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merlot-and-chardonnay · 2 months

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A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 60.5

Masterlist

Chapter 60

Ivan had staggered back to his feet, rubbing the spot on the side of his jaw where Aemma had punched him. He was certain the princess didn't mean to hurt him too badly, but at the same time she probably wasn't sure who to trust, given how things were going down now.

In truth, Ivan wasn't even sure what was going on himself. At this point, he's heard all kinds of things since it was confirmed by the Small Council that King Viserys had passed in his sleep sometime last night.

But now confusion was arising due to the fact that no one could seem to agree who was to sit the Iron Throne next. Ivan had been certain it was going to be Princess Rhaenyra, as Viserys had been steadfast in that proclamation since before Ivan was welcomed into the king's home. But new information had now come to light from the Dowager Queen that Viserys had changed his mind in his final moments and had wished to have his firstborn son inherit the throne instead.

This was something that confused Ivan greatly, that the king would change his mind so suddenly when he had made it clear time and time again that his firstborn child would be the next monarch. Something wasn't adding up, but this was something Ivan had tried to word his confusion, but realized that wasn't a wise decision, especially now when the Hand was conspiring to have the lords swear obeisance to Aegon instead of Rhaenyra...by any means necessary.

And also, being aware of Criston Cole's disdain for the princess, Ivan knew it would be wise to keep his mouth shut for the time being.

Something that didn't seem to matter the moment Ivan was shoved against the wall by Criston. "What are you doing?!" Ivan demands, noting the rage in Criston's eyes. "I could accuse you for treason, Ser Ivan," Criston warns, "letting the princess run off like that? Without putting a fight?" "Last I checked I took an oath to protect the king and his family," Ivan scoffs at that, "I wasn't aware that included apprehending or harming the princess in the process." "Well let me make this clear then," Criston pulls back, taking out a dagger and placing it against Ivan's neck, "His Grace had named his firstborn son, Prince Aegon, his next heir in his final moments. The Queen herself confirmed this. To question such a claim would be considered treason, and this is something Princess Aemma had not deigned to understand. Now Aegon is nowhere to be found, but when we do find him, he will be crowned king, and YOU Ser Ivan will do well to remember your oath to protect the future king and HIS family. Do I make myself clear? Unless you wish for me to inform the rest of the kingsgaurd of your...condition."

Ivan huffed, knowing now Criston was threatening to reveal his elven status to his colleagues, "you would make such a threat all for a small error of judgement on my part," Ivan points out, pushing the dagger away, "You took me to squire after the passing of Ser Laenor, you stood by as I was knighted, and when I took the oath and earned my white cloak. As far as I am concerned, my loyalty to the Kingsguard and to the crown has never wavered, never been questioned. Until now that is. All for a lapse in judgement. And now you accuse me as if my loyalty has always been questionable."

Criston was taken aback by this. He knew Ivan was right about that, but with everything else going on, with people outside the Red Keep not aware that the king was dead, with the dire need to find Aegon before Ser Arryk and Erryk find the prince, now wasn't the time for dissent and now wasn't the time for anyone's loyalty to falter.

So, Criston leaned in, giving Ivan a warning look, "I understand you're not from Westeros. It's understandable if you feel you hold no stake in this realm's politics. But you'll do we'll to know your place, Ser Ivan...you'll do well to remember that were it not for His Grace, you would not be in the position you are in now, were it not for the Crown you would remain on the streets digging for scraps to survive. Never forget that. Now you will stand guard and ensure princess Aemma doesn't try to escape again. Do you understand?"

Once again Ivan had to fight the urge to scoff, given how before his induction into the Kingsguard, Criston Cole was a lowborn son of a steward and the only reason he's gotten his station in light was for recognition of his accomplishments against the Dornish incursions...and Ivan knows full well of Cole's Dorne origins.

Nevertheless, Ivan slowly nodded in understanding, "of course, Ser Cole...I have not forgotten my place...I can only hope YOU haven't forgotten yourself."

Criston gave a shocked look as Ivan walked away to RELUCTANTLY resume his duties, trying not to not let Iorveth's words overtake his mind...trying not to consider that the elf might actually be right about Criston Cole.

Right now, Ivan wished he could whisk himself to the Street of Silk to talk to Ana.

-----------------meanwhile-------------

Aemma paced back and forth in her room, trying her damnest not to pull out her hair with worry over what was going to happen to her.

After her attempted escape, the princess was escorted to her room, waiting for Alicent to come speak to her. Aemma had an idea what the subject was going to be, doubtless the queen would try and persuade- if not flat-out force- Aemma to acknowledge Aegon as Viserys' true heir instead of Rhaenyra. Despite her complex feelings towards her cousin/stepmother, Aemma knew that was not going to happen so easily. Long had she known that Rhaenyra was the heir, Rhaenyra was the one Viserys always wanted to sit the throne next, and for him to change his mind at the very last minute didn't make the slightest bit of sense to her. Viserys always favored Rhaenyra over his other children, and as time passed, he had spent less and less time with his children by Alicent.

So, for the late king to change his mind at the expense of his favorite child just didn't add up.

Also, Aemma is definitely NOT in love with the idea of Aegon sitting the throne, knowing full well the prince was nowhere near suited to be king, especially with his proclivities towards wine and women. Giving Aegon the crown and the absolute power that comes with it would not end well.

One other thing that wasn't adding up was the fact Aegon hasn't been crowned just yet...where even was Aegon, that was something Aemma had yet to figure out given he wasn't in his and Helaena's chambers this morning with Maelor and the twins.

Right on cue, the door opened. Aemma stood back, readying herself for what was to come. Alicent walked in. Aemma took some steps back, noticing her sword was missing. It was clear Otto and the Greens had anticipated Aemma would try something and had planned accordingly.

"Aemma," Alicent addresses, taking a few steps towards the princess. "I won't acknowledge Aegon as king," Aemma sternly tells the queen, "you can't persuade me otherwise."

"That is what Viserys told me in his last moments," Alicent insists with an equal stern tone, "if you were anyone else to say these things, you would be charged with treason, executed even." "You're the one committing treason!" Aemma exclaims, "why else go through all this subterfuge? Why all the haste to find Aegon and crown him before Rhaenyra and her family find out? If I didn't know any better, I'd say Aegon hasn't even been found yet, otherwise he would've been crowned already. He would be sitting the Iron Throne right now. Where even is Aegon?"

Alicent remained silent to that question, which was more than answer enough. "You don't know where he is, do you?" she realizes. "We'll find Aegon soon enough," Alicent assures, "I sent Ser Cole and Aemond to locate him. And once we do, he will be crowned king before the people."

Aemma huffed at that. It was clear Alicent would hold to the claim that Viserys had wished for Aegon to be the next monarch instead of Rhaenyra. She turned her back on Alicent, arms crossed, contemplating what was to come when her family on Dragonstone found out.

"Rhaenyra won't take this lying down when she learns of this," Aemma points out, "And neither will Daemon for that matter." "Which is why I need your support in this," Alicent reasons, taking a step closer till she could place a hand on Aemma's shoulder, to which Aemma flinched. "I know you still harbor anger against your father, for the harm he caused the Lady of Larks. It was made clear last evening when you walked to the dinner...wearing your mother's dress. I know you believed you had no recourse, especially after your audience with the late king...but perhaps that could change."

Aemma turned to face Alicent, her silence giving the queen her cue to continue, "Viserys may not have been willing to hold Daemon to account for his crimes, and knowing Rhaenyra, she will not be so willing either...but I can speak to Aegon, guide him to bring your father to justice. If you proclaim your support for Aegon as king, I can make this so. I...I also know you and Aemond hold love for each other, he spoke prior to the dinner, of his desire to take you to wife. I would like that very much for the two of you to wed. Once the succession is settled, we will hold your wedding at the Grand Sept. You and Aemond will be husband and wife as he wished...as I know you wish it to be."

Aemma gave Alicent a certain look, "you mean to bribe me," she stated, "use my disdain for my father and my love for Aemond against my family to proclaim something we both know is false." Alicent sighed, hiding her frustration at Aemma's stubborn nature, "Aemma...this world we live in. People like us, women, we do not rule, only guide the men in our lives who do. This is something Rhaenyra could not accept, and I know this is something you do not accept either. I blame myself for this, I...I should've done a better job with your education...but that is the order of things. I accepted this long ago...it is time you accept this as well."

In that moment, Aemma saw a brief flashback in Alicent's recent past, of her comforting a young serving girl who was hyperventilating and crying. The girl told the queen what had happened to her, and Alicent had sent her away with money and moon tea. The scene then changed to Alicent storming in to Aegon's bedchamber and scolding him for what he did to the poor girl.

When the scene ended, Aemma realized that what Alicent had promised her was a lie. Viserys would not hold Daemon accountable, Rhaenyra wouldn't either...but why would Alicent think she would be able to guide Aegon to bringing Daemon to justice when Aegon himself had been engaging in similar behaviors?

Aemma stepped away, now giving Alicent a look of disgust, "you promise me justice...yet you denied it for others who were similarly harmed." "Aemma?" "You say women can't rule, only guide the men who do...but how can you expect to do that when you can't even guide your own sons?"

Aemma leaned in close, just the queen would hear what she had to say next,

"FUCK you, Alicent."

In reaction, Alicent slapped Aemma across the face, something the queen regretting her action almost immediately. Aemma placed a hand over where she was slapped, not even surprised that Alicent would do that, considering that was what she has done to Aegon repeatedly since he was an adolescent boy, "will you strike Aegon in a similar manner when he is king?" she challenges, "is that how you intend to guide him in his rule?"

"...perhaps confinement in these chambers will change your mind," Alicent says in a low tone, "Ser Ivan will stand guard at the door. He won't hesitate to keep you from leaving this time around."

Alicent turned to walk away.

"My mother is alive!" Aemma exclaims, causing Alicent to stop in her tracks, she turned to face Aemma.

"That's not possible." "It's true," Aemma insists, "she survived the Rivian Riot all those years, she and the witcher Geralt. She told me what happened, that's how I learned that the romance between her and Daemon wasn't what he made it out to be. She told me about you as well, that you were a young naive child who only ever did as she was told. How exactly has that worked out for you all this time, Alicent?"

Alicent ignored that question, electing to walk away, leaving Aemma to silently stew in her angry thoughts for the rest of the day.

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

Aemma looked outside, seeing the sun was setting. Were it not for the window, she would have no sense of time, being locked in her own room.

She wondered if Aegon had been found yet, and she wondered what would become of her once the coronation begins. Will she be forced to attend? Or will she remain in this room until she changes her mind and acknowledges Aegon as the true king?

Right now, Aemma was wishing she had stayed on the Continent with her mother. If she had, if she had listened when the Lady of Larks told her that seeking justice for Daemon's wrongdoings was a futile effort, then she wouldn't be in the predicament she was in now...but if she had, she also wouldn't have shared that wonderful night with Aemond before it all went to shit.

The door opened once more, and Aemma faced it with surprise. As if he had been reading her mind, Aemond stepped inside. Aemma looked over to see Ivan was still at his post as Aemond closed the door.

"Aemma," he says, approaching her. Aemma said nothing, rather turned away from him, refusing to even look at him. "I'm guessing you and Ser Cole were successful in your mission," she said in a low tone, "you find Aegon." "Aemma," Aemond says once again, hoping to make his cousin see sense, "you can't fight this, you know. I know you're stubborn and refuse to accept this, but you need to heed my mother's word for a change."

