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soapoet · 2 years ago

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what's next in love...? [ singles ]

detailed af.

like & rb if it resonates ♡

01.

it seems like you've been living life half awake, daydreaming of many scenarios you'd wish come true. even in established relationships you may find yourself wishing for more of something. you may have been told your ideals are naive, to lay off the romcoms and fics and be a little more realistic. you may have found yourself excited at every prospect of new love, giddy and involved, endlessly curious and a true lover of the rose coloured glasses. and perhaps you've found plenty of reasons to rejoice, but somehow things eventually trickle down and get into the mundane and the routines. and it frustrates you. so much. is there really no one out there whose loving gestures and kind words don't become clockwork, expected chores and scripted events?

there is. and this one feels a little 'too good to be true'. you yourself may sooner rather than later find yourself pinching your arm to check if you're actually awake. i suggest you try to hold back on the told-you-so's to the naysayers, as some of them have your best interest at heart. and not only that, but will provide a lot of guidance and support in terms of navigating this next chapter in love. it'll be a bit of a whirlwind and a maze, but with much promise at the end as a reward.

if you've been sitting on some sort of project, waiting to launch yourself into a new endeavour, you should get back on track. especially if you've been procrastinating. somewhere down that path, there's a person you ought to meet. they relate to your goals somehow, perhaps having done the same themselves before. they have a lot to teach you and will become a priceless source of support, but don't expect things to be handed to you. your work is your own and your rewards will be bigger and better if you can in the future look back and say, damn, look at what i did, i achieved all that! that's of course not to say you can't find help from those around you. definitely ask for assistance and support when you need it. but to come out on the other side and say you made it, ideally you paved your own way for plenty of it because you deserve the final applause and praise so much. believe in yourself and don't let the little voice in the back of your head make you doubt yourself and your ideas.

this person seems like a bit of a flirt. not in a way that should raise any concerns, as they are a very loyal person. they actually make it known loud and clear if they're already spoken for, and enjoy flaunting their partner in many ways. this is a person who will bring up your achievements and strengths at a social gathering, not to flex having you at their arm, but to genuinely shine a spotlight on you. especially if it'll get you flustered. they have a very playful energy to them that's endearing and youthful regardless of their actual age. a little bit of a peter pan vibe where they'll retain their young spirit well into their retirement. they're very easy-going and likeable, and have a lot of friends, and may connect you to a ton of new people. expect your social life to explode as a result of this connection, but at the same time be sure to make time for the friends and supporters that you have right now.

this person is used to being the centre of attention, not just socially, but professionally too. they may have a very visible job or hobbies that connect them to an audience of some kind within their chosen field. their energy is very contagious and fun, though that doesn't mean they're entirely air-headed and incapable of taking things seriously. i'm strongly getting that either they or someone close to them has struggled with a physical or mental illness for a good part of their life, so they have developed almost like an antenna to pick up on things going on that aren't being said out loud. especially if you're someone who frequently avoids bringing up your problems as to not burden others, or have a difficult time reaching out for support and being honest about how things affect you, you can rest assured that this person will quickly try to learn how to read you, or even outright ask how they can best assist you when you're struggling or even request some sort of secret code that you can use to communicate your unease so that they can quickly come to your aid.

they have a little bit of a problem taking their own concerns seriously. they seem to cope through distractions mostly. a positive in this is that they don't let things that are out of their control bother them and they do the best they can with what they got at any given time. a true optimist, but a negative aspect is that they may avoid facing their demons and try to outrun their problems. this can manifest itself with workaholic tendencies and a packed schedule in general. there might be some sort of saviour complex involved, too, in which they feel compelled to help everyone else and neglect their own needs. towards you in particular i'm getting a lot of pda and quality time. you slow them down a bit and help them stop to smell the roses. they'll be surprised by how much they've longed for peace and simplicity, and they find that solace and ease with you and it really heals them on a deep level, which in turn amps up the energy and effort they show you. goodbye routine lovers, honestly. this one walks the talk and really keeps up the pace long after the honeymoon phase.

some additional details: i'm not getting a lot in terms of appearance, which may suggest that you already know them, or at least know of them, even if they don't know of you yet. it's possible that you share mutual friends or interests or work within the same field. there is a big emphasis on their voice, and things may start off as long-distance with hours upon hours on the phone. astrological things that appear significant: leo, pisces, the sun, mercury, 11th house, 2nd house.

02.

you've been flying solo for a while now. perhaps you grew tired of, or dare i say even gave up on love? it may have seemed like there just aren't as many fish in the sea as promised. at least none that you could take seriously. and serious is what you want. and serious is what you're getting.

first and foremost i must say your standards aren't too high. do not feel ashamed of what you want, and don't let anyone tell you that you need to set realistic expectations. they're exactly where they need to be and you're attracting the quality you seek. you've ventured further out to sea to find yourself a bigger catch. the journey hasn't been easy, but it has helped you grow tremendously. i'm strongly getting that your past experiences have really helped you fine tune your build-a-bae, so to speak, and there's no more reconfiguring to do. you know what you want and what you don't want, how much of this and how much of that. the next lessons for you to learn in love are ones you will not tackle on your own, but alongside a long-term partner who is at your level. long gone are the days of disappointments and putting up with feeling like you're outgrowing your partner, because this next person is mature and ready to grow with you.

this person is what fairytales would call your true love. in as many ways as you are one and the same, you differ, sometimes wildly so. if you're an introvert, they're an extrovert. if you seek comfort, they seek adventure. it's your goals and dreams and values that hold hands in agreement, and that builds up a strong foundation for your connection. if you have a lot of feminine energy, they have a lot of masculine energy. you two may even look like opposites in some ways, or come from different cultures. and do not fret, because your differences will be a blessing, not a curse. this isn't a re-run of a love where you felt like you weren't seen or heard and were made to bend. there is a distinct element of give and take here. a beautiful balance wherein they enjoy your world and your ways, and don't force you to change any of it, and you feel compelled out of genuine desire to take their hand and let them show and share their world with you. and you're able to coexist perfectly fine in a way that makes you both feel fulfilled and at ease.

things may stall a little at first, because this person will have a bit of whiplash when the two of you meet. they may feel as if you stepped right out of their dreams in a way. like a ghost from their childhood when they were around their parents or grandparents and thought of the person they'd grow old with some day. and suddenly you're there, a distant memory made flesh, a memory forgotten long ago making a big splash as it resurfaces. but once they gather themselves i see that they'll be very direct in their pursuit of you. and it's quite the old school courting, too. they make their intentions clear and have the follow-through to walk their talk. this is a very open and honest person, although they appear a bit emotionally disconnected at times. it's not due to a lack of emotional sensitivity, but processing things before acting or speaking is a part of their character. they're very serious in love, and don't seem to fit into the modern age of tinder and hookups.

they may have a strong connection to the sea, live by the ocean, look mediterranean, or enjoy activities related to water. their features in general leans darker. be it their eyes, hair, skin, or the way they dress. there is something specifically drawing me to their hands. perhaps they work with their hands, are a very crafty person, or have a physically demanding job. or simply have very attractive hands that you would take note of. physical touch is important to them, and they are very protective of their loved ones.

speaking of loved ones, they have strong familial ties and may come from a big family. i'm also strongly getting that they come from money, though without the nepotism often associated with it. their father in particular may have made it a point to raise them with a lot of discipline and drive to make something of themselves and not just rely on a trustfund. this person is ambitious and a hard worker, and prefers to be involved and hands-on with what they do. i'm also seeing siblings playing a big role in your connection. one in particular could connect with you in a meaningful way. this family is one that will welcome you with open arms and you will feel as though you have gained another family to call your own. if you have any childhood wounds related to family, this one takes found family quite literally.

some additional details: travelling and holidays figure strongly. things get taken to the next level rather quickly because there is a lack of doubt involved. they're very generous with their time and money. this has massive signs of marriage. astrological things that appear significant: aries, taurus, saturn, the moon, the 4th house, the 9th house.

03.

it seems like you're stuck on something, or someone. and that situation didn't treat you fairly. this feels less like betrayal and more like you spent some time hauling dead weight around. in vain, i might add. either you already have or will soon drop it and move on. it might be difficult, though, and i apologise if i'm overstepping here, but in part it's due to an inability to truly let go on your part. if you want to get even, or show someone what they lost, do it by moving on with grace and making decisions for yourself and your own growth and success. beware of people around you who would gladly take advantage of your vulnerability right now. even if it feels like a rebound would benefit you, it'll only hurt you if you find yourself looking over the shoulder of another person to see if the one who hurt you sees and is affected by it. what will truly help you heal is to dust yourself off and focus on feeling whole within yourself. and don't worry, you didn't stumble into yet another love reading that will tell you, well, tough luck, no love for you, work on yourself! whilst i certainly will call you to take care of yourself and pursue things that serve you and your growth, i will also go over what's coming next.

and that's something a little eerie. you may have someone in your past, who you consciously or subconsciously measure everyone else up to. perhaps this was the one that got away, or someone you met at the wrong time. in one way or another, there is a situation you wish had happened differently. in your pursuit of finding yourself again and some solid ground to stand on after enduring stormy seas, you may run into someone who is eerily similar to someone you once knew. but at the right time, now. for some of you this may very well be the exact person you already have history with, or could've had history with, though with major improvements from the previous season. but for many this is just an oddly familiar stranger who gives you a bit of deja vu. they share many similarities with someone you've been attracted to, just less red flags and complications.

this person seems rather cerebral. their job, studies, or hobbies may revolve around psychology, literature, or science. they're very good with their words, both written and spoken. they can also be quite blunt, but not with malicious intent. they aren't afraid of speaking their mind, and may be quite passionate about their opinions. they're a great teacher, and a good student, too. they enjoy delving deeply into things and soak up new information like a sponge. they'll greatly value your opinion and perspective, and the two of you may engage in debates or discussions about a variety of topics. intellectually speaking you're on the same wavelength and seem to understand each other intuitively.

it's very possible that this starts off platonic. whilst you may be ready to jump into a relationship with them from the start, they prefer to take things slowly and really get to know you first. you may worry that the spark between you will fade over time, but this one is a lesson of patience and building a strong connection as a foundation first. especially if in the past you've been quick to hurt or get hurt, you're about to learn how differently a lover will treat you when you're first and foremost a dear friend. this connection has the potential of some serious power couple themes in the long run. the two of you feel almost dangerous as duo, but i think that just goes to show that the initial spark won't fade and actually benefit from a bit of a slow burn before the fire starts raging at full force.

there is a lot of chemistry between the two of you. a very push-and-pull, engaging, and intoxicating energy. you'll keep each other on your toes in a way that keeps things feeling fresh and exciting. you're partners in crime and the world appears to be your playground. any past heartbreaks and feelings of lack, even lackluster, is gone and replaced with adventure and passion. you're very attracted to them, and they to you, in a way that could be classified as an addiction if it weren't for the fact that the side effects are predominantly positive. the two of you may collaborate on some kind of project, and your joint efforts are sure to be a success. though you do many things together, you also support each other in your separate endeavours. there may be a bit of mutual artist and muse dynamic here, wherein you inspire them and they inspire you. you both value your individuality, and hype each other up.

this person feels devilish in some way. a maverick of sorts. they're taller, perhaps lanky, and there is an unconventional attractiveness to them. they have a unique look that really pulls you in and makes them stand out anywhere they go. they might dress in a way that makes them different from the crowd. they really march to the beat of their own drum. i'm not getting much in terms of family, so they may be very independent and live a life separate from family, or they may have some wounds in regards to their home life that they keep their walls up over. they take their friendships very seriously, many of them are ones they'd take a bullet for. this is a very ride or die type of person. they're very resilient and if they've known terrible hardships in their past, you'll be in awe of their personal strength and ability to get back up when they're knocked down.

some additional details: music is very relevant to the point where you should expect to receive a personalised playlist as a way for them to communicate their feelings for you. they might be musically inclined and play an instrument. astrological things that appear significant: scorpio, aquarius, aries, pluto, uranus, 3rd house, 10th house, 12th house.

#energy reading #spiritual guidance #pac reading #spirituality #pick a pile #pick a picture #pick a card #love reading #soapy.post #loa

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ninzied · 1 year ago

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where ground meets light

alex and henry go on a double date. modern au. based on the prompt: a kiss to distract, for @caressthosecheekbones. ~1.2k.

They’ve only been dating a few weeks when he suggests it.

“Sorry.” Henry has to take this all in for a moment. Surely he must have misheard. “You want to go on a double date? With Alex?”

“Is that weird?” Gregory asks, in the manner of one who’s merely being rhetorical. “He’s your best friend. I want to get to know him better.”

“Well. Sure,” Henry says, because he cannot think of a single reasonable objection that a normal person would make. A normal person who’s not been harboring an ill-advised torch for his best friend for years. “Though,” he hedges, as if the thought’s just occurring to him, “I’m not sure he’s dating anyone at the moment.”

Henry would know if he is. In fact, according to Pez, the whole world would be hard-pressed not to notice because of the moods Henry gets in when it happens.

But it’s been well over a month now since his latest “little London fog,” as Pez calls it, so Henry mentions the idea to Alex as an afterthought, thinking there’s no real danger of him saying yes.

“Great!” says Alex brightly. “I’ll bring Yvette.”

He’ll bring fucking whom?

Yvette is a bloody knockout, of course.

Henry expects nothing less. Alex is only the most beautiful man who’s ever walked the planet, so it stands to reason that his date should look as she does.

The more unfortunate thing is that Yvette is also supremely likable. She’s warm, and funny, and seems to share Alex’s knack for livening up the conversation as though they’ve all been friends for years.

By all counts, the date should be a success. Henry laughs more than he thought he would and drinks far less than he thought he would need to. Alex is impressed by the food, which makes Henry feel absurdly pleased to have chosen this particular restaurant.

And, perhaps most importantly: because they’re seated at a round table with Alex angled off to his left, Henry hasn’t caught himself staring at him even once.

Perhaps he’s not so at risk of giving himself away as he’d thought.

The trouble, turns out, starts elsewhere.

The trouble is that Henry doesn’t have to be looking at Alex to be attuned to his every feeling and movement.

The way Alex’s knee keeps jittering under the table. The tic in his finger as he taps, then stills. Taps, then stills. The fact that he’s hardly stopped for a breath since they sat down.

He’s antsy, and miserable, but he’s trying so hard and his smile’s so vibrant that not a single person can tell. Not a one but Henry, and he needs to do something, needs Alex to know that he’s seen.

“Darling,” says Henry, without even thinking, and puts his hand on Alex’s wrist. Christ. Fuck. What did he say? What is he doing? But none of that seems to matter right now. “Are you all right?”

He feels Alex relax as though instantly calmed by that one simple touch, and Henry knows that if Alex hadn’t been all right before, he is more so now, somehow.

“Another round of drinks?” Henry asks the table, not even waiting, not even looking, before pulling Alex to his feet. “We’ll be right back.”

This is the difference between them. They both have their moods, but Henry wears his on his sleeve and has to shut himself away until it’s passed.

Alex, meanwhile, hides his in plain sight from most people, but Henry likes to think he’s not most people, and as soon as they’re at the bar out of earshot he looks Alex in the eye and says, “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Was it that obvious? Fuck.” Alex shakes his head. “It’s nothing, Hen, just—want to make a good first impression, you know?”

Henry’s brow furrows. He tells that jealous little twinge in his chest that now is not the time. “Is this your first date with Yvette or something?” No wonder he’s not heard of her earlier. “Christ, Alex, why didn’t you say so sooner? You didn’t have to come if you didn’t—”

Alex laughs under his breath for some reason. “We’re not dating.”

“You’re—what?”

“She’s a friend,” says Alex. “She’s helping me out. And if the lov—I mean, if my best friend’s boyfriend wants to meet me, I’m going to need all the help I can get.”

Henry’s chest is positively aching now. “He’s not my boyfriend,” he says, firmly despite how breathless he feels. “It’s not that dire, trust me. We’ve only been on, like, three dates before this one.”

“Oh.” Alex seems to process this. His expression looks lighter for just a split second before it gets all heavy again. “Well, if you’re wanting there to be a fifth, you should probably talk to him before it’s too late. Looks like he’s about to leave.”

Henry glances over his shoulder, and sighs. “I should probably talk to him, yeah.”

Gregory is putting his coat on as Henry walks over. They both muster up a small smile, Henry’s more rueful, Gregory’s resigned.

“I’m really sorry,” Henry says, and means it.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to make it into a thing,” Gregory says. “Unless you’re about to tell me to stay. That would be pushing it.”

“I’m not,” Henry admits. “What I did want to say is that—well, I haven’t been entirely honest with myself about what I want. Which means I haven’t been honest with you, and that’s not fair to you at all.”

Gregory nods. “I do like you, Henry. You deserve to be happy. And I deserve to not be the guy that you use as an excuse to keep standing in your own way.” He glances at Alex back at the bar. Yvette is there now too, flirting up a storm with the bartender.

“I wanted to get to know your best friend,” Gregory continues. “And now that I have, I can say that he’s a really lucky guy.” He gives Henry a meaningful look. “Even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

Alex straightens as Henry approaches the bar, an untouched whiskey in one hand. “What are you doing? I thought you were going to go talk to him.”

“I did.” Henry shrugs, and helps himself to Alex’s drink.

Alex is looking as though he’ll never again know happiness in this world. “I fucked things up for you, didn’t I. Fuck.”

“What? No,” says Henry, but Alex doesn’t seem to be listening. “Alex. Alex.”

“Do you want me to go talk to him? I can explain.” Alex runs a hand through his hair, sending his curls all breathtakingly askew.

He doesn’t even know, Henry marvels. He doesn’t even know.

“I mean, it’s not your fault that I—” Alex breaks off with a frustrated sigh before starting back up again. “I’ll tell him that you don’t feel the same way, and that I’m really fucking sorry I ruined your night with my—you know—feelings, and—”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Henry says.

Then he leans in and kisses him, because Alex is an unstoppable force, and this is the one place where Henry has not been brave enough to meet him, until now.

