start and bit down on your lip before glancing at George.

“You can sleep up here tonight, if you want.” You offered. “I mean, it is the last night and all. It only seems fair that we both spend it comfortably up here.”

“Right, yeah, that makes sense.” George nodded.

So with that you were flicking off the bed side lamp and finally pulling your pinky from his, prepared to get comfortable on your side. George turned on his side, as well, so that the two of you were facing one another. For a few moments, neither of you shut your eyes or spoke, you just gazed quietly. The soothing sounds of the ocean worked to calm the nerves in your stomach.

“Did you have a good trip?” George questioned softly, his eyes flickering over every inch of your face. You were bathed in moonlight, and he was certain he had never seen anything more beautiful.

“I did.” You whispered back, your eyes tracing his face as well. “I don’t think I want to go back to reality tomorrow.”

“Me neither.”

The two of you were quiet once again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like the many nights, when things were right between you two, that you had basked in the absolute bliss of just being in one another’s presence. But now, you were friends. And friends didn’t stare at each other so intensely for so long. Just as you were about to speak up and point this out, he slowly extended out his arm and brushed some of your hair out of your face. His hand lingered there after he had tucked it behind your ear, then paused. It was like he was waiting for you to make the next move, to brush him off if that’s what you wanted.

But that wasn’t what you wanted.

So, you lurched forward and pressed your lips to his. He responded almost instantly, his lips molded against yours in that perfect way that only he knew how. His hand slid down from your face to rest on your hip, his thumb just barely brushing up under it and against your bare skin. His touch alone made you shiver, and you had to pull back briefly just to make sure this was real.

When you saw his eyes looking at you so softly, you decided that not even your best dreams were this good. It had to be real. So, you pressed yourself closer to him and kissed him with every emotion you held in you.

It wasn’t long before things progressed significantly, and it wasn’t until both of your clothes were completely forgotten that you found yourself internally questioning what you were doing, and what it meant. But as he pressed his lips to yours and whispered your name like it was the only thing in the world he was certain of, your worries melted away. At least, for tonight, you had each other.

You awoke the next morning with a pounding headache, the kind you always got after a few glasses of champagne. You found yourself wanting to groan, but stopped yourself when you realized you were wrapped up in George’s arms, still naked from the night before.

You sat up quickly, causing George to stir and groggily sit up as well. In his morning haze, he had a sleepy smile as he gazed at you, and it took everything in you not to reach out and fix his messy morning hair. Once he finally processed the immense worry behind your eyes, his mouth fell into a frown and he rubbed at his eyes.

“Something wrong?”

“Uh, yeah, George. I’d say something’s wrong.” You scoffed, quickly getting up to look for your clothes. “What the hell were we thinking? We finally got to a place where we were okay with being friends, and then we just completely destroyed it.”

He was silent as you picked up your discarded pajamas and began to tug them on. When you’d come across one of his articles of clothing, you’d ball it up and throw it towards him, feeling nothing but anger at your lack of self-control and at his charm.

“Godric, I’m so stupid. I should’ve never come on this bloody trip, I should’ve just stayed home. I spent so much time picking out the perfect outfits to make you notice me, to be something you’d miss, no wonder this happened. I—”

“You did what?”

You hadn’t even really processed your own ramblings, but his question caused you to freeze. You straightened up, your back towards him, and let out a soft sigh.

“You’re not over me.” It was clear he meant for it to be more of a statement, but the uncertainty in his voice almost made it sound like a question.

“No, George, I’m not.” You scoffed again, still unable to turn and meet his eyes. “And that’s why what happened last night should have never happened. I should have never put myself in a position to be hurt again.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was soft. “I’ve never wanted that.”

You shuttered at his sincerity, but the sentiment did little to help. Whether he wanted to hurt you or not, you were hurting. And that may not entirely be his fault, but it was the truth.

“We should just pack up and go.” You spoke again after a few moments. “Everyone will be down in the lobby in a little bit anyways.”

“But I want to talk about this.” He pleaded, now standing to tug on his boxers.

“What’s there to talk about George?” You finally spun around, your hands thrown in the air. “Last night was a mistake. A colossal one. So, let’s just go back to how things were before we came on this trip, yeah?”

George looked visibly shocked by your words, so much so that he didn’t speak up. You stared at him for a moment longer before grabbing your wand from your suitcase—since you hadn’t used it since you got there—and began using magic to re-pack your bags. George seemed frozen for a moment, and it wasn’t until you stormed into the bathroom that you finally heard his voice.

“It wasn’t a mistake for me.”

You paused, letting the toiletries you were about to pack up clatter to the ground. Your grip on your wand loosened, then you slowly made your way out of the bathroom to look at him.

“It wasn’t a mistake.” He shook his head. “I’ve missed you more than I thought it was possible to miss someone.” He took a step closer to you, taking it as a good sign when you didn’t flinch away. “I know we thought splitting up was a good idea, but darling, we were so wrong. I’d rather fight for us everyday than ever try again with someone else.”

“You don’t mean that.” Your voice was quiet as you tried not to get your hopes up. “You just think that because of what happened last night, and because this past week has been fun. When we get back home, you’re just going to realize that you don’t want me again.”

“No.” His voice was soft as he now stood right before you and gently reached his hand out to cup your face. “I’ve missed you since the second we decided to call things off, and I know I should’ve fought for you then. But I’ll fight for you now.”

You trembled slightly at his words, but still you found yourself leaning into his touch. You wanted nothing more than to give yourself over to him, completely, but you were scared.

“You are worth fighting for, and I’m sorry I ever made you think differently.” His thumb traced up and down your cheek bone. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

There was a moment of tense silence as you squeezed your eyes shut, letting your nerves be calmed by his touch. Slowly, you reached your hand up and placed it over his own, before turning and placing a gentle kiss to his palm. Your eyes fell back onto him as he anxiously awaited your response.

“Okay. Let’s work on us.”

And before you knew it, you were wrapped tightly in his arms. You knew you both had a lot to work on to make things right, but you were ready for it. If it meant having him at your side again, it was worth it.

When you met the others down in the lobby, their faces morphed from slightly hung over grimaces to beaming smiles at the sight of you and George, hand in hand. Fred and Lee whooped while Alicia and Angelina shot you knowing smirks, causing you to lightly roll your eyes.

George offered to take your bags and load them in the taxi, leaving you for a moment alone with your two best friends. They waited, anxiously, for you to spill everything, but you didn’t want to just yet. For a little bit, you wanted what happened to be just between you and George. Still, Angelina nudged you with her elbow and grinned.

“You can always thank me later.”

TAGS: @theweasleysredhair @letsgotothehop

#george weasley x reader #george weasley #george weasley x y/n

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peppermintbee · 4 years

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OMORI has poor writing (Part 1)

OMORI stans, just block the #omori hate tag now because I’m going to use it to vent my frustrations with this game. If you love this game, I am not going to try to convince you otherwise. I am glad you enjoyed it so much. I am glad it means a lot to you. I’m not here to take that away from you. I honestly wish I felt the same way!

However, if you are like me and finished the game feeling disappointed, underwhelmed, and maybe a little frustrated, then I am here to say you are not alone. OMORI--while having the right set pieces for an interesting game--is a narrative mess.

I’m splitting this into two posts. This first post is about problems with the plot. The second is about problems with the message/moral.

(Note: I use “OMORI” in all-caps for the game title, and “Omori” in title case for the character name.)

Spoilers and criticism below.

Part 1: Plot Writing Lies

There’s a book by Brian McDonald called Invisible Ink which is about how to write a compelling story (you can read this great book online for free here). There’s an explanation of the writing “lie” that I find myself frequently thinking of. A “lie” in this context does not mean something is literally untrue, it means something FEELS untrue, unrealistic, improbable, or unlikely. For example, if a character gets shot in the leg but manages to do parkour, this is a “lie” since it seems unrealistic for that to happen. If a character witnesses their beloved parent’s death and shrugs it off, it’s a “lie” because that reaction seems highly unlikely.

In OMORI, the plot is held together by multiple little lies that--try as I might--I just couldn’t bring myself to believe.

1. Sunny’s friends care about him, and vice versa

A major theme of the game is how friendship can overcome any obstacle. Friendship gets Sunny over his fear of heights, spiders, and water. Friendship is what Sunny remembers before the final boss fight, and allows him to face his guilt and defeat it (and prevent him from committing suicide). With the photobook and dialogue you are reminded over and over and over and over and over again that Sunny’s friends love him unconditionally.

However, I just couldn’t bring myself to believe it. The childhood memories are cute but shallow, boiling down to simply hanging out and eating treats. Plus, Kel and Aubrey fight constantly, with Aubrey even physically hitting Kel when he steps out of line. Hero and Mari behave more like babysitters than true friends to the younger kids.

But at least the other kids interact with each other. Sunny, on the other hand, showed nearly no affection or consideration towards his friends. He floats through the memories like a ghost--he could have been completely absent from all the photos and it would have made little difference. I was ready to accept this as Sunny being an unreliable narrator and not thinking he was a good enough for his friends, but this never contradicted. Instead we are given even more memories where Sunny just silently exists there being “cute.”

[Sunny enriching the lives of his friends by LARPING as a cat.]

Because of the lack of meaningful interactions between them, there was nothing in the game that made me think that these 12-15 year olds would have a strong enough bond that would survive 3-4 years of no contact after finding their friend hanged. In fact, that discovery only drove them farther apart. The only person who I could believe actually had a close bond was Basil, who almost literally filled that trope of being the friend who would help you bury a body (or in this case, help Sunny cover up the accidental manslaughter).

The writing fix for this would be simple: instead of showing us the same boring birthday and beach scenes over again, give the kids memories of overcoming some age-appropriate adversity together: heartbreak over an unrequited crush, anxiety over homework, sports injury, lost dogs, divorced parents, running away from home, bullying, etc. Set a precedent of the friends supporting each other through good times AND bad times. Without such backstory, Sunny’s friendships allegedly giving him the courage to overcome his guilt feels like a lie.

2. Sunny abandoning Basil in the bathroom scene

One of the most confusing moments in the game was Sunny’s negligence when Basil has his first breakdown in his bathroom. This part of the game is player-controlled, which is a strange writing decision because all you can do is click on Basil and various bathroom amenities over and over which completely saps the urgency out of the scene. When you try to leave, Basil begs Sunny to stay, but (due to a lack of player options) Sunny walks out without a word. With no option to talk to him OR get help for him, it makes Sunny seem exceptionally cruel to Basil. In fact, I was starting to wonder if the game was setting up for some sort of twist that Sunny DIDN’T care about his friends, which would fix some of the confusion in point #1. However, as we know, that is not the case. Therefore, Sunny’s negligence/apathy towards Basil’s pain feels like a lie.

The writing fix would be to make it MORE clear that Sunny is intentionally running away from Basil. Make it a cutscene, or, give a false choice such as “Leave Basil? Yes / Yes”. After Sunny leaves, Kel should make some remark about Sunny looking odd, “You look sort of shaken up, is there something you want to tell me?” then hit it home with Sunny shaking his head. This would make it more clear that Sunny is intentionally hiding Basil’s state, as opposed to just being a bad friend. As it stands, it just felt like a writing mistake.

3. Basil and Sunny working together to stage Mari’s death as a suicide

This is the plot hole that I see the most complaints over, but it’s so big I have to address it. Accidentally pushing Mari down the stairs I understand, but the rest is too absurd. Below are some of the “lies” that the writing tries to get away with:

That Sunny and Basil wouldn’t just claim she slipped and fell.

That either boy would even come up with this sick plan.

That they wouldn’t back out of this idea during the multi-step process (carrying her downstairs, outside, getting the jump rope, tying a noose, putting it around her neck, stringing her up, hiding the evidence... This is a series of multiple decisions, not one quick accident like the initial push.)

That it’s not the image of Mari’s death that traumatized Sunny, but the image of what they chose to do to her body that traumatized them. I understand the image of Mari hanging is more dramatic, but they literally did it themselves so why is that more haunting than Sunny killing her?

That Mari’s true cause of death wouldn’t be immediately obvious to the parents, the police, the friends, EVERYONE. (I’ve seen fans try to get rid of this plot hole by hypothesizing that the parents knew and covered it up, but the evidence of this is circumstantial at best. The father saying, “You’re not my son,” is unreliable since it happens in Sunny’s headspace. Divorce is common after the death of a child, and, at the very least, Sunny’s mom doesn’t show any evidence of knowing what happened. The way it is written, only Sunny and Basil know the truth.)

The ridiculousness of this twist is so extreme that it completely broke any immersion I had left. Frankly, the reveal that the happy, loveable Mari committed suicide is a far heavier and more realistic twist than a crazy murder-cover-up story is.

Additionally, it seems like Basil was only written into this scene in order to make Sunny the true victim of what happened. After all, Sunny may have pushed her, but it was Basil who came up with the demented cover up. (This is apparent from just the photos but the datamined Truth Album confirms it.) By having Basil come up with the plan, the game splits the guilt between the two of them to make the kids easier to sympathize with. It’s problematic because if Basil was not in the scene, there would be no way to justify what Sunny did to Mari. So why is what they did easier to accept when they worked together?

Fixing the writing lie: Sunny lies and says that Mari slipped. Remove Basil from the scene, and instead have Sunny confide in Basil which forces Basil to become a co-conspirator and burdens him with the terrible truth.

4. Sunny’s friends forgiving him and Basil for what they did to Mari

Last but not least, the story heavily implies that Hero, Kel, and Aubrey will forgive Basil and Sunny for what they did to Mari. I found this to be almost as unbelievable as the staged-suicide stunt.

It feels like a lie since the group’s friendship is never established as anything beyond shallow hang outs from 3+ years ago (see point #1).

It feels like a lie because this is hot off the heels of Aubrey being so distraught over Mari and the following fall out that in the last three days she 1.) attacked Sunny and Kel with a nail bat TWICE, 2.) Stole Basil’s photobook, and 3.) Shoved Basil in the lake. This trauma is still very fresh for her.

It feels like a lie because the complexity of the staged-suicide is so extreme, one would be hard pressed to forgive ANYONE for doing that, be it friend, foe, parent, sibling, lover, etc.

I’ve seen fans argue that the ending is not about forgiveness, it’s about telling the truth, and I want to believe that. Really. If the ending was about Sunny starting his redemption arc by telling the truth no matter what the consequences are, that would be a meaningful lesson. But the writing does not support that. The ending headspace segments are focused on assuring Sunny that his friends will support/forgive him no matter what. To do this, the game shows us the shallow photobook memories (again) to show how much they allegedly care about each other. Then, when fighting Omori, Sunny remembers these quotes from his friends, which directly correlate to their unconditional support:

KEL: Friends... Friends are supposed to be there for each other.

AUBREY: I hope you can find some peace... or you know... some happiness.

HERO: We made the mistake of leaving each other when we needed each other the most. This time... we’ll stay together.

BASIL: Maybe one day... things can go back to the way they were before.

The really direct evidence that this ending is about getting forgiveness is this quote from Basil in Sunny’s headspace:

[BASIL: “AUBREY, KEL and HERO are good friends. You have to trust that they’ll forgive us.”]

This is one of the last scenes before Sunny tells his friends the truth, proving that obtaining forgiveness from his FRIENDS is in fact the leading motivation for Sunny’s actions.

Fixing this writing lie is easy. Instead, adjust the writing to be about telling the truth, not about how much the friends will still love Sunny. Have headspace Basil say, “Even if they don’t forgive us, Aubrey, Kel, and Hero deserve to know the truth. It’s the only way to make things right... or close to it.”

Conclusion

OMORI is undeniably a cute game with a strong visual identity, and has a premise that could make for a very compelling experience. However, the sloppy plot and weak character writing cause the potential of this game to be squandered. There are other issues as well that I chose not to cover for the sake of time, such as the poor pacing of the dragged out dungeons and the bizarre, unrealistic behavior of characters in the “real” world.

However, there are a few more glaring problems with OMORI that I have to address: In part 2 of my critique, I break down what may be the biggest problem with OMORI’s writing: the message.

[ Link to Part 2: OMORI’s Message is Mishandled and Distasteful ]

#omori #omori hate #omori spoilers #review #words #fun fact i named sunny 'moony' so I had to consciously change all the moons to suns in this essay #suicide cw

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years

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WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @dreadfutures! I really appreciate it! <3

Still working on the never-ending snippet (they’re chapters, really XD)! To be fair, this is a great exercise because it’s helping me utilize dialogue more! So, without further ado...

...The Anchor being a buzz kill. :3

---

“Fane..”, Solas said, slightly breathless as Fane explored and showed the warmth of a balm.

“Hm,”, Fane hummed as he finally found Solas’ pulse, fluttering and skipping. He pulled away a bit, eyes hooded as he watched the beating patch. “You’re getting excited already. Dangerous, my sky. Very, very dangerous.”

Solas let out an airy laugh, turning in his embrace a bit to rest his side against Fane’s front. He had to adjust his hold a bit and take his hand holding the mage’s jaw away, but he kept his eyes on the butterfly before him. It was tempting to...well, snatch it from the air, but Fane kept himself in control, even as he felt the sky begin to lay kisses along his neck. They were as light as air and near reverent, but no less hot with their underlying heat. It was making his mind haze with a different kind of smoke this time.

“Ma’isenatha,” Solas murmured against where he was kissing, tender and sweet, but there was a note of...concern in its cadence? “...May I see your hand?”

What?

Fane blinked, the smoke clearing a bit. “Huh?”, he uttered in question, shifting his gaze away from the steadying butterfly to glistening orbs--lavender branching out from where the pupil was. Oh, he loved that hue. That hue, that very few saw…

Solas offered him a tiny smile. “Your hand.”, he repeated, a tentative touch appearing against an...oddly warm, blazingly warm, palm. Why was his hand so damn hot? It almost burned.

Fane drew his brows together, confused. “...My hand? Why do you--?”

Suddenly and before he could get the words out, the Anchor cracked within his palm--ancient magic still very much volatile from his earlier outburst. Fane hissed sharply. Damn it all! He forgot all about the Void-taken thing! Fuck! Just when he had been sure everything was as it should be again! Foolish! Foolish!

