#the knight is eavesdropping on their conversation with no shame

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None, mostly some angst.

A/N: Whaaaat? Another chapter already? Sorry if this one is a hot mess, but it was bound to happen eventually!

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool

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Chapter 9:

A House Divided

“Seriously, Jake.” Layla scoffed as they walked down the sidewalk, careful to keep her voice low so nobody eavesdropped easily on their conversation. “You didn’t have to kill that guy the other night.”

“It was either break his neck or let him shoot you.” He quirked a brow. “Would you rather I let him shoot you and you deal with a healing gunshot wound?”

“Well, my armor’s magic, same as yours, so…” She held up her hand in a “duh” like manner.

Jake rolled his eyes at her and adjusted his cap. “Ay, just shut it. And besides, Marc and Steven would never shut the fuck up if I let you get hurt. Even in your Scarab armor.”

“Oh, I could chew them out whenever one of them fronted, just chill out you damn edgelord.” Layla grunted.

“You could just say “thank you” and not be a pendeja?”

Layla clasped her hands at him and batted her eyelashes, “Oh! But of course! Jake, my hero. The man who turned a guy’s neck into bone fragments because he pointed a puny revolver at me.”

“Pendeja.”

“And no offense, but your mustache makes you look like you’re a 1970’s porn actor.” She huffed, shoving her hands in her pockets.

Now that finally got Jake to emote, as he actually dropped his jaw, furrowed his brows, and clutched his imaginary pearls. “It does not! It makes me look distinguished!”

Layla gave him a “do you honestly believe that?” look. Apparently, he’d convinced Marc and Steven to let him front long enough to grow a mustache and the beginnings of a beard. Marc, as long as she’d known him, had always miraculous facial hair growth. Where it’d take almost a month for someone to grow a thick beard, it merely took him maybe two weeks. She often wondered if maybe it was a side-effect of the Moon Knight suit, that the magic had changed that physical aspect.

But, apparently, Jake did believe it. He seriously believed his ridiculous ‘stache made him look cool.

“Ay, ay!” Jake hissed. “Don’t give me that look! It does! Plenty of people consider facial hair distinguished.”

“Maybe if you’re sporting a full beard and not some weird porno ‘stache with scruff on your face.” Layla smirked.

He jabbed a gloved finger at her, and narrowed his eyes, “You listen, cabróna, do not insult my mustache. And you will change your tune when the beard comes in! It will–”

“Oh, look!” Layla said, sweeping her arm upwards, gesturing to the sign of the shop.

Your shop.

“You little–!” Jake sputtered as Layla dragged him through the door, the little bell above the frame chiming loudly.

“Hellooooo!” Layla says cheerfully.

“Layla!” Your voice calls from deeper in the store. “Be there a minute!”

Layla grinned, but both she and Jake freeze when they see Taweret awkwardly standing off to the side, giving them a little wave with her fingers.

“What are… oh, I’ll ask later.” Layla said to her softly, shaking her head with a smile.

Jake tipped his hat to Taweret. He liked her. She was a sweetheart, and he remembered what happened when…

He shook his head free of those thoughts as he took his place in one of the reading nooks, Layla going on ahead and skittering to her usual romance section of the shop.

“You poor thing!” Taweret said to Jake. “You boys need more rest. Layla and I agreed to help in exchange for you getting your rest!”

Jake couldn’t help but smirk as she wagged her finger at him, a small frown creasing her snout. “Layla isn't suited to all of our work, Taweret. And I don’t want her to carry the burden by herself.” He said softly, keeping his voice low.

“Oh, I have half a mind to swaddle you like an infant, Jake Lockley!” She huffed, her little ears wiggling indignantly, planting her large hands on her hips as she looked down at him. “You need to stop shouldering the world’s burdens on your own! I know you’re a protector by nature, but you will seriously burn out at this rate!”

“I know, vieja.” He sighed.

“And what have Steven and Marc had to say about this?”

“They’ve been letting me front solo for a bit. Like today.” He grinned. “So, I’d say they might give me a lecture, but otherwise they’d be pretty understanding.

“You boys are so…!” Taweret threw her hands up in exasperation. “Oooh! If my hair could gray, it’d be white as snow because of how much you worry me!” Ah, her motherly nature. Both a blessing and a curse…

Jake opened his mouth to say something, but he jumped back when a furry black blob jumped onto the table in front of him, and he held his hands up as big green orbs blinked at him, the green mere slivers around the inky black of the pupils.

A cat. Wait, when did you have a cat? Did you adopt one recently?

The cat mewed softly, followed by an inquisitive “prrbt” as it looked up at him.

“She won’t hurt you, Jake.” Taweret giggled, her demeanor softening. “She wants you to pet her!”

“...Right.” He said hesitantly, tugging one of his gloves off before scritching the cat on her chin. He relaxed as she leaned into his touch, turning to run her whole body along his hand, the tip of her tail curling different ways as she happily purred.

“Well, aren’t you a friendly little lady.” Jake smiled at her, gently twisting the tip of her tail around his finger before doing another head-to-tail stroke.

The cat made a soft chirping noise as she looked at him, shaking her head as she sneezed.

“It’s getting cold out there, isn’t it, chiquita? You’re lucky the nice lady here took you in, you know? I’d take you, but our landlord would have a fit if we did that without permission.”

The cat seemed to understand, and meowed up at him. He smiled, the bushy mustache he now sported quirking upwards and twitching as she leaned in to sniff at his nose.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table while he allowed her to investigate him.

“Oh! I see Puck’s went on ahead and introduced herself.” He heard your voice chuckle.

Jake lifted his gaze and frankly, the outfit you were wearing suited you. Maybe a tad… old-fashioned, but cute. You wore a knitted half-sleeve burgundy sweater with some faded, black-denim overalls buttoned in the front. Taweret giggled and wandered off to go find Layla.

The two you stared at each other for a minute, your eyes squinting ever so slightly, and your eyebrow raised as you smirked. “Jake?”

Okay, he was impressed. Most people couldn’t tell when he was fronting. And when he had to, he was good at impersonating Steven or Marc if someone confused him for one or the other. You, apparently, were not such a case.

“Yeah. How could you tell?” He said, smirking at you.

You put your hand on your hip, your other arm was currently preoccupied with a stack of books you had tucked against you. “Well, Steven usually keeps his hair a bit messy, and he likes to sit at almost an angle, slightly hunched over the table, he also likes to drum his fingers on it, or bounce his leg as he sits. He’s also partial to weirdly-patterned flannels. Marc is a bit stiffer, and prefers to sit with his back against a wall, palms flat on his thighs or knees.” You tap your nose with a wink as you walk over to the counter to prep the books for your pick-up order. “You sit openly with your back to everyone else, and tend to look out the window. You’re almost relaxed in posture, but seem like you’re still on-guard.”

“And besides. You have worn that cap every single time I’ve seen you. Plus, y’know. You got that teeny accent.”

Jake chuckled and shook his head. Okay, those last ones were some obvious points. But you on the other hand, recognized their physical tells as well.

Puck mewed loudly, putting her paw on Jake’s other hand that still sported his glove. He smiled down at her and humored her voiceless request, pulling his offending leather off to pet her unobstructed. Puck purred loudly and happily while she curled around his hand as he petted her.

“Aw, she really likes you.” You say, walking over to them. "Yeah, that’s my little vagrant.”

“Ah… she’s yours?” Jake said.

“Technically? She vanishes now and again, but I keep my door open for when she comes by. I keep stocked on kibble, her favorite dreamies–”

“Dreamies?” Jake smirks up at you.

You flush slightly and you rub at the back of your neck awkwardly. “Oh, her treats. That’s just what I call ‘em.”

“Got it.” He chuckles.

“But yeah, she’s kind of a stray, kind of not a stray. I like to let her have her freedom.” You cringe slightly. “Even though letting a domestic cat outside isn’t necessarily good for the environment, but she doesn’t like to stay indoors for very long…”

“Ah, a free spirit, I can relate.” Jake smiles, scratching Puck’s little cheek.

You reach out and give Puck a hefty stroke down to the tip of her tail. “Just wait til she shows you her belly. She loves tummy rubs.”

You didn’t notice how Jake’s eyes narrow in on something, staring with his brows furrowed in shock.

“Yeah, she’s a weird one, but she’s a cutie.” You lean and pull your hand back. “But I–”

You were cut off when Jake reflexively reached out and gripped your forearm, turning it until he could see the inside of your wrist clearly.

Three moons. Three crescent moons.

The bottom left moon was full.

He felt his heart thud in his chest as he stared at it, his mind running a mile a minute as he willed himself to calm before Steven or Marc accidentally fronted in front of you. Your mark could mean anything, but him knowing what the moon meant to him, Marc, and Steven’s daily lives had his mouth go dry.

“Uh… Jake?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. You didn’t try to pull away from him, merely stared down in concern. You knew that he was upset about something, and that he wouldn’t hurt you. Like his brothers, you never got a feeling of unease around Jake; even now.

Jake shook his head suddenly and released your arm. “Ah, sorry, señorita, I… agh. I’m not sure what came over me.”

Thank the gods that Steven and Marc weren’t currently co-fronting. He would have to…

You turned your wrist up and looked at your mark. “Ohhh, this? Yeah, people tend to ask what it means because it changes. I don’t blame you for being curious.”

You hold out your wrist for him to examine, as if it were the most casual thing on the planet.

“What do you mean, it moves?” Jake asked you, not looking up from your skin.

“Well, not as in it moves to somewhere else on my body, but it… changes.” You shrug.

“Changes.” He repeated flatly.

“Yeah, sometimes one moon is full and the other two aren’t, stuff like that. Sometimes, if one is full, one or both of the others will sometimes turn into half-moons, but not always.”

Jake swallowed at the lump in his throat. “I… see.”

“Well, it’s kinda neat, but sometimes I just wish that my–what–Puck!” You sputter after the fluffy little terror bites into one of Jake’s gloves, secures it firmly in between her little teeth, and darts off somewhere into the store.

“Oh, god, I just–” You whine. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her, lately. I’ll–I’ll go get her.”

You huff and stomp off to try and locate your furry little terrorist, hoping she didn’t gnaw Jake’s glove too harshly.

Jake shoved his spare glove into his pocket and pushed himself out of his seat, rushing to go find Layla.

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“Are you sure?” Layla asked Jake as he paced on the rooftop, hands clasped behind his back as the moon shined down on them.

Both their faces were bare, but they were both wearing their divine armor that they were bestowed as Avatars.

“Yes, what else could three fucking moons mean? She said sometimes that one will get full while the others don’t, Layla. I saw it.” He growled, turning to fix her with a glare.

It wasn’t one laden with malice, but of frustration, concern, and… fear.

“What do Steven and Marc have to say?” Layla replied calmly.

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose as he resumed pacing, keeping his breathing level so his panic wouldn’t rise and alert the other two within their headspace.

“They don’t know.” He hissed through gritted teeth. “I…I don’t want them to know. Not… not yet.”

“Jake, they have a right to know!” Layla gasped. "If she really is your soulmate--"

“No!” Jake snapped at her. “She’s not… she can’t…”

He gripped his usually immaculate hair in his fingers and bunched the raven curls between them.

“She’s innocent. We can’t just... I can’t bring her into this world on a hunch that she might be…”

Layla fixed him with a soft, sympathetic look as she took a step closer to him. “Jake…”

She slowly put a hand on his shoulder, feeling him stiffen beneath the dark trappings of his suit.

“...Remember when Marc was hurting and said his hand felt like it was burning? And that he had a headache?”

“Yes…” He slowly lifted his eyes to look at her suspiciously.

“Well…” She said awkwardly. “Um.”

“Layla.” Jake said sternly, feeling a bit of anger start to rise. “Did you know?”

“I’m just saying!” Layla continued, taking her hand off of him to raise both in a placating gesture.

“But, when I went into her shop after I got here… her hand was burned. And then she mentioned she tripped and hit her head…”

“LAYLA!” Jake shouted.

When she winced, he snorted out a hot puff of air from his nostrils, rubbing his temples. “Sorry. But we had a right to know.”

“But you’re being a hypocrite by not telling Steven or Marc.” She said softly, looking at him from beneath her lashes.

“...Layla. She’s an innocent person. I don’t want to expose her to Khonshu and his schemes, I don’t want him to use her like a weapon against us like he did to you!” Jake said, waving his arms at her.

“I don’t want her to be put in danger! She’s the one normal spot we have in our fucking lives, and it would be nice to just have one normal friend!”

“But she might be more than that.” She narrowed her eyes sharply at him. “What are you planning to do, keep it a secret from the other two and reject her for them?”

“No!” Jake said, his eyes widening in shock.

No, no, no. He would never dare to do that to you. He knew what rejecting a soulmate did to the other party. He couldn’t live with the guilt knowing his rejection of you might curse you to some sort of half-life, living in a gray, colorless world.

And… god. Everything they've been through, every injury they’d gotten… you felt it, too. Even when Marc’s mother would beat them, even when he was hurt out in Egypt, when they wore the armor… everything bounced back to you.

Either way, you would suffer no matter the choice. It was unfair and cruel to you, cruel to them.

Why the fuck couldn’t fate have given you a less complicated partner?

Just this once, why couldn’t they live their lives without causing somebody else’s suffering?

And no doubt if Layla figured it out, that means Taweret and maybe Khonshu knew, as well.

He looked over the rooftop and down through your window, seeing you curled in on yourself on your couch as Puck snuggled into you, sitting like a cute little black loaf in your lap.

You were so blissfully unaware of the evils and supernatural surrounding you. Surrounding them. You… you deserved peace.

Jake felt his heart tear in two, one part indecision and the other telling him to damn the consequences and tell you.

Why… why was fate so cruel?

Above all else, he knew… god, Jake knew that whatever he–or they--did, they couldn’t let Khonshu get his bony hands on you.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, biting down the surge of anxiety to keep from alerting his headmates. He felt tears of frustration burn at the edges of his vision when he opened them again to look down at you.

You were still sitting innocently, laughing at something on your television. But Puck was looking up.

Right at him and Layla.

The pain of knowing that you were possibly their soulmate, and you had been so tantalizingly close this entire time ate him up inside; it was like dangling a loaf of bread in front of a starving man, but he knew if he reached out for it, he could face his limbs being lopped off, or the bread snatched away from him at the last possible second.

Either way.

Suffering was assured.

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Chapter 10: Link

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Bartender!Kyle x gn!reader Part 2 babyyyyyy Not proofread so probably horrible. Sorry. Just wanted to get this out there as quickly as possible. I hope you have half as much fun reading as I had writing. Part 1 | COD Masterlist | Part 3

He's not waiting for you to return. He's not looking at the door everytime it opens the next few days. He's absolutely not hoping to see you again. Nope nopedy nope. He did not suddenly grow obsessed with you. He -

The door opens and his head whips around to look at who's coming in and he can feel himself straightening up, when he realizes that it is in fact you. You and some friends it seems.

You're all chattering amongst yourself and occupie a table in the corner. Kyle isn't sure who he has to thank for your return because his bar surely isn't the most popular with regular people and there's prettier spots out there, but he's not gonna complain.

He wipes his hands on a towel, swings it over his shoulder and approaches your table. Suddenly he's happy that his bar is so small and cozy that he can manage it alone.

"What can I get for you?"

One of your friends pats your shoulder after whatever they said to you and the two of them, a dude and a girl, order their stuff. Your eyes stay glued to the table and your friend orders for you.

He wonders what's up with that. You look.... down?

Shame, he would have loved to get a glimpse of your lovely eyes.

When he's behind the bar again, making your drinks he glances at you. Your friend goes to pat you on the shoulder again and you scowl.

Down and angry too? Maybe he can help with that.

He decides to double the amount of your drink and then approaches the table while balancing a tray with your drinks.

As he gets closer he can hear your voice, angry and frustrated.

"... improper language with a customer!? Can you believe it? That fuckwart had it coming, I swear. They should be grateful I got rid of that scum for them. But nooooo, 'You're fired' it is."

You let your head fall to the table in frustration and Kyle is being torn between feeling bad for you and being enamoured by the way you talk.

He never knew he could be attracted to the way someone talks. But your voice is utterly captivating and you have a particular way of pronouncing words, that just draws him in.

He silently puts the drinks on the table, putting yours before you. When you notice the amount in the glass you look up at him in surprise.

"Uh, I ordered a regular?", you question.

He smiles in response. "It's on the house. Noticed you didn't seem to be having the best day. Enjoy, dove."

When he turns around he can hear the girl squeal.

"Did you hear that!? He called you dove!? Oh my god! He was totally flirting with you."

"He's so cute too!", the guy adds knowingly smirking at you.

Then Kyle's too far away to catch more of the conversation. Shame, he would have loved hearing your response. But he's satisfied with the knowledge that your friends will definitely nudge you in his direction.

He's pretty sure everyone in the bar is too drunk to notice him paying special attention to your table and you're too busy moping about losing your job to notice him dropping by way more often that he'd need to.

It's honestly no ones business. He needs to check on his little dove.

He's coming by to ask if you need another drink once more when he hears you say: "Just gotta find another café to serve at."

Like a knight in shining armour Kyle is there.

"Sorry for eavesdropping but... I'm currently managing this bar alone and I could really use some help. So if you're interested in a job, maybe I've got the one for you.", he offers.

He smiles brightly and warmly at you and you gape up at him.

"Holy shit! That's awesome.", you say and immediately slap your hand over your mouth. Then you rush to say: "I can control my language, I promise!"

That makes him laugh and you grin up at him awkwardly until he makes you speechless once more.

"Oh, you can run your mouth here all you want. The customers won't care and I'm just happy to hear your pretty voice."

[herzzgeist]

Hey I'd love to request a knight!Lawx princess!Female!Reader if you're comfortable writing that? Your work is so amazing 😍

And NSFW if you're ok with that too!

Pairing: Knight Law x Princess fem!reader | Word count: 8.5k | Warnings: violence/gore, angst, smut in the end - praise kinkish

Synopsis: As princess of the Red line kingdoms, life is peaceful. So you thought. Neighboring empires are in desperation, threatend to be overtaken by an infamous family - the Donquixote. After the king of Flevance passed, the successor, Trafalgar Law, asks the ruler of the gate keep kingdoms for support, your father. There is no way you can trust this man, can you?

A/N: MEDIEVAL AU! - I'm glad you like my works! I must apologize for the long wait, I got too invested in this. (I was close in making a multi chapter out of this one) Hope you like my little epiphany I had here, dear Wolfe! Big thanks for the request

(Before I forget, I'm german and I was CRAVING to write Law with snippets of his apparent native tongue - because medieval screams germanic)

Dividers by cafekitsune ~

The ambience is omnious . .

Each step taken reverberates through the imperial walls of the castle, your home. The air is filled with the scent of candles, oak wood and old leather bound books, herbs and lavish silken fabrics. Ornamented in bronze and golden flowering, pillars reach up high, standing tall in the castle's halls. Every now and then, the sunlight gets caught in the shimmering metal, reflecting directly towards you, blinding and restricting your vision to the slightest.

Down the corridor, leading to the throne hall, you hear a man announcing the arrival of a person unbeknownst to you. "My king, Lord Trafalgar, the knight of heart seeks your presence!", the voice raspy and old, calls out to your father, Eric VanDoth the third, ruler of the Red line empires, who gleefully receives the arriving: "Ah, Trafalgar old friend! I am glad to see your safe return. How are matters in the north?"

Leaning against the massive door, opened to free the way to the throne, you listen to the familiar tone, chills running down your spine - how you despise him. "Your highness, I am inconsolable, the north is at it's worst state - I wasn't able to fullfil your bidding, for that I must humbly apologize."

The north - a place as cold as it's former king, so you were told. It was supposed to be ruled by this very man, kneeling before your father, lowering his head in reverance. Trafalgar Law, rightful heir of the now shattered kingdom of Flevance. To this day, he is nothing more than a wandering knight, known for his cunning and controlled fighting strategies.

"Tis a shame indeed. Do not fret, I am fully aware of your homeland's situation, so please, quiet down your concerns. Were your followers successful to cognise the countries suffering?", the king straightens, lifting himself off the throne and approaches Law, him still remained on one knee.

Nodding his head, he confirms and raises from the ground, properly facing his highness. "My scouts managed to discern my land's circumstances. It is a matter of a forced overtake from my father's bloodline.", he explains, low and audibly torn.

"My Lady?", a feeble voice tears you out of focus, an indication for you to stop your eavesdropping immedatiely. In a quick spin you turn around and your gaze falls upon a young woman, it is your chamber maid, bowing courteously. "Apologies my Lady, I do not mean to pry, but isn't it unheard of listening to the unknowing people's conversations?" - "Valeria, you scared me. But yes, it isn't exactly a very profound manner. I'll see to my father and the knight this instant."

Before you make your way to the halls, you glance over your shoulder with a soft smile: "Oh please, would you be so kind and prepare my outdoor garments and parasol? It is a beautiful day outside." Your chamber maid bows once more, her head low in respect: "Of course, Princess." - "Thank you, Valeria."

Thus you tread nearer to the two men speaking of reports and strategies to win over the north - it is then where you take a closer look at Trafalgar, the wandering knight. His armor is made out of white cold steel, the flourish ornaments on his chestplate formed into a curling heart, beginning from his sternum. The cloak swaying from his shoulders is as pitch black as his hair, white spots spread over the dark fabric here and there.

