#understand the “murder’’ is said in jest | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

buckymorelikefuckme · 2 years ago

Text

cry baby

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 7.3k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** smut, edging, overstimulation, crying during sex, mentions of flushed cheeks, friends to lovers, misunderstandings, lapslock.

a/n: this is arguably one of my absolute fave fics i've ever written. she is near and dear to my heart :') i've provided the link for ao3 if you prefer to read it there! it's originally posted in two parts but i've combined them here. any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & appreciated ♡

“the boys are running late,” natasha informs you when you make your way to the table she’s conquered in the busy cafe. “sam texted a couple minutes ago and said he and bucky got stuck in traffic.”

it’s the second tuesday of the month, which means it’s brunch day. it’s a running tradition that’s stood for the four of you since your college days. the time and place has changed over the years, but everyone does their absolute best to attend every time. these tuesdays are your favorite, naturally.

you plop into an empty chair across from her with a heavy sigh. “good, that means i have time to bitch about how fucking horny i am before they get here.”

she snorts, taking a delicate sip of her latte. “what’s new?” she wonders sarcastically.

“you don’t understand,” you begin, leaning into the table, gripping the edge tightly. “it’s been months, and not like, a few, i mean it’s coming up on a year.”

natasha’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “a year? what about that guy you went on a few dates with a while back? didn’t anything happen with him?”

“no,” you grumble, sitting back in your chair and crossing your arms. you huff. “and even if something had happened, i doubt it would have been satisfying. i can probably count on one hand the amount of times sex has been even kinda pleasurable for me.”

“sounds like you’re picking shitty partners.”

you scowl. “i know that, but it’s not my fault. all these stupid men keep promising they’re gonna fuck me ten ways to sunday and not a single one of them can even get me to wednesday.”

natasha laughs. “you poor thing.”

“you’re really not helping me here,” you whine with a pitiful pout on your lips. “you are getting routine dickings, you have sam! i am not so lucky here.” you notice her attention flicks to somewhere behind you, but you’re not finished with your rant. “nat, i’m serious. all of my sex encounters are the equivalent of asking someone to scratch my back and then they scratch literally anywhere but the spot that itches. i want to be fucked so good that i cry, just—completely reduced to tears. is that too much to ask?”

nat is hiding her smile behind her hand, amusement painted across her sharp features. someone clears their throat behind you and you pinch the bridge of your nose. sam and bucky occupy the empty seats, sam next to natasha and bucky next to you. they’re both sporting wide grins, looking far too pleased about stumbling into this conversation.

sam opens his mouth, no doubt to make a smartass comment, but you cut him off before he can get a good inhale in.

“not a fucking word,” you grouse with a finger pointed in his direction.

he presses a hand to his chest, expression offended. “i would never make a joke about your truly tragic excuse of a sex life.”

bucky snickers quietly, but turns into a cough at your glare.

“i’ll murder you,” you promise.

“leave her alone, boys,” natasha says, rolling her eyes, though she’s visibly biting back her own laughter.

you huff, digging your wallet out of your purse. “i hate all of you,” you announce before getting up and going to stand in line to order.

bucky follows a moment later, coming to stand at your side and throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“that bad, huh?” he asks.

you don’t have to look at his face to know he’s probably smirking right now.

“fuck off,” you retort, not bothering to push his arm away since you know he’d only put it right back.

“aw, come on, don’t be like that,” he jests, “you know we just like to poke a little fun.”

you roll your eyes, throwing him an exasperated look. “yeah, but that was something only nat was supposed to hear. i hate talking about sex with you and sam because you two wouldn’t understand.”

“that’s not true,” bucky insists, which makes you roll your eyes again. “it’s not!”

“first of all, sam’s got natasha, so we both know they’re more than satisfied.” bucky tilts his head in acquiescence. “and you don’t have to worry about if you’re gonna have an orgasm when you hook up with somebody. men have it so easy.”

it’s probably not the best thing to talk about in line of a busy cafe (especially since you haven’t decided between a blueberry muffin or the ham and cheese croissant, and there’s only one person ahead of you now and you’d really rather not be discussing your lack of sex in front of an innocent barista) but it sort of feels good to get this off your chest, even if it’s to bucky.

“okay, definitely not true,” he replies with a frown. “i’m not always guaranteed an orgasm.”

you give him a skeptical glance. “i find that hard to believe.”

this time, it’s bucky who rolls his eyes. “whatever, whether or not i come when i have sex with someone isn’t what i was gonna talk about when i came over here.”

the person in front of you finishes their order and then you’re stepping up for your turn.

“hi, what can i get you today?” the young barista asks with a smile.

“a large mocha iced coffee with sweet cream and a blueberry muffin, please.” you pause, contemplating, then add, “and a ham and cheese croissant.”

if you can’t get fucked within an inch of your life then food will become your lover, you reason.

“just a black coffee for me, please,” bucky tells the girl, taking his wallet out of his back pocket and handing over his card to pay before you can stop him.

“i could’ve paid for mine,” you mumble.

“you also could just say thank you,” he replies with a short laugh as he ushers you to the side to wait for your order.

you pinch his hip, pouting. “thank you.”

“why does your gratitude come with violence?” he asks, rubbing the sore spot.

“you know how i am when people do nice things for me.”

“you should be used to it by now,” he points out.

“well, i’m not,” you huff. “anyway, what did you come over here to talk about then?”

bucky reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, uncharacteristically shy all the sudden. “uh, well. i dunno, i just thought… you know, since you’re not—i mean, not that you couldn’t be, just—you haven’t been, so maybe… fuck.”

“spit it out,” you say with a giggle, wondering what in the world’s got him so tongue-tied.

“why don’t you let me?” he blurts, averting his gaze immediately after.

you tilt your head in confusion. “let you what?”

he sighs heavily, working his jaw in frustration. “you know…” he begins, digging his thumbnail into a knick on the countertop in front of you. “let me fuck you until you cry.”

“what?”

just then, your order is called. bucky quickly grabs it and turns to make his way back to the table, but you grab his arm to stop him.

“i don’t think so, you come back here right now and explain yourself,” you demand.

his eyes lift heavenward. “it’s just an idea, okay?”

“bucky, you’re talking about crossing a huge line. you can’t just throw that out all willy nilly!”

“i know,” he replies earnestly. “and it’s not—“ he grimaces at the phrasing, “willy nilly. you’re one of my best friends. i wouldn’t jeopardize that for anything, and i wouldn’t offer this if i thought that it could. this is something that’s obviously affecting you negatively in your life and i’m willing to help. i trust you, and i’m pretty sure you trust me, yeah?”

“of course i trust you,” you say, frowning.

he shrugs. “so, then it’s just… a friend helping another friend.”

“you make it sound so simple,” you muse in wonder.

“think about it?” he implores.

you swallow roughly, biting the inside of your cheek. “fine. i’ll think about it.”

he nods and walks back over to the table where sam and natasha are waiting. you hesitate for only a split second before following.

needless to say, you’re distracted for the rest of brunch.

***

you: what even makes you think you could fuck me until i cry anyway?

it’s been nearly a week, and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re actually considering taking bucky’s offer. it’s all you can think about since he brought it up. you can’t lie, you’ve always thought bucky was attractive, but ever since you were gently but firmly placed in the friend category back in university, you never allowed yourself to think of there ever being more between the two of you. he’s a wonderful friend to have and you’d have been an idiot to pass it up. bucky is kind and generous and just enough of an asshole to keep things interesting without it being a problem.

but this… this has left you reeling. why would he make such an offer after only ever keeping things strictly friendly and platonic in your relationship? and more importantly, where does he get the confidence to think he could follow through?

bucky: experience?

you make a face at your phone, furiously typing your reply.

you: ew. do you realize how douchey that sounds?

bucky: well, it’s not douchey if it’s true.

you: says you

bucky: and a few other people :)

bucky: you’d know it too if you’d let me fuck you

you exhale harshly through your nose, tapping your foot on the floor anxiously, carefully thinking of what you should say next.

you: it’s apparently a tall request, and thus far, nobody’s been able to deliver. you can understand my skepticism…

bucky: if i don’t leave you shivering and twitching with aftershocks of pleasure, in a mess of sweat and come, and tears stained on your cheeks, then i will have failed you.

your thighs squeeze together at the mental image that brings you. jesus christ, if he’s half as good at fucking as he is dirty talking then he just might do as he’s promising.

bucky: so? what do you say? wanna give it a try?

biting your lip, you give yourself a moment to weigh the pros and cons in your mind one last time.

it doesn’t take you very long to make your decision.

you: okay. we’ll try.

***

it’s a slightly overcast sunday when bucky comes over with the direct intention to fuck you. it should be weird, but strangely, all you feel is anticipation. maybe it’s because you know him so well and know that, no matter what, he’d take care of you.

(or, maybe it’s because those repressed college-aged feelings are doing their best to resurface, even though you steadfastly continue to ignore them.)

you’d taken a thorough shower earlier to ease the little bit of nerves you had when you’d woken up. cleaning up the small mess your apartment gathered over the last couple weeks helped, as well, and soon you found yourself standing in front of your lingerie drawer with your lips pursed.

you weren’t sure if you should even bother with it, but it felt you wouldn’t be putting in any effort into this encounter if you didn’t at least pick out nice underwear. so, with a pleased nod, you settle on some simple black lace panties and a matching bralette. not too much, but enough to satisfy yourself, and hopefully bucky. you pick out a simple sundress to put on over it, since you won’t be wearing much of anything once bucky gets here. that thought has you flushing, but you ignore it to put on some makeup, just to freshen up your face.

by the time he knocks on your door, you’ve already finished a glass of wine and are pouring yourself a second.

he smiles when open the door, a bit boyishly, greeting you with a quiet, “hi.”

“hi,” you return, just as soft. you open the door wider. “come in.”

he walks passed you, stopping to toe his shoes off and hang his jacket on one of the hooks.

“do you want a glass of wine?” you ask as you head to the kitchen to retrieve your own from the counter.

bucky follows, stopping in the entryway with his hands in his pockets. “no, thank you.”

you nod, taking a sip from your glass, trying to figure out what to say. the air feels a little awkward and you’re not sure how to fix it.

“nervous?” he wonders curiously.

you shake your head. “not really.”

he quirks a brow. “then what’s wrong?”

“i don’t know,” you murmur. “i guess i’m just worried we’re making a mistake.”

he hums. you take a larger sip of your wine.

with cautious steps, he comes closer to you. “what if i promise that things won’t be weird after?”

“you can’t really promise that, though.”

“sure i can,” he says, smiling. “it’s me and you. we’ve been friends for so long. plenty of people have sex and stay friends after.”

you’re not just ‘people’ to me, you think.

you sigh, frustrated with yourself. you can’t deny how badly you want this. it’s all you’ve been able to think about since that day in the cafe. but the thought of losing bucky is heartbreaking, and you don’t want your stupid horniness to be the reason that you ruin a friendship, even if he was the one to offer sex.

“why don’t we go make out on the couch for a little while first?” he suggests after a moment’s pause.

you snort, in spite of your thoughts. “like a couple of teenagers?”

his eyes crinkle on the sides when he grins. “yeah. we’ll just see how we feel about that, and if it leads to more, then…” he trails off, shrugging.

“that’s not a bad idea,” you concede.

“great! finish your wine.”

you laugh and do as you’re told, downing the little remaining wine in one go, sitting the glass down on the counter resolutely as you swallow.

“let’s do this,” you say, determined.

bucky huffs a laugh, grabbing your wrist and tugging you behind him as he makes his way to the couch. he settles slightly facing you as you tuck your legs under you beside him.

“do you wanna talk, or do you want to jump straight into it?”

“if we talk anymore i’m gonna change my mind. just kiss me already, bucky.”

“yes ma’am,” he sasses before doing exactly that.

he cups your cheek with one hand as the other is placed on your knee. he guides your face to his and kisses you chastely. you’re not sure where to put your hands at first, but you tell yourself to quit being a goober about it and place them on either side of his neck, your thumbs brushing under his jaw.

it’s an okay kiss, you have to admit, but it’s not really doing anything for you yet. he has soft lips, softer than you thought they’d be. you’re beginning to wonder if maybe this confirms you shouldn’t go any further when he tilts his head, and… hm.

he parts his lips, taking your bottom one between his, kissing it, then nipping it. you wouldn’t say the sound you make is a gasp, necessarily, but it’s close. his tongue lightly caresses the seam of your mouth and you don’t even think before you open up for him, letting his tongue sweep in, flicking against yours. you hum, scooting a tiny bit closer to him, chasing the feeling. his kisses turn insistent then, teeth biting at your bottom lip and tugging, soothing the ache with his tongue. he kisses you like a man quenching his thirst, like you’re the best goddamn thing he’s ever tasted, and it’s leaving you dizzy. you sway more into his space and he pulls away from your mouth.

“c’mere,” he whispers, gripping behind one of your knees to drag it over his hips so you’re straddling him. “much better.”

you don’t have a chance to process anything about the moment, his mouth back on yours in a blink. your fingers wind themselves into his hair, getting a good grip on it as you lick into his mouth. he lets out a soft noise at that and you try your damnedest to pry it out of him again, pressing your chest to his so there’s not even a sliver of space left between you.

his hands travel, down the sides of your torso to your thighs, back up to your hips where he holds on tight. it doesn’t take long after that before you find yourself grinding into him. you both moan at the same time, breaking the kiss to pant for breath.

you swallow roughly. “okay,” you murmur, “i think it’s safe to say this could work.”

bucky laughs quietly. “yeah? wanna move to your bed then?”

your squeeze your thighs around him, shifting minutely on his lap and feeling the beginnings of his erection beneath you. “yes,” you breathe.

quickly, you rise from your position and step back, allowing bucky to stand, then grab his hand and lead him to your bedroom. once you’re standing beside your bed, you turn to face him. he meets your halfway, pulling you into another, filthier kiss. you reach for his belt buckle, unfastening it and sliding it through the loops, tossing it to your floor. next are the button and zip of his jeans, shoved down his legs until he steps out of them and kicks them and his socks aside. he obediently lifts his arms when you slide your hands under his shirt and begin pushing it up, breaking the kiss to nearly yank it off, making bucky huff in amusement. once it’s tossed with the rest of his clothes, bucky grabs fistfuls of your dress and pulls you into him.

“my turn,” he says against your lips.

carefully, bucky helps you out of your dress, eyes raking over every bit of new skin shown to him. he bites his lip when he sees your lacy underthings.

“you got all dolled up for me?” he asks.

shifting under his stare, you nod. “wanted to look nice,” you admit.

he hums. “beautiful.”

he kisses you again, a little softer than before, but no less passionate. the urgency returns as he backs you up until your thighs hit the mattress. gently, he guides you onto your back, never breaking the kiss as he follows you down and settles over you.

you soon find yourself in need of air and pull away with a gasp. bucky is undeterred and instead presses his kisses down your jaw, to your neck where he decides to bite and suck until he’s left a mark you’ll have to reprimand him for later. he licks his way up to your ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth, drawing a whine out of you.

“bucky,” you whisper, hands gripping his sides as you squirm below him.

“hm?”

you close your eyes tightly when he makes his way back down to your collarbones.

“please,” you whimper.

“please what, sweetheart?” he asks, pushing himself up to look you in the eye.

“t-touch me,” you beg, cheeks flushing.

his lips quirk into a smile. “i am touching you.”

“bucky,” you whine.

“where do you want me to touch you, hm?” he wonders. one of his hands trails across your shoulder and down the center of your chest. “here? or… here?”

when his fingers glide, barely there, over your pebbled nipples, you push into the touch eagerly.

“or…” he continues, his feather light touch making a path down your stomach. your breath quickens in anticipation. “here?” he murmurs as his fingertips stop on your pantyline.

“yes, there, anywhere,” you agree hastily, “just —please. please, bucky, don’t tease me.”

he kisses you again, deep, full of promise. “you beg so prettily for me.”

he rearranges your positions until he’s between your spread thighs, sweeping his hands across the inside of them. he nods to your panties.

“may i?”

“yes, please,” you reply, lifting your hips to help him take them off.

he doesn’t give you a chance to close your legs in shyness, firmly grasping your knees in each of his hands and spreading them once again. the way he’s looking at you makes you feel unbelievably desirable, has excitement crawling up your spine.