Aemma silently turned to face the prince, "did your mother send you here?" she asks, "did she hope you might persuade me to swear obeisance to Aegon?" "She didn't send me," Aemond assures, "I came of my own accord." "Why?" "Because I love you," Aemond tells her, taking her hand in his, "I don't want to see you suffer anymore from this."

"If you don't wish me to suffer any further, then persuade your mother to let me go then, if she is concerned I'll fly to Dragonstone to warn Rhaenyra, then let her know I will fly to the Continent instead," Aemma insists, "I won't acknowledge Aegon as king, we both know your father never wanted that." "Aemma-" "Why are you even going along with this?" Aemma brings up, "you know damn well Aegon is not suited to be king!" "And you think Rhaenyra is?" Aemond brings up. "She was named heir since before I was born," Aemma points out, "Viserys never changed his stance. Can you look me in the eye and truly tell me this is what he wanted?"

Aemond averted his gaze, "even if that was the case, she would not be anymore suited to rule than Aegon is," he says in a low tone, then looking Aemma in the eye, "especially with Daemon at her side." Aemma huffed, now averting her gaze, knowing full well Aemond was using her father to bait her into changing her mind. "Rhaenyra will never hold my uncle to account, even if she did learn of the harms he enacted against the Lady of Larks, and neither with Aegon...but I could." "Aemond?" "Once the coronation has passed, once Aegon is king, we will wed in the Grand Sept," Aemond explains, leaning closer to her, "once you are my wife, I will take your case, see to it that your father will know justice, even if it must be by my own hand."

"If you did that, you would be branded a kinslayer," Aemma brings up. Aemond leaned in further to touch his forehead to hers, "I will gladly wear that brand for the rest of my life if it will give you closure."

Aemond then pressed his lips against Aemma's, which she surprisingly reciprocated. As Aemond deepened the kiss, as Aemond moved to kiss her neck, Aemma began to let her mind wonder. What if she did allow this? What if she did swear her support to the Greens, support Aegon as king, marry Aemond, and finally force her father to face the consequences of his actions? But what of Rhaenyra? What of Baela and Rhaena, and Jace and Luke? What would become of them once Aegon officially usurps the throne? As much as she wanted to be with Aemond, and as much as she wanted Daemon to face justice...this was not the way to do this.

Aemma stopped Aemond, lightly pushing him away, "I'm sorry, Aemond," she says, "I don't want it, not like this. This...this isn't right. Se ao gīmigon bisa (And you know it)."

Aemond kept his anger in check, only offering Aemma a look of disappointment, "...I had hoped you would see things our way...I thought you were smarter than this, Aemma."

Aemond turned and walked away, leaving Aemma to her thoughts. Aemma felt a stray tear escape her eye, which she wiped away. She wished she and Aemond weren't on opposing sides, that none of this was happening. She wished she stayed on the Continent.

She wished she could've persuaded Aemond to stay with her there, they've could've eloped and wedded in a Continental ceremony, where her mother and uncle Jaskier would sing the night through during the reception, where she and Aemond could've had a first dance and consummate the marriage right after.

But it was not meant to be...so much for the two of them going to Toussaint.

Aemma sank to the bed, burying her face into the pillow to conceal her tearful sobs as she lamented what could've been had she stayed on the Continent.

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

Ivan remained at his post, doing his best to ignore the sob he could hear from the other side of the door. It wasn't his business, but he had a feeling that Aemma's tears had something to do with Aemond, which was made clear when the prince had him stand aside so he could speak to her, only to storm out in anger sometime after.

Ivan felt he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He had his duties, his oath, but he wasn't even sure who his loyalty was supposed to be at this point. Given the predicament he was currently in, the half-elf wasn't even sure if that mattered.

Hearing footsteps approaching, Ivan kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to face whoever it was.

To his surprise it was Ser Arryk...or was it Erryk. It was Ser Erryk, Ivan had spent enough time with the twin brothers to know which is which. "Ser Erryk?" Ivan greets, "I...don't think it's time to change posts soon."

Erryk had a plain looking cloak in hand, "I'm sorry, Ser Ivan," Erryk says, fixing to draw his sword, "you seem like a good man." "You've come for the princess," Ivan realizes, "you plan to help her escape." "Princess Rhaenyra is the true heir," Erryk points out, "she is the one who must sit the throne next. I cannot be Prince Aegon." "I...do not dispute this," Ivan confesses, quickly looking around to see if anyone chanced to eavesdrop, "but for reasons that are my own...I cannot leave this post."

Erryk nods in understanding, "I know you were once brought to this place to be a companion to the princes," he says, "as repayment for saving Princess Aemma's life when she was still a girl. Will you help her once more?" "As I said...I cannot leave this post," Ivan repeats. "Why not?" Ivan looked Erryk in the eye, lifting his headband slightly to reveal his pointed ears to the knight. Erryk's eyes widen in shock, "you're..." "I've kept this secret since I first came to King's Landing as a child," Ivan explains, "I kept it ever since, until the princess found out, and now Cole knows it. His threat to reveal my elven blood constantly looms over me. It is why I cannot step out of line right now."

Erryk wasn't sure what more to say about this, but knew his mission took priority. Ivan adjusted his headband and took a fighting stance, "you'll need to punch me hard," he says, "make it look like I put up a fight this time around." Errky nods, "Forgive me for the pain that is to occur, Ser Ivan."

Errky sucker punched Ivan across the face, causing Ivan to fall to the ground.

Aemma woke up to hear the commotion outside. Opening the door was Ser Erryk. "Come with me, princess," the knight tells her, handing her the cloak and, to her surprise, her sword. "What's going on?" she asks, confused. "Just come with me," Erryk insists, "I cannot let this treachery stand."

Nodding, Aemma places the cloak around her and follows Erryk out the door. Aemma stopped when she heard Ivan groaning in pain, "Ser Ivan!" "Go, princess," Ivan urges, rubbing where Erryk punched him, "don't worry about me. I'll be okay."

"With me, princess," Erryk takes Aemma by the arm and has her follow him through the passageways.

Once outside, Aemma saw a familiar figure dressed similar to her. "Grandmother!" Aemma ran to Rhaenys, who pulled her in for a hug. "Thank the gods you are unharmed," Rhaenys says with relief, "I had thought you would've left for Dragonstone with your family by now." "I stayed last night," Aemma says, "I...I was with Aemond."

"Oh, Aemma-" "I love him, grandmother," Aemma confesses, "I still do. But I can't stand by and let the Greens usurp the throne from Rhaenyra. I know she won't hold Daemon to any kind of account, but this is not right. Viserys never wanted this, I know it." "I know it as well, princess," Rhaenys nods, "I take it Alicent tried to persuade you to offer support for Aegon." "How did-" "She asked the same of me," Rhaenys tells her, "offer support from House Velaryon, but I refused. Despite everything my House has been through, our word is not fickle."

"Princess Aemma, Princess Rhaenys," Ser Erryk calls out, "We must leave now." Aemma and Rhaenys follow Erryk through town, with the intention of taking them to the docks and give them passage on the next ship to Dragonstone. The sun was just rising, and the bells tolled. It wouldn't be long before the whole of King's Landing- and Westeros for that matter- would learn that King Viserys is dead.

As they got closer to the docks, Aemma stopped in her tracks, "what of our dragons?" she points out. "Cirillia is still in the dragon pit, I can't leave her behind." "So is Meleys," Rhaenys agrees, turning to Erryk, "neither of us is willing to leave our dragons. If we can get to the dragon pit-" "No!" Erryk insists, "they'll expect the two of you there, princess. Neither of you will make it past the gates. Now come," he ushers the two princesses to follow, "the both of you must make it to the riverfront and find a ship. Before they know you've gone."

Unfortunately, the three of them would not make it to the docks, as droves of people were being escorted from their homes and through the streets. It became more crowded, making it impossible to walk to the docks. Aemma and Rhaenys eventually got separated from Erryk, who was fighting through the droves to catch up to the two of them. "Grandmother?" Aemma starts to panic. "It will be alright," Rhaenys tries to assure, grabbing Aemma by the arm, "just stick close to me, and keep your hood up."

"Grandmother, I'm scared." "...so am I, princess...so am I..."

It was a long trek, but Aemma looked up to see they were heading for the Dragon pit. Why were all these people being led to the dragon pit of all places?

"What's going on?" Aemma asks out loud as they stood among the crowd inside the pit. "They mean to crown Aegon in the Dragon pit," Rhaenys realizes, "for all these people to see. Doing so will legitimize Aegon's right to succession." Right on cue, Otto stood before the people and gave his speech, "People of King's Landing. It is the saddest of days. Viserys the Peaceful...is dead."

Aemma stood on her toes to get a closer look. Behind Otto she saw Alicent and on her side stood Helaena and Aemond as well as Criston and members of the Small Council. Aemma sighed in sadness, once more wishing she and Aemond were not on opposing sides.

"But it is also the most joyous of days," Otto continues, "for as his spirit left us, he whispered his final wish. That his firstborn son, Aegon, should succeed him." Aemma sneered in anger as murmurs filled the crowd, knowing full well that was a lie.

Some in the audience applauded as the Gold Cloaks arrived, forming a path for the arrival of their future ruler. Right on cue, the guards held their swords high, crossing them, making way for Aegon to make his steps towards the center where he would receive the crown and be proclaimed king.

Being distracted from all the pomp of the circumstances, Aemma flinched when she felt Rhaenys grab her arm and lead down the steps to bowls of the pit where the dragons resided. Aemma looked behind her to see Aegon kneeling down, waiting for the High Septon to give the blessing of the Seven before Aegon was given the crown.

Once down below, Aemma called out to Cirillia, who more than happily responded and rushed over to the princess. Aemma hugged her dragon before mounting her. Rhaenys climbed on Meleys' saddle. "Now what do we do?" Aemma inquires of the older princess. Rhaenys looked up to the ceiling where the coronation was happening above them, hearing cheers erupt, indicating the crowning of Aegon II was complete.

"Follow my lead," was all Rhaenys said before directing Meleys to break through the stone ceiling.

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

A commotion was heard as people began to panic and attempt to scatter. Otto ordered the guards to stop the people from leaving, but there were too many, and in their panicked states, the folk of King's Landing fled for their lives and the Red Queen broke through the boards and stone, with Cirillia following behind the older dragon.

As the dust settled, Meleys faced the Greens, teeth bared. Cirillia faced the Greens as well, mimicking Meleys' threatening look. Aemma saw Alicent getting in front of Aegon- who was wearing the crown of Aegon the Conqueror- ready to protect her firstborn son, even if it would be a futile effort should either her or Rhaenys say the word.

Aemma looked to the side to see Helaena reaching a hand towards the dragons, no fear in her eye, almost as if she meant to calm them with soft words. And Aemma saw Aemond right next to Helaena, eye wide as he made a fighting stance.

Aemma made eye contact with Aemond, whose look turned to one of disappointment the moment he saw her on top Cirillia. "...I'm sorry," she mouths, hoping Aemond knew what she said, "please forgive me."

Meleys approached the Greens, Aemma becoming fearful that Rhaenys might actually command her dragon to burn her family at the risk of being branded a kinslayer afterwards.