“Easy, vhenan,”, Solas soothed, one hand appearing upon his cheek and the other within his spasming hand. Within an instant, their fingers wound together, interlocking like a masterwork latch. “Breathe, and let us move from the floor. I can examine your hand better that way.” Blue orbs connected with his own, questioning and full of tender concern, even if they were a bit hard to make out from the suddenness of sharp daggers under his skin. “...Can you do that for me?”

Fane gritted his teeth at another pulse, growling deep in his chest, but he managed to jerkily nod. He could move, but by anything that was holy, he didn’t want to. The damned Anchor tended to skyrocket in its anger every time he jolted it, but...he could endure it. He could endure it if it meant it would just stop.

Solas gave him another reassuring smile, gingerly lifting himself off of where he was leaning against Fane’s front to stand. Fane nearly dragged the elf back down when another deep pulse of magic shot up his arm, but thankfully, not his head. It fucking burned like acid, however. The magic was less than it had been earlier, but it was still managing to seep from the slit and snake up his arm like ethereal vines.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,”, Fane cursed over and over, growling and snarling in the interim. “Fuuuck!”

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out shakily, trying to fight through the pain and nausea as he, none too gracefully, pushed himself off the floor with his free hand. To Fane’s surprise, the Anchor didn’t protest too awfully, only snapping against his wrist like a hand slapped another in reprimand. Still, it ached, burned, and screamed.

Solas’ hands appeared on him the moment he stood at full height, using both to lift the acid spewing hand up to his line of vision. Fane swallowed hard around pooling saliva and took in deep breaths through his nose as he let the mage work his magic.

He watched as a slender finger glided along the brightly glowing opening, testing, teasing the familiar magic out with a gentle blue glow. The tendrils came outwards, but then abated minimally, cowing at calming blue, but they still carried fury underneath--pulsing and crawling. Fane grimaced at the sensation, stifling a pained growl. It would never end unless he chopped his arm off, would it? Or, well, if Solas took it away. Sadly, his sky didn’t have the capability or power to do that yet. Fane would be both relieved and not relieved the day that he did. For various reasons. Reasons they also needed to discuss sometime, but not right now. Not when his fucking arm was feeling like it was getting pulled through a rift!

Solas gave him a tiny smile, glancing up from his work. “You are doing well, my dragon.”, he praised before concentration hardened features that held the shadows and dual glow of magic, eyes going back down to focus. “What do you feel right now? Describe the sensations for me.”

Fane took in another deep breath. “Uh, c-crawling. F-Feels like there’s worms under my skin. Worms that are--are on fire.”, he tried to explain as best he could, but those blazing worms were wriggling, writhing as Solas gingerly ushered more of his magic into the mark. “I-It keeps knocking against that f-fucking ward, too.”

Solas glanced up again, but didn’t halt his ministrations. “It has not pierced through, correct?”

Fane shook his head with a shaky sigh. “No, but that’s because I’m…” He gasped a bit, a hard pound slamming into the walls of his mind like a drum. “...fighting it.”

That seemed to be all Solas needed him to say, going back to his task with a furrowed brow and a determined look in his sky-line eyes.

Slowly but surely, the Anchor began to die down as the more Solas guided his magic to make the more volatile counterpart heel. The tendrils of sickly, but sparkling green abated, the ever present glow dimmed, and best of all, the pain ebbed away like a lazy wave. Fane sucked in a deep, deep breath as that reprieved was granted to him. He still felt nauseous as all got out, but the worms were dying down, the knock upon a locked door floating away as chaotic magic slithered back down his arm. He could honestly sob from relief. Truly, he could.

Solas let out a quiet sigh of his own, tired and relieved all in one, as his eyes met Fane’s own again and for good this time. They were speaking to him, asking a typical question and it filled Fane’s heart with tender affection.

Fane smiled tiredly. “Better. Thank you.”, he said. He was utterly exhausted, stomach tender and head aching duly, but the pain had stopped, the magic driven back to the hole it crawled out of.

Solas let out another relieved sigh at his words, a tired smile of his own appearing, cracking the mask of concentration, and giving his marked hand a gentle squeeze with the two still holding it.

“It’s nothing.”, the mage downplayed, shifting tender eyes down to gaze upon the Anchor forlornly. “I simply wish I could rid you of this burden, to wipe away this pain. If I had known it would be you who would somehow pick the orb up, I would have been--”

Fane sighed softly as he tapped the underneath of Solas’ chin with a few fingers of the hand he was holding. The elf blinked, steely orbs snapping up to him instantly and that only made Fane smirk more. How the sky heeded a dragon’s call. It should be the reverse, but this world continued to show how much it defied itself.

“Stop. Observe and accept. Observe what happened, and accept that it was beyond your control to predict. You will fix things, Solas. We will fix things.”, Fane assured as he leaned in to lay a light kiss against the mage’s lips. It was reciprocated with ease, a tiny hum escaping from his sky and it made him reluctant to pull back, but he did to murmur, “All of it will come in time, ma tarasyl. You know that. I know that. Be patient.”

Solas let out a chuckle. “Using my own words against me? Wisdom is a concept in you, I see.”, he teased.

Fane sneered a bit. “Cute.”, he replied dryly before shrugging. “I only used them because you used my own earlier, and I figured you’d be more amenable listening to yourself when in concern to what happened at the Conclave and whatnot. You do like to hear yourself talk, after all.”, he teased with a growing smirk. They were coming full circle now, and hopefully, his jokes would land more gently this time.

“Insufferable.”, Solas quipped with an exasperated sigh, but it was fond underneath, he knew. “Why do I--?”

Fane blinked as Solas suddenly froze up, face going blank and glittering eyes staring at him, but not registering. He furrowed his brow at that, pulling his head back a bit to get a better look at blue and grey. Now, that wasn’t normal. The hues were still bright, aware, blue with lavender branching from the middle, but Solas’ face and posture screamed, ‘disconnected’. Fane felt himself grow more worried at that. Had he fucked up again?

“Solas? Are you--?”

He went to ask after the man, thinking his joke had hit a nerve yet again, but a slender finger suddenly darted up to his lips, stilling them. It was telling him to wait, to be silent. Fane blinked. Well, at least the mage was responsive? Yes...a corner of a mouth was moving a bit, eyes were blinking slowly, and a…

...nose was twitching?

Before any more questions could be voiced or even thought up, Fane saw Solas’ face pinch a bit, nose screwing up before sucking in a slow, deep breath, and then…

“Achoo!”

We have it all in this story! Pain, sadness, Solas tears, Fane rage, fluff, cockblocking magic, and sniffles~ >:3 Watch this turn into a sick fic now. XD

Tagging forth (with love and potions to ward against sniffles!)

@oxygenforthewicked @noire-pandora @the-dreadful-canine @little-lightning-lavellan @aymayzing @dungeons-and-dragon-age @hoochieblues @whataboutbugs @1000generations @blueheaded @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold and anyone else who’d like to share! It’s Wednesday~! X3 (no pressure, of course! <3)

#my writing #wip wednesday #this is a never ending endeavor due to my difficulty of writing endings X'D #it's almost as bad as writing beginnings #but DIALOGUE abound! >:D #i'm just torturing solas in this aren't I?#first he wet then he cry then he SNEEZE #poor woof woof~ >:3 #i love him i swear :3 #i'm also torturing fane though so it's even~#oc: fane lavellan #solas #solavellan #male lavellan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition

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deancodedcastielenby · 3 years

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It started out with a XX

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

I am putting Tags first so I don’t forget like the horrible trash panda I am: @casmick-consequences , @proudcasgirl , & @paintdriesfaster You have asked to be tagged, or for Casmick you are the reason this is here. The Date Continues This is 100% unbeta’d and I am litterally on my work computer writing in between phone calls so. I apologize for any spelling errors or punctuation since I am a trash panda. XX love you all, enjoy

Castiel is under the impression that Mick Davies is an interesting human. The man seems charmed by many of the words that Castiel uses, and has no problems showing his obvious interest. There have been other humans in his time in this vessel that have shown a reaction to his person, and now that this body is his and no longer Jimmy’s it is an interesting notion that he would be coveted carnally from anyone. Still, Mick is interesting and the conversation that he engages in with Castiel over a shared dinner have kept Castiel enthralled at least. The dinner was odd, it still tasted like molecules, but Mick made a point to have him try a bite or two of everything and explain how he found the flavors.

The white sauce on the noodles, for example, Castiel knew was called Alfredo sauce, but Mick described it much better before he had Castiel try a bite off his fork. There was flavor that he hadn’t expected, on top of the molecules, but perhaps being described before eating was the difference. No one had ever thought to try that before. The breaded mushrooms were an odd texture that Castiel was not sure that he liked, but Mick did say that sometimes the dipping sauces made them better, and the sweet dessert was delicious, and tasted faintly of coffee. That was a beverage he missed from being human.

As far as humans go, Mick was charming and rather handsome, though at this point Castiel realized he had a type. Claire had pointed it out when he described Mick to her before the date. His eyes may not be the right shade of green that he prefers, but they are quite beautiful none the less. In fairness Mick had also dressed up for the occasion and was wearing an outfit similar to his own, though he was wearing brown. That was a brown slacks and waistcoat over a light blue shirt and a matching brown blazer. The overall effect was very charming, and very appealing. Castiel had on occasion browsed through different magazines and had seen similar outfits on different models, so he assumed it was a fashion thing, but Mick was able to pull it off nicely. Of course there was a few glasses of wine with dinner, and Castiel was able to sip them carefully during conversation. It was true he had a rather high tolerance for alcohol, so it wasn’t that he needed to, but he had tried to keep pace with Mick to make sure that he blended in. Over all Castiel would say that the date was a success. Many times throughout the conversation he was able to pick up on the different flirtations that Mick was sending his way, and apparently he was sending back. Once or twice he was able to say something that made Mick laugh loudly and give him a wide smile that made his face mirror one in return. To say that dinner was pleasant would be an understatement. After dinner Mick asked if he would like to take a walk and continue their conversation. It was getting darker outside, but still there was plenty of light with the street lamps and there was such a quaint little park they could walk around. It was simple to agree, and so they left hand in hand after Mick paid for their meal. “I insist Castiel, honestly it was mostly my meal anyway.” That was another strange feeling, being hand in hand with Mick. There was a brief moment where he remembered Daphne, she would hold his hand sometimes when they were out and about, but he never had this strange intimacy with another person after his memories came back. The hand in his own was not a dainty one, it was on the larger side with blunt fingers and the cool metal of a ring on his pinky finger. Over all he experience was new. At one point Mick had released his hand, and of course Castiel frowned when he missed it immediately, only to have him slip Castiel’s hand in the crook of his elbow and seemingly step closer. “I am honestly surprised that you came out with me this evening.” They were on their second loop of the small park, their gait was slow and measured to eat up more time. Almost as if neither one was quite ready for the evening to end. “It seemed as though you were very much in the Winchester’s pockets and that they did not like me very much.” “They do have a negative disposition to the British Men of Letters, Arthur Ketch left a rather bad taste in their mouths and I do not blame them for that, however they are not my keepers and I am free to make opinions on other humans.” Ever the peace keeper, or so it seemed, Castiel tried for a neutral ground. That was until Mick barked out a bit of a laugh.

“I would suppose so, though not all of us Brits are quite like Ketch. I am hoping you would have a better opinion of me after our date. Perhaps I should inquire as to another?” It seemed the man was looking at Castiel out of the corner of his eye, which was odd, but it only took a moment to realize that he was asking Castiel out on another outing. This was courting wasn’t it? The odd human custom?

“I would not be against another outing, though I had thought you were to return to England soon.” The words were out before Castiel could reel them back, but they were true none the less. Mick did not know that Castiel could travel to England with just a thought, so it wasn’t that the distance was a problem. Castiel would just like to know where he stood, it was so hard to gage with Dean where exactly things lay between them when Dean was in denial and never spoke. Perhaps this was Castiel’s way of making sure that whatever this was with Mick, it was different. “I will have to return home eventually of course, but I would very much enjoy spending time with you whilst I can. Your conversation skills are spectacular, it is rather hard to have meaningful conversations about things anymore, and you are quite a sight to look at as well so that is a bonus for me.” These words were said with a smile and a pat to Castiel’s shoulder, “I am aware that our engagement here is limited, not just by time. I have eyes, I know I am not your first choice and that is fine with me, honestly. I just think that while I am here, I can show you what a relationship should be like, so that you know.” Stopping their circle of the park, they were in a bit of shadow of a corpse of trees but they could still see the stars if they were to look up. They didn’t. “I will not take advantage of you, or your kindness. I want us to be open and honest with each other, so that when I do have to return to England, we could still walk away as friends and you can come to me with anything. Though right now, I would very much like to kiss you if you would be amenable?” The words were honest and open, much like the expression that Mick was wearing. Mick wanted a relationship, in what ever capacity that he could while he was here that could translate to a great friendship when he left, and honestly what did Castiel have to loose? The want to experience something good and meaningful after watching the one he wanted jump into bed with countless others.... “I am amenable.” The response was gruff and quiet, almost an afterthought, though Mick had heard it if the wide smile on his face was anything to go by. Oh so gently one of Mick’s hands cupped the side of Castiel’s head and guided their lips together in a sweet and soft touch. The kiss itself was chaste, but it seemed to cause an ache somewhere in the pit of Castiel’s stomach. It was genuine intimacy and affection, something he never knew he honestly needed, but with the gentle press of lips it was something that he was honestly going to crave. After a moment or two of soft pressure Mick pulled back to gage the reaction on the angel’s face. “Well, no fireworks which is a shame, but I can live with that.” A slightly cocky smile lit the side of his mouth, “Unless you’d like another?” “I always expected that kisses would be... more than just a press of lips.” It wasn’t that Castiel hadn’t experienced kisses, because he had on a few occasions, namely with women. Though the thought made him tilt his head slightly and squint in confusion.

“Ah, you were expecting more passion and enthusiasm perhaps? What kind of Brit do you take me for, a savage? This is a first date after all, need to keep you on your toes and coming back for a second one.” There was something akin to mischief in Mick’s eyes before he laughed, “well I suppose one more couldn’t hurt.” With that he did pull Castiel’s head down once again to meet his lips, this time with a bit more of a firmer touch. The scrape of stubble against his skin was a bit firmer now, and he could actually feel it. After some maneuvering to fit their lips just so, a hint of a tongue pressed against the seam of the angel’s lips and he opened to the onslaught of Mick’s rather talented tongue.

Unsure of exactly how long they stood there, in the slight shadow of the trees kissing quite like teenagers, they broke apart. A soft flush to Mick’s features made him more endearing in a way as he seemed to shiver and attempt to take a step back. It was a strange sensation feeling Mick release him, as it seemed that the hand that was not tangled into his hair had found his hip, not that he had noticed at the time. “Well now, that was... something else. Shall I return you home then Cinderella? Or is there a night in shining muscle around here somewhere waiting to whisk you away?” “I do know how to drive.” Something about the way that Mick said the words was unsettling, though Dean did tell him to call when he was ready to be picked up. Castiel was an angel of the lord and he could take care of himself.

“Of course you do, I never said you couldn’t. Perhaps you could walk me to my car then?” Mick gave a soft chuff and a slight bow of an apology holding out his elbow again. Castiel missed that strange closeness so he nodded and tucked his hand into the crook and walked Mick back to the restaurant and to his car. Luckily he did not see the Impala anywhere on their walk, and Castiel indulged Mick with another kiss at the car before watching him climb inside. “Do let me know when you are free for another Date.” Mick said after yet another soft press of lips before driving off and down the street. It was a few moments before Castiel moved and headed back to the park, keeping himself invisible from any kind of eyes until he was standing where he and Mick had been only a little while before. Pulling out his phone he sent off a text to Dean, letting him know that he was not going to need a ride home, nor would he be back that evening. There was far too much for the angel to think about at that moment, and far to much for him to replay to even attempt to be near Dean right now. Instead he found himself sitting on a bench in that park, staring at the emptiness of the night, not getting a reply from Dean at all, but that was fine. The hunter had probably fallen asleep anyway, it was better for him to get the rest than worry about Castiel.

#okay so it was shorter than I wanted it but full of fun #Casmick #cas x mick #long con still? who knows #date night #supernatural #Castiel #Mick Davies #just for fun #it started out with a XX

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dontmindmyshadowhunting · 3 years

Text

I will never forget the day we met - A Ty & Anush Fic (snippet)

Here is a snippet of my Ty and Anush fic! It's about their growing friendship (which may or may not evolve into something else...) at the Scholomance. The events are set after The Lost World. Shortly after Ty has received the Herondale heron shaped pendant from Kit (through Magnus), he gets wind of a certain letter from Tessa to Magnus which mentions a girlfriend...

****

Anush hated Monday mornings at the Scholomance. Breakfast was taken, as it was every single day of the week, in the dining room, which looked like the inside of a cathedral, with a high ceiling, rough cold stones and narrow windows.

Every second Monday though, there was always a crowd gathering in the main hall, where a large black board had been hung next to the entrance of the dining room. On it, in thick white chalk, were inscribed the initials of the ten students who had distinguished themselves in the past fortnight. They were ranked, first to last, every two weeks.

It was the same show every time, Centurions huddled together and craning their necks eagerly, and Anush wondered why they even bothered checking. The initials for the first place had been consistently the same since the school year had started. TB. TB. TB. TB. For Tiberius Blackthorn.

Fighting for next ranks were Seela and Joshua. The Scholomance being more about brains than muscles, Seela usually landed the second place and Joshua the third. There she was, her dark ponytail bobbing, half smug half furious she had been beaten yet again by the youngest of them all.

Anush remembered his first day back at the Scholomance, after the end of the Cold Peace. Divya had introduced him to Seela and he had immediately found her pretty. She had an angular face with smooth golden skin and big dark eyes, framed by black silky hair. But she had barely spared him a glance, looking past him for any more interesting acquaintances. She had won several national chess championships and, Divya, always kind and helpful, had pointed Tiberius Blackthorn in the crowd. “You should play him. Diego told me he loves to play chess and he’s pretty good at it.” Seela had looked the Blackthorn boy up and down dubiously. He was standing awkwardly, looking like a frightened little bird next to his big brother Julian, who was clutching his sibling’s arm tightly, his blue-green eyes shooting daggers at the throng of admirers closing in on them. “That little boy over there? I play chess. I don’t babysit.” Anush had disliked her there and then.