Hanging on his back appears to be the cloak's hood, it's rim sewed with fur of a white animal to protect from the cold at northern plains. To your notice, now that Law's gauntlets are off, you see letters punctured into his knuckles - saying: DEATH.

It leaves you appalled, come to think this is a highly regarded knight and the king's ambassador. Not to mention his sinister glare, freezing your blood. His face enframed by raven sideburns and a chin beard, only enhancing those storm grey eyes to your horrification. And the skin, as expected from a northerner - as pale as snow.

It is only a matter of time, until your father might consider to grade this shadow of a man as Commander of his garrison. How terrific . . purely to your misery, you already know it is bound to happen.

"What about the barriers, are there enough- ah my dearest (Y/n), Lord Trafalgar and I were merely discussing the current state of afairs in the Flevance kingdom.", the king greets you with open arms, as soon as he comes to realise your approach. All the same goes for Law, his demeanor stiff and haughty, yet still respectful.

"So I heard. Lord Trafalgar?", you give a deft curtsy to the knight, who turns to you and bows in return, greeting with a low 'your grace'. Mid movement, Law lifts his head, his stare meeting your deep e/c eyes, eliciting a skip of your heart in response. Absurd, you detest this man, so much so your skin bares in gooseflesh. Something about him tells you - he has seen and done things. Not to your kingdom's benevolence.

Your father continues: "Be that as it may, you are welcome to stay, friend. And I dearly hope you to consider my offer."

Offer? Did you overhear that part of their conversation, while talking to Valeria. Keeping your composure, standing straight, though the corsette wouldn't allow otherwise, you supress the urge to shoot a glare towards your dear father.

"You shall hear my answer the coming day, your highness.", Law reassures, saluting to the king as gesture of declaration. So the king brings his servant over to lead the knight to his chamber. "Silas will show you the way. You are free to join us at tonight's dinner, I'll look foward to more detailed matters of plans."

The tall man follows the compared to him dwarvish seeming servant, waving his thanks. To the rhythm of his metallic sabatons, the chainmail clinks against his armor with each and every step, letting your neck hair stand on end. The black cloak on his back sways from left to right from his fast paced walk.

As he vanishes, this is where your utmost worries unfold: "Father, I don't trust this man! He is dreary and cold, there is that sinister feeling about him." - "My sweet, calm down. I am aware you aren't fond of him, but he is in need of our assistance. I cannot decline an old friend's legacy. Please have faith, (Y/n)."

Exhaling deeply, you losen up and place your palm onto your father's shoulder, accepting his decision. "I truly hope you are right . . I will see you tonight." - "Yes dear.", and with those words you go ready yourself for a stroll in the castle gardens.

-_

Roses, tulips, violets . .

. . all flowers pool over the royal backyard like an ocean of colours and shapes. In midst stands a enormous fountain, adorned with a sculpture of your country's symbol, the bronze dove.

The sun's radiance warms you from within.

Sitting on an stone bench, adjoining the gravel path leading back to the castle, you flip through the pages of an newly received novel, reading "Deceitful Silhouettes".

It's prologue roils up emotions inside you, the letters weaving you in and reaching for your now alarmed instincts regarding the knight of the north.

Speaking of the devil. In the distance, Law saunters through the garden, his gaze hovering over the red and violet sea of flowers. He is headed your direction. Nervous, you stick your nose deep into the pages, not keen on meeting the king's ambassador one on one.

Although the golden orb in the sky grants you the needed warmth, the freezing cold coming from this human being deflects it without effort, to say the least.

"Your grace, still spell bound by mere black on white as always I see.", it's too late, he calls out to you, defining your weakness for literature. Peeking over the bound papers, you scoff: "I see you didn't change from the last time we met, Lord Trafalgar."

Quick to retort your remark, the tall man huffs a short 'perhaps', pulling aside the cloak to seat beside you. The last sun rays cast upon his armor, making you whince subtly from the light's sting. "I believe things haven't changed between you and me, Princess." - "How troublesome, there I thougth there was hope for the both of us.", your sarcasm throws a shadow of contrast against Law's more serious statement.

The knight's eyes land on your book's label, deciphering the name and persuming it's content. A smirk grows over his lips and he comments nonchalantly: "If you are in attempt to school yourself in deceitful doings, I suggest you to undertake the trainings somewhere your victim cannot see what you are up to."

An eery aura looms over you, staring down the man on the neighboring seat. He lifts his hands in defense: "Oh, with all due respect, your highness." - "Save your courtesy for tonight's dinner, knight of heart."

How much you despise his sarcastic mannerism, not that you are any better, yet it won't get over your head, that it actually enlightens you, a rather exciting banter given the fact how eyes mirror the truth. Nonetheless, you decide to set aside the undesirable, he is not to be trusted.

About to make your way back to the castle, you close the book with a loud snap and open the parasol, leaned against the stone bench. "I hopefully won't see you tonight, my Lord." - "You might.", as you click your tongue, you turn on your heels and carefully tread the path.

However, you hear a mused voice chuckle behind you: "I am looking foward to further intriguing discussions with you, your grace."

The gravel underneath your feet cracks and pops by the impact of your soles, quickening your step, the sound grows louder.

This man . .

Law shakes his head in disbelief, internally smiling to himself. Just when he was to get off the bench, a shadow scurrying along the forest's edge catches his attention. Squinting his dark circles enframed eyes, the feeling of unease makes a vacant appearance.

"Wie beunruhigend . .", he mutters in his native language, rubbing his neck before sighing in discontent.

(Translation: "How concerning . .")

-_

Safran pastry, wine, dried vegetables and fruit, ham and rosemary potatoes . .

. . fill the table, plates assorted over every empty surface. The loud snaps coming from the fireplace echo in the dining room.

"You are the first to arrive my Lady, shall I bring anything to drink?", Valeria leads you towards the bountiful table. Thanking your chamber maid, you ask for a goblet of wine in hopes to shorten the wait for the other's arrival.

Taking a seat by side the chimney, you watch as the flames dance and flicker, hypnotizing you to a certain extent. The smell of the delicacies lets your insides growl in hunger, impatience growing stronger each second.

Valeria returns with your beverage, a smile tugging on her lips as she hands it over to you. One sip of the red liquid is enough to make your head spin, given by an empty stomach.

Behind the closed door, you hear a well-known voice laughing and discussing vividly. "I'm sure she'll be delighted to hear- oh you're already here love!", who would have thought it to be your father, entering with none other than Trafalgar?

Didn't you politely wish for him not to attend earlier this afternoon? Must be something about his hearing. Your pout enhances your sour mood, leaving Valeria amused - smirking to the display of you practically burning holes into the king's ambassador.

"My Lady, he is quite the looker no? I heard he's much so adored amongst women.", she snickers, leaning towards you. It is only until now, that you notice Law wearing a black vest, buttons undone far too low for your taste. Is that the same symbol like the one on his armor's chest plate, tattooed on his torso?

The lines embellish his porcelain like skin, enhancing the muscles. Every breath shows over his heaving rib cage. Heat shoots up your face. You're not certain wether to blame it on your rage or . . abashment from your insolent staring.

Steel eyes catch your slip, lids falling and forming into an intrigued glint, with a hint of curiosity. Law's blown pupils avert back to the conversation he's holding with your father.

Audibley gulping, you curse inwardly for letting your guard down this way, asking Valeria for more wine to deter the matter. Your chamber maid titters.

The food is as delicious as ever. "My compliments to the chef. This is Alfred's work I assume?" - "Yes, your highness.", the king praises the culinary experience, fowarding them to Valeria, who bows deftly and begins to bring the amassing empty plates back to the kitchen.

As if prey to the predator, you avoid Trafalgar's cold glare, him fleetingly observing you by noticing your each and every move.

"(Y/n), I would like to announce rather good news!", is what you hear, coming from the other end of the table. A proud grin plasters over your father's mouth and he continues: "Lord Trafalgar will be your guard for the time being." Did your hearing just falter?

Back and forth, switching between your father and Law you gape at them in disbelief. Without a word, you sip on your golden goblet and set it onto the table - provocatively slow. "Father, I cannot accept this.", you hiss and straighten yourself, about to leave the room.

Out of patience already, the king uses his privilege of hierarchy: "This wasn't a question young lady! It is final, he will be your guard!"

Close to throwing a tantrum, you control your burst of emotion - deep breaths holding in the bitter words lingering on your tongue.

Diffusing the tension, the knight gets off his seat and approaches you, dispersing the undeclared: "Your grace, it is only for the time I stay at your castle. It won't be for long, I can assure you."

The way he stands infront of you, his head held in veneration, which you doubt is in honesty, he places his palm against his heart. Loud enough only for your ears to hear, he hushes: "I'd be honoured, if I gained a mere speck of your trust, Princess."

Discomfort is vacant on your demeanor, fidgeting and twirling your fingers - it is then, where you come to realise that Valeria was right, he is a looker. In addition, his voice brings your body to unknown territory, feeling weak to the knees out of the blue.

No! Stay strong (Y/n). He is not to be trusted. He is not to be-

"Ich stehe Euch zu Diensten, euer Hoheit.", Law hums in his native tongue, his hand asking for yours in order to demonstrate his respect - his seriousness in all this. This truly isn’t not a joke, is it?

(Translation: "I am at your service, your Highness.")

Gently, you put your trust in him, though with abiding doubts, however the lips that enticingly sought your acceptance, press onto the silken skin on the back of your hand. At that, it lasts far too long to your liking.

The gooseflesh that usually forms out of pure horrification, now bears a completely different meaning - you are flustered, roused even. "Th-That's enough Lord Trafalgar! Quit making an utter fool of yourself, I accept . ."

-_

People gather and follow the brightly lit lanters, leading to your kingsdom‘s capital. The air stings your skin - winter's first greeting this year.

Horses pull wagons, filled with wares and goods to be sold on the market, their hooves clopping over the cobble stone streets.

Passers by look at you in curiosity, for you pulled the rim of your hood a tad bit too further down your face. Annoyance growls your way, as Trafalgar mutters: "Are you trying to torture me? It's the fourth time this week we tread among civilians."

"Why isn't that tedious? I thought you are at my service, my Lord.", is what chuckles out of you, fidgeting at your cloak. Law only clicks his tongue to your insolent and conceited behaviour, these walks to the capital not exactly being in his book.

The high pitch and grating squeals from a group of women rips the both of you out the conversation, or instead distasteful chaff. You turn to see the source of commotion and notice a green haired man seated on his charger, leading a patrol team.

Three fully grown stallions take a halt beside you two and the leader addresses you: "Up and about to visit the markets, my Lady?" - "Commander Roronoa! What a pleasant surprise! Indeed, I am headed to see the jewelery and pottery stands. And I assume you are here to keep everything under control?"

Nervous, you shuffle in place, feeling lightheaded and your heart picks up the pace by the sight of your royal guards' high chief. The red tint on your cheeks begins to glow and you give your brightest of smiles.

The king's ambassador isn't a fool, fully comprehending that you are fond of this man. Law watches you closely, realising how your demeanor changed in a sheer instant - leaving him to question 'why you nuture such hatred towards him?'

Trafalgar's attention averts to the green haired smirking bastard. His armor is shimmering onyx, adorned with a dark red cloak falling from his shoulders. Counting three golden earrings on his left ear, in addition, Law is taken aback by the long grazing scar eternalised onto Roronoa's left eye.

You practically swoon for this simple Commander. How ridiculous, the raven next to you thinks to himself. Nonetheless, why do you seem so . . approachable, loving? It goes beyond your temporary body guard's comprehesion.

Now confirming your assumption, Roronoa nods and grins over both ears. His horse's impatience shows by it's uneasy scuffs of it's hoove against the ground. Reins are getting pulled to calm the stallion, all while in the process of giving Law a long lasting stare, the Commander scoffs: "The scary dog privilege should keep you safe. Be seeing you, Princess."

"I beg your pardon?", the knight of heart tears open his eyes, shook about the term that lowly 'Soldier' Roronoa spat at him a moment ago. Yet, the occassion to counter his insolence passed it's point, as the patrolling group rides ahead to the capital.

You beckon: "Come along now, my Lord. It isn't far now." Walking the path, heavy footsteps catch up to you and the raspy voice of the man you oh so curse gives you more reason to incite. "Interesting, your highness is about to drop the hankerchief for a mere royal guard.", Law muses, not a care in the world of exposing you.

"Oh hush, this is none of your business, mere ambassador.", is what you pout, lifting your nose in arrogance. There is a feeling of success, subconsciously aware that you are victorious in this game of childish ribbing.

Admittedly, this sinister man has grown on you, given the fact he ended up as your personal guard about two months ago. Still, never would you concede to those hidden innuendos in his steel glare, looking at you in ways you wish to misinterpret from the beginning.

There is that certain . . spark.

Your body guard isn't keen on being called a 'mere ambassador'. Why, you do seem to know your way in hierarchy, (Y/n). Ignoring your insult, Trafalgar escorts you further to the village, only minutes away on foot.

-_

Merchants call out to the potential customers, roaming across the market's streets.

The smell of freshly baked bread, mead, smoked ham and all kinds of herbs fills your nostrils as you pass stalls.

Sauntering, you take in the ambience, inhaling the scents and enjoying the peace and calm the time brings.

Occupied with the opposite concept, Law worriedly lets his gaze hover over the crowd, not wholly indulging in the cheerful of this event. "My lord, you appear distant. Something the matter?" - "Just vigilant. The situation isn't as tranquil as it looks.", his concern is contagious, your question bounces off a wall of stubborn and discipline.

Suddenly, a piece of turkish delight restricts Trafalgar's vision, for you hold it up right infront of his face: "Calm your senses and taste this! I am sure you simply are too overattentive."

Eyebrows furrow, skeptical about your offer, the knight declines. "I can turn this into an order very quickly, if you won't abide.", using your hierarchy card against him, there is no use in refusing you.

The powdered sugar gathers around his chapped lips, spreading over his black chin beard. If you wouldn't know it any better, this display of your guard chewing on the sugary delight is more than appeasing to you.

There he stands. A fully armored knight, carrying around a long sword on his shoulders. A man so intimidating, people genuinley think of him to be an evil creature, the princess's scary guard dog.

The so called scary guard dog apparently is tamed by your unexpected gesture, suckling on the honey and wiping away the sugar from his chin. "This isn't very lady like to feed someone lower than you, your grace.", he utters, but his comment falls on deaf ears. So you retort: "It isn't very guard like either, to eat out of the princess's hands."

Logic is non existent in that case. Rolling his eyes, Law turns away from you and steps away from the merchant stall.

The more time you spend together like this, the more you learn about the knight of heart. All forenoon, until the sun reaches it's highest peak, teasing banters and chaffs dispersed into thin air, as if there were none to begin with . . as if Lord Trafalgar was a good friend.

Friend? Is that how you wish to call him that?

Your heart sets out a beat, considering the idea of declaring your point of view of this relationship between him and you. Law walks a few feet before you, making sure anything in front is secured, yet it is his position to be at fault in less crowded alleys you find yourself in, not noticing the following immediately.

About to speak your mind, a giant and calloused hand slams onto your mouth, to silence your muffled gasp of shock.

You can hear your blood rushing through your ears, the lungs in your ribcage tighten and push out the remaining air in panic.

"You are far too pretty to wander around these parts of the kingdom, Lady VanDoth.", sounds from the back, a nasty snarl hushes over your shoulder and the tinge of alcohol wafts around you.

Black silhouettes your vision, recognizing Trafalgar turning around, instantly unsheathing his blade: "You! Get your filthy hands off the princess!" - "Princess?" The stranger snorts in gutteral gloat and presses a dagger against your throat, responding in Law's native language.

"Habt Ihr es nicht gehört, Ritter des Todes? Der Herrscher dieses Königreichs ist tot. Diese Frau, die Ihr hier seht ist nun die Königin, Narr!", he spits in amusement, the blade gnawing on your skin, blood trickles down your gorge from it‘s puncture.

(Translation: "Didn't you hear, knight of death? The ruler of this kingdom is dead. This Woman here is now the queen, fool!")

Noticing a distinct tattoo on the masked man's hand, a grinning skull being split in half, your guard gets enraged and approaches the maniac behind you in threateningly slow motion, his sword ready to slice it's target: "Scheisse . . ich bin derjenige den Ihr sucht, räudiger Sohn einer Hündin! Lasst sie gehen! Sie hat nichts mit dem Grinsenden Schädel, weder der Donquixote Familie zu tun!"

(Translation: "Shit . . I'm the one you're looking for, son of a bitch! Let her go! She has nothing to do with the Grinning Skull, nor the Donquixote family!")

The stranger chuckles sinisterly, deftly paying no mind to Trafalgar's threats. "Did you hear that little girl? Your father is dead!", so he states, earning a whimper of distress out of you. Dread widens the windows to your now vulnerable soul, emotions forming into salty droplets flowing down your cheek. You don't trust your hearing.

Out of impulse, you aim your fist for his groin, but there is no chance you are able to reach him, his stronghold keeping you in place. "Now now, let's not get hasty, bitch. My master will be pleased upon your arrival in Flevance."

"I said hands off!", you hear the atagonizing scream coming from Law, who storms at you in full spead. The dagger fends of the longsword, though only barely and the maniac pulls you along, yelling to back off. Fingers claw into your neck, limiting your ability to breathe - already close to passing out.

The knight is tied, he cannot advance without you getting fataly hurt, thus he stays at a safe distance.

So the masked one grabs you by the wrist and makes a run for it, throwing insults and curses at you among the escape attempt. You hold out to your guard: "Law!" All is left to see, is Lord Trafalgar clenching his teeth and sprinting the opposite direction.

No . . please. This cannot end this way. Those words cloud your thoughts, bringing you to a state of overwhelming doubts and fear, your limbs becoming numb.

In terror, you see how your people get assassinated by other countless men with hoods hiding their faces, the grinning skull imprinted on either their arms, hands or necks.

Women screech out of horror, children cry and men fend off the ambush with all the power they're able to muster. It is a picture of nightmares, blood and intestines spread across the ground to those bastard's sheer pleasure, hearing them snicker as they murder one after the other.

The assassin roars at you furiously: "Run faster you whor-" Just before he gets to end his provocation, the stranger's head rolls over the cobble stone next to your feet, for a blade quick and sharp separated it from those ragged shoulders mid movement.

"Princess, we must make haste! The king has been assaulted and the castle is still under siege!", a loud voice calls out to you on the back of a horse, riling in place from the hectic. It's Commander Roronoa. His hand holds out to you, heaving you onto his stallions's back and animates it to gallop straight to the palace.

Scurrying and aimlessly running from the danger, the village folk seek shelter, dodging Roronoa's charge. In the distance you identify an archer, the bow taught and prepared to shoot it's arrow, aimed towards you.

In fret, you squeeze your eyes shut and you hear the Commander cursing under his hitched breath.

Yet, the arrow doesn't find it's target. A tall man, armored in cold steel thrusts his longsword through the enemy's stomach, shredding the archer's bellows. Boneless, the body sinks to the ground and the man saving your getaway yells: "Go secure the castle! I will hold the line here!.

Trafalgar enables your escape, covering your back and ridding anyone who dares to follow you. In the corner of your eye, you watch as he fights a group of assassins trying to come after you.

He saved your life . .

-_

Countless moons passed since the Donquixote intrusion.

Luckily, your army was prepared for such atrocious attacks. It wasn't enough to save your dearest father whatsoever.

The goodbyes were painful, the grief only grew by the fact you weren't able to protect him. Doubts about Lord Trafalgar overwhelmed you, to think it was his doing, which turned into a burden he understood will never be forgiven that easily by you.

The knight of heart, or as it came to pass, knight of death, was in fact seeking shelter for the time being, instructed as an under cover body guard of yours. Your father took him in, granting him shelter, to gather and plan the reclaim of his kingdom.

Where security was surmised, chaos induced along this man's path. You knew he wasn't to be trusted, however was he truly to blame? Eric VanDoth was a generous and peaceful man, a king to look up to, although the risk of being used for kindness - which in this world was never a good weapon to begin with - not ever was disputed.

Lord Trafalgar appreciated VanDoth's support, deeming him a honorable and trustworthy man, these words said to you in his utmost condolensces.

All this, Law explained to you through the years of renewal and acceptance of your rulership. What would have happend, if you knew these plans sooner? It is uncertain to you why they have been kept from you, but you assume it was for your own protection.

So to this day, you are the queen of the Red line empires, (Y/n) VanDoth the fourth, ruler of the gate kingdom. A great responsibility has been bestowed upon you, as the keeper of the celestial directions and seas.

And Law? It was a great announcement, one you actually were glad and overjoyed to hear - Trafalgar Law, reclaimed his place as king of Flevance, for him and his people countered the Donquixote overtake.

Life turned for the better - peace once more was restored to the northern empires, as the rightful ruler returned home.

Nevertheless, you unlikely admit that a feeling of longing filled your mind, as your thoughts spinned around the king of heart. Only letters, inscripted with the obvious interest and lovable banters, a spark, left you yearning for more - and the day of his visit was finally about to occur.

-_

"My queen, Lord Trafalgar has arrived!", Silas reports while walking towards the throne, on which you are seated.