To Aemma's relief, that didn't happen. Meleys roared, making it heard from beyond the pit. With that, Rhaenys has Meleys turn with a sweep of the tail and exit the dragon pit, immediately taking flight.

Aemma took one last look at her family, specifically at Aemond and Helaena.

"Soves, Cirillia!" Cirillia turned and followed suit after Rhaenys and Meleys.

Finally on their dragons, Aemma and Rhaenys begin their flight to Dragonstone.

Chapter 61

#hotd #the witcher #house of the dragon #oc #alicent hightower #otto hightower #aemond targaryen #aegon ii #helaena targaryen #aemond x oc #criston cole

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talesofmetalandmagic · 1 year

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“What will it become of me?”

So… Azir will have to abdicate.

This is the harsh decision I’d been previously talking about in the Soothsayer section

This isn’t just me pulling even more so from TBSkyen’s playbook – check out his What’s The Deal With Azir if you haven’t – but doing what’s objectively the best thing for everyone, and agreeing is necessary.

The night before he does it he summons all his retainers and friends in a private meeting and tells them that what awaits them will be something that’s never been done before. And like he was told, it will sting like removing a thorn: necessary pain.

From that day forward, his crown will forever be replaced by Taliyah’s handmade coronet.

First, he’s welcomed fine. Well, even. People applaud him and cheer for him and tell him he did the best thing. He’s not even, like, giving up on absolute power to live a soft cottage life on his own (especially since I loathe that trope). He’ll still live in the palace and wield power, just a power that’s shared and earned instead of owed and given.

But once he leaves the dais and goes to his rooms to freshen up… suddenly he’s in tears.

No, why? Why? What’s happening. I did the right thing. I did everything right. Why am I crying? What’s wrong with me stop stop stop I don’t want to cry why am I feeling so bad why…

But deep down he knows why. He threw away everything he ever was – everything he worked for – in exchange for a fairer, yet uncertain future. No more "no god but Azir". No more celebrations. No more tributes and worship. Just an ugly ruined bird body and a mighty enemy who hates him.

And he knows Xerath is probably laughing at him, from wherever he is. So he was right, he's not an Emperor anymore.

Even if for a good cause – he lost everything now.

"My lord? We're about to begin the toasts. Are you..."

Nasus finds him as he sits on his own bedchambers, repurposed and cleaned for a fair rest. He races to him, looking about at his body and around the room. But he knows, more than ever, that most of Azir's tears come from a pain he cannot see.

He put his halberd aside and sits by his side, embracing him in the now familiar motion.

"Oh, baby bird..."

"What will become of me?"

"I..." Nasus cannot speak. He can't leave Azir hanging, but at the same time there's not joy in that truth. And his child has suffered quite enough.

So he just sits there and hugs him.

After a while, with Azir still shedding tears, Sivir finds them too. She sits behind Azir this time and pulls him close. Then Taliyah follows, curling up between his arms and Nasus' and allowing him to hold her as he weeps.

Somehow it's reassuring to see him so distraught. That means the sacrifice was there, the choice was indeed hard, and they can count on him as a guardian even if he's not a god on earth.

But after growing to like him, after knowing what he went through up to that point, those tears sting them too.

After his tears have expired, Azir stands up, wipes his face and kisses each one's forehead.

"I don't know what happened, I just... I couldn't hold back"

"Is your choice done?", Nasus asks. Azir gives him a distant nod. "Like removing a thorn, is it not? Heh..."

"Have a drink," Sivir says. "Relax for the night. Just celebrate like all of us. I've learned that if you worry too much you end up empty-handed. And we don't want that, don't we Azir?"

"She's right. You deserve a night of fun. Maybe it'll help you find your way as it did me".

Taliyah holds him by the hand and gently leads him back to the hall where everybody is celebrating on the newly risen People's Republic of Shurima. Mercenaries and merchants, commoners and bourgeoisie, naasaj and Nazumah, old loyalists and new friends, some old and most young. Even Renekton, in the isolated temple where he's been put to rehabilitate, was brought some of the foods and a small drink. Just one day ago he allowed Azir to touch his face. Your hand is so soft, he said.

Was it not unsafe, he almost wishes Xerath could see it. Another loss for him, and a win for them all.

He watches as specialties from all around the land are brought in, different wines are mixed together; as Taliyah's young friends show off their sails to K'Sante's ex beloved Tope, General Adanna twirls in her beautiful dress as Samira and Akshan clap, and the same Soothsayer who foretold this same event laughs as Raz Bloodmane fills his mouth with grapes until it bursts. She probably saw that too.

So let us dance, let us applaud, let us be one. Tomorrow we'll think of the future – plans for battle, shelter, music and art, and Azir's own new masterpiece: a state home for orphans called House of Imani.

I was wrong. I did not lose everything after all.

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esta-elavaris · 2 months

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oh i am SO on this. 13 (i'd love to know what character you most want to write for in the future!), 14 and 15 :D

13. What's a character or ship you haven't written/drawn yet but would like to some day? I'd love to write some Game of Thrones stuff one day (Sandor Clegane or Bronn, probably) but god that's a fucking undertaking. Good news is it'll be a sensible 15.6 years before I can reasonably start another new thing so it gives me time to have a think 🫠

Doesn't help that the idea I have for a Bronn fic is one I'm not even sure I came up with - I have a hunch what I'm the idea I'm thinking of is actually a memory of a Bronn fic I read years ago as a teen, so I'd need to comb through EVERYTHING I can find to make sure that's not the case before I begin, because I refuse to begin without doing that, and even then if I found nothing I'd be worried that I just missed whatever story the idea came from, and uhhhh fuck that. But it's good to have something holding me back from my Fic Aquirement Sickness 😭

I'd also love to write a Phantom of the Opera fic one day. I doubt I could bring anything original to the fandom but I mean, I have the same fear with the Dracula fic and folk are still enjoying it for what it is!

14. Is there a character or ship you were so sure you would never write/draw but now you've changed your mind? It wasn't that long ago on this blog where I was furiously insisting to people that I would never write a Boromir fic, I wouldn't put the stress of tackling Tolkien upon myself, it was too much to attempt, there was no chance.

Anyway, HWFG just cleared the 120k word mark 🤡 (and I'm very grateful to the people who talked me into it!!)

There are other smaller fandoms that I always thought I'd never bother with just because they're so small that I didn't think anybody would read them, but you guys are proving that fear wrong and making my day CONSTANTLY with your willingness to follow me into some truly random bs 💜💜💜💜💜

15. Have you noticed your style change over time?

Absolutely!! Little By Little is my oldest fic that I don't hate, and even then the growing pains within that make me cringe a little (CTW followed it, and that's the earliest one that I still like! It marked the end of me finishing a project and immediately hating it) -- the early chapters in particular are plagued by way too much introspection (listen, I'm an overthinker, I have no concept of how much thinking is too much thinking in general).

It does also change between projects, though, I think, because I try to match the "tone" of the source material to some extent.

I also think it's really cool because most of LBL was written when I began writing daily as a rule, and that's when you really see quick and substantial improvements in my ability, so it's been a great way to measure it all!

Novel work is trickier because I get so nervous when I write it that it impacts the quality, so it's less of a linear thing and more dependent on how I feel on any given day. It's wild going back to chapters I wrote when I was worried about it and editing it from a calm mindset so that it's actually good. That whole process is most of why it's taking me so long 💀. When I finished my first draft and went back to the beginning to read (it was all done by hand, so it was a long time after I'd written the first chapter) I noticed that the first chapter was so bad and then suddenly it just? Got decent? When I found my rhythm and got over the nerves, mostly? That was a nice moment. I promptly worried the pal I was living with at the time by walking laps around her living room because I couldn't believe that it was good and I was too excited to sit down. Good times 😭

Thank you!!! 💜

Fanfic ask game

#asks #ask game

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fuckyeaharthuriana · 11 months

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The Winter King episode 1

First of all I need to add this small warning premise: I read Bernard Cornwell's novels so far ago, and I have been too in the grasp of my adhd to be able to focus on much, so rereading them would be impossible for me at the moment.

I guess this means I will talk about the show from a "ignorant" perspective, without talking too much about the differences between the novel and the actual show. I will judge it for what it is, ignoring that it is part of an adaptation.

Still, I remember a little, so I can confirm that the show starts the same way. Arthur is a bastard, when his father accuses him of having caused the heir's death, he is exiled, thanks to Merlin's intervention. There is also Arthur's sister (no name yet) who pleaded for mercy. Arthur saves a young Derfel and then we are jumped in a timeskip.

The rest of the episode sees some vague establishing of what "the gods" are and Avalon is. It is not clear at all, just the usual "we follow the GODS" (which gods?? who knows). Derfel is not a young adult, and he is in love with Nimue - who suddenly has to choose between the gods and that guy.

It is all very dramatic, she cannot "deny her past", but given we had known these characters for less than 20 minutes, it all falls flat. The episode RUNS, runs like the wind, trying to introduce all the possible plots around Derfel. I barely had the time to breath and understand what main plot the episode was trying to establish, the truth being that I still don't know.

I fully believe it would have simply been better to start directly with Derfel, sees him as a kid, let us know him in the classic way "past-family-what he went through" and then see Arthur save him, and introduce his conflict between wanting to stay at Avalon and wanting to be a warrior, just like Arthur.

The plot instead rolls and rolls - suddenly Queen Norwenna is in labour, Merlin and Morgana rush to her side - and for some reason they ask Derfel to come for the extra help (what extra help is not clear). Merlin has a horrible vision of the future when he holds the baby. Uther is happy to have a new son, but Merlin warns him that the child has a twisted foot and a twisted nature (?? the need to offer both at the same time... weird, very weird). Merlin says he saw the end of the whole of Britan in this kid, but Uther ignores him and cuddles the baby.

I know we are supposed to root for Merlin, and see that Uther is foolish for accepting this baby and not Arthur, his other son, but the truth is - the baby is a baby. I don't think the tv show convey the danger, or managed to get me on the side of Merlin because that baby is so SMALL? and innocent? And the show is so fast we never had the chance to trust Merlin, to see him struggle or actually care for Britain, we do not know much of what he cares for (the vague gods).

Suddenly - so fast - Merlin leaves for Arthur, and Derfel says he is gonna stay there while Nimue goes to Avalon. Derfel found a job (in the span of a night?? few days??) and decided (after a nightmare/flashback) to want to become a warrior. The sad music almost made me laugh, I have to be honest, while looking at Derfel leave Nimue behind, as the show spends zero attempts in trying to making us invested in their relationship.

Also I cannot really judge actors, I am not that good at catching who is a good actor or not, but I could barely hear what Nimue was saying, she always seemed almost drunk.

Luckily, among all characters, Derfel seemed to have the best actor to be able to do quite a lot with little. He had a boyish naive quality that made me believe he DID find work overnight, and he did decide to become a warrior just because Arthur told him. I will definitely try to continue watching, as I am curious to see how they are going to make this Derfel into the Derfel I vaguely remember form the books.

Other positive comments I have for the show would mainly be about how well it convey the arthurian feelings of a historial novel like Bernard Cornwell's. I cannot speak about how historically accurate the clothes, weapons and buildings are, but for an untrained eye like mine they all did a lot to world-build, to give me the idea of a prosperous kingdom on the verge of wars.