Wall that served her right. Seela. Rhymes with karma, karma, karma.

Joshua, on the other hand, had always been a nice guy. Even now, he took his third position gracefully, flashing a smile of perfect white teeth against dark skin, like the younger version of Idris Elba that he was. A group of giggling girls were surrounding him, as usual. Not only was he a hunk, he also had amazing weapon skills. Some called him the “new Perfect Diego”. He was the guy who had it all. Still, even in combat, he was no match to TB, who had apparently received excellent training at the LA Institute.

Suck it up, bitches, Anush gloated, as he weaved past the legion of Centurions and joined the dining room. He started piling up food on his plate. He always had his biggest meal at breakfast because he hated the food they served at lunch and dinner time.

He had set himself a task that day and was eager to go through with his plan. When his plate was so full he could almost hide behind it, his gaze went directly to the far end corner of the room, where one could usually find Tiberius Blackthorn sitting alone, eating quietly, a book propped up in front of him.

And there he was, exactly where Anush had expected him to be.

He approached making deliberate noise, so as not to startle his prey. It worked. TB looked up, his fork frozen mid-air.

Up close, he looked fragile and delicate. Or maybe it was because Anush had witnessed him collapse a few days before and had brought him to the infirmary. He wondered if he had health issues, but that wasn’t the type of questions you asked when you were trying to make a new friend. And that’s exactly what he planned to do. TB seemed to be a nice guy, and Anush had taken care of his Carpathian Lynx after all, when the boy had been ill. The scratches he still bore on his arms were evidence of that.

But just as he opened his mouth to speak, he heard them. The mutters he was used to suffer behind his back. But this time was different. It was not only about him.

“Look. Joshi made his way to Blackthorn."

"Do you think he is going to apologize for what the Cohort did to his twin sister?"

"We all know they are responsible for her death. They could as well have been the ones wielding the sword.”

"Those bastards laughed at her funeral."

Anush froze. He had assumed Tiberius’ reserved demeanor was only shyness. Had he been mistaken? Was there something else?

The Blackthorn boy straightened up as if he was about to say something, but whatever it was, Anush never got to hear it.

He had already turned on his heel and fled the scene, his breathing uneasy.*

Everything changed two days later. The Centurions had been summoned to gather in the amphitheatre which also served as a training room. Anush sat on a bench, in the second row, his hands folded in his lap. The buzz of voices subsided as the martial arts instructor came to stand in front of the students and gestured for quiet. He was to make an announcement on behalf of Jia Penhallow, who was spending the week at the Los Angeles Institute for family reasons (apparently her daughter Aline and her wife Helen Blackthorn were contemplating adoption).

“Until now, we have tested you individually. We have identified – you have uncovered or confirmed – your strengths and weaknesses. From now on, you will be working in pairs. Starting tomorrow and until the end of the year. This means you share points… and rank.”

A chatter erupted in the room. Grades, and above all rank was everything at the Scholomance. They were all elite, but who wouldn’t want to be the elite of the elite? Depending on your rank, you belonged – or not – to the Primi Ordines. The First Order. The Holy Grail. Amen.

All eyes flickered to the slender figure of Tiberius Blackthorn, who was lounging on a bench at the far end of the room, totally oblivious of his surroundings. He was playing with a silvery item in his hand, turning it this way and that. Anush realized he seemed much happier than usual, his pale face alight.

The instructor called names randomly and, one after the other, the students filled in the name of the fellow Centurion they would be pairing with until the end of the year. There were heated discussions, tears shed. It was a big deal. The only one who seemed unconcerned was Tiberius Blackthorn. Of course. He didn’t care who he would be partnered with. He just had to say the word, and anyone would crawl – vows of eternal friendship broken in the blink of an eye – and stand next to him. First place. A spot in the Primi Ordines without breaking a sweat.

Anush needed to be strategic. TB was not even an option. Who else? Anush was not nearly as strong as Joshua or as clever as Seela, and they would probably pick someone who mastered another subject. He needed to find someone like him. Not excellent, but not mediocre either. Too bad they didn’t teach music at the Scholomance.

Why not Liam? He sat next to him in Faerie studies, and they had made small talk several times before the class started. He wasn’t particularly bright or skilled, where Centurions where concerned. They had all been top of their classes at their Institutes or at the Academy, but that was the Scholomance.

When the instructor called “JOSHI,” Anush moved to stand before Liam. His palms were sweaty.

“Liam,” Anush asked, his mouth dry. “Want to pair up?”

Liam looked at him with undisguised contempt. It almost shocked him. What had he done to deserve it?

“Hmmm, I’ll pass. I don’t really want to pair up with a coward.”

“WHAT?”

“Well, you were with the Cohort, weren’t you? Then you fled from a battle, and they made you do the chores.”

Most of the students around paused in their babbling and… either snickered or stared at Anush in disgust. His gaze moved automatically to Tiberius. He wasn’t looking their way, but he seemed to have suddenly stilled, as if he was listening in.

“I changed sides! I fought in the battle of the Imperishable Fields!”

“Yeah, you betrayed them for the winning side! How brave of you!” Bursts of laughter filled the room.

“We weren’t winning then! Where were you while I was risking my life? Still sucking your mother’s tits?”

“QUIET!” The instructor ordered. They all fell silent – Centurions were obedient that way – though Liam still had a smirk on his face. “So, who’s going to pair up with Joshi?”

A terrible, humiliating silence ensued, but it was fortunately of short duration.

“I am.”

The words had not been shouted, but the quiet, deep voice that uttered them commanded attention.

Every face turned toward the far end corner of the room. Anush realized with a jolt that Tiberius was now standing. He was no longer playing with the object in his hand. He had tied it around his neck. He wore two chains now, one slightly longer than the other.

A chorus of angry voices erupted. What the hell? Why is he doing this? Why would a Blackthorn pair up with a yellow-belly and a double-crosser who used to be Cohort?

“Joshi and Blackthorn,” the instructor barked as he scribbled on his notepad.

And that’s how it all started.*

****

To be continued.

Tagging @gabtapia and @amchara :)

#the secrets of blackthorn hall #the wicked powers #the dark artifices #ty blackthorn #tiberius blackthorn #anush joshi

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let-it-raines · 4 years

Text

Walking the Baseline (1/1)

He’s at the top of his game. She’s in the midst of a comeback. The Olympics are just around the corner, and there’s more than gold medals on the line. There’s secrets and personal lives and a lot more at risk than simply losing, but as most know, Killian Jones and Emma Swan hate to lose.

rating: mature (just to err on the safe side)

a/n: Hello, hello, my darlings! I was informed of the @captainswanolympics as I’ve missed so much in my time of only checking messages and posting YWUSS, and I just had to write a tennis AU. If you know me, you know I played tennis back in the day, worked behind the scenes for a professional tennis tournament, and am an avid fan, so the fact that I haven’t written more CS tennis is surprising. lol.

This one is short and sweet, and it’s the first CS I’ve written in months. So I genuinely hope you enjoy it. And no, you don’t have to know tennis to understand 🎾

ao3: | here |

tag list: @qualitycoffeethings @mrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @jonirobinson64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @sherifemma @galaxyzxstark @galadriel26 @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @nikkiemms @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @mariakov81 @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera @itsfabianadocarmo

-/-

“My legs feel like jelly,” Emma sighs as she sinks into an ice bath. It’s never pleasant, and it may not even help, but it makes her feel better every time. “Like, I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk when I get out of here. I don’t think I can even stand now.”

“You say that after every long match,” David tells her, clicking away at his iPad. There’s no doubt he’s studying her stats and about to pick her apart in a friendly yet incredibly harsh way that is a David trademark. “Is your shoulder okay? Your first serve percentage was up, but your speed was down.”

Yep. He’s so predictable. She knew that was coming the moment she decided to change the speed on her serves.

“I’m fine. I’m tired. I mean, shit, David. It’s like the tour is trying to ruin our bodies. My last two-week break was when? March? It’s almost August, and it’s not going to stop there.”

“You’ve made it before. You can do it again.”

“That’s not encouraging.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me that I don’t have to do this.”

David looks up from his iPad, brow raised, and she knows she’s not going to get the answer she wants. He doesn’t tell her she can quit unless they’re in a heated argument after disagreeing on her service motion or her footwork, which will always be her downfall when she’s exhausted, or any other aspect of her game. That’s what happens when your coach is not only your couch but also your older brother.

“I’m not going to say that. You’re in the quarterfinals. You play against Svitolina, who you have an excellent record against, and then in the semis, it could go either way with French or Stephens. That’s who we’re worried about. We’re not thinking about the finals until we’re in the finals.”

“I’m not thinking about just the finals. I’m thinking about the fact that I played Madrid, Rome, Roland Garros, Eastbourne, Wimbledon, Washington, here. And now I’m supposed to fly to Rio for the Olympics, then fly to Cincinnati, and then New York. And after New York, we almost immediately fly to Beijing, and it doesn’t stop. I get, what? A month and a half off, but it’s not really off time because we spend that time fixing everything for next season. The only way I get a break is if I lose or I get injured, and I don’t want either of those things.”

Emma’s chest heaves as she finishes speaking, the words flying out faster than her mind can come up with them as she runs through her tournament schedule, and David doesn’t blink. He stares at her like he always does, and sometimes she swears it’s like staring at a male version of herself. And she knows what’s coming. She always does. David never got to play past college, the professional circuit too much for his body, and he always pulls the card of how much he would give to be playing right now, to be in her position. She gets it. If she was in his position, she would do the same thing, but right now, all she really wants is to cry.

“You have worked too hard to quit, Emma,” David sighs, giving her a patented big-brother condescending stare. “You are not going to quit. I know this part of the season is rough, but you push through it every year. And imagine how good it’s going to feel when you have a gold medal around your neck or when you have that US Open trophy in your hands. You don’t get to play forever, and you’re the one who said that you weren’t quitting when everyone would have easily expected it. Do you want to prove them right?”

Emma moves in the bath, sinking a little lower, and damn, her sports bra is going to be impossible to get off. Her gaze shifts from David to the TV where ESPN commentators are sitting at a desk, her Nike-approved picture on the screen beside them. They run through the stats of her match and then her overall career stats. She’s twenty-eight, which is apparently at the end of her career according to them, world number seven, which is also abysmal to them somehow, and she is not living up to her potential when she is a former world number one, six-time grand slam champion, and a gold medalist from four years ago in London.

She groans and tries not to think about how much she hates all the people who work for ESPN. They have their favorites and the ones they hate, and since she is not a mediocre American male or one of the all-time greats, she’s somewhere in between. Usually, she doesn’t listen to the comments, to the pundits, to the assholes. She tries to stay away from that because it will drive her into a deep state of negativity, but lately, it’s like she can’t get enough of listening to what people say about her as if it is going to give her some kind of insight to her game.

She doesn’t crave their validation, but maybe, in a twisted way, she does.

“She gave birth sixteen months ago,” Mary Jo sighs. “She came back a year after giving birth. She is not going to be who she was before she had a child. The fact that she’s won enough this year to be in the top ten is amazing when she started with no ranking since there are no tour protections for maternity leave. She’s a champion, and sometimes champions struggle as they get their form back.”

“Sixteen months is a long damn time,” Patrick says, and Emma’s vagina would beg to differ. “She should be back to how she was or she shouldn’t be playing.”

“Have you given birth, Patrick? Because unless you have, I don’t think you get a say.”

“It’s my job to say what I think.”

“Still, I think – ”

The television clicks off, and Emma’s gaze finds its way back to David. “We’re not listening to them. It’ll piss you off. Mary Jo is right. You’re doing amazing, and I don’t want you to forget that.”

Emma doesn’t know if she’s doing amazing, doesn’t feel that way a lot of the time. This job is hard enough, to kill your body while also having the eyes of the world on you, but adding in a baby? It’s nearly impossible. A few other women have done it before her, not all with spectacular returns or returns at all, and she wants to keep getting better and play for long enough that Olivia will be able to see her mom play and remember it.

She’s not just doing it for herself. She’s doing it for her daughter, whose entrance into the world was unplanned, terrifying, and the best damn thing to ever happen to Emma even if she doubts herself in motherhood every day.

“I miss her,” Emma whispers to David, reaching up to play with her necklace, Olivia’s initials engraved in the gold circle. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it two more weeks without seeing her.”

“Do you want me to get Mary Margaret to FaceTime you with her? They’ve been watching your match at home.”

“No, no.” She shakes her head and releases the pendant, her resolve back as she inhales and focuses on her job. “Let’s do the rest of my recovery and talk about the match. I’ll call them when we get back to the hotel. I don’t want to get my mind too much out of the game.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

-/-

She wins her next match. And the next.

She loses in the final.

It stings more than her losses usually do, and there have been a hell of a lot of them, but she wanted to win another premiere event. She’s only been winning small events so far this year and making it to the later stages of the bigger events, but she keeps falling short when it’s time for her to push herself over the limit. Emma knows that her time will come, but she’s exhausted.

-/-

She flies to Rio with the rest of the American team who were playing in Montreal and Toronto, and she sleeps the entire ride down.

It’s the most sleep she’s gotten since she gave birth.

-/-

The 2012 Olympics felt familiar for Emma. The matches happened at Wimbledon, a place she’s known since she was sixteen years old and has watched on TV since she was even younger than that. Tennis players were isolated from the rest of the sports and events, and they all stayed in their usual rented houses and apartments instead of the Village or other hotels. Rio is different and completely unfamiliar. She’s staying in the Village, and while the amenities aren’t the best, the spirit of the Games are everywhere. She’s seeing athletes she’s only ever seen on TV before, meeting dozens of people whose names quickly slip out of her mind no matter how hard she tries to keep them there, and it’s impossible not to get excited to see all of these great athletes gathered together.

When she was a kid sitting in a foster home with David, the two of them wondering if they’d ever have a forever home, they would watch reruns of the Olympics on the TV, just waiting for the live ones to come around. It was an escape to get to watch people only a few years older than them doing these great things, and even after Ruth adopted them and paid for them to play sports, they never could have imagined being here.

Emma, sitting on a park bench outside with prestigious gymnasts walking in front of her, still can’t imagine it, and she’s literally here.

“Am I allowed to sit here or is that considered fraternizing with the enemy?”

Emma glances up and sees Killian Jones already sliding onto the bench in front of her. He’s darker than the last time she saw him in person, his hair longer, teeth possibly whiter, and he definitely hasn’t shaved in a few too many days. But the cocky, almost a little too arrogant, smile is the same, and even if she said no, he would still sit across from her. She knows him well enough to know that now.

“As far as I’m aware, you’re not playing mixed doubles, so I don’t think you count as an enemy.”

“Ah, but, love, Americans and Brits have been enemies since the beginning. That doesn’t change here.”

“Everyone else gets along. You’re just a competitive ass.”

“Indeed I am.” He wiggles his brows and leans forward, smirk stretched across his lips. “So, I was handed a bag full of Olympic-themed condoms when I checked in. Would you like to go try them out?”

“Shut up,” Emma laughs, kicking his leg. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Too many things to count.” He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest, muscles ever-so-slightly bulging underneath his Team Great Britain t-shirt. She’s wearing a similar one with USA emblazoned in the biggest font she’s ever seen. Not a lot of subtly going on at the moment. “Where’s Ruby? David? Any of the other Americans? Shouldn’t you all be eating or practicing or doing something besides sitting on a bench by the water?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“Touché, Swan. Touché. Will and I were on the way to eat, but I saw you and got distracted. I don’t have practice until later. Rob is forcing me to give myself a break so I don’t exhaust myself after Toronto.”

“Well, you do have old bones.”

“Oi, I am thirty-two and at the top of my game. How many people can say that?”

“Anyone who is not an athlete.”

Killian shrugs and tilts his head to the side, rolling his shoulders. He’s right, though. Killian is playing better than he ever has. He’s always been good ever since he was touted to be Great Britain’s next big thing. She watched for years as the British media slagged him off for not having won Wimbledon despite having won the other majors two times around, but six years ago, he won after a five-hour, grueling match and fell onto the ground. The image was everywhere, and now, every time she’s in London or Wimbledon, that image lines the walls. It’s how she felt when she won the US Open. All of the major are special, but winning your home one, if you’re lucky enough to have one, is something else. And now Killian is world number one once more, has won two majors in a row with several premiere events in between, and with his form, she can’t imagine him losing.

But that’s why you lace up the sneakers. You never know what’s going to happen.

She’s been around the game long enough to know that.

Killian too.

Their paths have crossed for years, mostly because they have the same sponsors and do a lot of promotional events together, but the more they both started winning, the more they’d see each other at tournaments and dinners and everything in between. It’s a busy life, and while there’s time to make friends outside of tennis, sometimes it’s easier to find people in the industry.

She’s not entirely sure she would call Killian Jones a friend.

“Have you eaten, love?” he asks.

“Not yet.” On cue, her stomach growls, and he smirks, not that he really stopped.

“Why don’t you come with me? You can sit with us before we take the bus to the courts for training.”

“What happened to fraternizing with the enemy?”

He leans forward and winks. “For you, I’ll make an exception.”

Emma laughs but nods and stands with Killian as they walk to the main dining hall. It’s packed, the room echoing with conversation and laughter, and Emma and Killian are stopped several times to take pictures and sign autographs, something she will never get used to, before they sit down with Will, Rob, and several other plays from all around the world. For a minute, it’s like they’re in their usual bubble that they live in for the rest of the year with only tennis players around, but then Emma sees Usain Bolt walk by and she knows they’re not.

This is weird.

This is wonderful.

This is almost everything.

-/-

The Opening Ceremonies are long and sometimes boring, and she hates the outfit she has to wear, but she doesn’t know if she’ll get to do this again in four years so she savors it.

She savors it all, walking side by side with Ruby, Ashley, and Anna, and she takes all of it in before her mind switches to work-mode as she runs through her opponent for her first match. The nerves have been pushed down in favor of the experience, but they’re back and in full-force.

She cannot lose in the first round.

-/-

She doesn’t. -/-

She doesn’t lose her next few matches either.