"Bring his followers to the gathering halls and let Trafalgar enter the gardens, I'll await him there." - "Yes, your highness.", you thank your servant with a warm smile, nodding at him and straightening yourself off the throne.

Valeria follows you silently, her attention never wavering from you. You turn to face her: "Please dear, bring me my parasol." Deftly accepting your request with a low 'my queen' she makes her way to the cabins.

The sun's grace enlightens the castles halls, crystal clear windows deflecting the rays in all kinds of colours onto the bronzen embellishments. It reminds of the times you entered the throne halls, whenever he sought your father.

Today wasn't any different, for at long last you are able to see him again.

Greeted by the usual garden of red and purple, you breathe in the crisp and warm air surrounding you, reminiscing the past and looking foward to the future all the same. The parasol provides you with protection, it's shade cooling your skin.

You take a seat at the stone bench and admire the scenery before you. It hasn't changed, not at all. After all these years, it is as if time stood still, solely for this moment.

"Your grace, I think you are missing your usual literature. Shall I bring it to you?", a voice deep, makes your head spin hastily to the source of familiarity. His name hushes out of you in whisper and you cannot help but laugh at his remark.

There he stands, Trafalgar, the king of heart. Of course you haven't forgotten your courtesy and get off the bench to bow subtly as greeting.

Glimmering in the afternoon's shine, his armor reflects the heart upon his chest, which he wears in pride. It's colour has been changed to anthracite grey, the pauldrons heavy on his shoulders and every edge of noble plate is adorned with fine lines of bright gold.

Only the cloak remained the same, haging on his back elegantly, throwing off a threatening shadow beneath his feet. How you wish to pull the hood over his head and draw him in . . yet, what makes you think you are allowed to?

His hand gently holds out to yours and leads it to his lips, respecting the regards a queen of your calibre deserves to earn. "Except for your title, nothing has changed about you, my lord." - "I can say the same about you, your majesty.", knowing glints of hidden love interest is what you share, seeing the man in front of you kiss the back of your hand with utmost care.

Strolling through the royal gardens, you walk side by side of one another, speaking of your empires' new era, Flevance's reclaim and the Red line's capital restoration. Much has happend the time Lord Trafalgar saw you last - in honesty a shame, he thinks to himself, nonetheless the saving of his kingdom was inevitable.

"Have you considered entering the bond of matrimony, your grace?", Law questions you out of the blue, a shiver running down your spine in surprise. It wasn't what you ought to hear from a man of his stature, thus you answer earnestly: "Not yet, not properly. I must admit it would be of convenience."

Heavy footsteps inch your direction as the both of you come to a stand, sturdy chains clank against his sabatons in the rhythm of his approach. He lowers: "May I have the honor?"

Dumbfounded you watch him kneel down before you, embracing your tender palm: "I humbly ask for your hand in marriage." Full of expectations, his steel eyes wander up to witness your reaction.

It skipped, the beat of your heart - blood rushing through your veins in high speed, the air bearly leaving your lungs. All your nobility, all the the royal grace you have to represent melts off of you. Emotions strongly washing over, hearing his declaration.

Will you accept?

-_

He remembers it as if it was yesterday.

You, in a gown competing the beauty of nature, it's white silk embracing your delicate frame. The bells rang and people cheered in glee. It was the happiest day of his life, for he swore an oath to his loving bride, to protect her, to be her supporting hand and shelter.

This is the day, the Red line empire has been united with Flevance, emerging as a powerful kingdom over the northern seas. Bound by marriage, a king and a queen reign over the lands that once were shattered, rebuilding hope and solitude.

At that, it is a strong bond, a matrimony sought in reason of love, which is a seldom, but not uncommon case. You welcome the warm feeling of your doting husband being your pillar, your base of unwinding.

The white fabric glides off your shoulders, exposing your soft skin. A shiver runs down Law's spine, entranced by your allure. Pupils dilate due to tremendous attraction towards you and he gruadually steps closer. "Ich habe keine Worte um Eure Schönheit zu beschreiben . .", he mutters in his tongue, to that you solely manage to chuckle in reply.

(Translation: "I have no words for your beauty to describe . .")

This is where you decide to prove your ability to provide an answer in kind: "Kein Grund, so förmlich zu sein, mein König. Ich bin ganz die deine." - "Auch noch sprachbegabt? Ihr steckt voller Überraschungen." The man looks you up and down, a shaky breath escaping him, knowing too well, what is about to occur.

(Translation: "No need to be so formal, my king. I am all yours." - "Also gifted with languages?" You are full of surprises.")

Lips, that Trafalgar yearned for to taste, finally conceal his, silencing every thought in his mind. To think, that the both of you harbored such hatred for each other, love has conquered your hearts in the end, the sense behind it inexplicable.

Hands, that longed to touch you, graze your waist and neck, pulling you in nearer, as if holding on for dear life. Close, is what he needs you to be this instant, his warmth engulfing you as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

A voice, that whispers your name and foreign words as if chanting a spell. Not all is beknownst to you, however one sentence reverberates in your ears as he purrs: "Ihr seid das Schönste, das unter der Sonne wandelt, meine Herzdame." His sweet nothings elicits a low moan out of you, what Law deems as a melody to his senses.

(Translation: "You are the most beautiful thing that walks under the sun, my queen of hearts.")

Garments are spread across the floor. Two lovers found their way to the bed, intertwined, driven by desire. For the first time, your eyes feast upon his lean body, embellished with dark, fine lined tribal ink all across his torso.

Tracing the imprinted ornaments, your fingers hover over them with utmost care, earning a satisifed sigh out of your spouse. "I dearly hope you are not all too appalled by-", before he can finish his sentence with hinted sarcasm, you hush him with your index, pressing those precious lips shut. So you coo: "Quit your foolery, you know I love you, all of you"

Affectionately, he lowers himself onto you, heart to heart, chests heaving against each other - nervosity evident in both of you. Peppered kisses along your ear let your back arch, leaving you in languish as he pulls away to groan huskily: "Dann gehört dies Euch, meine Königin."

(Translation: "Then this belongs to you, my queen.")

Leading your palm to his wildly beating muscle in his ribcage, he romantically offers you his heart, confessing his feelings towards you yet again, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Now one, his length penetrates your velvet walls in a painstakingly slow and passionate manner. You squirm and tremble to the rhythm of his grinds, filling you up completely. Cresent prints trail down his back, the scrapes flushing in a sarutated red.

You purr his name into the crook of his neck, sideburns tickling you in the process. Subsequently, you tug on his golden earrings, taking Law off guard, as he moans in response. Those gestures madden the former knight, bringing him to gain in volume.

Sweat trickles along his hairline, for he picks up the pace and lifts your leg by grabbing the plush of your thigh. Now deeper, the tip of his hardness hits you in spots that lets you see stars, in combination with his delightful hums of pleasure it sets your core ablaze.

A bit more forceful, his hand takes hold of your breast, squeezing it out of pure lust, watching you as your head rolls back in bliss. You are reaching your climax, lulling incomprehesive words to your lover. Gently pulling on your hardened and pink tinted bud, he cannot supress his vast impulsives, listening to your pleas: „Yes, let go for me . .“

From overstimulation, your free leg slings over his thrusting hip, drawing Law‘s frame even closer. Lips clash onto one another, muffling the enticing sounds of your high. His teeth prod against the plump and the tongue twirls along yours.

A rush of sensation washes over you - feeling animal, feral - as your orgasm spills out of you, dripping down his groin. Law is chasing, not far from his own release for the scene infront of him lures him into all out ecstasy.

Giving in the crave to make you his entirely, he pours out the love he long dreamed about indulging you in. Weakend, his whole physique stutters and quakes, overwhelmed with the idea of claiming his beloved queen.

Warm air brushes against your skin, coming from Law nuzzling your cheek, panting: „Ich liebe dich.“

(Translation: "I love you.")

[merlinficprompts]

I have a Merlin prompt I would like to submit!! Sorry for the formatting I’m writing this on my phone it’s 1 am and I’m feeling feral

Merlin magic is revealed to Gwaine when he has to heal a fatal wound. Gwaine and Lancelot are having a private conversation about it, using a code word for Merlin’s magic. An eavesdropping Arthur misinterprets the whole thing.

(conversation goes roughly like this)

“To be honest I’m kind of broken hearted. I thought I was the first one to experience uh.. Merlin’s ’talent’.”

“Sorry friend, me and Merlin’s first meeting was when he was.. sharing his ‘talent’ with me..”

“I won’t lie to you, when he first started doing it I was.. I was mortified.. but then it felt so..”

“Good?”

“Yes! Gods, I know I’ll be condemned if others find out but.. I’ve never felt anything like it. I’m not exaggerating Lancelot, I truly feel as if a whole new world has opened in front of my eyes. I want him to do it again, I want him to do and show me more. I’m greedy for it!”

“I understand you, sometimes despite the years I’ve known of his.. ‘talent’, I find myself yearning to experience it again. I could never ask him to do anything that put him in harms way though, should anyone find out..”

“I know. It’s such a shame he has to go to such lengths to hide his true nature. During it his eyes were so bright and at peace, it made me want to never let him go. It pains me knowing he suffers so much, hiding his true self in fear. I asked him if he ever planned to tell Arthur and he.. he looked so pain. He’s terrified of what Arthur would think if he found out..”

“I don’t blame him. While Arthur’s a much better man and leader than Uther, there’s still no telling how he’d react finding out about.. Merlin’s ‘talent’”

“Well I for one think there’s nothing wrong with it. Especially since I’ve experienced the benefits first hand. I’m telling you Lance, I’m a new man. I haven’t felt this at ease in a long time.”

“Oh yes, i suppose we just must be grateful that we can consider ourselves among the lucky few who get to experience his ‘talent’, and work to assure his safety in the future.”

Now utterly convinced that Merlin is a slag who prefers men, Arthur struggles with multiple emotions; ranging from embarrassment to having overheard Merlin’s private business, to despair that his best friend was too afraid to admit his preference, to outrage over the (assumed) knowledge that his knights are apparently mounting his ‘talented’ servant. He’s scandalized to think Merlin was so wanton, he should be indignant and offended that he shares such camaraderie with an unrepentant harlot. Yet, for some reason he can’t put his finger on.. he mostly just feels hurt and betrayed. He’s mortified over what that means, and finds himself in a panic over what to do now that he’s learned his best friend (who he doesn’t realize he’s in love with) is apparently a huge slut who fucks his knights (and he’s utterly incensed on Gwen’s behalf since Lance is courting her at this time)

Unsure of what to do, he finds himself at a loss and confides in Morgana about how he should act, and whether he should intervene in any way or mind his own business. Morgana, somewhat impressed, finds this hilarious, but becomes angry when she hears about Lancelot. Her judgement of Merlin sours and she finds herself stuck between telling Gwen or fighting Lancelot. From there everything just kind of snowballs. The knights try to correct the rumor but obviously since they can’t say they were talking about his magic, all other excuses seem poorly constructed and they’re unable to fix the problem.

Meanwhile around the same time, the son of a good friend/ally to Uther, who’s infamous for his carnal and shameless desires, catches wind of this rumor upon his visit to Camelot. His interest peaked, he seeks out to proposition Merlin, regardless of Merlin’s willingness.. (arthur saves him in time tho)

Merlin, on the other hand, has somehow managed to remain completely oblivious to everyone’s newfound attention on him, paranoid he’s detecting some snickers and nasty remarks thrown his away, but mostly unsure and too tired to think too hard over it. He’s too busy prioritizing protecting Arthur and finding new ways to perfect his magic that the thought of being with someone amounted to that of another meaningless chore he’d tack onto his plate. He’s come to the conclusion that he’s not destined to have a partner and settle down, the closest he supposes he’ll ever get is being by Arthur’s side as he gets his fairy tale ending, wife and kids.. Merlin is perfectly fine remaining on the side as always. He doesn’t know why his chest aches everytime he thinks about it.

Everyone’s misunderstanding everyone else, Gaius forces Merlin to listen to him explain safe sex between men and assures him that he loves him regardless of whether or not he approves of Merlin’s constant changing conquest amount. Merlin gets sexually harassed, Arthur is emotionally constipated so he rescues Merlin from bullying but also yells at him bc he’s mad Merlin’s being a hoe with everyone but him apparently. Uther hears one too many random out of context dialogues pertaining to Merlin’s sexual abilities, and Kilgarrah spends his entire interaction with Merlin cackling his scales off bc he saw what happens and he’s so excited for it to play out.

TLDR Merlin wakes up one day and suddenly everyone is convinced he’s a huuuuuge slut. Chaos ensues.

While the premise is crack-ish, I do want the story to be written fairly seriously/realistically. If anyone’s interested in turning this prompt into a full fledged fanfic, I’d love for it to be a very very lengthy one. So excited to see if this gets written!!

I love this idea!!! I probably wouldn’t write it myself, but it’s so funny, beyond the embarrassment factor. I would love to see it though! If you or anyone else writes this idea, message me so I can post about it!

[greyias]

FIC: Chance Encounters - Chapter 3

Title: Chance Encounters Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight (pre-relationship) Rating: T Genre: Canon Divergent AU. Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Even the smallest change can have large, unseen ripple effects. When Theron Shan books a voyage on the Esseles, he has no idea how a chance encounter with a Jedi Knight will change the course of his life. A canon divergent alternate universe examining what happens when Theron and the Hero of Tython meet much, much sooner. Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Crossposted to AO3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

After his thwarted attempt at meditation, Theron stalked into the passenger lounge, his mood far from improved. He wasn’t sure what rankled more—that she had sniped his meditation spot or that her infantile nickname had rendered him so speechless that it was embarrassing.  It was a shame this ship didn’t have a gym or something similar because he’d enjoy a few rounds with a punching bag.

Lacking that, and a quiet place to collect his calm, then he would have to find something else to make good use of his downtime. If there was any spot on this ship that would fit the bill, it was probably this lounge. It had to be the most spacious room on the entire passenger deck. On one wall, a sizable viewing window provided a view of the stars flitting by in the vastness of space as soothing cantina music tinkled from the speakers. There were several couches, tables, and chairs arranged throughout the space for conversation and dining, and a bar was tucked away in the back for those who wanted to unwind with a drink. The Sabacc tables that were set up across from the bar, however, were the real attraction.

A nice game of chance would be just the thing to take his mind off that infuriating Jedi and her damn nicknames. He elbowed his way in, pulling out some credits to toss into the pot. His attempts were thwarted just as effectively as his meditation had been—and the dealer shooed him away, indicating that the high rollers and crowd meant there was no room for new players. Worse, as he turned away from the table, he noticed that damn Jedi at the far end of the lounge. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she was doing it on purpose.

This was officially the worst VIP experience he'd ever had. (Even if it was technically his first.)

Next time, he might as well take the damn shuttle; at the very least, he’d get to his destination more quickly. And, as an added bonus, he wouldn’t have to put up with any of this Jedi nonsense.

He wrinkled his nose in an effort to prevent a deep glower from setting in. It was bad enough that she’d driven him off from his meditation spot, but now she didn’t even have the common courtesy to use the space for a long enough time to escape her obnoxious presence for at least an hour? 

Fortunately, Highwind didn’t seem to notice him, as she was distracted by a female Twi’lek who appeared to be upset about something. He ignored the prickling of his curiosity about what the Twi’lek was expressing with such urgency. Getting close enough to eavesdrop meant risking another run-in with the Nickname Queen — and he’d need a lot more alcohol before he was ready for that.

Speaking of.

With every other source of entertainment closed, he went to the bar and ordered a whiskey from the bartender on duty. He half-expected to be told he’d have to wait for that as well, but despite the crowd at the bar, the server was efficient. As he waited for his drink, a nudge at his side gained his attention, and he glanced down to see that M-6 had apparently finally finished talking to the most stupendous astromech in existence.

"Did you get his autograph?"

The droid expressed his disapproval of the sarcasm by emitting a flat, irate series of beeps. Theron simply rolled his eyes and placed a credit slip in the bartender’s hand who had quietly produced the whiskey glass. He was about to bring the glass to his lips when there was a violent jolt that rocked the entire ship.

His drink tipped precariously, splashing over the rim and onto the bar as the force of the impact nearly sent him tumbling to the ground. He managed to catch himself and right the glass just as another, more violent jolt rocked the ship. This one sent him sprawling to the floor, and what was left of his drink splashed in a wide arc, dousing the bar, M-6, and Theron’s shirt in the potent-smelling liquor.

Theron rolled onto his back, coughed, and inhaled a lungful of the whiskey that had been spilled as the little astromech whirred indignantly in response. He was just starting to wipe at the burning fumes in his eyes when a third, more violent tremor shook the ship, drowning out all other sounds. Red emergency lighting illuminated the room as an alarm sounded overhead.

Theron pushed himself up from the floor, his ears still ringing from the impact. Screams and cries from those around him filled the air, and there was an uncharacteristically distressing rumbling from the ship. It was obvious that this wasn’t an accident because the explosion had originated outside the ship. The ship was under attack. 

While there were many violent factions known to attack ships in the galaxy, a passenger transport vessel was not a common target for pirates, as seized cargo typically yielded greater profits than anything most passengers would carry. That either left slavers, which avoided the heavily policed traffic lanes of Republic space, or worse.

His suspicions regarding the attackers’ identities were confirmed as he stumbled toward the area where the worried Twi’lek from earlier was assisting Highwind off the ground. Although it was difficult to hear much over the blaring alarms and the cries of other passengers, he heard a clear mention of “Imperials” and something about the ship’s bridge.

He lost the thread of the conversation as a passenger let out a loud shriek in his ear, and by the time he looked back Highwind had already taken off towards the exit, her faithful astromech on her heels. Beyond the corner that she had disappeared around, the distant sounds of blaster fire the distinct hum of whirling lightsabers joined the cacophony.

Next to him, M-6 sputtered and whirred, obviously concerned. 

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Theron grumbled. "Let me think."

Watching the area where the Jedi had vanished, he weighed his options. The simplest and most prudent course of action would be to remain in place and wait things out. He could hole up here, help tend to the other passengers and lend his blasters in aid if any Imperials decided to storm the lounge. That was clearly a possibility based on sounds coming from the hallway. Not to mention, it would be far more sensible to let the Jedi handle the heavy hitters...

But no one had ever accused Theron of being sensible. There was no reason for him to start now.

Not to mention, the thought of sitting around, waiting for salvation from some Jedi was too much for his pride. He'd be damned if he let her do all the work. He was already striding towards the exit before he had even finished that thought, his fingers twitching towards his blasters.

M-6 whirred, beeping something that Theron assumed was an attempt at reassurance. He ignored the droid's hovering and retraced Highwind's path, dodging around injured passengers littering the floor.

Theron slipped out of the doorway, blasters now at the ready. Smoke choked the long, sleek corridors of the transport. The staccato beat of blaster fire echoed in the confined space, drowning out even the discomforting whine of the ship's engines. A familiar rush of adrenaline, somehow both sweet and invigorating at once, thrummed through his veins. 

Through the smoke clogging the corridor, he could just make out Highwind. Her twin blue lightsabers whirled and deflecting blaster bolts as she darted across the deck, only pausing long enough to carve her way through the Esseles's many power droids that were attacking her.

Theron frowned, trying to figure out why they were acting so aggressively before it dawned on him. Someone had reprogrammed the droids. Which meant...

He quickly cast a narrow-eyed glance back at the chaotic passenger lounge. If any of them were Imperial agents, they did a good job of portraying the part of the hurt passenger. With the ship under attack, he had to make a split-second decision about where to focus his attention. Trying to hunt down and interrogate them would waste time if they were about to be boarded. If they repelled this attack, he’d just have to be on his toes, and treat everyone with suspicion until they could root out any moles.

He returned his attention to the Jedi, who had cleared a path far down the corridor, almost out of sight. He watched, pursing his lips as Highwind planted a boot in the chest of one power droid, pivoting mid-air to slice the head off another with one of her lightsabers. The smart move would be to suspect even her. She had been far too curious for his tastes, constantly pressing him for details he'd made abundantly clear he wasn't willing to share.

Despite the briefness of their two encounters, he thought he'd gotten a pretty good read on her. While that kind of earnestness and innocence could be faked, something about her demeanor seemed... genuine. As much as he hated to admit that.

Still. He'd keep an eye on her.

He started back down the corridor with intent on joining the fray, but a loud whining pulled him up short. 

An Imperial boarding pod burst through the hull moments later, nearly skewering him in the process. He stumbled backward, barely maintaining his balance as the durasteel plates that formed the pod’s nose separated with a clang, blocking the entire corridor. He was unable to see beyond the bulk of the pod, but could hear several battle droids exit. A slight hiss of air escaped as a force field shimmered around the gaps in the hull the pod had created.

Theron straightened his jacket as he glared at the pod blocking his path, as if it alone were the source of all of his problems right now. The durasteel plating of the damn thing was just as strong or stronger than the hull of any starship. Even if he could cut through it, the force field was the only thing standing between him (and the rest of the passenger deck) and the vacuum of space. Since explosive decompression wasn't on his to-do list for today, he abandoned that train of thought.

With his way forward blocked, Highwind and her astromech would have to deal with the droids on their own. And now Theron was going to need find another way to the bridge.

"It always has to be complicated, doesn't it?" he muttered to himself. 