#the winter king #derfel #it was almost fun the way derfel was thrown from plot to plot...

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msfcatlover · 1 year

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OKAY THIS IS A BIG ONE, just answer the ones you want to :D

DC (preferably Batman or Green Arrow or Superfam but actually everything) - games, comics, movies, books, fandom

what is your (can be more than one each category):

favourite fan AU

favourite headcanon

favourite female character

favourite male character

favourite comic

favourite canon AU (you know all these Future State and Kingdom Come and Injustice and Arkham verse and all that!!!)

favourite ship (IF you have one, otherwise the ones you can tolerate)

favourite death (if the character died more than in one universe or more than once, specify which death)

favourite powerset

favourite resurrection (LOL, same with #8)

favourite AU villain/antagonist (those who aren't villains but you imagine would be cool villains in your opinion)

favourite canon villan/antagonist (if characters like Jason or Talia then specify which plotlines/comics)

favourite DC loser.

sorry for bad English!!!! have a good day/night

Oh boy, that’s… that’s actually really hard for me. I have a hard time picking favorites, because I generally love things for very different reasons. I know much more clearly what I dislike when I see it; enjoying things is sorta my default state, y’know?

Like, take the AU question. I’d be hard pressed to tell you whether a good Reverse Robins setup was something I liked better than, say, @jube-art’s Superfam/Batfam role-swap (which, if you haven’t seen it, go check it out!)

I’m also working my way through canon chronologically, and am still in the early/mid-90s, so there’s a lot of characters I haven’t officially gotten to, and a lot of stories I haven’t gotten the chance to really dig into yet. (I made it to Knightfall, realized I hadn’t put any of the buildup to that arc in my comic library, and decided to go back and read Barbara’s time with the Suicide Squad instead.) I don’t feel comfortable planting a flag on this until… oh, at least until ~2006, probably. (Which, given just how many books/characters suddenly got added in the 90s, will probably take a while.)

(There are also lots of characters who have so much potential in their backstory/power set, but who never got to use them to their full potential. Or who only had the cool parts of their backstory tacked on as an obvious retcon in the process of writing them out of the story, because the fans were vocally upset about them, meaning they never got the exploration any of those story ideas deserved.) (I have a special level of ire for power sets that are really cool on a surface level, but where the creators added just one power too many to stop them from being fully interesting. For example, Menagerie’s bugs having mind control properties overcomplicates her too much, in my opinion. Or—if you’ll let me hop over to Marvel—a character like Alpha who has all the “standard” superpowers, but only one at a time? What makes that interesting is having to choose between being super-strong or invulnerable or super-fast (etc.) therefore this character should not have ranged attack options built into said power set; it disincentivizes him from ever getting up-close with enemies, forcing the writer to choose between having the character be stupid or having the character never use the interesting elements of their powers. (…I mean, Alpha being stupid is kinda the point of his plot, but you see what I’m getting at, right?))

I will say, I adored Jason’s post-Crisis Robin run (in both Batman series, though for very different reasons) and so far very little has brought me as much joy as reading DC’s Detective Comics from that time period! And those few pages of Dan Mora’s B&W cyberpunk short that went around recently had me absolutely frothing with excitement for the possibilities that verse holds. And Jason being Tim’s Robin brings me endless joy, which neither canon nor jerkfaces will take from me.

(Aaaaaaaand while shipping isn’t the catharsis I come to comics for (thank gods, basically every canon ship I’ve witnessed thus far has been awful in motion even when their potential is off the charts,) I can actually blame DCEU SuperBat for getting me into this whole mess in the first place. Blame @susiecarter, whose fics I found immediately after watching someone do a deep-dive analysis of everything that went wrong with BvS, which I paused when I thought, “Huh, these are actually all really good points… I bet fanfiction has done this exact story, but with much better execution, recognizable characterization, and probably a hell of a lot gayer. Let’s go check.”)

#my life #mine #dc comics #questions #trust-and-jump #//#This doesn’t answer almost any of your questions #Sorry

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fumikomiyasaki · 1 year

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🍼 with Carol and the poly or Utau and Mellow

We are having a baby

A bit drowsy she woke up in the arms of James and Metaron, sandwiched a little after all she spend the night with them, smoothly she tried to slide out of their arms... its been like this for a ton of days, sometimes Elias joined them but they been trying for a while so she can have a baby... and often she just marched out when she had a good feeling in did the test. This morning she noticed her body seeming a bit off so she went as usual into the bathroom to check. Rubbing her tired eyes as she suddenly noticed it... a positive... She suddenly squeeled by accident out of happiness. Accidentally waking James and Metaron out their sleep as she rushed out dressed up again.

"So whats the news?"

She smiled at them both and held up the test.

"We finally have a new member to the family soon."

Both got up quickly and pulled her in a hug, Elias overheard the noises and joined them quickly from the other room, holding her yet he also brought up a valid question.

"So who do you think was it?"

"I did." "I am." A response James and Metaron gave at the same time... true they would both be the most plausible given they spend the night with her the most at the same time... yet Carol looked at them with a sigh.

"We can make a test once the doctor looks at it, I am just happy about it at all. I need to write down some names plan some stuff-"

As she rambled suddenly she felt a bit weaker and Metaron catched her fall.

"You will rest for now, We will take care of things."

"Fine.. but I still want to write down at least a little bit of things."

The three smiled brightly at her... as they all thought about the little wonder that was awaiting them... weeks passed and they could go to the doctor to check up on who was the father... and after some time it was set that it was Metaron, James next to him looking a bit grumbly.

"Mad I was faster, grow up."

"Thats not it I..."

Yet as Carol walked up to him and placed a kiss on his cheek, things were less bad... maybe he had another chance in the future to be the father himself as well.

"Please, I care about you both dearly.. it wouldn't have mattered who was first... all that matters is.... we can finally be a true family together... we finally have a child of our own."

Even if he didn't like this smug Smile Metaron had at him at first James pulled an arm around her and smiled.

"Then it seems first we need a house with more space together... lets plan everything together back home."

Metaron got closer as well putting a hand on her stomach and Elias went to kiss her hand as well... being surrounded by them all she felt assured and ready for whats to come... and she couldn't wait to meet that child of her own.

On that day he came back from work to a some what different atmosphere... a box was placed on the table as Utau waited for him. He walked up to her and placed a kiss on her forehead, putting down his work clothing over the chair and sat down next to her.

"Um... M-Mellow... I have a gift for you, would you open it?"

"Sure but... you seem sick, is everything good?"

"I am fine, don't worry. Just o-open it please."

He was confused to say the least.... as he opened the box however he found small stuffed Rabbit with a note on it.

'We will be having a cute little monster rabbit together.'

Mellow eyes widdened, suddenly bursting into tears of happiness and pulling her in a warm embrace carefully.

"I-its really true?"

"You are going to be a father, yes."

"I am so happy you don't know.... finally a family of our own... i just... "

"I know... I am sure... y-your father and mom would be happy to see you like this."

Mellow whiped his tears and nodded.

"I will promise to make you as happy and smiling as my father did with his mom... and... I make sure my child won't suffer the same loss and lack of control."

He held her hands while making this promise as she smiled at him... he knew things aren't easy... especially for a part monster child but... he knew he would do everything to make this happy future a possibility. In doubt he could ask Leroy for help.

#twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland ocs #twst #disney twst #twst ocs #twistedwonderland #twistedwonderlandoc #carol ann #carol x james #carol x james x metaron x elias #carol x metaron #carol x elias #mellow mildew #mellow x utau

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livvywritesworld · 1 year

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A Fist in the Mouth | Overview & Analysis

For those who don’t know, I am a creative writing student in my first year of university. In my introduction to creative writing class this semester, I wrote a short story called ‘A Fist in the Mouth’ for our fiction unit. After a couple rounds of editing, I submitted this piece to my university’s literary magazine and was later accepted for publication.

This is my first ever publication acceptance so of course this story holds such a special place in my heart now, and I thought I might make a post about it just kind of sharing a couple of snippets and some of the inspiration and thought I put behind the story as a whole.

(please let it be known that I retain all rights to my original work and no plagiarism will be tolerated)

excerpts and analysis under the cut

‘A Fist in the Mouth’ began as a way for me to kind of reintroduce myself to short fiction after a period of not having written anything at all due to some health issues. I had all of these ideas for the short fiction piece that I needed to write for class and none of them were working out how I wanted them to while still fitting within the word limit. So, I decided to discovery write something while listening to one of my many Spotify playlists just to kind of get in the groove of writing once more and really just see what would happen.

As I was writing, the song “Modern Girl” by Sleater-Kinney came on shuffle and for those of you who have never heard the song, there’s a repeating lyric, “hunger makes me a modern girl.” This really sparked some inspiration in me and all of a sudden I was writing about a teenage runaway come riot grrrl serial concert goer experiencing the horrors of girlhood and ambition.

‘A Fist in the Mouth’ begins like this:

There’s a difference between running from and running to. When I left home, I thought I was running towards. I didn’t think of it as me leaving my parents’ oppressive religious household, though that was a fact that I readily acknowledged as a girl. I only ever thought of it as me, freshly eighteen, running full speed at a future I thought I deserved. A future I knew never would have found me if I’d stayed in that town, in that house, with those people, spending my days on my knees praying to a god that didn’t see me as deserving of anything more than I’d already been given.

Now, I think all I was doing was running away from every facet of my life. I didn’t feel the same way about God as the rest of my family, was scared to death of them looking at me one day and suddenly seeing all of me. Back then, I felt like I didn’t have any other choice. And I probably didn’t.

The narrator is kind of inspired by the character Maxine in the film ‘X,’ which I had watched a couple of weeks before writing the story, as well as Ethel Cain’s discography. I really wanted to write from the perspective of a teenage girl fleeing a very religious household (religious trauma for the win) because she wants more out of life than what her parents have laid out for her.

As we move through the story and see how the narrator interacts with the 90s Seattle grunge & punk scene, we are introduced to the narrator’s insatiable hunger (her ambition, queerness, and dedicated yearning). I use a lot of motifs throughout the beginning and middle of the text to try and recreate this feeling for the reader.

I was nineteen and my presence felt both excessive and non-existent. I wasn’t eating as much as I should’ve been, couldn’t really afford three meals a day. Most of my money went towards rent and bills, any real food I got would be leftovers from the diner. The cook was a bit sweet on me, so he’d make me a sandwich every day, free of charge, whatever kind I wanted.

The thing was though, even if I did get enough to eat, I still never felt full. I’d look in the mirror and my mouth would be this gaping cavern, something that didn’t fit on my face. It didn’t matter how old I was, how much life I did or didn’t experience— in the mirror smiling back at me was a gape-toothed girl looking to swallow the whole world if given the chance.

Then, we meet the character of Magdalene Williams, who is the only character in the story that I’ve named. The inspiration for Magdalene was definitely Mary Magdalene— I kind of wanted this holy-like figure to come into the narrator’s life and really give her a taste of the life that she craves for herself.

Magdalene invites the narrator to an all non-men punk show on the edge of Seattle and the narrator feels her hunger clawing up out of her stomach and demanding to go. She is inherently drawn to Magdalene and has no idea why. So she accepts the invitation.