“don’t forget,” you remind him, making his eyes flick up to yours in question, “you better make me cry.”

a slow, dangerous smile graces his lips. your stomach swoops eagerly.

a whine, high pitched and drawn out, escapes your lips. after you unwittingly challenged him, bucky took it upon himself to torture you—with sex. so far, he’s only used his fingers on you, in you, thrusting them steadily but never enough to bring you to climax. he’s taking his time and being a smug prick about it. you go to complain, again, hoping if you beg enough he’ll let you come, but before you can do more than open your mouth he’s quickening his pace.

“oh!” you gasp, clutching the sheets in your hands.

bucky slides his hand down your thigh, bringing his thumb inward to swipe around where his other fingers are buried inside you to gather your wetness and using it to rub circles on your clit. your back arches, head thrown back against your pillows as you feel your orgasm build. it’s not tears, but damn, it feels good enough.

just as you start to clench around his fingers, legs spasming, he stops.

your eyes open in a hurry, brows furrowing in confusion. “no, please, don’t stop,” you plead.

bucky smiles. “i gotta get the right build up.”

you groan in frustration. he laughs quietly and lets the inferno burning within you simmer down to embers, then starts inching his way down until he’s lying on his stomach, mouth poised above your pussy. the feel of his warm breath makes you shiver, and with no warning whatsoever, he leans in and sucks your clit into his mouth.

“fuckin’—oh my— bucky!”

you’re pretty sure you black out for the next several minutes, the only thing you’re aware of is the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears and the feel of bucky’s mouth on you. you’re lost in a mindless haze of pleasure, unable to think or feel anything else. you feel your orgasm cresting for the second time, and just as before, bucky pulls away before you can succumb to it.

“why,” you hiccup on a moan, wanting nothing more than to just come already, but he’s not letting you.

he shushes you, softly kisses your knee. sitting up to take his underwear off, bucky keeps his eyes on you, expression hungry.

“gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” he promises. “just a bit more. you’re being so good for me, yeah?”

“please,” you whimper, feeling completely pathetic.

he makes quick work of putting a condom on and then settles between your thighs. you sigh in relief when he wastes no time and pushes in, being careful not to go too fast. once he’s fully inside you, he pauses, wanting to give you time to adjust, but you’re back to whining.

“bucky, please, please just—fuck me,” you beg, squirming beneath him.

he takes mercy on you, finally, and sets a hard pace. your hands fly up to push against the headboard, moaning and gasping from his harsh thrusts, loving the stretch of him inside you. his thumb is back on your clit and you cry out, clenching hard around him, but his thrusts don’t falter. all too soon, you can feel yourself getting close. you hear your own voice chanting please, please, please, mixed in with bucky’s grunts and the sound of him fucking you.

you whimper, eyes squeezed shut as your climax hits the point of no return, crashing over you in waves. you think you might scream, but it’s hard to pay attention to anything other than the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. part of you thinks this’ll be it, bucky will come now and then you’ll have had one of the best orgasms of your life and he’ll be on his merry way home. but no, that’s not what happens.

instead, bucky keeps thrusting relentlessly into you, dragging out your pleasure to the point of oversensitivity.

“s’too much,” you breathe, gasping for air.

bucky shakes his head, face contorted in concentration. “one more,” he tells you, voice gruff and deep.

unbelievably, you feel tears beginning to gather in the corners of your eyes. bucky’s still rubbing your clit, still keeping a steady rhythm of his hips, and fuck, he’s so beautiful. you watch him fucking you, wondering how the fuck you got to this moment, how you got lucky enough to bear witness to the sight of bucky fucking, let alone be the one he fucks. his body is ridiculous, looking like it’s carved from marble. you know how much strength it holds, as well, know that if he really wanted to, he could probably fuck you against a wall.

it’s with that thought, with the added bonus of the way bucky touches you, looks at you, like you’re something treasured and gorgeous, giving you such intense pleasure, that the tears threatening to spill over finally fall from your lashes.

bucky notices, because of course he does, and he thrusts into you just a little faster, a little harder, and your body seizes up and then you’re falling into another orgasm. it spreads through your veins, slow like honey, making sure this one settles deep into your bones. bucky groans as he, too, reaches climax, hips twitching into you in aftershocks until he stops moving altogether.

you both pant for breath, sweat gathered in every crevice on your bodies. you think you won’t be able to move for the rest of the weekend.

“need to pull out,” bucky says softly, breaking the moment.

you nod and he carefully pulls his hips back, grunting. you poorly suppress a whimper and close your legs, already hating the empty feeling.

“well,” he starts, plopping himself on his back next to you, “i think i deserve some kind of reward.”

when you turn to face him with an exasperated look, he’s got his arms crossed behind his head, a smug smile across his lips.

“how about i don’t kick you in the balls? how’s that for a reward?”

“i literally just did the impossible.”

“what, made me come twice? i can do that all on my own. you’re not special,” you retort with a huff.

he scoffs. “i fucked you so good you cried.”

“you can’t prove it,” you say to the ceiling.

“keep up this attitude and i won’t do it again,” he threatens, poking you in your side.

you wiggle away from the ticklish touch while trying to tamp down on the hope bubbling in your chest.

“oh, we’re doing this again, are we?” you say as casually as possible.

he rolls his eyes. “of course we are. now,” he sits up in your bed, stretching his arms as he stands and picks up his underwear, “i’m starving. wanna order takeout?”

well, you guess if you��d been worried about any kind of awkwardness before, you shouldn’t have. this is bucky, your best friend. he’d never let things change between you.

***

except, things kinda change between the two of you.

it’s not very noticeable at first, changes so subtle you miss them, until one day he showed up at your apartment and greeted you with a kiss. you stood frozen in your doorway as he rambled about how stressful his day had been as he kicked his shoes off. it was only when you heard him calling out from the kitchen that he was gonna eat your leftovers that you snapped out of it, yelling back that you’d kick his ass if he even touched your dumplings.

another day, he facetimes you and asks if you want to go to see that new movie you’ve been talking about.

“oh,” you’d said. “are nat and sam coming, too?”

he’d given you a funny look, replied, “no, i thought it would just be us two.”

“oh,” you said again. “okay.”

so you’d gone to the movies, let him buy you buttery popcorn and peanut m&m’s and a soda bigger than your head. he shared with you, despite your protests, and halfway through the film you felt his hand settle on your thigh. you blinked and stared at it for a beat, turning to him in question. he only smiled at you briefly before focusing back on the movie.

in between all of this, you continued calling him over for sex. honestly, how could you not? as much as you didn’t want to admit it to him, he was the best you’ve ever had. and if he’s so willing, why shouldn’t you take advantage while you can?

a week ago, though, you’d texted him and asked him to come over, replying to his question of what time and then started getting ready. you’d purchased a new piece of lingerie, a periwinkle babydoll nightie, that left very little to the imagination. it had a matching pair of panties and felt soft and luxurious on your skin. you’d taken extra time to do your hair and makeup, wanting to look like sex on legs, and you’re pretty sure you succeeded.

but when he got there and you answered the door in your sexy outfit, he didn’t see it right away. in one hand he held his phone, typing something on it, and in the other hand he held a grocery bag that you eyed curiously.

“i brought stuff to make spaghetti—“

when he did finally look up, his eyes widened and traveled the length of your body several times. you bit your lip, trying and failing to hold back your smile.

“how about we skip dinner?” you’d said, fisting his nice button-up shirt and dragging him inside your apartment. you grabbed the grocery bag from his hand and sat it on the floor, absently noting he was wearing his date jeans.

whoops, you’d thought, hope i didn’t pull him away from someone important.

you hadn’t let yourself dwell on it, standing up on your tippy toes and kissing him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. he’d returned the kiss, licking into your mouth, drawing your tongue out so he could suck on it and made you moan embarrassingly loud.

“wait,” he’d murmured, “we should eat first.”

“or, you could eat me,” you’d retorted with a giggle.

he groaned like it pained him to say no, gripped your hips hard and put a tiny bit of distance between you. the look in his eyes had made you want to find the nearest flat surface and bend over.

“why don’t you be a good girl for me, hm? let me cook dinner for us and after we eat i’ll fuck you however you want me to. okay, sweetheart?”

you whined, but ultimately agreed, knowing he’d make it worth it.

and then there’s tonight, where he came over unannounced, armed with groceries again and promising to cook you the best meal you’ve ever had. to say you were confused would be an understatement, but you also didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

it’s just… well, bucky’s not really acting like a friend with benefits. sure, you hung out alone with him all the time before, but he never once cooked you dinner, and he certainly never helped wash dishes after. you guess the hello kisses could be explained away as part of the new aspect of your relationship, but something about that didn’t sit quite right with you.

after a truly delicious dinner, you find yourself on the couch with bucky as he scrolls through netflix to find a movie to put on.

“what do you want to watch?” he asks.

“mm,” you mumble, shifting closer to start kissing his neck, “don’t care.”

as he narrows down his decision and finally picks one, you make your way up to his jaw, sucking a small mark into the skin there.

“baby,” he protests softly, “let’s just watch the movie, yeah?”

you pull back, confused. first at the pet name, then at his words. he’s never denied you before, which isn’t to say that he can’t, it’s just that he’s always seemed on board. and, you know, you thought that was kind of the whole point of this thing.

“okay,” you reply after a moment.

he gives you a smile and a sweet kiss, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his side to cuddle. you can’t help but frown, feeling like you’re missing something, but not knowing what it could be.

it doesn’t take long for drowsiness to creep up on you. before he showed up, you had planned on probably ordering out for dinner and going to bed early since you’d had a pretty rough day. in fact, you remember texting bucky about it just that afternoon. your eyelids get heavier and heavier, finding it harder to keep them open as the seconds pass. your head droops and in the next blink, you’ve fallen asleep.

you’re not sure how much time has passed when bucky wakes you, but you groan, pouting and burrowing into his shoulder more.

he huffs a laugh. “c’mon, sweetheart, let’s get you to bed.”

“don’ wanna move,” you mumble tiredly.

“i’ll carry you,” he offers. “up you go, baby.”

you half heartedly argue about being jostled, but let him carry you to your bed where he carefully places you, helping you out of your sweatpants and pulling your blankets up around you. you sigh in content, feeling yourself already drifting back into sleep. you hear bucky shuffling, but think nothing of it until the bed dips beside you, then feel his warm body slide in underneath the covers and press in close.

“goodnight, darlin’,” he murmurs.

you’d ask him what in the word he’s doing, but sleep is just far too enticing to ignore. you fall into slumber with bucky’s warmth along your back, his arm draped over you.

the next morning, you wake to the feeling of his fingers playing with the tiny bow on the front of your panties and his lips placing gentle kisses on your shoulder. you hum, eyes still closed, in the back of your mind thinking this is a nice way to wake up. at the sound of you, his touches get firmer, more insistent.

“good morning,” he rasps, breath tickling your ear.

you don’t really get a chance to reply. he dips his fingers into your panties, making you inhale sharply, moaning as you buck into his hand. he fingers you for a while, kissing along the column of your throat, biting and sucking marks into the skin there. when you’re begging him for more, he relents, eases your panties off and lifts your leg to slide in from behind. the angle is so nice it has you gasping.

you clutch the sheets weakly, burying your face in your pillow and muffle your whines and moans. bucky keeps a slow, lazy rhythm, acting as if he’s got all the time in the world to draw this out. it’s good, so good, and you can’t hold back your whimper when he kicks up the pace a little, tells you to touch yourself. you come seconds before he does, shuddering through it and humming happily.

as you both lie there and catch your breath, awareness trickles into your mind. you swallow roughly, staring blankly at the wall as you realize your feelings have grown far too much for this to be only casual anymore.

bucky kisses your shoulder again. “i’m gonna go make breakfast, okay? i’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“okay,” you whisper, blinking rapidly to keep tears from forming.

hearing bucky bustle around your kitchen makes your heart clench with want; want for something you can’t have.

***

bucky: dinner tonight?

you bite the inside of your cheek as you stare at the text. you know you need to cut things off with him before you get anymore hurt than you already are. it’s not fair to either of you if you continue with this arrangement when you’ve caught real feelings for him. you have to tell him, and soon. with that thought in mind, you type out a reply.

you: sure. what time?

bucky: reservations are at 8pm, i’ll pick you up by 7:45.

reservations? where was he taking you? you get another text before you can ask.

bucky: dress nice ;)

with a sigh, you text back an affirmative and try to start mentally preparing yourself for the conversation you dreaded having. you could only hope and pray that he agrees to still be your friend after.

by the time there’s a knock on your door that night, you’ve worked yourself up into an anxious mess. you open the door to see bucky standing there with a single peach colored rose and a bashful grin.

“hi,” he greets, leaning in to kiss you on your cheek. “this is for you.”

he hands you the rose and you feel your heart crack in your chest. you muster a small smile.

“thank you. let me go put this in a vase and we can head out.”

he nods and waits patiently at the door. as you fill a vase with a little water, you take a deep breath, giving yourself a mental pep talk.

this was going to suck.

the drive to the restaurant doesn’t take too long, and when you see where he’s taken you, your eyebrows shoot up. this is one of the nicer places in the city, definitely not on the affordable side. he helps you out of the car, leading you inside with his hand on the small of your back. you’re led to a small booth in a far corner with overhead lighting that feels too intimate. maybe you’d have to wait until you left to tell him…

conversation is light, a bit surface level, and you get the feeling that bucky is a little nervous. you wonder if maybe he’s gonna let you down gently first, hoping that he doesn’t, because you’d rather not cry in such a fancy restaurant.

after the waiter takes your drink orders, bucky sighs.

“okay, let me just… get this off my chest.”

oh fuck, here it goes.

“i know i’ve never really come across at the most romantic guy, especially since i’ve never felt the need to be.” he runs a nervous hand through his hair. “you’ve always been so important to me, and this last month has been so, so wonderful.”

“bucky…” you trail off, attempting to somehow stop him, but he powers through.

“i just—i never thought i’d find somebody, you know?” he says, earnest, gaze locked on yours. another crack in your heart. “especially not somebody who was my friend first, that i already had a solid foundation with. the attraction had always been there, but the friendship meant more to me, and finally allowing that to blossom into this amazing, new, fun relationship has got to be the best decision i’ve ever made.”

did he start dating someone and not tell you? oh god, has he been sleeping with someone else? at the same time? your stomach turns, eyes burning, hating yourself more and more as he speaks.

“so, i guess what i’m trying to say is,” he says, rolling his eyes at himself and smiling, “happy one month anniversary, sweetheart.”

you blink, feeling a tear slip down your cheek. “what?” you croak, beyond confused.

bucky, however, looks concerned. “baby, why are you crying?”

“i…” you blink some more, eyes flitting around the room as if you’ll get some kind of clarity that way to the situation currently happening. “what?” you repeat.

“did i come on too strong?” he asks, looking embarrassed now. “i wasn’t sure if you’d even want to celebrate, but i’ve just been so happy with you—i’m sorry, baby, i should’ve asked.”

“bucky, what are you talking about?” you finally manage, unable to keep the bewilderment out of your tone. “anniversary?”

bucky frowns. “i didn’t get the date wrong, did i?”

“no, i—this isn’t—i’m not talking about—ugh, i mean, when did we even start having an anniversary to celebrate?”

bucky’s face goes blank, sitting back in his chair. your heart is pounding wildly in your chest, so fucking confused, so fucking hopeful.

“we… we’re dating,” he says, slow, unsure. “aren’t we?”

“since when?” you ask probably too loudly, cheeks flushing.

he opens and closes his mouth a couple times. “when i asked you out?”

“bucky, oh my god, you’re gonna have to be more specific before i lose my goddamn mind. when did you ask me out?”

he huffs, his own cheeks flushing. “at the cafe! a month ago, at brunch with natasha and sam.”

your eyes widen in disbelief. “when you asked if you could fuck me until i cried?” you hiss, ignoring the scandalized look on the waiter’s face as he brings your drinks over.

smiling apologetically, you thank him and wait until he’s gone before sending a glare bucky’s way.

“that’s not how you ask a person out,” you seethe.

“i asked if you wanted to give this a try and you said yes!” he replies desperately. “i’ve taken you on dates!”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, thinking of all the times you thought he was being too romantic, more-than-friends type of behavior. you’re a fucking idiot, but god, so was he.

“at no point did you say anything even remotely close about us starting a relationship. i thought we were just fucking, bucky, i didn’t realize it was more than that!”