Alex goes quiet at last, save for the sigh he lets out as their lips part and his hands find Henry’s waist and pull in.

“Whoa,” he breathes after a moment. “Yeah, we gotta do that again.”

“Shh,” Henry murmurs, “we were doing so well.” He puts his hand on Alex’s nape, drawing him back in.

Alex kisses him back like it’s the only thing that centers him, the only thing that keeps him grounded, and Henry—well.

Henry can’t help but think that it feels a bit like flying, too.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrbsource #rwrb fic #firstprince #firstprince fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fanfic #iuserzoe #userveronika #chrissiewatts #usersteen #usernuria

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justsomerandomfanfic · 6 months ago

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Playing With Fire - Cooper Adams X Female Reader

Title: Playing With Fire

Cooper Adams X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Riley (Mentioned), his son (Mentioned), Rachel, and a news reporter

WC: 2,926

Warnings: Mentions of murder/killing (none take place), slight change in canon storyline, very brief mention of affairs (none take place), single dad Cooper, arson mentioned, mentioned of mental illnesses, age gap (40's/20's), possessive Cooper (but not too much), nicknames, banter, slightly suggestive, mini angst, italics, and fluff

Cooper Adams had made it out. He had made it out alive and well, and his family - and all the people at the concert, including police and FBI - were none the wiser that he was The Butcher. He'd admit that they indeed made it difficult for him, but Cooper was smart. Intelligent in a way that allowed him to stay three steps ahead of everyone else, usually.

His ability to blend in, to become just another face in the crowd, was unmatched. The persona he had cultivated over the years, that of a loving father, a devoted husband, and a trustworthy firefighter, was nothing more than a well-crafted mask. Underneath it all, the real Cooper thrived in the chaos, satisfying the monster inside him.

He had managed to avoid arousing suspicion, maintaining his calm, collected demeanor even as the authorities closed in on others. He must've blacked out or something, he didn't remember how he and Riley had escaped - well, how he escaped. Riley still had no idea who or what her father was. And he’d like to keep it that way.

But, a week after Lady Raven’s concert, his carefully constructed world began to fracture. His wife thought that he was having an affair; he wasn’t.

The revelation came out of nowhere, after a quiet dinner that was too peaceful to be real. The kids had already gone to bed after devouring their dessert, and Cooper had felt a strange calm wash over him, knowing that his double life was safe. But then that all changed.

“I want a divorce.”

Rachel’s words hung in the air, colder than the untouched dessert of pie in front of him. For a brief moment, Cooper felt as if one of his lives was cracking, a sharp splintering sound reverberating in his mind. The mask he had worn for so long threatened to slip. But, he was Cooper, after all, and he had survived worse. He could gain control over most situations, and he'd gain control of this one. Just a bump in the road.

‘A divorce would be for the best,’ He reasoned with himself. He could play the part of the heartbroken husband, the loving father who still wanted to be in his children’s lives. He’d get sympathy, not suspicion. “Yes,” He said slowly, calculating his next move. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

His wife’s face softened, perhaps expecting resistance, but instead finding a man resigned to his fate. She had no idea she was giving him exactly what he needed.

She moved out, and into an apartment that following month. The divorce was finalized a few months later.

He was supposed to stop, he had planned to end his life, but his kids… He needed to be a part of their lives. This divorce was needed, but it changed his overall plan. And then, on top of everything that was happening, the concert happened.

He didn't know how they knew he was going to be there. His mind raced with the possibilities. But, it didn't matter in the end. He was stepping away from The Butcher’s legacy forever.

Cooper had always been the master of his own fate, and he intended to end his reign as The Butcher on his terms before the risks eclipsed the rewards. He was acutely aware that, sooner or later, the law would close in, or he’d slip up.

Overall, he wanted to step away from being The Butcher, to spend more time with his children. He didn’t want them to grow up with a father who wasn’t there for them.

And he escaped. He escaped, and no one knew he was The Butcher. Not the police, not the FBI, not even his family. Now, it was time. Time to step back, to retire from the darkness that had consumed him for so long. Time to slip back into the life he had built, the life of a father, an ex-husband, a firefighter - an ordinary man of everyday society.

He thought he would just go on with his life - spending time with his kids every Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, going to work, and coming home to an empty house. Life carried on as before, just without his now ex-wife. The routine was supposed to be enough, a return to normalcy.

But, then he met you...

A year later, Cooper was at work when the sirens blared - there was a fire at a college dorm. It was just another job, another fire to extinguish. But as he arrived at the scene, hopping out of the firetruck, his attention was immediately drawn to you. You stood a safe distance from the blazing building, wearing worn-out Converse, shorts, and an oversized hoodie; with your college emblem on the back of it.

There was something unsettling about the scene before him. And then, as if sensing his intense gaze, you turned your head and your eyes locked with his. At that moment, something shifted within him. But before he could process the feeling, he snapped out of it and returned to work. Soon, the fire was manageable, and not even two hours later, it was extinguished.

After the flames were put out and the smoke had begun to clear, Cooper found himself drawn back to where you had been standing. He approached you and you looked up at him, and he had a chance to introduce himself. It was a brief exchange, but it was enough to spark a connection. A connection that he hadn’t been expecting.

~~~

Cooper had never expected his life to take such a turn. What started as an unexpected spark at the scene of a confirmed arson fire had blossomed into something deeper. He and you had been dating for a few months, and Cooper found himself surprisingly content. Your presence in his life brought a lightness he hadn’t felt in years.

Cooper often found himself marveling at how well you fit into his world. The age difference seemed insignificant compared to the happiness and stability you brought into his life. It was clear that you weren’t just a fleeting presence. Plus, his kids loved you; Riley had already seen you as a role model.

Yet, despite the joy and contentment, Cooper’s need for control never fully dissipated. His controlling tendencies extended into every corner of his life, including his relationship with you. He needed to know what you were up to when you went out, and he often texted and called you while you were at college, checking in on you with a frequency that some might find overbearing to those outside of the relationship. But you found it endearing. It was his way of maintaining control, of ensuring everything was as it should be.

When you were together, and he wasn't working, Cooper took it upon himself to handle everything as well, often insisting that you relax and not lift a finger. Whether it was managing household chores or planning outings, he was always there, ensuring you were comfortable and well cared for. To him, this wasn’t just about showing affection; it was a means to exert control, to keep every aspect of your shared life under his watchful eye.

Again, you didn’t bat an eye. You understood his need for control and found comfort in the way he took care of you; it gave you a routine. His meticulous nature was just another part of what made him who he was - and you loved who he was - it brought a sense of security and warmth to your relationship that you valued deeply.

His ex-wife, Rachel, never truly understood him. She noticed his obsessive tendencies and his need for control, but she often saw them as quirks rather than deeply ingrained aspects of his personality. She would sometimes dismiss his need for order and control, urging him to 'relax' or 'let things go,' which only heightened his anxiety and need for control. Their relationship eventually strained under the weight of these misunderstandings, leading to a growing emotional distance between them.

With you, you don’t just tolerate Cooper’s need for control; you seem to intuitively understand it. You recognized that his constant checking in, his insistence on handling everything, wasn’t just a desire to take care of you - it was a way for him to maintain a sense of stability in his world that he originally didn't have.

To keep a long story short, there was something about you that captivated him - perhaps because he had never met anyone who seemed to understand him as deeply as you did.

~~~

Keys jingling in the lock, Cooper opened the front door. The lights in the house were dimmed, only a couple of lamps leading to the living room. Shrugging off his jacket, he carefully folded it, placing it on the small table by the stairs; so he could easily bring it upstairs to his closet when he was ready for bed.

Searching, he found you on the couch, typing away on your laptop. Even though you and Cooper had only been dating for six months, he had practically begged you to move in with him. The thought of you staying in the college dorms didn’t sit well with him, especially after the fire that had occurred there nine months ago. It wasn't just the threat of fires that concerned him though; there were dangerous people out in the world - monsters - and the idea of you being so exposed made him uneasy. In other words, he wanted you for himself, and he knew that he was strong enough to protect you, if needed.

Living together gave him peace of mind, knowing you were safe and under his protection.

Looking up from your computer, you gave him a small smile. "Hey, Coop," You began, your voice warm. "How was work?"

Your attention drifted back to your screen, but Cooper knew that there was genuine interest in your question, the way you always cared about the little details of his day. It was one of the things he loved about you - how you made him feel important, even in the mundane moments.

"Busy as usual, paperwork mostly," Cooper replied, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched you. "But, it’s better now that I’m home." He walked over to you. Leaning down, he cupped the back of your head with a hand, placing a kiss on the top of your head before sitting beside you on the couch. "What are you working on?" He asked, his gaze flicking to your laptop screen.

"History," You answer with a sigh, saving your work and shutting the laptop, "But, you're home now, so I guess I should take a break." You joked lightly, placing the laptop on the coffee table.

"Hmm," Cooper hummed thoughtfully, his hand sliding up to the back of your neck as he began to massage it. "You’ve been working hard, sweetheart. A break would be a good idea." His touch was firm yet soothing, a mix of care and control that you’d come to recognize as uniquely his.

You sighed, shutting your eyes, relishing in the feeling of Cooper's fingers working all the knots before running through your hair. "Want to watch something?" You muttered, fluttering your eyes open as he finished his little massage; settling more comfortably against him, tossing your legs over his lap, his hand instinctively resting just above your knee.

"Yeah, sure," Cooper agreed as his free arm traveled down to wrap around your waist. "What do you want to watch?"

"I don’t know…" You trailed off, "We could just scan until we find something mildly interesting."

Cooper nodded, before scanning through the channels. You were half paying attention to the TV screen, more interested in fidgeting with Cooper's hand on your leg. Cooper’s hand was large and strong, the kind of hand that seemed made for the work he did. Solid, capable, with slightly calloused fingers that spoke of years of hard labor. His skin was warm against yours, a comforting presence as his thumb occasionally brushed against you. The veins on the back of his hand were prominent, a subtle reminder of his strength - power - yet the way he held you was tender.

Your drowsiness vanished as the words "Breaking News: Ninth Arson Attack Strikes City, Possibly Linked to Serial Arsonist," filled the room. You straightened up, your attention fully captured by the screen. The images of a blazing warehouse played out in stark contrast to the comfort of the couch, the flickering flames reflected in your wide eyes. The newscaster continued the urgency in her voice. "In a shocking development, authorities are investigating a devastating fire that broke out late last night at a local warehouse, marking the ninth suspected arson attack in the city in recent months. The fire, which quickly engulfed the building, required multiple firefighting units to bring under control. Fortunately, no injuries have been reported, but the damage is extensive, and the warehouse is considered a total loss."

"I was there for that. Took hours to get the fire out." You heard Cooper say, his own eyes watching the scene before him on the screen. “Do you think they'll catch him?”

You hummed softly, "They might, but it’s not going to be easy for them."

The newscaster continued, "-Investigators are working tirelessly to piece together evidence from the crime scenes and are appealing to the public for any information that might lead to a breakthrough in the case. In the meantime, the city remains on high alert as the search for the arsonist intensifies."

As the newscaster continued to report, you leaned back into the couch, your hand stopping its ministrations to cover Cooper’s on your leg. "Well," You said casually, your tone carrying an eerie undertone, "He’s definitely made a name for himself. You know, it’s almost poetic, makes you wonder what drives someone to turn their pain into something so... Powerful."

Cooper glanced over, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Poetic? That’s an interesting way to put it."

You met his gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in your eyes. "Yeah, well, it’s like he’s creating a masterpiece with every fire. Some people just have a way of making their mark, you know? Even if it’s through destruction." As the newscaster’s report droned on, you shifted slightly, your eyes never leaving the screen. You spoke with a casual air, but your words held an unsettling edge. "For example,.. Serial killers and serial arsonists..," You trailed off, your tone almost contemplative, "They're not so different, really. Both are driven by something deep, something they can’t quite control."

There was a pause, and Cooper’s eyes narrowed, staring at the side of your face. Did you know? Did you know about him? And with the way you spoke, so intimately about the mindset of someone who causes chaos and leaves destruction in their wake, felt eerily familiar. It was as if you were speaking from a place of experience, not just observation.

Suddenly, the memory of that night - the night he first saw you at the dorm fire, standing so calm in the face of destruction - came rushing back. The pieces fell into place in his mind.

You weren’t just intrigued by the arsonist’s actions; you were speaking from the perspective of someone who knew all too well what it was like to manipulate fear and destruction. The recognition was there, behind the facade of your own calm demeanor, and Cooper couldn’t shake the feeling that you were hiding a darker truth about yourself.

Cooper leaned in closer, his honeyed gaze intense but measured. He kept his voice low, “You seem to have a pretty deep understanding of what drives someone to create chaos.” His words were carefully chosen, probing but vague, designed to test the waters without directly accusing you. He maintained a steady, almost casual demeanor, hoping to gauge your reaction without revealing his own suspicions; he turned in his seat, facing you, his arm slipping from your waist to rest on the back of the couch.

You met his gaze with a knowing smirk, your eyes reflecting a mixture of amusement and something darker. “Well, not only do I take a Criminal Justice class, but…” You paused smoothly, your voice carrying a hint of playful menace, “I’ve always found that understanding the darker side of human nature can be quite enlightening. After all, everyone has their dark sides and secrets. Some are just better at hiding them than others. Don't you agree, Cooper?" You tilted your head.

‘Yeah… You knew. But how?’ He stared at you, his expression neutral but his eyes betraying a flicker of recognition. “Yes,” He murmured slowly, his dark brown eyes narrowing ever so slightly, “I do agree.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as his hand on your leg moved up, his fingers gripping your inner thigh with a possessive yet tender pressure.

"Well," You began, voice back to its usual lighthearted tone, "I don't know about you, but I am exhausted," You stood from the couch, only to bend down, your hand cupping his stubbly cheek, tilting his head up to meet yours, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips, "And I would love nothing more than to snuggle with you."

Yeah… You understood. Cooper looked up at you, his dark eyes softening as he felt the warmth of your kiss.

He smirked, a hint of amusement in his voice as he stood. "Come on, sweetheart, let's get some rest."

---

Main Masterlist | TRAP Masterlist

#cute #fluff #x reader #slight angst #fanfiction #fanfic #x female reader #x you #x y/n #TRAP #trap #trap 2024 #cooper adams #cooper adams x reader #cooper adams trap #cooper adams x you #cooper adams x female reader #cooper adams fanfiction #cooper adams x y/n

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 3 months ago

Text

The Silver Dragon (25)

Aemond, Arianwyn, and Queen Alicent race to find Brynna.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: descriptions of traumatic injuries

Author's Note: There's an alternate version of the header at the end. I love it, but it's far too unserious to actually use.

Series Masterlist - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Arianwyn had never craved violence. When she tackled Rhaena all those years ago, all she wanted was to save Aemond. When she stabbed Daemon only the night before, it had been in a desperate attempt to save her own life. But now, as she frantically ran through the halls of the Red Keep in an ill-fitting dress borrowed from the Queen, with a fur stole covering her neck, she wanted nothing more than to feel her father’s blood running through her fingers.

If he had done anything to hurt Brynna, she… she did not know what she would do. Claw at his face, perhaps. Or rip every hair from his head. Gouge out his eyes. Take his sword and cut him in two, as he had done to Vaemond Velaryon. Command Emrys, the dragon he had once tried to keep from her, to burn him alive.

Or maybe she would simply unleash Aemond upon him.

From the murderous glint in her husband’s eye and the hard set of his jaw, she knew that was the cruelest thing she could do. He would make him suffer for what he had done to her. By the time Daemon finally breathed his last, perhaps some tiny modicum of justice would have been served.

Arianwyn was torn from her fantasy of revenge when she rounded a corner and nearly slammed into Aemond’s back. She could not see why he had stopped, only that his hand was on the hilt of his sword, ready to defend his new wife.

The four Bronze Guard that had followed them from their chambers drew their blades, two moving forward to flank Aemond.

“Stand down. All of you,” Alicent commanded, laying a soothing hand on Aemond’s shoulder as she stepped around him.

Though Aemond did not release his weapon, he did step aside, allowing Arianwyn to see Larys Strong standing before them.

Leaning heavily on his cane, the clubfooted Lord of Harrenhal looked over the harried group with a grimace. Though his face was set in pity and sadness, it did not reach his eyes. “I am afraid your presence is urgently required in the Great Hall, Your Grace. Prince Daemon claims he has been attacked and is demanding a trial immediately.”

“A trial?” Arianwyn asked, trapped somewhere between fear and hope. A trial meant that his attacker was alive, for a corpse could not face judgment.

Larys’ dull eyes locked onto her face. “He has brought the accused – your long-serving maid, Brynna Taler – before the Hand and the Small Council. The guards are presently attempting to disperse the crowd his… theatrics have attracted.”

“Has he hurt her?” she asked, unable to keep her voice from breaking with terror.

Flicking his eyes to Aemond and the sword on the prince’s hip, Larys replied with careful diction, “Not fatally, my Lady.”

But the words offered no comfort. That Daemon had laid even a finger upon her was enough to set her tears flowing and a sob ripping from her wounded throat.

That single cry was more than enough for Aemond. He growled, drawing his blade as he pushed past the Lord Confessor. Alicent followed him, shouting futilely for him to remain calm, with Aria not far behind.

Aemond could hardly see the path in front of him for the bloodlust surging through his veins. The fearful stares of courtiers and servants alike as he stalked through the halls of the keep were as inconsequential to him as rats in the gutter.

However, the words they whispered as they approached the Throne Room echoed through his mind.

“Do you think he did it?”

“Of course not! He has only done what we have always expected.”

“It’s only that she’s been on Dragonstone that it hasn’t happened sooner.”

“That is precisely what I mean! He’s been stewing in anger for all these years.”

“Perhaps since he could not have Prince Lucerys’ eye, he took her instead.”

“She may have loved him once, but that was when they were young, and he had no scar.”

“Would you want that sharing your bed?”

“Gods, just look at him. Not even Maegor looked such a villain.”

“He did it. Of that, I have no doubt.”

Aemond would not react. He would not give them that satisfaction.