The story kind of unravels from there, and we end with Magdalene coming onstage with her band and giving The Performance of a Lifetime and generally really disturbing the narrator. The narrator knows that something Is Not Right here, she’s been very active in the scene for the last year and has never heard of Magdalene yet the entire crowd is going wild over her, and once Magdalene starts singing she immediately knows that something is wrong. And yet. She just can’t look away.

In Magdalene, the narrator sees everything that she wants, everything that she is so hungry for, and it terrifies her. She’s also a little jealous, and a little horny but very much in a prophet/faithhealer x devotee kind of way.

I wrote the entire story in past tense because I really wanted it to have a sort of confessional vibe, to really keep in tone with the religious themes and imagery. My professor suggested after workshop that I might try it in present tense but it just was not working. During our class workshop however, everyone said that they liked the choice of past tense because it was almost like the narrator was telling us, the reader, that she experienced such an intense period of wanting in her life and still made it out in the end.

I don’t know if it’s too much to share on here like word count-wise, but the last few paragraphs of the story are my absolute favorites and I’m so proud of them. They’ve remained mostly unchanged in my various rounds of edits and I’m so impressed with myself for being able to write like this after having literally not written anything substantial in around six months.

Before I left home, my whole life was like a sepia photograph of a sunny day. Over-exposed, parents with smiling faces and sons with square jaws, daughters with ribbons in their hair. Wooden crosses on the walls, simple and unornate because God doesn’t need to be loved in gold foil. Grass stains on white tights, Sunday kitten heels scuffed from being worn so often, deodorant powder refusing to wash off the baby pink dress Mama thought looked so nice with my brown eyes.

There’s a difference between running from and running to. At eighteen, I was running towards something. I’msure of that. I don’t think I ever had an idea of what that something was, or what I even wanted it to be, but I did know that I didn’t want to be some televangelist’s golden daughter proffered up to God like Icarus was to the sun.

I noticed things about myself the way my family noticed things about God and religion and theology. Studied myself in mirrors, in the dark, in the depths of my own mind. I noticed everything and remembered nothing. Blood never started to fill my mouth until I surrounded myself with idolatry of a different kind, the screams sounded too much like mine.

At nineteen, I was running from. That night, hunger attacked every fiber of my being, ate away at my organs, left behind teeth marks and blood. I saw that hunger reflected in Magdalene, her mouth an open wound as she screamed out her lyrics. I wasn’t scared, though. There’s nothing scary about hunger, what’s scary is the response hunger elicits from other people.

This, I noticed. All in real time. Learned it of myself.

I watched the crowd feed Magdalene, and consequently devour her whole. Sanctify her living and alive, right before my eyes. And I never wanted anything more than I did then. I craved it, would’ve let hordes of women and girls crucify me where I stood just to be in Magdalene’s position. She never could’ve been full, not with the way she sang, but at least she was well fed. Oh how I wanted to be kept in excess.

Have learned to become my own number one fan lol

#really am my own biggest fan lolll who else is gonna do it #writeblr #writerblr #my writing #mywriting #viaspeaks #love how I use a nickname on here that I hate but have already committed to #literally no one has ever called me via #and I do not like it #but all of my posts already have via tags #via speaks #queer teenage girls with religious trauma are terrifying #unnamed narrator you will always be famous #kinda sorta working on a magdalene prequel short fiction piece #because she's an absolute icon #and I'm obsessed with her #I literally love talking about my own writing #so if you made it through this I love you

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horrorbxby · 2 years

Text

excerpt from the journal of soren chen ;

contains mentions of sawyer pearson + ( briefly ) pj bolton

i’m not sure if it’s too early to say this. i don’t think i’ve ever really felt this way before. i mean, i was under the impression that i was in love with beth, when i was fifteen. but fifteen is fifteen, and twenty-one is twenty-one. ( by the way, i’m still not sure how i feel about the fact my birthday will come around again in four months. time seems to have gone so fast and so slow all at the same time. i feel like i’m still a child, but i feel so much older than i am, really. )

a lot has happened to me between fifteen and twenty-one. i have spent so much time trying to be an independent adult, and the bolton’s have spent just as much time treating me like i’m a child who shouldn’t get a say in how i live my life. all of that has changed overnight. and it’s partly thanks to sawyer, actually. but i’m a different person now, to an extent. and so suddenly.

so. what i want to say is, i think i’m in LOVE. i need to write it out as a secret little confession just for my own eyes to see. i need to say it to myself so that i can think about it. the last thing i want to do is admit it out loud too soon, before either of us are ready for something like that. i don’t really know when the best time is, because i’ve never been with someone like her. beth was my best friend. i knew her like the back of my hand - it made decision making easy. there’s still so much i want to know about sawyer – things i can’t wait to know. but unfortunately, that also brings me a great deal of anxiety.

i’m lying on the floor of the living room, she made me some tea before she’s started to cook dinner and even though i offered to help, she insists that i get back to the drawing i was doing earlier. except now i have to write about it instead because i’m overwhelmed with what i’m feeling.

i came from a house where my belongings and my art were to stay in my room. it was a way for philip and caroline to say, “if you want to keep being who you’ve chosen to be, then you can do it out of sight, so that you’re out of our mind.” if i forgot things, if i got caught up in something and couldn’t stop, i’d be scolded. sometimes my things were thrown away. “you shouldn’t leave your garbage lying around.”

not long after i moved in, sawyer went out of her way to help me set up my things in the apartment. new art supplies and everything. i paint in the living area, sometimes while she’s curled up on the couch going over papers or watching tv, and even though i make a mess, sometimes i catch her watching me. she doesn’t scold me, she doesn’t tell me to be cleaner, or to stay out of her way. she looks at me with a softness that makes my heart melt. she lets me be a part of her life. sometimes that means dealing with me humming as i paint on the living room floor. sometimes that means wrapping me up in a blanket and holding me when i cry. she does these things out of the goodness of her heart, because she wants to. and i’m not a burden because of it.

as i’m writing this my cheeks are pink, i can feel the heat in my face and i only hope she doesn’t come to check on me for a minute, because she’s going to know something is up, and i don’t want to have to explain myself just yet. but i hope that in a few months time i can look back on this and laugh at how silly i was for being anxious about these things. but who knows what the future has in store.

also i have yet to tell anybody. i haven’t talked to anyone about it… maybe it’s about time i talked to pj, though i guess i can’t really say he’s always given me the best advice. now that i think about it, it’s not particularly fair to keep things from him. despite the past, and though i’m not sure we’ll ever be as close as he wants us to be, he is changing for the better.

okay, i’ll talk to him.

but for now i’m going to go help sawyer with dinner. my mind isn’t on my drawing anymore.

#☆ soren chen #☆ soren chen // musings #shrikejournal #☆ ft. sawyer ( shrikc-gals )#☆ shrikc-gals #☆ ft. pj ( rufficns )#☆ rufficns #emotional abuse tw #silly little sappy thing uwu #self para

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literaticat · 2 years

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Hi Jenn. I’m… nervous. It’s been three years since I signed with my agent. We’ve gone out with numerous projects, and we’ve sold nothing. I feel like such a disappointment. I’m afraid my agent will drop me soon. What would make you drop a client? How would you do it?

It might surprise you to know that your AGENT could easily be writing me the exact same note. ("I've gone out with numerous projects, and I've sold nothing. I feel like such a disappointment. I'm afraid my author will drop me soon.")

Yes, we also get freaked out / stressed out by this occurrence. We WANT you to be super successful. We BELIEVE IN you and your work. It sucks for us when it gets rejected, too! And yes, sometimes we are walking on eggshells worried that an author is going to drop us because we keep having to bring them disappointing news or whatever it is. :-/

So, here's the thing. Not selling a book should not be enough reason for an author and agent to part ways (unless there's something else going on). Not selling a FEW books doesn't even qualify, really. I have definitely had it happen where things don't pan out, and then suddenly they do. So assuming you are turning in great mss, your agent is still excited, etc, don't go LOOKING for trouble. We don't expect every single thing to sell, and we don't hold that against you.

That said: If there is a pattern of not-selling, it COULD be that one or the other of you start to feel like maybe the agent is not doing anything to help you, and you'd benefit from a different set of eyes and new energy. That can happen. If you are feeling like you might be in a rut and you aren't sure what the future looks like, it would be great if you could have a gut-check kind of convo with your agent. (And if your agent is feeling like that, they should have a gut-check kind of convo with YOU.)

Approach this with an up-beat and positive feeling. You want what's best for you and your career. Your AGENT wants what is best for you and your career. Change is scary, but it isn't inherently BAD. If you've both given it a real effort but what is happening right now isn't forwarding your career, it's OK to change direction, and that's a good thing, actually.

(And by "change direction", that MIGHT mean changing your focus or switching things up with your writing, or MIGHT mean your agent doing things differently, or it MIGHT mean parting ways and finding a different agent, but you can't really figure that out until you have a frank conversation with them.)

Sorry this is long already. :-) To answer the second part: I wouldn't just drop a client for zero reason if I still believe in their work and think I can sell it. I *might* start to lose faith in my ability to sell it if it really is just going nowhere (the old "trying the same thing over and over and expecting different results" adage comes to mind). If I really am feeling like they need something I can't give them, it might be time to part ways, because their needs and my capabilities are not in line. But again, if that's the case, I *WANT* them to find what they need. So, while it's hardly a JOLLY thing to part ways, at the end of the day, I'm not helping them and I might indeed be holding them back, so...

And as to "how I would do it" -- Depends. In our frank conversation, I'd likely present a couple of ideas for moving forward (with or without me), and put the ball in their court. Do we change things up, move forward with hopefully new energy and new material? Do we part ways and let you find an agent who will better represent you? Or what?

But if I know for a fact that I can't continue, for whatever reason (like, my list is changing in a different direction, I don't have the time or zeal for this that I once had, you are starting to do work that I don't know how to or don't want to rep, etc) -- I'd probably write you an email to that effect and offer to follow up with a call as needed. (Because if I said all that on a call, I'd cry, and that's messy!)

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gerrbarrkmania17 · 2 months

Text

this is the sanest I’ve felt but I feel crazy at the same time.

I’m sorry but I can’t be what you want. I can only be what I am becoming.

I’m not here to please you. Come through my place of work with negative energy.. I just wish I could get away from you sooner.

I don’t hate you guys. I don’t feel comfortable with you anymore because I have changed.

Maybe it seems really sudden to you. Maybe you suddenly feel angry that I am different. Do you feel comfortable villainizing me because I have boundaries ?

Have you ever wondered that it’s not just became of you, because nothing is. Everything is a mixture.

I’ve been holding on for so long. I’m ready to let go of some things. I don’t even talk to my therapist anymore because it wasn’t helping anymore.

I don’t feel like the person any of you know anymore. I’m not NOT Greg… but Greg has been unsure for awhile.

This year made me question a lot

I’m tired

The level I’m on is quiet

I want to be simple

This is for me and I’m sorry but not everything is going to be what you want

I am not what you need. I am enough for me and no one else.

I don’t feel like I can be myself.

With you anymore

I never told you about the serious stalking crisis I had because I felt too ashamed

Nothing feels safe anymore

I feel safe with me.

I have thought about this for so long. I spent time scrolling through channels to keep up with everything going on and trying to be at events; but things just never worked out

I couldn’t go to the parties, I wanted to but it happened so much it was weird for me to be there

Everyone is already so close right?