-/-

Emma’s made it to the quarterfinals in both singles and doubles with Ruby after several days of long matches and struggling to see the ball – whoever thought making a fully green court with green side walls for tennis has obviously never played tennis, and she never wants to play on center court again – and she knows she’s one win away from guaranteeing that she plays in a medal-winning match.

It’s a relief and pressure all at once, something she’ll never grow used to, and as the sun sets and the village begins to get loud, Emma sits on her balcony watching the fountains in the lake light up. Ruby is off with Mulan somewhere Emma would rather not know about and will probably not be back to their room until at least tomorrow morning if the look on Ruby’s face was any indication, so Emma thinks she might get a little time to sit down and breathe for a moment, watching different events on TV. She could go watch them, but she doesn’t think her legs will carry her there.

Until her phone buzzes with a text that she quickly answers, and not three minutes later, there’s a knock at her door.

Emma quickly opens it, pulling him inside, and Killian kicks the door closed behind him as he cups her cheeks and kisses her, long and slow but with enough heat simmering below the surface that Emma knows there could be a promise of more later.

She’s seen him nearly every day for the past week, but she’s missed him.

She’s missed this.

His mouth moves expertly over hers in a rhythm that’s been practiced to perfection, and she feels dizzy with his kiss and holds onto his hair to keep her standing up. The Brazilian summer air wafts through the room, coating it in a thick heat, but Emma doesn’t pay any attention to that as heat curls between her thighs, warming her more than the air ever could. Her legs ache from the match, her arms feel heavy, but Killian makes her forget those things as he lays her down on the bed and kisses every inch of her body, spending time with his dark head of hair buried beneath her thighs until she can no longer speak.

Until she can scarcely breathe as well.

She manages to laugh, though, when he pulls out one of the condoms that has the Olympics logo on it, and she and Killian makes jokes about it as he slides into her, a thick sheath of heat that she never gets used to. It’s slow at first, a gentle rocking that keeps her teetering on the edge, but their bodies are tired and worn, and soon, it’s a race to the finish line.

Emma comes in first, not that it matters.

(But it does feel good to beat him.)

(They’re both competitive asses.)

(Even when they shouldn’t be.)

After, they’re both slick with sweat that doesn’t go away as their bodies press together on the small twin bed. Emma almost wishes she had rented a house outside the village like David and some of the other coaches did, but she doesn’t want to give up the experience. And it’s fine, especially as Killian shifts behind her and lets her settle into him, her hips pressing back into his as his arm wraps around to rest on her stomach, fingers occasionally searching out for her breast.

Emma is exhausted, but this is the best she’s felt in weeks.

(She definitely couldn’t walk to any of the events now, and she did want to see Phelps swim.)

“You played bloody fantastic in your doubles match today.”

“Not my singles?”

“I played at the same time as you. I didn’t get a chance to watch.”

Emma hums and leans further back into him. She’s glad Killian did most of the work because just thinking about how much she’s got to move again tomorrow is making her sore. “I played well there too. Straight sets.”

“Atta girl.” His lips press into her neck, stubble scratching across the skin. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh, that’s always dangerous.”

Killian laughs but nudges his knee into her, which really only settles his cock between her ass, but she’s too tired to think of doing anything else. “I’ve been thinking,” he continues, “that I’m going to withdraw from Cincinnati and fly home instead.”

“To London?”

“To Palm Beach. I think it might be nice to have a calm week between tournaments to spend time with my girlfriend.”

“Oh really? You’ll have to tell her your plan. I’m sure she’d like that.”

Killian tickles her stomach, making her squirm, before he lightly pinches her side. “Mhm. I thought we might also like to spend time with our daughter since FaceTime isn’t cutting it for me anymore. I swear she’s grown three feet since I last saw her.”

“Four, I think. She’s basically a full-grown adult now with all that walking and talking she’s doing.”

“Has she said any new words I’m not aware of?”

“Nope. She still can only say the three.”

“Good. I’m glad I didn’t miss anything else.” Killian kisses the side of Emma’s neck again, and she twists around, wrapping her arms around him and pressing their noses together as she stares into blue, blue eyes that aren’t diminished by the darkened room. “I think we should bring her to New York with us. Hopefully at least one of us will be there for three weeks, and that’s just too long to go without her.”

“We’re staying in a hotel in New York. In two separate suites, I might add.”

“But we don’t have to.”

“Killian…”

His hand brushes down her side, warmth permeating from the rough fingertips, before it rests on her hip, thumb moving in soothing circles. “I’ve already called and seen if they could give me the Penthouse. It’s an entire floor with private entrances and a private elevator. Our teams can stay with us or they can stay in the original suites we were designated. I know you bring her with you when you can and that I sneak in visits, but I want to be able to stay with my daughter.”

This isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation, and if she doesn’t say yes to it, it won’t be the last.

Things between she and Killian are complicated. They’re relationship isn’t, not anymore. At first, she couldn’t stand him, thought he was genuinely this cocky asshole from the way he talked in matches and in off-court interviews, like he was God’s gift to the sport or something. Then they ended up both winning in Australia four years ago, and while doing press together, she saw a different, kinder side to him that she hadn’t previously seen when they worked together in Nike promotions.

Fast forward through a lot of early morning calls, late night rendezvous in their hotel rooms, and a heck of a lot of texts and FaceTime sessions, and somewhere along the way, the impenetrable Emma Swan fell in love with the impossible Killian Jones.

They kept it secret, the both of them knowing how vicious the media is to athletes that date each other, especially since Killian was going through a wrist injury that was somehow his fault according to the pundits and that he was getting hounded pretty hard at the time. They didn’t know if it was going to work, neither of them having stellar relationship records, but they figured eventually they would be okay with the world knowing.

Then came the positive pregnancy test, and Emma’s entire world shifted.

She was at the top of her game, at the top of her world, and as hard as it is for her to admit now, she didn’t want Olivia. She wanted to keep living her life the way it was. That was a possibility but not one she was willing to take, so she stopped playing but kept training as she and Killian figured out how they were going to do this.

They’re never home, rarely together, and they were both way out of their leagues. It would have been easier to tell the world they were together, that Killian was the father, but Olivia’s protection is worth more than their ease.

Now, though, looking at the crease between Killian’s brow and the sadness pooled in his eyes, she wonders if they’re doing the right thing.

“I know. I’m sorry. I – ” Emma’s lips quiver, and she nearly cries. She’s exhausted beyond belief and doesn’t know what to do, so she buries her face in Killian’s neck and wraps her arms around him. “Can we talk about this on the plane ride home?”

Emma says home as if they’re going to the same place after this. They’re not. But maybe she should listen to Killian and take the break she’s been craving.

“Aye, love, if that’s what you want.”

She nods and feels his lips ghost over the crown of her hair. “I want to lay here with you and not think about tennis or make hard decisions.”

“You want to talk about how bloody uncomfortable this bed is?”

Emma laughs. “It really makes you miss those awful ones in Paris.”

“You had to ask for a new one.”

“It was so worth it.”

-/-

They FaceTime Olivia in the morning. Mary Margaret has her in a matching outfit to Emma’s uniform, and Killian scoffs that she’s representing America instead of Great Britain.

Emma thinks it’s the best thing in the world, and it reminds her who she’s playing for.

It’s not for her country, not for herself. It’s for her daughter.

Their daughter.

-/-

The next two days drag by and yet she has a difficult time keeping up with them. Her practices are long, recovery longer as her shoulders are massaged and legs are iced, and Ruby has to drag her out onto the court for doubles when all she wants to do is sleep. She’s not used to playing this many matches in such a short period of time, and while having Ruby on court with her helps lessen how much she runs, her legs are still aching.

She’s almost to the finish line. She can make it.

“Those legs are too pretty for you to be dragging them like that,” Ruby jokes as they sit down during a changeover in the third set of their quarterfinal match. Emma reaches for her energy drink and takes a sip before biting into a banana while Ruby shakes her legs.

“I can’t make them move.”

“Yes, you can,” Ruby insists. “You already won your singles today, and we’re four games away from winning this match. I will kick your ass if we don’t win this.”

“Can you kick my ass if it’s already kicked?”

“I can indeed.” Ruby pats Emma’s knees and smiles. “Come on, hot mama. We’ve got this.”

And it’s tough, but they do.

Emma and Ruby go through recovery, and when Emma checks her watch, she sees that Killian’s match is just about to start.

“Do you want to get a bus across the grounds and go watch swimming?” Ruby asks her as David massages her calf. It’s not his job, so he obviously can’t stop complaining about doing it.

“I think I want to watch Killian’s match. Can we get seats in the stadium? Is his box empty?”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” David asks her as her muscle spasms.

“If we all go, it won’t be suspicious. He’s playing Sam, so they might think we’re supporting the Americans.”

“Aren’t we?”

Her eyes roll. “Not in this situation. Come on. Text Rob and see if we can get into Killian’s box.”

David levels her with a stare, and she knows he’s going to say no, that it’s a bad idea. But then he releases her leg and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

They end up going still dressed in their match clothes, and Emma puts on a sweatshirt, a cap, and sunglasses to hide herself as much as possible. She knows it won’t work considering she’s literally wearing the outfit she has worn all week, but she can at least try. It’s been years since she’s gotten to watch one of Killian’s matches from somewhere other than the locker room or her hotel room, and she’s missed the magic of watching him play. He’s fluid with his motions, even if they are slower than they used to be, and his groundstrokes are powerful from the baseline. She knows from the moment that she sits down that he’s winning this match. She can tell by the way he’s carrying himself and the determination in his eyes. She grabs her phone and snaps a picture just as he looks her way, brow raised in question but a smile on his lips.

-/-

Killian wins his match, and she finds him in the tunnel afterward, his team creating a wall around them, and wraps her arms around him, not caring that they are both disgustingly sweaty or around other people.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“And I you.” The corner of his lips brush against her temple. “You’re amazing, Emma. Bloody amazing.”

“You too, my love.”

-/-

Emma wins the semifinals of both of her matches.

Killian wins his.

They’re both playing in gold medal matches – Emma definitely brags about how she’s playing two while Killian is only playing one – and she wants to vomit.

Holy shit.

-/-

“Say hi to your mommy,” Mary Margaret tells Olivia as Olivia keeps smacking her hand on the screen. “Your mom and dad are there trying to talk to you, Livvie.”

Emma leans her head onto Killian’s shoulder as they both stare into the screen waiting for Olivia to move her hand. She does with some help from Mary Margaret, and then bright green eyes show up. She has Emma’s eyes and dirty blonde hair that’s thick and wavy, but everything else about her screams Killian, especially her smile. Emma has missed that smile.

“Hello, little love.” Killian waves and tries to get her attention, but she couldn’t care less. “Don’t you want to talk to us?”

She makes a noise that isn’t a word, and Mary Margaret sighs. “I’m sorry. She’s been asking about you two, but now that you’re there, she doesn’t care. I tried to tell her what a big deal the two of you were, but she doesn’t care.”

“I’ll have to tell her how incredible her mother is later. She’s going to be the first women to win two singles golds in a row as well as the first mum to do it. And she’s going to have two more medals than me. Showing me up in every category.”

“That’s assuming you win, Jones. I could have three more gold medals than you.”

“I do love a challenge.”

Olivia starts giggling, Emma’s favorite noise on the planet, and she tries to memorize it to keep with her always. She knows Killian does too.

-/-

Emma’s gold medal matches are the day before Killian’s, and she’s jealous he gets a day off to rest. He tells her he’s going to spend the entire time training, sneaking in and out of other events, and watching her matches. She rolls her eyes at his texts because she’s sure he won’t have time to do all of that.

And yet he does.

She sees him in the stands during her doubles match. Ruby points him out when they’re in the middle of discussing serving spots, and Emma laughs at her calling him “lover boy” in a horrible British accent. She always calls him a ridiculous name, and of the few people who know of Emma’s private life, she’s glad Ruby is one of them.

Even if she’s still laughing and double faults on an important point.

It doesn’t matter, though, because within an hour and fifteen minutes, their shortest match of the tournament, she’s on the court’s floor with Ruby sobbing because they won a fucking gold medal.

She gets so little time to savor it, however, because the medal ceremony happens so quickly that she can barely take It all in. She also has press to do, and David has to practically force her into the media room where she and Ruby are hounded with more questions than congratulation as they clutch onto their medals. Ruby handles it like the pro she is while Emma’s nerves start to get the best of her as more people start talking about what she has on the line.

To be the first man or woman to win two gold singles medals in consecutive Olympics.

To win another gold medal for her country.

To be the first mother since Clijsters to win a major tournament.

To win her first big tournament since her comeback.

To have the possibility to win another gold medal in Tokyo in four years if she’s still playing.

It’s a lot, and she knows it. She’s been thinking about all of it every day this week, and her track record of choking in finals lately is pushing at the forefront of her mind.

She doesn’t know if she can do it.

And yet she does.

She laces up her sneakers, pulls her hair back, and takes a deep breath as she blocks everything out of her mind except for her game plan. She knows how the game is played. She’s been playing since she was twelve years old, and even though that’s a late start compared to most people, it’s gotten her here.

Emma walks out of the tunnel as her name is announced over the speakers, and even though all she can hear is the cheer of the crowd, she lets her mind go back to Olivia’s laugh, Killian’s smile, David’s pep talk, Ruby’s ridiculous texts. She thinks of all the things that push her when she wants to stop, and she reminds herself that no matter what happens, she’s done her best.

She could have given up the moment the stick said “pregnant.” She could have packed it all in, but she didn’t. She’s here, and she’s better than any excuse she could come up with not to be.

People have tried to tell her who she is her entire life, but she’s pushed back and said, “no, this is who I am.” Emma still has to do that now, no matter how many times she has proven herself.

The ice bath in Montreal where she wanted to quit seems years away when it was only eight days.

-/-

Emma looks to Ruby then David then Killian as she takes a deep breath on match point. Killian smiles and gives her a subtle nod, and then she raises the ball in the air, ready to toss it.

-/-

Game. Set. Gold freaking medal.

-/-

Afterward, she falls to the ground, her knees aching as they hit the asphalt, and her body can’t stop shaking with her sobs. She doesn’t know what she feels or how she feels or even where she is, and she only gets up from the ground when she hears her family calling for her. She slowly rises from the ground, runs across the court to congratulate her opponent on playing a good match, and then she’s running to the stands and climbing up with David’s help. She embraces him first. She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. he’s been her rock for her entire life, and he keeps her steady. Then it’s her physio and her agent and Ruby. Then, over to the side, is Killian, and their conversation from a few nights ago comes back to her.

She loves him. She’s proud to be with him. They shouldn’t have to hide their family anymore.

They haven’t exactly been doing a good job of it this week anyway.

So Emma very literally pounces on him, her legs wrapping around his waist, before she remembers that he has a match tomorrow. She can’t miss his back up. He’d never let it go if she did. Her feet fall to the ground, but her arms stay wrapped around Killian’s neck as he whispers words of encouragement and congratulations that she’s always going to keep close to her heart, right next to the necklace with the initials O-S-J on them.

Two people thousands of miles apart were brought together by chances, a whole myriad of them. If Ruth hadn’t adopted Emma and David, they never would have picked up a racket. If Emma had never picked up a racket, she wouldn’t have found her purpose in this world. She wouldn’t have a job or a daughter or a man who loves her in spite of how hard she is to love. There was so much that could have derailed her, both good and bad, and while she could say none of it matters, in some way, it all does.

Because it led her here.

And she doesn’t want to be anywhere else even if she would give anything to be able to hug Olivia right now.

“You did so good, Swan,” Killian whispers, his voice the only one she hears.

“I know.”

He pulls back, and there are tears in his eyes that mirror her own. “So, I guess I have to win tomorrow so your bragging rights don’t get too big.”

“Oh, Jones, you are never catching up with me now,” she teases, all of the exhaustion melting away. “I’m miles ahead of you, but you better win. Olivia doesn’t need to be embarrassed by her dad.”

“Pretty sure that’s my job.”

“Right now, your only job is to help me back down onto the court and then go win yourself a gold medal.”

“Don’t tell the presses you’re rooting for a Brit.”

Emma shrugs as Killian thumbs away tears underneath her eyes. “I don’t care anymore, and I’m definitely going to be sitting in your box tomorrow, cheering louder than anyone else.”

-/-

When Killian wins the next night after a torturous four hours, his fall is almost identical to Emma’s. Though, when he climbs into the stands to get to the box, he immediately goes for Emma, cupping her cheeks and kissing her for the entire world to see.

“I guess I’ll have to figure out a way to embarrass our daughter in another way.”

“I think her parents making out on international TV might do just that.”

-/-

Two days after they get home – they spent the entire first day sleeping and holding Olivia – Emma puts on her three gold medals, Killian puts on his one, and they hold Olivia in between them, her toothy smile brighter than the gold as the photo is taken.

Olivia Swan-Jones has a pretty cool mom and a dad who has some catching up to do in the gold medal department.

It’s Emma’s most liked picture on Instagram, not that she cares about any of those things, and it’s the biggest news story for three days straight despite the literal Olympics still happening.

All Emma cares about, though, is that she has a week off – she opted out of Cincinnati after all, despite David’s protests – she can spend with her family before she and Killian are off to New York where the pressure will be the highest it’s ever been and the media will most likely be losing their shit over Emma and Killian’s announcements.

Olivia will be with her, Killian too, and in the end, that’s all that matters.

Oh, that, and the fact that Emma Swan is officially back, and it feels damn good.

-/-

Thanks for reading, my friends! Can’t wait for those 2021 Olympics 🤞and learning about sports I’ve still somehow never heard of. And if you want to talk to me about tennis, I’m fully here to talk about Rafael Nadal’s biceps and how his game is underrated despite being one of the most dominant athletes of all time 💚😂

#walking the baseline #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs olympics #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #captain swan #csow

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auroras-blend · 3 years

Text

First Day of School

Summary: AU one-shot of what would have happened if the Marks had won the custody battle. Told in Marilyn's POV

Sunlight peeked through the curtains and cast onto an empty bed, unusual since its occupant rarely woke up before then. No, instead little Miss Marilyn Winslow woke up with the birds who were singing joyfully outside and for once, she didn’t hiss at their loudness. Her mood reflected their demeanor as she whistled and sang along with them.