He knew what he looked like. They had been so rushed to find Brynna that he’d only thrown on his trousers and loose tunic from the day before, leaving his hair untied and his eye – his scar – bared for all to see. He was disheveled, to say the least. And with his scar on display and his sword drawn…

Several ladies looked away in horror, and Aemond knew why – he appeared every bit the monster they all thought him to be.

A flash of Aria’s soft smile when she looked upon his marred face for the first time crossed his vision. You are gorgeous, Aemond. So painfully gorgeous that I cannot stand it.

Yet he could not help but grip his sword tighter, until the skin of his knuckles ached with the effort. He could not stop his scar from burning or the skin surrounding it from twitching. Nor could he stop his stomach from roiling, for despite Aria’s ardent insistence in his continued beauty, he knew that the whispers were true.

To all but his wife, he was hideous – nothing more than a villain and monster.

His despair only deepened when he approached the Great Hall and heard Daemon’s voice carrying beyond the heavily guarded doors and throughout the corridors for all those gathered nearby pretending not to be eavesdropping to hear.

“Arianwyn was distraught,” he boomed, voice wavering with fabricated despair. “It is no wonder why. From the moment we arrived, Prince Aemond never once relented in trying to molest her before our very eyes – ”

Whatever he said next was drowned out by the startled murmurings of the crowd as the One-Eyed Prince, the aspiring molester himself, stormed through their ranks to the still-closed doors, Daemon’s ‘distraught’ daughter close behind. With the steel of his drawn blade flashing in the morning light, they parted for him like stalks of wheat to a raging bull.

Aemond did not wait for the stewards or guards to open the doors, pulling them open himself without a care for their monstrous weight nor their thunderous sound as they again shut behind his wife, mother, and the two Bronze Guard that had followed them in.

The Hand stood before the Iron Throne, the other members of the Small Council and Septon Eustace just below the steps. Rhaenyra and her firstborn bastard stood to the right of the Throne, haughty and presumptuous as ever. A smattering of men from the Kingsguard and various household guards were scattered throughout the hall, eyes darting between each member of the royal family.

Curiously, Helaena was also present. Not truly paying attention, simply standing beneath the column bearing the likeness of Aegon the Conqueror. She gazed out the Eastern windows and watched the rising sun, nothing in her serene face to indicate that she was at all listening to what happened around her.

And Daemon.

Cruel Daemon. Hateful Daemon. Villainous Daemon.

Daemon, who had abandoned Aria before she was even born. Who ignored her for a decade while she had to wonder why she was unworthy of his attention and love. Who had broken her heart the very first time she met him by laughing at her at that damned funeral and saying whatever it was he’d said to her afterward to make her grow up in the span of only a few hours.

Daemon, who had torn them apart when Aemond needed her most. Who had confined her to that horrible island and locked her in that tower. Who had threatened to kill her simply for reuniting with Aemond. Who had nearly followed through on that threat only hours ago, when his hands had left bruises on Aria’s neck.

Daemon, whom Aemond swore he would kill, stood halfway between the dais and the doors, no doubt so his raised voice would carry to the gossipmongers.

Before he could continue his tale, however, the bastard Jacaerys burst from his place by his mother’s side, drawing his own sword and pointing it toward Aemond’s chest.

“Release my sister!” he demanded, despite the fact that Aemond was plainly not holding her hostage.

“I am not your sister!” Aria yelled back.

Aemond said nothing. However, he allowed himself a proud smirk as he raised his own blade in reply.

How dare Jacaerys call her ‘sister?’ What little blood they shared was thin and tainted by his bastard birth. Perhaps if he had been more than Aegon’s boorish toady in their youth or been kinder to Aria on Dragonstone, Aemond would not now be so eager for this fight.

Tilting his head in a silent dare for Jacaerys to make the first move, Aemond could not help but wonder whether the Curse of the Kinslayer applied to bastard nephews.

“Brynna!”

Arianwyn abandoned all her fears and good senses the moment she saw her beloved maid kneeling at the dais steps, pushing past the queen and Aemond. He had reached his offhand out to stop her, but she brushed it aside.

“Take my hand, Arianwyn,” Jace whispered as she passed him.

She did not give him the courtesy of a reply or even a glance at his pleading face.

Daemon glared as she approached, but she did not face him either.

At the base of the Iron Throne, she tripped over the too-long skirts of Alicent’s dress, falling to her knees. She cried without cease as she took in the woman’s wretched state. “Brynna, I’m so sorry.”

A large purple bruise covered most of her face, from her split brow to her bleeding lip. Her nose was broken, still marked with a dried river of blood.

But the worst of it was her hands. Her lithe, nimble hands that had crafted some of the finest dresses in the history of the Seven Kingdoms – including the dress that had become Arianwyn’s wedding gown.

Shattered.

Each finger bent and twisted like the gnarled roots of an ancient tree. The skin was so red and bruised that Arianwyn could hardly see the countless cuts marking where she had been struck over and over and over again.

Arianwyn knew that while it was not by her own hand, she had done this. By angering her father, by stabbing him. The moment she married Aemond, she made everyone she loved a target for Daemon’s wrath, and he wasted no time claiming his first victim.

“Oh, gods!” She cried, dropping her head to Brynna’s lap as she had not done in years. But she did not care that she was too old to cling to her maid. She just needed her close. As close as possible. “This is all my fault! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Brynna shushed her, but her sobs soon joined Arianwyn’s. She attempted to wrap her arms around her young charge, only getting so far as to rest her forearms on her shoulders.

“It is not your fault,” Brynna whispered, voice hoarse and broken.

Arianwyn did not believe her.

She would beg and beg for forgiveness until her voice gave out. Until her knees bled from kneeling, and her eyes were dry of tears. She would beg until the Mother herself appeared to offer her mercy or until the Stranger took her away – though to the heavens or the hells, she did not know.

Aemond looked from his wife to Daemon and raised his sword level with the villain’s heart as he strode past Jacaerys. The bastard moved to stop him but was pulled back by his mother.

It was Daemon who had done this. He had hurt his wife’s greatest friend. He had made Aria cry. And he would pay for it.

But Daemon paid him no attention. Rather, he sighed and, with an expression of relief to rival the worst mummers in King’s Landing, took a single step toward his daughter. “Aria!” he cried, “How relieved I am to see you unharmed!”

Aria lifted her head from Brynna’s lap to stare at her father, her mouth dropping open as her brows scrunched. Another tear fell down her flushed cheek, and Aemond’s rage burst into a wildfire within him, lashes of hot pain licking at his scar.

She had been harmed, and he was the one who had done it.

“Stay away from my wife,” Aemond growled, circling his new father-by-law until he stood protectively between him and Aria. He could feel his anger hot on his breath and could swear he heard Vhagar roaring in the distance.

“Was it not enough for you to steal my dear Laena’s dragon?” Daemon asked, brow crumpled with false heartache and a voice loud enough to carry beyond the doors. “Now, you must take my firstborn, as well?”

“I have stolen nothing,” Aemond hissed, angling the point of his sword to Daemon’s neck. All it would take was one motion, one cut, and the Rogue Prince would never harm Aria again. “Can you say the same, uncle?”

“Put down your swords!” Otto bellowed from the throne. “There will be no more blood spilled in this hall!”

‘Swords?’ Who – ah. A quick glance revealed that Ser Warren and a man in bronze Aemond had never met stood behind him, scowling while sheathing their swords. But Aemond did not move, save for a twitch of the muscle in his jaw.

Gods, his scar was blazing. It had not hurt like this since the night it was given to him.

“Despite that pin on your breast, Otto, you have no right to rule in this. It is a family matter,” Daemon spat, dropping his besieged father act.

Otto did not yield an inch, speaking with all the authority of the Iron Throne. “Indeed. Concerning my grandson and his new wife. And seeing as how, in his absence, I speak with the voice of the King – your brother and Prince Aemond’s father –I have every right to rule on this family matter. Don’t you agree, Lord Wylde?”

The Master of Laws startled when his name was called, but he quickly collected himself and answered, “Yes, my Lord Hand.”

The only hint of Otto’s smugness was the nearly imperceptible twitch of a smile on his lips. “With that matter settled, we can begin. Prince Aemond, I will not repeat myself again. Put. Down. Your. Sword.”

Against all instinct and every nerve in his body, Aemond obeyed. Though he did not sheath the blade nor move away from his wife.

Arianwyn’s tears began anew when Brynna nudged her shoulders, pushing away from her. Was she angry for causing Daemon to hurt her? Or had she inadvertently agitated the wounds he gave her?

Brynna shushed her before she could give voice to either question, her hands coming to cup Arianwyn’s cheeks before she pulled away. “Oh, my Aria. You mustn’t cry. Not now. Not for me.”

“But it’s my fault,” Arianwyn whined.

“No!” Again, she moved to cradle her lady’s head, and again, she pulled back. “It is Daemon’s fault and his alone.”

“But–”

“Hush!” She glanced at the two Bronze Guard who flanked Aemond as they sheathed their swords, then over Arianwyn’s shoulder. “You must be strong now. Can you do that? For me?”

Arianwyn ducked her chin and shook her head, and Brynna finally took hold of her, forcing her eyes to meet hers. Against the purple of her bruises, her brown eyes appeared nearly black. “Start with standing, eh? Come, we’ll both do it. We can help each other.”

Careful to mind the wounds on Brynna’s hands, Arianwyn grasped her elbows as she fought her shaking legs to steady and rise.

She stumbled, and Brynna caught her.

Then Brynna stumbled, and Arianwyn caught her.

They at last found their footing just as Aemond lowered, but did not sheathe, his sword.

The Hand sighed, gesturing to Brynna. “Grand Maester, for the love of the gods, will you please tend to this poor woman?”

Daemon seethed. “That ‘poor woman’ has attacked a Prince of the Realm!”

“I have not!” Brynna shouted.

“She did not!” Arianwyn yelled with such a cold fury that she was sure she bore icy claws. Emrys’ howling echoed through her mind as she pulled away from her maid, only enough to allow Orwyle the access he needed to assess her wounds.

Orwyle examined Brynna quickly, then looked back to Arianwyn and gave a slight, reassuring smile. The same he had given her when he declared that Aemond would survive the loss of his eye.But her heart was hollow, and she could not return the gesture.

Brynna would not recover if she were soon executed.

Once satisfied that Brynna’s wounds were being tended to, Otto lowered himself upon the Iron Throne. “Prince Daemon,” he said, “If you are quite finished with your performance, the Crown will now hear your accusation.”

Daemon bit the inside of his cheek, scowling before he once again painted his face with fatherly concern. “After our family meal last night, I went to check in on Aria. She had been so upset when she left, after seeing her dear brother attacked by none other than the man who had treated her with such vulgarity all evening.”

Arianwyn looked to Aemond, begging with wet eyes for him to speak in his defense. But he only glared at Daemon, hatred painted on every inch of his face. Hatred so bright that, for a moment, it seemed a flame danced within his sapphire.

Unchallenged, Daemon continued. “When I reached her rooms, this woman,” he pointed at Brynna as he spoke, drawing attention to her, “was at the door. She would not allow me entry to my own daughter’s chambers.

“First, she told me that Aria was unwell. Then, that she was asleep. When she had run out of excuses, I demanded she stand aside to let me through. But she would not. So, I went to push past her. That is when she took her shears and did this.” He tossed the bloodstained iron shears to the floor and tore off the linen wrapping around his right hand before raising it above his head for all to see.

The comforting thought of spilling his uncle’s blood was the only thing distracting Aemond from the pain searing through his very skull. Until he revealed his wound, and then his heart flooded with dark pride.

A large gash was visible in the space between his thumb and forefinger. As Daemon turned to present his hand to those behind him, Aemond was gratified to see the wound was wide enough for sunlight to shine through the hole. When this was over, he would have to congratulate his wife on a job well done.

“I, of course, was able to subdue her even with the wound, and she quickly revealed the sinister scheme.” Daemon grinned at Aemond as he went on, “The prince here paid her quite handsomely to sneak him into our guest quarters, that he might steal her away for his own. He forced Septon Eustace to wed them. And then, I imagine, he raped her so the marriage could not be dissolved on account of a failed consummation.”

“Lies,” Aemond hissed. But Daemon’s eyes were not on him but on his grandsire.

“An interesting story, my prince,” Otto said, not a hint of emotion in his voice. “Though I am afraid I find myself with several questions regarding its details.”

Daemon scowled, unable to hide his disdain for the man. “And what, pray tell, are your questions?”

“I think we should start at the beginning, don’t you? With Prince Aemond’s behavior at dinner.” Otto raised an eyebrow, the only hint of his confidence. “You see, my prince, I was seated closer to him and Arianwyn than you were, and yet I saw no such evidence of molestation, attempted or otherwise.”

When Daemon opened his mouth to counter him, the Hand continued, “Though I may be mistaken. Perhaps we should ask the Princess Helaena, who was herself seated at Arianwyn’s side, what she saw?”

Daemon scowled but did not object.

“My sweet girl,” Alicent said from where she now stood with her daughter. “can you tell us what you saw between Aemond and Arianwyn at dinner last night?”

Helaena, emerging from her haze, glanced between her brother and his wife. “I saw love, gentle and true. As it has always been.” The princess smiled proudly for a moment, but it faded as a shadow passed over her eyes. “Shattered glass,” she murmured, “Silver shards sharper than a broken blade.”

Not even Daemon had a clever answer for the seemingly meaningless words.

In the silence that followed Helaena’s declaration, Arianwyn looked closely at her cousin as the fog cleared from her lilac eyes. At the dinner, she had said something about a cloak – a white cloak – in the moonlight. Had she somehow known?

Otto gave a soft thanks to his granddaughter, who then turned and simply left the Throne Room, before turning back to his rival. “But these are the small details of your tale, Prince Daemon. Indeed, they may be crucial to its veracity, but whether or not a lady was molested can be quite easily mistaken by even the most perceptive among us.”

Lord Wylde failed to conceal his chuckle.

“Let us focus instead on the larger picture,” Otto said. “For that, it seems we are missing the most important testimony. Lady Arianwyn?” He tipped his chin to her, and she was surprised to find reassurance in the gesture. “Please tell us what happened – but speak only the truth.”

The words echoed those that she heard once before, long ago, and brought Arianwyn back to the Throne Room on Driftmark. She was kneeling at Aemond’s side, pressing kisses to his trembling hand only moments after his eye was taken. She could feel Rhaena’s nails scratching her skin, the heat of Aemond’s fresh blood flowing through her fingers, and her aching chest wheezing for breath. She was drowning in desperation as she begged the king to believe her tale.

How had it come to this again?

“Aemond has done nothing untoward,” she declared, though her voice wavered. “Nor has Brynna. But the prince and I are indeed wed, and our union has been consummated – willingly.” She took a moment to steady herself and stepped towards Aemond, lacing her fingers through his. He startled at the touch, for she had approached him from the left. But he relaxed only a heartbeat later, finally sheathing his sword.

“Septon Eustace can attest to the veracity of the marriage,” she said, looking only at her husband. “My household guard, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Ser Criston Cole all bore witness. Orwyle is welcome to inspect our bedchamber to confirm the consummation.”

When Daemon scoffed, Otto held up a hand to silence him. The prince looked for a moment as though he might argue, but he was pulled back by his wife taking his hand. Rhaenyra gave him a stern look, whispered something in his ear, and he stilled.

“My dear, why wed in such haste? And in near complete secrecy?” Otto asked.

Arianwyn considered her words carefully. She knew Otto wanted her to tell the court everything – but he could not possibly know what he was asking.

With Brynna hurt and her marriage so publicly questioned, she dared not invoke more of Daemon’s wrath. Someday, he would pay for his crimes. But today, all Arianwyn wanted was to free her maid and remain by her husband’s side.

Vengence could come later.

“Aemond and I have been in love these many long years, even when separated,” she said. The truth, even if she had only just learned it. “We did not want to wait any longer for our families to negotiate a marriage contract or allow them to promise us to anyone else.”

That was a lie. But judging by the faces of the Small Council, it was at least a good one.

“I apologize for any pain our impatience has caused,” Arianwyn continued, inclining her head toward Alicent. “We have deprived our family of seeing us wed and all the celebration that comes with it. We married out of love, my Lord Hand. There is no more to say than that.”

The Hand again smiled at her, “Thank you, Arianwyn.”

She began to curtsy, but Aemond held her still. “You are wife to a prince,” he murmured, “You need not bow to him anymore.”

“Eustace,” Otto said, facing the man, “You performed the marriage?”

The Septon nodded. “I did, my Lord Hand.”

“And did the Lady Arianwyn show any reticence during the ceremony? Did she appear nervous or afraid?”

“No, my Lord Hand,” Eustace replied. “She was as happy as any bride I have ever seen. Happier, perhaps.”

Arianwyn blushed, squeezing Aemond’s hand. He tensed, then returned the gesture.

“Grand Maester,” Otto now plainly smiled as he turned to Orwyle, “can you indeed confirm the consummation?”

“I can do so now, if you think it necessary, my Lord Hand.”

“Thank you, but there is no need for haste. Can anyone else attest to the veracity of the marriage? Were there witnesses?”

Arianwyn’s heart soared as Sers Warren, Rolan, and Criston answered.

“Yes, lord.”

“Me, my lord.

“I would swear my sword to it.”

“I thank you, Sers, but I wager that will not be necessary.” Otto finally smiled as he swept his eyes past Arianwyn to his grandson. “Prince Aemond, is there anything you should like to say to the court?”

Aemond finally tore his eye away from Daemon, gaze softening as he looked upon Aria’s beautiful, hopeful face.

There was much he wanted to say.

He wanted to tell the whole court – the whole world – of Daemon’s crimes. He wanted to see him arrested and face the Father’s justice. And when he was executed, he wanted to be the one to swing the sword.

But Aria saw it all on his face, every sinful thought he had. She pulled him towards her, wrapping her hand around his wrist, and shook her head.

“No,” Aemond sighed. “Only that everything my wife has said is the truth.”

The Hand turned back to Daemon, “Well, my prince. It seems that the matter is settled. But there is still the question of your wound. Would you care to offer another explanation as to how you were injured?”