“you don’t—“ he starts, then stops, looking down at the plate in front of him. “you don’t want to be with me?”

“i didn’t know it was an option,” you say carefully.

“well, it is.” he meets your gaze, cautious. “i just spilled my guts to you. you know how i feel now. how do you feel? about me?”

you lick your lips. “bucky, i… i was planning to end things with you tonight.” his expression drops, even though he tries to mask it, so you’re quick to explain. “not because i don’t like you, but because i do like you and i thought you wouldn’t want anything more than just sex with me.”

“it’s never been and never could have been just sex with you,” he replies, quiet and relieved. he reaches across the table to take your hand in his. “i meant it when i said you’re the best decision i’ve ever made. i want this—the sex, the dinners, dates, all the gross and sappy shit i never wanted before… i want it all with you, if you’ll have me.”

you can’t fight the smile spreading across your lips. “of course i’ll have you, bucky.”

he smiles in return, a laugh bubbling out of him, which makes you giggle, until you’re both laughing so hard and loud that patrons from other tables are sending dirty looks your way, which only makes you laugh more.

“do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, laughter dying down. “there’s pizza and sex calling our names, i think.”

bucky moans dramatically. “i knew i liked you for a reason.”

he leaves money on the table and then the two of you quickly make your way through the restaurant, giggling and holding hands the whole way, even in the car.

#avengers fic #marvel fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you

6K notes · View notes

reverie-starlight · 4 months ago

Text

gn!ereader, no physical descriptions. FLUFFFFF!!! suna is worried about you suffocating/being a murder victim for like 2 seconds but it’s really not bad at all. reader has odd sleeping habits. I don’t like taking naps, but I imagine napping with suna would make it more enjoyable. extremely short drabble based on the position I woke up in this morning.

the one constant in this world, something suna rintarou can count on, even when everything else has been turned upside down, is you sleeping in outrageously uncomfortable (yet comical) positions everyday without fail.

he doesn’t know how you do it- he’s too much of a restless sleeper to knock out if the level of light is slightly different than what he’s used to, let alone while curled up uncomfortably.

but instead of trying to understand, he just takes on the task of moving you out of said positions as gently as possible.

he’s woken up to your arm in his face, your foot against the wall, halfway off the bed… he’s seen it all at this point, and today is no different.

now, suna’s chill about most things. he’s the calm to your chaos, the balancing factor to your anxious personality. he’s rational when you need it, which is most of the time… but when it comes to your safety, rationality goes out the window.

he comes home from practice to find you napping in your queen sized bed, arms above your head and a pillow laying over your face. if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were a murder victim.

your chest is moving up and down, your fingers are twitching as you dream, but it’s not enough. he needs to see your eyes and hear your voice to settle the queasy feeling growing rapidly in his stomach.

he yanks the pillow off of your face, not even thinking about snapping a picture of this to add to his album of your strange sleeping habits, and gently guides your arms down to your sides. if he wasn’t beside himself with worry, he’d be in awe of how you never seem to lose circulation with your positions.

your eyes flutter open and his small sigh of relief is muffled by your sleepy whines. “rin? you’re home?”

he moves to hover on top of you when you weakly tug at him to lean in closer and flicks your forehead. “idiot, you scared me. the only reason I knew you were alive is because of your snoring.”

that wakes you up a bit more and you gape at him. “excuse me, I do not snore!”

he gives you a look that says are you sure about that?

of course you don’t snore, every higher power knew better than to disrupt my sleep schedule more than you already do, he thinks, but he’s only trying to cover his worry up now that he knows you’re okay. you seem to catch on anyway and wrap your arms around his neck. “I’m sorry rinnie,” and he sighs at the nickname you only break out when you’re still sleepy and delirious. “thanks for caring about me.”

he kisses the very same spot he flicked earlier and then leaves a trail of them down to your nose, your cheeks, and finally your lips. “how many times do I have to tell you to stop thanking me for that?”

you don’t respond and instead pull him even closer. “nap with me, baby. you legally have to since you interrupted mine, actually.”

he snorts at the irony. his complaints about your restlessness while sleeping are all in jest, of course. he’d never dream of trading in all your quirks for one second.

“fine,” he exaggerates a sigh and rolls over onto his back. he just knows that you’ll want to cuddle into him as if he’s really the teddy bear you insist he is.

“but only for twenty minutes, we still have to be active members of society and do some grocery shopping later.”

you ignore him and nuzzle your way under his arm as he sets an alarm on his phone, using the beat of his heart to lull you to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

very short but I had to get the idea out. I have a longer atsumu fic coming soon, so stay tuned!

hope you enjoyed!!

tagging: @dira333 @emmyrosee @6okuto

#suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader fluff #suna rintarou x reader fluff #suna fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader fluff #hq x reader

583 notes · View notes

insomniac4000 · 8 months ago

Text

Escape-A ChrisMD fic

"Who's stupid idea was this?" Chris grumbled as he walked along with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. He then had eight pairs of eyes on him all furrowed.

"YOURS!!!" Arthur TV bellowed out.

It started out innocently enough, the five of you sitting around in the living room as you often did, there might have been a couple of drinks consumed but nothing too major, you were mainly all sitting around and talking after failing to agree on something to watch. You had your legs draped over your boyfriend Chris's lap and was mostly just laughing at him and his friends being silly.

"We don't do a lot, maybe we should go out do some adventure golf or something," Chris suggested, everyone moaned at the word golf. He had dragged everyone in that room to golf at some point and you all hated it.

"Well I don't know paintball or an escape room or something!" He cried waving his arms around. You gently placed a hand on his arm to stop him from hitting you in the face accidentally.

"Escape room could be fun," ArthurTV shrugged, he quite liked solving puzzles.

And that was it, now here you all were three days later walking down the road at ten o clock in the morning on a Saturday, it was the only time they had available. Chris wasn't a morning person particularly he needed to have time to adjust before getting up for the day watching some Youtube or Tiktok with a cup of tea but he had woken up late this morning and didn't have time for his tea so was cranky.

"I don't know why this is suddenly all my fault," Chris sulked, you rolled your eyes but grabbed his hand anyway and squeezed it causing him to smile at you.

You got to the place bang on time, filled in the forms and listened to the actors spiel. The premise was of a manor house and a murder, however the detective investigating this had now gone missing. You entered the first room which looked to be a ransacked lounge, it was set in the nintety fifties and the décor reflected that.

"What's our strategy here?" George asked looking round the room to see the two Arthur's already off trying to solve a puzzle on the table and Chris looking around gormlessly wishing he stopped for a cup of tea on the way. A collection of newspapers had caught your eye and you were rooting through them trying to find a pattern.

"We need a number!" Arthur Hill announced as him and his namesake looked around the room for any further clues.

"Hang on," you said with your finger up. "2783," you added with a smile, a slightly smug one if you did say so yourself. ArthurTV punched the numbers in and the three of you cheered when the puzzle opened revealing three keys.

"Where do they go?" Chris asked, taking some time to get into the game.

"There under the TV," George pointed to the cabinet which had a key slot. The found the other two just as quickly.

"Huh that was easy," Chris mused as everyone piled into the next room when the door opened. The next part was a stable complete with horse puppets who neighed and made other horse sound effects.

"Well this is fucking weird," George commented as the rest of you looked around the room.

"Horse girls are weird," Arthur Hill added and you nodded in response.

"Why? What's wrong with animal lovers?" The other Arthur replied being a little bit offended as a lover of the animal kingdom.

"Horse girls are a different breed. You will always come second to the horse," you explained. You had a friend in school who ended up in tens of thousands of pounds in debt due to a horse, you failed to understand it but each to their own.

"Could this be something?" Chris had managed to switch on now, in part inspired by how quick everyone else managed to get out of the previous room and he did nothing to contribute. He was currently looking in a bag which was labelled apples.

"Don't be stupid," Arthur TV scolded, Chris frowned and placed the bag down.

"Fucking nerdy twat," Chris uttered under his breath. It was said in jest, like all of the banter the boys had inbetween them.

Minutes passed and frustrations grew as it appeared you were getting nowhere. There was a game with horse reigns where you had to get them untangled and put the four sets of reigns from one side to the other so they weren't touching. The two Arthur's had decided to work on that as you took one look at it and noped straight out of there and Chris thought it was a bit too difficult and he wanted something he could solve so he didn't look like an idiot in front of you. While you and Chris scrambled throughout the rest of the room not having much luck, Chris growing ever frustrated by the second.

"For fucks sake," he moaned placing his head in his hands and he stomped his foot like a a child.

"YES!" Arthur TV shouted as they managed to solve the puzzle, a small hatch next to the ropes with a key inside.

"Is there a door it opens?" Arthur Hill asked as he looked around.

"Look on the wall for a clue," a voice rang out, it was the worker who was keeping an eye on the group.

"We're so shit they need to help us," Chris muttered as he looked at the words on the wall behind him. "Red Rum, wasn't he a horse?"

"What's so special about him?" George asked also kicking himself at not being too helpful this time.

"He won the national three times," you shrugged.

"Then there must be three keys," ArthurTV surmised as everyone kept looking around for some more keys. Taking a punt Chris went into the bag of apples and pulled out a key straight away.

"I knew it!!!" Chris shouted as he punched the air. You couldn't help but smile and gave his back a little rub in celebration, he looked so pleased with himself but you knew the gloating would come soon enough.

"We would have done this room by now if I would have looked in here in the first place," Chris moaned. You were well used to his first character syndrome by now and you were very good at calming him down. Everyone else was also used to it and ignored the remark as they searched for the last key. When they finally got the final key and went through to the next room which was a library. Chris was still grumbling that no one was listening to him and everyone assumed he was thick because he liked football and it was the stereotype, it's one of the reasons he went on Mastermind.

In the library there was a map in the middle of the room, there multiple locations with lights on, ten in total and the rest of the room was filled with books.

"Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas," Chris said as he was reading the titles. As soon as he did that a light on the map came on and flashed green, it was the light which was in the states around where Vegas would be.

"That must be it, we need to find the books which correspond to the map," ArthurTV summed up.

"There's also a letter A on the book," Chris added pointing to the post it note on the book. You then noticed the pen and pencil by the phone which was on a desk, the only other piece of furniture in the library.

"There must be a password when we've found them all," you added as you started to look at the rest of the books before putting an arm around your boyfriend. "Look at you clever little thing," you smiled before giving him a peck on the cheek. He smiled wide and winked at you before turning his attention back to the shelves.

"Come on love birds there will be plenty of time for that later!" George scolded as he found yet another book and said the title, The Little Paris Bookshop.

They went through that room quite quickly before making it through to what was the final room unbeknownst to them. It was the kitchen and it looked like it had been ransacked.

As time ticked on the group were growing ever frustrated at struggling to open the fridge, they had solved one puzzle already which told them that they needed to open the fridge as the key was in there.

"What about ingredients or a recipe or something?" Chris asked as he was shuffling through the papers.

"I dunno," ArthurTV said as he banged his head against the fridge door.

"Why do you all keep ignoring my ideas? I was right about the bloody bag and I smashed it with the books!" Chris shouted frustrated.

"Because most of the time what comes out of your mouth is bollocks," George replied in jest.

"There is too much testosterone in this room," you replied rolling you eyes. You could have gone to brunch with the girls but no, you had to join your boyfriend and his friends. "Babe, keep working on that, it's not like the rest of us have any other ideas."

Half an hour later you were all sitting in the pub, Chris with a smug smile on his face.

"Ninety three seconds left, glad I found that cake recipe when I did," Chris gloated causing everyone else to roll their eyes.

"Yes darling," you smiled letting him have his moment.

#chrismd x reader #chrismd #arthurtv #george clarke

113 notes · View notes

sena-seastar · 4 months ago

Text

The Dragon's Gold

Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Aerys Reyne (male oc)

Summary: Aerys Reyne, son of Naerys Targaryen, the second-born daughter of King Viserys and Queen Aemma, has been best friends with Aegon since childhood. As boys, they had been inseparable. Many said that it reminded them of the early days of King Jaehaerys reign. When the princes Aemon and Baelon were still children. Wherever one boy was, it wasn't long before the other came running behind him. That was until forbidden desires of the heart forced a wedge between them. After the death of his grandsire, King Viserys, Aerys finds himself torn between two sides: stand by his oldest friend or stand by the only mother he has ever known.

Warning: Ableism, violence (dragon's fighting), descriptions of burns and other injuries

A/n: I don't have much experience writing fight scenes, so I hope I did well enough here. There may also be slight medical inaccuracies, so I apologize in advance for that. As always, dialogue in italics means that the characters are speaking in high valyrian. I was just too lazy to attempt to translate it. No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes.

Aerys

“Fuck you. I told you we should’ve sent our dragons. And now look what’s happened.” Aegon rants, pointing his finger at the map.

Aerys shifts uncomfortably in his seat, or Ser Criston Cole's seat. Aegon had ordered him to sit in the hand’s chair during their meeting. Aerys could feel the eyes of Aegon’s council watching his every move. He did not like it. It made him feel like some sort of exotic animal on display. For them to point and gawk at.

“Daemon, of all people, has taken Harrenhal. I give you a job, and now you just sit there. It’s your fucking castle!” Aegon yelled, singling out the Lord of Harrenhal, Larys Strong.

Aerys threw the man a pitiful glance. It was not like the master of whisperers could do much. He was here in the capital, and Harrenhal is leagues away. The man was also a cripple. Men seldom follow those they believe to be weaker than themselves. And if Daemon was there, then so was Caraxes. Aerys could not necessarily fault the men of House Strong for bending the knee. Daemon was not known for his merciful nature.

The master of whisperers kept his head down, enduring Aegon’s wrath. He peeked his eyes up once Aegon finished.

“Well, that castle is more crippled than I am, your grace.” He replied meekly.

His jest did nothing to soothe Aegon’s anger. The man was growing restless. Being deprived of his revenge for Jaehaerys's murder only fueled the fire within him.

“It’s like to drive Daemon to madness as he attempts to make use of it. It is beyond his faculties. It is also penniless, as I happily control all of its gold.” Lord Larys added. “So, as Harrenhal saps Daemon’s resolve, the false queen remains trapped on her island, and Ser Criston continues felling castles in the Crownlands.”

The mention of Rhaenyra made Aerys shift uncomfortably in his seat. He dropped his head, fingers reaching for his ring, until he remembered he was no longer wearing it. A lump rose in his throat, and he felt nauseous. Perhaps it was the guilt of his betrayal slowly consuming him. Aegon turned around, returning to his seat at the end of the table. He rested his hands on the back of his chair.

“Wh–” Aegon stammered, his eyes looking around at the men of his council. “I need to be informed of these things if I am to make informed rulings. I will not be made to look a fool in front of my allies and enemies.”

He turns his eyes to Aerys, looking for support. Aerys clears his throat, sitting upright.

“Regardless of who holds the coin, the king is right,” Aerys says. “Harrenhal and the Riverlands should be of the utmost concern. From what I understand, the blacks had not acted for nearly a fortnight after the death of Rhaenyra’s son. You should have used that time to seize Harrenhal for yourselves, but” Aerys sighed, exasperated. “I suppose there’s no point in mourning over a lost opportunity.”

“We have sent Ravens to Lord Tully, but he has yet to respond,” Maester Orwyle explains.

“And with Prince Daemon now occupying Harrenhal, there is not much we can do,” Lord Tyland added.

“We could force him out,” Aerys responds.

The table is filled with disbelieving scoffs and looks of confusion.

“And how do you suppose we do that, Lord Reyne?” Lord Jasper snickers.

“We send dragons,” Aerys answers.

“Prince Daemon has a dragon of his own-”

“He has one, Lord Tyland,” Aerys interrupted the master of coin.

The room goes quiet as they wait for Aerys to finish.

“Aemond and I will take our dragons and root him out.”

“You intend to challenge him? The blacks already outnumber us when it comes to dragons. If you or gods forbid Prince Aemond were to fall in battle, we may as well wave the white flag now.”

“Daemon will not fight us, Lord Jasper,” Aerys sighed. “If it were me or Aemond alone, he would certainly take up the challenge. But with the two of us together, he will flee. Daemon may be rash and impulsive, but he will not rush into a battle he does not think he could win.”

“And if you successfully chase him out, what will you do then?” Lord Jasper asked. “Ser Criston has already taken most of the fighting men here. Even if we take the castle, we do not have the men to hold it.”