Marilyn clasped the white buckle to her mary-janes, before straightening in front of her mirror. Perfect! Her outfit was the most important thing that morning. It took her mind off of her nerves because she had a very big task in front of her: the first day of school. It was her first, first day of school since her Mama had passed and while the ache was there, she refused to go in sad. I have to make a good impression!

If there was one thing her Mama at least always tried to do, it was to make sure she looked good on the first day of school. Of course on their budget, most of the time it had been from the thrift store but once in first grade, she got a new dress. This year, Mrs. Marks offered to let her pick out her own and buy it new, but Marilyn insisted on going to the thrift store for a new dress or “slightly used” because that’s what she and Mama did. The old lady who ran the shop was happy to see her once again.

Marilyn, in a way to pay tribute to her mother, wore a green gingham dress because the color always looked so wonderful with her eyes. It was slightly tailored to fix a rip, but it was barely noticeable now. Pleased with her outfit, Marilyn fluffed her blonde curls and tightly set a white headband on her head before nodding in satisfaction and left her room. The smell of sweet maple syrup wafted from the kitchen, leading her like a moth to the flame. The minute her heels clicked on the tile, her parents smiled. “Look at you!” Daddy exclaimed, putting down his paper, “Look at how beautiful you are!”

Mrs. Marks smiled, “You’re a dream!”

Her mommy briefly abandoned plating the pancakes in exchange for coming to see her daughter’s first day of school outfit. “Thank you,” Marilyn blushed.

“You’re going to have such a good day, I know it,” Mommy said surely as she kissed Marilyn on the forehead.

It was rough for a long time, it still was, after her Mama died. Marilyn still longed for her real daddy, not that she’d ever tell Mr. Marks that, but the ache in her heart and mind started to dull. The small family sat around their table and said their prayers. “And Lord, please give Marilyn a wonderful first day of school,” Daddy said lastly, “Amen.”

“Amen,” she and Mommy finished before they began eating.

As they had their breakfast, Mommy went over the pick-up and drop-off routine. Marilyn knew it, they had been doing it since she started living with them. “We’ll both take you today, we don’t want to miss your first day,” cooed Mommy, “But Daddy will pick you up and take you with him to the church where you’ll be with me in the daycare for the last hour, okay?”

“Okay,” she said pleasantly, her mouth full of sticky, sweet, fluffy pancakes.

Her nerves were high, wondering if she’d be in the same class as Rodney Lord again or if she’d spend another year friendless, but she always felt that way on the first day. Mama, please help me have a good time. She wiped her stinging nose before anyone could notice, I don’t wanna be the class crier this year. She’d been on a pretty good no crying streak this summer, of course, there were days where she did, but it hadn’t been as often as before.

In all honesty, she would have preferred her summer to last a little longer with the Marks because she had truly been happy. Marilyn felt like she was finally part of a normal family, nourished in warmth and affection that she hadn’t ever received before. And she was so excited to share that when people asked her what she did that summer because she finally had a fun and exciting answer! They had been to the county fair, the fireworks show, went to Baltimore for some conference Mr. Marks had to go to, but it had been a real family vacation!

It had been a relaxing time as she got to know her new parents and their daily routines. She loved waking up early some mornings, yes I know, I liked it and sneaking to sit with her daddy and color as he read through his Bible before helping her Mommy make breakfast. Breakfast used to be a meal she had to forgo, but now every day started at the table. Life was structured and comfortable, and as if to prove it, the clock struck right when she swallowed her last piece of pancake to fill her belly before school.

“Oh, finish your milk, we’ve gotta go!” Mrs. Marks said as she got up, clearing the plates as Mr. Marks went to get their coats, keys, and Marilyn’s backpack.

Cupping her glass with both hands, she guzzled it down as she watched her parents scurry to get ready before she let out a refreshing “ah” and handed it over to Mrs. Marks. “Kay peanut, ready?” Mr. Marks asked as he helped her out of her seat and into her dark green coat and new leather satchel.

That’s right, it’s new! They let her pick out her own backpack that year and she swore to keep it clean and safe at all costs. You’re on a mission, Miss Marilyn! “Hey,” Mr. Marks leaned down, “Still on for ice cream?”

She grinned and nodded, “Uh-huh!”

He gave her an agreeing nod. Mr. Marks said it would be their “thing”, every year at the end of the first day of school and last day of school, they’d get ice cream and talk about her day. They did it the previous year on her last day and it was one of her favorite memories, one that she tucked away and pulled out whenever she was feeling particularly sad. Mr. Marks gently reached for her hand and his wife for the other and walked out to the car together, ready to start her on her next adventure.

The ride was too short and too long all at once. They chatted but when they parked, amid the flurry of walking children and their parents, she frowned. When they noticed she’d become silent, they turned around, “You’re going to have a great day!”

“I-I’m gonna miss you…I don’t want to go,” she said, sounding like a frog was caught in her throat.

“Oh peanut, you’re gonna have so much fun though. You’ll make new friends, have a new teacher, and you’ve been practicing your reading all summer so you’re all caught up!” Mr. Marks reassured her.

“What if people make fun of me?”

“They won’t,” Mrs. Marks said firmly, “And if they do, they’re not worth being around.”

Since the adoption, people had been nicer to her but she was still nervous. “I-I’ve never not had...my Mama,” she said.

It was starting to hurt again. “Your Mama is still here, watching over you. You’ve got me, Daddy, and your mom up in heaven. Three adults who love you, that’s a lot.”

“God too,” Daddy added.

He has to say that. He’s a pastor. With a little more confidence knowing she had more people in her corner, she was able to step out of the car when the pastor opened it for her. Hand in hand, matching all of the other families with their children, they walked her to the front of the third-grade doors. “This is it,” Mrs. Marks said, “You’re going to do so well!”

Her adults kneeled down and gave her a big hug and wet kisses on her cheek, though her Mommy gave her more. “I love you so much,” she whispered into her ear.

“I love you too Mommy,” Marilyn said, hugging her tightly.

“And your other Mama loves you too,” Mrs. Marks added.

“Thank you,” Marilyn whispered.

The fact that Mrs. Marks never tried to bury her Mama’s memory, meant the world to her. After another proper minute, the bell rang and the students congregated to their assigned lines. Marilyn bravely and confidently walked to her own, head held up high. I can do this! Have a growth mindset.

Her head did turn to see her parents waving goodbye to her before she was forced to move forward in line to the doors. When she passed the threshold, she became an official third-grader at Summerfield Elementary. Showtime.

The first few moments were chaotic as her teacher, a woman with dark black hair styled in a flick-up, directed students to put their items away on the coat rack. Marilyn was already in awe, the woman was incredibly beautiful with warm hazel almond-shaped eyes that made her feel comfortable. And the way her teacher was looking at her, she knew she’d already become a favorite of hers. Marilyn gave her a shy smile and wave before turning to find her desk, looking for her name tag: Marilyn Marks.

Part of her was thrilled that her last name was Marks, but she didn't know how to cope with not being Winslow. She already knew it was naughty, but she resolved to lightly trace the name Winslow underneath it later. To honor Mama. “Boys and girls, take your seats!” her teacher instructed, clapping her hands together.

Marilyn slid into the hard wooden seat and squirmed for a bit, before looking around. No Rodney Lord! Yesss! “I like your dress,” whispered a girl next to her.

She had dark red hair tied back into pigtail braids. Marilyn glanced at her name, Sara Barnes. “Thank you, I like your sweater,” she said sweetly as her eyes appreciated the blue cardigan.

“I’m new, wanna play with me at recess?”

Marilyn’s heart uplifted! “Okay!”

A friend! I can go and tell daddy I have a new friend after school! “I’m Sara.”

“I’m Marilyn,” she said as they quickly shook hands.

“Alright, settle down! Give me zero voices in 3,2,1!” her teacher said as a hush fell upon the classroom.

Marilyn’s soft green eyes landed on her beautiful teacher. Her teacher was a glamorous woman who wore a dark blue dress, as sharp as her cheekbones.

“I am so happy to see you all here today!” she cooed, clapping her hands together before picking up a piece of chalk, “I am your new teacher! You may call me...”

She began to spell out the letters: M-i-s-s. Miss. S-a-g-e-s-s-e. Sagesse.

“Miss Sagesse,” she said, making brief direct eye contact with Marilyn, “Welcome to 3rd grade.”

She knew it was too early, but Marilyn allowed herself to smile at the promising start of her first day back at school.

#marilyn winslow #emilie marks #john marks #princess aurora #au to the au #bonus chapter #?

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suitofvibraniumarmor · 4 years

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If You Just Realized

Part Nine: A Little Overwhelmed

Summary: The day after the wedding, Y/N has lunch with Kennedy; Sebastian and Milena have a surprise for her. Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader Word Count: 1910 (excluding translations) Series Warnings: Death, angst, sadness. Lots of creative licensing, I’m sure. Chapter Warnings: Sex talk between friends (nothing detailed), feels. Square Filled: This entire series will fill my realized feelings square for @marvelfluffbingo. A/N: I’ve much enjoyed writing this series, and I hope all of you enjoy reading it! The tag list is open; requests to be added can be done so here. There are bits and pieces of Romanian throughout the series, mostly from Google Translate and the few things I’ve picked up as I learn the language.

Series Masterlist

“So, did you get laid last night?”

Y/N laughed at Kennedy’s wiggling eyebrows. “It’s not that kind of marriage, Ken, remember?”

She rolled her eyes. “I just figured maybe the wedding would have given you two some reason to celebrate or something. I know it’s been a while for you —”

“Hey!”

“And I don’t know about Sebastian but the guy’s been through a lot, he could stand to blow off some steam.” She took a bite of her salad. “Anyway, I really appreciate that you took time to meet me for lunch before I’m back to the West Coast. We don’t see each other nearly enough as it is, and with you in New York indefinitely …”

Y/N sighed and sipped at her iced tea. “You’ll just have to come visit when you can. I’ll do the same. Seb and I can bring Milena out —”

When she realized what she was saying, she stopped and cleared her throat. She couldn’t think of anything to cover for what she had just said, so she shoved a too-big bite of club sandwich in her mouth instead. Kennedy raised her brow and shook her head.

“Why won’t you even admit it to me, Y/N/N? Even a little bit? You can have feelings for Seb without being full-on in love with him, you know.”

She only shook your head. “No, it isn’t — see, honestly, I have never thought about him like that. Ever. He’s one of my best friends and I can be myself around him and count on him, and that was enough. More than enough. But then all of this started happening and he asked me to marry him and … and …”

If Kennedy’s brow went any higher, her eyebrows and her hair were going to get tangled together. “And what?”

“And last night, in the hotel room, we — it was just kissing, okay? He was just out of the shower, I needed help with my zipper. And he stopped it because he didn’t want me to think he was trying to get anything more out of this than what we’ve already established.” You drew in a slow, shaky breath. “So, if we’re just friends, why did I want it so bad? Why did I want him so bad? I’m pretty sure it had nothing to do with how long it’s been, before you say anything about that.”

Kennedy giggled. “I know this has nothing to do with that. Me trying to get you to open up about what you’re feeling towards Sebastian is not some sappy romance thing because the two of you got married and are going to parent this little girl together. I want you to really understand what you’re getting into — a short-term marriage that’s going to end in an agreed-upon divorce with someone who means more to you than only being one of your best friends.”

“But it’s never been like this before.”

“Sometimes … sometimes we need a push to help us see where we’re meant to be,” Kennedy shrugged. “Is that as close to admission I’m gonna get you?”

“This trip, anyway,” Y/N smirked. “I’m still trying to process all of this, I think.”

Kennedy finished off her salad then, giving her a few minutes to think. When the waiter came, she took care of the bill.

“Shittiest wedding present ever,” she joked, “but I also flew out here last minutes so, that counts, right?”

Y/N nodded and laughed. “Absolutely. Thank you, Kennedy. For being here and for — for everything.”

She smiled. “Anytime, friend.”

When Y/N returned to the apartment, Milena came running towards the door, blocking Y/N from going any further than the front door.

“Finally!” Milena screeched.

Y/N lifted the little girl into her arms. “Finally? Have you been waiting so long for me to come home?”

Milena nodded her head and grinned. “A surprise!”

“Hey, hey, don’t be giving away our secrets,” Sebastian laughed, coming into the room. He put a hand on Milena’s back and leaned over to kiss Y/N’s forehead. “I know you just got back, but if you’re up for a little drive, we’ll leave early before we meet everyone at my parents’ house for supper.”

Y/N shrugged. “Sure, I’m okay with that. Let me touch up my face and I’ll be ready to go.”

Milena wiggled down from her hold to go and retrieve her shoes when Sebastian instructed; Y/N headed to the bathroom to touch up her makeup. She was putting more lip gloss on when Milena wandered in, shoes on her feet and a jacket added to her outfit.

“Uncle Seb said ’s cold.”

Y/N nodded. “It’s kinda chilly — I’m going to put a jacket on, too.”

“Can I have some of that?” Milena’s finger pointed to the gloss Y/N was re-capping.

She crouched down to Milena’s level and put the tiniest amount on the toddler’s lips. Milena sat very still while the gloss was applied and pointed to the mirror when Y/N was done.

“Look at those pretty girls,” Sebastian smiled, leaning into the bathroom. “You ready to go?”

“I think so. How about you, princess, you ready?”

Milena nodded, then wrapped her arms around Y/N’s neck in as strong an embrace as she could manage. “Iubes.” [Te iubesc = I love you]

It wasn’t one-hundred percent correct Romanian, but the adults knew what she meant. Y/N snuggled against the toddler, meeting Sebastian’s eyes. She couldn’t read the emotions there, so she closed her eyes and answered Milena honestly.

“Te iubesc mai malt.” [I love you more.]

The drive to their destination was mostly silent, except for a Disney soundtrack playing and Milena quietly singing along when she thought she knew the words. Y/N wanted to reach for Sebastian’s hand and hold tight, for comfort. Before, she would have done that without question. Now, after what had happened in the hotel room, she was too worried about Sebastian thinking she saw something in their relationship that wasn’t there. Instead, she kept her hands in her jacket pockets and stared out the window for most of the ride.

“I thought we had somewhere else to go before your parents’ house?” she asked, realizing they were in the same neighborhood where Anthony and Georgeta lived.

“We do,” Sebastian confirmed.

He didn’t offer any more information, so she kept her further questions to herself. A couple of minutes later, they pulled into the drive of a pretty house — one Y/N didn’t recognize. Sebastian got Milena out of her seat while Y/N stepped out of the car and took a good look at the house.

“What is this?”

Sebastian only took her hand and smiled, balancing Milena on his other hip. He walked them up to the front porch, took a key from his pocket, and let them in the front door.

The place was large and blocked off from street view by a line of trees; the land was extensive. The construction and decor was all contemporary and well cared-for. The bedrooms were large, each had its own walk-in closet. The master bath boasted a tub she already couldn’t wait to sink into. At the back of the house, the shaded patio led to a swimming pool, and a koi pond even, beyond that. Despite the size of the house and its amenities, the place felt very homey — cozy, even. She wandered back through the slider, meeting Sebastian and Milena at the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“I thought maybe it would be good to be close to my parents,” Sebastian began, after Y/N had a chance to see the whole house. “The schools in the area are rated well, and it’s a quiet neighborhood. We can look at something different, if you’d like. Maybe I’ll have this house longer than …” He glanced at Milena, then cleared his throat. “Anyway, I put a bid in so we wouldn’t miss out, but I wanted your input, too.”

Perhaps this wasn’t so different than when he was demanding they decide together about what custody of Milena to ask for in the court filing, but for Y/N, it did wonders for him to so simply state that he wanted her opinion on such a big decision. She took a deep breath; she could picture Milena growing older here. She could picture them having family movie nights here. She could picture Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year’s. Though she knew it wouldn’t ever happen, she could picture late night slow dances with Sebastian in the kitchen and changing one of the extra rooms to a nursery for a baby that would be a perfect mix of both of their features.

Sebastian put a hand at her elbow, pulling her from her reverie. “Hey, if this is too much …”

“No, no, it’s not that, I just,” she fanned herself and chuckled lightly, “I think it’s a little warm in here, yeah?”

His concerned frown didn’t soften. “Bright Eyes?”

How did that, a nickname she had heard a million times, make her feel even more warm? “I’m okay, Seb, promise. I love the house, I really do. So much. And if you love it, since you’re the one keeping it, you should leave the bid. How’d you get the key without being the owner, by the way?”

His frown morphed into a mischievous smirk. “I have my ways. C’mon, girls — let’s get over to Bunica’s before they start to wonder where we are.”

He held Milena’s hand on one side and Y/N’s on the other. At the car, he opened Y/N’s door first, then got Milena settled back into her seat. Y/N watched the house as they drove away, indulging herself on daydreams that were likely to never come true.

She was silent again on the way to his parents’ house, thanks to the daydreams, and was out of the car quick enough to get Milena from the backseat ahead of Sebastian. The girls headed to the porch ahead of him, but he caught up before they got too far.

“You all right? You’ve been flushed since before we left my apartment, you’ve hardly said a word in the car …”

“I’m fine. Probably just tired from the last couple of days.”

She made to move forward with Milena again, but Sebastian caught her by the hand. Georgeta opened the front door with a smile, immediately recognized the tension between the newlyweds, and so she beckoned Milena to the house. When it was only the two of them, Sebastian raised his brow, but Y/N shook her head.

“Hey, c’mon, talk to me,” he pleaded. “Since when do we keep things from each other?”

Y/N sighed and met his eyes again. “I’m not — I don’t want to keep things from you. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, you know? What Milena said before we left, and the house, the wedding. It’s all wonderful, but I think maybe — maybe I’m overwhelmed. I’m okay though, really.”

Sebastian pursed his lips. “If last night —”

“No, don’t even say it,” she interrupted. “I’m not going to let either of us dwell on that and make things awkward. We’ll have a good time with family this evening, I’ll get a good night’s sleep, tomorrow everything will be back to normal. I’m sure of it.”

He held up both of his little fingers. “Double pinky swear?”

She loosened up and laughed, hooking her pinkies with his. “Double pinky swear.”