I have become used to being disposable. I am not surprised by this happening

I can’t keep living on this old skin

You say you do care about me and I know you do, I don’t doubt it at all../gen

But do I really feel like one of you?

I haven’t been one of you for a long time, if you haven’t noticed

This almost feels like an admission of evil.. it feels wrong to say how I’ve felt

Maybe you view it as one because you don’t really know me

You never did, I never allowed YOU to know me.

My shield has never come down around you, and that’s for a reason.

It’s very odd what you are doing, I am not scared of your truck

The way you talk… I know myself, yet my sense of doubt, my ability to acknowledge my wrongdoings still goes off. I wanted to see neutrality and stars

Leave me alone please

I know I wanted to delete an app and I know the future is undetermined ..

Don’t demand answers I don’t have

I don’t know why I am who I am. I am not wrong for being this way. I seek solutions. I managed to be your friend for this year and others… let me go

I don’t know everything

I can’t express to any of you who I am

I’m Greg, a flawed person.

You have each other. Live without me.

Don’t make me seem sad or angry in your head because I’m not

I don’t know how to describe what I feel

Don’t demand explanations after I’ve given so many.

Growth isn’t always pleasant

I can’t be what you what because that not me anymore.

I was for awhile and it was real I was that person but I am not anymore

I’ve never felt like a version of Greg that is true. Shaped by what my environment demanded and what I could hide

I don’t need to convince people that I’m not evil, I know who I am and I’m tired of feeling like I need to justify that.

Maybe you liked me at that point because I was lower to the ground, comfortably chained down.

I can’t do that anymore

This feels selfish because it is… this is for the self and no one else.

I am being selfish.

I choose me.

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k4g3hika · 2 years

Text

RUNAWAY PRINCESS ━ multi part-imagine!

eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: sit tight and be pretty, was what your parents always told you. follow the rules, and your life will run smoothly. but given the chance to run away with your forbidden lover, you just have to choose what makes you happy. even, if it puts either of your lives at stake.

genre: fluff/angst

wc: 1884

note/warnings: mentions of being slapped and jason. this is part 2! i hope you guys enjoy:) one more part after this one.

part one can be found here

Your eyes flutter open to reveal the room in which you lay. Rubbing them together to gain clarity, you take notice that this room was familiar.

It was your room.

Laboured breaths fell from your lips and you begin to panic.

Why were you here? How did you get here?

Where is Eddie?

You jump up from the bed, and rush to the door, attempting to open it. The knob wouldn’t budge, prompting you to cry before checking the window. It was locked as well.

Everything seemed normal. All your stuff was still in the same place, nothing was shifted from its place. Your head was beginning to process what could’ve possibly happened to interrupt your escape.

All you can remember is going to Eddie’s house, and it suddenly becoming harder to breathe.

Immediately, the lock of your door begins to move, making you jump in your place. It pushes open, revealing Chrissy, shyly carrying a tray with water and food.

“Chrissy? What-why…what’s going on?” She simply shakes her head, looking at you solemnly before putting the tray down on a nearby table. Rushing over to you, she hugs your head to her chest.

“I’m so sorry my princess. No words can clarify how sorry I am for you.”

What?

Trying to push her away, Chrissy holds you down tighter not wanting to reveal her tear-stricken face. She couldn’t explain it to you, not yet at least. She couldn’t find it in herself to tell you what happened.

“Chrissy, tell me. What happened?” Covering her mouth to muffle her sobs, she only shook her head more. Fear begins to course through your veins and you join her in her crying session. “Please, Chrissy, tell me what happened.”

“No, no, I can’t. You’re not-” then, the door is barged through, your head immediately lifting up to see who came inside. Chrissy gasps and rushes out, not before bowing to who just entered your room. “Your majesty.”

“Yes, thank you for everything Chrissy. You may continue your duties.” The blond gives her a sickenignly, sweet smile. Feeling shivers run down your spine, you move back as he made his way towards your cowering figure on the bed. “Well, Princess Y/N, you’ve grown more beautiful than last I’ve seen you.”

He begins to caress your face with his free hand, forcing you to shift your head away from his grasp. Not liking this, Jason aggressively grabs onto your cheeks. Whimpering, he sneers, and pushes your face away to the side.

“But you’ve earned such a nasty personality.”

“Jason, what are you doing here?”

“I’m meeting my bride to be. What else in the world would I be doing?” Jason chuckles, looking around the room and sighing. Walking up to your portrait on the wall, his reflection revealed a smile.

But you weren’t sure if it was towards you, or the crown that sat prettily atop your head.

“You know, I was pretty surprised amidst my arrival. Me, expecting to see the future queen of Hawkins greet her future king. And guess what I encounter instead? A measly chambermaid, telling me that you ran away.”

Chrissy told him? You couldn’t believe your ears. Feeling your heart drop down to your feet, the weight of your tears only increased and the air seemed to have become thicker. You couldn’t breathe, finding out that you were caught.

“No, Jason-”

“And, I’m not done sweetheart, I find out that you run away with a herb-grower? A poor and dirty herb-grower.”

“You don’t speak about him that way!” Jumping up, you speedily walk over to him to land a palm to his chiseled face, but instead, your wrist was greeted with a tight grip. You try to push it harder, wanting to slap him with all the strength you have but instead he quietly laughed under his breath.

“You’re so protective over him. Too bad that there’s nothing for you to defend.” You suck in a breath.

What did Jason mean by that?

“What are you talking about Jason?” His laughs increase in volume, pulling you closer to him by your wrist.

“What am I talking about princess? What do you expect me to do when I find that a peasant, plans to kidnap my bride?”

“You’re delusional! He wasn’t going to kidnap me you fool! I love him-” Then, a loud slap, echoes between the walls, and you were forcefully pushed to the side. Gasping for air, your eyes widen, looking up.

“You need to learn how to shut your mouth and watch who you’re talking to. I am your husband, and I protect my family-”

“Your idea of family can burn in hell! You’re insane Carver! What did you do to Eddie-”

“Edward is rotting in the dungeon! As what he should be doing!” You cry out loud, shaking your head to deny his claim. Your weakness begins to amuse Jason, as a joyous smile grows on his face. “I’ll make sure that he’s staying there for the rest of his life.”

“You can’t!”

“Oh but I can. As the new king of Hawkins, I can do anything I want.” Laughing out loud, Jason steps over you, walking to the basin to wash his hands.

You didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t what you had in mind. You didn’t want to marry this terrible man.

You wanted Eddie. Eddie your love, the man you were supposed to be with right now, travelling through the countryside to find the house he spoke dreamily of. The house where you were going to raise your children.

Eddie, you want Eddie.

But you also don’t want Eddie to die. To continue living with knowing that Eddie died because of you, would eat you alive until you took your last breath. Eddie didn’t deserve to die for your sake.

Though love is strong, you don’t believe it’s worse than him finding happiness.

Even if it wasn’t with you.

“Jason, please let him go.”

“Not a chance princess.” Running over to him, you grip onto his arm, pleading him. “Oh?”

“Please Jason. Release Eddie, and I won’t ever see him again. I’ll marry you, continue your lineage, but please. Just let him go.” His eyes seem to soften at your tears, prompting him to turn around. You felt the creeps while his hands raised up to caress your wet cheeks, and you fought the urge within yourself to pull away from his touch. “Please Jason.”

“Well, how can I say no to that? I’ll only release him if you’ll marry me, with no problems.”

What’s important to you is that Eddie will be happy. Surely he’ll find someone else for him, though it breaks your heart to admit.

“I will.”

—

You wanted one last visit with Eddie.

You didn’t care if Jason didn’t approve your visit. You just needed a last one. To say goodbye.

Walking up to the Munson house, you didn’t know if he wanted to see you. You wouldn’t want to see him if he put you through what you did to him.

But maybe this will finally be your chance. You can finally run.

The sun shone brightly, highlighting the herbs that stood tall in front of his house.

And you then felt relief.

There stood Eddie, wiping his forehead dry from the sweat that littered his body. You wanted to cry.

Eddie made you happy. Even the sight of him made you want to cry just from how beautiful he was. Even with the dirt, sweat, and grime, he was still far more handsome than any other prince in the kingdom.

“Princess?” Sobbing, you nod slowly and Eddie ran up to your stature, dropping whatever was in his hands to see you. His arms were raised, as if he was to give you a hug, but instead, his arms slowly fell down to his sides. You only cry more, seeking his touch as much as he did, but you knew better.

“Eddie, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.” He only nods, sliding his hands down his face. “I’m sorry I caused you-”

“Y/N, don’t apologize for what happened. It was expected, I-I should’ve known better than to strip you of your responsibilities.” Shaking your head, you reach to hold onto his face, but he only pulls his head away from your hands. “We can’t.”

“Eddie…take me with you, please. Let’s go. We can go now. There’s no one behind me, where’s your uncle’s carriage?”

“Y/N-”

“Let’s go now Eddie! We can run!”

“Y/N! Stop!”

Why? Why won’t he agree?

Eddie huffs, walking away from you. Pleadingly, you walk after him, begging him to take you away. You couldn’t bear to be married to Jason, you can only imagine your life with him.

It was selfish. But your happiness was what stood as important to you right now.

“Eddie, please. Please take me with you.”

“You know I can’t Y/N. Jason,”

“Oh, Jason, fuck him-”

“Y/N! I don’t love you enough to sacrifice my life! Jason said he would kill my uncle! Why would I take you just for him to kill my uncle! You can’t be selfish Y/N, you’re not the only person in the world! Think about-”

“But why? You said-”

“God, Y/N?! Please! Just, go.” Eddie strides towards his door, holding it firmly in his grasp. “Just let us go.”

“No, Eddie…don’t do this to me.”

Eddie fought every desire in him to turn around, knowing that if he was to, he wouldn’t be able to deny your request.

Eddie wanted to run away with you. But he knew, that your lives would be at risk where ever you turned.

Jason wouldn’t stop at trying to find you.

And for some reason, he knew that your life would just be better. Without him.

You would be comfortable, being able to live your lavish life. He didn’t need to take that away from you.

“You have to get back to your husband, your majesty.” Eddie slams the door behind him, firmly locking it to block you from coming inside. Standing before the door, you can only cry silently, begging any God out there in the universe to somehow change his mind.

He wasn’t telling the truth. Jason told him what to say.

You needed to know why, why he was saying ‘no’ to running away with you. You thought that…you thought that he would agree. Subsequently, you hear a sniffle coming from the otherside.

“Eddie…I know you’re still behind the door.”

Even if he didn’t want to run with you, you at least wanted to properly say goodbye.

“But…just promise me you’ll find someone that makes you happy just as much as you’ve made me happy. I love you, Edward Munson. And,” you sob, “and, even if, you don’t love me…I’ll always hold the same feelings for you, till I grow old and on my death bed. You deserve love like that, even if it won’t be from me.

I hope in our next life, we won’t have the same troubles. I hope…I hope that, the universe will grace us with luck, and bless you to me. I love you, thank you,”

You can’t say it. You can’t.

“And goodbye, my love.”

In our next life, Edward Munson.