“I will stay behind with Agana and treat with the rivermen myself,” Aerys explains. “Lord Tully has yet to declare for the blacks. Perhaps we could offer him something.”

“And what do you have in mind, Lord Reyne?” Lord Tyland asked. “As Maester Orwyle has already stated, the man refuses to respond.”

“A marriage pact.”

“He does have a daughter who has just come of martial age,” Maester Orwyle nods.

“And who do you suggest we betrothed the girl to, Lord Reyne? You?” Lord Jasper asked.

“No,” Aerys and Aegon say in unison.

An uncomfortable silence filled the air. Aerys cleared his throat.

“No, Lord Jasper. Not me.” Aerys shook his head. “The king has another brother in Oldtown. Daeron has just come of martial age as well. I propose we betroth them.”

“You think Lord Tully will marry his only daughter to a third son?”

“Third son or not, Daeron is a dragon rider. His children will be as well. Tell me, Lord Jasper, do you know many lords who would reject having a dragon on their side?”

Ironrod remains silent, lowering his head.

“Harrenhal must wait,” Aemond interjected.

Aerys closed his eyes, praying that the gods would smite the one-eyed coward where he sat.

“Ser Criston is marching on Rook’s Rest.”

Aerys let out a quiet sigh. Once again, his prayers went unanswered. He kept his eyes on the table, refusing to even look at the man. Aerys knew he would have to face the man, but he was not prepared to do it so soon.

“Rook’s Re- A pathetic prize. I gave no such command-”

“The castle is small,” Aemond interrupted once more.

He stood for his seat, marching over to the board.

“Weakly defended, and Lord Staunton sat on Rhaenyra’s council. After Cole smashes it, we’ll have Dragonstone effectively cut off by land. This war will not be won with dragons alone but with dragons flying behind armies of men.”

“No!” Aegon protested. “Have him turn about. I want Harrenhal back!”

Aegon marched to the board, his finger angrily tapping against Harrenhal on the map. Aemond ignored him, turning away.

“Cole is already preparing his attack,” he explained, returning to his seat.

Aegon turned his head to Aerys, and the two shared a look of confusion.

“Uh, how-how do you know of this?” Aegon stammered, furrowing his brows.

“He sent word to me,” Aemond answered as if it were obvious.

“To you? The two of you have been plotting... without my authority?” Aegon’s voice hardened.

Aemond sighed, “You had more pressing matters to attend to. Such as holding court, choosing your sobriquet, naming imbecilic lickspittles to our Kingsgaurd, and hosting private meetings with your... childhood companion.”

“Tread carefully,” Aerys warned with a scathing glower. “You may be his brother, but he is your king.”

Aerys balled his hands into tight fists. His nails dug painfully into his palms. He would not be surprised if they had pierced through his skin. Aemond stared at him. That vexing, never-fading smirk sat on his lips. But there was something in his gaze, something Aerys couldn’t quite place. Was it arrogance or shame? Aerys would spit on him if he could. He hoped the monster felt guilty. His actions above Shipbreaker Bay directly led to the murder of Jaehaerys. Aerys hoped that guilt would haunt him.

“Mm,” Aemond hummed, looking away.

Aerys continued to scowl at the man until he felt someone kick his foot. He turned his attention back to Aegon. The man shot him a warning look. Aerys gave him a slight nod, silently apologizing for his outburst.

“Do you have a wiser strategy, my king?” Aemond asked. “If so, you should voice it to your council. We all await your answer.”

There is a short pause as the council awaits the king's response. All eyes turn towards the monarch.

“I can have to...” Aegon's lip twitched as he gathered his thoughts. “War?”

He turned his head to Aerys, looking for validation. Aerys gave him a tight-lipped smile, not wanting to humiliate him further. An awkward tension enveloped the room.

“Harrenhal is a useful morass,” Aemond spoke to the council. “It will keep Daemon well-occupied while we strengthen our host and weaken Rhaenyra’s support on the mainland. We will deal with it in the Riverlands in time.”

Aegon sighed, sinking into his chair, defeated.

“But right now. Rook’s Rest is an easy target and a worthy effort. Don’t you agree, my king?”

Aegon said nothing. His eyes flickered at the men sitting at the table. It was clear that he felt cast aside. And in that, he was right. They had disregarded everything he had said in favor of Aemond and Ser Criston’s plot. Aegon gave a begrudging nod, agreeing with Aemond. Not that he had much choice.

Aerys looked at Aegon with concern, fighting the urge to reach out to him. Aegon gave him a slight nod before lowering his head. Aerys sighed, turning his head to stare at the wall behind Ser Jasper’s head, wishing for this meeting to be adjourned.

Aerys’ body was sore from sitting in the hand’s chair. The small council meeting had taken most of the day before Aegon abruptly left after declaring how bored he was. Aerys himself had left not long after. Ser Thorne escorted him back to his chambers. The queen dowager still did not trust him enough to have free reign of the castle.

“You must eat more than that,” Wylla protested. “You’re growing frail.”

“I ate the bread and half the soup,” Aerys said. “Now, where is it?”

Wylla froze, her eyes darting around the room as if checking to see if someone was watching them. She hurried towards him, handing him the quill, ink, and scroll she had stored in her pockets.

“Thank you, Wylla,” he smiled. “Here,” he said, tossing her a large black purse. “As a token of my gratitude.”

She frowned, peeking into the bag. Wylla gasped, trying to return it. “This is far more than we agreed on. I cannot take it.”

Aerys waved his hand, pushing her away. “You must. I have put you at great risk by involving you in my scheme. Keep the coin. It is the least I can do.”

Her lip wobbled as she nodded her head in agreement. “Who are you writing?” She asked.

“Rhaenyra,” Aerys answered truthfully.

She gasped, “They could have your head for this!”

“I need- I need to know the truth,” Aerys stammered. Dipping the quill in ink. “I need to know if she was behind the murder of Jaehaerys.”

“Oh gods,” Wylla sighed. “And if she denies it, then what? You’ve already aligned yourself with the king. You said you are his friend. He depends on you!”

Aerys ignored her.

“Will you betray him?” She asked suddenly.

The question startled him. His head snapped towards her.

“No,” Aery hissed.

“I just,” he sighed. “I need to know Wylla.”

“This is a mistake,” she reproached. “If they find out you’re sending messages to Rhaenyra without their permission, they will have your head!"

Aerys sighed, “I know.”

“You’re a fool,” She shook her head disapprovingly.

“I know that too,” he said with a tight-lipped smile.

“Make it quick.” She replied. “My friend at the fishing port will not wait long. We must hurry if you wish for him to deliver it.”

He nodded, quickly putting quill to paper.

Dear Rhaenyra, I hope this letter finds you well. I wish to express my sincerest condolences for Luke's passing. You have my deepest sympathies. I am sure by now you’ve heard that I have aligned myself with Aegon. It is true. I am sorry. I owe you a great debt for everything you have done for me all these years. I had hoped that one day I would be able to find a way to repay you, and yet it seems I have done the exact opposite. But that is not why I write this letter. Aegon has accused you of having a hand in the death of his son. I do not wish to believe you could be responsible for such savagery. I need to know-

Wylla cleared her throat loudly, nudging her hip against the table.

“What are you-” Aerys gasped as the ink spilled across the table.

Wylla snatched the scroll, hiding it away in her bosom.

The doors of his chamber opened before he could react. Lady Alicent entered, her eyes searching every corner of the room. Her panicked expression made his stomach churn.

“What’s happened?” He asked.

She walked towards the table, resting her hands against the wood. She hung her head, releasing a shuddered sigh.

“Aegon is gone.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, “Gone where?”

“Rook’s Rest, no doubt.”

“Rook’s rest? The fool is going to get himself killed!” Aerys fumed.

Alicent kept her head down, not saying anything.

“You must let me go after him,” he demanded.

Her head snapped towards him, her eyes wide. “No- no, absolutely not.”

“You must!” Aerys insisted.

“No, I cannot.” The queen dowager shook her head.

“I have to bring him back!” Aerys contested. “Dragonstone is just across the bay! Lord Staunton sits on Rhaenyra’s council! What if she sends one of her dragons to defend his land?”

“Aegon has Sunfyre with him.”

“Sunfyre is small, with no more battle experience than his rider!” Aerys cried out.

“I do not trust you!” She hissed, gesturing to the quill and ink on the table. “How do I know you will not flee to Dragonstone the second I let you go?”

Aerys marched forward, taking her roughly by the arms.

“You have just lost your grandson. Are you so eager to lose a son as well?!”

His chest heaved wildly as his heart thumped in his chest. The woman’s eyes widened, filled with fear.

Aerys sighed, dropping his hands to his side. “I’m sorry,” he choked.

He lowered his head, his eyes burning with tears. His lips trembled, and his face contorted into anguish. Would Aegon die? Would he lose him so soon?

“Go,” she whispered.

Shocked, he lifted his head to face her. A small fire of hope kindled in his heart. He nodded his head. Aerys ran over to the chest at the bottom of his bed. He rummaged through his things, tossing everything onto the floor until he found a pair of riding gloves. He shoved them into his pocket as he sprinted out of the room. He did not slow down for a second, not paying any mind to the people he knocked out of the way.

When Aerys reached the outer yard, he grabbed the nearest horse. Pushing some lord, he could not be bothered to remember out of the way. The man cursed at him as he rode away.

He made it to the dragon pit in record time. Aerys hopped off of the horse before it even had time to stop. He stumbled but carried on.

Aerys pushed the doors of the dragon pit open. He ignored the dragon keepers, who shouted after him as he ran towards the man-made caves where the dragons were kept. The roars of a restless Agana soon drowned out their voices. He could hear the loud thuds as she rammed her head against the giant gate, trying to reach him.

“I am here, my dragon!”

Agana whined, trying to snake her head past the bars.

“Open the gate,” he ordered.

The dragon's keepers looked at one another, unsure what to do.

“Open the fucking gate!” He commanded.

Agana bared her teeth, letting out a low growl. The men did not waste another second. Aerys slipped under the gate, not waiting for it to rise fully. Agana cooed, pressing her head against his chest.

“I’ve missed you too,” he whispered.

Aerys leaned his head down to press it against hers. He could not fight the tears that escaped his eyes. He had missed her dearly. Being away from her was the worst pain imaginable.

“We must go,” he sniffled, pulling back to meet her eyes.

He ran his hand across her neck as he walked to her side. Agana lowered her body to the ground. Aerys pulled on his riding gloves. His fingers curled around the ropes attached to her saddle. He quickly made the climb, as he had done a thousand times before. Aerys hoisted his leg over the saddle, settling in. He rubbed a gloved hand over Agana’s silver scales.

“Sōvēs, Agana!”

Aerys’ hands gripped tightly onto the handlebars of his saddle. The dread in his heart grew as his eyes found no trace of Sunfyre’s golden scales. The wind blew hard against his face as Agana soared through the sky. He was unsure of how long Aegon had been gone. Would he reach him in time? Was he already too late?

Agana called to Aerys, alerting him to some potential danger. Aerys stayed silent, listening. From the distance, he could make out the faint sound of a dragon’s roar.

“Follow it, Agana!”

She shrieked, obeying his command. Agana charged forward, moving even faster now that she had a clear grasp on her target. Aerys squinted his eyes. In the distance, he could make out brilliant flashes of red and gold. Icy fire coursed through his veins, igniting his skin in a rush of cold flames. His entire body was shaking as fear seeped into his bones. Rhaenys was here? Had they sent her alone? Was Baela or Jace here as well?

Agana hissed as a giant burst of dragon flame lit up the sky.

“Halt!” Aerys called.

Agana followed his command. Her wings flapped loudly as they hovered in the air, watching Meleys attack Sunfyre from below.

Aerys’ heart hammered in his chest.

This would be his only chance for freedom. He could turn away and fly to Dragonstone, grovel at Rhaenyra’s feet, and beg for her forgiveness. He still held onto hope that she would take him back. Aerys was her nephew—the last living memory of her sister. Rhaenyra had opened her heart to him and raised him alongside her children. He owed her a debt that could never be repaid. Could he turn his back on her now when she needed him most?

Then Aegon’s voice echoed in his mind, his words repeating over and over again.

“You’ll never choose me. You never have.”

Aerys closed his eyes as the many shared memories of his and Aegon’s youth flooded his mind. He remembered the many nights Aegon stayed awake with him, distracting him from his misery. The many hours of boredom that Aegon endured so that Aerys would not have to sit in the library alone. Aerys thought of the many times he held Aegon as he cried. He had to comfort him often when the boy’s mother was too harsh on him. Or when his father’s lack of endearment became too much for him to bear.

Aegon was his friend, his very first friend. Time had driven them apart, but that love Aerys held for him had never faded. If anything, the distance had only made it grow stronger.

Sunfyre’s cries of pain echoed in the air, forcing Aerys back into the present. His eyes widened, and he watched in horror as the golden dragon fell from the sky.

Sunfrye screeched in pain. He flapped his wings, desperately trying to regain flight. The dragon was able to spin around, catching himself before he crashed to the ground. Sunfyre shrieked as he flapped his wings, ascending higher in the sky, trying to reach them. Meleys circled, heading straight for him.

Now was the time. The choice Aerys made now would set him on a path he could never return from. If he turned away, he would be leaving Aegon to die. Sunfyre stood no chance against the fierce Red Queen. But if he stayed, he would have no choice but to face the Red Queen and her rider himself. His heart ached at the thought of sending Agana into battle.

Princess Rhaenys was no great friend of his, but he was close to the woman’s granddaughters. In those years on Dragonstone, he had come to see the girls as his sisters. If Agana and Sunfyre fought together, there was a chance they could overpower Melyes and her rider. Yet the thought of doing so made him feel ill. There was no one more accursed than the kinslayer.

A deep grumble formed in Agana’s throat. Aerys reached a hand back, strapping himself into his saddle. His fingers curled tight around the handlebars as he gave the command.

“Angōs, Agana!”

The silver dragon turned her head to him, looking him in the eyes. The look of confused sadness she gave him filled his heart with great sorrow. He rubbed a gloved hand over the scales on her back.

Sunfyre let out a loud coo, calling to her. Agana turned her head, watching him struggle to reach them. She let out a doleful cry but obeyed.

Agana charged forward, ramming her head into Meleys’, using her horns to drive the red queen away from Sunfyre. The two dragons of silver and red danced in the air, biting and clawing at one another. Agana latched onto the side of Meleys’ neck, trying to bite down as hard as she could. The red queen shrieked; she rounded her neck as best as possible, trying to lunge at Aerys, who tried desperately to avoid her teeth.

Agana lifted her wing, trying to shield him. Meleys wasted no time, digging her claws into the silver dragon’s underbelly, but Agana’s jaw only tightened.

The red queen roared, snapping her jaws at Aerys once more. She managed to sink her teeth into the muscle of Agana’s arm. The silver dragon finally released her neck and pulled back with a hiss. Meleys used this time to dig her claws into the side of Agana’s face. The silver dragon shrieked in pain, and they began falling.

The red queen pulled away, chasing after Sunfrye once again. Aerys tried to command Agana to fly, but the silver dragon shrieked in agony. Aerys could see the blood spurting from her face, but he could not see the full extent of her injury. He turned his head, watching as they began plummeting down to the ground. The man pulled one of his gloves off, rubbing his bare palm over the scales of her back. Come on, he whispered in his mind. Fly. You have to fly.

He repeated the words in his head over and over again. The world seemed to slow down to the point where he could feel his pulse thrumming in his veins. His hands shook, but not with fear. Aerys grabbed the reins, pulling them with all the strength he could muster.

Just as they were about to hit the ground, Agana pulled up and flapped her wings. They hovered just a few inches off the ground as Agana tried to overcome her pain.

Sunfyre’s screeches and Melyes' growls rang loudly above them. They both raised their heads, watching Melyes catch Sunfyre by the wing. Agana growled, giving chase. Sunfyre cried and clawed, trying to wriggle free from the red queen's grasp. Agana rushed forward. She tried to aim for the red queen’s rider, but Aerys pulled at the reins, steering her away.

He could not do it. He did not wish to bear the burden of being a kinslayer. The gods had cursed him enough as it is. They just needed to get Melyes’ attention on them and buy Sunfyre enough time to get away.