“Good,” he grinned, taking her by the hand and leading her into the house.

AllOfTheThings: @captain-s-rogers @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @hurricanerin @horsesandbandsforlife @im-not-an-armrest-im-short @captain-rogers-beard @shynara51 @sea040561 @pinknerdpanda @xtina2191 @jackryanplz @beakami @heartsaved @fullprunerebelstatesman @blackwidowismyhomegirl @averyrogers83 @jennmurawski13 @connie326

IYJR: @elsatxx @tanelle83 @amanda-teaches @etherealwaifgoddess @kmuir1 @ntlmundy @jayankles @rebekahdawkins @denise1605 @rhadigen @peace-love-hobbitness @itsallyscorner @mizzzpink @auspiciousharriet @the-murder-strut-murdered-me @learisa @tellmewhatyouwill @katherinereid @lokilokilokilokilokiloki @thewolfsenate

#marvelfluffbingo2020 #sebastian stan #reader insert #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian x reader #queue and i remember budapest very differently

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alliluyevas · 3 years

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back at it again and close reading Mormon scripture but I’m looking at Doctrine and Covenants 25 right now especially in comparison with the significantly later polygamy revelation that I’ve been discussing a lot on here, because these are as far as I am aware the only two revelations that are targeted directly at Emma Smith. They’re really different in tone--D&C 25 is pretty gentle/intimate, while thirteen years later D&C 132 is overtly threatening and honestly quite scary--but I think the central purpose is kind of the same (emotionally/religiously manipulating Emma to set her doubts aside and comply, basically)

A lot of the earliest revelations follow a similar pattern to 25, where a particular disciple is called out by name, critiqued for doing something that is contrary to Joseph Smith’s authority, and then given a mission and uplifted with promises of salvation if they return to the fold. Martin Harris gets a revelation telling him to pay for the publication of the Book of Mormon, Hiram Page gets one telling him to stop claiming he can prophecy using a seeing stone because only Joseph Smith is allowed to do that, etc. (Remember these revelations are being dictated by Joseph Smith channeling the narrative voice of God).

So what does D&C 25 want for Emma? (bolded passages are mine)

A revelation I give unto you concerning my will; and if thou art faithful and walk in the paths of virtue before me, I will preserve thy life, and thou shalt receive an inheritance in Zion. Behold, thy sins are forgiven thee, and thou art an elect lady, whom I have called.

Murmur not because of the things which thou hast not seen, for they are withheld from thee and from the world, which is wisdom in me in a time to come.

I’m interpreting this last bit as referring to Emma asking him if she could see the golden plates of the Book of Mormon. (Bear in mind she’s been helping him with his translation of the plates and the publication of the book, including acting as his scribe during dictation, for almost three years now, but he has not allowed her to see the actual book).

And the office of thy calling shall be for a comfort unto my servant, Joseph Smith, Jun., thy husband, in his afflictions, with consoling words, in the spirit of meekness. And thou shalt go with him at the time of his going, and be unto him for a scribe, while there is no one to be a scribe for him, that I may send my servant, Oliver Cowdery, whithersoever I will.

This Whole Thing Smacks Of Gender, i holler,

And thou shalt be ordained under his hand to expound scriptures, and to exhort the church, according as it shall be given thee by my Spirit. For he shall lay his hands upon thee, and thou shalt receive the Holy Ghost, and thy time shall be given to writing, and to learning much.

And thou needest not fear, for thy husband shall support thee in the church; for unto them is his calling, that all things might be revealed unto them, whatsoever I will, according to their faith. And verily I say unto thee that thou shalt lay aside the things of this world, and seek for the things of a better.

I’m guessing Emma had been expressing doubts about leaving her home to tag along on a proselytizing road trip and the impact that would have on her life and livelihood and that of her potential future kids. Her dad (they were currently living with her parents) had also been scoffing about the Book of Mormon and telling Joseph to settle down and get a real job, so some of that might have influenced her too.

And it shall be given thee, also, to make a selection of sacred hymns, as it shall be given thee, which is pleasing unto me, to be had in my church. For my soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads.

Wherefore, lift up thy heart and rejoice, and cleave unto the covenants which thou hast made. Continue in the spirit of meekness, and beware of pride. Let thy soul delight in thy husband, and the glory which shall come upon him. Keep my commandments continually, and a crown of righteousness thou shalt receive. And except thou do this, where I am you cannot come.

And verily, verily, I say unto you, that this is my voice unto all. Amen.

You’re special, Emma, but only because you’re married to someone special! I think this is a really interesting example of this situation you see very often in D&C revelations where the will of God and the will of Joseph Smith get very much conflated. Obviously “my commandments” is meant to entail God’s commandments, and “the covenants which thou hast made” are religious covenants, but in the context of the fact that this revelation is being spoken by her literal husband there’s a lot of double meaning there, especially considering the fact that unlike all the other early Mormon disciples Emma had actually made a separate covenant with Joseph Smith specifically including a vow of obedience--that is, her marriage vows.

In case you’re wondering, Emma did apparently push aside the doubts implied in this revelation, left home and set off on mission as she was directed, including working as her husband’s scribe and putting together the first Mormon hymnal. She probably didn’t realize this would be the case when she left her parents’ house, but she never returned to the area or saw them again.

#SORRY FOR ANOTHER LONG ASS POST BUT.....THERE'S A LOT GOING ON HERE #i feel really sorry for her :( and while this isnt like SCARY ANGRY like the later polygamy revelation it's super manipulative and i can see #why it was evidently very persuasive for her #mormonposting tag

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rovewritesit · 4 years

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Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 2) John Deacon x Reader Series

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Cursing, duh. Feelings of anxiety.

Chapter Notes: A wild Deacy appears! Reader was supposed to meet him in this chapter but it got a bit long. I may have awkwardly stuffed in some backstory as well, but I wanted to get through it before we start having more interactions with the members of Queen. I’m a hoe for Hot Space and Cool Cat is such a vibe so I had to throw it in here. If you haven’t heard the original demo with Bowie you should take a listen. The music video concept was sparked loosely by Mitski’s “Happy” video (it’s gory af, be forewarned). I’m aware that the MTV of the 80s definitely would’ve banned anything like that, but it’ll come back around in the plot later on.

Songs Mentioned:

Heart of the Night - Juice Newton

More Than A Feeling - Boston

My Best Friend’s Girl - The Cars

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute

- - - - - - -

February 1982 - Orpheum Theater, Boston

It’s noisy in the cramped green room backstage at the Orpheum Theater in Boston. Gone were the days of grand arenas while tagging along with Hall and Oates. Now only around 2,000 bodies lined the seats out in the house, but you still feel that familiar bubble of nerves as Dawn busies herself around your hair.

Dawn, your best friend from your two short years at NYU, had agreed to tag along for the short tour to help with your “look.” Not that you ever really had a problem with your usual jeans and t-shirts, but this rock type of glam proved to be a different beast, and Dawn certainly had an eye for style. Her voluminous hair always streaked blonde and crimped to perfection. She’d tried to convince you many times to do something chemical with yours but you held firm to your virgin hair, causing your pre-show routine to run well into an hour and a half to get the desired popular style. You smile up at her as she curls part of your bangs away from your face, truly grateful to have another woman around.

“Babes, please stop moving your head. I’ve had to do the same piece 3 times already.” She tuts at you. “And Eds, I’ve asked you how many times to watch your elbows, jesus christ.”

Eddie tries to cram in even tighter against the wall, keeping to the five tiny spots you’d all wrangled against the mirror. “Ay, I’m trying over here. It takes some effort to get all this together.” He smirks, running his fingers through his already perfectly coiffed hair. A shame really, that it would be utterly destroyed within 15 minutes of being on stage.

“Have we picked a city song for tonight yet? I want to go over it in my head a few times before we go on.” Lawrence calls out, trying to tug on a pair of pants that look a size or two too small for him.

The Limbs had taken to playing one song per show by a famous local artist from the city they were in. Since they only had the one album out, it was a chance to get the audience singing and moving together; to change up the pace. A modified tip from a certain mustached rock legend that the band had started to implement.

“I thought we decided on More Than A Feeling?” Eddie says as he tears his eyes away from his own reflection.

“That’ll be what they expect. I think Bun sounds better on My Best Friend’s Girl,” Rich says simply. He’s attempting some form of stretching routine in the back corner of the room, his extremities bumping up against the walls.

“So Y/N’s taking this one?” Steve asks, lounging across a small loveseat against the wall, his legs dangling off of it delicately. He looks up from whatever song he’s been working on.

“You heard what the label said. They want Y/N more center stage, so to speak, for marketing reasons.” Rich tries folding his body into some sort of pretzel shape. A light “oof,” escapes his lips as he falls backward slightly.

“Ah yes, we need to give the public what they want,” you huff, wanting to roll your eyes if not for Dawn covering your head in a cloud of Aqua Net.

Eddie starts pacing, or at least tries to, “I just don’t get why they’re trying to make her into some Debbie Harry.” He scoffs, “Like that’s ever gonna happen.”

Dawn glares at him. It was a bit of a low blow, but Eddie was still getting used to sharing the spotlight with you, with him singing lead on almost every other song.

You were still struggling to find your presence on stage and were more than happy to take a back seat to the boys for the most part. And while some of the band’s other singles were gaining traction, none were close to catching up to Heart of the Night, which was now getting steady airplay and record sales thanks to the absurd music video that hit TV screens everywhere a few weeks back.

“That’s true, Y/N’s much more of a Linda Ronstadt type if we’re throwing out names,” Lawrence grunts out. Finally able to close the button on his skin-tight pants.

A cold laugh erupts from Eddie. “Exactly. It’s the Eighties now if you haven’t noticed. It’s all about edgy sex appeal, and let’s be honest, even Steve has a better chance of-”

“Enough!” Dawn’s voice sliced through the air, the daggers thrown from her eyes flying towards him. She leans down to your level to examine her masterpiece. “You look as sexy as a goddamn playboy bunny, hun. No pun intended.” Her voice softens as she pinches your cheeks.

The room goes mostly quiet for the next few minutes as the local opening band starts to close out their set with their last two songs. Only Rich’s deep breathing, fitting in time to the beat.

You chew your cherry painted lips, mulling over Eddie’s words. You knew full well that you weren’t exactly the frontwoman the label or the public dreamed of. Hell, you weren’t even supposed to be a frontwoman at all. When you’d finally given in to Rich’s insistent pestering to come have some fun with the boys, you’d been at NYU for two years. You loved your film classes but felt the hole that was left from the absence of playing any type of music. In high school, you’d all show up to a party with a variety of instruments in your grasps. It almost always resulted in a crowd gathering around to listen, joining in with your voices, clicking their beer bottles in time with the beat. It was when you had felt most carefree, and you had ached for that feeling again.

But playing locally turned into recording an album, for which you wrote a song for some dream of a man that only existed in your thoughts. Next thing you knew you were scooped up by Columbia Records, missing classes to attend photoshoots or album release parties. People were listening to your voice, your song, and wanting more. You dropped out of college to the dismay of your parents but were immediately enveloped in your friends' glee, finally reaching the precipice of something they’d only dreamed of. You hated the thought of letting them down in any way but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all a fluke, that you had nothing else to give. Destined to fade out as a one-hit-wonder and a disappointment to your best friends in the world. The weight hit your shoulders as you slumped in your seat.

None of this was supposed to happen, you tell yourself. It never happens like this.

You’re broken out of your daze when there’s a rap at the door and a muffled “5 minutes” from the stage manager behind it. You all stand, waiting for Rich to spread his wings and engulf you in your usual pre-show pow wow. You slide Dawn in next to you in the now group of 6, needing someone steady as an anchor.

“If you’d please, Reverend.” Steve probes, cheekily.

“We’re gathered here today” Rich begins and Dawn giggles. “To bring immense joy to those 2,000 idiots out there, who so willingly sold out our show for us. They deserve a performance played to 200,000, so that’s what we’re going to give them. In the name of our fathers, John, George, Paul, and Ringo. Let’s go give em’ hell.”

“Amen!” you all shout and disband.

As you follow the boys into the dingy hallway leading to the stage, Eddie catches your wrist. He looks at you through his long lashes with an uncharacteristically shy smile that almost never sees the light of day.

“I’m sorry for being a prick, Bun. I shouldn’t have said all that,” he mutters as you continue to walk, not wanting to miss your cue.

“No worries, Eds. You were right though. I’m definitely no Debbie,” you force a chuckle at yourself while a roadie slips your guitar strap onto your shoulders.

“It’s not alright. And no, you’re not,” he says catching your downturned eyes. “You’re Y/N fucking L/N, and you’re just gettin’ started, baby. All you gotta do is take a little bit of the love we all have for you and give some to yourself once in a while, alright?” A grin forms, showing his adorably asymmetrical teeth as he reaches out a hand to ruffle your painstakingly perfected hair. “That’s better. Now let's get out there so you can show the world exactly what kind of frontwoman you are. And don’t be scared to show them a hint of Bunny while you’re at it.” You move your guitar out of the way to pull him in for a close hug. You hear Steve start banging his snare and pull Eddie on to the stage with you, feeling a bit lighter than you had been minutes ago.

You approach your mic and take a look out at the packed, hazy theater.

“Well hello, Bawston!’ Your accent rings out to the faceless figures before you. “Aren’t you all looking fuckin’ fabulous tonight!”

- - - - - - -

March 1982 - Musicland Studios, Munich

“No, I didn’t say it’s bad, just that it sounds tinny,” Brian argues, crossing his spidery arms over his chest as he leans against the doorframe.

“And it’s as if you’ve shoehorned Bowie in there just to mumble in the background incoherently. A waste, really.” Roger tacks on from beside him.

John sighs and leans his head against the back of the couch in the studio. “Just because it’s not your precious red special or your own magic fingers at work, doesn’t mean it’s tinny,” he counters calmly. Trying his best to keep the annoyance from seeping into his voice, knowing that Brian already had anger stemming from John’s earlier composition for the album.

It was the first time this week that all four men were in the studio together. Finishing up Hot Space was proving to be a strain on all of them and the growing rift had caused the men to nearly finish their songs separately instead of in their usual group dynamic. John’s experimentation into different styles, such as funk and disco, had not been willingly received thus far.

“Well, I sound rather fabulous, if I do say so myself. I’m very proud of us, Deacy.” Freddie states, getting up from his own place on the couch and stretching.

“It’s not that, Fred. It just doesn’t sound like us.” Brian sighs, already sensing the escalation of a row coming along.

“Oh please. Not this again...” Freddie huffs.

“That’s because it’s not us. It’s me and Freddie.” John cuts in with a roll of his eyes, landing them on Mack, their producer, who just shrugs and trains his gaze back to the board.

“That’s for sure.” Roger murmurs out. Now it’s John’s turn to cross his arms as he levels their pointed gazes. He’d worked with Fred for days putting together “Cool Cat,” hoping that the additional vocals from David Bowie would be a selling point for the other two.

With a clap of his hands, Freddie moves about the room. “Why don’t we take a quick break and then give it another listen?” Roger groans. Freddie pats his shoulder as he makes his way over to a radio beside Mack.

John rubs his tired eyes before pushing himself off the couch, eager for a break from the energy in the stale room. “I’m grabbing a coffee,” not offering one to the others as he brushes past Brian on his way out, quickly retreating down the hallway as fast as his legs will carry him.

The remaining three startle a bit as Freddie flips on the radio, Lo & The Limbs hit single pours from it, louder than expected.

“Oh! Oh, yes! Simply marvelous,” he exclaims, jumping up and down lightly. Roger and Brian raise their eyebrows in silent questioning. “This is the band of rascals I was telling you about the other week. They must’ve just broken out here.”

“The yanks you met while in the States?” Roger questions, turning his attention to the song, eager to judge any brimming competition.

“Yes, yes, the wild young lady who swears like the devil and her band of merry giant trees.”

“We have one of those!” Rog nods in Brian’s direction, voice muffled by a cigarette now dangling from his lips.

“Hm, Brain’s more of a willowy spruce, if you will. These ones are giant redwoods. You know American’s. And they have these thick New York accents. I could barely understand a word they were saying at first. What a riot they were.” he remembers fondly.

“I feel as if I’ve heard this before, but I can’t place it.” Brian ponders, almost to himself.

John appears in the doorway, blowing lightly on a steaming mug.

“Probably from that shocking video of theirs, darling,” Freddie waves his hands about. “Oh, you must’ve seen it. They’re all dressed up like they're in Grease or something, and this square of a girl is pinning after the bad boy. But he’s with this slutty little thing. And oh, I can’t recall the details, but in the end, she ends up murdering the slut!” He slaps the table for effect. “But for some odd reason the boy is okay with it all and they run off into the night together, covered in blood.”

“Sounds… spooky?” Roger shrugs. John stifles a chuckle.

“It’s dramatic! And sexy. And obviously working for them.” The wheels already turning in his head.

John tunes out their chatter and trains his ears to said song, which is about halfway through. The instrumentals seem a bit basic for his taste. The soft strum of an acoustic guitar, a slightly heavier electric over it, with a simple bass line. A female voice flits in.

Cool city moon lays its touch on the room,

Your eyes reach to me

It has a rasp to it. Akin to Stevie Nicks, he thinks.

Two shadows fall saying nothing at all,

We know what we need

No, not quite. It’s entirely it's own if he’s being honest. He can feel the soul pulsating through words and the power that’s beneath it. One that could probably fit with any genre it should choose. His interest peaked.

In the release, two prisoners are free from the darkness

One more escape surviving the heartache and madness

The raw emotion erupting from the speakers and the lyrics start to paint a picture in his mind, scrambling to fill in the faceless voice.

In the heart of the night

The chorus starts and picks up steam quickly. Male voices begin to fill in on background vocals, blending together seamlessly.

We run like bandits

Two hungry hearts under the gun

Her voice cracks a bit, in a charming way. It must be radiant when heard live.

In the heart of the night

When we find each other

Were stealing love on the run

In the heart of the night,

Heart of the night

A small smile plays on John’s lips as the song fades out. They’re good, he muses to himself, a bit intrigued by the song and Fred’s colorful description of the accompanying video.