TAGS:

@crunchcake @buckwbarnz @bookobsessedfreak

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things s4 #stranger things season four #eddie my beloved #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fluff #forbidden love trope #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #joseph quinn my beloved #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn fic

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plush-rabbit · 3 years

Text

The Dateable's Making You Flustered

Request: Flustered scenarios with the dateables

A/N: Sorry for the bit of delay!! I really need to work faster with these (1k each)

Barbatos:

It’s been such a long time ever since the butler has felt some sort of attraction towards somebody. It surprises even himself and he’s able to see into the future. Yet, when he was given- or rather forced- into a day off, the first place where his mind had wandered had been to you. It was you that he thought of first. He didn’t have a clue on what he wanted to do, but when he was told that he had the day off- no exceptions- his mind had automatically gone to spending time with you. Barbatos wonders what changed that made you so important to him- he wonders when it happened, how it snuck past him and caught him by surprise.

He invited you on his day off, had sent you a quick message asking you’d like to accompany him around Devildom to pick up a few things for himself rather than the usual outing to the market. You had graciously agreed and now he stands beside you, his hand on a book and you peering to see what’s written on it.

“What’s the book about?” You ask, haven given up on trying to figure out what it was that had gotten his attention.

A few demons reach around and pull a book away from the shelf, talking excitedly to one another and he moves to stand closer to you. He smiles at you and holds the book close to him, already deciding to purchase it. “It’s an old tale from Devildom, similar to your Hansel and Gretal but this one is a bit more heavy.” You give out a hum, pleased at his answer and nod your head. “If you’d like, I could lend it to you once I’m done.”

“Oh!” You gasp, grabbing at the same book and holding towards you. “I’ll just take one with me,” you offer and he can’t help but feel a little disappointed that you didn’t want to take his. “This way, we can read at the same time and then discuss. If it’s supposed to be similar to Hansel and Gretal, I’m sure that I’ll enjoy it. Plus-” you look up at him, your smile kittenish the book pulled to your chest- “it can be like our secret book club. I’ve been needing an excuse to go to the castle and visit, so this will be perfect,” you say excitedly, see-sawing between the tips of your shoes and back to your soles.

“You don’t need an excuse to visit the castle.” He hooks his arm with yours, slowly pushing you away from where a growing crowd of demons appear. “You know you’re always welcomed. The Young Lord would never dare to shut the door in your face.” He stops near the corner end of the store, his eyes attracted to a few trinkets where he reaches for.

The book is lowered and you shift your stare to where you both once stood. “And you?” His attention is grabbed immediately and he looks at you with a confused stare. You meet his eyes for a moment before you pull away. “Would you mind if I came over?” You clear your throat and look down, your bottom lip pinched between your teeth. “I wouldn’t want to…” you trail off, clearly unable to find the proper words. “I wouldn't want to distract you or make your work any more difficult than it already is.”

He can feel the back of his neck grow hot. He can’t be mistaken by what your words mean. You want to know what he thinks of you, if you’re welcomed in his eyes. His shoulders lower and he smiles at you, his hand reaching out to take your book from your hands. When you look up at him, he has his gaze kept on the title of the book, following the rise and fall of each letters.

“You’re always welcomed.” He takes in a small breath and fixes his gaze back to you. “You could never be a distraction for me. If you wish to have a secret book club with me, then I am more than honored to be your guest.” He clears his throat and looks away from you, his smile slowly growing but wavering as he lets out a shaky breath. “You make work easier. I enjoy my job, but I must say that when you’re around, the only thing I can think of is finishing in order to spend more time with you. Being around you is… nice.” He returns his stare back to you. “I’ve been around for a very long time, but when you’re around me, well, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so young. I’m not sure what it is about you-” he raises a hand and holds your cheek- “but I find myself happy whenever I’m with you. So please, never think that you are a bother towards me. You’re always free to visit- whether it be for our secret book club-” he returns the book to you, smiling when your fingertips brush against his- “or just because, I’ll always make time for you.”

It might be cruel of him, but he can’t help but smile and let out a quiet chuckle when you press your face against the book. “Barbatos,” you say in a hushed whisper. He only hums in response, glad that his words had such an effect on you. You look up at him with a faux pout and furrow of your brows while he stands there with a wide grin. Your eyes turn away from him and you finally let a smile appear. “Thanks for the reassurance,” you mutter.

“Of course. Nothing that I said was a lie, so it was quite easy to let the words out, you know,” he teases, grabbing the book from you before you have another chance to hide yourself. “Now, is there anything else you’d like to see in the store, or do you wish to go somewhere else?”

“I uh-” still flustered, you rub your cheek where his hand once was- “can we check out the manga section?”

He hooks his arm through yours, his body close enough to where he can smell the sweet scent of your perfume. “Lead the way,” he says, following your footsteps through the store. He isn’t sure when his feelings towards you had changed, he doesn’t even recall the giddiness of when it all started, but he doesn’t mind it. It’s a nice change of pace. You’re something unpredictable and reckless, and something soft and fragile, and he welcomes having you so close to him, to where he could lean over and press his lips against the crown of your head and keep you protected under his touch. Barbatos welcomes the change that you brought and while the change wasn’t originally for him, he enjoys that it is for him now, that you’re the one that gets to be close to him and that gets to have the pleasure of having you wanting to visit him.

Simeon:

Who could have ever thought that he, an angel, would fall in love with a human? The very thing that an angel had created a war for, the very thing that caused him to lose those close to him, and the very thing that had shown just how different he was from someone he had considered a brother, he now commits the same unholy act. He must be a hypocrite. He is a hypocrite. The very thing he turned a blind eye to and here he is, so undoubtedly in love with a human that he fears his wings will be ripped from him, his blood staining his clothes and his halo broken beyond repair. Terror makes his blood run cold and yet, he cannot look away from you. Simeon keeps his gaze upon you with a mixture of hesitation and melancholy and you just smile back at him, the phone in your hand shared between the two of you as you watch a parody of a teen romance on an application.

“It’s amazing how much people have grown to like this er, show?” He asks, still unsure of what to call it. “It’s considered a show, right?”

Your shoulders raise in a shrug and you give him a small, tight lipped smile. “I guess. I think most people refer to it as a series.” The phone is lowered and it returns to your lap. “It isn’t wrong to call it a show, but since they’re short little bursts of episodes, I think people find it easier to call it a series, but it can go any way.” You move away from him, scooting until your thigh is at an angle and your knee is pushed against his. “Anyways, to answer your question, yes people do like it. I think since it’s like a parody but also suspenseful with the cliffhangers, it keeps people entertained.” He nods his head slowly, and he tries to ignore the rush of cold that is now at his empty side. “Did you like it?”

His eyes slightly widen, and his lips pull into a thin smile. “I- Well, considering the fact that it’s written and done by one person- I- It certainly is different than the things I usually consume, but-” He struggles to find a way to finish his thought without offending you in any sort of way and ends with a stiff nod of his head.

It’s a tense moment that doesn’t last long enough to linger on when you suddenly laugh. Your laugh is loud as it effectively gets him to snap his mouth shut. Your hands are waved in front of you and your knee leaves his as you curl onto the couch. “You don’t have to force yourself to like it, Simeon, I only wanted to show it to you, because you asked what I was watching.”

He appreciates you giving him an easy out, and he releases a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. It’s a slow release and suddenly he can breathe again. “Well thank you for sharing it with me. I appreciate that from you.” Silence lingers and it isn’t like before where it’s tense, it’s lighter now, but it still feeds him an odd sense of air where he’s stuck between a breath, his eyes stuck on you.

Once more, your laughter fills the room and it’s short and sweet, a gift given to him for just the moment. “Of course, Simeon. I like spending time with you, and I especially like sharing my interests so I guess, thank you for allowing me to do that.” Your hand reaches towards his and he sees the slightest pause from you, the way your fingers twitch until you allow yourself to hold his hand and give it a gentle squeeze.

Warmth returns to him, something akin to a summer’s day in the Celestial Realm, and even though all air has left him once again, he is breathless in a way that matters, weightless and joy illuminating him. When he meets your eyes, he cannot look away and he cannot help but return your smile. The clock ticks onwards and he’s left with a heavy heart. He’s read about the perfect moment, thought about writing something so trivial and false, and yet, the perfect moment sits before him with their hand in his.

“I have to be honest with you,” he murmurs and his eyes feel hot, a lump forms in his throat that makes his words sound tighter. “I- I don’t-” How could he ever phrase what he wants to tell you? How could he drop that sort of confession on you? You know the story, would you ever want him to actually confess to you, to repeat the past mistakes and know the horrid outcome? He frowns. His eyes are stuck on the floor, running along the edge of the carpet and he can feel your gaze on him, your eyes that are heavy with concern and ever the angel, Simeon spares you and gives you the easier answer. “I’m thankful to have met you,” your name is a sweet whisper on his lips, a taste of sweet peach that makes his heart full and heavy. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as wonderful as you. I see you and I think that I’ve found something even more pure than an angel.” With every word, his hand turns to slip into yours, his gloves thin enough to feel the small crevices and calluses on your hand. “Even if you are human and you’ve committed sin, I still think that you are the most pure of them all with your kindness and generosity.”

He isn’t sure what he had expected, but he hadn’t expected to have you plant your face against the soft back cushion of the couch, your face held there for moments. Your hand slips away from his and he’s left holding empty air. His hands fret over your body and when you pull away, your face is flushed, your hands covering the lower part of your face as you look at anywhere but him.

“Simeon,” you whine, closing your eyes tightly. “That’s really sweet.” Your voice is high-pitched and your eyes open once more, as your hands finally lower. “I think I might actually die, that was really nice and something that I don’t hear often.” You finally look at him and your smile is ever growing. “Especially from an angel,” you say with a half-hearted chuckle.

His smile is soft and to him, it dulls compared to your brilliance. As if you were a puzzle, he fits into your hand with ease and grace. “Well if you were to die, I would return you in any way that I could.

Solomon:

He’s human, ageless and immortal, but human. He’s lived and loved, lost and grieved, and he’s gone numb and distant to emotions. He didn’t mind it, he welcomed it. He hated losing and hated the people that he lost and the empty space that they left. He promised that he wouldn’t ever want to feel that sense of sadness ever again. Then you came into the picture. He’s been called shady and worse words than that, but you don’t call him that. You hold his hand and you welcome him into your arms. You go on and on about the human in him and how you love that he’s there with you. Solomon isn’t sure when it was that he broke his own promise, but when he looks at you, he’s willing to love again and again.

The kitchen is a mess and powder covers the counters. His hands knead the dough and the smell of garlic and onion sizzled with oil is heaven in the air. You measure the ingredients and whisk at the eggs. It’s domestic and it’s something that leaves a storm of butterflies in his stomach. He could watch you forever, in the kitchen, with an apron tied around your waist, flour in your hands and the tip of your tongue peaking past your lips as you concentrate on rereading the cookbook. It’s domestic and it’s something he had long forgotten that he wanted.

“I have the ingredients memorized, I could simply tell you what to add,” he muses, returning to forming the bread into its shape.

“Knowing you, you’ll add something in there,” you quip, your smile now directed at him, with your tongue still pinched out. “Plus, it’s just reading. I can read,” you say with a defensive tone. “Just start dressing the bread with garlic and then we can get on with breading the chicken.” You jerk your head to where the chicken rests on the cutting board, the flour beside it.