He would not ask how much more complicated this trip was going to get. He was pretty sure whatever forces (or the Force) conspiring against him would take that as a challenge.

He gave the damn pod one last glower for good measure, before back to search along the wall. Behind him, M-6 let out a confused beep.

"Find an access port and get me a schematic of this ship," he replied absently.

Another questioning beep and whistle.

"I'm finding an alternate route." Finding what he was looking for, Theron pulled out a hydrospanner and dropped to his knees as he started to work at the large vent. "I've got a feeling this ductwork wasn't built with astromechs in mind."

M-6 let out a sardonic beep as a message appeared in the HUD overlay of Theron's optical implant: Ductwork = not built for SIS agents

"You mean for humans. Some species can fit into almost any space. But I'll make it work."

The resounding beep didn't have an air of confidence in that statement. Sure, there were a million things that could go wrong with this plan, but Theron was going to do this his way, the same way he always did. It hadn't failed him up to this point, so why stop?

"I still need that access port. I'm pretty sure the ship's security system is too preoccupied with actual intruders to notice us taking a little peek ourselves."

The astromech whirred, beeping at him in annoyance once more, before starting off down the corridor, presumably in search of said port. With a little elbow grease, the vent came free, and Theron let out a sigh as he looked into the cramped darkness awaiting him.

"It'll be fine," he muttered to himself. "I've dealt with tighter fits."

He took one last look down the smoke-filled hallway before pulling himself into the air duct. The vent was cramped and smelled faintly of grease, and it was very obviously not designed as a path of travel. Theron shimmied through the duct, kicking off the metal walls with his feet as he moved forward while using his arms to pull himself along. Part of him wondered whether he appeared more like a graceful Selkath swimming through the oceans of Manaan — or more like a fish out of water.

He attempted to make as little noise as possible, but between his groans of effort and the sound of his boots clanging against the surrounding metal, this was probably not the stealthy strategy he had in mind. His forward motion was occasionally stopped as the path ascended upwards, and moving forward required considerable wriggling and contorting. He had just reached the first intersection in the ductwork when a beeping from the cybernetic implant in his ear indicated an incoming call from M-6.

"Just in time," he told the droid.

His astromech had a rebuttal to that statement, as reflected by the irritated beeping in his ear, but despite the droid’s grumbling, the HUD in his optical implant blazed to life, superimposing a map of the Esseles’ ventilation system over his field of vision.

"Good job."

An irritated beep was his only reply, but it sounded like M-6's typical exasperation when Theron went off script. Nothing that indicated any trouble on the droid's end, or any difficulties with bypassing the ship's security systems.

"Now let's see if we can't get me to the bridge, shall we?"

With the aid of a map, this would go a lot quicker. Taking the left path in the junction, he continued his crawl as the rapid pew pew of blaster fire echoed from the corridor beyond up through the vent. It was much slower going than he would have preferred, and he was less than thrilled with the grease and muck of the ship's bowels getting into all the crevices on his favorite jacket. While the sturdy red leatheris would hold up, this trip was going to be hell on his dry cleaning stipend.

As he moved forward, the map updated. M-6 was obviously using more sensors and feeds than just the ventilation system readout. Good droid. The Imperials’ movements were tracked by flashing red dots outside the lines indicating the ductwork, and two white dots in the midst of the horde marked Highwind and her astromech.

"Clever," he muttered, but M-6 just beeped back at him.

As the vent curved around the deck, the occasional grate allowed him to catch a glimpse of the corridors beyond. Despite what seemed like slow progress on his part, he still seemed to be catching up, as he could spy streaks of blaster fire broken up by the occasional blue flash of lightsabers.

The already narrow space tightened, and sweat dripped into Theron’s eyes as he was forced to slide on his belly. The only saving grace of his stupid plan was that the vents were a relatively straight shot compared to the corridors that his Jedi counterpart had to fight through. Small blessings. Maybe he would beat her somewhere this time.

He was approaching the final turn before entering the crawlspace above the lift that would lead to the bridge when he noticed a flash of golden hair from the grate that led out onto the deck. 

The initial annoyance at Highwind nearly catching up and overtaking his painstaking progress was quelled as he watched through the grate’s wide slats. As she whirled around, her ponytail whipped along with the movement, splaying out in a golden halo as she dramatically plunged her twin blades into two more battle droids. He blinked more perspiration from his eyes, barely able to make out the path of carnage she had left in her wake. If nothing else, the damn Jedi could fight.

Definitely one to keep an eye on.

A flash further down the corridor drew his attention, and from his high vantage point inside the vent, he saw a red laser dot dancing on the Jedi’s back. Theron didn't think, he just reacted. It took a precious second to fumble in the confined space of the duct to pull one of his blasters. Then an extra second to shield his face as he blasted away the grate blocking his shot.

For anyone else, the sudden pounding red in his vision, or the breath catching unexpectedly in his chest, would have thrown off his aim. Luckily, the targeting software of the implant in his left eye performed all the calculations for him and determined the sniper’s origin. He could feel his arm adjust minutely as implant adjusted his aim, and his second shot found its mark. A heavy clang rang out as the droid collapsed, a blaster bolt scorching the chest plate of the ersatz sniper.

The caught breath released just as Highwind whirled back around to the find the source of the noise, confusion across her face as she looked around the ground level, before finally glancing up at the air vent.

His exit from the shaft was less smooth and graceful than he would have liked, as he nearly face planted on the deck. But miraculously, he still managed to land on his feet and shove his blaster back in its holster, steadfastly ignoring Highwind's scrutiny. 

He made a show of straightening out his jacket, smoothing a hand through his hair as he got his pounding heart back under control, before shooting an irritated glance at her upraised brows. There was a curious warmth in her expression that he couldn’t decipher. 

"What?"

"Nice shooting, Sparky."

"My name isn't Sparky," he snapped. "And you're welcome."

He was torn between a variety of conflicting emotions warring inside his chest, but opted for anger as it was always the easiest one for him to grasp onto. Her lip twitched, upraised brows dropping into a frown, almost as if she was dealing with something similar. But he refused to indulge in that speculation any further, firmly pulling his annoyance to bear as a shield.

"So, should I bother asking why exactly were you in the ventilation shafts?"

"It was the only place that was free of annoying Jedi," he sneered.

She considered that, glancing back to the piles of battle droids that had fallen to her lightsaber, before turning to Theron with a shrug. "I suppose that is one way to get around."

"What can I say," his tone was laced with sarcasm, "I like the scenic route."

"I am surprised there is that much to see inside the vents."

"Don't knock it until you try it."

As he stepped in further, closing the gap between them, she wrinkled her nose. "Why do you smell like you bathed in a distillery?"

Theron groaned and scrubbed furiously at his shirt. "That is not relevant."

"It is if you are such a remarkable shot while inebriated."

"I'm not--" he sputtered. "The Imperial's little surprise spilled what would have been my whiskey everywhere, including my shirt."

The small smile that returned to her face was vexing. Not only was he not winning whatever this ridiculous competition that they had going, but he had the distinct impression he was being condescended to. That was more like the Jedi he was used to.

"They owe me a drink," he spat.

"I do not think they are in a habit of reimbursing alcohol expenses."

He crossed his arms. "Well, there's always a first time for everything."

He expected her to quirk a brow at him again in response, but she was looking past him now. "Where is M-6? Is he all right?"

That she remembered the name of his droid, as well as the genuine concern in her tone, threw Theron for another loop. Maybe the woman had an unusual fondness for astromechs? A peevish beeping in his ear informed Theron that M-6 had been listening to the entire exchange, and that there was also no access to the bridge from the corridor that the droid had been left in.

"He's fine," he said flatly. "He likes taking the long way."

Theron ignored the crude pictograph that replaced the map of the ventilation system. The quirked eyebrow that he’d been expecting finally appeared, although he didn't know if it was in regards to his sarcasm, or if something from his expression showed the silent conversation between spy and droid. And if he were being honest, he didn't really care.

"I am headed to the bridge. If you are headed in that direction as well, might I suggest taking this lift here? I believe it is much more direct than crawling through the elevator shaft." She stepped into the open lift before tossing a look at him over her shoulder. "YYou will have to contend with a Jedi on it, though."

Her T7 unit gave a cheerful whistle as it joined her and she gave him another one of those enigmatic half-smiles, as well as a little shrug of her shoulders. A curious feeling bubbled up in his stomach that he wasn't completely able to smother down, no matter how much annoyance he attempted to summon.

"I guess we all have to make sacrifices if we're going to get out of this alive," he muttered, and stepped on to the lift with her.

If it wasn't obvious before, now Theron was sure of it.

The Force was definitely laughing at him.

Next Chapter

[schnedoop]

Servitude (Kaeya x Reader)

SUMMARY: You were just so sweet, so diligent, so noble. Too noble, if Kaeya’s honest. He’s glad that he was the first one to take advantage of it.

WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon

TAGS: cockwarming, PIV penetration, manipulation, abuse of power, asshole Kaeya

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

Kaeya can’t help but think that you would have made an amazing knight.

You were born with all the qualities needed for the job: a quick wit, a reassuring demeanor, a natural respect for the Anemo Archon, and a blinding devotion to serving the people of Mondstadt to top it all off. Inside you seemed to be a fierce combination of Diluc, Jean, Varka—and Kaeya can’t deny that, in your early training days, he sometimes saw himself in your unfailing persistence—and you seemed to carry everyone's best traits only, all weaknesses of character cast to the side.

Yes, the man muses, continuing to write his report. An amazing knight indeed. 

He still remembers how popular you were during your training years. Captains and soldiers alike stepped away from their taverns to spend their free time watching you, someone they all imagined to be the future of the Ordo, the next grandmaster, someone even Jean couldn’t hide her favoritism for.

Kaeya can’t say he blames any of them. He was always among the spectators, of course, watching you train, eavesdropping on your conversations in the mess hall, taking stalker-like measures to decode the enigma that was you.

In the beginning, it was out of wariness.

Kaeya was disinclined to believe that anyone could be so perfect, so pure. He assumed that you were putting up a facade, that the way you always took the long way home to help any citizens who crossed your path was nothing but a vicious scheme to gain Mondstadt’s trust so you could betray it—but soon, he learned that it wasn’t a lie. That you truly were this good a person. That your blinding naivety was natural, and not even a little feigned.

That was around when Kaeya began to watch over you, not as a potential threat, but as a subject of interest.

He found that everything about you was sincere. That you were one of the only knights who wouldn’t lie about their numbers for the bi-annual physical evaluations, who would spend their free time scouting out hillichurl camps and anonymously reporting them, who would wake up early to get extra training in, who would do anything and everything you could think of to better equip you to serve Mondstadt.

Kaeya found it endearing. You were so sweet, so diligent, so noble.

Too noble, if Kaeya’s honest. 

He’s glad that he was the first one to take advantage of it.

It started off with a casual comment during training. Your instructor was on bedrest after getting ambushed by some Electro slimes while swimming in a lake, so Kaeya had been asked to fill in. He paced down the line of your fellow soldiers-in-training slowly, offering loud compliments and gentle corrections to everyone he walked past, only for him to come to a halt at you.

“Come on, I’m sure you can do better than that. Training is no joke, cadet. Please take this seriously.”

You practically froze when he said that to you. 

His words were whispered, hushed low into your ear as if Kaeya didn’t want to embarrass you by chastizing you publicly, as if Kaeya was still the amicable Cavalry Captain everyone knew him to be, as if his criticism of you was genuine and wasn’t a stupid lie to make you question yourself.

It took all of Kaeya’s self-restraint to keep his expression neutral as he moved on. No doubt, it was the first time anyone had ever spoken to you as if you were failing to meet expectations instead of surpassing them—and Kaeya half-expected you to protest, to argue that you were doing a better job than everyone else in the room. 

He was pleasantly surprised when you mumbled an even more determined “Yes sir,” before continuing. 

A perfect soldier indeed. 

After that, you seemed determined to impress Kaeya. He could see the hierarchy in your mind: the fact that, although Jean was higher in authority, her praise meant less to you than Kaeya’s because he was the only one to not be impressed.

After you set your sights on impressing him, it was all over for you.

Crushing your spirit was an easy feat for Kaeya. You were a brilliant soldier, probably the strongest recruit the Ordo has had since Diluc, but you were nothing exceptional when it came to mind games. The occasional “do you need a break, cadet?” and the more often “there’s no shame in admitting weakness, solder” began to wear into you. Whereas before you responded to his every criticism with a fierce determination to do better, Kaeya could sense the change when you began to think your efforts futile, when you began to feel like the Cavalry Captain you so wanted to impress would, seemingly, never find you as exceptional as everyone else did. 

Kaeya still remembers the devastated look on your face when you barged into his office at midnight on the eve of your official recruitment into the Ordo.

“What do I have to do?!” you blurted, hands balled in fists. “What do I have to do to make you think I deserve to be a knight?!”

Kaeya recalls how surprised he’d been at that. He stared at you, that night, with genuine shock at your outburst. 

Before, he assumed that your attempts to impress him had merely been out of a selfish desire to earn the praise of everyone around you. Yet, there you stood, cute little tears building in your eyes as you revealed that the true reason was that you felt bad joining the knights without his approval, as if Kaeya was some benchmark that you needed to pass.

Very well, the knight remembers thinking. With your official graduation from soldier-in-training to soldier, Kaeya had been prepared to release the possessive grip he had around you...but when you presented him with such an obvious opportunity to take what he wanted, who was he to resist?

“It’s not anything you can change, cadet. Some people are meant to be soldiers. Some people aren’t. I already know which kind you are, but it doesn’t matter.” 

Every word Kaeya said had been carefully placed. He phrased his response in a perfect way, all to prompt the inevitable question from your soft, sweet lips:

“A-and which kind am I?”

“Which kind of what?” Kaeya asked, pretending as if he was barely giving this conversation any thought. He brought his eyes down to the map that he was detailing, pretending to continue working on it. 

“Wh-which kind of knight do you think I am?”

Kaeya remembers how hard it had been to stop a vicious smile from spreading across his face.

“You don’t want to know, cadet.”

“I do, Captain! I really do! Y-your opinion matters to me!”

“Oh?” That had been the first time Kaeya placed his quill down. “So if I tell you that I don’t think you’re ready to be a knight, you’ll heed my advice?”

“Well…” 

Your sheepish expression had been almost too much to bear. 

“If you came here to ask for my opinion just to ignore it, I’d advise going elsewhere. Please don't waste my time. The Ordo will spend enough resources trying to turn you into a half-decent knight, so don’t disregard all of that by—”

“Why?” you practically sobbed. You’d come forward and placed your palms flat against the surface of Kaeya’s desk, a pose that would have been wholly intimidating if not for the tears building in your eyes. “Why don’t you think I’ll make a good knight? Why won’t I—” you’d broken off to wipe away the tears that had begun to spill. “Why won’t I be able to help the Knights of Favonius?”

Instantly, Kaeya had risen and walked over you to wrap you in his arms. 

You were confused, no doubt, because the captain had been anything but kind to you in your previous interactions, but you openly sobbed into Kaeya’s chest, gripping the fabric of his jacket weakly. 

“I j-just want to help—I just want to m-m-make Mondstadt safer—I j-just—just want—”

“Of course you can help,” Kaeya whispered gently into your ear, wiping your tears away. “You’d be an invaluable resource to the city. It’s just that serving as a knight would be useless when you could be so much more useful.”

That stole your attention.

Instantly, you looked up at Kaeya with hopeful eyes.

“R-really? You think I can...actually help?”

Kaeya remembers how even he had been unable to stop the cruel smile from spreading across his face when he realized that you genuinely believed his words all this time: thinking yourself lesser, weaker, inferior to your fellow cadets. 

“Of course you can,” Kaeya whispered into your ear, gentle as the setting sun. 

And in this way, he managed to persuade you in a single night to abandon your dreams of becoming a soldier. Easily, he made you understand that such a thing was futile. Soldiers were expendable, and when Kaeya asked you if you thought you were expendable, you shook your head like a good girl and said you wanted to be alive to protect Mondstadt, not a dead body that could do nothing.

Still, you would have made an amazing knight. 

Would have, but not anymore.

You were born with all the qualities you needed for the job—but one by one, Kaeya’s replaced them with smarter, more reasonable goals. Your once-quick wit has been refocused on pleasing Kaeya, on figuring out whether he’d rather hear “yes, sir” or “thank you, sir” based on the question he poses you with. The calm, reassuring demeanor that once drew people into you is now nonexistent, completely replaced with something more obedient. The respect you used to allot the Anemo Archon has been redirected onto Kaeya: because what has Barbatos actually done for you? Kaeya is the one who’s given you a home, a purpose—it’s him that you pray to every day when you get on your knees.

The one thing that has remained constant is the devotion you carry for the people of Mondstadt: but that, too, has shifted.

Where you once wished to serve your people by protecting them on the front lines, you now understand that your purpose is to personally aid the superiors who already know how to do the job, to make Kaeya happier so that he can protect the nation for you. 

It was hard, at first.

But your mind is pliant, now, moldable and malleable as Kaeya wraps a hand around your naked hip to halt your grinding.

“Now, now,” he chides, kissing your shoulder as he continues to write his report. “None of that. I’ll fuck you nice and good after I’m done with this, so don’t distract me.”

“But—but sir,” you whine, wriggling your hips gently on top of Kaeya as if hoping that it’ll convince him to forgo the report and fuck you now. 

Internally, Kaeya appreciates how well you’ve acclimated to your new life. Externally, he clicks his tongue and lays a slap against your bare bottom, ignoring your delighted giggle.

“Be a good girl and let me focus. These are important documents, okay? You being here only helps me work if you’re not trying to distract me. Or do you not want to help Mondstadt out after all?”

That line always works, and you instinctively coil in on yourself, ashamed as you halt your playful teasing and rest your head on Kaeya’s shoulder. 

“I—I want to help Mondstadt…”

“I thought so. So be a good girl and keep my cock warm until I’m done.”

And you do a good job of it. Oh, you do such a good job, your little cunt clenching down on Kaeya the whole time as he proofreads his report once, then twice (and then thrice, though that’s more to torture you than it is to actually check for mistakes)—and when Kaeya finally tucks his report inside an envelope, sealing it with the crest of the Cavalry Captain, he knows you deserve a reward.

“Good girl,” he coos, slipping his gloves off to massage the soft flesh of your ass with his bare hands. “How did that feel? What do you want me to do to you?”

“Felt good,” you whisper, and Kaeya loves the shudder that runs down your spine when he drags a finger to circle at your clit. “P-please, Sir. Want more. I-if you have time. If you're busy with your captain duties...I can w-wait. But if not. Please.”

So cute, Kaeya thinks, loving how even now, months after you’ve been isolated from the world, you still cling to the naive hope that somehow, being Kaeya’s private slut is contributing to the prosperity of Mondstadt. Not that it’s something Kaeya will ever correct. He can keep you here for as long as you believe you want to be here, so he won’t do anything to jeopardize your innocent naivety. 

“Hmm, you’re going to be more specific than that, sweetheart. What do you want more of?”

“You, Sir,” you gasp, rolling your hips down on Kaeya’s cock to enunciate your point. “Wanna get fucked. Pretty please.”

“Oh?” Kaeya chuckles, lifting you up and laying you down on his desk, not caring about the paperwork your body is sprawled over because goddamn, you look hot like this, tits exposed, face flushed, pupils dilated, like the only thing you can think about is Kaeya’s cock and how bad you want it.

“You don’t want anything else?”

Normally, this is the part where you deliver a mumble about Mondstadt and how you want prosperity for the nation. Those comments have been getting more and more halfhearted recently, overshadowed by your larger desire for the overwhelming pleasure that Kaeya, and today—

Today, you forget about your so-called love for Mondstadt altogether.

“No,” you babble, wrapping your legs around Kaeya’s hips, desperately trying to tempt him into fucking into you. “No, Sir, don’t want anything but you so please, please, please—”

A breathy laugh falls from Kaeya’s lips as he leans over to press a quick kiss to your forehead. 

“Of course, sweetheart.” His hands find your hips, slender fingers digging in to grip them with bruising force as he prepares to wreck you from the inside. “I’ll always give you what you want.”

[pocket-luv101]

Lightning and Thunder || Vigilante AU

Fandom: Servamp Ship: Jekuni (Fem Mikuni)

Summary: Mikuni is the leader of the vigilantes. She decides to turn herself into C3 for the chance to speak with JeJe who is locked in their prison. (Jekuni, Fem Mikuni, Vigilante AU)

The Sun and The Moon || The Sky and The Sea || The Wallflower and The Mountain || (Lightning and Thunder)

“You’re an awful roommate, JeJe. I know you’re the silent type but you should be able to maintain a conversation. Won’t you answer me at least?” Mikuni asked the man in the jail cell across from hers. She sat on the steel bed and swung her legs. Her behaviour was so casual that others would think that she was merely sitting at a bus bench if they saw her.

Mikuni and JeJe were imprisoned in C3’s headquarters.

JeJe had been trapped in the underground prison for years with only his thoughts for company. The cell was designed to contain powerful mythical creatures who C3 called monsters. He was the only one placed in the lower level. Then, the guards brought Mikuni to the prison and locked her in the cell across from his. She didn’t appear dangerous but he knew that it was impossible to judge a person from a glance.