The Rogue Prince was practically steaming with rage. The sight awoke sinister pleasure within Aemond’s heart. He was about to retort, to mock his failure, when Aria released his hand.

She said nothing but pulled slightly on the end of the fur stole she wore so it fell just enough to expose her bruises, now clearly in the shape of a hand, but only to Daemon, his wife, and her bastard son.

Jacaerys gaped, looking as if he might cry. Rhaenyra looked shocked for a moment, then hissed something in Daemon’s ear as his face went as red as their house's sigil. Another hiss and he visibly forced the appearance of composure.

“No,” he bit out. “Seems it was an accident.”

Aria laughed – a light, blithe chuckle – wholly out of place at such a solemn occasion. But to Aemond, there was no sound more beautiful.

His wife may have silver eyes, but she was undoubtedly a dragon.

On the Iron Throne, Otto grinned. “An accident? What sort of accident?”

Daemon only sneered before Rhaenyra stepped in front of him, cutting off whatever biting remark he surely had planned.

“I think we have heard more than enough,” she said, the same forced diplomacy in her voice as the night before. “I suggest, my Lord Hand, that we dismiss this matter entirely as the unfortunate result of a father’s desire to protect his daughter and an excess of wine at dinner.”

Otto nodded, content in his victory.

“Grand Maester Orwyle,” he commanded, “please take the lady Brynna to your tower and give her your greatest care. Dear lady, you have the sincere apology of the Crown, as well as my assurance that you will be compensated for your troubles.”

“Thank you, my Lord Hand.” With the aid of the Maester, Brynna stood and curtseyed. Then, as she was led out of the Throne Room, she flashed a quick grin at Aria, who slumped against Aemond in relief.

Wrapping an arm around her waist to support her, he used his free hand to fasten the stole once more. He let his fingers linger on her throat, focused on the feel of her pulse slowing, the pain in his face fading with each beat of her heart.

The moment the doors – those on the side of the hall, to avoid the crowd – closed behind Orwyle and Brynna, Rhaenyra stepped forward. “My Queen, my Lord Hand. I thank you for your hospitality. But I think it time we take our leave.”

“We hope to see you again soon, Princess,” Alicent replied.

Otto leaned forward. “If you would stay just a moment, we may announce the marriage to the court.” He gave a gesture to a guard to open the main doors once more. “After all, Lady Arianwyn is your firstborn.”

The crowd poured into the Throne Room before either Daemon or Rhaenyra could argue against it.

Aemond took a moment to savor the look of defeat on Daemon’s face and vowed that he would see it again.

On the day he killed him.

I came so close to using this bc Jace's face is just hilarious, but the Daemon pic is more fitting.

I no longer do taglists. If you'd like to be notified when I post, please follow @exitpursuedbyavulcan-writes and turn on notifications!

#aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond imagine #prince aemond #aemond x oc #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd aemond #aemond fic #hotd fanfic #aemond xf!oc #aemond x original female character #aemond x original character #the silver dragon

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mischiefmaker615 · 3 months ago

Text

Use Me (Loki Love Story) Ch.4

Summary: Loki shows up at your brothel with an offer. What could go wrong?

Requested song inspiration: Use Me by Johnny Blue Skies & Dove Cameron & Diplo

Your stubbornness remained and you came out with a towel wrapped around you. He had left you to finish up your routine- yet with the anxiety of him popping in at any moment. He never did, so you felt like you rushed for nothing.

You weren’t sure why you were making all of this difficult. Men have done things to you before- mostly for their own gain. Perhaps its more personal because it was Loki- and the fact that you’d see him the next day unlike the other clients. It was easier to do things with the assurance they were gone.. but now you belonged to your client; the very client that sat in his lounge chair with a book in his hand and a towel around his waist.

‘’..will I be provided with a nightgown?” you asked quietly, feeling the tips of your hair dripping still with left over water while you tried not to shiver.

‘’I told you your clothes have been removed, what do you think?” he asked, not even bothering to look up from his book while he spoke with his casual tone.

You weren’t sure why you even tried, frankly you should have seen that coming. Looking around, you were unsure of what to do at this point and you were pretty sure Loki was ignoring you to drag on your uncomfortableness. Nevertheless, he ended up snapping his book shut, making you jump a bit where he then set it aside to lean on his forearms against his knees, looking at you hungrily as if it were the first time- and that he hadn’t just seen you naked moments ago.

‘’you’ll catch a cold if you remain in a wet towel, and I do not wish to have my sheets soaked.. not that way, anyway.’’

Your cheeks heated while you clutched the towel closer to yourself, daring to glance at the bed and you could have sworn it wasn’t that small a second ago. ‘’..I’ll be sharing your bed?-‘’

‘’were you under the impression you’ll be taking the study couch?” he chuckled and you honestly debated on it. If you were in his bed with you, you knew what that meant.. but that was the deal wasn’t it..

‘’wherever you’ll have me serve you my prince..’’ you said carefully. The faster and frequent stuff like this was done, the sooner you could leave.

This seemed to please Loki, earning a smirk on his lips while he stood up- the towel hanging on his hips with a prayer while he slowly made his way over to you. His height made itself perfectly known with the way your eyes had to rise while he neared, and you didn’t dare step away while you concentrated on breathing. Once he stood before you, his hands clasped behind his back and looked you over, your eyes so wanting to look over his toned chest and stomach while they kept on his gaze.

‘’you will need to figure out a solution for yourself darling. I am quite forgiving but angered quite fast. Follow the rules, and we will get along just fine.’’ He smirked and placed a hand below your chin, his thumb gently tracing your bottom lip while you shivered. ‘’I expect a result when I return.’’ He then moved past you, his side brushing up against yours harshly that made you catch your footing while the towel almost fell off around you.

You caught yourself before you could glare in his direction, watching him disappear into the bathroom while you wrapped the towel firmly around you. Little shit.. you hated thinking that of your prince- you’ve never thought ill will against him.. but you never imagined him to be.. this kind of cruel.

You supposed it could be worse.. mind torture may be better than getting beaten.. maybe not? You just didn’t understand why he just didn’t fuck you, pay and repeat. That routine sounded a far lot simple than.. whatever he was doing here. Was teasing you some sort of foreplay?

To your utmost surprise, you found yourself wet regardless and hated yourself. His eyes.. the way they seemed to study your every movement. His skin was so smooth and flawless, how you wished you could run your hands everywhere.. his voice- gods how you wished he could talk behind you.. his cock- that’s the one thing that had you shivering and your heart racing at the same time. It will be by far your largest, but.. you were sure you could take it.. somehow..

Right now you needed to figure out a solution to not break the rules by wearing any sort of clothing, or get his bed wet. The towel was already semi soaked from when you dried most of yourself- your hair will for sure cover the last inches of the dry parts of the towel.

The fireplace.. that should speed things along-

You quickly moved over to where it cracked and knelt down, rubbing your hands in its warmth first before you glanced over your shoulder. Loki was finishing his bath he didn’t finish.. you almost felt guilty.. almost.. he may be awhile, so you quickly drew a bath and unwrapped yourself. The thick carpet was warm and soft from where you sat, adding extra comfort with the fire. You continued drying your hair with the towel until you knew for certain it would do you no more good and set it aside.

Semi dry.. but still noticeable.. would Loki touch you to make sure? Run his fingers through your hair? Notice if a single drop of water was left on you? This was petty.. this was impossible.. what would he do? You didn’t know if you shivered from the thought or that you were still trying to keep warm but for some reason, the room began to grow colder.

You glanced towards the balcony but didn’t find the doors open, nor any windows. Damn.. you were freezing! Even this close to the fire, it should be doing something! You rubbed your arms and felt your chest getting affected by the frigid temperature. You quickly pulled your knees up to your chest, suddenly hyper aware of how naked you were but there was no way in Hel you were going to wrap yourself back up in the wet cold towel.

You had no solutions and you realized it.. he wanted you naked.. defeated, losing whatever game he was playing.. you stayed knelt on the ground while a arm wrapped to cover your chest while your other rested down with your hand covering your intimate area. This was humiliating and you shivered. Cold and scared. What would be the punishment?

Loki came back out with a towel around his hips again and a spare he was using to dry some of his hair. He stopped just two steps out of the bathroom and rested your eyes on you. His expression, you weren’t sure. You stared at the floor shivering, red faced and tried controlling your breathing.

‘’I’m sorry my prince.. I’m still a little wet and could not find a proper solution..’’ your words came out in a cold chatter, quiet and careful.

The silence made you dare begin to look up, to see if he was angry but as soon as you saw movement, you closed your eyes. Would you hear the whoosh of a belt? Perhaps him drawing a sharp breath before he would curse at you? Maybe nothing at all before you feel the impact of something.. and still, nothing.

Nothing until you felt a slender, smooth finger pad rest below your chin and raise your head, making you slowly open your eyes before they caught sight of Loki’s kneeling form, looking at you with a soft yet still, unreadable expression.

‘’how wet darling?”

His whisper came out clear and yet you still questioned if you heard him correctly. this god was a man of mystery and wondered if he was insinuating an innuendo or the literal state you were in.

‘’..m-my prince?”

His thumb rested with his finger, pinching your chin by having to repeat himself with sharp eyes and yet his voice still remained so soft. ‘’just how wet are you darling?”

You weren’t sure why your cheeks were red, tightening your arms around yourself while you tried to convince yourself you were meaning literal while you drew a breath. ‘’a little..’’

‘’soaked?” he asked, almost to quickly with the thrill in his voice that seemed to startle you.

‘’d-dripping my prince..’’ you whispered, feeling his hand leave your chin to run gently against your cheek before his fingers found themselves in your hair.

Granted you weren’t to bad, the temperature having somehow returned to normal and yet still you shivered. Especially when his eyes began to travel down to your covered form, making you shiver even more while he tilted your head back to expose your neck.

‘’cold darling? you cannot hide it from me..’’ he smirked, whispering against your skin while his lips rested against your cheek before ghosting the tip of his nose down to caress your neck.

‘’it’s f-freezing in here..’’ you tried not to whine, feeling your thighs press together while your mind fought between the growing pleasure and reality.

‘’I know, I made it that way..’’ he smirked and your eyes blinked at him while you bit your bottom lip.

‘’h-how- why..’’ you began but the tightening in your hair made you squeak, not to painful but enough for wanting strangely.. more.

‘’so I could have you just this way for me.. deliciously perky if I may add’’ he smirked and his eyes flicked to yours. You couldn’t even move your head but tightened your arm across your chest just encase by his comment. ‘’I knew you wouldn’t be able to find a solution and couldn’t pass up the chance to have you present yourself kneeling and naked.’’ He then chuckled. ‘’I so much prefer seeing you like this whenever I enter, perhaps I’ll have you do just that.’’ He smirked before releasing your hair and getting up.

Your hand left your intimate area to land in front of you so you couldn’t face plant the floor, now on your knees and palm while you quickly sat back in position and covered yourself while you watched him walk away. He was cruel.. he wanted you humiliated, red cheeked and submitting to him.. bastard.. gorgeous.. gorgeous bastard..

‘’come here darling,’’ he said and tossed the towels aside- looking dry to the bone before your very eyes and they widened at the sight of his backside while he pulled the covers back for him to get in. ‘’your punishment is over.’’

‘’..my punishment?” you blinked and felt yourself shiver while he slide into bed, sat up and arms crossed while he looked at you.

‘’I can’t have you chattering all night. Come here.’’ He said more firmly and your cheeks reddened while you bit your bottom lip.

Was freezing your punishment? Or the more humiliation that came out of it.. either way, you wanted to end both. Right now, you were guessing he wanted you on the other side of the bed, sliding in and quite frankly, the warmth of the heavy blankets was enough argument to have you trying to pull up enough courage to stand up.

‘’do not be bashful darling, it is nothing I haven’t seen before.’’

‘’m-most of me was under water..’’ you reminded him and stood yourself up, awkwardly covering yourself while you made your way quickly to the bed and got under the covers, knowing he had to have seen everything in that swift motion but the heat under the blankets made you forget the embarrassment for a moment.

‘’is that so?”

His hinting made you look over at him and question your own sanity. ..he wasn’t present when you got in the tub right? He only saw your chest.. unless he was referring to another moment- none you could recall before you began to get stalker vibes all over again. His slender hand took hold of your wrist, making you flinch at the sudden movement before you felt yourself sliding towards him until both his arms wrapped around you.

‘’you think too much.’’ He reminded while your eyes widened and felt yourself being turned around until his chest was being pressed up against your back and something hard pressing against your ass.

You weren’t stupid and felt your heart rate up but his arms just held you against him while his nose buried itself in your hair. Oh gods.. was this it? Was he going to-

‘’relax..’’ he whispered and still didn’t move.

His slow breathing became steadier and you half debated on if he was asleep or not. You didn’t dare move, but nor did you feel him move other than a few twitches here and there from his.. ya know..

No sex? Just some cruel cold torment and that was enough for him to fall asleep like a baby? You couldn’t go to sleep immediately, laying there in wait for the trick to appear, the surprise, the gotchu moment, but it never came. Eventually your waiting lengthened to the point where your eyes indeed began getting heavy, and felt yourself falling asleep soon after he was felt nuzzling impossibly closer.

Tag List: @comehomecomehometous @trash-panda-kitty @kuroturo @lovinglimerence @kathren1sky-blog @soulpiercing @ildflue-17 @navs-bhat @ririsasaki @allbymyself17 @howl-and-midna-smeltser

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george228732 · 3 months ago

Text

Dededark Matter 2

Day 6:

The funeral came sooner than anyone expected, obviously without a body, because nothing even remained of Dedede, besides that black substance that was pitiful to look at - and they’d find it disrespectful to use that substance for the funeral procession, so they left it in the deceased’s room in an urn, to try and make it seem like he’s still there, even though no one would dare to open that room due to the sheer sadness it would evoke.

Everyone was prepared with funeral clothing, all with somber faces seeing how one of their people was no longer with them - it was so sudden too, with an illness that couldn’t be figured out until it was too late. At the very least they were happy that their king wouldn’t suffer anymore.

Hyness was the priest on that day, blessing the site and then allowing his closest friends to say their final goodbyes in a more formal passion.

Everyone was on the verge of tears, or at the very least, couldn’t find the words for someone that passed so quickly - he had a long life ahead of him, but it all went crashing down for seemingly no reason other than life being unfair - death is like that sometimes; simply unfair, and out of nowhere.

Meta Knight was the first one to say his final goodbyes towards Dedede, and it was clear that he was doing his best to hide his grief, due to how slow he was talking, even slower than usual - he thought that he had already shed enough tears when the king passed in front of him, but it was clear that he wanted to cry more - not that his sense of duty would allow him to do that, thinking that he needed to be strong for the rest.

“...Goodbye, my king. May Hades, or wherever you go, be kind to you, for you have been kind to me, and I am sorry that I can’t accompany you this time in your journey. May you rest in peace.” Meta said before the grave of his lover and backed away.

“You were always the best person I could talk to, understanding my problems and always being free to talk with me - sure, you may have been a little mean at the start, but your pure heart is the thing that I’ll always keep in mind. May you rest in peace.” Bandee followed, similarly reserved like Meta.

“I-I’ll always remember all the gourmet races we did together, and our friendly battles! Please, wherever you are, please make sure to remember those like how I am doing now, I beg you. May you rest in peace.” Kirby was crying, but gained the courage to say those words before backing down with tears streaming down his cheeks like a river.

Soon, people started to give their blessings - some quiet and reserved, and some others sobbing until there were no more tears left in their system, and so, the funeral service continued, being as somber as it was from the start.

“...If only I had noticed sooner…” That was the sentiment Susie (and everyone else at the funeral) had at that time; perhaps if they knew what was going on earlier, they could’ve prevented it somehow - even though it was most likely a disease that couldn’t be cured, blaming themselves for their king’s death was the only thing they could do.

Soon enough, the funeral service ended, with everyone doing their best to honor Dedede’s memory, and to do so, the Star Allies decided to stay in the castle like yesterday, trying to feel as if the king was there with them, but obviously, he wasn’t and it was clear from the start, since the place had never felt so empty, without Dedede’s voice to cheer the Waddle Dees up, and speaking about them, they clearly had been taking his death the worst, not even deciding to work, or to make dinner for the rest, a thing everyone could understand perfectly.

“...” Meta Knight started to walk towards the empty throne, bowing as if someone was occupying it, and then got closer to it.

“What are you doing?”

“Since the King has passed, someone must take its role to keep order, and considering my relationship with him, the one most appropriate to do it would be me, even if I think it’s dishonorable to do this just now, someone needs to take responsibility.

“...Makes sense…” Kirby spoke up before walking away towards the kitchen, where the Star Allies were making the food themselves. Even though they didn’t have the strength to eat, they thought that it’d be a good way to distract themselves from their grief.

Lastly, everyone went to sleep in their respective guest rooms, hoping that the heavy atmosphere of today wouldn’t remain for tomorrow, even though it was clear that it’d take a while to adjust to the idea that one of their best friends wasn’t with them anymore.

Overall, it wasn’t a good day.

Day 7:

Fylass, sharing the bed with Kirby and Bandee was the first one to wake up, seemingly not even sleeping an inch thanks to yesterday, and not even bothering to take their funeral clothes, but at the end, it only reminded him of what he lost.

“...” He left the room as silently as possible to look at the morning sky - on days like these, Dedede would come here to comfort him about whatever dark feeling he might be going through, but obviously, that wouldn’t happen now.

He now wanted to find someone that could comfort him during such dark times, but most people were asleep, and he didn’t want to wake anyone up, so he walked down the hallways, looking at the Waddle Dees doing their daily patrols, even though they were still sad thanks to Dedede’s departure.

Oddly enough, though, he found someone at the end of one of the empty hallways, carrying a lot of research with them.

“...Jade?” Fylass said, approaching her. She quickly took notice of Fylass’ presence and quickly came to look at him.

“Ah, hello…! Did you sleep well…?” She said, until she realized that the kid had clear eyebags and his way of walking made it clear that he barely slept yesterday, so she started regretting asking that question.