“Okay,” he sings under his breath, returning his attention to the dough before him. The room is filled with a song from the Human Realm, a classic that has him feeling warmth in a kitchen that is not his, but with a person that is. It makes him long for another time, but when he catches you in the corner of his eye, he’s glad where he is. “I like your song choice,” he says, instantly biting the inside of his cheek once the words had left his mouth. It’s been so long since he’s ever tried to have an actual connection with someone, and he’s sure he wasn’t ever this awful at it.

“Yeah?” You step close to him, holding your hand out. “Care for a dance then?” Your smile is crooked and eyes gleaming with excitement as the song is replayed with a touch of your hand.

He’s frozen for a second, stuck in time, and rooted into place, his hand moving through thick amber as he lets his hand rest in your palm. The room is spun, colors mixing with each other and slowly blurring until he stands still, pushing you away and pulling you close, laughing and letting his hand rest against your side, his hand feeling the soft curve against your ribs. Your hands are powdered and his smell like bread, and your laugh is young and youthful. He can’t help but follow, letting his smile break out and hand slipping out of yours, to encase you in a hug where he traps you into a swaying motion.

The song fades and he’s forced to pull away, to step away from you and there’s hesitation is his steps and movements. His hands linger for a second too long, his eyes still stuck on you and his smile much softer than it was before. It’s a few seconds of silence where you take in deep, heavy breaths, and sway lightly to the song that approaches.

Your name is said and it’s sweet like honeysuckle and addicting like a drug. It’s a night where he invited you over, and now you two are busy making dinner in the kitchen and you’ve given him instructions and kept a close eye on what he does. Your perk your head and nod, allowing for him to continue. “Thank you for coming over,” he says with a tight smile on his lips.

“Anytime, Sol,” you respond, coming beside him once more. You bump your arm into his, leaning to look at the garlic mixture in a bowl. “You know I like spending time with you, so anytime you need a cooking partner, you can always call.”

He doesn’t say anything, only nodding and trying to keep the butterflies in his stomach at bay while his heart beats frantically against his chest. You move away from him, returning to where the powder rests in a bowl and he’s left without, and while the distance is short, it’s something that is unwelcomed. He’s left with dough in his hands and you’re away from him, and loneliness settles.

“Can I call you whenever?” He asks, an easy smile on his lips, but there’s a plea in his words. He’s never been the needy type, but he needs you.

“Of course, you can,” you respond and you’re as kind as ever. You turn away and close the bag of flour, pushing it aside to clear the space at the table.

Like a drug that leaves his mouth dry and heart racing, feeling as if he’s about to die, he calls your name. You’re so close to him and yet, you aren’t close enough. He needs you. He needs you beside him. And he takes the first step, standing in front of you with a red kissed face as stares at the cabinets against the wall. You call his name and your hand is tender against his neck, leaving a white stain that snows onto his shirt.

“I just wanted to thank you. I know how busy you can get and I just-” he can feel the telltale sign of tears and he wonders when he’s gotten so emotional- “I like spending time with you. I like your music choices and I like it when you cook with me- even if it’s just you giving me instructions- but I like it.” His tongue touches against his lips and he looks at you, fiddling with the end of his shirt. “I think you’re great and I just need you to know that if you ever need anything, I’ll be more than happy to help. I would do whatever it would take to make you happy because you have a really nice smile and I don’t think you should lose that.” His heart echoes and his smile is gentle and nervous. “Thank you for being with me.”

You stare at him and he wonders if he had overstepped only to gasp when you bury yourself against his chest, patting at his shoulder and pulling away with a hand covering the lower half of your face. “Solomon,” his name leaving your lips sends a jolt of electricity through him, “I’m glad. Thank you,” you whisper. Your hand reaches to pull his away from his shirt and you hold it in yours. “I like being with you too. Us humans have to stick together, right?” You say softly, letting your fingers run over his scarred knuckles.

He nods silently and leans over, his lips pressed against your forehead. “Yeah, us humans have to stick together,” he whispers against you, smiling when he feels your own lips against his knuckles. He’s with you, at this very moment, he stands in a kitchen with music playing, holding you close to him, and for a moment, he can pretend that this won’t ever end, that he won’t ever have to move away from you and risk losing you.

#obey me #obey me swd #om swd #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me simeon x reader #obey me solomon x reader #i hope you like it!#and that it was in charcater #i feel like i always sturggle for barbs

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whoacanada · 3 years

Text

(Hey, look! That Zimbits AU where Jack goes into PR after retiring from the NHL and NHL!Bitty comes looking for advice about coming out!)

“Your ten-o-clock, remember?” April gestures to the conference room with her pen. “The cutie the Hurricanes coughed up for Pride Night outreach? He’s here.”

Jack tugs down the blinds with a cautious finger and zeroes in on the handsome blonde sitting awkwardly at one end of their large conference table, conspicuously alone. “There’s always suits for outreach talks,” Jack hazards, looking back at his receptionist over his shoulder. “They never send players alone.”

“It’s what we’ve got on the books. Eric Bittle, Carolina Hurricanes. No plus ones.” April whispers, checking her calendar. “Well? Get in there, Boss; and buckle up, he’s got an accent.”

Eric Bittle looks up, his dark brown eyes wide and unfairly attractive as Jack extends his hand, Bittle rising to take it. Everything about Bittle is polished and perfected; suit tailored, hair coiffed so neatly Jack would posit he’d gone in to have it trimmed before he’d arrived this morning. He’s pulled together so tightly, in fact, that Jack can’t find any loose threads, and if he remembers his time in The Show correctly, no loose threads means Mr. Bittle’s probably hiding something.

“Eric? I’m Jack Zimmermann. It’s great to meet you.”

“Oh, I know who you are,” Bittle chuckles, and Jack’s heart would skip a beat if he wasn’t so certain there’s a huge piece of context still missing from this meeting. “It’s still very nice to meet you in person.”

“So, tell me about Pride Night,” Jack pops the button on his suit jacket and settles down across the table. “What, exactly are the ‘Canes thinking about doing that involves you coming to see us?”

Bittle bites his lip briefly, gaze darting off before coming back to settle on Jack, and Jack is reminded of so many media training sessions it’s like he’s back in Vegas again.

“I may have, ah, fudged the reason for my visit a bit. Yes, we have Pride Night coming up, yes I’m the designated sacrifice, but I’m more here on personal business.”

Jack eases the tip of his pen from the legal pad, recognizing an off-the-record admission is coming. “How personal?” He questions. “Are we talking potential legal trouble or just potential social trouble? Or no trouble at all.”

“I’m gay.” Bittle says plainly. “Whatever trouble that may be. My team knows it, my family knows it, and I want to come out — I need to come out — and I can’t mess it up.”

Jack is grateful for his game face, reaching for the coffee carafe near him to couch his surprise and no small measure of his excitement. “Oh, you mean like I did?” Jack jokes, earning a soft smile.

“No active player has come out since you retired,” Eric skirts Jack’s comment, taking the mug before gingerly amending, “Not voluntarily, at least. I’d like to break that streak. Given your experience, and what you do now, it seemed like the smart move to come speak with you.”

“Well, I’ll be the first to admit my behavior didn’t lend itself to much confidence with the public at large, but that’s why I’m where I am today. Making sure people like you can learn from my mistakes.”

“And you made a lot of mistakes,” Bittle murmurs, taking the mug from Jack gingerly, glances back out the window as he takes a sip, and Jack fights a smile when he realizes what’s happening.

“Are you . . . chirping me?”

“Makes me less nervous,” Bittle admits, apologetic. “But that was rude, I’m sorry.”

Bittle’s eyes are bright. His smile is bright. Everything about him is warm, inviting. Jack might be biased, though, he’s always had a soft spot for compact blondes.

“Don’t apologize.” Jack leans back in his chair, feeling lighter than he has in weeks. “You might be the only one in the whole league right now that doesn’t need to apologize.”

“I think I need to have a partner,” Eric clears his throat. “I can’t come out without a reason, otherwise what’s the point.”

“That answers one of my first questions, gives us a place to start. Yes, a boyfriend gets you points, but not in the way you’re thinking. If you come out with a guy on your arm, the story becomes maintaining the relationship, not that you have one or that you are ‘out’ at all. The scandal is the relationship falling apart, or you flirting with a fan when you have your partner at home, that kind of drama.”

“And if I just say, ‘hello, I am a homosexual’ people will think I’m promiscuous, or just trying to get laid.”

“Maybe. Are you?”

Bittle’s expression turns indignant, lips twisting into a judgmental frown that reminds Jack of his grandmother before a scolding.

“What kind of question is that? Yes, of course, but they don’t need to know that. But that doesn’t — You know, you gave me hope?”

Jack doesn’t quite startle, he’s well beyond the jumpyness of his youth, but he has no clue where this conversation is about to go.

“When you came out, when you were drafted, your cup season . . . every time you succeeded, beat the odds, it made me think, maybe, I could do it, too. I could be a professional athlete, I could play hockey, and it didn’t matter who I wanted to be with.”

Jack knows there’s a ‘but’ coming, he can feel it; so he gets there first.

“But . . . then I overdosed.”

“Then you retired.” Eric corrects. “Two years before I signed with Carolina, and you just gave up. I was going to be the first out NCAA men’s hockey captain, you ‘retired’ in scandal, and suddenly the trustees didn’t want the attention. Back to square one.”

“Eric, I wasn’t well.” Jack defends gently, knowing Bittle isn’t trying to be cruel.

“You let them get to you! You were supposed to be untouchable. I needed you to be untouchable.”

“Eric.”

“I’m sorry,” Bittle looks down at his hands, the table, anywhere but Jack. “I genuinely didn’t intend for any of this to come up so quickly, you’ve been nothing but charming and here I am dumping all my baggage on you like we’ve been talking for years . . . ”

“It’s actually alright. I’ve made peace with what happened to me, what I put myself through, and I wasn’t kidding that I’m very intent on making sure I can help others avoid the same pitfalls. So, what do you need from me right now?” Jack asks, genuinely curious. “An apology? A hug? You wouldn’t be the first to ask.”

“I want . . .” Bittle huffs, closing his eyes and evening his breathing. “I want dinner.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve loved the idea of you since I was sixteen, but now I actually need your advice on how to do this without losing my mind, and I can’t plan my future from a boardroom, so, I want you to take me to dinner. I want to hash this out like two normal, well functioning adult men. Also, maybe alcohol.”

“Speak for yourself on the well-functioning part,” Jack chirps himself, “but I think dinner can be arranged. I assure you, you’ll have my full support moving forward. The firm’s, as well.”

Bittle’s lips quirk, holding Jack’s gaze. He caught the slip, and now there’s nothing to do but own it. They lapse into a gentle silence. Jack sipping his coffee, Bittle doing the same. Jack isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, the puck is at the end of his stick. He flashes a smile. Bittle blushes.

“So,” Jack begins. “Do you like Burmese?”

____

They part ways and April’s eyes are huge with suspicion. “Should we discuss fees?” she asks. “Do we need to start billing? Sounds like it went well.”

“Nah, we’ll talk later about payment,” Jack replies, folding his jacket over his arm, hiding the slip of paper with Bittle’s personal number and trying not to stare as the forward walks away. “I have a strong feeling I might be handling this pro bono.”

#Zimbits #OMGCP #my stuff #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #PR AU #NHL!Bitty #tw: overdose mention #I know I’ve been gone forever here’s a treat to say sorry

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