While she was a mystery to him, she seemed to know a lot about him. Mikuni had called him by his name even before he introduced himself. She continued to surprise him with her knowledge. “You grew up in France. Is that the reason you like pumpkin soup? It gives you a taste of home. That phase is a cliché but I understand the sentiment. Do you think they’ll cook us pumpkin soup if we order it?”

Once again, he didn’t respond to her. JeJe’s family had been targeted for their powers and he couldn’t help but feel a little wary of Mikuni. He doubted she simply wanted to know about his childhood in France. He didn’t know what she could want from him since they were both trapped by C3. It was nearly impossible for them to escape.

Mikuni wore a beautiful smile but he could see cunning and intelligence dancing in her brown eyes. She purposely poked him for a reaction. “It’s a shame you hide your face with those paper bags. Your red eyes are beautiful. If you’re insecure about a scar or something, you don’t need to be that way with me. I won’t be scared if you show me your scars.”

“My eyes aren’t red.” He said and he pulled his paper bag lower over his face. “You must’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

“So, you can talk. You wouldn’t talk to me for days and I was beginning to think that you lost your voice. I like your voice.” Mikuni grinned at him and he realized that he fell into her trap. She pushed herself off the bed and walked to the bars between them. She didn’t touch the bars because she knew they would’ve electrocuted her. She tilted her head at JeJe and repeated his name: “JeJe, third eldest of the Servamps and Punisher of the Doubtful. You never answered my pumpkin soup question.”

JeJe tried to deny who he was again but she merely rebutted him. “If you want to prove me wrong, you can break open your cell door, walk to me and show me your eyes. Red eyes are rare compared to other colours like brown or green. If you’re not from the Servamp family, it’s likely your eyes aren’t red. Prove me wrong, JeJe.”

“I can’t leave my cell and show you my eyes.” He doubted he could evade her questions any further and he thought it was better to play her game. JeJe didn’t know what her goal was but he couldn’t lose anything from speaking with her. He was also a little curious about who she was. “You know my name but I don’t know yours.”

“I would love to tell you my name when people aren’t listening to us. C3 was able to capture you by discovering your identity and family. I can’t let that happen.” Mikuni nodded towards the security camera in the corner of the room. “Eavesdropping will be the least of their crimes. They didn’t have the decency to give us a larger room.”

She stepped back from the prison bars and sat on the concrete ground. Griffon wings burst from her back and she flapped them a few times. Several items fell to the ground but her large wings blocked them from the camera. JeJe couldn’t see anything she would be able to use to escape. “I knew it would be boring in C3 so I bought things to pass the time. Do you want a book? I have several.”

“You shouldn’t act so relaxed and casual in our situation. C3 has us captured on the lowest floor. They don’t care for mythical creatures like us.” He warned her. In response, she slid a book across the hall and it stopped at his feet. “I’ve heard the guards gossiping about you and how you’re the leader of the vigilantes. They’ll interrogate you for information soon.”

“Are you worried about me? That’s sweet, JeJe.” Mikuni’s smile never faltered as she combed her fingers through her feathers. “I turned myself in willingly. C3 may be arrogant but they’re not stupid. They know the only reason they can hold me here is because I’m cooperating. For the moment at least. I won’t give them information about the vigilantes I work with.”

“They’re probably searching for a way to force you to tell them about the vigilantes.” He was shocked to hear that she let herself be captured by C3. JeJe didn’t know why she would do so or what she had planned. “You shouldn’t underestimate C3. They’re ruthless.”

“C3 and I have that in common.” She shrugged in response. He couldn’t read her hard, brown eyes as she continued to say: “Gossip travels even to the lowest level of the prison. I overheard the guards say that this could be their only chance to interrogate me because I’ll take the opportunity to escape. They’re searching for the best way to force me to give them information. Until then, I can talk with you.”

“I don’t think I’m that interesting so you’ll be bored while you’re here.” JeJe picked up the book she slid to him. He flipped open the hardcover and his eyes fell onto the name printed neatly on the page, Mikuni. He didn’t know if it was truly her name and she didn’t seem like the type to carelessly give him information with C3 watching them.

“We don’t know how long we’ll be trapped here together. It’ll be awkward if I address you by ‘you’ all the time. Can I call you by a nickname?” He asked. His eyes fell onto the single loose braid she wore over her shoulder. “Rapunzel?”

“As long as you save me from this tower, JeJe.” She changed the pitch of her voice and laughed at her own exaggerated performance. He found himself smiling at her joke beneath his paper bag. They both knew that she could easily escape by herself.

Mikuni had brought a glass chessboard into the prison and they would play together often. He knew how to play chess and he would occasionally play with his brother but he was indifferent to the game. She seemed to enjoy it because she would ask him to play every day. He hadn’t been able to defeat her a single time yet he enjoyed playing with her.

“Knight to B3.” With the bars between them, he would tell her where to move the pawns. “Wait, I meant my other knight. That knight can’t even move to that space. You know that.”

“Look at that, your king is wide open now!” Mikuni stuck out her tongue at him. She teased him for a moment and then placed the knight back into its previous location. She looked over the board and hummed lightly. “You’re playing more aggressive than usual but you can’t commit to that strategy. A strategy where no one will be hurt… It doesn’t exist.”

“I know.” His voice was a small whisper but the silence carried it to her cell. In response, Mikuni moved her bishop to a free space and it was an obvious bait for his queen. Her strategy was often unpredictable and ruthless but he became better at predicting her next move. JeJe knew the type of person she was as the leader of the vigilante and a chess player. He was curious about who she was as a person.

“What’s your next move?” Mikuni’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

Instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own. “Why did you start the vigilante group?”

“I can give you the selfless hero answer that I want to protect mythical creatures from C3. There’s also the tragic backstory explanation of how C3 hurt my family and I want revenge. My favourite explanation to give people is that I’m a double agent for C3.” Mikuni’s practised smile didn’t give him a hint on what the truth could be. “I find it’s best for people to make assumptions of my motivations.”

“C3 has already discovered who you are and why you became a vigilante.” A third voice came between them. Mikuni circled her large wings around herself and the chessboard to hide it. The C3 member walked in front of her cell with a cart of food. Mikuni cursed how careless she was. She would watch the time to know when C3 would deliver their meals but she became absorbed in the game with JeJe.

She tucked the chessboard into her feathers and stood to take the tray of food from the man. Mikuni pressed a smile onto her face. She learned that it was best if people thought she was childish and eccentric. Her expression didn’t father when the man rattled the tray of food against the metal bars. Sparks of electricity fell onto the ground at her feet. The bars were designed to electrocute anyone who touched it and she knew his actions were to intimidate her.

“We found your identity, Mikuni Alicein. You changed your appearance and tried to delete your family history. C3 will also find the other vigilantes who work for you.” He taunted her. She didn’t outwardly react to his words but JeJe knew she must’ve been scared for her friends. “Your mother is a part of C3. You started your little vigilante group to get your mother’s attention.”

Without a word, Mikuni wrapped her hand around the metal bar. Electricity travelled through her body but she didn’t react to the pain. She redirected the lightning from her body and into the system controlling the bar. The lights above them burned brighter as her power began to overwhelm the system. The man took out his gun to stop her and she merely grinned at him.

“I came to find someone. They know I’m here but they’re not going to speak with me. There’s no reason for me to stay.” She lied. The lightbulbs exploded, raining sparks over them, and then the prison was pitched into darkness. The emergency lights quickly came on again but Mikuni was already gone.

JeJe stared at the empty cell in front of him. The only thing Mikuni had left behind was the chess set and the game they hadn’t finished. The hall was illuminated by a dull red glow from the emergency lights. He tilted his head back and listened to the sound of frantic footsteps through the roof. C3 was searching the building for Mikuni but it was difficult after she destroyed the power generator. “They’re going to lockdown the building as soon as the power is back on. You should run away while you still can.”

“I can say the same thing to you, JeJe.” Mikuni said. They sat with their backs to each other and he felt her heat against his body. They weren’t facing each other but JeJe could picture the confident smile she often wore. “They won’t look for me here. With the power out, C3 can’t spy on us with the cameras anymore. The backup generator is only linked to essential things like the lights and locks.”

“You lied to that man so he would tell the directors that you’re here for your mother.” He had only spent a short amount of time with her but he learned when she would lie to others. “Why did you turn yourself into C3? Why are you still here?”

“I like your hair. It was the first thing I noticed about you the night I was brought down here. Can I brush it?” She felt him shift behind her and she guessed that he had nodded. Mikuni turned around and combed her fingers through his dark hair. “You called me Rapunzel but my hair isn’t as long as my baby sister’s. I would brush her hair every night and talk. Those were simple times.”

Mikuni’s words trailed off as the memories returned to her. She leaned forward and she rested her forehead against his strong back. “I would brush her hair and she would brush my feathers. Mother hated my wings but my sister admired them. I wish I told Misono why we had to keep our wings a secret from mother. She was a director in C3 and Father never told her about his heritage.”

He didn’t know what she went through but he could hear the pain in her voice. “I know how painful it is to not be accepted by your family.”

“The Servamps haven’t abandoned you. Your brother, Snow Lily, begged me to save you. I would never take the risk to break into C3 to save one man but I was moved by Lily’s words. He really cares about you.” She said and let his hand slip from her fingers. Mikuni stood and walked around JeJe until they were facing. “The reason I started my vigilante group was to protect my baby sister. Now, I run it so families won’t be separated because of C3. Let’s go back to your family. So, Rapunzel JeJe, will you break out of this prison with me?”

“You’ve already decided that for us, haven’t you?” JeJe said and placed his hand in the one Mikuni held out to him.

[omgkalyppso]

for the fe3h asks, 32. Favourite teatime? and 40. Who would you like to see Judith or Nader have supports with?

Thank youuu!

32. My favorite tea time is Claude.

Love and a cough. cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.

Idk. There’s something to be able to see the character accused of constantly lying blushing. Blushing isn’t love, but it’s on the list of things you can’t conceal. I like seeing him happy.

But shout out to Flayn. I loved how often I got to choose: Fish and the sea… AND so many of her Final Conversations would be good little ficlets and one shots:

"I desire to see the ocean again–it is difficult being so far away from it"

"Have you any idea how many types of fish there are? It is unthinkable–their different sizes, shapes, colors… I find it fascinating!"

"Whenever I look at you, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. I wonder why that is."

"I have a fear of sleeping. I worry that I will awake, and everyone I know and love will have vanished."

40. OH! Fun. And uh. LONG. Forgive me. I could have just kept going. But I needed to stop myself at 3 because. Long.

Judith

Claude. She may not be his aunt as I’ve written in my fic, but I think a good C support would still be him asking after his family, trying to figure out what stories shared by his mother or read in histories are true or embellished. Leading to a B support of him asking why his uncle had no proper heir (during training. lets get a few taunts out of Judith here), and whether her own life was less lonely now that she had him to worry about. An A Support could address a little more of the Almyran v Fodlan conflict, and her rage at him involving Nader, to try and make her a little more sympathetic. An A+ Support could trigger just before Enbarr, with apologies and expressions of pride, declarations of allegiance, and confessions of worry.

Ingrid. C support, Judith walks in on Ingrid, head in her hand, reading a letter. “Uh-oh, I know that look.” Judith can presume heartbreak and Ingrid can confess the letter is from her father, and Judith can shrug sadly “Different kind of heartbreak then.” And ask if she wants to talk about it. Cue Ingrid’s usual spiel. Perhaps a reveal of why Galatea is in the Kingdom and not the Alliance, why they were granted this piece of unfertile land. Apologies from a powerless position of family drama. B support, Ingrid decides that she doesn’t forgive Judith, but that’s fine because she can fix things, whether by marriage or becoming a knight. Judith seems unoffended, and challenges Ingrid to a duel. A support can start with Judith observing that Ingrid’s done well with her strength and her prospects, she may have rejected those suitors long ago, but she’s seen how Ingrid lights up when certain members in their company are around. Ingrid can claim that marriage is the farthest thing from her mind while the war goes on, but then observes that Judith has never married, and Judith can assure her that she needn’t. That whether you were promised to someone, or whether you’ve chosen them, all relationships can end unexpectedly, and if who you have to rely on is yourself, and your friends, then there’s no shame in that. And that she hopes Ingrid can rely on her regardless of the path she chooses.

Manuela. C Support is also drinking but Judith thinks it’s a date until she arrives and Manuela thinks she can look more alluring than the soldier by her side while looking at the soldier boys. Judith and Manuela could totally pull off a version of the bandage me up while fondly calling me rash and foolhardy until we accidentally make eye contact for a little too long trope for a B support. A Support, Manuela can observe she didn’t think she’d ever see Judith again after the war began, Judith can agree, and can ask after how Manuela’s doing, as the only people who look more weary than healers during war are the dying. Manuela can insist she’s fine, and that maybe when everything is over, she’ll even find a reason to sing again, because she’s uncertain whether she could stay here any longer, in Garreg Mach, where the world fell and now the students she taught sought to kill each other. (Assuming Judith is only available in VW) “I was supposed to be something of a mentor to the Flame Emperor, you know? I don’t think it would be appropriate to try my hand at teaching again.” And Judith can offer her a place to start again. “That might be nice.”

Nader

Claude. For C Support, we start with Claude either making small concentration noises or humming (perhaps an Annette song). “What do you think you’re doing?!” Shattering glass and perhaps sizzling noises. Claude complains about Nader keeping it down, and speaks loud and awkward for anyone eavesdropping some excuse related to the organization of house Riegan. Saying more quietly afterwards that it’s a harmless poison. Nader is grim about the contradiction, and Claude is insistent that it wouldn’t kill anybody, just slow their heart for a day or so, for easy transportation, or for the sake of hiding. He knows how it is. Nader can grab Claude by his collar and insist that while he might think he’s smart with his number of contingencies, he’s being wasteful of his youth if he’s thinking of poisoning himself for the sake of hiding - and it’s time to train. B Support can take place after Flayn’s disappearance and can have a mini montage of Claude in the library, Nader in the background; Claude in a classroom, Nader in the background; Claude in a hall, Nader in the background. Until we get to the dining hall, where Claude sighs and asks that unless Nader has business with him, can he please sit somewhere else? Nader can pretend to ignore him and say some rude things about bland boiled vegetables, and follow up with something about how, while it was strange that the Death Knight focused upon young ladies, there was something to be said about blood and magic and Crests here in Fodlan, and he would be irresponsible to not watch over Claude more closely for the coming weeks. Claude can point out that no other student has to suffer this, and that he knows better than any of them how to outrun a threat. Nader would concede, and it would be terse. A comment that he’d have been Nardel up to this, and instead we could just have “Oh you remember Nardel” in his cutscene instead, and Nader is just . trying to remember what it felt like to go by another name. Their A Support, hm. I guess it would come after Merceus, and we just wouldn’t have Judith shooing him away. “You didn’t tell them?” Nader is surprised, concerned. “You saw how they reacted.” Claude is nonchalant, hurt but recalculating his expectations. “I saw how you organized a victory at Merceus, how your enemies had to bring down the sky to stop us. Your allies are neither weak nor cowardly, but I still hesitate to call them warriors. If they can neither feel the bond of battle nor in breaking bread, then they will never be friends of yours. You had me bring soldiers halfway around the world to die for these people-” “The troubles in Fodlan won’t be contained here if the-” “What makes you say that? They always have been, before.” “I am proof that they’re not, Nader. Me. Look at me. Their conflicts reached Almyra decades ago. You know I’m not the only victim.” “I would not call you a victim.” “Heh. Slip of the tongue.” “For better or worse then. There are people loyal to you, and I will always march ahead of them. May our victories bring peace.” “Thank you. I’ll bring us home. I’ve always intended to bring us home, it’s just that this war has...” “I know, kiddo. I know.”

Seteth. C Support, an interview in Seteth’s office. Seteth, “I’m surprised House Riegan speaks so highly of a retainer of Almyran-descent. But I can find no reason to fault you, or withhold you your duties. You will have as much reign of the Academy as the students, though you may find yourself more highly scrutinized by the guards.” Nader, nodding, “Prudent.” “You seem amused. Have I said something untoward?” Nader, chuckling, “Not at all. If anything you’re amazingly polite. I’d been half prepared to be turned around at the gates.” “I could still arrange for your removal, but there have been ... stranger admittances to the Academy as of late.” “Ah! You’re speaking of your latest professor-?” “I will not gossip.” “Of course. Too polite.” Forehead vein bulging Seteth, “The kindness of the Goddess is to be emulated. Gossip is rarely kind, whether it is polite is irrelevant.” B Support, in the stables Nader asks how old Seteth was when he learned to ride a wyvern. Seteth says he was a young man, that it feels like an age ago. Nader expresses the same, that it is a coming of age in Almyra. He asks the name of Seteth’s wyvern, who introduces a beast but is very clear that he does not own one, that they belong to the Church, which Nader finds rather sad. Seteth assures him that it is no bother, that the Church has meant much to him since his wife’s passing, and that if all the Church has given him and Flayn has a price, he will pay it a thousand times over. Nader will comment that watching over a child or sibling can make you feel grateful for water, when all are worthy to it, and that Seteth shouldn’t lose sight of this. That the students will face challenges beyond his control, Flayn included, and every helping hand is not a demand for recompense. Seteth will bristle a little, but agree. B+ Support, Nader gives Seteth a little wooden or jade wyvern, pick your poison (I like jade). “What’s this?” “A wyvern, for yourself. To have. To name. To sell, if you’d rather. It just felt ... appropriate, for you to have one.” When Seteth doesn’t respond for a long time, Nader can apologize, he wasn’t aware of there being a rule in the Church of Seiros about gifts, but if Seteth’s silence is because he can’t find the words to refuse, but Seteth will say no, it’s just unexpected. That it’s a lovely gift and that he’s honored Nader would have given him any thought. Nader says he is learning that trust can be earned off the battlefield as much as on it, and that he’s glad to have friends to think of. Seteth can comment that it was perhaps rude of him not to ask before, and ask for Nader’s wyvern’s name. It can be supplied and attributed to an Almyran constellation. Their A Support, after Merceus, in a field at night. They share a bottle of wine and Nader is pointing out the relevant constellation. Seteth agrees that he sees it. Nader says he’s surprised Seteth still came to sit with him, after everything. Seteth confesses that he was surprised to discover that Nader had been going by a fake name ... and that his victories should be a matter of personal conflict, but that he too has killed people in Fodlan, the Goddess’ chosen people, and the saints had yet to strike him down. He drinks, and giggles. “It will be good to meet you, Nader.” “There may be things I cannot tell you, but I should say you know me well enough.” “Well enough for what?” “To call me a friend?” “You know I ... I lost your wyvern. When we fled the monastery, all those years ago. I may not be the most trustworthy of friends.” “Time will tell,” Nader concedes, drinking. He continues, “But for now, I would have you at my back, come ruin and consequence.” “To the present,” Seteth toasts. “To the present.”

Cyril. C Support, Nader asks Cyril where he was taken from? Cyril asks him why it matters. Nader instead asks if there are other Almyrans working in the monastery? Cyril says it’s none of his business. Nader is surprised, and comments upon whatever laborous task they have Cyril performing, and Cyril will reply that he’s strong enough to do his work. Nader says he didn’t mean to suggest otherwise, he was just trying to - but Cyril will cut him off, saying he’s known men like him, he’s lived under men like him, that he might think he can show up and make demands of him just because he’s an Almyran, but that he works for Lady Rhea now, and his time is accounted for, he doesn’t owe Nader anything. Cue some version of Nader being left alone to observe that “that could’ve gone better.” B Support, starts in a black screen with the sound of breaking wood. Cyril is in the training grounds and his last three arrows missed their target. “Your left arm is too low,” Nader observes. Cyril jumps and scowls. “I have a teacher.” Nader raises his hands in surrender, “Then by all means.” The sound of a bow being pulled taut, and then being straightened. Cyril comments, “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” “Is this part of your duties?” “I need to be as prepared to defend Lady Rhea.” A missed shot. “From what?” asks Nader. “From anything,” Cyril answers. “That’s a lot to ask of anyone,” Nader observes. He continues, “But alright. Strong enough to defend one person? That’s a simple goal. It’s not as though you need to be strong enough to defend all of Garreg Mach, all of Fodlan, all of Almyra.” Cyril is catching his breath, “There’s a lot of people in Almyra.” “There is. Do you think they’re all like me?” “No,” Cyril answers, and explains, “no I know ya’ a bit now. There are men worse than you.” Nader chuckles sadly, “That’s true. Why don’t you try again?” “Yeah, alright. And then I should get back to work.” “Back to work?” “I’m supposed to be - err - I still need to clean the fireplace in the back.” Nader steps forward with a sigh. Cyril objects, “Hey what are you-?” “Your arm,” Nader repeats, “it’s too low. I thought it was your posture-” “What else would it be?” “You’re exhausted.” “Am not! I could go for hours yet.” “I don’t think your teacher would appreciate you practicing under these conditions.” Cyril makes the shot. Stares down Nader, walks off muttering, “Shows what you know.” A Support HAS TO FEATURE an apology from Nader that they were unable to defend Lady Rhea. Cyril insists it’s fine, because they’re going to get her back. Nader does not fight him on this point. He compliments what a fine fighter he’s become, and Cyril concedes that Nader’s been honorable too. That it isn’t the will of the Goddess for him to be arguing all the time, and that he shouldn’t have been so quick to distrust him. Nader thanks him, but isn’t smiling about it. He asks Cyril what his goals are for after Lady Rhea returns, and Cyril says he’ll defend her, as he always intended to, so that nothing like this happens ever again. Nader suggests that he consider that, rather than showing his devotion at Garreg Mach, that he could always emulate those virtues he sees in Lady Rhea at the border, where there are people and children like he was, who will need help navigating both Fodlan and Almyra when the war is done, and that he would be glad to support him, if he should ever find himself out that way. Cyril says he’d have to think about it, but that ... he does appreciate what Nader’s trying to do.