“...Not really… I guess you know why…”

“Yeah… he will be missed.” For someone like Fylass, he found it impressive that Jade seemed to be taking the whole thing better, or at least, that’s what the little bird thought.

“...Yes…” Fylass hung his head looking at the ground and started shedding some tears, but quickly tried to cover that up with his arm.

“So… What are you doing…?” Fylass asked, looking at Jade’s research.

“I am just… trying to investigate more about Dark Matter… To prevent a repeat scenario and such… I still don’t really get how it happened so fast, but it was clear that Dark Matter was involved, so I must investigate the why before someone else goes through the same…”

“I see… Can I help? I should know something about it, right? Sure, you made some groundbreaking discoveries with some of your other research if I remember correctly, but I still want to be of some use for this… Dad is dead, so I want to prevent any more tragedies related to it…”

Jade pondered for a moment about what to say, but she finally reached an answer.

“No, it’s fine… Don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to burden you with my work anyway…”

“...Can I at least get a hug from you? No one’s awake at the moment…”

“Of course…”

Fylass received a hug from his older sister, but from his back, he felt something wet, like droplets of water falling down his clothes - he paid it no mind though, since he felt too gloomy to care.

—

Soon enough, people started to wake up, putting on some clothes and going to the dining room to see if there was any breakfast there for them.

Gladly enough, there was breakfast being prepared, but it’s not like there was any appetite left within them for now, but for mere courtesy, they decided to sit down and eat.

“...” Fondue was the one in charge of preparing breakfast, and even though there was no energy left within him, it was at the very least appropriate to keep on working under the new rule under Meta Knight they knew was coming.

“...If Meta was going to end up being a king anyway…” He thought to himself - he didn’t have any hard feelings towards Meta, obviously, but he felt empty knowing that his beloved king was gone and would never come back…

The breakfast was done with love, like always, but it still felt hollow, due to the grief of today and yesterday - it was as if the food didn’t even want to taste good, or even bad, just… nothing.

Soon, when they had finished eating, they all simply left after saying thank you.

Fondue just simply went back to his room, and simply sobbed on the other side of the door - Dedede was one of the most important people in his life after all.

“Why…? Why did you have to leave us like that?! I’ll never forgive you for that!” He said, obviously not mad at the dead, but simply sad that he was even unable to tell him goodbye when it all happened.

When he had stopped sobbing though, he realized that the sobbing continued, even though it wasn’t his - it was odd for sure, so he went out of his way to try and find the source of the crying in his room, to check if some Waddle Dee was in here somehow.

Soon, though, he realized that the source came from directly outside his room, so by not trying to be disruptive, he placed his cheek on the door to check who was crying in his place; sure enough, he almost missed it, but it was immediately clear who was the one crying. It was Meta.

“Oooooh… Dedede…” Those were the words Meta muttered behind the door, seemingly not realizing there was someone nearby, which made sense, not many people went to this specific area of the castle; Meta perhaps thought that he would get some privacy here.

“Why did you leave me alone? I’ll never forgive you for it!” Meta said, sniffling. “Now I have to take the place you left behind! Long ago, I would’ve wished for this moment, but now, I only want you to come back…”

“...” Fondue just kept on listening, not wanting to interact with the conversation Meta had with himself, but deep down, he wanted to help, since both were probably feeling the exact same thing in terms of grief - Dedede was the most important person of their lives, after all.

—

Day 8:

A new day followed, still with some of the gloomy feeling from the past two days, but at the very least, it was more tolerable…

Magolor walked towards the hallways of the castle due to having lost something on the way, when he realized something was off. These were oddly emptier than usual, and felt some sense of foreboding down his spine.

He kept on walking to see what was happening around here, and that’s when he realized something - Dedede’s room was open.

“...W-What?!” Magolor entered the room to see who was intruding in there - it had been an agreement between them that no one would enter this room to honor Dedede’s memory, at the very least for now, so who would be there?

“Who’s there?!” Magolor asked.

Then he realized sooner than later who was on the other side - it was Susie, and Taranza as well…

“W-What are you guys doing here?! I thought we agreed to never touch this room!”

“Magolor! Er… W-We can explain!” Taranza said to Magolor, and the latter realized that they were not only inside this room without permission, but were also taking Dedede’s urn with them.

“Huh?! What are you doing with that! Leave it there, you might break it!”

“Listen, we’re doing this for the greater good, just let us do our thing!” “What are you even doing?! It seems that it wasn’t enough for both of you to annoy him in life, now you have to do it as well when he’s dead?!” “Oh, that’s rich coming from you, Magolor, but listen! We are planning to bring Dedede back to life!”

“Yeah, as if I-... Wait, what did you say?!” Magolor demanded an explanation.

“Look, I know that we might need to move on and all, but how could we when we found a solution to bring Dedede back from the dead?! It’d be beneficial for all of us! Most of us barely ate yesterday and Fondue told me that Meta was on the verge of having a breakdown, one of the many he witnessed! It’s clear that we need to do this, or else the Star Allies might crumble into despair!”

“...And how are you planning to do that?”

“Remember when I came down to this planet to use its resources? And one of the things I did to try and stop Kirby was making a clone of Dedede using his DNA? What if we use that to bring Dedede back?!”

“Huh? And how?! Dedede doesn’t have a body anymore where we could use his DNA, there’s only black goop!”

“Well, that black goop is Dark Matter! I already cloned Dark Matter before! What if we try to use my techniques again to try and revive Dedede?! It might not be the regular Dedede we know, but it should be fine! He’ll be back!”

“And how are you so sure about this?!”

“...Please, trust us. We know what to do. When we lost Sectonia and Haltmann, we tried our best to move on from that, and it’s safe to say that we did do our best, but it was only with the help of the Dream Team and the Star Allies that we found a better life together. We need to do this, we know how to do this! So, please… let us go back to how things were back then…

“...”

@moonmacabre01 Creator of Fondue

@turquoisetuber Creator of Jade

#king dedede #kirby #bandana dee #bandana waddle dee #kirby ocs #not my ocs #my oc #friends ocs #my writing #fic writing #kirby au #dededark matter au #main character death

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jomiddlemarch · 4 months ago

Text

in the middle before I knew that I had begun

Every visit to Rosings was a trial. As a small child, it had perhaps been most bearable, Darcy whisked away to the nursery where his cousin Dickon was often already settled, making the most of the hobbyhorse which Anne was too young to mount and which would be of little use to her as she would expected to ride side-saddle as soon as she was put upon a pony. Anne’s nurse was apt to ply them with shortbread to get them to behave properly, unlike Darcy’s nurse at Pemberley who would not have hesitated to box their ears. They were brought down to the drawing room for a quarter of an hour, standing as still as they could, Dickon having invented the game he called living statues to help pass the time. It would stand Darcy in good stead over the years, especially when he was most in company. At Rosings, they would be inspected, praised by Darcy’s mother, criticized by Aunt Catherine, and offered cakes by Dickon’s mother, who was quite plump and fussed least about crumbs and sticky fingers.

Returning every year was an obligation, one which only grew more binding after his mother’s death, though her absence was keenly felt, unblunted by time as Georgianna grew to resemble her. Her daughter was more like her in manner than in coloring, though she had her fair and unblemished complexion. Darcy could no sooner have stayed away from Rosings than gallop to the Moon upon a road of starlight, a fanciful image he’d conjured for Georgianna one night when she was recovering from a childhood illness, still fretful from her fever. If their mother had lived, perhaps he might have visited friends, stayed in London and made a wider acquaintance than that of the Bingleys, however fond he was of Charles. As it was, it was Darcy’s fondness which kept Charles from suffering more than one visit to Rosings, a boon even the sunny-natured Bingley was deeply thankful for. Darcy went, Georgianna accompanying him if her health allowed, the only argument Aunt Catherine would ever countenance, and he sat through dull afternoons and duller dinners, dull vintages and even duller volumes in the Rosings library. He listened to his cousin Anne play endless sonatas competently but without any particular feeling and he did his best to keep from striking the sycophant vicar Mr. Collins his aunt had given the Rosings living to; unlike her, Darcy was not remotely pleased by the man’s obviously intricately planned adulatory remarks, the slavering expression in his rather small eyes every time he uttered the most-esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh, an appellation Darcy felt did not need to be mentioned in every third sentence.

A visit to Rosings was a trial and an obligation, a chore and a burden, until he arrived and found a stranger at the pianoforte, a vibrant, chestnut-haired young woman in a very simple muslin gown, his cousin Anne sitting beside her. Anne had never looked more sallow and sickly, her costly gown and jewels emphasizing her frailty in contrast to the bloom of the woman beside her, whose hair was held back by a plain ribbon fillet, her only adornment a modest little cross of some dark stones. She was playing the piano with more zest than accuracy and Darcy was dismayed to be unsure which aspect was pleasing Anne enough to make her pallid lips curve in a small but entirely genuine smile.

Anne stood when she saw him while the woman stopped playing but remained seated. He walked over to greet his cousin, bowing smartly while she made a gesture akin to a curtsy, the formality due their stations far outweighing any mild familial affection they might have for each other.

“Cousin Fitzwilliam, welcome. If you are here, you must have already seen Mama who have advised you to come. I hope your journey was not too taxing and that you will stay here a while and enjoy some music. My new companion, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, came just last fortnight. She is the cousin of the vicar and Mr. Collins was only too glad to discover he might have been able to in any minute way be of service to me, and by extension, my most-esteemed mother, Lady Catherine,” Anne said. She’d spoken more words than Darcy had ever heard her utter at one time, and though she was still quite pale and her curls rather lank and drooping, there was an unusual animation in her tone. She turned slightly to face Miss Bennet. “That is how he said it, wasn’t it, dear Elizabeth?”

“I believe he was only too glad and most assuredly blessed beyond measure,” Miss Bennet replied. She had the finest dark eyes Darcy had ever seen and her voice was confident and gay, far different from every other companion he’d ever encountered, women most often faded misses of indeterminate age who spoke little and softly, nearly always offering only an affirmation.

“That’s him exactly. He’d pressed his hands together as if he were about to give a homily in the pulpit and Mama gave him her falcon-sighting-prey glare and he only nodded his head several times,” Anne said.

“He was honest though. I’ve never met someone as delighted as Mr. Collins is to render even the most insignificant service to Lady Catherine and I myself am certainly fortunate to have been offered the position as your companion,” Miss Bennet said. Darcy had never heard a companion speak so frankly to her betters about her role and felt he ought to be disgusted. Instead he was diverted, a condition he experienced rarely.

“I am the fortunate one, as you are far more lively and engaging than I could ever be. I’ve never known the days to pass so quickly,” Anne said.

“They shall pass quicker still when your strength improves and our walks about the countryside are more extensive,” Miss Bennet said, a remark which could have been cutting, as if might have been if Miss Caroline Bingley, Charles’s rather odious sister, had spoken it, but which was only imbued with a gentle, genuine warmth and kindness. “Though you risk a muddy hem three inches deep when you join me and your mother may be as disappointed in your deportment as she was in mine. I must admit, Mr. Darcy, I did not bow my head and offer an apology. Indeed, my courage rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”

“You are singular, Miss Bennet,” he said.

“And you have not even heard me attempt ‘Les deux petits savoyards,’” she countered, moving her hands back to the pianoforte’s keys.

“Oh do play, dear Elizabeth,” Anne said and Darcy inclined his head in agreement, at a loss for words. The melody began, quite spirited, much like the musician herself and Darcy realized this visit to Rosings was itself singular.

For he had fallen in love. With his Cousin Anne’s paid companion. A servant.

Somehow, he’d have to find a way to marry her.

Written for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month day 7, prompt: servant.

Posted in the better late than never spirit.

#pride and prejudice #pride and prejudice au #janeuary 2025 #elizabeth bennet #fitzwilliam darcy #anne de bourgh #servant au #romance #darcy POV #rosings #elizabeth is anne's paid companion #mr. collins #lady catherine de bourgh #fitzwilliam family #charles bingley remains darcy's BFF #I decided Colonel Fitzwilliam's first name is Richard

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jacobwren · 3 months ago

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"I go into the kitchen to find some lunch and am surprised to find a teenage boy sitting alone at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal. He asks me who I am, and I explain that I won’t be staying long, probably no more than a week, that I’m just here renting a room. To say that his response confuses me would be an understatement, since right away he replies: “That’s probably my old room. I used to live here.” It is completely tactless of me, and perhaps even dangerous, but without thinking I blurt out: “Did you murder your brother?” He doesn’t seem at all disturbed by my tactlessness, has clearly heard it all before. His voice is extremely calm as he explains: “No, I didn’t murder my brother. Very sadly, my brother killed himself. He wasn’t well. My parents know this but pretend they don’t. I suppose they think there’s something shameful about suicide, something shameful about mental illness. So they pretend something happened that didn’t. My mother even told the press she’s going to write a book about it. For some reason they find it less shameful to have a son who’s a famous murderer. This aspect of their worldview makes absolutely no sense to me. I mostly live in the forest nearby, sometimes I hide here in the basement when it rains. I still have the key so when I’m hungry I come and take some food. My parents know all this but pretend they don’t. They prefer to think of me somewhere out there in the big wide world, on the lam, to think of our life like some Hollywood movie. They’ve told the police I ran far away so, for now, it seems the police aren’t looking for me around here. But I assume sooner or later they’re going to figure it out.” I tried to understand whether or not he was lying to me and, if so, to what end. It certainly didn’t feel like a lie, as improbable as it all might sound. I say: “Your parents just decided you murdered your brother?” Son says: “No, the police told them I murdered my brother. And they decided to go with the official account.” Just then we hear a key in the front door and the son says he better be going, slipping out the back before I can stop him." - Jacob Wren, from the novel-in-progress Desire Without Expectation

#jacob wren #desire without expectation

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volkoss · 3 months ago

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Fic: Dissonance (Ch. 3 - Phylactery)

CHAPTER 3: PHYLACTERY | MERESINO | WORDS: 736 | RATED: M A series of non-linear vignettes exploring the life of Meredith Stannard. Written for @14dayscirclemages.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 Note: This chapter functions as Meredith's reflection on the events of Precipice, in which Meredith and Orsino sleep together for the first time in fourteen years. (AO3 LINK)

Sometimes, Meredith dreams about the first enchanter. Dreams not so much about the foolish dalliance of their youth, but the man Orsino had grown up to be.

By her own admission—by her own design—she had never expected anyone to replace Maceron after the elderly mage’s demise. It spoke to the state of the Gallows that it had taken his own senior enchanters several days to notice he was missing.

The smell truly had been something to behold.

But given the number of years that had passed since their ill-advised fling, Meredith had quite forgotten the extent of Orsino’s devotion. Forgotten, until Orsino had volunteered himself for Maceron’s now vacated position. Forgotten, until the now first enchanter had stormed across the corridor, flinging himself into her office like he owned the place, hands clinging tight to that ridiculous hand-me-down staff, demanding her attention.

She hated how time had treated him well, how he’d only grown more handsome in the intervening years. That the silver in his hair gave him a distinguished appearance. That those green eyes glittered shrewd and sympathetic in equal measure. His hands...

… It was better not to dwell upon his hands.

She hated how quickly he blew past the emotional walls she had so carefully constructed, using the history of their shared intimacy to lull her into a false sense of security. She hadn’t even known how easily her body would remember the steps of the old dance even after all this time, hadn’t even bothered to double-check that he’d locked the fucking door.

But what she hated most was how he’d completely unravelled her upon her desk then whispered those three words against her hair in her post-coital haze. Those three words that would have changed everything if only he’d told her fifteen years sooner. She could never have left everything behind for anything less than certainty. So, she had stayed. Thus, Orsino had stayed. Therefore, they would be trapped together in this nightmare forever. Truly, given everything that has happened since she’d been appointed Ser Wentworth’s successor, perhaps it would have been better to run away from it all. She’ll never give Orsino the satisfaction—the sorrow—of knowing he’d been right this whole time.

She still remembers how hot and angry she had been in the wake of Orsino’s rude and abrupt intrusion back into her intimate life. Humiliation, rolling off her body in waves. Fourteen years of abstinence, yet one taste of him and she was back to craving him like lyrium. She had not known back then that the quick fuck on her desk shortly after his promotion would not be the last of it. Maker, she had desperately wanted it to be, could not allow herself to be pinned so expertly at the intersection of so many definitions of compromised.

The way she had felt when holding his phylactery in her hands should have been her first warning sign. It had glowed hot, hot, hot, but of course it had: Orsino was just across the hall. The fact she had stalled at all, marvelling at how she held his life in her hands, instead of simply sealing the damn thing as duty dictated and sending it off to Val Royeaux should have been the second. The third: that for a moment (the barest of moments, but still) she had considered how she could get away with not sending it at all. But she had known then, just as well as she does now, that such a feat would have been impossible to pull off without a mage’s assistance. And there was no mage alive she trusted with such dangerous information. Not even Orsino. Especially not Orsino.

I would have helped, says Amelia.

Bile and panic race up Meredith’s throat. You’re not supposed to be here.

But this is where I belong.

Meredith wakes suddenly, tangled in her sheets. As she so often does after these types of dreams, she reaches out at the space beside her, but it is empty. She hates how her linens still smell like him, even though months have passed since he’s graced her bedchamber. “The glow gives me a headache,” he’d complained, among various other unimportant things, and that had been the end of that. She doesn’t need him, anyway. She doesn’t fucking need him.

She’s used to being alone, waking up alone.

Alone, except for Certainty.

Alone, except for the Thing.

#da2 #meredith stannard #knight-commander meredith #first enchanter orsino #meresino #orsino #ziskfic #ziskfic: dissonance #ziskfic: symbiotes #series: symbiotes

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dayntee · 3 months ago

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[Fic] That Year at Arlathan University - Ch. 8: Collaboration

As usual, full chapter below the break, or you can give it a read over on AO3.

Summary: In which Lavellan asks Solas a favor.

Ellana wasn’t sure why the idea hadn’t occurred to her sooner. In fact, she wished it had, because it would have been much easier to have asked the favor earlier.