The two of them circled back around. Agana growled and sunk her teeth into one of the red queen’s legs, trying to pull her away, but to no avail. Sunfyre lunged at Meleys’ head, ripping off one of her many horns. The red queen screeched but refused to let go. She kicked her other leg at Agana, trying to fend her off while still holding Sunfyre. Agana’s teeth chomped down, and she shook her head wildly as if trying to tear Meley’s leg off her body.

Suddenly, she stopped. Agana snapped her head to the side, and a low, guttural growl emitted from her throat. Aerys barely had time to turn his head before coming face to face with a giant ball of fire.

Agana pulled up, but not fast enough. Aerys howled in agony as the unbearable heat of the dragon flame bit into the right side of his body. The putrid smell of burning flesh overwhelmed his senses. His eyes burned from the smoke, and he struggled to breathe. He could feel them climbing higher as Agana tried to get him out of harm's way.

The nightmarish screams of Sunfyre filled the air. Aerys wiped his eyes, trying to clear his vision. He watched, paralyzed by fear, as the golden dragon fell from the sky. Agana did not hesitate. She dived down, flapping her wings as hard as she could, trying to reach Sunfrye before he could plummet to the ground. But they were too late. Sunfyre crashed into the trees with a large burst of flames.

Agana and Aerys both roared in anguish.

They stopped, hovering above the trees. Aerys stretched his neck as far as he could, trying desperately to find some sign- any sign of Aegon. There was none.

No! He cannot be dead. He can't be.

A terrible, sickening dread washed over him. Aerys heart was thudding in the back of his throat. Something inside him wrenched and soared. This could not be the end. Not now, not yet. It was too soon.

“No,” He whispered. “Land, Agana!”

Agana flapped her wings, easing herself to the ground. Aerys hastily unstrapped himself from the saddle. He slid down the side of her body. The shock of his landing caused him to stumble, but he was able to keep from falling.

Agana let out a whining, breathing-like noise. She turned her neck, pressing her head against his shoulder as if trying to nurse his wounds. Aerys winced as he looked upon his wounds. There were small patches of slightly charred flesh here and there. The red, black, and yellow burns covered his right shoulder and extended down to his elbow. But there was no pain. The entire area just felt numb, though he knew the pain would surely come later.

Agana pulled away. Aerys could see her face now. Giant, jagged claw marks ran across the left side of her face, and there was a gaping hole where her eye once sat. The damage done to her underbelly was not as severe as he thought it would be, thank the gods.

A lump had formed in his throat. The corner of his lips pulled down, shaking as he tried to stop the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume him.

“I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m so sorry.”

The silver dragon trilled, carefully nuzzling the tip of her snout against his stomach.

“You did well,” he praised, caressing her face. “Thank you.”

He pulled away, moving around her. Aerys found Sunfyre curled up on his side, grumbling in pain. He approached slowly, not wanting to frighten him. The golden dragon did not seem to care for his efforts.

Sunfrye growled, baring his teeth, but the dragon could not raise his head. Aerys held his left hand up in surrender.

“I’m here to help him.”

The golden dragon snarled at him.

“Please,” he pleaded.

Agana crawled behind the wounded dragon, resting her head against his own. She released a loud hum from her chest, almost like a pur. The sound seemed to calm him. His growling ceased, and he retracted his teeth. Aerys approached him, carefully climbing over the dragon's tail. Sunfyre had curled himself around Aegon, still trying his best to defend his rider.

Aerys gasped when he saw the state of Aegon—his body, battered and burned. Aerys inched closer. His knees wobbled, and his terror mounted with every step. Aegon was lying still on his back. His violet eyes were hidden behind closed eyelids.

Aerys fell to his knees, his eyes trailing over the man’s wounds. His stomach clenched, dread twisted in his gut.

“Aegon?” He called, his voice thick with fear.

But Aegon did not move, and he did not make a sound. The armor he wore seemed to have melted into his flesh.

Agana growled, raising her head. Aerys snapped his head to the side, watching Aemond march towards them, wielding Blackfyre. There was something in the man’s gaze, something dark. He was uncertain as to what the man’s intentions were. Aerys did his best to shield Aegon’s body with his own despite his injured shoulder. He was not afraid of him. Aemond would be a fool if he tried to harm either one of them in the presence of their dragons.

As he approached, Agana snarled at the man. Aemond’s eye flickered up to Agana before looking back to Aerys. Just as he raised the blade, a voice called out.

It was Ser Criston. Aerys shot Aemond one last glare. He turned around, focusing his attention back on Aegon.

“I choose you, Aegon,” Aerys whispered, his bottom lip trembling. “I choose you.”

Tags: @saicherry, @sadpuffpuff, @willow-red, @teamavatar13

38 notes · View notes

whinlatter · 9 months ago

Note

something tells me you don't really like tonks, just a hunch xD

For the relationship ask if you're still doing it: harry and remus, molly and remus, teddy and adromeda. I would love to see what do you think <3

noooo i love tonks! i had a ball writing her and think that @evesaintyves’ rendering of her is one of fandom’s greatest gifts 😭 i just find it very funny that harry thinks she should low key get a grip. and as a clumsy young woman who should myself get a grip, i say: get off her case, hjp.

ok the remus + tonks/black extended family universe... hyped for this one. delicious choices, thank you anon. (i have a few more in the inbox i'm going to take a stab at but am trying to avoid spoilery ones or ones where i risk boring you all again by repeating old talking points, so if i don't get to one pls forgive me...)

right — to business. we begin with everybody looking at remus lupin waiting for him to put his crippling self loathing aside to write (1) singular letter to his dead friend's son:

i jest (to an extent). but i do think the entirety of harry and remus' dynamic is best encapsulated in one singular scene in PoA:

“When they get near me — ” Harry stared at Lupin’s desk, his throat tight. “I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum.” Lupin made a sudden motion with his arm as though to grip Harry’s shoulder, but thought better of it.

i know there's a very understandable move in AUs to imagine what would have happened if remus had raised harry - or, more often, if remus had been 'allowed' to raise harry by dumbledore. but looking past the whole plot-requiring-harry-to-be-at-the-dursleys thing, the truth is, canon remus lupin would never have put himself forward to raise harry, because of his own (not unfounded!) concerns about the precarity of his existence and the dangerousness of his condition. remus' sense of self - more specifically his fear of himself, and his very low self worth - consistently lead him to hold harry at arm's length from the moment he's introduced in the series until its bitter end. i don't think remus at all approves of the way harry is treated at the dursleys. but i can very much imagine that remus thinks it would still be better than the life he could have given harry if he ever had been called upon to serve as his primary caregiver. one of the most interesting implicit dynamics in the series is that harry notices this and does, to some extent, resent it (obviously the fact that he only ever calls him 'lupin' in his narration, though uses remus to his face, and also: 'Harry had received no mail since the start of term; his only regular correspondent was now dead and although he had hoped that Lupin might write occasionally, he had so far been disappointed.') while the harry & remus fight in DH is about harry's view of what remus ought to do re tonks and the baby, it’s also harry coming as close as saying to remus: you're letting your own child down like you let me down. ('I’m pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why you aren’t sticking with your own kid, actually... He had it coming to him,” said Harry. Broken images were racing each other through his mind: Sirius falling through the veil; Dumbledore suspended, broken, in midair; a flash of green light and his mother’s voice, begging for mercy… ‘Parents,’ said Harry, 'shouldn’t leave their kids unless—unless they’ve got to.')

molly and remus: i think this is a very, very underrated relationship! i know there’s a lot of molly-bashing around these days, especially if you’re a marauders and/or sirius and/or wolfstar stan. but i think it is very very overlooked that the person who looks after adult remus the most from 1995 onwards, and who shows him some of the deepest trust and roots for his happiness, is molly. for a man who has plainly known a huge amount of financial/food/housing insecurity, and who is so villainised in wider wizarding society, it is no small gesture for molly to not only provide for remus materially but also to trust him in a house with all of her children and encourage him in a romantic relationship he struggles to feel entitled to and worthy of. (i love sirius, but he is in no fit state to ‘look after’ remus in the last year of his life, and fandom’s continued unwillingness to recognise the importance of domestic/caregiving labour as a vital contribution to the resistance will never not be problematic af). remus clearly values and admires molly in return - the only time he actually ever entertains a parent/guardianship role is when molly is weeping over her boggart, crying onto remus’ shoulder (‘what must you think of me?’) and he assures her that if anything were to happen to her and arthur, he would be a part of the team making sure her children are taken date of (‘what do you think we’d do, let them starve?’) remus’ relationship with molly is often the more mild-mannered translator of her viewpoint to others (especially others with hot tempers), and mediator trying to find middle ground between molly’s protective instincts and the battle/ready instincts of others. (more grist to my sirius & ginny parallels mill — in DH, when a fuming ginny is desperately trying to sneak off to fight in the battle, it’s remus who appeals to molly and ginny to find the compromise of ginny staying in the room of requirement to know what’s going on but not actively fight, a mirror image of his role mediating the dispute between sirius and molly over harry’s right to know what’s going on at grimmauld in ootp…) molly accepts this compromise, a sign that she trusts remus implicitly (she never frets that a werewolf is living among her children in ootp onwards, and invites him to christmas readily even after months undercover with the pack) and also feels able to call him out (‘i’ve always said you’re taking a ridiculous line on this, remus’.) this is too long but basically — justice for molly and remus, unlikely buds!

teddy and andromeda: i weirdly think a lot about teddy lupin these days. i tend to imagine teddy as a very mild-mannered, affable, calm child, like who remus might have been had he not been bitten, with tonks' heart and sociability but also with something of remus' more philosophical disposition. i think he'd slip very naturally into a big brother role because, in part, he does see himself as having a responsibility to take care of people, and i think this would shine through in his relationship with andromeda. we know teddy was raised by his gran, and i imagine she feels enormously protective of him, perhaps bordering on strict in her desire to keep him safe from the harm that came to all the rest of her family. but i like to imagine teddy didn't act out against this too much, in part because he understands where it comes from and in turn feels very protective of andromeda. growing up in the aftermath of the war would make teddy as a child particularly aware of the grief and pain and the silences among the adults around him, and i think teddy would take any compensatory protective strictness on andromeda's part with good grace, and humour her for it. i like to think teenage/young adult teddy serves as the translator for any of his gran's more prickly edges, and that they have a very close relationship that both of them really treasure.

#meta #wow really got the soapbox out for this one #and depressed myself in the process #me screaming into the void forever that remus is canonically crap and that's why he's so interesting #remus lupin #andromeda tonks #teddy lupin #molly weasley

72 notes · View notes

str8aura-no-not-that-one · 3 months ago

Text

i think animals are better than people.

that's not an uncommon belief, is it? you hear it said all the time, in memes, on coffee mugs, 'id rather talk to your dog', 'my cat doesn't judge me like my coworkers do', etc. its a very popular philosophy to espouse, albeit mostly in jest. It's not really jest for me, but it's not really a dig at humanity either.

I struggle often with feelings of misanthropy, how nice it would be to just assume all humans are inherently evil or uncaring, to slot an entire species into a broad stroke to make them easier to deal with. I tell myself sometimes I don't like working with humans, or seeing humans. I have a tendency to go quiet or mute at times because I don't feel like engaging people in conversation.

but that's really just stress. there is no crime for being an idiot. that person who cuts me off on the street made a slip up, or maybe did it with genuine antagonism, and that still doesn't make them a bad or worthless person. I've been 'the one who fucked up' enough times to know how crushing it is when you inconvenience somebody else, and I don't like to lose my temper, as often as it happens. I get angry a lot. I feel angry a lot. it feels good, but I don't enjoy it. I'm not a bad dog. I believe people are good, just flawed, and emotional.

and I wish, like everybody does, that I could talk to animals. I wish I could ask a deer for its thoughts, negotiate with a bear, or tell a hurt animal that its going to be alright, I'm just trying to help you. I yearn for that world, but I also accept that animals would lose their magic if they could. They would still be beautiful, yes, but I don't love animals because I imagine they are weirdly-shaped people, who understand what I say. I love them because they're animals.

We went down different paths, humanity and the animal kingdom; nowadays, we see different boons and drawbacks for it. They fight for their lives every day, never sure which moment will be their last. We struggle with thoughts of complex morality and our place in a dead, empty universe. animals never ate the apple. animals are free from sin, and punishment. When a fox kills a rabbit, it is not a murder. When a viper rescued out of the cold bites and kills the farmer that saved it, it is not a betrayal. it is simply their nature.

a few months ago, at a house I was staying at for a little while, there was a tree outside with a nest of birds. I wasn't aware of this until I came out one day and found all of the babies, freshly hatched, lying on the hard pavement beneath the trees. Cuts and tears along their bodies, eyes still screwed shut, writhing and wriggling to try and restore the warmth of the nest they had suddenly been stolen from. I called animal control and waited with the hatchlings as long as I could, but eventually I couldn't bear to see the sight. I looked up the best way to restore them to their nest, and with the use of a ladder, I got to work.

i also read that you shouldn't touch them with your hands, as it will scare off the mother bird. this, as I later found out, is an urban legend. I put on gloves to hold them, unwieldy, thick gloves meant for hands larger than my own.

they were featherless pink bastards. I think humans have the ugliest babies out of any species, but these ones were pretty close.

the first two went in without problem, but on the third, my fingers wrapped in gloves couldn't get a grip and i

dropped

onto the pavement

headfirst

i don't know if it was still alive or not when I finally took the gloves off and restored it. I don't know. there was no splatter, no obvious signs of death. it just stopped moving.

if the mother returned and found the body of her child, she would not be shocked. 60-70% of hatchlings do not survive to adulthood. she would not seek retribution, or to make me pay for what I had done. she didn't understand I had been trying to help, and she didn't care. life went on. she probably had more children to replace the cadaver.

i read a book series as a kid called Funjungle. It was about a kid who lived at a zoo, and would solve various mysteries around the place. In one book, he recounts being present for the lancing of a boil on a rhino, and talks about how animals always fight back against such processes. you cant explain to them that you are trying to help, all they understand is that you are causing them pain right now, regardless of whether it will soothe in the future. animals, wild and tame, think in the now.

ironically, in real life, I try not to anthropomorphize too much. I understand that an animal's 'smile' only resembles such because of the way his lips are shaped. I understand that the possums and raccoons and squirrels I encounter as I go about my life, and that one fox I had the joy of getting to witness up close, are dangerous creatures who do not have my best interests in heart. I understand that something beautiful will kill me without a second thought if it thinks I am a threat to it, and for an animal, it is always always always better to be safe than sorry.

i can tell a human things are going to be okay. I can tell a human this is only going to hurt for a minute. I can tell a human i'm sorry.

a human can lie to me. a human can hurt me. a human can make me feel like I don't want to live anymore.

I can never lose my temper at an animal, any more than I could be angry at a mountain.

animals are base, instinctive, temperamental, capricious, alien creatures.

that is why they are beautiful.

that is why I must stay away from them. as much as I wish to hug them, to talk to them, to befriend them, it is not possible. they may occupy our physical spaces, but they are from different worlds entirely.

i must look, but not touch. it is better this way.

my place is with the humans.

and it kills me a little more every day.

#my posts #longpost #writing

19 notes · View notes

hello-im-not-a-possum · 6 months ago

Text

Writing in tags got a ball rolling and I'm thinking more and more about full ghost/bitter babysitter Vlad

Thinking about how Jazz and Danny grew up with ghost hunters as parents and a ghost as an uncle, the types of wrenches it throws into the family's relationships with each other...

Starting with the parents' perspective,

It's easy in the beginning to dismiss the paradoxical nature of ghost hunters having a ghost live with them, The Ghostbusters had Slimer, Fentonworks has V-Man. At the start, their tiny children can see and understand the difference between their friendly uncle Vlad (who at the start, looked like a pathetic wet kitten) and a 'real' dangerous ghost.

It's less easy when you and your old friend wind up in an arms race driven and perpetuated by both rational and irrational fear.

At the start when he looked human and his grudge was apparent but it was shown when he was passive-aggressively doing chores around the house and getting the kids ready for school, it was funny, guilt-trippy, sure, but also helpful. Now that the kids are teenagers and can do their own share of the chores and get themselves ready for school that grudge needs other ways to manifest and he can't break inventions and loom ominously on their bedroom ceiling forever.

"We're not *just* ghost hunters, there's more to our studies than dissection and having Vladdie around makes those other studies easier."

With time, turns into...