[coinofstone]

3x12 The Coming of Arthur pt 1

The title is such low hanging fruit I feel bad cracking a joke about it.

It's a quest episode! I love a quest episode. Srsly feel free to send me any and all Merthur quest fics. I can't get enough 😂

This is the episode responsible for the lovely Leon fanon headcanon that he's immortal. Always handy in an Arthur Returns fic.

Uther: you must go on this mission alone

Arthur: *brings Merlin*

I do love Merlin being being a smart alec and nagging Arthur while packing. Excellent banter.

Arthur said

Arthur threatening a young boy like this is such an ugly and uncharacteristic action it makes me angry.

Merlin tending to Arthur while he's sick and injured 🥺

Also I'm sorry but Merlin shows fuckin Gilli his magic but he's hiding it from fuckin Gwaine while Arthur is suffering? Silly.

Cenred's massive army makes me wonder if it's a result of his tolerance of magic or lower standards than the knights of Camelot, or some combination of both.

Poor Leon, though. He's just got back from near death in that forest and Uther sends him right fuckin back in 😂

Looks like they snuck in to Camelot via the dragon's cave. I doubt that was the intention but I still approve 😂

Knowing he's on a suicide mission, Arthur gives Merlin an out, knowing he'll never take it, knowing he doesn't even want him to: he still presents him with the choice.

How come literally everyone else gets a crown that fits them but Arthur walks around looking like he's wearing hand-me-downs?

Morgana might be evil but she looks damn good on a throne.

3x13 The Coming of Arthur pt 2

There's a post going around Twitter about ppl who nitpick at TV shows... this comment falls into exactly that category 100% but I'm sorry, I cannot just ignore the fact that Morgana's got these massive banners and an entire army's worth of uniforms, I mean look:

Every guard with the sigil on his uniform and half a dozen banners in the council chambers alone. That's to say nothing of the ones outside. I mean look at the sheer fuckin size of these things:

Look how tiny the ppl are next to em! They've gotta be at least 15 feet long, at least. Where did they come from? Were they all magicked into existence? Who designed that sigil? What does it represent? Is it Gorlois' banner? I HAVE QUESTIONS.

Leon isn't someone I've ever been particularly attracted to, personally, but his defiant shout of "Long Live the King" in the face of Morgana's threats, is sexy as hell.

Depressed Arthur is such a mood.

So. Gwen. Originally in 3x12 when Morgana essentially invited Gwen into the fold (insofar as a Queen's servant can be), it seems to be a set up, because Morgana has been treating Gwen like shit for ages, why would she suddenly want her friend back? Especially since Morgana knows something is going on between Gwen and Arthur - there's no way she believes that they were actually under the spell of some random sorcerer, that just doesn't make any sense. So you kind of assume - or at least I did - that Morgana is keeping Gwen close knowing that she'll be useful as bait or a hostage, just essentially as a person of value to Arthur. She's known Gwen for too long to actually believe she'd cross Arthur, there's just no way someone as machiavellian as Morgana doesn't see Gwen's 'loyalty' as a simple survival tactic. All of this is to say, when Morgana and Morgause eavesdrop on Gwen's conversation with Sir Leon, Morgana is just like, 'welp, she's betrayed me. Guess I'll kill her in the morning.' as though she was actually expecting Gwen to do anything else?!?! Like, why? It would've made so much more sense to just cut that line entirely and go straight to something like

Morgana: it's as we suspected, she's betrayed me

Morgause: yes, now she can lead us straight to Arthur

And it would've made so much more sense than the weird sort of purgatory they've implied where Morgana changed her mind about Gwen very suddenly the night before she took the throne. It's not a super important detail in the overarching story but it's another example of how carelessly their story has been handled.

Me rn:

I do love that they made Freya the Lady of the Lake, and that she kept her promise by telling Merlin how to defeat the army of the dead.

How Merlin really sees Kilgharrah:

Gwen really is the smartest of all of them.

I do love that Merlin's first undead kill with excalibur is entirely an accident lol

The subtext between Morgana and Morgause is really gross. I haven't said anything before because I generally don't approve of ship shaming but the not so subtle subtext gives me the heebies.

This is such a great shot

Everything about it, his woman at his left and his man at his right, his romantic rival opposite him on his wife's side, as directly opposite her as possible at a round table with an uneven number of placements. It's a really beautiful shot, fitting for an equally beautiful scene. It's a very moving scene, the music really adds the exact emotion you'd expect for this moment we all recognize... and I feel like the knights' oaths are very well matched. The snarky part of me wanted to make a 'call me maybe' joke about Percival, but he's so sincere I just can't do it. The moment of levity added by Merlin's banter with Arthur is really, really well paced. Honestly I think it's probably the next perfect, iconic scene since Gwen and Arthur's first kiss. Hats off to this crew.

(Don't worry dear reader, I'm sure I'll get back to complaining shortly)

Santiago is so dreamy. I'd share his bedroll any day.

I like that despite all the talk of equality and doing the thing Uther wouldn't approve of, Gwen still worries about the company seeing her and Arthur kiss. Like, he's planning an insurrection with a bunch of commoners and two dudes who've been officially banished from Camelot, but she's internalized the classism and the rules of royalty so deeply that even amongst friends she instinctively keeps their relationship hidden. I'm not sure how intentional that was but it's brilliant.

The fight big fight scene with Merlin just barely missing the cup while the knights are cornered, and Gaius showing up like the brilliant deus ex machina that he is, honestly makes the previous budget-slashed episodes more bearable. Because this really is great, even knowing it's great at the expense of those others.

Morgana's screeching is eerily similar to Aithusa's.

I wonder if they knew they were getting renewed for a fourth season when they wrote this. Because you know, it really could've worked as a series finale as well. An open-ended series finale, but a series finale all the same.

As a Queens kid, I cannot explain to you the joy it gives me to watch Arthur and Merlin just chillin on the steps to the castle as tho it were a stoop, which I suppose, in a sense... it kind of is. Ahhh youthful days.

Commentary is Jeremy Webb and Julian Murphy.

And this kids, is why we're watching with commentary! They've just explained that Morgana's sigil is supposed to symbolize the Rowan tree that's supposed to be at the heart of the Isle of the Blessed. That suggests she designed it herself, so there's at least one of my earlier questions answered.

They talk a lot about how Emila Fox was very pregnant when they were filming her in this season, and they shot entirely around it - and I can't help but feel anger toward Joss Whedon and his 'handling' of Charisma Carpenter's pregnancy during S4 of Angel.

One of them called the round table scene 'curiously moving' and I think that is really fitting. They'd had this in mind for about two years, which is probably why it's so extraordinary. That's a great gestation period for a scene as iconic as this.

One final tidbit: the sword in the stone was filmed in France, and made it back to Wales intact. I guess nobody wanted to take it out. That's kind of an interesting thought, like a little set superstition or something. It's kind of cute.

The DVD extras/special features will get a separate post if I feel I have comments worth sharing.

[lefaystrent]

I had a rough weekend, so the addition to the Nursing Home AU was such an amazing surprise! You really made my day! Also, that's like the second time it's mentioned that Virgil had been incarcerated 👀 Interesting!

That really means a lot to me, that I was able to make adifference in your day. I’m so, so, SO happy that I could do that for ya. Andyes! Virgil did serve some time in prison. Here’s a bit about that:

Virgil used to be part of a bad crowd and well, he didn’texactly stop himself from going along with it.

Breaking and entering, theft, drugs.

Well, Virgil wasn’t really big on the drugs part, but hisfriends were. And their crimes kept getting bolder and more reckless until theywere arrested.

But that was years ago, he’s changed for the better, and heregrets the mistakes he’s made.

Every day during his incarceration, he swore to himself thatthings would be different once he got out.

The stupid thrills and desperation to fit in weren’t worthall the long months being trapped in a cell.

Virgil was the first to be released amongst his friends,thanks to good behavior. At present time, his friends are still in prison.

Virgil doesn’t think of them as his friends anymore. Herefuses to ever contact them again.

Fortunately, he does have other people to rely on. Hisparents, though extremely disappointed in his decisions, refused to give up onhim and regularly visited him in prison.

Virgil moves back in with his parents once he’s released.

He feels extremely unworthy of their kindness and triesextra hard to be a better son.

His time spent in prison has given Virgil ptsd. He hasnightmares about being arrested again and locked away for the rest of his life.

Needless to say, he doesn’t get much sleep.

Virgil is also claustrophobic now. He doesn’t realize thisuntil he goes through a car wash.

A car wash is a terrible place to discover your fear ofbeing trapped in small spaces.

His mother had to come pick him up that day. Virgil cried in shame all the way home.

Virgil’s dad is actually the one who suggested he become anurse aide!

His mother was against it, but only because she thought itwasn’t the right environment for him.

Virgil had eavesdropped on their conversation. He’d beenlooking for a job, and his parents had been helping him, but he was just soapprehensive about everything.

“He needs something where he doesn’t have to interact withso many people,” his mother said. “He gets so nervous…”

“I know he gets nervous,” his dad had said, understandingexactly why that was. “But this is something he needs. After everything,I think he just wants a chance to do some good. And I think that working withpeople and helping them will show Virgil that he’s good.”

Virgil honestly thinks that his parents deserved a better sonthan him.

He’s been such a burden, a disappointment.

And yet they believed in him so much.

“I’ll do it,” Virgil said, making his presence known as herounded the corner of the kitchen. His eyes were red-rimmed, but his fists weretight even as they shook by his sides. “I’ll do it.”

Virgil wants to believe in himself the same way his parentsdid.

And if this would be a start to that path, Virgil wouldgladly walk down it.

Tag lists under the cut!

General Tag List: @spectralheartt @a-pastel-pan @notalwaysthevillian @rose-gold-roman @ijustrealizedhowdumbmynamewas @katie-the-noble-fangirl @yourroyalydramaticanxiousness @aroundofapplesauce @merlybird500 @beach-fan @jemthebookworm @whats-going-on-kiddos @randomsandersides @gamerfreddie @unring-this-bell @analogicallythinking @lilygold23 @levy-the-b00kw0rm @tacochippy @accio-hufflepuff-power1 @just-another-rainbowblog @georganabanana @grey-says-heck @crookedlyoptimisticdestiny @thesynysterunknown @idont-know-what-im-doing @idioticsky @fadingglowcloud @whizzie72 @theinvisiblespoon @greyyy523 @opaque-puppet @just-fic-me-up @wowimsogoddamnoriginal @sos-fandoms @loganeatsbooks @trust-is-overrated @theitalianalchemist @im-crunchie @mourning--star @4amanxiety @hogwarts-my-love @enby-phoenix @justanotherpurplebutterfly @internet-or-sleep @absolutesandersidestrash @seaspider10 @nonasficcollection @satanblessi @an-absolute-failure @analogical-mess @noisyeggpizzapatrol @hamilsandersfam @cefinitely-rolo @thgjclw @knight-shives @no-no-no-no-6 @savingshae @rabbitsartcorner @buddypallady @midnight-tragedyy @007ardra @fandomloverangel @dorkoverse @moodytrash06 @mirrorz-n-starz @idunnosong @lcrnbw @ollyollyoxinfree @cuter-on-the-inside

Nursing Home List: @thirteenashmctrash @figurative-falsehood @oddball-wqri@comicsimpson @hit-or-mish @delphionix @rabbitsartcorner @nugs-and-hugs-not-drugs @dysfunctional-goblin

[jack-andthestalk]

Stuck on you, Boxercise, Chapter 7.

Huge thanks to @balfeheughlywed who made this chapter happen. Also @pissedoffsoka13 has made a fab moodboard which I can’t post properly but I hope this version does it some justice.

 Rupert and Jamie were speaking in loud whispers outside my room. I tried lifting my weight onto my elbow to pull myself up but a clicking sound ripped up my hip and I fell back down suddenly, stifling a groan.

“Claire dinna be moving” Geillis scolded from the other side of the room.

 “Why wasna Claire in work?” I could hear Jamie ask Rupert.

Rupert made a low whistling sound “Ye mean to tell me ye dinna hear…weel…Geillis knocked her out last night at their exercise class” Rupert raveled out in hushed dramatic tones.

“I had to help her to go for a pish this morning, her arse is black and blue” Rupert explained animatedly. I rolled my eyes and cursed him internally; the bastard was living and breathing this story. Jamie muttered something that I couldn’t understand or hear in gaelic and Rupert’s voice took on a higher pitch as if someone was strangling him“ it isna like that man, I didna look at her arse, Geillis told me” Rupert stated, vindicating his account of my ‘accident’.

 Geillis was remaining unusually quiet beside me, her ear cocked so she could eavesdrop the conversation the other side of the door, “ooh yer knight in shining armor has arrived I see” she teased, sitting on the end of my bed. “He will probably blame me…” she continued indignantly, holding her hand over her heart in mock horror.

 “Well it was you who threw the punch!” I said widening my eyes at her.

Jamie was continuing his interrogation with Rupert outside.

 “What do ye mean she was knocked out? Did ye no bring her into the hospital ya fool?”

 Rupert laughed heartily before answering “Och god no, according to the good Doctor she is braw, even though she can’t pish without assistance and her eye is up like a balloon” His tone dripping in sarcasm.

Jamie’s voice stuttered slightly when I heard him ask “Is she on her own in there?”, A snort from Rupert, followed by “aye ye needna worry, her fella is away on some sort of training thing all week, the red haired boxer is keep’n vigil just now…”

There was more shuffling outside my door followed by “Claire its me can I come in?” Fantastic, Jamie in my bedroom while I garnered a black eye and was completely incapacitated!

 “och do come in Foxy” Gellis crooned out.

 Jamie opened the door and stood mouth agape before making it across the room in two strides to loom over me in the bed. “Christ Sassenach what in god’s name happened?” His hand automatically bent down to cup my cheek and his thumb gently stroked below the eye that had the black, green bruise circling it.

“It was the boxercise class…I dinna mean it”, Gellis answered voice full of virtue.  “She was meant to swipe left...I got confused and hit her in the face…she went flying across the floor and landed on her arse” Gellis breathed in deeply, an arrogant smile on her lips.

“Tell ye the truth fox, the instructor said he had never seen a punch like it, isna that right Claire?” she had dreamy look in her eye, and beaming with pride. “reckons I have a right bonnie swing….”

“Where is the pain?” Jamie interrupted, shooting Gellis a dirty look. He was looking up and down the length of my body, trying to assess the damage.

“My arse” I made an attempt at a rueful smile, but my cheeks were blazing. His lip curled up into a smirk and he bent his head down to me tenderly, whispering “now that would be an awful shame if anything happened to tha lovely thing Sassenach” making an attempt at a wink. “is it yer coxic bone then do ye think?” he said a bit louder for Gellis’s benefit.

“Aye” Gellis interjected “her arse is black and blue, I dinna think its broke though” she stated absently, while filing her finger nails and reclaiming her seat at the end of my bed.

 “Gellis” Jamie said exasperatingly “She needs to get an x-ray it could be broke…or” before he could continue I cut him off “I am not going into A&E to have my arse x-rayed Jamie…I know fine well it is just badly bruised.”

 He opened his mouth to speak again and I turned my head away sulkily “if you are here to annoy me about going to hospital then you may go, I have a big enough pain in my arse without you turning into one.”

 “yer so stubborn” he breathed out, then reaching his decision he clapped his hands together and said “right well if ye think it’s bruised there are some things we can do, aye? But first do ye have any arnica I can put on yer wee face”

“Its fine Jamie, I don’t need…” I started to protest but before I could continue, Gellis clearly now bored with her victim stood and sighed dramatically. “il leave the fox to tend ye then Claire…Rupert and I are gonna grab a pint”

“Geillis” I hissed warningly, “I can’t even make it to the toilet!” my eyebrows raised in emphasis.

“Dinna fret Claire” Gellis hummed, “I’m sure the fox will be happy to link ye to the ladies room, won’t ya fox?” she asked Jamie pointedly, wriggling her eyes suggestively.

 “I’d be happy to………” seeing the panic in my face he continued “or else I will call an ambulance and they’ll put ye face down on a trolley roll’n ye into A&E with yer arse in the air!” he threatened.

 I sighed resigning myself to Jamie’s stubbornness, and nodded obediently “ok, Arnica in my medical kit in the kitchen, ask Rupert”

A prim smile spread across his face and he turned on his heel in pursuit of Rupert

Gellis blew me a kiss, and groped one of her breasts before skipping out the door.

He returned a few minutes later with some spare pillows, the arnica and a hot water bottle. My vulnerability caused a lump to form in my throat at his thoughtfulness, but I pushed it away quickly before it was visible on my face.

He sat on one side of the bed and spread some of the arnica gel on his hand, then gently applied a little under my eye. “I can do this myself Jamie” I croaked out.

He shook his head.

“Ye can’t see where the bruising is, il do it, his tongue resting lightly on his bottom lip in concentration. Once he had applied it, he sat back a little and said, I am going to get ye sitting up a bit and take the pressure of yer lower back.  Ok”?

 I nodded again.

 “Now put yer arms around my neck and when I get ye to a sitting up position try and stay that way while I get these pillows under yer lower back, aye?”

I nodded again, biting my bottom lip trying to hide the smile threatening to turn into a laugh at Jamie’s practiced bedside manner.

“on the count of three…” he started. He leaned over me in a sitting position, taking both my arms and throwing them over his shoulders, pulling me up with him. I let out a low moan, at the movement and he shot me an anxious look. “did I hurt ye?”

“no no its fine, I am just really stiff”. Sitting up now we were face to face. Stock still for a minute and Jamie’s eyes wandered from my eyes over my cheek bones to my lips. For a fleeting second I thought he was going to lean in further, so I darted my head down suddenly to look at my bedspread and banged my head off his nose, causing him to yelp suddenly. “Christ ye broke my nose” he said indignantly. I took back my arms from around his shoulders, “If I broke your nose, you would be bleeding like a pig, so I think you’ll live Fraser”

He smirked and smoothed back an errant curl from my face. The bit of my cheek that wasn’t black and blue was burning crimson from his touch and I started fiddling with my hands, an nonsensical giggle built steadily from my belly until a laugh escaped my mouth and I shook my head, looking back up at Jamie.

“What?” He said smiling back, his eyes sparkling with the urge to laugh with me, “are ye laughing at me?”

 “Yes…both of us” I said through gasped giggles, “This is weird” I eventually blurted out and held my sides trying to control my breathing. I began breathing again through my nose heavily to catch my breath, tears of laughter stinging my eyes.

“Claire!” ye are delirious “what is weird?” Jamie eyebrows crinkled in confusion, an amused smile cracking his face.

“This” I said blowing air in and out my mouth through laughter. “us” my hand pointed between him and me “ you and me” I continued, “you nursing me, you on my bed….Its just so weird”

He laughed softly then and looked to his hands which through their own accord had risen and were resting on my knees over the duvet. “I dinna ken how to not be weird” he said smiling at me “I get weird when I’m around ye”

I shook my head, grinning “Oh I see I make you weird? Hmm is that right?”

He nodded solemnly holding back the cheeky smirk. “Ye do, its isna my fault ye have a terrible effect on me”

I rolled my eyes “and how do you manage around other women? Hmm, are you weird around them all?”

“no just you!” he retorted, laughing at my outraged face.

“Well maybe you should stay clear of me then” I huffily replied crossing my arms.

“I canna” Jamie said laughing softly, tilting his head and looking at me intently.

“Well at least it only applies to me so it shouldn’t affect your pulling power?” I winked at him teasingly.

“Pulling power?” Jamie repeated eyebrow cocked questioningly.

“You know I said” breathing out impatiently “that’s what Rupert calls it…on the pull, getting a hit, hook up…women etc etc” I explained smiling.

“I couldna tell ye, I havna pulled anyone in a vera long time Claire” Jamie has said it jokily but as soon as it was out I could see the significance of what he said darning on him.

I narrowed my eyes “eh I somehow doubt that Fraser”

He sat up straight, his cheeks had a steady blush growing up them.

“ye dinna believe me?” he asked looking completely offended.

I shook my head and bit my bottom lip trying not to laugh at him. This only incensed him further. “Why do ye no believe me?”

I knew my eyes were sparkling with devilment and tears from earlier laughing. “ok” I said folding my arms “how long have you been celibate and I will decide if I believe you.”

A bright blush ran up his cheeks and his mouth opened to speak but he shut it again.

“See” I concluded. “You don’t even know how long…”

He stood up suddenly and busied himself with pillows behind my back, I thought the topic was over. He took me gently by the forearms and lay be back down in a much more comfortable position. I could feel the heat of the hot water bottle at my lower back. I sighed in bliss. “thank you Jamie, that feels so much better.”