She had been approached about a week ago by a student she hadn’t previously noticed in her classes. He was older than most of her other students, with a tired face cloaked by a baggy, heather hoodie and wild tufts of the most platinum blonde hair she’d ever seen spilling out. His pale blue eyes, despite their dull color, were strikingly warm, and he had hung back at the end of a class where she had been covering modern Dalish religious customs.

“Professor Lavellan,” he had quietly prompted, and she started; he’d moved so quietly she had hardly noticed him at all. “I had a question if you have the time,”

“Of course! How can I help?”she paused packing her bag, giving him her full attention.

“You mentioned each of the Elven Gods have… markings. Like the ones you wear?”

“Ah, yes. The vallaslin,” she nodded, prompting him to continue.

“Why are there only eight patterns when there are nine gods?”

Ellana’s smile faltered, but she did her best to hold it above a frown. The purpose of her class was spreading understanding of her modern Dalish culture, and that meant telling the less pleasant tales as much as the happy ones.

“Well… Fen’Harel is not commonly a revered god amongst the Dalish. As the god of treachery and rebellion, some clans see him as a villain while others pay their respect more cautiously,” she explained gently, in a tone she hoped did not sound too uncomfortable.

The young man considered her words thoughtfully, raising a finger to tap his cheek.

“Is rebellion considered an evil thing by the Dalish?”

Ellana considered the question. It was a poignant one. “Well, no. In many ways, we’ve had to fight our own rebellions. Against Tevintir, against the slaughter of our kin during the Exalted March… Rebellion is as much a part of our way of life as it may have been for Fen’Harel,”

“How interesting. Are there any customs that revere him?”

“A few. The most common is to place a statue of Fen’Harel at the edge of one’s camp, facing outward. His is the only statue of the gods to remain outside of a Dalish camp, to ward off his presence. We have some sayings, colloquialisms really, about how the Dread Wolf catching your scent is an ill omen,”

“Hmm,” the young man grew thoughtful again, looking down. “That sounds… lonely,” he said quietly, and something about the statement instilled a sadness in Ellana’s heart. “Thank you for explaining,”

“Of course. My apologies, I didn’t catch your name,”

A gentle smile. “Cole,” he said simply, not elaborating any further.

“You have a lot of compassion, Cole, to have such empathy for the Dread Wolf,” she smiled warmly in return. “You’ve given me a lot to think about as well. The modern Dalish have lost a lot in our time, perhaps our history hides some secrets yet.”

He nodded, then bowed his head just slightly in farewell, and turned to leave. She sat with the thought for a while afterwards before taking out a notebook and jotting down a few notes. Then, she pulled out her class roster and ran a finger down the list.

There was no student named Cole.

She’d then made the mental note then to follow up with Solas. So why now, as she was at her desk tapping a pencil anxiously against its surface, was she so nervous to talkto him about it? Was it because she was going to have to keep looking at him as she spoke? Was it because what she was proposing investigating was preposterous and borderline blasphemous? Was it because if he agreed, she’d be spending even more time with him?

It was probably all those things.

The office door opened and her thoughts were dashed; though she had been expecting him, she still internally scolded her heart beat to please, by the gods, calm the fuck down. Unexpectedly, he moved straight past her to his own desk before she could say anything. She blinked in place for a moment, before turning her computer chair to look at him sidelong; he’d taken a seat and almost seemed like he was… purposefully busying himself?

“Ah, I hope it’s not a bad time. If you’re in a hurry, we could talk later,” he paused and looked up, like he’d forgotten she was there at all. A beat passed. Another. At this point, they were simply staring at one another.

Finally, something seemed to click in him and he put down the papers he seemed to have been idly shuffling through.

“Apologies, I am… distracted today. You had a question for me,”

He seemed to be inviting her to ask, so she breathed in, turned to her desk, and lifted a figure from it. She held it out in front of her.

It was a small, seated wolf. A muscle in his jaw tensed.

“How much do you know about Fen’Harel?”

There was an awkwardly long pause after her question. At first, she assumed it was because he had nothing to say.

“You know, the elven god of-“

“Trickery, lies, deception, rebellion… Fen‘Harel is often given a lot of less than savory areas of concern,”

“Oh, so you’re familiar?”

There was another awkwardly long pause.

“…Yes,” he finally answered, and seemingly resigned, leaned back in his chair. “What do you want to know?”

“Someone brought an inconsistency in Dalish beliefs to my attention, and I’d like your insight on it. But…” she fidgeted, and turned to set down the figurine, intentionally facing it away from her desk and toward the door. “Well, it’s the kind of thing if I ever asked my Keeper, she’d question my sanity.”

“Ms. Lavellan, I’d like to think we have had enough conversations for you to know I’m unlikely to share the opinions of your Keeper,” he raised an eyebrow at her, and she laughed despite herself.

“Fair. Alright then,” she leaned on the arm of her chair, looking upward thoughtfully. “This… student asked me why Fen’Harel has no vallaslin to honor him. I explained that many Dalish don’t look upon Fen’Harel very favorably, as the god of treachery and rebellion,”

He tilted his head as if to urge her to continue, so she did.

“He then emphasized that, of all the things attributed to Fen’Harel, one of them is rebellion. What does the concept of rebellion not have in common with treachery, lies, or deception?”

His brows were knitting together as he listened, and after a moment he realized she was actually waiting for him to answer.

“It is the only one not considered to be inherently amoral,”

“Exactly,” it was clear this thought had stuck with her and she’d been spending a lot of time with it. “If anything, it stands out as being the most likely primary concern of the Dread Wolf because otherwise it’s so out of place. The Dalish might actually have more in common with Fen’Harel than they realize! Since the fall of Arlathan, we’ve done nothing but be forced to rebel. We’ve had to throw off Tevine oppression only to be forced from the Free Marches. The whole of our People’s history is just…always fighting to survive!” Ellana seemed to catch herself, her voice having grown a little louder and more impassioned with each statement. “We… still are,” she finished, much quieter and more solemnly.

She looked up at him and was surprised at the intense stare he was giving her. She suddenly felt as though he could see through her entirely, as if Solas had seen directly into the barest part of her soul. His head tilted slightly downward so he was looking at her over the rim of his glasses. There was the smallest hint of a smile on his lips, and he had leaned in as he listened, to her embarrassment, to what he must clearly think a crazed rant.

“I-I’m sorry, I got caught up in-“

“Don’t apologize. That was brilliant,” he smiled more broadly, waving a hand as if to dismiss the notion an apology was needed at all. “I… do think you may be on to something. I have reason to believe that the elven gods—the Evanuris—were not quite what the Dalish believe them to be,” he said carefully, watching her reaction as his statements grew more bold.

“Solas, that would be… world changing,”

“Yes, it would,” he took off his glasses and slowly began to clean them; she wasn’t sure they were actually dirty. It more appeared a nervous tick or simply something to do with his hands as he spoke. “You have actually stumbled on to the subject of my current research. If it would be helpful to you… I could share some of my insights. But I warn you, much of what I am looking into might be considered…” he paused thoughtfully, replacing his glasses. “Unorthodox, if not blasphemous to your own beliefs.”

“I understand; I would need to keep an open mind,” she hummed thoughtfully. “Well, faith is an interesting thing. Belief without the burden of proof. That said, who am I to turn proof away if it’s staring me in the face?”

Something she said must have struck him, as his smile twitched wider until he began laughing quite genuinely. She felt a little left out of the joke, but she smiled politely anyway as the moment passed.

“You are… You have a remarkable mind, Professor Lavellan,” it was not unnoticed by her that this was the first time he’d ever properly attributed her title to her. Whether it was that fact or the compliment itself that set her cheeks on fire, she was unsure.

“Ah, um. Thank you,” she turned away from him, wondering why and when their office had grown so warm.

The air hung awkwardly quiet again for a moment before she spoke again.

“Actually, I had a favor to ask,”

A quirked eyebrow. “Oh?”

“A collaboration, actually. Originally I was thinking a special lecture, or maybe even guest teach in one another’s relevant classes, if you were open to the idea. You literally teach the past to my present, and that context should be surfaced to my students. I’d hope you’d find value in doing the same for yours,” she paused, taking a moment to assess his reaction to it. He looked… it was hard to say? Thoughtful? Indifferent?

“Obviously we’d both need to spend more time reviewing each others’ syllabi and finding ideal topics to cover, but if you’re busy with your research-“

“I like the idea,” he interrupted, practically blurted. He cleared his throat before offering clarification. “Providing multiple perspectives is important to critical analysis.”

She brought her hands together with a smile. “Excellent! I’m glad we agree,” she caught a glance at the time on her watch and gasped. “Oh, I- I’ve rambled too long and need to run to my next class, but maybe next time you’re free we could start outlining something?” She was gathering her things as she spoke, stuffing a few papers into a courier bag, tossing a colorful, hand-knitted scarf around her neck, and folding her light fall jacket over an arm.

“Are you available Friday night?”

She froze for a moment, as the question sounded a lot like… No, clearly just a time outside of work that was convenient. And soon.

“Oh, yeah, sure. After work, on Friday then,” she nodded a confirmation, internally wondering exactly how many ways she was going to find to say ‘yes, I agree.’ Walking backwards out of the office as she did, she nearly checked the door frame with her shoulder as she waved goodbye. She turned around quickly after and picked up her pace.

‘Smooth, Ellana, real smooth,’ she chided herself, choosing to ignore the amused chuckle that trailed out behind her, and finding the cool fall air all the chillier for the blush she still carried.

#dragon age #solavellan #dragon age the veilguard #solas #dragon age inquisition #veilguard spoilers #dragon age veilguard #solavellan fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #arlathan university #university au #modern au #college au #date night date night date night #a wild Cole appears #I swear this is going somewhere just bear with me #Elf-splaining Fen’Harel to himself is my favorite part

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scalefeathers · 9 months ago

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Lucky Break

Wolgraha Week 2024 - Day 3 - Alternate Universe

(set in @scrollsfromarebornrealm's Weird West AU)

Honestly, G’raha should have realized a lot sooner than something was up. But he’d been running late, as he so often was (one might expect a reporter to be used to working with deadlines, but it was just so easy to get distracted) so he’d been in a hurry as he rushed to the station, well aware that train timetables were one of the few things in the world harder to negotiate with than his editor. He’d been in such a hurry, in fact, that he hadn’t even seen the girl step out into his path between the ticket counter and the platform. While he’d been frantically apologizing and helping her to her feet, he hadn’t even felt the hand of her accomplice slip into his pocket, nor noticed until the train had fully pulled away from the station that said pocket was considerably lighter than it should have been.

Still, being robbed need not have in itself been disastrous. After all, he still had his ticket, which throughout the whole altercation had been tightly clutched in his hand. And once he reached Stonewood he could wire back to Tulliyollal for more funds. Unfortunately, when he examined said ticket more closely, he saw that the name printed on it was not ‘Stonewood Town’, but ‘Stonewood Mine’. Upon inquiring, he learned that the Stonewood Mine station was some twenty-five malms from Stonewood Town, that the station did not have a ticket counter (not that he could have bought a ticket even if it had), and that at present the mine was not even in use, as it had recently been sold and the new owners had not yet spun up their operation.

For all of these reasons, G’raha elected not to disembark at the mine. Instead, he moved to another part of the train and sank low in his seat as the train pulled away from the desolate-looking station. Maybe the conductor wouldn’t notice he was still here before the train got to Stonewood, and he could slip away unnoticed. Maybe, this time, he’d be lucky.

He really should have known better by now.

~~~~~~~~

G’raha let out an undignified noise as he hit the ground hard, then immediately rolled to the side to avoid being flattened by his luggage as it was tossed out after him. He sat back up, opening his mouth to plead once more for clemency, but the smirking porter was already sliding the door shut and the train was already beginning to move again. G’raha could only watch helplessly as it slid out of sight, the rhythmic chuffing of the engine sounding in the moment like laughter at his expense.

He sat there, stunned, for a few moments; then he remembered his luggage, and scrambled to open it up and check on the contents. Thank the gods; his typewriter was still intact.

“Some good fortune, at least,” he murmured to himself. He allowed himself just a few moments of self-pity; then he stood up, dusted himself off, picked up his suitcase, and started to walk.

He was able to set a decent pace at first, but between the heat of the sun and the weight of his bag, his speed soon slowed. His shoes, well-suited though they were to trekking up and down Tulliyoallal’s hills and traversing its many streets, were ill-prepared for the uneven, rocky terrain of Shaaloani. His hat did little to protect the back of his neck, his throat was dry, his shoulders ached, and the sun had not yet reached its zenith. Still, he told himself, as long as he kept putting one foot in front of the other, took one step and then another, he would reach the town eventually. He could hardly get lost, after all, as long as he had tracks to follow.

~~~~~~~~

...Of course.

G'raha looked forlornly at the split track: one fork toward the north, and one to the south. He wracked his brain, trying desperately to recall the map he’d seen at the station. Obviously Stonewood was northwest of Tuliyollal, but the train had needed to cut north quite a ways to get around the mountains; perhaps the town was now to the southwest?

A map, he thought ruefully, one more thing he’d have been wise to bring; along with extra money, water, food, a better hat–