"Well, how would we know if our anti ghost forcefields and other ghost proofing gadgets work or not if we didn't have a ghost to test them on?"

With more time, turns into...

"This is the Fenton Ecto-Vaporizer, it turns every ghost caught in its rays into nothing but steam! Well, every ghost except the pesky patient because it grew immune to Blood Blossoms and effect amplifying serums 🙄"

And for the most part 'the ghost haunting our home for decades is immune to our shock collar and we need to make something stronger or he'll rip our spines out of our bodies and wear our skins like coats' is said in jest,

at the end of the day,

during those nights that SHOULD be silent but their guilty consciences make the whispers at the end of the bed recounting the day they not only killed, but dumped their best friend like garbage and fled the state that much louder as the bright red eyes of the vengeful spirit become their unwelcome night light...

They have to ask themselves will he kill them before or after the kids go to college?

From the kids' perspective... where do I even start?

Okay, good news is that they had a good tradeoff with a better childhood, I mean for starters their Christmases were a lot less nasty with Uncle Vlad and I strongly suspect that Little Danny's favorite Christmas story of all time was 'A Christmas Carol' as he'd love the christmas ghosts thanks to knowing his own 'christmas ghosts'.

And both kids grow up knowing that ghosts CAN be good people, they see their uncle lose his outer humanity over the years while they grow up and come to understand that just because a ghost can *look* mean and scary doesn't mean that they *are* mean.

Danny would likely have more 'tools' in his belt other than fighting. Sure, fighting's on the table if need be, but when it comes to different ghosts and their different issues, he'd likely stop and ask himself "Is this ghost who's screaming about a dance in need of a butt-kicking, or is she in need of some help?"

but as teenagers who can see that their family situation is NOT normal...

Jazz knows that there's more to Vlad's tragic story than 'I was really sick and your parents didn't visit me in the hospital :C'. She also knows he's not telling her.

Granted, nobody's really comfortable telling the girl one raised to adulthood that their parents murdered and abandoned them without a second thought,

But the whimsy and charm of 'oh look my uncle's a ghost' is lost when 1. you're not a kid anymore. and 2. getting him to be emotionally honest and upfront with you about his past is like pulling teeth.

Does Danny go to any of the adults when the accident happens? CAN he go to any of the adults when the accident happens?

It's established how he hates the idea of his parents getting a divorce, of losing his family, and at this point in time despite their attempts to hide it in front of him and Jazz, he can pick up that Vlad is not happy with or around his parents who in turn appear more and more uncomfortable with their old friend.

He knows that his mom and dad can put up with ghosts if they absolutely need to, but how will they take knowing that HE'S a ghost?

And how will Uncle Vlad himself take it?

He can trust him to teach him everything he knows about being a ghost, but at the same time, he's grown up watching Vlad destroy any and all inventions his parents make that seem too dangerous to them, so what would he do to his parents if he knew that 'their negligence killed him'?

#danny phantom #vlad masters #vlad plasmius #jack fenton #maddie fenton #danny fenton #jazz fenton #bitter babysitter au

52 notes · View notes

betyloca · 9 months ago

Text

innocent butterfly

Warnings: domestic violence/child abuse/mention of prostitution/violence.

pairing: rorschach x reader

Summary: Walter never had to feel like he had to protect someone, much less feel loved, until he met a person who made him feel that way.

In an apartment there was a red-haired boy walking down a hallway. He had heard some sounds in his mother's room.

He walked slowly as the sounds became more specific, "ahh louder." The boy approached the door, opening it slowly, he noticed that a man was with his mother, was he hugging her?

Walter: Is he hurting you?

The man turned to look at the boy.

x: damn, you have a damn son here

He abruptly separated from the woman, shouting at her.

x: I already have some at home damn it

The woman, angry, approached the child and hit him.

woman: damn I should have aborted you

woman: I don't want to see you here

He closed the door abruptly. The boy touched his sore cheek. He ran to his room, closing the door as he sat on the bed hugging his legs.

He didn't understand why he treated her badly, what he had done to make her hate him.

He heard footsteps coming from the window. He looked outside and saw a girl walking down the fire escape. She fell until she crashed against her window.

x: that hurt

She looked in the direction where the boy was, he was looking at her, he saw her face, you could see a bruise on her cheek.

She raised her hand in greeting. He didn't return the greeting. He thought she would make fun of him. The other children were laughing at him.

She frowned She gestured for him to lift the window to open it He made it to the sale opening it She made it smiling

x: hello, why so serious?

He looked at her, he wasn't expecting that question. She looked at his face, noticing his red cheek. She frowned.

x: I'm y/n myers , if you want, you can join me.

He looked at her and if she was playing with him, he inspected her face as a sign of jest, but he didn't see that. She made a gesture for her to follow him. He went out of the window, following her to the roof of the building.

She walked up to some boxes that were piled up with a blanket on top, it looked like a makeshift house.

y/n: come on, I don't bite

he said while smiling she came in sitting on the floor he came in sitting down she also saw him taking out an ointment from a small box she looked at him

y/n: it's so it doesn't hurt okay

She did it by spreading the cream on his hand. She passed her hand on the boy's cheek, making him gasp in pain.

y/n: I'm sorry

Taking out her hand, she then put some on his cheek. He looked at her, why did she help him?

y/n: well, what's your name?

Walter: Walter Kovacs

y/n: what a cute name

he said while smiling

Walter: why are you helping me?

Y/N: Did you want to stay there with pain in your cheek?

He just didn't respond, lowering his head, he felt a hand caress his hair, he looked up, looking at her, she had a look of concern.