He smiled down at me softly and said. “Two years”

I crinkled my eyes in confusion “What two years?”.

Jamie was biting the side of his mouth looking slightly uncomfortable. “It’s been two years since I lay with someone”

My eyes widened and my mouth opened to say something but before I could he leaned down to my ear and whispered.

“nobody since you.”

My mind was whirling a mile a minute, but the one word that was screaming louder than all the rest was why.

And that is what blurted out of my mouth without me even realising it. “Why Jamie?” I croaked.

He shook his head incredulously, “because what would be the point Claire?”

Seeing my incomprehension written all over my face, he swallowed, cleared his throat, he slowly crouched down and sat beside me on the bed. He looked down at my clenched fist, shyly, meeting my eye for consent before carefully unfolding my fist, laying my palm straight before placing his own palm over it. I looked down briefly at our joined hands, brushing all thoughts of wrongness from my mind as I had to hear what he said next, I simply couldn’t do without. My heart was beating so fast it was drumming in my ears.

“I had a woman that made me burn from just looking at her, made my knees weak from want of her, and when she took me to bed she held my whole heart in her hands.”

“Jamie” I rasped, pleadingly. His eyes raked over my body, that sent a shiver down my spine and warmth pool through my belly. “Do ye ken what that is, to have that? And then for it to be gone through nobody’s fault but my own and no for  certain that no other woman will make ye feel like that again?”

I reached up and cupped his cheek, he looked so sorrowful I had to comfort him, his eyes bore into mine, “Jamie you will have that again, you just havn’t met the right person…” I was about to continue but he just shook his head. “Nay Sassenach, youre my soulmate…there is one for each of us, and yer mine.” I could hear him try to reign in the possessiveness and merely state it as fact.

“You can’t think like that Jamie” I breathed, “it won’t help”

“I can I have to, it’s the reason I am here Claire, in London. For you.” He said firmly.

[riyuu-bsd]

Petals [Chuuya Nakahara x Reader]

Stepping out for a breath of fresh air, Chuuya adjusted his choker so that it faced the right way, already sick of the night out Mori had planned. He scoffed to himself, clicking his tongue. They were all irritating, and he couldn't tell why. He took his hat off for a brief moment, running his gloved hand through his hair as if to destress himself. His eyes wandered as he put his hat back on, eventually lingering on the form of a rather attractive young lady with a small flower crown. He shook his head, not wanting any complications. He wasn't going to be like Dazai; with the lack of shame to fall flat on his face for a girl without ever talking to her, getting to know her or anything other than first impressions. He pried his eyes away from her, azure orbs trailing to the alleyway the beauty emerged from. A sleek frame loomed around the alley, small, beady eyes trailing up the lady's figure as he slinked forward quietly, tensed and seeming ready to abduct her. Chuuya rushed forward, ready to activate his ability if needed.

"Hey, creep-" Before Chuuya could finish his insult, the tall, lanky man had been sent to the floor by the girl.

He looked in awe, (e/c) eyes glowing perfectly in the moonlight.

"Thank you, sir, but I'm okay on my own," the girl said, a small smile. The petite male pouted childishly,

"Whatever.. If some fucker bothers you, you won't always know he's there," the man huffed,

"There won't always be a knight in shining armour, either, Mr Executive," the lady sighed, looking at him with the same annoyingly polite smile.

"You're not part of the Port Mafia," Chuuya hissed, gripping at her shoulder roughly, "Just who are you?"

"Does (L/n) ring any bells?" she breathed, moving closer to him, voice low and almost harsh. Before the ginger male could retort, the door to the bar opened, Mori stepping into the cold, night air,

"What are you doing, Chuuya?" the boss asked, "Come back in, I'm surprised you haven't drank yet,"

"S-Sir.. Someone was there," he said, still shaken and scolding himself for stuttering, "There are questions I want answers to," he rephrased, sounding much more like how he wanted to initially.

"What questions?" he pried, curious as to what answers would need to be provided,

"Does the name (L/n) mean anything to you?" Chuuya asked.

The man laughed.

"So you really have been at the wine!" Mori said with the same dry chuckle, "We can discuss this after celebrations."

With that, the raven haired man retreated back into the warm buzz of the bar.

Chuuya whipped around on his heels, nothing but a white petal in place of the tantalising lady. He scowled, stepping on it agitatedly.

"Stupid petal.." he scoffed, walking back into the bustling bar.

He quickly zoned out, noises and conversations fading into the hum of the background, his thoughts fixated on the elegant lady.

She had (h/l) lockes that flowed gracefully in the wind. A few strands of (h/c) hair shielded glowing, (e/c) eyes with lucious lashes. He found her ravashingly beautiful. Even her voice was charming. The monotony and slight aggression had him hooked. He couldn't tell why, in all honesty. She had an aura of mystery, grace and slight brutality. His eyes lazed over the room, seeing the same white petal in front of him. He growled, slamming his hand on the table.

"I was just offering you a drink," Gin scoffed, getting back up.

Excuse me? What?

He shook his head. Sure enough, there were no petals.

He groaned in agitation, gripping at his empty glass. It was left untouched by any winery, something his colleges found bizarre.

"Stupid petal.." he grumbled, the glass shattering as he tensed his grip. He remained unfazed, standing up completely sober,

"I'm gonna go, call me if something comes up," he said, the usual sass in his tone replaced with a dreary groan.

"I'll discuss your job tomorrow, then," Mori said with a knowing smile. Chuuya rolled his eyes, fixing his hat firmly onto his head of wavy, ginger hair as he stepped back out into the cold, night air.

He scowled at nothing in particular, kicking a pebble as he went. The short male was pissed, but he couldn't quite tell why.

Was it how much he messed up infront of his colleges?

Was it the lady from before managing to absolutely floor that guy in a single move?

Her enchanting beauty?

The abundance of rose petals as he continued to walk?

Probably that last one.

He stepped through the streets, stopping for a walk in the park.

It just past midnight, and the cold breeze of the melanoin obscurity flowing through his wavy, ginger hair. Fighting back the peaceful smile tugging at his lips, he looked up at the scattering of scars lining the sky.

"You have a peaceful side, ne?" a familiar voice cooed, closer to him than he would have liked. He whipped around, calm expression shattered into an agitated scowl,

"What is it to you, bastard?" he snapped, seeing the lady from earlier.

"Rather cute," she said with a small giggle. It brought a pink dust to his cheeks.

"Sh-shut up!" he scowled, turning away childishly. The woman smiled, stepping forward so that she was next to him. He looked back at the rose bush nearby, speckles of colour ranging from pristine whites to crimson reds; soft pinks to luscious peachy-oranges; soft lavenders to pale corals; deep pinks to pale yellows. He blinked, opening his eyes and seeing the graceul lady in the white dress kneeling at the bush.

"Will you not get pricked by the thorns?" he blurted out, somewhat concerned.

"Yes, but I need them," she hummed, turning to him with a smile, "They're the reason I can use my ability, afterall."

"So it's you!" he growled, pointing at her with an acusinf finger, "You're the reason I've been seeing those stupid petals!"

"Oh, yes, of course," she said, "I find you intruiging." She stood up, stepping towards him with a singular lavender rose, "Lavender rose, a symbol of enchantment," she smiled, offering it to him. Chuuya took it in his gloved hand, somewhat hesitant.

"Terribly sorry for any bother I caused you, feel free to get your own back against me," she apologised, a slight bow,

"No it's fine.." he mumbled, twirling the rose in his hands.

"Ah," she said, "I hadn't expected that,"

"Ne?" the male asked, looking at her with inate curiousity.

"I was expecting you to do something, you do seem like the aggressive type," she said, an almost nervous chuckle, "I suppose you are quite the gentleman; I'll see you around, Chuuya," she smiled, plucking a petal from a white rose.

And she was gone with the cool breeze of the night.

Gone with the wind.

.

.

.

.

Plucking petals from a lavender rose, the (h/c)ette smiled to herself.

"He loves me, he loves me not~" she chimed, childishly.

"Still have your flower obsession, I see," the cold tone of Mori Ougai filled her ears.

She pushed herself forward, dropping off of the wall almost gracefully,

"Yes, it is the source of my ability, afterall," she glided closer to the ravenette, expression sickly sweet. Her eyes narrowed as she seethed lowly,

"The power you exerted my father for."

A somewhat dark chuckle escaped Mori's lips, eying her constantly,

"Why are you so obsessed with purple lately?" he smirked, holding a small, pale hand.

"What had you so obsessed with young girls?" the lady said with a small giggle, (e/c) eyes darting down to Elise.

"She's my ability, (Y/n)," he said, scowl forming on his lips, "For someone as highclass and ladylike as yourself, you have quite the attitude,"

"But of course, gambling has it's affects," she smirked slightly, the expression seeming out of place on her porcelain features, "So, what do you want from me? I'm free from debt, so anything you ask of me is going to cost you."

.

Chuuya froze, the radio Mori had planted in his blazer playing back the exact vocals he had became hooked on. He knew she was powerful, but he never guessed she would challenge the mafia.

He took of his hat, small details coming together.

She had an obsession with purple lately? She had given him a purple rose.

.

"White rpses were always your favourite, you love to travel," the boss said with a visible smirk,

"Of course I do," she said with a small smile, "But I find lavender a soothing colour; it allows me to see what people think, as well,"

"Something is puzzling you, then?" he guessed,

"Yes, and I intend to find answers," she smiled,

"Of course you wou-"

he cut himself off upon noticing she disappeared, a pallid rose in her place.

"Gone with the wind once more, I see."

.

.

A sudden voice from behind the red haired male surprised him, before he relaxed slightly.

"You love me, you love me not," she cooed, pulling at the pale, lilac petals and scattering them around the room.

"Why are you here?" he said, tone somewhat cold,

"To find answers, you would know if you eavesdropped well," she hummed, continuing to pick at the rose,

"You love me, you love me not, you love me, you love me not.."

He squirmed slightly, mind racing as he heard a quiet whisper, warm breath against the back of his neck and dainty hands on his shoulders.

"You love me."

She smiled, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. His eyes drifted, looking at the floor to see the outline of a heart, drawn in lavender petals.

The symbol of love at first site.

[iturbide]

#1 OR -- /OR/ -- #42 grima and emmeryn I NEED GRIMMERYN HANDHOLDIES AND I CAN'T CHOOSE HELP

@gunhorse​ you realize that if you ask me for my crack ship my answer is naturally going to be why not both? ;D

also you get sibling au because i know how you feel about it

Holding their hands when they are shaking.

Grima scowled as he stalked through the shadowed halls of Ylisstol Castle, adjusting the lay of his heavily ornamented gorget.  The collar was slightly too small, forcing him to stand with shoulders squared and back straight if he wanted to so much as breathe or speak (and some bitter part of him felt certain that it was intentional, a cruel ploy to ensure that his posture befit the king of Plegia).  He dreaded yet another afternoon spent among the Ylissean nobles with their haughty airs and ostentatious attire…but it might not be so insufferable if the Exalt attended again, for her presence seemed to keep the aristocrats on at least slightly better behavior than they were otherwise…

“Your Grace, you must let me escort you.”

He paused, tilting his head to catch the echoes of the unfamiliar voice.  He did not recognize the speaker, but the address was one he knew well–

“That’s quite alright.  I’ve no need of a chaperone.”

He did recognize that voice – but the tension hiding beneath the soft laughter set his nerves on edge.  

He was moving before he knew even what he intended to do, robes swirling around him as pursued the echoes of the conversation as it continued somewhere out of sight. 

“How can you say that, Your Grace?  Everyone knows that Plegian is not to be trusted.”

“He’s done nothing to deserve mistrust.”

“Your kindness knows no bounds.  But come now – you recall what happened with Dale and Morley, how he would have gutted them had you not stepped in…”

“He had no weapons, how could he have done such a thing?  And besides, his anger was justified, given the slurs they cast at him and his brother.”

“Harmless japes!”

“Cruel prejudices that paint Ylisse as a land where my father’s ways still hold sway.”

“Come now, don’t say that.  The halidom has seen marvelous changes under your reign.”

“And yet, its people still look on Plegia with fear and contempt.”

“Can you blame them?  Especially when their king bears the name of that wicked divine?  You know, my father told me once that your sire’s war was for Ylisse’s salvation: he heard that their fell god was reborn and endeavored to keep the world safe from the destruction sure to follow – where are you going, Your Grace?”

He could hear their movements now, the soft rustle of the Exalt’s gown on the stone floor, the sharp clack of heeled shoes…and as he rounded a corner into the next passage, he saw a man with red-gold hair clutching the woman’s hands, holding her near even as she attempted to pull away.  “My dear, please, you must allow me to protect you – that man cannot be trusted, but I swear I will keep you safe–”

“From who.”

Grima’s voice boomed through the passage.  The Ylisseans both looked up when his shadow fell over them, and for all that the stranger loomed over the Exalt, the Plegian king towered over them both – and he felt a smirk carve its way across his lips as the nobleman’s face paled in fear. 

But the Exalt herself did not hesitate, withdrawing her hands and stepping to Grima’s side.  “Well met, Your Majesty,” she smiled.

“Eavesdropping hardly seems befitting of a king,” the aristocrat huffed, attempting to recover himself – only to quail as Grima turned a cold stare on him. 

“It is no fault of mine if you raise your voice for others to overhear,” he growled, watching the man tremble for just a moment before turning to the Exalt.  “Do you plan to attend the noble gathering this afternoon?”

“Yes, I had,” she agreed. 

He bowed very slightly, offering his hand to her.  “Might I accompany you, Your Grace?”

“She has no need of your company,” the nobleman protested – and as he moved, Grima cast another sharp glare in his direction, cowing him once more.  

“I did not ask you.” 

He felt her fingers brush against his, and once more turned his attention on the Exalt.  “I would be pleased to accompany you,” she murmured.

“Then I will join Your Grace–”

“That’s quite alright,” she insisted, smiling at the nobleman.  “Please tell the court that we will arrive shortly.”

As the man drew breath to protest, Grima draped a silk sleeve over the Exalt’s shoulders, stopping him in his tracks.  Instead he merely bowed, his voice clipped as he forced the words out through clenched teeth.  “As you wish, Your Grace.”

Grima watched as the nobleman retreated from sight, narrowing his eyes each time the man cast a glance over his shoulder.  “Who was that man?” 

“Percival.  Son of the Earl of Wister, and second in line to inherit the title.”  Which meant very little to Grima, all told: Ylissean politics frustrated him with their pointless intricacy. 

“Are you familiar?” 

She glanced up at him, seeming puzzled by the words, and Grima struggled for the proper phrase…but before he could find it, her expression changed, a dim smile replacing her frown.  “The council believes that I should wed, for the sake of the halidom,” she murmured.  “He is their favored choice for consort.”

“And what are your thoughts on the matter?” 

“They have not asked.”

He drew a breath…and paused, holding his hand out to her.  She blinked up at him, hesitantly settling her fingers in his palm again…and he could feel her trembling as he folded his hands gently around hers.  “What say we delay a while,” he murmured.  “The weather is pleasant.  It would be a shame to waste the whole of the afternoon indoors.”

“You don’t care much for the court, do you?” she giggled. 

“As much as you do, I imagine,” he replied. 

Her laughter quieted as she looked up at him, the shaking of her fingers only growing more pronounced.  But he held them even so, letting the silence stretch and waiting for her answer. 

“…would you care to take a walk in the gardens?” she offered.  “They’re quite lovely at this time of year.”

He smiled, giving her hand a light squeeze.  “Lead the way, Your Grace.”

“Emmeryn,” she corrected, turning away from the hall the nobleman vanished down.  

He raised a brow, moving easily at her side through the bright sunlight.  “I doubt your council of nobles would take kindly to such a familiar address.”

She beamed at him, bright and soft as moonlight.  “They don’t take kindly to many things I do.  But that hasn’t stopped me before.”

Grima could not help smiling at that.  And as they retreated from the chill stone corridors and into the warmth of the palace gardens, she shifted her hand in his – not to break away, but to return his gentle grip with one of her own. 

Holding their hand while walking, even if there isn’t a crowd.

Though the noble court remained convinced that their Plegian guests could not be trusted, Emmeryn had grown quite fond of their company.  The king and his brother were good, kind people for anyone with eyes to see – and she was deeply pleased that her brother had realized that, vanishing with the Plegian prince most afternoons.  As for the king…despite his fearsome name and intimidating demeanor, he had proven himself a true gentleman in every sense of the word; even now, walking through the quiet corridors at her side, he listened intently when she spoke, and conversed with her rather than talking over her as so many of the noblemen did in the council and at court.

“So you were not taught to ride a pegasus?” he asked.  “I was led to believe that they were emblematic of Ylisse.  It seems odd that you would not be trained for it.”

“It was deemed too dangerous,” she sighed.  “I was given instruction in horseback riding, and even that was…cursory, at best.  It was mostly for the sake of ceremony, as best I can tell, and I rarely have an opportunity to make use of it.”

“Strange,” he muttered.  “I was given extensive training in wyvern riding.”

“Was the one you arrived on a personal mount?”

“…not exactly.  Black wyverns are considered blessed in Plegia and used exclusively by the Grimleal.  Given the…circumstances…” he muttered, lifting his right hand, “it was deemed appropriate that I have a mount of a suitable color.  I did not raise or train her myself, and have had few opportunities to bond with her, but she is responsive and easily handled.”

“Perhaps you should spend more time with her,” Emmeryn offered.  “Most pegasus knights don’t raise their mounts from birth – Phila certainly didn’t with hers – but that doesn’t change the bond between rider and mount.”

He glanced down at her, canting his head to one side as he grinned.  “Perhaps you would join me?”

“Could I?” she asked.  “She wouldn’t take poorly to a stranger?”

“Wyverns are handled by humans from the moment they hatch.  They all have their own personalities, of course, but they are not aggressive with humans and attack only when trained to respond to a command.  From my own experiences…I believe she will take to you with curiosity.”

“I would love to, then – though it might be best to wait for the weather to improve,” she suggested, muffling a giggle in her sleeve as she glanced out the rain-washed windows.

“…a fine point,” he conceded, following her gaze.  They quieted for a moment, watching the rivulets wind down the panes as they passed…and in the silence, she reached out to take his hand. 

He looked down at her, raising one brow in unspoken question – but she only smiled, continuing along at the same unhurried pace through the nearly deserted corridor.  “I know that your royal procession arrived on wyverns, but do Plegians raise horses, as well?” she asked. 

“…we do, though not in the same numbers,” he agreed, his fingers curling gently around her own.  “At least not in the desert, given that few areas can sustain them.  They are more common in the west, but the desert horses are rather interesting: they are much smaller than any of the Ylissean mounts I have seen…”

They paid no mind at all to the glances cast toward them. They gave one another their full attention, instead, and the conversation continued on, quiet as the rain washing over the palace windows as they walked hand in hand through the soft light.

[dysnom1a]

card: Sheith, prompt: College AU

Written for @voltronbingo.

It's been several minutes, and the woman is still talking. Shiro sort of tuned her out at 'it's all about oil, you know.' He should know her name; they have several classes together. Casey? Lacy?

“Oh, fuck off, Stacy.”

Ah, right. That's it. Stacy.

“Do you think he hasn't heard this exact same crap a thousand times before? What do you even want from the man, his other arm?”

Stacy gasps. Shiro can't even blame her; his knight in beat-up leather jacket is a brand of blunt not often encountered in real life. Now his name, Shiro has no trouble remembering.

“Excuse me?”

It's nice of Stacy to provide Keith with an opportunity to apologize. Coincidentally, this is also the time Shiro should jump in and come to her rescue, and let Keith know that he doesn't need anyone to fight his battles for him. He should assure them both that of course she wasn't bothering him and send Keith on his way.

Keith, who always looks like he just stepped out of some terrible ‘80s rom-com and forgot to shed his 'bad boy with a heart of gold' getup; Keith with the wry in-class quips and clever eyes crackling with righteous indignation.

An awkward silence descends on their little table.

“You heard me,” says Keith, and then, unbelievably, adds, “Fuck. Off.”

Shiro attempts to turn his morbidly delighted snort into a cough. He doesn’t think he’s entirely successful. Luckily, the other two victims of this particular train wreck are too busy glaring daggers at each other and, in Stacy's case, turning alarming shades of red to pay him any mind.

“Who do you even think you are? We were having a private conversation—”

“Well, it sure as hell sounded more like a one-sided rant to me. This is a community college cafeteria, not a political forum debate. He was trying to eat lunch and you were harassing him. I know because I was here for the whole thing.”

This is true. Shiro might or might not have chosen this table specifically because Keith was already occupying the next one over.

“So you're admitting to eavesdropping on us. Charming,” Stacy snaps. “Figures you'd be one of those pro-war types.”

She's a tough cookie, Shiro will give her that. He sees no way she could possibly win this one, but she has fighting spirit for sure.

“How d'you figure that, you don't know shit about me,” Keith retorts easily. “And for the record, I'm just pro not walking up to near strangers and vomiting my unsolicited opinions on them. Y’know, basic human decency. Cool stuff.”

“Look, just leave us alone.”

And here it is. The finale. Shiro will think back on this moment later and wonder if he could have salvaged the situation somehow. Perhaps, if he really wanted to.