He pulled his mind, effortfully, back to the task at hand. Nothing to be done about it now, and nothing to be gained by standing here. He chewed his lip awhile, then set off on the northern track, as decisively as he could manage.

~~~~~~~~

The sun was halfway to the horizon now, and G’raha wasn’t certain he could take another step. He had thought he understood how hot it could get in Tural; he’d been wrong. His throat was parched, his head was throbbing, and he’d started to lose all feeling in his arms. Still, he clutched the handle of the suitcase like a lifeline. He’d a few times considered leaving it behind, but when he’d been attacked by the biggest snake he’d ever seen in his life, he’d been very glad to have it. He’d swung the heavy case with all his might at the beast’s head, and managed to stun it long enough to flee, though he’d lost his hat in the process. Perhaps some traveler someday would find it, rolling across the dusty ground or caught in a bush, and wonder what had become of its tenant.

Perhaps they’d find his bones, too.

He shook his head to clear it, although that just made the throbbing worse. None of that now. He had to think positive; he had to keep going. One step, then another… then...

He collided with something; something solid. Not solid like a rock or a wooden wall, but something a bit softer. Something like–a body.

G’raha’s head snapped up, and he jerked backwards in alarm as he stared up at a viera who had appeared seemingly from nowhere. She (he thought they were a she, at least, though it could be difficult to tell with viera) was tall–taller than him, anyway, though that admittedly wasn’t saying much. She wore weathered brown leather over a rust-red tunic; a long, slender rifle slung over one shoulder; a leather pouch bulging with assorted flora on her hip; and an unimpressed expression on her face.

“Oh! Uh… hello!” He smiled in what he hoped was a friendly and non-threatening manner, though in truth it came off as more manic than anything. “G’ra–” he coughed suddenly, his dry throat protesting at so much sudden usage, “...G’raha Tia, Xak Tural Star… uh, I mean, that is, I’m G’raha, and I–” he blinked, the viera’s impassive face swimming before his eyes, “I’m, uh…is this the way to…Stonewood?” It came out more of a question by the end. He wasn’t used to speaking to someone so… unreactive.

The silence stretched just long enough that he started to wonder if maybe the viera didn’t understand him at all; then she uncrossed her arms, placed her hands on her hips instead, and said in a flat voice, “No.”

G’raha’s heart sank, along with his ears and tail. Though he did manage, to his credit, not to start crying, which was a relief. In addition to being utterly humiliating, it would also have been a dreadful waste of water. “Ah.” Distantly he heard a thump as his suitcase finally slipped from his hand. “Well then.” He looked around blearily, starting to feel dizzy again. “I suppose I’ll just . . . I’ll . . .” He stumbled over to a rocky outcropping beside the tracks, intending at first to just lean against it, but before he knew it he was folding down instead to sit against it, closing his eyes and tipping his head back into the meager shade it provided. “I’ll just . . . sit here for a bit.”

There was a few seconds’ silence; then he heard a faint rustle of clothing, the crunch of gravel underfoot. Distantly, G’raha assumed that the viera was leaving him to his well-deserved fate. But then he heard the rustling again, closer this time–and accompanied, crucially, by the faint slosh of water.

His eyes flew open and he beheld the open waterskin being offered to him. Any thought of manners or etiquette evaporated in a moment; he just grabbed the pouch and drank from it with long, desperate swallows. The water was stale and lukewarm and also the most wonderful thing he’d ever tasted. It was only when he felt the waterskin being drawn away from him that he came back to himself.

G’raha sucked in a deep breath, and exhaled a ragged but earnest, “Thank you,” as the stranger screwed the cap back onto the canteen and slung it behind her once again. “Thank you, so much, I–I’m truly grateful.”

He looked up at her, his head feeling a bit clearer, though it still ached. The woman was looking at him like he was a puzzle she was trying to figure out. It made him feel small and exposed to be so regarded. It also made him acutely aware what a mess he must look right now, sweaty and sunburnt and dusty and disheveled. Still, he was truly glad to see her. He’d been starting to wonder if he’d die out here without seeing another face, friendly or otherwise.

“Thank you,” he said again, a smile breaking across his face. “I didn’t expect to find any kindness out here.”

The strange woman seemed a little taken aback by this. He wasn’t sure why; perhaps because of how ghastly he must look. Maybe she thought he was going to be sick. With the way his head was swimming, she might not be wrong. He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath; when he opened them again, there was a hand in front of his face. An offering.

G’raha looked up at her, his mouth opening, but for once in his life, there was nothing he could think of to say. Instead, he put his hand in hers and let her pull him to his feet. His head swam but he managed to stay upright.

“Come,” she said, turning away from him and starting to walk: not along the tracks, but away from them. When she realized he wasn’t following, she turned back and gave him an exasperated look. “Unless you’d rather stay here?”

That spurred him to action. “No, I don’t,” he began, stepping forward, “I mean, I wouldn’t, It’s just, uh…” he glanced to the southwest, where he was now pretty sure the town of Stonewood lay, (though even he wasn’t sure he could really be trusted on that score just now) then back to the woman, who seemed to be heading northeast. “...Come where?”

She sighed and put her hand on her hip. “To the caves, so you don’t die of heatstroke. To rest at my camp, so you don’t die of cold, or of getting eaten by an aspis. And, in the morning, to Stonewood, so you don’t die of something else and leave me with your death on my conscience.”

“Oh.” G’raha couldn’t fault her logic; all of those things seemed very likely to happen if she left him to his own devices. It embarrassed him to admit it, but there was no point in denying the truth. “Well . . . thank you.” He turned away and picked up his suitcase again, dusting it off. “You truly are very kind. Oh! I can pay you,” he added, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “Not–not right away, I mean, but once we reach Stonewood and I can send a wire back home, I’d be happy to . . .”

The woman shrugged. “If you like. For now I’ll settle for hearing how you ended up out here in the first place. Come on.” She turned away and started walking again.

As he stood by the edge of the tracks, watching her go, G’raha wondered if the woman was just a mirage, a conjuration of a mind descending into heat-addled delirium. He’d heard that heat could drive men mad before it killed them. Surely this was a mere fantasy; surely he, of all people, couldn’t possibly be this lucky.

But her hand had felt solid enough, warm and strong as it had gripped his. He fancied he could still feel a faint tingle where her calluses had pressed into his skin.

Following an attractive stranger into the desert was probably a bad idea . . . but it would hardly be the worst decision he’d made that day.

“Right, then.” He smiled again and headed after her. Though he knew the typewriter was still inside it, his suitcase didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

She hadn’t slowed her pace while he’d stood there waffling, but he soon managed to catch up with her anyway. “I’m–” he began to offer her his hand to shake, but she waved him off.

“G’raha Tia, Xak Tural Star. I heard you.”

He blushed, sunburned cheeks turning even pinker. “Oh, right. Of course. And you are, Miss…?”

She glanced at him. It was hard to tell, but he thought he saw her mouth quirk with the faintest of smiles. “Bylt,” she said. “Just Bylti.”

~~FIN~~

#this is my fic #I actually wrote something for once!#wolgraha #wolgraha week 2024 #weird west au #bylti blomstrandi #g'raha tia #g'raha does eventually make it to Stonewood #and about a week after he arrives and gets settled he goes out one morning #to find his hat set neatly on the floor outside his door

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ghostwise · 1 year ago

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Matacuervos, ch. 3 El milagro In which the brothel receives an unexpected visitor. Read update on AO3 - Read from the beginning on AO3

A miracle was taking place in Rialto. And what better place for a miracle than the longest-standing brothel on the city’s promenade?

El milagro.

For decades it had promised patrons a unique experience; something transformative and life-affirming. Something they wouldn’t find anywhere else. Today it was aptly named.

“Ahtziri’s son is downstairs!”

The news spread quickly through the prostitute’s quarters, high up on the third floor. Past the first floor and all its revelries, past the second floor with its private and comfortable rooms, the flurry of heeled footsteps sounded through the hallways of the old building. “Come quick! Have a look for yourselves!”

Those who were recent hires at El milagro met the news with little more than a bemused smile. But those who had been there longer remembered the scandal like it was yesterday.

“Ahtziri’s son!”

“The laundress! The knocked-up Dalish girl.”

“I remember her. Miss too-good-to-wash-our-linens. Miss wouldn’t-be-caught-dead-whoring.”

Amid the chatter, a sharp intake of air. “Don’t speak ill of the dead. It was a tragedy! She left a child behind.”

“Her son! What was his name?”

“Looks just like her. Blond hair, big brown eyes…”

“Got taken away one day, I remember. Adopted, they said. What was the name? Started with a Z…”

“Ziran? No!”

“Zarah?”

“No, no! Zevran?”

“Yes, that was it! And he’s downstairs right now!”

Of course the old prostitutes remembered. Who could forget? The dead husband, the widowed Dalish girl, the piles of debt, all the rumors of money and passion—and caught amidst all that ugliness, the orphaned baby. But the memories had softened with the passage of time, and the men and women of El milagro chatted amongst themselves, pleased with the reminiscing. Wasn’t it nice to be remembered, bad blood aside?

An Antivan never forgets his roots, they all agreed.

An Antivan always remembers, they said, and nodded wisely at the thought.

Meanwhile, unaware of the commotion he had caused, Zevran was downstairs and speaking with the brothel manager in her office.

Gloria Amilcar was a wisp of a middle-aged woman, fragile and thin, save for her soft and lined face. With her hair tied back in an austere bun and her fingernails delicately lacquered, she had a flighty air about her that seemed ill-fitted to her role.

She was also trying very hard to get Zevran to leave.

“I understand, completely. But, as I said earlier, we have a strict no loitering policy,” she said.

“Of course,” Zevran returned smoothly. “With such a fine establishment, your employees must be very busy, I’m sure. Allow me to pay for an hour! I will even pay double! I do not mind, if only to see old friends—”

“It is a generous offer.” She gave a pause, and a forced smile. “But we simply cannot accept.”

“After work, then?” Zevran asked.

“There is no ‘after work’ here at El milagro. I cannot close the brothel to our other clients. This is a business, young man.”

“Then perhaps on a day you are closed? I can return then-”

“We are never closed!”

Zevran plucked at a thread on his trousers, a placid smile fixed onto his face; a tactic to hide his growing irritation. “I am asking to simply pay for an hour or two with your esteemed workers,” he tried again, “As any client would. Am I being denied that right?”

“Precisely. You are denied.” Sra. Amilcar left her desk abruptly. Refusing the opportunity for any further discussion, she opened the door and with a sharp gesture motioned for Zevran to leave.

“You have your answer. Please, go.”

The sounds of the brothel floated in through the open door, and Zevran sat in his chair, impassive.

Truth be told, he hadn’t expected to be met with so much resistance. When he’d first arrived to the brothel he’d been greeted as a guest, but no sooner had one of the older women recognized him that Sra. Amilcar’s demeanor changed entirely. Now his intuition was telling him there was a reason why Amilcar was desperate to get him gone.

This was not a prison. Surely the workers were free to chat with a guest? So why did she seem worried—even afraid?

The thought was interrupted as a familiar voice floated through the door.

“Vhenan? Oh, there you are.”

Hamal had evidently grown tired of waiting out on the street.

If she hadn’t been scandalized already, Sra. Amilcar was doubly so now. She scanned Hamal from top to bottom, eyes wide. “Ven-an?”

“Ah! Hello.” Hamal simply smiled at her as he sidled in past her. “Very little Antivan, sorry! My husband is done? Everything good?”

“Everything is fine, amor,” Zevran said, looking at Sra. Amilcar pointedly. “Just negotiating.”

“I was just,” Sra. Amilcar interrupted, her voice terse and jumping from syllable to syllable, “telling your husband that we cannot accommodate his request. Please, gather your things and leave. You know? Get out. Go away. Goodbye, no more! Perhaps your husband can translate more properly! Shoo!”

She elaborated further by pointing rather aggressively towards the exit.

Zevran and Hamal exchanged a look.

It wouldn’t be the first time they had been kicked out from an establishment. It would, however, be the first time they were kicked out as a married couple, and that made it special.

Zevran smiled, with a soft tilt of the head, as if to say, see what I’m dealing with?

“Oh,” Hamal intoned, a hint of mischief in his eyes. He looked from his husband to Sra. Amilcar and then repeated, “Sorry, very little Antivan, very bad. I can explain: We are married! On our honeymoon.” He made sure to speak loudly enough that his strongly accented Antivan rang clear out across the brothel. “Where can I pay? I will pay everything. A gift for my husband!”

By now, the discussion had drawn the attention of others, who erupted into cheers at the declaration. Zevran grinned, simply beaming under Hamal’s confidence, and the way the prostitutes shouted encouragement and praise: What a doting husband! What a thoughtful gesture! Were they open to adding a third?

Meanwhile Sra. Amilcar had grown quite pale. Swaying a bit on her feet, she seemed to steel herself before taking a deep breath and stating loudly, “Enough! I will call the city guard if you do not leave, NOW!”

All things considered, this was much farther than Zevran had ever expected to get.

Nevermind the fact that they now found themselves on the street, having been swiftly expelled by the brothel’s security. The visit had been enlightening, and not entirely a waste. For instance, he knew now that the brothel was still running, and under the same management, too. But the reaction he’d met within had been troubling.

“I am sorry.” Hamal grimaced. “I may have made things worse. I should have waited-”

“She had already decided to kick me out when you showed up,” Zevran assured him. “But it was very fun to watch, amor.”

“I am glad you had fun. I cannot recall ever seeing you so unhappy in a brothel, ma vhenan.”

Zevran laughed softly. He did not respond.

“You seem distracted,” Hamal observed after a moment. “What happened?”

Zevran looked up, and found Hamal’s eyes on him. “That woman in charge,” he said with a frown. “She was afraid of me.”

“Afraid? Why?”

“I cannot rightly say. I suppose I was drawing too much attention. Everything was fine when she thought I was just another customer to charm. But as soon as some of the older prostitutes recognized me, she suddenly became quite concerned. She forced them upstairs and pulled me into her office, where you found me.”

“They recognized you?” Hamal asked.

Zevran let out a sigh, mulling over the unexpected influx of memory and feeling. It was more than he’d expected. More than he’d been prepared for.

“They did,” he said, voice softening. “They were pleased to see me. They greeted me like an old friend.”

“Did you recognize them?”

“Yes, in fact. Sofia and Nadia. They and another young woman named Adelmar used to take turns watching me and the other children.”

“All these years and they did not forget you! You must have left quite an impression,” Hamal suggested, with a smile.

Zevran considered it; then he grinned, and an exuberant little laugh escaped him.

He had never expected to be remembered.

He remembered El milagro, of course, because he had suffered so much there. But here were people who had lived beside him, and watched his childhood years from their own perspective. In a sense they were witnesses to a crime, though they did not even realize it.

“I must speak with them at once,” Zevran said earnestly. “They could tell me things about my past. About my childhood. About the Crows.”

Hamal nodded. “We must find a way to get past this Amilcar woman. But for now,” he added, glancing at the first-floor shutters of Gloria Amilcar’s office, “I suggest we leave, before she calls the city guard.”

Gloria Amilcar peered through the shutters of her office window, watching the retreating figures of the two unwelcome visitors until they vanished into the distance. Being a woman of little imagination, she felt her heart rate settle almost instantly.

Thank the Maker, it had been taken care of quickly.

She shut the blinds and tucked a loose strand of hair back into her updo.

The situation with the Dalish boy—now a young man—had certainly been unexpected, but she had handled it, in her own opinion, with grace and intelligence. Now this Zevran and his strange foreign companion were gone, and they would not return again.

And why would they?

After all, what good would it do for them to dig any deeper? To linger nearby, esculcando where they shouldn’t and stirring up trouble? Even if they tried it, she would make sure they were swiftly taken away and locked up. Pull a few strings, pay a few guards. Send a strong message.

But it hadn’t come to that.

Feeling pleased with that conclusion, Sra. Amilcar went back to her desk.

It was her duty to keep such things from the workers. Threats to El milagro could imperil their all their livelihood in ways few could understand. Not only the wayward sons of politicians, or a dozen noble-born bastards to keep track of; running a brothel involved a lot of customer service—but she had hosts who took care of that. Mostly she handled the administrative side of things.

She tallied up totals and calculated expenses. She filed things that were necessary, or made it so that they were not necessary after all, ensuring the owner’s accounts were always in good standing. Obscuring a few lapses here and there. Falsifying birth certificates. The financial records needed to be completed by a deft hand, so the tax collectors wouldn’t dig too deeply into things. She was good at all this. El milagro kept her busy. She had no time for disruptions. No time for mess.

As she pulled out a list of supplies for the next month, she heard the door swing open.

“Is he gone?”

“Who?” Sra. Amilcar asked, without looking.

“That man,” Nadia said, and settled into the now vacant chair. “Zevran.”

“Ah,” Sra. Amilcar said. “Yes, he’s gone.”

Nadia regarded her closely.

She was a gem, and a gossip, a favorite of the customers for many years. Sharp-tongued and honey-eyed, Nadia had no surname, but she held half the city's secrets in her pockets—she'd even birthed a few herself—and she enjoyed a certain rapport with the brothel manager. Simply put she was irresistible, with her aged and deep-set features, which now focused into a critical and exacting look.

“Did you kick him out?”

Sra. Amilcar set an inkwell and fresh pen upon the table. She laid out her lists of supplies, her tally of accounts, and her roster of the brothel’s most productive workers, and only the faintest tremor of her right hand betrayed her.

“Money has been a bit tight, Nadia,” Sra. Amilcar said carefully. “I may have to let a few of the girls go if things keep up.”

“Sure,” Nadia hummed. “What is it he wanted anyway? I never get to see you make such a fuss, even when the clientèle gets rowdy, so…?” Under the sharp warning glare of the brothel manager, Nadia grinned. “Did he want to know about his mother? Is that it?”

Sra. Amilcar cleared her throat sharply. Unable to hold Nadia’s gaze, she looked away, subdued.

“Yes,” she lied quietly. “And I told him the truth: We know nothing about it. It was all too long ago. He was understandably disappointed.”

“I see.”

Nadia watched her for a moment, allowing the silence that followed. When Sra. Amilcar said nothing more, she got up from the chair, and gathered up her skirts.

“Well,” she sighed, “I was just curious. No reason to dwell on the past. Not in this line of work, right?”

“Exactly!” Sra. Amilcar let out a little sigh, pleased to be understood.

A soft moment for Nadia to prod into. She stood beside the door, casting a glance over her shoulder.

“And Gloria?” she asked sweetly before leaving.

“Mm?”

“You will find a way to stretch the budget, won’t you? You’re so good at that. I’ve always said numbers were just one of your many talents.”

“Yes… well.” Sra. Amilcar paused. “You’re right, of course, Nadia. I’m sure I will figure something out.”

#rinnywrites #dragon age #dao #zevran arainai #zevran x warden #antiva #mahariel #oc: hamal mahariel #here's the beginning of the first little subplot that leads to adelmar and then to salle... if i keep fiddling with it i will never post it #btw ahtziri is my hc for zevran's mother :) idk how much i will delve into their story in this longfic but she'll be mentioned a few times

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elisedonut · 6 months ago

Note

TRICK OR TREAT!!! 👀🥺🎃

Thank you for playing! you get about 2k of a fic that i honestly don't think I'll ever finish

this is a little amnesia memories inspired au that i started a long time ago i keep messing with it and changing things but i just really doubt ill ever actually fully finish it

it was back when i was like oh maybe i could write something long and have like a chapter per character

and then quickly realized no no I can not

so it just kept getting shorter and then when i participated in that one event where i was assigned characters alot changed to before i decided to write something else kldfjsdkl

originally it was going to be like

Mc: Percy

Orion(spirit that causes mc to lose her memories): Cedric

Heart/Shin: Marcus

Diamond/Toma: Oliver

Spade/Ikki: Tom

Clover/Kent: Stan

and Joker/Ikyo: Fred or maybe also Cedric i was undecided

but I ended up replacing Tom with Lavender because the aforementioned fest that had assigned characters and was considering moving heart to Dennis before i gave up and just made a perciverus soulmate au dkfjsldkf

youtube

He was falling. Or perhaps it was more like floating?

The last thing he could even remember was…

What was it again? He just had the thought in the back of his mind a moment ago he’s sure of it.

Percy watches the colours of the space around him swirl and mix, as if all the stars around him would hold the answer. Reaching out towards them as if he could grab them.

What was he doing?

He was at home before, wasn’t he?

A letter.

Running out the door into the night to apparate.

Oliver was dead. Right?

He was there when they had to lower him into the ground.

But– If that were true, then why–

“Ollie?” Percy asks, cautiously.

“Hm? Is that who I look like to you?” Not-Oliver asks back, tilting his head in a way that reminds Percy of when they– well when Percy and the real Oliver were still in school.

When Percy just continues to stare though Not-Oliver continues. “Guess so– Well I'm glad you’re awake. Do you feel any pain? Pressure in your head? Limbs feel numb?”