y/n: hey if you want you can stay here when you feel sad

~~~~~~~•~~~~~~~•~~~~~~~~~

They had been good friends, they never separated, she found out that her father was an alcoholic who abused her. When that happened, they escaped to the roof to be alone.

He loved her so much, always protecting her on her birthday, that he gave her a purple scarf. Instead, she kissed him on the cheek. For the first time he felt happy.

But that didn't last long, the social services found out about the girl's abuse, they took her away, she tried to look for her friend but she never saw her again.

In the streets you could see a red-haired man with a sign that said "the end is near." He walked avoiding people, watching people go by, seeing him as a weirdo, he didn't care, he kept walking, minding his own business.

When night fell I was walking down one of the most dangerous streets in the city. He was wearing his "face," as he called his mask. I was investigating the case of a woman who was murdered. He was heading to the home of one of the suspects when he arrived at the apartment and noticed the door was open.

He entered in silence, saw how the place was in disarray, noticed a trail of blood, followed it walking until he reached the kitchen, saw the body of his suspect and a hooded woman.

Rorschach: you.

She ran towards the window leaving there, he followed her, she ran down the stairs, he followed her, she started running towards an alley, he caught up with her, hitting her against the wall.

He complained, standing up and hitting his stomach. He doubled over and grabbed her arm so she couldn't escape. They started fighting. She tried to hit him. He dodged it, making her fall to the ground. He got on top of her so she couldn't escape.

rorschach: you're not so brave anymore

x: fuck you idiot

I noticed he had a purple scarf hiding his face.

Rorschach: Who are you?

x:myers

Rorschach: Myers how much?

x: myers take it or leave it

He looked at her, she was very stubborn, he began to notice that the handkerchief was the same one he gave to his old friend.

rorschach: where did you get the handkerchief?

Myers: From your idiot mother.

He got angry and tore the handkerchief off his face. He started seeing her, but realized that she was the girl who was once his friend.

Rorschach: Y/N?

y/n: not your grandmother

She kicked him in the stomach. She shook him off when he tried to run. He stopped her.

Y/n: let go of me damn stained face

He hesitated to take off his "face" he put both hands on his mask showing her his face she froze when she saw him she stopped resisting

y/n: Walter?

He let her do it. She inspected his face and carefully placed her hands on his cheeks. He never liked people touching him, but she felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She caressed his cheek with teary eyes.

Y/n: how I missed you

She hugged him without wanting to let go. He stiffened, not knowing what to do. Little by little he put his arms around her now that he had found her, he didn't let her go.

#no one asked for this #walter kovacs x reader #rorschach x reader #watchmen imagine #Watchmen x reader #roronoa zoro #walter kovacs

30 notes · View notes

rexonalapis · 1 year ago

Text

Days leading to the trial for a man that will become Wriothesley, told from the Iudex's eyes. (6k+ words)

crossposted to ao3

cowritten by @daniel-heng

tags: references to violence, child abuse, and murder.

"Should I be worried that the Iudex himself come to deal with this case?" That was the first thing he had said to Neuvillette.

To be completely honest, there was no reason for Neuvillette to be here, talking to the prime suspect himself, but there was something so puzzling about the identity of this man Neuvillette visited at the hospital at the moment. He was found near unconcious at the crime scene, his gauntlet dripped in blood of the victims, and the Gardes had decided to send him to the hospital first, and his trial would be immediately held once he recover from his injuries; the doctor predicted. Regardless, even when the evidences were stacked against him, there was no reason to restraint one of his hand to the railing of his hospital bed when he wasn't convicted of the crime just yet. What put him in this predicament was his own confession, immediately admitting to killing the victims with his own hands the second Gardes arrived at the crime scene.

Neuvillette imagined someone who appeared to have lost his mind, a maniac, and yet the person who welcomed him was just... a young man. The Iudex made a mental note not to lower his guard just yet, as the most unassuming people were proven to be capable of doing the worst kind of thing. Neuvillette knew men like this man all too well. "I see that my introduction would have been unnecessary." Neuvillette said, taking his seat on the right side of this man's bed. "I do not think there is anything to be worried about. There is no trial yet, this case is still under investigation. I am going to ask a few questions. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"I suggest you speak only the truth, for your sake."

"Okay."

Neuvillette was silent, and he stole a quick glance at the other man. How odd, he didn't even ask further and simply accepted Neuvillette's order. "First, mind telling me your name?"

The man was silent for a moment, then spoke. "Wriothesley."

A lie, but Neuvillette was going to let it slide and see when this 'Wriothesley' would finally cracked. "Okay, Mr. Wriothesley, what is your relationship with the victims?"

"I guess they were my parents."

"You guess?"

"I was adopted."

"You are aware that you are not their biological child? How long have you been aware of the truth?"

Wriothesley hummed quietly, yet quickly shrugged his shoulders like he was dismissing whatever he considered in his mind a mere seconds ago. "Do you even want to listen to the story? I'm afraid it's rather boring."

"I will be the judge of that."

"Hah, that's funny."

Neuvillette failed to understand what was so funny about what he said. He almost wanted to warn Wriothesley that this was not the time to jest, but he put that thought aside when he noticed Wriothesley gnawed on his cheek, but then chuckled. "Uh... My parents could not have a child of their own, and they just happened to have found me after being discarded by my birth parents, for whatever reason. They picked me up, realized how helpless I was even before I could realize I was being held, and rushed home to raise me in secret. But apparently my existence in their life only made things worse."

"How so?" Asked Neuvillette.

Wriothesley sighed and looked away. "I used to think it's because I'm a living proof that they couldn't have what they wanted the most. My earliest memories are of them fighting about me. I would watch from the safety of my bedroom, or sometimes from the closet where they would lock me in, as they screamed at each other. Sometimes I would hear things that made my skin crawl, like when my father would slam my mother's head into the wall so hard she would lose consciousness. Despite all of this, they kept me. I don't know why. Maybe they were desperate for something- anything- to make their lives feel normal. And so I was raised in a house of chaos, constantly under surveillance. I was always aware that I was a liability, that I could bring them down."

Neuvillette stared at Wriothesley with his mouth close as Wriothesley spoke without looking at him, choosing instead to stare blankly ahead of him while his fingers toyed with some lint on his hospital blanket. It did not make sense, Neuvillette thought. How could he call the story 'boring' when Wriothesley had willingly told Neuvillette the story of his past, a tale so devastatingly personal it was almost too much to take with a forced serenity, like it had nothing to do with him. His boundaries seemed to dissolve as he spoke, revealing a freedom that was impossible to grasp. This young man and all he was, coming from his little world and at the same time he was never more outside of himself than before. Nothing with an airtightness. His small world, Neuvillette now noticed, felt heavy.

Neuvillette mentioned the Gardes investigated the closet under the stairs of their house, filled with what appeared to be clawmarks on the door, and Wriothesley calmly explained that the marks were his doing, because his mother used to lock him there. It wasn't a good place; leaky, dirty, cold; Neuvillette imagined him shouting and banging on the door. "Sometimes I held onto the door before it's being locked from the outside and she'd threaten to slam the door on my fingers and I'll lose all of them." Neuvillette cringed at the thought of Wriothesley trapped in that dark, dingy place - clawing desperately at the splintering wood trying to escape. "My parents barely noticed me. They would shout at me, or hit me, and then quickly turn their attention to each other. Sometimes I would see the hurt in my mother's eyes when he dragged me into the closet, and I would feel like it was my fault, that I was the reason she was so unhappy. Looking back, I now think some people, you know? They just aren't supposed to be parents."

"So you think your parents consider you a mistake?" Asked Neuvillette, trying not to show any emotion.

"Maybe, I mean who knows what they thought." Wriothesley said, shaking his head. "But it doesn't make it feel any different." Wriothesley had hinted to Neuvillette that he was content not having complete knowledge of his situation. With ignorance came safety and the understanding that all questions may not have answers. At that moment, Wriothesley experienced a range of indescribable feelings; from unbearable shame to sorrow, like he'd sunk deeper into life than ever before. But as soon as these negative emotions arose, they were quickly wiped away by a wave of positivity: freedom, joy, space - it was as if an insurmountable burden had been lifted off his shoulders and hadn't weighed him down for years. He admitted that he hadn't felt like this in a long time. “Some questions are better left unasked and unanswered.”

"Do you not ever get curious?"

"Not really. I am confident that remaining in the dark regarding these matters is far preferable than getting answers. Sometimes, not knowing can be just as important as knowing; it's an essential part of being human after all, not knowing everything. I think it's human to be aware that the dark exists, but not completely unlit."

Neuvillette, against his own initial plan, ended up coming to the hospital every evening since that day. Wriothesley confirmed the initial report that he hadn't lived with his parents for years because he ran away as a child. For the next couple of days, he would answer Neuvillette's questions about his homelessness; what odds jobs he took to get by every day, how many times he fixed his gauntlet and where he'd learned to tinker with it. Then, on the fourth day, Neuvillette arrived later than usual, and Wriothesley was chugging some beverage from a bottle. Neuvillette's initially thought it was that infamous Fonta, but the colors seemed different. "What is that?" Neuvillette asked, taking his usual seat.

"Tea."

"In a plastic bottle?"

"They can't give me tea cup, right? What if i smash it and use the shards as weapon?"

"I have noticed that you are not lacking self awareness by any mean, but please refrain from making such threat."

"It was obviously a joke. Would you like some?"

"Tea in a plastic bottle?"

Wriothesley rolled his eyes, unbothered. "Suit yourself."

"So, you fancy tea?"

Wriothesley shrugged. "I guess. Before you arrived, the melusine that once helped me in the past came and recognized me, so she gave me this because she remembered that the last time she offered me tea, apparently, I looked like I really enjoy it the last time."

"I presume it was when you ran away from home?"

"No, she was a guest at my house and watched as my father whipped his belt against my legs until I was done boiling the water for the tea--yes, it was when I live on the street."

Neuvillette nodded, thinking that perhaps he could safely presume the conversation was going well. Neuvillette wasn't sure what was going through Wriothesley's mind, but it seemed like the more they talked, the more at ease he became. See, what originally drew Neuvillette to Wriothesley was not related to his case or his survival skills, nor was it the mixed-signals of familiarity he gave off which led many away. Despite Wriothesley’s aimless, wandering life, he had a place in this world. Neuvillette had the opposite problem—he always felt like an outsider, no matter where he stood. If he seemed rooted in one spot, it wasn’t because he was happy there; Neuvillette stayed in a constant state of withdrawal. He appeared to be stable, only because he refused to budge.

Neuvillette wanted to learn that.

Wriothesley was casually leaning back in his hospital bed, a half smile on his face and a curious glint in his eyes. Neuvillette realized he had to quickly follow up the pace of the conversation no matter how. And then, suddenly and without warning, the Iudex asked the question that he himself had been dreading. "What was on your mind? When you killed them?"

Neuvillette stayed alerted, to see if the question caught Wriothesley off guard. It was sudden and unexpected, and there was something in Neuvillette's voice that made it feel like a trap. Wriothesley did not respond, presumably because he didn't know how to answer, and the silence that followed felt oppressive. He paused for a moment, trying to think of something, anything, perhaps to stall for time. But both men realized that there was no way out of it. Wriothesley's immediate confession was what got Neuvillette coming all the way to hospital to talk to this man after all; he had killed those people and there was no turning back. He might as well tell Neuvillette what was on his mind at the time.

Usually, this was the moment someone would turn the table around and victimised themselves on the narrative, Neuvillette wondered what kind of justification to his righteous action that Wriothesley would say. "My mind was hazy when I did it, to be honest, maybe if there was anything that man ever did correctly in life, it was how to beat me up effectively. I had a few thoughts after it was over, though."

"Would you mind telling me?"

Wriothesley finished his cold tea before answering. "I was thinking about how many Gardes will be dispatched to that house. And then I thought, maybe you wouldn't be able to tell our bloods apart. It's all smell funny. My blood, theirs too in all the scuffle and confusion. To think that at its core I'm no different from them, it disgusts me."

Neuvillette was confused by Wriothesley's admission, as he'd been consistently admitting that what he did was wrong and never once said anything that'd sound like an excuse, but he withheld his response. "Did you not regret your action?"

Wriothesley shakes his head, his eyes were staring at Neuvillette, absent from deceit. "I'm going to regret it for the rest of my life, that I took lives that weren't mine. But to be perfectly honest, I don't feel sad that they're gone. Does that make any sense?"

"Barely."

"You're right, Chief Justice, maybe I am simply going crazy."

"Are you planning to plead not guilty by the reason of insanity?"

"It was a figure of—nevermind. Like I said, I was perfectly sane when I committed the crime."

Neuvillette stared at him in disbelief. There was a long moment of silence, punctuated only by the occasional noise from the hallway of the busy hospital ward. He finally broke the silence, his tone heavy with disappointment. "I would not want to prejudice your case, but I must say that I have never seen anything like this before. This also almost killed you as well."

"I know."

"You are lucky that you anyy suffered minor injury."

"I know." Wriothesley repeated, a hint of exhasperation on his repeated answer this time. "But the reason I waited for so long was also because I needed to be able to endure it better, so I won't die too. I could not die. I have to be alive to pay for my sin. After that, well, who knows."

Neuvillette came to visit in the morning instead the next day due to his packed schedule for the rest of the day that could not be compromised. When he arrived, the nurse was almost finished on changing his bandages. "You come again?"

"Would my presence raise any problem for you today?"

"Not really." Wriothesley glanced at the nurse, who ignored him. "Thank you." Wriothesley said quickly, knowing the nurse would immediately leave, like she couldn't wait to get out of this room as soon as possible. There was a visible disgust on the nurse's face when she turned her back against him, but quickly get a hold of her emotion when she remembered that Neuvillette was here, and he could see the kind of face she was making. Neuvillette wondered if Wriothesley was aware of it all.

Neuvillette would deal with the unprofessionalism of the staffs later. Right now, he had another matter to focus on: in the frank, unvarnished light of day, Wriothesley looked even more forlorn than before. Slim, with eyes too exhausted to hold their shroud in place - was hidden by lids that drooped at the corner and gave him an almost sleepy look, he wore a faded cotton hospital gown that hung off his frail body like a shroud. Only now did Neuvillette could really see the numerous scars that crisscrossed his skin, the weals and abrasions that marred his flesh. It was just like how Wriothesley had been beaten so often that it was impossible to make out individual bruises.

"You had bandages, too, around your wrists. When you were taken to the hospital for the first time." Neuvillette commented, referring to the report of his initial 'arrest'. Instinctively, Wriothesley wanted to raise both arms, but the clinking sound of metal hitting another metal reminded him that his left hand was still restrained. "Were you injured prior the incident?"

Wriothesley swallowed hard. He had certainly been injured, but not the way people might think, Neuvillette presumed. It was obvious that Wriothesley was used to hiding his scars from the world, wrapping them up in gauze like a present, for his sake as much as for theirs. "I'm just hiding the scars for convenience," he said softly. "People tend to be a bit nosy, if you know what I mean." Neuvillette's mind raced with questions, but he dared not voice them. Wriothesley had been so willingly sharing his story with Neuvillette that he started to worry if sooner or later, Wriothesley's patience would ran out. Neuvillette did not want to test the limits so he kept his curiousity in his mind, like a shadow following his every move, yet, somehow Wriothesley was able to read him like an open book better than the other way around. "You want to ask how I got the scars, right?" Wriothesley said as he sighed and smiled wanly.

"If it is inconvenient to you, and it does not relate to the case, you do not have to say anything."

"These are from ropes." Wriothesley answered nonchalantly as if it was the most trivial thing in the world. "When I lived with them, my father used to tie me up outside the house all night. It happened so often that the frictions left permanent scars." He said the words without emotion. It was as if he had already accepted it as fate and no longer held any bitterness against his father. Neuvillette felt a chill run up his spine. He had seen too much in this case already, and he was filled with mixed, confusing emotions regarding Wriothesley's character. On one hand, he sympathized with him and admired his resilience and strength in dealing with his trauma. On the other hand, he couldn't help but feel some concern over Wriothesley's lack of anger or resentment.

Or maybe he had always been angry, that's why he killed his parents. His bottled up emotions led him to commit such heinous crime.

"Well, in the end, this punishment was how I escaped that house. I sensed that he'd drag me outside one night so I hid a knife behind my back and freed myself after they fell asleep." Wriothesley said with an eerie calmness tinged with humor and menace. His semi-serious tone hinted at a sense of bravado. "The rain helped too." For a moment Neuvillette glimpsed a hint of wildness deep within Wriothesley's eyes, a reminder of untold fury yet unleashed.

"Rain?"

"It hid my tracks, until I was far enough for them to care." Wriothesley said. Suddenly, he remembered something related to the rain and asked Neuvillette, "Chief Justice, do you know the legend about Hydro dragon?"

"No, what about it?" How he lied like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Oh, nothing, it's just silly story that only children believe. It is said that whenever it rains in Fontaine, it's actually because Hydro dragon is crying."

"I do not think that is the most realistic explanation for a mere natural weather change."

"Geez, Chief Justice," Wriothesley said, disapproval in his voice, although Neuvillette didn't know if he meant it or not. "You'll make a child really weep if they hear you debunk the legend that coldly."

Neuvillette let out a small chuckle, despite himself. "Very well, I shall keep my opinion to myself," he said. "Did you--used to believe that as well, Mr. Wriothesley?" Neuvillette asked carefully, hoping that Wriothesley didn't notice how personal this question really was for Neuvillette.

Wriothesley paused for a moment, as if to contemplate his answer, before finally speaking. "A little," he said, his voice soft. "I was a child once, too, you know, despite everything. That night when I escaped, I thought, what caused great sadness for the Hydro dragon at that time? I can't seem to recall that I have any more ability to cry myself, so out of my own selfishness, I used to imagine that the Hydro dragon cried on my behalf. I was clinging to the hopeless wish that someone, something out there, still cared for me." Wriothesley's face remained unchanging, a smile playing at his lips, as if he found his younger self naive and foolish but the amusement didn't reach his eyes. "But yeah, then I grew up and realized whoa woe that's all bull. End of story."

"I think... If there was any sliver of truth to that legend, the Hydro dragon would not forget your sorrow, even if you only shed tears once."

Wriothesley shifted in his bed, his firm frame casual despite the gravity of the subject at hand. "You don't have to humour me, like I said, I used to, Chief Justice. I was scarcely more than a boy when I first heard the legend, and I remember wondering why it seemed so important to so many people."

"And now?"

"Now I am willing to admit that it is likely nothing more than a children's story, something to make the rain in Fontaine seem more special. But that does not diminish the effect it has had on me or the impression it has left on my young mind." Wriothesley folded his free hand in his lap and regarded Neuvillette with an air of patience that was beginning to wear thin.

"I can see that you are dangerously close to becoming a confirmed skeptic." Neuvillette gave a faint smile.

"I am not so easily dissuaded."

The more Neuvillette listened to Wriothesley, the more he recognized a void was missing from his backstory. He sensed an emotional pain and embarrassment in Wriothesley - like a crawfish whose armor had been torn off and forced to display itself for mockery and humiliation. He admitted that this situation was of his own making; he should have foreseen that the glory of his confession would not last. The mood between them grew tense as darkness descended on their conversation, yet Neuvillette found solace in the irony of it all and how they'd drawn together in their shared disdain for the shallow world around them. Wriothesley, on the other hand, couldn’t understand why he continued to retell this narrative time after time, each version flawed with its own imperfections.

"Fortress of Meropide is not an easy place to live in."

"Why are we suddenly talking about that?"

"If you are declared guilty--"

"--when I am declared guilty," Wriothesley had said the words matter-of-factly, like they weren't particularly shocking. He must have been used to it by now. Lifelong practice, Neuvillette supposed. But even so, the words still felt like a knife twisting in his gut.

"You will have to spend years there. By the time you are out, you will be twice the age you are today or even more."

At this, Wriothesley had stared at him, his usually unbothered expression turning somber. Neuvillette could almost feel the weight of the situation pressing down on them, the reality of what was to come sharpening like a blade in the air. "Chief Justice," Wriothesley said, it was the most serious he'd ever been. "What's your point?"

The air in the room was suddenly thick as stacked bricks, pressing against both men as they stood their ground. For the first time Wriothesley saw Neuvillette not as someone he had a chat with, suddenly Wriothesley saw Neuvillette like the rest of Fontaine saw him: a man renowned for his formidable reputation in the court of law. He spoke slowly and carefully. "You denied attorney, and you have not made any single attempt to do anything that might help your case.I am not sure if you are aware of this, but you are charged with first-degree murder. I am obliged to consider all possible defenses, and I am sure that you will understand if I am forced to explore the possibility that you were in a state of self-defense at the time of the crime."

"To be honest, I don't think trial would be necessary, isn't it? I mean, isn't trials reserved for people who want to appeal against the charge?"

"It is not that simple, we must proceed everything through trials. Perhaps, are you secretly considering to request for a duel later?"

"Against that new Champion Duelist? No, thanks. I'd rather not die early." Wriothesley scoffed and shook his head. "Like I said, I have to live."

Many years ago, Neuvillette had met someone whom Wriothesley reminded him of. His memory of it faded now, just as a dream did after waking, yet he remembered feelings… colorful feeling that were hard to reproduce during waking hours or even while sleeping at night. It felt as though the moment could never end, a surreal interlude in which Neuvillette believed that their life had been set in the perfect key and spoken in the perfect language. The words Wriothesley spoke were almost too familiar; like he had said them so often in the past, yet they still held some tinge of meaning to break the silence. His expression was often strained, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes, like he was laughing at himself, at Neuvillette, and at life itself for making conversation like this so awkward. It felt intimate, as if their friendship had been briefly forgotten only to be rediscovered again.