But Shiro doesn’t really want to.

“Look, just leave him alone, it's not his fault you can't reconcile your virulent anti-military sentiments with how much you want to suck his dick.”

Shiro doesn't know what mortifies him more: his own burst of inappropriate laughter, or the roughly two dozen people who are now not even pretending to mind their own business, gawking openly as Stacy all but flies out of her chair, knocking it over in her haste to escape.

“See you in class, Stacy,” Keith calls after her, because it's entirely possible he's the sort of person who has no shame whatsoever.

“That was brutal,” Shiro wheezes. “Oh my god, I can't believe that just happened.”

“Yeah, well, she was pissing me off.” Keith shrugs, apparently unconcerned by how everyone is still staring at him. “Sorry if I embarrassed you or whatever.”

“It's fine, though I could have handled her.”

“Sure, but you shouldn't have to.”

“I'm Shiro, by the way.”

He sticks out his hand for a shake, hoping he doesn't look as flustered as he actually is.

“I know your name, Hot Soldier Guy,” Keith says as he takes the proffered hand, the corners of his mouth quirking into a little smile. “By the way, I'm Keith.”

(part 2)

[crapfutures]

Careless whispers

In a previous post we mentioned the story of the infamous conflict between King Henry II and Thomas Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury, in 12th century England. It’s a familiar story of two powerful and egotistical men clashing over issues of status and pride. After a series of altercations over clerical privilege, Henry finally loses his temper; what he actually said to the assembled courtiers has been lost to history, but the most likely version comes from the biographer-monk Edward Grim, who recorded it as follows:

What miserable drones and traitors have I nourished and brought up in my household, who let their lord be treated with such shameful contempt by a low-born cleric?

Whatever Henry said, four of his knights (Richard le Breton, Reginald FitzUrse, Hugh de Morville, and William de Tracy) interpreted the utterance as a royal command. They rode to the Normandy coast, took ship for England, and confronted the Archbishop. What happened next was described by the aptly named Grim, who was on the scene and actually wounded in the attack:

The wicked knight, fearing lest Becket should be rescued by the people and escape alive, leapt upon him suddenly and wounded this lamb who was sacrificed to God, cutting off the top of the crown which the sacred unction of the chrism had dedicated to God.

More terrible blows followed, and eventually the Archbishop succumbed. Was the king’s statement interpreted correctly? We’ll never know. But we can perhaps read parallels to our own time in the complex motivations and agendas that informed the knights’ collective decision to commit murder.

Another story, more recent. This one takes place in Dallas, Texas, where a six-year-old girl asked her family’s Amazon Echo: ‘Alexa, can you play dollhouse with me and get me a dollhouse?’ Alexa promptly complied, ordering a $300 KidKraft Sparkle Mansion doll’s house from one of Amazon’s suppliers. She also ordered (for reasons known only to the internal logic of the system) nearly two kilograms of sugar cookies. The story doesn’t stop there: the following day, when a San Diego news programme reported the story, a number of Echos were roused by the wake word ‘Alexa’ coming from proximate television sets, and they in turn followed the command to also purchase dolls’ houses.

What inspired Alexa to order the biscuits? A flawed system or a very smart one?

In 560 BC, King Croesus of Lydia set a challenge to the world’s oracles to determine who provided the most accurate prophecies. His emissaries were sent to seven sites to ask the resident oracle what the king was doing at that precise moment. The winner was the Oracle of Delphi, who correctly reported that the king was making a lamb-and-tortoise stew.

Oracles were seen as conduits to the gods, speaking and giving advice on their behalf. Divination came in many other forms: augurers would follow the flight paths of birds (legend has it that the location of Rome was decided through this approach). Haruspices would read the entrails of sacrificed animals. Today, however, reading the future is much less exotic or gruesome, being mostly about data and statistics.

The next story starts back to front. A man walks into a Target outside Minneapolis and demands to see the manager. He’s got a handful of targeted coupons that had been sent to his teenage daughter, and he’s angry. ‘My daughter got this in the mail!’ he said. ‘She’s still in high school, and you’re sending her coupons for baby clothes and cribs? Are you trying to encourage her to get pregnant?’ In fact the daughter actually is pregnant. Target knows it before the girl’s father, thanks to a hunch based on its analysis of online searches and product purchases - in this case a particular lotion often used by pregnant women in the second trimester.

One more story. In happier times for Facebook, the social media giant played a significant - if unevenly distributed and still debated - role in the Arab Spring by facilitating communication between protesters. The April 6 Youth Movement in Egypt, for example, used Facebook to launch a successful call for protests in the aftermath of the Tunisian Revolution that preceded the spread of uprisings across North Africa and the Middle East in 2011-12. Events of the Arab Spring demonstrated that social networks provide a perfect mechanism through which to disseminate information broadly and quickly, as long as you have access to the internet.

So far this is a familiar and well-trodden tale; the more interesting story, however, happened when Arab states began to shut down internet access. Activists in Cairo found the solution in a different kind of social network - not screen-based, but via the city's taxi drivers. The activists realised that if they could direct conversations towards the planned anti-Mubarak gathering on 25 January 2011 in Tahrir Square, taxi drivers might spread the word and the protest would be a success. Initially, the activists tried to talk directly to drivers. 

But they soon discovered that due to the highly politicised nature of their subject, conversations would quickly turn into arguments rather than dissemination, and their objective would fail. The solution was found in exploiting the human tendency to gossip. Instead of engaging in direct conversation, the activists allowed the taxi drivers to overhear a mobile phone conversation where they would disclose the details of the protests. The taxi drivers eavesdropped, and believing they had overheard a gossip-worthy secret, they began to spread the message.

‘Technology is making gestures precise and brutal, and thereby human beings.’ - Adorno

In one of our very first posts, The Pleasures of Prediction, we described the daily experience at our local cafe - where the gestures of interaction were not always precise, sometimes brutal (depending on the mood of either ourselves or the people behind the counter), but mostly genial and surprisingly seamless. More recently, our colleague was telling us how his landlady keeps track of the number of bottles of alcohol he consumes each week by counting his recycling - a sort of small island version of a fitness tracker like the Fitbit. ‘She’s not judgemental’, he said. ‘Well … not really.’ Of course surveillance and tracking - mediating, amplifying, interpreting - have always been present in society; in the past they were just more social, or at least more analogue.

These examples raise some big questions, such as: Would you rather be monitored by a human being or a machine? If machine, why? Why don’t we trust humans? For that matter, why don’t we trust ourselves? How have we been shown to be untrustworthy and unable to control our own self-destructive or anti-social impulses? For the past two years we have been collecting stories that relate to the interpretation of information - tracing the shift from human beings to technological mediation as translator and interpreter; who is making important decisions, on whose behalf, and why.

There is certainly precision and brutality in Cambridge Analytica’s use of Facebook data for micro-targeting and psychological profiling. Likewise Amazon Echo, a data-based Trojan horse mediating our personal lives in increasingly precise but also brutal ways. There is a tendency to understand and evaluate technology according to old-fashioned notions of progress: faster, easier, more efficient and so on. But digitisation, the data that it creates, and the vast networks of dissemination also facilitate the augmenting of darker aspects of human behaviour, targeting our deepest vulnerabilities. How we examine the implications, embrace the ethics, and understand the complexity of these systems are some of the fundamental challenges we face.

Real Prediction Machines

Shortly before the Echo appeared on the market in 2014, Real Prediction Machines addressed many of the issues Amazon’s new device (and others like it) would raise. The speculative project was developed by James Auger in collaboration with designer Jimmy Loizeau, artist Alan Murray, and Edinburgh University data scientist Ram Ramamoorthy, who at the time was developing predictive modelling systems combined with machine learning to predict when professional athletes might sustain an injury through overtraining.

James, Jimmy and Alan began by asking Ram what kind of other things might be predictable through such techniques, such as ‘Will my child become a professional football player’, ‘Will Labour win the next general election’, and ‘Will I suffer a heart attack?’ The words inside the circles of the Bayesian network diagram represent potential variables. In relation to a heart attack they could correspond to something like diet or exercise, the data coming from a supermarket loyalty card, or the accelerometer in your smartphone. Or more finite information such as family history, for example data coming from a genetic testing service like 23andMe.

These variables combine to create a live and ongoing feed into the predictive algorithm. The heart attack example seemed a little too banal due to its obvious connection to wellbeing and the huge growth of data and tracking methods, so the group suggested another question to Ram: Will I have a domestic argument?

The Bayesian network shown above looks similar to the earlier one, but in this instance a microphone was added for live sound input (anticipating the omnipresent Echo). Using machine learning, the system would become better at predicting arguments through the statistical analysis of keywords, tone, and frequency - identifying particular subjects that a couple might commonly fight about.

The output was translated into an object - not an app but something more symbolic, sympathetic. They settled on an ambient device sitting in the background, providing information when you might need it. 

The device essentially has three states:

Clockwise means that the argument is moving into the future;

Anti-clockwise means that the argument is approaching, and the slower the rotation the more imminent it is;

When the rotating stops, the argument starts.

Projects like Real Prediction Machines work when it is not completely clear whether the idea is a ‘good’ one or not. Is it too invasive? Is it genuinely helpful? This is how we should think about all potential technologies, but we rarely do.

What happens next? How far away are we from Alexa ordering not biscuits, but a councillor? How much control will we have in the future, and how much do we want to have?

Images:

All diagrams by James Auger; photo of Real Prediction Machines by Sophie Mutevelian.

[court-of-forever-undone]

My Sister’s Love | Taryn POV Chapter 2

Summary: Taryn pieces together her memories of Cardan and Jude's early interactions as she reflects on how their relationship came to be and the events of the last year. As happy as she is for them, she can't help but feel jealous of the moments they share.

Tags: Taryn’s POV of Jurdan, Jealousy, Mild Angst 

Read on AO3 

When Cardan showed up at Vivi’s house after Madoc took Jude, thinking she was me, the distress was clear on his face. Vivi tried to stall him at the door, while I ran to hide; my heart almost burst at the thought that Jude had been caught and he was there to arrest me.

Cardan pushed through and entered the small apartment. I could hear muffled voices from where I was hiding in the bathroom. Vivi’s voice was more clear than the others. I pushed my ear against the bathroom door to eavesdrop, until Cardan called to me by name.

“Taryn, please come out. I know you are here and you are needed as well.”

I froze. I thought of a million courses of action. I could run but I would not get far. He likely brought protection. I would be sliced down before making it out of the complex. Running, or fighting for that matter, was a Jude plan, one that I would be unlikely to succeed at.

Before I could try a futile attempt at escape, he continued, “I don’t care about what did or didn’t happen with you and Locke. I promise when this is over, you will be found not-guilty of all charges. But right now, your sister needs you.”

Impatient as ever, Vivi came to the door and led me out before I could fully dissect his words for a trick. For the first time I noticed the disheveled look of his clothes. The dark color under his eyes told me that he had not slept well in sometime. He was accompanied by a gruff-looking goblin who stood silently in the corner.

Cardan explained what had happened: He played along with the switched twin charade, but when he took Jude to his rooms so they could talk, Madoc decided to launch an attack to save “me.” Jude was knocked out and taken somewhere.

Cardan’s jaw tightened as he recalled how he tried to stop Madoc from taking her. I recognized shame on his face before he turned away from us, angrily pacing in the cramped space.

He had hoped that I would know where Jude was, but I didn’t. Madoc had not contacted me for most of Jude’s exile, likely to protect me in case a letter was intercepted by Cardan’s spies.

The conversation only lasted mere minutes, leaving me with little time to process everything Cardan had revealed. Not only had Cardan recognized Jude from the moment he saw her, he kept her identity a secret and then tried to protect her. She had broken her exile, that he imposed, and yet he was desperate to save her from Madoc.

It made me wonder who Jude considered to be a bigger threat to her, the High King or our foster father.

My sister and Cardan agreed to contact each other if either of them learned anything. I wasn’t sure what sort of news we hoped for. The only thing we could hope was for Jude to keep up the act until she could rescue herself. But she couldn’t pretend to be me for long. If her missing finger hadn’t given her away already, her attitude surely would. A court is easily fooled, Oriana and Madoc not so much.

When it was time to leave, Vivi slipped out the door behind Cardan and the goblin, who I heard Cardan refer to as “the Roach.” I crept to the window in the living room that faced the front of the apartment. From my spot I could hear her lecturing Cardan.

“I know what you both did. I know what she is to you,” Vivi said leaning back against the building. She was turned away from me, but I could hear the smirk on her face. Cardan’s face revealed nothing other than exhaustion. The king turned to walk away, when Vivi reached out and gave his arm a light squeeze. Only Vivi would dare to touch the king, in front of his bodyguard no less.

“You might want to try being more explicit about your feelings the next time you have the chance. Or at the very least, stop giving her more reasons to distrust you.”

Cardan pressed his lips into a thin line. He nodded once before quickly descending down the stairs.

The following days were a blur. We had gotten a letter from Oriana about Jude. It looked like a trap, but it was our only hope. We hired Grima Mog, which apparently Jude had beat in combat, and the three of us, plus Cardan and the Roach went to save Jude.

The Roach had insisted that Vivi and I’s presence were a liability, while he also threw a few unimpressed glances at Cardan, who expertly ignored them. Without his crown or regal attire he was almost unrecognizable, still I can understand why the Roach wouldn’t want the added risk of protecting the High King during a rescue. I imagine Cardan had already played the king card to silence any further opposition to his presence.

Vivi had asked me if I wanted to go or not to save Jude. I said yes without hesitation, but as we traveled to the camp my thoughts were riddled with conflicting feelings as I played out possible scenarios. Jude was the one who sided against Madoc, so any fury he still had towards her was from her own doing, but Jude was in Elfhame because of me. My foster parents were my family, but if it came to having to pick my sisters or them, I would pick my sisters. I had hoped it would never come to that.

When we arrived, Cardan and the Roach went ahead, insisting that the lot of us could never sneak in undetected. The minutes felt like hours as we waited, listening and watching for any sign of Jude and the others.

I chewed a hole in my cheek as the time went on. I was thinking about what I would say to Jude when I saw her again when the loud clashing of metal had us all on our feet and running.

We were still too far away when I saw Madoc plunge his sword into Jude. My scream caught in my throat, as Grima Mog barked at us to keep running. We needed to get there before he delivered the final blow. If we could intervene first, maybe we could heal her. It wasn’t until I was at her side that I saw how deep the wound was.

I can still remember the heavy metallic smell of Jude’s blood pooling on the white snow. I could see the blood seeping out of the wound on her stomach. The color was disappearing from Jude’s face as she began talking deliriously about packing her wound with the earth and being accepted as the true queen. It was alarming to see the life fading from the face identical to my own.

My head spun as Vivi confirmed Jude’s nonsense and admitted that she was in on another of Jude’s secrets; Jude had married Cardan. The High King. Making her High Queen.

Suddenly, Vivi’s words on the porch clicked.

If Jude wasn’t minutes from dying, the sting of being left out again would have hurt more. But at the time, I could only deal with the absolute shock that my sister was the High Queen of Elfhame and we were relying on a miracle that the land would save her life.

I wouldn’t allow my thoughts to wander to the idea that if Jude died that night, it would be my fault. My fault for helping Madoc get his army. My fault for asking Jude to come to the palace in my place. My fault Madoc stormed the palace and brought her back here. I didn’t want to think of it then, but I certainly have thought about it since.

I regret trusting that Madoc was looking out for us. He taught us to look at everyone as pawns to use to win at our own games. I should have realized I was also a pawn of his. A pawn that helped him get an army that answered to his command. Jude was a disposable pawn as soon as she refused to obey him.

It was one thing for Madoc to make his move against Cardan, but another to be willing to kill Jude. But after all, he is our parent’s murderer.

Jude, of course, lived. The earth saved her. Through the red stained snow, bloomed the most beautiful flowers. I watched them grow around her as the blood flow slowed from her wound. I continued my stitches, trying to keep them as neat as I could given the circumstances. Slowly, life came back into her eyes, even though she was still in critical condition.

When she flew off into the sky on the ragwort pony, my legs trembled under the weight of my emotions crashing down onto me.

Fear. Guilt. Jealousy. Anger. Sadness.

All at once.

Less than a year ago, we both had been sitting in our lessons. We both had fears we didn’t talk about, but life was good. There was trust between us, even though we didn’t always see eye to eye. We ate our lunch on our blanket and joked and teased each other. I spent my free time practicing my needlework and Jude trained to be a knight. We had our family and each other.

Then everything started to change and Jude had climbed higher than any of us could have ever imagined. The High Queen of Faerie. It still seems impossible to think about.

And after nearly dying in the snow, Jude’s only thoughts were of protecting Cardan.

When did she begin to care about him? I am not sure even Jude knew the answer.

When we finally arrived at the palace, we found Cardan next to Jude, his face paler than normal. He didn’t bother to let go of her hand as we entered. Jude’s blood was stained into his tunic.

Cardan insisted Jude stayed in the royal chambers until she woke up; moving her would have risked reopening the stitches and likely caused her pain, still it felt wrong leaving her alone in Cardan’s bed.

Although, they are married after all.

Likely anticipating Vivi’s demands, Cardan ordered the guards to let us in any time we wished so we could visit her. Vivi, Heather, and I spent most of the day watching over her and only left when it was time to sleep. We had made residence in Jude’s old chambers since they had remained untouched since she left. It didn’t seem okay to have a sleepover in the king chambers, even if Cardan was never anywhere to be found at night.

Cardan made a point to visit whenever he was in between official kingdom business. Apparently, when Cardan publicly declared Jude his queen, it had created an uproar among the advisors and the lower courts were demanding meetings. He never stayed in the room long, but a few times he took a spot in the chair next to the bed and whispered to her so quietly that I couldn’t make out his words from where I sat across the room.

I thought it was a pointless endeavor until I heard her mumbling his name a few times as she drifted in and out of consciousness. An unmistakable blush spread across the king’s cheeks. A few moments after she slipped back under, he made an excuse about being needed elsewhere.

Once he was out of the room, Heather and Vivi burst into giggles. I wanted to join them, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile. Seeing Cardan so affectionate soured my stomach. It hadn’t been very long since Jude and I had been very keen to avoid crossing his wicked path. He may love Jude, but that didn’t mean I trusted him. At least, that is what I told Vivi when she raised an eyebrow in question. The real reason was too painful to acknowledge.

Jude’s lies and bloodshed brought her love and power.

Mine left me as a pregnant widow. It hardly seemed fair.

The thought sickened me more as I thought about my sister who remained unconscious, healing from what should have been a fatal wound. Both of our choices had led us to this moment, but while Jude dreamed of serving as a knight, she became a queen who could command armies. I dreamed of marrying and having a happy home full of children, now I am alone except for my tiny bump. Cardan promised to declare my innocence in Locke's death, but what future do I have? I cannot return to live with Madoc and Oriana. I could live with Vivi, but what life could I make for me and my child in the mortal world? If I could be granted ownership of Locke’s estate, I might have hope to provide for us.

Jude will wake up with the world in her grasp, while my future is more uncertain than ever.

The night Jude finally woke up, Cardan had invited us all to dine with him. Oak blatantly refused to go anywhere that would require him to dress up, so Vivi agreed to leave him behind with Tatterfell.

Together, Vivi, Heather, and I made our way to the banquet hall where we found Cardan sitting alone at the head of a small table, built for eight instead of the typical 12 foot long tables that normally occupied the space.

Heather broke the silence first, thanking the king for the invitation and complimenting his choice of decor. Vivi joined in the conversation as the first trays of food were brought out. Heather happily entertained all of Cardan’s inquiries into mortal life. For the first time since Jude's was taken, a spark had returned to his eyes as he listened intently to Vivi’s description of human holidays.

By the time dessert had been served, I could not hold my tongue any longer.

“Why did you marry Jude?” I blurted out.

The silence was interrupted only by the sounds of Heather suddenly becoming very interested in scaping all of the pudding from her bowl.

Cardan met my gaze with a daring smirk. “Sorry, we didn’t invite you. It was a bit of a last minute thing.”

His face remained unreadable. I tried again.

“But, why did you?”

Cardan leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh as if wondering why he did give a mortal girl the status of High Queen if not simply on a whim.

“Jude learned a lot about running a kingdom as my seneschal. It only seems fair she got recognized for her work too.” Cardan said with a shrug.

“Why did you exile her?” I could feel my face growing redder with every question. Oriana would be disappointed to know that both Jude and I had seemingly forgotten all her lessons. Here I was interrogating the king. Brother-in-law or not.

I could feel the air shift in the room. Suddenly I found myself clutching tighter at the shawl covering my shoulders.

When Cardan spoke again, his words were slow and deliberate. “I am sure you heard Jude dearest killed my brother.”

I flinched as a memory of my own bloodied hands pushed into my conscience. I looked down at my half-eaten plate. My words slip out no more than a whisper, “You love her though.”

I dared to glance up enough to see Cardan go rigid. All three sets of eyes were on him, waiting for his response.

“Your sister and I seem to make a habit of misunderstanding the other’s intentions. I hope to remedy that as soon as she wakes up." After a pause, he added, "We all do questionable things now and then, as I am sure you would agree Taryn.”

At that, Cardan rose from his chair and excused himself.