“A great voice indeed. They’ve got a strong sound going.” Brian chirps up.

“That’s her first swing at writing, too. Wish it had been that bloody easy for us.”

“Is she a looker, Fred?” Roger wags his brows.

“Oh please, they’re practically babies! Although that drummer of theirs is certainly something to write home about… Even with the head of hair he has. A bit like a mushroom. A cute one.” Freddie ponders, stroking his full mustache.

John reaches up and pats the tight curls atop his own head, wondering how it would look if he ceased from trimming his current short perm.

“I do hope they catch on here. What fun that would be.” John readily nods along without realizing it.

Freddie switches off the radio and turns back to the other three men. “Alright back to it then. Queue it up, Mac,” placing a hand on the man’s shoulder and raising his eyebrows. “Shall we?”

- - - - - - -

March 1982 - Columbia Records, New York City

“Why are the undersides of my knees sweaty? I’m not a back of the knee sweat kind of guy, alright?” Lawrence fidgets, adjusting his collar for the fourth time in two minutes.

You casually gulp down your third glass of water while staring at the wood-paneled walls of the office. Attempting to avoid the gazes of a number of gold discs lining the walls, the echoes of your musical idols. They seem to be laughing at you.

Steve partakes in his trademark bouncing routine, the chair underneath him squeaking in a violent rhythm. “Do you think it’s the video? It has to be the video or we wouldn’t be in this office. I knew we shouldn’t have taken that big of a risk right out of the gate.”

“You gotta be kidding me. You basically doused yourself in the blood when Eddie pitched it!” Rich cuts in, his usual calm demeanor nowhere to be found.

“What! It was your idea for the--”

The door behind where the group is gathered swings open and in strides a stocky man with a full beard and tinted aviator sunglasses still covering his eyes.

“What are we all standing around for? Sit, sit, sit, c’mon.” His gruff Brooklyn accent ringing out as he moves to sit behind a large mahogany desk.

The Limbs scramble to fit on the couch across from him, with you ending up perched on the armrest, gripping Rich’s bicep for support.

The man, Walter Yetnikoff, CEO and Chairman of Columbia Records, grunts as he eases into a leather chair, finally removing his glasses, revealing surprisingly kind eyes, “Jeez louise, look at you kids. You look as if a nun just caught you all playing with each other’s junk. What’s with the faces?”

“Mr. Yetnikoff, we’d like to sincerely apologize for the backlash that has come from our video. We should’ve known better than that. We could’ve toned it down… a lot.” Eddie rushes out. He wipes his hand over his too-snug tailored pants, probably leftover from days of youth choir.

Walter barks out a laugh. “I’ll admit I was a little shocked to find out that’s what you needed a high school gym for, but relax a little, will ya? You’re not here to be scolded. If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have fought so hard to get it airtime.”

The Limbs visibly relax- a tad, but their eyes all stay wide.

“Well aren’t ya gonna ask why you’re all here then?”

“W-why are we here?” Rich asks quietly. “Sir.” He adds.

“It seems that the slight PR crisis of a video you made has made its way across the pond,” Walter smirks.

“You mean…” Steve trails off in a voice two octaves higher than usual.

“You kids better like air travel because there’s gonna be a lot of it in your near future. The hit has broken into the London airwaves and they’re not as god fearing as viewers here seem to be. We’re sending you over there next week now that you’ve wrapped up the tour.”

“Holy shit!” Lawrence yells. You feel yourself falling back off your perch as your large friends all jump to their feet. Rich’s gangly arm luckily catches you and pulls you immediately into a suffocating hug. “You did this, Bunny!” He screams in your ear. “You did this!”

“Alright, alright, you can all go celebrate and drink your faces off in a second,” Walter calls out over the group who immediately shut their mouths. “We have a few details to iron out but I’m hoping to send you over there for a full press tour. Photoshoots, interviews, talk show appearances. The works, you got it.”

Steve lets out a squeal of delight, his voice not yet returning to its usual bass.

“You.” He points a stubby finger in your direction. “I’m waiting to hear back about a last-minute cancelation on some game show out there. We’re gonna try to get you in. You know your shit?”

“W-what kind of shit, sir?” You ask from the bear hug that Rich still holds you in.

He holds up his hands, gesturing to the gold discs that surround him. “Music, my dear.”

All you can do is nod, not wanting to think about what that even entails.

“That’s what I like to see. Now get outta here so you can all combust somewhere outside of my office. We’ll call you in a few days. Get those bags ready, you hear me?” He waves you all off.

Before you have a chance to say anything, the boys are sweeping you out of the room. And off to the start of whatever comes next, you guess.

#queen fic #queen fanfiction #queen fanfic #john deacon #john deacon fic #john deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon series #deaky fic #deaky x reader #deacy fic #deacy x reader #angelofmydreams

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lechugana · 4 years

Text

ρωμαϊκός

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Words: 6681

Categories: F/M, Gen

Tags: roman!percy, percabeth, no beta read, capture flag game, nico has a new pet, it’s a mouse skeleton

Summry:

AU where Percy is roman and Annabeth is searching from him. "But you still listened to me, Jackson" Annabeth replied with a small smile on her lips. "But I still listened to you, Chase" he repeated copying her smile, the boy's smile was predatory, the smile of a boy who knows he's going to get in trouble ... and he doesn't care.

Read it also on AO3

Romans exist Annabeth repeated over and over again as she walked beside Nico.

They were both leading the Greek camp, walking the streets of New Rome. As much as Annabeth wanted to pout, she couldn't stop admiring the columns, the buildings, the marble stairs… all the classic architectural elements that Annabeth thought would be in Rome, they were here, in San Francisco. The whole city exorbitated wealth and classicism, the people wearing a mix of robes and modern clothes, the streets lined with shops that had the smallest campers trotting from window to window. Among the people walked what were lares, spirits - ghosts - of the home, Nico had already warned them of them when he had visited the camp for the first time together with Jason and with the blessing of his father, becoming an ambassador of Hades ... Pluto .

Now that they were in Rome, Hades is Pluto.

And Athena, Minerva. And Minerva has no children and is not a strategist goddess. Here is a simple virgin goddess of the arts.

On the Field of Mars were two people shoulder to shoulder, dressed in purple, white and gold robes, like the ancient Roman emperors. One was blond-haired, and Annabeth knew instantly that it was Jason, his hair shining in the sunlight, while next to him was a Latin girl, with long dark hair in a braid.

"Annabeth. Welcome to New Rome” Jason welcomed, as he spread his arms before them, his blue eyes narrowing at his smile. “She is Reyna, the second praetor of Rome. Nico, you already know her. "

"Daughter of Minerva " Reyna reached out to Annabeth. Annabeth could notice how her siblings were tense, Malcolm was behind her trying to calm the little ones.

"Athena" Annabeth corrected in the calmest way possible, her body seemed calm, but she was watching every movement of the praetor. Annabeth had realized that the girl was just like her, a strategist ready for an attack at any moment.

"Welcome to New Rome" Reyna slightly moved one of her eyebrows. “Jason's friends are our friends. We hope that your instance here is as placid as possible. I'm leaving my colleague Jason to take you on a tour of our city, I have to attend to some business ”Reyna gave Jason a look, one of those looks that is only understood among familiar people, gave him a squeeze on the arm and left followed by her two metal greyhounds.

"Really, Jason? Minerva?"

"I know I'm sorry. I've told her- Hello to you too Travis, yes Connor, I haven't forgotten about you, I'm talking to Annabeth for a moment, can you-? Thanks, Malcolm” Jason tried to get rid of the Stoll brothers, Malcolm who was seeing everything from behind, grabbed the two brothers by their ears and led them to the other end of the Field of Mars. "As I said. I told Reyna, I told her everything I needed to know about the Greeks and Camp Half-Blood, but she is…” Jason waved his hand in the air trying to find a word. "Difficult?"

Annabeth studied Jason for a few more seconds, making him more nervous than he was, his hand kept moving his glasses and his feet moved slightly from side to side. Annabeth rejoiced knowing she made Jupiter's son nervous.

"I don't blame you Jason, you're just trying to do what you can." Jason's shoulders immediately relaxed at those words. Annabeth may have been proud but not a masochist. "Now show us where to stay, oh preator."

"Now do you know Latin?"

" I've done a bit of research."

---

Their rooms were simply a camp built by a group of Roman demigods on the outskirts of the city of New Rome, as far away as possible.

Big tents with all their amenities arranged for the campers, the smaller greek campers were hopping around, excited about a night of camping out in the open, the hut bosses were running after them to calm them down, though many of them gave up even before chasing them.

"I never would have thought the Romans would exist," Malcolm whispered next to Annabeth. They were both a bit away from the chaotic camp watching them. "I wish Chiron was here." Annabeth nodded slightly; Chiron had been her father since he ran away from his family in San Francisco. The two had been inseparable since she arrived at the camp shortly after Thalia's death, Chiron always came to her when she had a problem, always counting on her opinion in any matter that arose. “Do you think he will be here? Come on, Annabeth, don't look at me like that, we have the same mother,” he laughed. “You haven't stopped looking for him since the battle, and I know you're waiting for the right moment to tell Jason. Have you ever considered that maybe he is a fugitive demigod? "

Annabeth had indeed considered that this boy had become a fugitive demigod. A demigod without a camp, who wandered from one place to another away from monsters and without having a stable place.

“Yes, I have thought about it, but…” Annabeth could feel her cheeks flush with embarrassment, “it's a hunch, okay? I know it's stupid, but I feel like it must be around here."

Annabeth wanted to drown in humiliation, Athena's children didn't follow hunches, they followed clues and logic.

Malcolm stared at her for a long time, until his shoulders sagged in defeat, “Of course it's not stupid. I just want you to remember that there is a possibility that he is not here…” Malcolm shifted between his own feet, unsure. "Or that you will never find it."

---

The Romans dining room was not disappointing either. Long wooden tables adorned with fruit bowls, silver jugs filled with drink and glasses of the same metal. The Romans were talking and throwing jokes as well as food, some were speaking louder, while others were observing their companions.

The image itself was a shock to Annabeth, she didn't know why, but she had imagined the Romans as stoic people, eating meals without laughter or talking, but the image in front of her showed her that she had been wrong.

The sound of a glass silenced everyone in the dining room, Reyna was up with a small golden dagger and a glass of the same colour, "We want to officially welcome, both my partner Jason, like me" Jason like Reyna , raised and with a golden glass in his hand, but instead of being next to him he was at the table of the Greeks with his friends Leo and Piper. “We hope that your stay in Nueva Roma will be as comfortable as possible and that our relationships for the future will be strengthened and grown for prosperity. Iubentium."

“We are very grateful that you have allowed us to stay in your camp, we hope that, like you, our relationship grows and strengthens over time and for future generations, in order to have a powerful ally among us. Cheers.” While making the speech, she tried to look around to find the boy without attracting much attention, but not locating him, Annabeth focused only on Reyna. When she finished Annabeth raised her glass at the same time as Reyna, both looking at each other as they drank from her glass, calculating each other's every move.

"Nice speech" Nico murmured next to her.

"It's sarcasm?"

“Pf, yes and no. The speech was fine, but you could tell in the air how you were throwing knives at each other” he said simply as he swallowed four chips at the same time. Clarisse who was listening nearby snorted proudly at Annabeth.

"I do not like her. She’s hard to read,” Annabeth admitted as she tossed her food back and forth without much appetite.

“Normal” Nico drank from his Coca-Cola, “her mother is Bellona, the Roman goddess of strategy. She is also watching you Annabeth and can't figure you out. You both collide by nature- Will, I'm not going to eat a pear, I hate pears."

Annabeth let the two boys argue about nutritional values and her gaze began to search among the many heads of the Romans, but as before, no clue of that boy.

"Oh Hazel. What good find "Annabeth looked up listening to the voice of Jason. Hazel, she supposed, was the girl with dark skin and curly hair, the girl was very short in stature, maybe she was not over thirteen. She was dressed in a purple T-shirt and gold breastplate, her matching helmet carried under one arm, and a sword slightly too large for her hung from her hip. "Ah, I didn't know you were talking to your brother, I'm sorry Nico, but do you know where Jackson is?"

Hazel was thoughtful for a moment, but then shook her head, “He wasn't on watch today, and from what Frank has told me, I don't think he's in the stables. Maybe in the bathrooms? I do not know."

“Ah… don't worry, it doesn't matter. I just wanted him to meet the Greeks.” He turned to Annabeth when he saw her confused face. "Jackson is a ... how to say, a free spirit?" Jason laughed at the comparison. "He does not like to follow the rules very much and he always gets into trouble, surely you would get along well."

"He's my kind of man," Connor blurted out from behind his brother, his hair full of roots, growing little by little around his neck.

"Susan, please don't strangle Connor at lunch." Piper scolded Demeter's daughter from the other end.

"Susan, don't stop," shouted a son of Aphrodite from the other end.

The cries of the Greek demigods filled the air of the dining room. Some encouraging Susan to strangle Connor, Hermes cabin maliciously clawing at Connor's face to break the roots. Other campers rose from their seats to watch the show between Demeter's cabin and Hermes. Hazel who was still present next to Nico giggled at the ruckus that had formed in a very short time.

"I can't imagine what your camp will be like day by day."

Annabeth smiled at the teenager with pride warming her chest as she saw the scene that had been lovingly formed.

---

Ares's cabin exploded into cheers upon hearing the news that they were going to fight the Romans, at the same time, Hermes's cabin joined in the cheers, leaving the other campers staring at each other with terror in their eyes.

Annabeth studied Jason's proposal, she knew that it was tradition to have friendly fights (in the case of the Greeks to capture the flag), but after meeting Reyna, Annabeth expected any trap to catch the Greeks and give an excuse to the Greeks. Romans to attack them.

Nico and Piper were next to her, studying her reaction.

"Annabeth, I think Jason wouldn't have proposed this to us if there really was a trap." Piper tried to reason with her, inadvertently using her charmspeak.

"It doesn’t matter if he is a praetor, that doesn’t mean that they tell him everything" she murmured stubbornly, the two have been friends for a long time and her charmspeak no longer had that much effect.

"Nico, tell him that nothing is going to happen."

Nico, instead of answering, was silent with his two hands in his pockets, hunched over, looking at the ground, a small mouse skeleton curled up at his feet.

"What do you want me to say? What Chase said is true. ” Nico reached down and scooped up the mouse skeleton in the palm of his hand. “Jason is… a visionary. And visionaries tend to have a lot of ideas, and those ideas cause change. The Romans don't like change. They like tradition. And right now, the tradition is that both Greeks and Romans are separated, as they always have been. "

"You're no help, death boy," Piper growled, earning an angry scowl from the smaller boy.

"Can you feel if something bad is going to happen?"

"If someone is going to die?" Nico frowned again, but this time in concentration. "No. Everything is still fine; nothing feels out of place. "

"You see? No carnage is going to form,” Leo exclaimed jovially from behind Piper. "Don't look at me like that mija, it's a good thing!"

"But that doesn't mean there is going to be a catch."

Piper threw both hands in the air, finally giving up on this conversation. Annabeth was too stubborn to change her mind.

The girl from before, Hazel, came back together with a boy much taller than her and leafier, they both greeted Nico happily and he responded dryly, as always, too focused on his new skeleton pet. The two Romans were there to guide them to the weapons room, where they can equip themselves for the afternoon games.

Hazel was talking animatedly to Nico, her curly hair trotting as she walked, the boy a little further behind the two demigods, always keeping a safe distance from the son of Hades. Annabeth raised an eyebrow when she noticed that the boy was afraid of poor Nico.

The leaders of the huts tried to line up their brothers to give them the necessary weapons, but as always, no one was listening to anyone, so everyone ran to get the best weapon they could find. Both Annabeth and Nico stood at the gate watching, both carrying their weapons on their hips, Annabeth watched her brothers giving advice to the other campers on which weapons would suit them best in battle, while Nico watched Will trying to calm her down. his brothers when it came to catching arrows and bows, a small group from Apollo's hut stayed behind Will, hinting that they would be the paramedics on the battlefield.

When everyone was already armed and protected with armour, they followed the two Roman boys to the Field of Mars.

“Wow, why do they have a battlefield? I also want one!" Ares's hut began to protest as they admired the battlefield.

"And have you seen his armoury?"

"I do not like. It's all outdoors, I prefer to be in the forest. "

“So you can tangle me with roots again? No thanks."

"I told you it was accidental!"

"Unintentionally does not mean catching someone with roots and hanging them from a tree."

"Mathew is trying to cast a spell on me!"

"The Romans are going to crush us," Nico muttered.

Annabeth didn't have the mind to worry about the campers, she already had different routes and strategies in mind to fight the Romans. Yes, the Romans may be very meticulous and were known worldwide for their formations on the battlefields. But the Greeks had a factor that they did not have, they had no order. The Greeks were neither orderly nor organized, in the battles each one went on his own, without following any training, and that freedom when fighting could give them an advantage right now.

The Romans were already in the middle of the field, all standing in ranks and cohorts, dressed in golden armour and red shields. The image gave Annabeth chills.

In front of the five cohorts were the two praetors, both dressed in purple capes and like the other Roman campers, in gold armour. Whereas Jason had an excited glint in his eyes as he spotted Leo and Piper amid the tide of demigods; Reyna, on the other hand, her gaze was not as friendly as that of her partner, with her arms crossed and her back straight she watched as the mestizo camp arrived at the place.

Annabeth wanted to get rid of the bad feeling she had in her body, she could imagine what the Romans were seeing when they arrived at the place, a group of unstructured demigods walking scattered around the place, some were running around, others were on top of others, some they were lagging in the back. Annabeth shook her thoughts, the Greeks defeated the army of Cronos, a titan, they were not weak.

When Annabeth arrived at the scene, standing in the front row, with the entire camp behind her, she watched Camp Jupiter, some of the campers who were there laughing at each other as they shot them glances.

“As you are smaller in number, a cohort will help you during the games. Fifth cohort."

The first cohorts began to laugh among themselves as they looked at the last cohort, in it, the two centurions in front were visibly discouraged. One of them took out a flask and began to drink from it, while the other centurion tried to shake him off.

"Each group go to your place."