He’s speaking so fast.

Percy tries to think about it for a moment.

Tries to focus on different parts of his body.

Tries reaching his fingers out towards the mysterious figure in front of him. When he finds that his fingers go right through him, Percy frowns.

It was almost like he was more asleep than awake.

Everything, just slightly off. Blurry in a way that made it difficult to even think.

Opening and closing his fists a few times Percy responds, “I- I don’t think I feel much of anything to be honest.”

Likely that look on Not-Oliver’s face means that’s not a good thing. Even if it feels a bit freeing in Percy’s opinion.

Almost peaceful.

“Ok so–” Not-Oliver starts again, “Look, I'm a spirit and I may have accidentally ran into you and I may accidentally be stuck,” The spirit?–apparently, continues. He doesn't look like any ghost Percy had ever seen. When Percy doesn’t respond, Not-Oliver continues again, “So I may or may not have accidently knocked your soul off course, out of your body. But, don’t panic. I do have a plan.”

Don’t panic, he says. Percy’s soul is apparently out of his body all together and he’s telling him not to panic. Taking in a deep breath and watching as Not-Oliver flinches Percy tries to calm himself down enough to listen. Motioning at Not-Oliver to continue again.

The sooner this was over with the better.

“You’re taking this a lot better than I was expecting you to, to be honest.” Not-Oliver says confused before shaking his head quickly and continuing, “Alright. So, here's the plan. I found a few worlds where you have a tether. so you just have to find the one that’s actually yours.”

“Pardon?” Percy asks, trying to wrap his head around what that could mean.

“Exactly as I said, You just have to pick the one that feels right and I’ll plop you back into that body and then everything will be fine.” Not-Oliver says quickly before adding softly, “Hopefully.”

Before Percy can ask for clarification on what he meant by hopefully the stars around them change in the air, twisting around themselves.

For the first time since he woke up in this odd place, Percy feels like his feet are actually on the ground again. It continued like that for a few more seconds until four doors materialised in front of him. Each adjourned with a different symbol in the middle.

A weathered and cracked red door with a heart symbol, messily painted on.

A polished and metallic looking blue door with the metal spade symbol neatly welded on.

A clear slightly green tinted door with a paper clover stuck between the plastic.

And Lastly, a bright yellow door with a diamond cut meticulously out of the wood.

All of the doors had a red string connecting to him. Percy’s not sure if that’s what Not-Oliver meant by a tether but if so that was quite more literal then he’d assumed. As he pulls on one of the strings he expects it to feel some tension but they each stay slack, regardless of how much he pulls.

As Percy inspects the doors he thinks about which he should choose. Percy’s still not a hundred percent sure this isn’t a dream. Maybe a potion fueled hallucination. Maybe George decided to put something in his wine for old times sake.

Looking back at the Oliver doppelganger for a moment he seems to just be waiting patiently for him to come to a decision. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Or what he’s even supposed to be looking for.

Is there even a right answer here? They all feel the same in a way.

Do they even lead anywhere, or do they just open to an empty frame?

Should he even play along?

Walking behind the doors he sees that they look the same on the back as they do on the front.

“Does it really matter which one I pick?” Percy asks.

“Well- they all lead to different worlds, so–” Not-Oliver says from over his shoulder.

“So then there's definitely a wrong answer here…” Percy mutters as he walks up to the Red Door. “If I open the door, does that count as a choice or do I have to walk through it?”

Not-Oliver hums to himself for a moment before nodding,“You should be able to open them. As long as you don’t touch the actual portal then it shouldn’t do any harm.”

Percy reached for the Red Door again. Not-Oliver didn’t sound very certain, but nothing was going to happen if he just sat there. Even if it isn’t real, he always had been too curious for his own good. So he may as well try. The door comes open with a loud creak from the hinges.

Left with the sight of swirling foggy lights and stars,h e’s disappointed. It only takes a moment for it to clear though.

The angle is awkward so he can’t see much of the room. But he can see himself laid out on the bed. From the look of him he must have been here for a while. Bandages up and down his arms and legs. A side table with dying flowers and miscellaneous get well cards.

Is this all he’s going to see in these? An unconscious body?

He’s here, wherever here actually is, so maybe the real him is just passed out somewhere, like that. If so though this isn’t going to be very helpful to him.

Still, he doesn’t close the door. He still waits. Maybe someone will come in that could give him a clue. Or maybe something will happen to show it’s not the world he expects.

It doesn’t take too long of a wait for the door to open. Percy can’t see who came in from the angle but he could hear the way the heavy door dragged as it opened and shut. The sound of footsteps and a chair being slid across the floor.

Then he gets his first glimpse of them when they pull Percy’s limp hand into their own. The red string on their hand was connected to his own.Their hands were large and rough, completely enveloping Percy’s own. The difference in their skin makes Percy even more confused. When the door opened he’d assumed it was some family member but that’s certainly not a Weasley's hand.

“They all think I did it, you know?” The man whispered to him. That voice was familiar… “Wake up soon, Percy. I don’t know what I’ll do without you. Even if I don’t deserve it.”

When the mystery man leaned down to kiss Percy gently on the lips he knew exactly who it was. Dark eye’s, back hair, broad shoulders, all too familiar.

“Oh? That your boyfriend?” Not-Oliver says with a grin.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” Percy says quietly.

Haven’t since you decided to play hero.

He watches Flint talk to him a little while longer before deciding to move on. He’s careful to only touch the doorknob as he moves to shut the door again.

It’s not like he would mind dating Flint really. He’s intense, sure, and his family would hate him. Still that wasn’t his world in the first place. The Flint from his world would never like him in general. They weren't even friends, much less lovers. So it doesn’t even matter if his heart’s racing a little bit at the thought of it.

Shaking off the weird feeling he didn’t want to think about, he moves to the next door. The Blue Door was cold to the touch as he opened it. He was half way expecting to see this other him passed out again, but instead it seems to be some sort of restaurant? Not one he recognizes at all though.

The other Percy was seated at a table, all alone. The room looked familiar though at least. Maybe this was a good sign. Even if he can’t remember his flat’s dining room being so cluttered. Strange though, Percy had expected to see another version of him passed out in some way again.

What would happen to this other him if he does choose this world? Does this other consciousness just vanish?

Percy glances at the closed Red Door. Is there still a consciousness there too? He hadn’t considered it but now though, he’s not so sure. By the time he glances back at the blue door someone had joined him at the table.

“How’s the new textbook going, Professor.” She said, as she leaned over the table a bit to look at something that Percy couldn’t quite see.

He could see his reaction though, watching himself move and speak felt strangely surreal.

He rolled his eyes lightheartedly as he responded,“Don’t call me that. I-”

“-Don’t even plan on taking the position, Yeah yeah i know.” The girl said before putting her arms around his shoulders, “Still think you should, though, you’d be far better than Binns.”

“Anyone would be better than Binns, Lavender.” The other him said.

(Add talking moment here about how Lavender seems nice but he's surprised to see her here.

Green Door - ???? Stan Knight bus moment???

Yellow Door - Oliver and Percy talking and walking somewhere fake out where Percy thinks this might be right but then Oliver says something sketchy or maybe there's clearly no magic or something idk

Open ended, the choice being made left ambiguous.

Looking over the doors again, Percy knows he’s made his decision. He knows none of them are actually his world. None of them match any of the things he remembered. Too many inconsistencies to match. But after the conversation with Not-Oliver he knows these are his only options. Opening his door of choice he’s stopped by Not-Oliver’s voice once more.

“Are you sure?” Not-Oliver asks, “I don’t think I’ll be able to pull you back out if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Percy says. Feeling more sure of it the closer he gets to its frame. When he sets his hand on the portal's surface all the other doors vanish, locking his choice in, and everything goes dark.

When he wakes again he’s exactly where he feels he needs to be. Or at least, as close as he can get to it. He’s still truly hoping all that had been a dream…

#percy weasley #oliver wood #lavender brown #marcus flint #Perciver #flintley #paperseer #this doesn't even get to be on ao3 a tumblr exclusive

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keicordelle · 1 year ago

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Chapter 9 of A First for Everything, Perchance to Dream, is up! Thancred is still feeling a bit out of sorts after that near-kiss, and Urianger convinces him he should rest early -- in Urianger's bed. With Urianger. A plan that surely has absolutely no flaws and will definitely not make Thancred's palpating heart speed even faster.

Read it on Ao3 at the link above, or check out the first chapter on Tumblr here.

Thancred dragged himself away from Urianger, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Maybe some sleep really will help," he muttered to himself, drawing up beside the sofa he'd taken as his bed. Maybe if I go back to sleep, he'll try again.

He threw back the blanket with perhaps more force than was necessary, trying to banish the unhelpful thought. Just lay down, close your eyes, and turn off your brain. And when you wake up, maybe you can convince yourself this was all a dream. Not bloody likely.

A hand caught around his wrist before he could drop down onto the dingy cushions. The scent of Urianger filled his nose -- hells, it always filled his nose these days, permeating the air in his little house until it had become the new norm. But this close, Thancred could feel the heat from Urianger’s body at his back, his grip surprisingly firm on his arm.

Thancred’s body wanted to turn into him and melt into that warmth, maybe even pull Urianger tight against him and do something he couldn't take back, like kiss him senseless. Instead, he tensed beneath his grip, forcing himself still so he wouldn't do something he'd regret.

Urianger drew back instantly, his hand falling away to his side. Thancred’s eyes followed it, watching as it clutched at his skirt, before he dragged them back up to Urianger’s face, kicking himself internally. Was that hurt he spied in the depths of Urianger’s eyes, or just worry? Was he going to drive himself insane overanalyzing Urianger’s every move? Only one of these questions did Thancred have an answer to.

"Pray forgive mine impertinence," Urianger hastened to say. "But thy bedding is hardly fit for a man in good health, let alone one who suffers a malaise. 'Twould be unthinkable that I permit you remain here when there exists a perfectly comfortable alternative not ten paces away."

Thancred frowned at him. "Urianger, we've already had this argument. I'm not going to let you give up your bed for me. I'm already asking too much by asking you to let us stay here." Urianger opened his mouth to protest, but Thancred waved off his concern. "Believe me, I've slept in far worse places than this in far worse condition."

If Thancred had expected him to drop the issue, he was in for a surprise. Urianger’s lips thinned into a flat line as he considered his rebuttal. But they’d already settled this weeks ago, when Urianger had apologized for being "ill equipped to receive guests." Nothing had changed between then and now; if he hadn't had an argument to convince Thancred then, he wouldn't be able to now. He ought to know that.

He tried anyway. "If thy concern rest in my wellbeing, perchance there is a suitable compromise. My bed is surely of a size that we might both lay comfortably upon it."

Thancred choked. Okay, maybe he could come up with a new argument. Thal's balls. "Urianger, I'm not going to share your bed!"

"Whyever not? Full well do I know that thou art accustomed to sleeping alongside others. 'Tis hardly different from the close quarters a scouting party must share. Mine only regret is that the thought did not occur to me sooner." He hesitated, fingers fiddling with the chains on his skirt. "But if the notion discomfits thee so, then thou hast mine sincerest apologies. We needs not speak of it again."

"No, it's not that at all," Thacred rushed to say before Urianger could turn away. "You know that I'm perfectly comfortable with you. It's just... It's different."

"Why?"

Because you're my friend. Because you're Urianger. Because I want nothing more than to wrap you up in my arms and hold you close, and I can't for the life of me figure out if you want the same or if I'm just imagining things. Because I think I care for you in a way that I'm not sure I've ever cared for anyone else. Seven hells, he was overthinking this, wasn't he? Yesterday he wouldn’t have thought twice about sharing a bed with Urianger. Why should that have changed just because Thancred wanted to kiss him a little bit? He was an adult. He was perfectly capable of controlling himself and sharing a bed with his friend without it being weird.

What would be weird was if he continued to refuse Urianger’s offer. Because he was right, unless Thancred wanted to admit to his newfound urges to do things other than sleep chastely next to him in that bed, there was no good reason for him to deny him.

"You win," Thancred said, holding up his hands in surrender. "You're right. If we can both fit in the bed, there's no reason we can’t share it. For now, at least. Though you may find I'm not as pleasant a bed companion at you think. I've been told I thrash something fierce."

Urianger chuckled, his eyes creasing at the corners. They were bright as he smiled at him, a soft golden warmth in them that Thancred could feel over his skin. "A fact I have long since discovered for myself. Thy limbs have a notable tendency to upset any and all books within arm's reach of thy resting place."

Thancred ducked my head with a chagrined snort. "Ah, sorry about that."

Urianger waved off the concern, turning to lead the way into his chambers and the bed that awaited them there. The singular bed. With one blanket. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. Thancred squashed the thought, trailing closely after him. Watching the slip of ankle that showed beneath the swish of his skirt as he walked, eyes carefully lowered lest his hindbrain get any silly ideas about how that robe clung to Urianger’s backside.

He did have to admit that the bed looked significantly more comfortable than the dingy sofa he'd been sleeping on, with its lumpy cushions and springs desperate to make the acquaintance of his kidneys. A good night's sleep would be a welcome turn of events -- assuming, of course, he could turn off the ceaseless scamper of his thoughts long enough to actually enjoy it.

The chains around Urianger's waist chimed as he unhooked them, setting them carefully aside atop the nearby chest of drawers. Thancred froze, hesitating at the foot of the bed. Hells. Was he going to strip down before climbing into bed? Was Thancred supposed to strip down before getting in? He couldn't just sleep in his clothes, could he? Well, he supposed he could, but that would be even odder than just stripping down to his underwear, wouldn't it?

Twelve preserve him, what did Urianger even wear to bed? Surely Thancred had seen him around the Rising Stones before bed before. Why couldn't he remember for the life of him what he'd been wearing? Did he have a nightgown? Sleep pants? His smalls? Sweet heavens have mercy, Thancred couldn't picture that. Didn’t want to picture that, not while he was staring at the delicious curve of Urianger’s back, elegant and exposed to his hungry eyes. Or the pale arch of his neck revealed as he pulled away his collar, long and slender and graceful.

The collar tinkled lightly as he set it aside with the rest of his chains. He cast a glance over his shoulder at Thancred, pink dusting his cheeks. "I know 'tis foolish, but I prithee, avert thy gaze."

"What? Oh! Of course! Sorry, I didn't mean to--" Thancred shut his damned mouth, spinning on his heels. Okay. Alright then. Stripping. Thancred could strip. This was fine. He'd stripped in front of Urianger before. This was no different than when Urianger tended to his wounds. Expect with a much higher likelihood that Thancred would find his bare flesh pressed up against Urianger’s.

He gave his head a sharp shake, cramming his misgivings into a little box in the back of his mind. In one quick motion, he tugged his shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor. It was easier, then, to talk himself out of my boots, like he'd broken some sort of seal. Besides, who wanted boots in their bed? His hands hesitated over his belt. No. No, tonight the pants would stay on. Surely Urianger wouldn't fault him for that.

"Ah, my thanks for thy discretion," came Urianger's voice at his back.

"No problem." Was Thancred imagining the flush that still graced Urianger’s cheeks when he turned? Or was it possible that he was drinking Thancred in like Thancred was drinking in him?

Not that there was a great deal to drink. If anything, the nightgown Urianger wore covered more skin than his usual robe. But there was nothing wrong with that -- a little mystery could be just as enticing as something revealing. It reminded Thancred of the robe he used to wear, long and unflattering, but somehow Urianger still managed to look stunning in it. How had Thancred never noticed how beautiful he was before? He shifted uncomfortably, praying that Urianger wouldn't notice his more-than-casual interest.

It seemed that whatever gods existed on the First had heard his prayer, because Urianger didn't so much as glance down before he turned away to throw back the blanket. It was almost a relief to crawl into the bed, where at least Thancred could hide beneath the blanket and pretend that he wasn't so uncomfortably aroused by his friend. Of course, then Urianger climbed in right after him and fairly well shattered that illusion. Thancred could feel the heat of his body on his skin despite the distance that separated them, the sound of Urianger’s breathing a pleasant rhythm in his ears. The urge to pull him close and snuggle into his side struck Thancred like a punch to the gut, and he forced it down, holding himself carefully still in the sheets. He didn't dare roll onto his side -- the bed, while a significant improvement on the kidney-seeking sofa, had a notable slope to the mattress, like fate itself seemed determined to force them together, and he didn't trust himself not to roll into Urianger in his sleep. Or roll onto him and crush him. Urianger was bigger than Thancred was, but that didn't mean he wanted to be buried under the weight of his body in his sleep.

"Rest well, Thancred," Urianger murmured, his voice a soft caress in Thancred’s ear. The bed creaked as he snuggled into the blanket, perfectly at ease next to him.

"Sweet dreams," Thancred whispered back.

Urianger’s breathing evened out into a rhythmic lull, faster than Thancred could ever have expected for one who spent so many nights pacing restlessly beneath the stars. Thancred glanced over to him, watching the peaceful rise and fall of his chest. He looked so sweet like that, curled up on his side with his hair falling over his face, blankets tucked up under his chin. Thancred watched him like that for longer than he would ever admit, with only the steady beat of his heart in his chest and the rhythm of Urianger’s breathing to track the time.

Then Urianger shifted, the bed creaking as he moved into Thancred. His arm fell over Thancred’s waist, pulling him in against him. Urianger’s body curved around his, one leg tangling with Thancred’s and his breath tickling at his neck. Thancred froze, waiting for Urianger to stir and draw back, but he only settled more comfortably against him, sighing contentedly in his sleep as he nestled into him.

Slowly, moving carefully so as not to wake him, Thancred wrapped his arm around him, drawing him in until his head rested on his chest. Urianger snuggled in closer still, his skin a pleasant warmth on Thancred’s. His hair was soft and silken, the feathered ends of it teasing at Thancred’s chest, and though it felt a little too much like tempting fate, Thancred dared to brush his fingers through it. It slipped around them like water, and he did it again, marvelling at the way the grey locks shone silver this close. There were highlights in them he'd never noticed before, strands of blond and ashen white tangled with muted browns to give it a warmth that fairly glowed against his palm. Urianger sighed again, leaning into his touch, and Thancred couldn't help the smile that curved his lips as he looked down upon him. Urianger’s lashes fluttered gently, their silvered sweep casting subtle shadows across his cheeks. His lips parted lightly around his breath, and gods did they look soft too. A little bit thin, but no less inviting for it. Thancred could imagine how they'd feel moving on his own. Parting beneath him to let him in, the wet brush of Urianger’s tongue against his and the taste of him filling his senses.

Thancred hesitated, staring down at his lips. Maybe he could understand why Urianger had tried to kiss him while he was asleep. He could finish what Urianger had started right now. Draw his mouth up to his and brush their lips together -- gentle at first, exploratory, and then with intent, kissing him until he would never forget the feeling. Or maybe just a quick brush, just to know what it would feel like. He wouldn't ever have to know.

No. What was he thinking? He didn’t want their first kiss to happen like that, stolen while Urianger slept, without him even aware it had happened. Their first kiss (and when exactly had it become a given in Thancred’s mind that they would even have a first kiss?) should be sweet and tender. Hells, for all he knew this could be Urianger’s first kiss ever. He wasn't about to steal that from him against his wishes, no matter what he wanted to read into his actions. When they kissed -- and they would, one way or another, of that much Thancred was certain -- it would be beautiful and magical and everything Thancred wanted Urianger’s first kiss to be -- regardless of if Thancred really was that first kiss or not.

Instead, he brushed Urianger’s hair carefully back from his face, pressing his lips to his brow. This much, at least, Thancred could allow himself. The rest, he was perfectly happy to wait for.

Thancred fell asleep curled up in Urianger’s embrace, his arms as tight around Urianger as Urianger’s were around him. And when he slept, his dreams were more peaceful than they had been in years.

[Chapter 10] | [Masterlist]

[Kofi/Commissions]

#ffxiv #thanuri #urithan #thancred #urianger #thancred waters #urianger augurelt #ffxiv fanfiction #my writing #first for everything #~k

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