And with that said, each group went to one side of the field. Annabeth waited for the Fifth Cohort to approach them.

"Good luck with the graecus."

"In the end, the outcasts gather among themselves."

"How many victories are we going to have already?"

"I think twenty-seven."

"No, thirty."

Despite the comments from the campers, one of the centurions tried to liven up the atmosphere, cheering up his subordinates, giving smiles and patting on the back, while the other centurion continued to drink from his flask while visibly leaning on his companion.

“We are the fifth cohort. Jason has told us a lot about you” the centurion introduced himself. "I'm Gwendolyn, and this is my partner Dakota ... don't worry he's drinking Kool-Aid", slapping her hand on the flask caught his attention.

"I hope you like losing." Dakota lifted his flask and took a sip. Annabeth raised an eyebrow.

"Annabeth. I guess you know who Nico is. She's Clarisse… There is Will… Oh, this is Piper…” Annabeth rummaged through the other campers with the cabin leaders, but seeing that the Stoll brothers were doing their thing, she stopped naming with a sigh.

"Are you all the praetors?" Dakota exclaimed upon hearing the number of names Annabeth had named.

"Mn? Oh no. We are the cabin leaders. A cabin by God. "

The Fifth Cohort gaped at them. Apparently, they did have more differences than they imagined.

“We are always defending ourselves. It's easier to accept defeat.” Gwen shrugged.

"Pathetic" Clarisse snorted. Both Ares's and Nike's cabins supported her.

"You don't know who is in the first cohort!"

"Of course, we don't know, we are new, remember?" said Fred, a Hermes boy, who bore a horrible resemblance to the Stoll brothers.

"And we do not care, we are going to crush them" a girl from Nike jumped up from behind, hitting her fist with her hand for more emphasis, both Nike's cabin and Ares's hut jumped in cheers at those words.

"Let’s not get so excited, they are not monsters ..." A child from Iris tried to quietly calm the other campers.

"Shut up Eugene."

Annabeth sighed and looked sideways at the Romans, "We never stare." Annabeth turned to be seen by both Greeks and Romans. "We are going to attack. Romans and Greeks. Will, choose one of your brothers to go into battle for medical help. Nico, I think you already know what to do. Nina, she will give you some inventions from Hephaestus's cabin, listen to her well what they are for. You Romans, stand in the front row, shields raised and prepare to defend. "

Annabeth watched as everyone fell into place. Will named some of his faster brothers to go to the field, while Nico caught some of the Hermes and Demeter campers explaining the plan. Piper, in the background, was practicing her spell-talk with Leo. Nina was handing out small gadgets to some of the campers followed by Hecate's children who were giving some explanations of how they worked. Clarisse, along with Nike's hut and Ares were sharpening their weapons, looking with sharp smiles at the Romans scaring them.

"How do you know we are going to win? She is nothing but a daughter of Min… Athena. And they are Romans, and they always play dirty, no matter what you do, we are going to lose” Annabeth made out Dakota's voice behind her as she fixed her golden bib.

"Athena always has a plan." Annabeth smiled at Malcolm's voice.

---

Ugh. Annabeth hated fighting in the open field, she preferred to fight in the woods of the half-blood camp, it was easier to hide there, and the trees helped her to form even more convoluted plans than usual.

From his place he could see how Reyna flew over the fields of Mars on the back of her pegasus, even from there he could see her frown and how she judged them from the sky. On the floor and sitting in a box, Jason was looking at them with bright and expectant eyes, Annabeth couldn't help but think that Jason looked like a labrador retriever, wagging his tail from side to side excitedly.

On the other side of the field were the other cohorts, preparing for battle, from her place, Annabeth could see as they were placed in an attack position, prepared to fight.

"Are you sure it's going to work?" Malcolm appeared behind her.

"I hope so." Malcolm glanced at her, looked like he wanted to say something, but at the last moment he closed his mouth and hunched his shoulders in defeat.

"They look prepared," he simply said. "I'm scared."

"For us?" Annabeth this time looked at him raising an eyebrow.

"Mn? No way. For them. I don't think I've ever seen Clarisse so excited in a battle, I think I've heard her say she's going to try to split the Romans in two. The Romans have never had to endure the fury of the sons of Ares. "

"And the Nike ones," Annabeth recalled.

"Don't remind me, ugh."

Both Annabeth and Malcolm laughed as they watched the Romans on the other side moving from side to side.

A trumpet sounded from overhead, Annabeth raised her head and saw Reyna look her directly in the eye. All of this was challenging. A challenge to see if the Greeks were worth it. And Annabeth already knew.

Taking one last look at the Romans already in position, she went to hers, raising her eyebrow in recognition of Reyna.

---

“Gwendolyn, I need you to help us form defences. Get into position swinging line, on the left flank, not right. Put the archers in the first row, not in the last, and then in the second row put an arrow line. "

Gwendolyn looked at her with wide eyes, shocked to hear the Greek know the Roman techniques and embarrassed that she did not know any Greek techniques. With a nod of his head he ran after his fellow Romans giving them Annabeth's orders.

Seeing that her zone was in motion, she braced herself. Praying that he hadn't been wrong.

From her spot she could see how the fifth cohort got into the position she had said, thanking herself for her curiosity in having studied Roman defence tactics. The fifth cohort advanced from their position, alerting the Romans to their orthodox attacking position, the archers should be behind not in front, and it was the right flank that was more protected than the left, just as soldiers with arrows should be in the front row. Annabeth heard the confused sounds of the other cohorts when she saw that position, cracking their positions and hesitating when attacking, she could hear the confusing sounds of the enemy cohorts from her place. That made her smile.

After appreciating their tactics in action, Annabeth jumped into action. Picking up her dagger, she jumped to the right flank, seeing that the defence of that area was weakened, running between the Roman and Greek campers.

From her place she could see Nico's signal, probably aided by his sister Hazel, a lump, almost imperceptible on the ground, with a silver coin gleaming in the sunlight. Taking a deep breath, she lunged for the signal, dodging and kicking the Romans, and the Greeks pulling away with experience. She could see the silver coin shining brighter every time she got closer, but halfway there she saw a group of Romans rush over the sign, taking it to the other side of the field.

"Shit," Annabeth blurted out after someone tackled her.

"Minerva's daughter," a Roman hissed. The boy had a shield almost the same height as him and was covered by golden armour. His face was covered by a helmet of the same material. Annabeth snorted at those words. Right now, he didn't feel like fighting an angry idiot. "You are going to learn to respect our goddess-"

Without letting him finish the sentence, Annabeth lunged towards the boy and he raised the shield reflexively, just before she hit the shield, Annabeth turned to the side, surprising the Roman with a kick to his back, throwing him to the side. From above, Annabeth raised her dagger to threaten the boy at her feet, but when she raised her hand, she realized that his dagger was gone. Looking everywhere for it, she acknowledges that the poor dagger had disappeared at the time of the tackle.

Annabeth wanted to hit a wall.

"Annie!" Piper yelled from her right throwing something at her. Annabeth reflexively raised her arm and saw that what Piper had thrown at her was nothing more than a stick in the shape of a 'y'. “Don't look at me like that, it was you who asked me to look for him if there was an emergency. Hey you! You are very sleepy ... be careful! oh, he fell head-on, do you think he'll be okay? That had to hurt. "

Annabeth shook her head and took the stick in the shape of an 'y' and with a calculated blow she hit the boy at her feet on the head knocking him unconscious. Taking the stick by its shorter sides, she put the longer stick in front of him, pointing her way. Pointing it to the ground.

The stick had not yet moved, leading Annabeth to despair, the Greek kept pacing back and forth, sometimes in circles, looking for the stick to vibrate. Was she wrong? She was seldom wrong, and she was too proud to accept that she was wrong. In addition, she was the daughter of Athena, she could find another solution, every problem has a solution. A small vibration went up his arms, jumping from his place he saw the long stick vibrate to the ground. Releasing the air that she did not know she was holding, she followed the vibrations of the stick, following the path that led to the stick vibrating even more. She stayed above a point where the vibrations had made her arms not stop shaking.

It's here. Annabeth thought.

A clash of metal made her raise her head.

"Do you want to become a skewer or what?" The boy in front of her yelled from his helmet. That boy had stopped an attack from the other side, an attack that was going for her. Snorting, Annabeth ignored him, but marked with her foot where the stick had pointed. "I've saved your life and that's how you thank me-"

Annabeth pushed the boy away when she saw from the corner of her eye that another Roman was going after them, throwing the boy to one side, she dodged the spear by turning on herself, grabbed that spear at the same time, pulling the Roman towards her and knocking them out with one of his elbows.

Turning around, she saw how both the boy and she were cornered by a group of Romans with their spears pointed at them. They both unconsciously approached each other, touching each other back to back, noticing their breaths. The boy's helmet fell right next to the two boys, Annabeth imagined that the boy had thrown the helmet out of frustration.

"You are surrounded" shouted one of the Romans.

"Really? I didn’t see it” the boy behind him said slightly, the boy resting his head on the crown of Annabeth's head, thanks to the fact that he was at least half a head taller than her.

"Surrender."

The group of Romans stepped forward, further closing the circle that the two boys had around them.

Annabeth surveyed her surroundings, still noting the weight on her head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the boy was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, revealing his tattoo on his arm. Annabeth's heart leapt at the sight of him.

"I have a plan."

"Huh. It's going to be suicide."

"Maybe. But I'm not going to lose to the Romans."

"Do I have to remind you that I am a Roman?"

Annabeth wanted to kick him. "There is water below us. Use it."

Annabeth noticed how the boy tensed behind her. "I cannot."

"Yes, you can. I've seen your tattoo."

The boy gulped, his breathing shallower and faster. "I've never done."

You're must be kidding me, Annabeth thought. "That's not what I saw in New York, seaweed brains."

"Gods, you're wise girl" Seaweed brains let out a slow breath, Annabeth could tell how the boy shook his head slightly. "I still remember you, you know? That back kick hurt too much."

"I took a stab for you."

Seaweed brains laughed shaking his shoulders, "I still owe you one, now that you mention it."

"Well, if you owe me one, use the water." Annabeth nudged him in the ribs as he hissed between her teeth.

"It’s not that easy. The Romans hate everything that surrounds my father, remember? Give thanks that they let me be in this camp" little by little, both Annabeth and the boy were placed in attack position.

"And what difference does it make if they hate you, all the more reason for you to use your power, they won't change their opinion of you."

"They can kick me out of the camp."

"You have another camp on the other side of the country."

Seaweed brains turned, making her pull with him. The breath of Annabeth stayed in her throat. The boy was just as she remembered, if not, even better. He had grown in recent years, his hair, which was short before, was now longer and even blacker if that was possible, making his long hair tousled as if he had walked by the sea. His sea green eyes shone with that expression of melancholy and sarcasm that captivated Annabeth the first time she saw him. Even his skin glowed a golden hue in the San Francisco sun, and he had grown in recent years, becoming taller than her.

"You're still as eloquent as the last time I saw you, wise girl."

"I didn't know you knew that word."

"I've done a bit of research. I still remember not understanding half of the words you were saying."

"But you still listened to me, Jackson" Annabeth replied with a small smile on her lips.

"But I still listened to you, Chase" he repeated copying her smile, the boy's smile was predatory, the smile of a boy who knows he's going to get in trouble ... and he doesn't care.

Seaweed Brain put his hand into a fist and instant water came around the couple, drowning the group of Romans who were around him. Annabeth heard the screams behind the wall of water, she also saw how the Romans tried to swim among the torrent of water, dust and sand, spears and shields sailed without an owner. Lowering his hands, the water calmed down as the tidal wave of Romans, weapons and shields fell to the ground.

"Here" Seaweed brains threw a dagger in his direction. Annabeth took it instinctively, realizing shortly after that it was her dagger. "You had lost it."

A scream sounded behind Percy, causing Annabeth to act quickly, making the Roman a hold on his arm and throwing him with all his might to the ground.

"Ugh, that had to hurt" Percy giggled, scratching his neck slowly. Walking towards the Roman he leaned out so he could see his face. "Now someone has suffered what I had to suffer. I still don't know how you can lift all that weight like nothing. You told me you were going to teach me, wise girl."

A horn sounded from the sky, ending the battle. Annabeth rose from the ground, stepping over the fallen Roman and standing by Percy's side, staring at the mess he had made. The water had formed a diameter of at least two kilometres, washing away all the opposing combatants, leaving the allies dry. Awesome.

"The Greeks have won" Reyna's voice rang out over the entire battlefield.

"Wow. As always your plans work" Percy glanced at her. "I thought you were going to be more excited to see me. It's been a few years now that I think about it, how's Grover doing, I tried to talk to him, but-"

Teary-eyed Annabeth silenced him with a fist on his jaw.

---

The first time Annabeth saw Percy was in New York, a few months before the battle against Kronos. The boy had run into her while on the run against a monster. Annabeth, out of sheer instinct, grabbed his arm and helped him escape from the monster, both working in perfect coordination, which caused Annabeth to have chills all over her body.

Annabeth and Percy had been partners ever since, both working shoulder to shoulder to defeat Cronos. The only problem was that Percy was never at Camp Half-Blood, always making excuses when Annabeth told him to visit.

It was when Grover showed up that Annabeth got her confirmations on Percy. He was a Roman demigod, not a Greek, he was the son of Neptune, not Poseidon. A strange sensation had risen up the girl's back, she could even notice her mother looking at her with accusing eyes.

You have joined the enemy. With the enemy.

She even noticed how a bubble of hatred grew when he thought of the Roman demigod, but when he saw those green eyes, the bubble exploded. The boy was looking at her fearfully, his eyes staring at the ground, preparing to leave her sight, but he also had a defeated look, as if he already knew what was going to happen. Annabeth shook off the feeling of that bubble of hatred and smiled at Percy, making that look the boy had disappear in a moment.

From that day on, Percy, Grover and Annabeth were inseparable, always staying at the boy's house to make plans, although it was more like Annabeth making plans and Grover and Percy eating Miss Jackson’s cookies. Part of her time she was asking about the world of the Romans, her curiosity floating around as she listened to the information the boy gave her. She learned that Neptune was not as respected as in the world of the Greeks, she also heard how Percy told him the threats he suffered when he tried to use his control over the water. The only person he got along with was Jason, a son of Jupiter, they were both in the same cohort, and now they were more than friends, both always together, despite the voices of the lares and the other demigods, all of them wanted to keep the great Jason away from the son of Neptune, a boy who only brought bad luck and trouble.

Annabeth and Percy grew closer each day, somehow Percy complemented her. On the outside it seemed that he was nothing more than a handsome boy without a head, but being almost living together in the boy's house, Annabeth realized that it was only the boy's personality, he was much smarter than he seemed, filling in the blank holes of Annabeth's plans. He also had blind faith in her, something that caused her mixed feelings. His fatal flaw was loyalty, Minerva had told him on one of her missions.

And the day of the Battle of New York arrived, they decided it was better than Percy did not speak about his Roman lineage, both say that Percy is a fugitive demigod, and had seen the danger had formed in his city and he had come to help.

They both fought shoulder to shoulder, as if they had grown up a lifetime together. Both protected their backs and threw themselves for the attacks that went to the other.

In the battle of the bridge, when Rachel came to speak about the prophecy, Annabeth stood in front of Percy, blocking a lunge that went for the boy, falling seriously injured. Annabeth did not remember much of what happened next, she only noticed painful palpitations in her body, how little by little her body became cold, but at the same time the wound was burning. There was a moment when he opened his eyes and looked Percy in the eye.

“You are cute when you worry, with your sulky eyebrows. "

Thanks to the great work of the Apollo children, Annabeth was at 75 percent of her abilities, and ready to fight Kronos. The three friends, Percy, Annabeth and Grover went to Olympus to finally fight Cronos.

The memory of Eric still hurt Annabeth, she remembered how she had given her life to betray Cronos, despite the fact that his betrayal was useless, since Luke's body was bathed in the Styx river. Eric's words echoed in their ears, asking for their help so that the next generations of demigods were recognized by their parents. After Eric's death, Percy had given the knife to Luke, having full faith in Annabeth and that her persuasion would bring Luke to light. The knife entering the demigod's body caused Kronos's body to turn to nothing but dust, leaving Luke's dead body.

Annabeth had fallen to her feet, clutching Luke in her arms, Percy and Grover on either side of her. Annabeth knew that Percy couldn't stay in this place for long. Rising up with a force she didn't know where she had gotten it from, she had escorted Percy to the elevator, leaving Grover by Luke's side and helping Thalia somewhere on Olympus.

"I have to go back to Camp Jupiter," Percy whispered, they were both about the same height, their eyes being on the same level. Percy's eyes were red, and pockets of water accumulated in them. Annabeth's eyes were surely worse.

"Before the gods return," Annabeth whispered as well.

"We will see each other again" the phrase sounded more like a question, green eyes searching for something between grey eyes.

Annabeth didn't answer him but kissed him at the elevator doors. It was a soft and loving kiss. Annabeth didn't know when she was going to see him again ... or if she was going to see him again. Before the boy could say anything, she pushed him into the elevator.

"Chase, we'll meet again." This time it didn't sound like a question, but rather a statement. The sea green eyes held great determination.

And the doors were closed.

And it took two years for me to see him again.

---

The Romans around her gasped as Annabeth knocked Neptune's son down with a punch to the jaw. Annabeth didn't let him get up, getting on top of him putting an arm around his throat, hinting that she would strangle him without a doubt.

Percy, instead of revealing himself, laughed under her. His green eyes sparkled with new light, tearing at the wide, white-toothed smile he now wore. Some of his freckles that came out from the sun were hidden among his wrinkles. From above Annabeth could see the resemblance he had to Poseidon, both with black hair and brown skin, and both with the same wrinkles next to their eyes that appeared when they smiled.

"You're cute when you worry." Percy held up a finger, putting it in the same place Annabeth had put it two years ago, between her eyebrows. "With your brows furrowed."

Annabeth whimpered and lunged toward the boy, hugging his shoulders and neck. Annabeth could hear the boy giggling as he hugged her back. Raising her head, through the tears she only recognized those green eyes that had haunted her for years and without thinking twice she kissed him.

#AO3 fanfic #pjo fanfic #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #roman!percy au

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