Seeing this young man in front of him brought back those memories and emotions with such clarity that he felt saddened knowing that the next moment they would be gone. It would be gone tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd read Wriothesley's sentence. Tomorrow, it'd be Neuvillette's words that would drag him into exile.

"This concludes our conversation. Your trial will be held tomorrow morning."

"I reckon you're a busy man, so I have to thank you for sparing a little of your precious time for someone like me."

Neuvillette bristled at his presumption but couldn't help but feel flattered by Wriothesley's words. It had been many years since he had felt... happiness--no, the un-loneliness, for some reason or another, and yet a sense of melancholy lingered in him, as if always waiting to be drawn out. Even now he couldn't seem to allow himself to feel it more than once without feeling hollow afterwards, like it had been sucked from deeper under his heart and soul. "That will not be necessary, I did this on my—"

"—it's almost like you came here to talk to me every day, purely out of the kindness of your heart, Monsieur Neuvillette."

Neuvillette seemed unaware of the insult, of being confronted by Wriothesley who confirmed that he knew Neuvillette was here for his own selfish personal curiousity. Perhaps Neuvillette simply chose to ignore it. Although he refrained from pressing his point, Wriothesley's insights on the human condition were unsettling. Without knowing who Neuvillette truly was, he had this uncanny ability to see into other people with such accuracy. "You are a strange fellow." He said instead. "All you did was telling the truth as it is without parapraxis and yet the first thing you said to me was a complete lie."

"Is this the part where I asked what it is?"

"Your name."

"It is not completely a lie, depending on your perspective." Wriothesley scratched the back of his head casually. "I believe it to be my name now. Isn't that enough? Monsieur Nobody-Knows-My-Given-Name Neuvillette?"

Neuvillette pretended that Wriothesley didn't just hit him back with his own logic. "How long have you been aware that I did not come here to deal with your case?" Neuvillette asked. Wriothesley, looking exhausted, ran his hands over his face. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then he seemed to think better of it and shrugged instead. The beginning, then, Wriothesley didn't want to say.

Neuvillette felt a burning sensation at his core, threatening to consume him if he let it. His spirit yearned to break free and leap into an alternate reality, one that could only be accessed through stories. If he dared to let go of the tethers that kept him grounded in this world, he would fall into the story after the curtain had risen, arriving too late to understand why he was there, yet unable to leave without understanding the truth. The emptiness inside him resonated like a low hum, demanding to be filled with something he couldn't name. Neuvillette's eyes snapped shut and Wriothesley's face was the first thing in his mind. He was captivatingly intriguing. Not because of his knowledge, words, or habits, but rather for how he twisted and interpreted things with an underlying cynical snicker. With a single glance, one could never tell if he was smooth as velvet or rough as sandpaper. Yet it was precisely this smart kind of enigmatic charm that made him so alluring. But then again, could someone less intelligent make life easier or harder?

Intelligence wasn't always connected to kindness and understanding; Wriothesley's intelligence couldn't be further from it. He was a critical thinker whose judgements were cut-and-dry; linear, logical, and shrewdly observant. "Do you not have any dream?" The thought came to him like a wave, crashing against his consciousness with an incredible force. The words left his lips freely and unbidden, yet they felt as though they'd been penned over centuries of solitude. When he looked up again, their eyes met in understanding, the something that was said without being spoken louder than any sound. "Why won't you use this opportunity to gain sympathy? Most people would have done so."

"Of course I do have dream, but I have to deal with the consequence of my action first--Monsieur Neuvillette, are you perhaps seeking clemency for me?" Wriothesley responded, but he was completely unmoved by the conversation. The only emotion he'd felt in years had been down deep in his dermis, and it had created a barrier around his heart. Later, Neuvillette would realize just how much effort this conversation took and feel relieved when he was unable to interpret Wriothesley's cues. This man felt with a dual heart; it was a muted organ that gave off an iron scent. It changed colors with its emotions. "It would have been pointless. You only cared about confirming your preconceptions, not about acquiring accurate knowledge. I'm telling you, I am guilty. Wouldn't this make your job easier tomorrow? So we can get over it as soon as possible? Why are you, of all people, trying to make sense of my wrongdoing?"

There was something savage and cruel in Wriothesley's question, as though he was striking back at something Neuvillette said that had offended him. But it also seemed that all he wanted was to expose Neuvillette, to expose him for the sheer, perverse pleasure of doing so. His words were a straight indictment of everything Neuvillette was; they made him feel like a slithery trickster who should be punished for beating around the bush when he'd already been warned to stay off the grass. And yet Neuvillette knew he was right. Wriothesley had seen through him and zeroed in on the one thing he feared most: the awkwardness that sprang up between them each time he looked him in the eye and made it so difficult to speak to him or find the courage not to deny that awkwardness did indeed exist between them.

But Neuvillette might have overestimated it. Or maybe he knew what Wriothesley was saying. No one knew. This conversation didn't last long enough for either one of them to find out.

Wriothesley looked straight ahead, unable to leave the bed with one hand handcuffed to the hospital bed, and yet he filled the space, strangely enough was out of scale, larger than life. Approximate yet unstable; loomed up; expanded. Only much, much later, too late, did Neuvillette understand how small Wriothesley was to himself. "You don't have to answer that. Whatever it is, I'll be fine. I was wondering what did you even gain from talking to someone like me but--"

"But?"

Wriothesley sighed, "I don't want to remind myself not to get involved with someone like you, not yet at least, because truthfully, I'm having such a good time."

"When shall I remind you, then?"

"Nah, you are the symbol of law in Fontaine, are you not? You should not be associated with someone like me on the first place."

Neuvillette's inscrutable face turned to Wriothesley with a cold stare. "I am confident that I am quite decent judge of character." he said again, after sizing up his intentionally blank gaze that hadn’t fooled Wriothesley.

"Hah, there you go again with that joke." Neuvillette still didn't understand what was so funny about what he said, but Wriothesley didn't laugh nonetheless. It reminded him that Wriothesley's convoluted nature made it impossible to predict his next words or to try and put up resistance against someone who had the power to convince Neuvillette of their integrity in a matter of moments. But, this same quality that gave Wriothesley the capacity for kindness and openness was also what made him so dangerous. The reminder of this duality was always looming overhead.

"I don't know if you think I'm a good guy who made one terrible choice or whatnot, I just want to live, that's all." The atmosphere was electric with suppressed emotion, both of them wrestling with feelings that they had never put a name to. Wriothesley finally spoke again, and Neuvillette recognized how his voice trembling from the effort of forming the words. It reminded Neuvillette of a small, yet obvious fact that he seemed to had been completely forgotten about Wriothesley: this man was still so young. “Sometimes I think I'm too far gone,” he rasped out, barely above a whisper. “When I tell people this, it only convinces them more that I could be saved - and the more they try to save me, the harder I push away. And then the guilt comes crashing down. No matter how hard I may try to be kind for a few moments, it's like everyone can see right through me and know that it won't last. So in the end, all that's left is my own self-loathing and their disappointment.”

“That is twisted,” Neuvillette uttered in a low voice. “I will not question why you are expressing your thoughts to me, though.”

“Perhaps my hell is having to say all and not knowing if I should be quiet instead,” he murmured. “And yours, unless I'm all wrong, is to listen and not know whether I mean it.” He looked up at Neuvillette with something akin to fear in his eyes. Neuvillette's face, on the other hand, was drawn but he stared unflinchingly at him as he spoke, almost as if he was trying to unravel Wriothesley's tortured thoughts by sheer force of will.

The silence stretched out between them for a long beat before he finally nodded slowly. They both knew what it meant - they were in this together, but together had its limits. The full weight of Wriothesley's words settled over them and they only moved when they realized that no further explanation would follow. With a single solemn nod Neuvillett confirmed his understanding of what Wriothesley was implying - whatever lay beyond this momentous conversation, they were both aware of where their respective boundaries lay.

Wriothesley had used the exact same narrative during his trial, almost verbatim, to confess. Neuvillette remained silent most of the time, as he practically did most of the work for the trial that Lady Furina left the premise sensing how uncomfortably quick this trial was.He left no room for rebuttal, for all the wrong reason, and what was Lady Furina supposed to do? Say that there was a chance that Wriothesley hadn't done anything wrong in the face of law and order? How antithesis. She would've been rendered speechless had she stayed a bit longer to see the audiences started to push a preposition that Wriothesley was forced to kill his adoptive parents because of self defense. After all, this trial was during the height of very heated debates among citizens about the mistreatment of orphans around Fontaine.

Wriothesley didn't bother, and the trial ended with Neuvillette reading his guilty verdict. Neither of them spoken another word after that.

As Neuvillette watched Wriothesley descended to Fortress of Meropide, he thought about their conversation again. Neuvillette thought, all his life, Wriothesley had worked from the wound. Child that was both healing and a cut. Place of lost and found. He once thought he had to sever some part of himself to let what he could've become go, yet he had felt the wound ever since. He had been surrounded by people who were such mix of truth and fraud. They invented many bad adults for him; fallen men, addicts, melancholics, chasers. It was the stories of disguise and of naming and knowing that interest him. How were you recognised. How did you recognise yourself. Wounding seemed to be a clue or a key to being human, Neuvillette learned. There was value here as well as agony. Flung out, there was always the return, the reckoning, the revenge, perhaps the reconciliation.

Wriothesley, he believed, was working from the blood-trail wound. Towards the people who come on to him with friction. Chafing started intimacy; and strife, like spite, was the shortest distance to the heart, and Neuvillette thought, here Wriothesley was: lost and found.

#posting here in case you prefer this ui #genshin impact #wriothesley #neuvillette #genshin fanfic

19 notes · View notes

rockislandadultreads · 1 year ago

Text

Libby Spotlight: Fantasy eBooks

A Shadow in the Ember by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Born shrouded in the veil of the Primals, a Maiden as the Fates promised, Seraphena Mierel's future has never been hers. Chosen before birth to uphold the desperate deal her ancestor struck to save his people, Sera must leave behind her life and offer herself to the Primal of Death as his Consort.

However, Sera's real destiny is the most closely guarded secret in all of Lasania—she's not the well protected Maiden but an assassin with one mission—one target. Make the Primal of Death fall in love, become his weakness, and then...end him. If she fails, she dooms her kingdom to a slow demise at the hands of the Rot.

Sera has always known what she is. Chosen. Consort. Assassin. Weapon. A specter never fully formed yet drenched in blood. A monster. Until him. Until the Primal of Death's unexpected words and deeds chase away the darkness gathering inside her. And his seductive touch ignites a passion she's never allowed herself to feel and cannot feel for him. But Sera has never had a choice. Either way, her life is forfeit—it always has been, as she has been forever touched by Life and Death.

This is the first volume in the "Flesh and Fire" series.

Queen of Myth and Monsters by Scarlett St. Clair

Isolde, newly coronated queen, has finally found a king worthy of her in the vampire Adrian. But their love for each other has cost Isolde her father and her homeland. With two opposing goddesses playing mortals and vampires like chess pieces against one another, Isolde is uncertain who her allies are in the vampire stronghold of Revekka.

Now, as politics in the Red Palace grow more underhanded and a deadly blood mist threatens all of Cordova, Isolde must trust in the bond she's formed with Adrian, even as she learns troubling information about his complicated past.

This is the second volume of the "Adrian X Isolde" series.

The Cornish Princess by Tanya Anne Crosby

Said to be a changeling child awarded to the King and Queen of Cornwall, Gwyndolyn is “blessed” at her christening with three fae gifts: a prophecy for her future, a gift of “Reflection,” and a golden mane—literally. Every lock of her clipped hair will turn to filaments of gold, provided it is cut by her one true love.

Alas, no one understands more than Gwyn that her blessings are in reality curses. Any man who gazes upon her will see his own heart reflected in her countenance, and depending on his virtue, she is either the loveliest woman in all the land... or the most hideous. It's a cruel jest of the capricious Fae, for unless a man's heart be true, she is destined to be coveted for her wealth, and despised for her face.

To make matters worse, Gwyn's aging and ailing father is desperate for an alliance with King Brutus of Loegria. The Romans are coming, and according to the Goldenchild Prophecy, only by uniting their Draig banners can they stem the Red Tide. He offers her to the ambitious and cruel Loch, who fought his way through the ranks and is reputed to have murdered his elder brothers. But so far as Loch is concerned, his betrothed is only an eyesore to be tolerated. He would never have married the girl if it weren’t for the fact that her shining golden tresses were supposed to fill his coffers—a lie, because her hair is no more than a tangled nest of golden curls.

But Gwyndolyn was not destined to be a spurned wife. To achieve her destiny as the Pen Draig, she must survive the treachery of Loegria's court, and the torments of her betrothed...

This is the first volume of the "Goldenchild Prophecy" series.

The Fall of Númenor edited by Brian Sibley

J.R.R. Tolkien famously described the Second Age of Middle-earth as a ‘dark age, and not very much of its history is (or need be) told’. And for many years readers would need to be content with the tantalizing glimpses of it found within the pages of The Lord of the Rings and its appendices, including the forging of the Rings of Power, the building of the Barad-dûr and the rise of Sauron.

It was not until Christopher Tolkien published The Silmarillion after his father’s death that a fuller story could be told. Although much of the book’s content concerned the First Age of Middle-earth, there were at its close two key works that revealed the tumultuous events concerning the rise and fall of the island of Númenor. Raised out of the Great Sea and gifted to the Men of Middle-earth as a reward for aiding the angelic Valar and the Elves in the defeat and capture of the Dark Lord Morgoth, the kingdom became a seat of influence and wealth; but as the Númenóreans’ power increased, the seed of their downfall would inevitably be sown, culminating in the Last Alliance of Elves and Men.

Now, adhering to the timeline of ‘The Tale of Years’ in the appendices to The Lord of the Rings, editor Brian Sibley has assembled into one comprehensive volume a new chronicle of the Second Age of Middle-earth, told substantially in the words of J.R.R. Tolkien from the various published texts, with new pencil illustrations by the doyen of Tolkien art, Alan Lee.

#fantasy #ebooks #libby #library books #reading recommendations #reading recs #book recommendations #book recs #tbr #tbrpile #to read #booklr #book tumblr #book blog #library blog

5 notes · View notes

serashalala · 1 year ago

Text

Prodigies of Gomorrah || Snippet

prompt: betrayal / treason

this drabble is brought to you by:

@twbmccevent

Jason looks happy. Danny takes respite in that single thing. He hasn’t had a chance to indulge his obsession, as of late, and this alone had been something that had made up for the months long betrayal of his existence.

It seems like he’s having a good time.

Danny is glad.

He’s so glad.

The helmet is at his side, taken off for the time being. They’re safe, after all. Danny had made sure of it when he’d set up the safehouses for the two of them. “This place safe?”

“Of course.” He’d responded, and had acted offended at the mere doubt of it. “You’d think I’d do a subpar job at this basic thing?”

“I dunno, you’ve been getting sloppy with your ‘assassin skills’ as of late, Danny.” Jason jests,

This led to Danny punching him in the shoulder.

It’s one of the rare occasions where they’d gotten to meet each other. Danny had his own run of things, and so did Jason, but he’d at least agreed to leave Danny’s ‘calling card’. That much had been helpful.

However, now they’d had met by coincidence– Jason had a gang to take control of in the Philippines. Danny had found a cluster of the league settled right in Luzon. They were in the area, and

To be honest, Danny had been guilty.

His appearances in Gotham had become a frequent occurrence, and this made him elated on one hand, because he’d gotten to know the family that Damian had been surrounded with, yet horribly ashamed on the other hand.

Because beside him, right now, is a man who couldn’t even dream of ‘reuniting’ with a family that he knew had replaced him.

If he could, he’d have already convinced him otherwise– to get him to go home, to understand. But Jason can’t see his father as anyone other than an accessory to his murder. He let it happen, Jason had said. He let it happen, and let the man get away scotch free.

He could understand. Danny could understand.

Which is why it makes this situation all the more horrible.

“If things were better, I’d say you’d have been my brother in a better life.” Jason jests, and this made Danny happy– initially, that is. But he knew the tragedy of this. It’d end badly. It’d end horribly.

Because it’s true. If things were better, Danny would have been Jason’s brother. He’d take the kid under his wing, and he’d make sure that anything and everything that had once hurt him would simply disappear. He could do that. He has that power.

But it’s not that simple.

He could at least pretend that it is. Even for just a bit longer. Just for now.

When Jason departs, that day, Danny had thought he could continue this farce for a bit longer.

There’s a slam in the door when it opens.

Danny had rushed to check what it was, only to get slammed to the wall by the perpetrator. Danny looks down, and he sees a cold, metal mask looking back up at him.

“You fucking lied to me.” Jason’s metallic voice echoes in his head, and the words sink in.

He found it. He didn’t even need to ask what it was that he’d lied about.

The way Jason is looking at Danny makes his core freeze over. He’d known what he’d done wrong– both of them knew.

“You’d hidden this from me?” Jason hisses and he doesn’t need to see the way hell freezes over green eyes. The mask was enough, the way he’d wear it during now.

He’s angry. So angry that even the emotion on his face is going to stay hidden from danny.

That anger is only being spurred on by the truth that had slipped from Danny’s mouth: “He’s my father.” He admits. “Yes.” He says.

“You’d been parading around with my help, and you didn’t think to tell me this vital fucking thing?”

Danny doesn’t really know how to appeal to this– likely knowing that there’s no chance of him appealing to Jason’s anger.

“Why?”

“I knew you’d hate him.” Danny answers. “I knew that you’d hate me too.”

Jason grits his teeth. “I thought you were better than this.” Jason tells him. “It turns out that your grandfather’s blood really runs in you.” With that, he drops Danny,

Danny doesn’t look at the door as it slams shut. He doesn’t really care to.

The words said by one of his protected freezes his core over, and it’s so cold that it feels like it’s burning.

He saw it coming.

This is okay.

#serashalala writes #TWBMCCevent

2 notes · View notes

slateofthesea · 2 years ago

Text

The Slate of the Sea: Gold King

(Ao3) (Vibes)

Nothing was making sense... None of this made any sense. No matter how long Daikaku stood there on the sandy white beach explaining himself and their situation, they found themselves.

"You're being ridiculous. We are not living in some fantasy novel; this is real life." How much Klaudia wanted to scream, 'have you gone mad!? Do you realize how insane this all sounds?'

"What I said has been hand-to-Ryujin the truth. I can prove it if you wish," Daikaku has always been a calm, collected man, always had a leveled head on his shoulder, even if his heart flutters uncontrollably around the love of his life.

"If what you're saying is true. Then the legend clearly states if any selkie were murdered/killed, they turn back into human forms. Those bodies we put to rest yesterday were seals... not people." Klaudia took a deep breath, rubbing her temples, hoping to stop this headache.

"If the power of a king slays any mythological creatures-" The young sea captain scuffs at those words repeating out loud 'King' and mumbling 'ridiculous.' "We are standing on the beach of Tears, where many lives were lost trying to acquire one other half of their whole."

"Either power is whole, or it's not. There's no in-between... my sister nearly drowns over this crazy fantasy you both live in. Do you understand that? Do you even!- Why are rocks floating? What is that soft humming sound? Why are your eyes glowing a golden color?"

The Kokujoji clan could be traced centuries back. One could say or jest their family took root since the earth took form. With a family going that far back, many titles became attached to his clan.

The first wife of the head of the family was known as The Magician, used to perform tricks, and was sly of the hand most commoners spoke.

The second head of the clan's wife was known as The Enchanter, who used to play 'matchmaker' as another way to downplay her label the weak-minded threw at her.

And so went down the line people would whisper behind the clan's back, every word they knew, sorcerers, Wicca, and finally, the new leader of the Kokujoi clan was known as The Mystic, with his unique ability to manipulate gravity itself.

"I'm hallucinating, yes that explains- um... the stress from sailing through that storm, the emotional toll of witnessing the aftermath of poachers, my sister nearly dying, the sun beating down on us." Klaudia kept rambling, trying to find a sensible reason to explain everything.

"Klaudia, you feel it in your bones that what I say is the truth. You remember seeing our grandmother standing in the shallow that night," As much as she tried to forget that night, she could not. The images of the two women standing in waist-deep water, holding hands, singing without moving their lips before two bright glowing gems came out of the sea by webs-like hands. "The Kings always follow their anchor. My grandmother served as your grandmother's anchor...power stabilizer might be the term you're used to seeing in those ancient texts."

"I enjoy reading those ancient books that have many uncharted sea routes." It wasn't a lie; they only partially contained much other information. "Anchor or power stabilizer is not the wrong term. From what those books read, the sail could be a better term or lock and key. Those who came from the sea, or persons of the sea, are the key to unlocking or guiding the king's power." Klaudia finally surrendered to this fantasy as she sat on the nearby rocks. With all the evidence at her feet, it's hard to deny everything.

"Misguided information has caused a war between the kings. The Seventh one of us believes forcing the seas- selkie, sirens, and even mermaids into his service will help locate-"

"The Dresden Slate... a mysterious stone that grants aura to those it deems worthy, or so the legend states." Daikaku could have argued he was still getting accustomed to his king's ability as he allowed his entire body to be consumed by a gold aura. "You made your point; aura, kings, and sea folk weren't just myths. How long have you and my sister been working on this?"

It was a fair question on Klaudia's part as it was now hard to hide their secret adventure anymore. "Possibly the same amount of years you've been doing your own research behind our back?"

"Fair enough. What's our next step since if I leave you two alone; heaven knows what trouble you would end up into." So it's better to join in now before Klaudia is left behind.

"Once we wake Addi, there's someone I would like both of you to meet." Daikaku led the way back to their camp, as Klaudia was initially reluctant to follow, "This 'he' person you asked about the other day. Is he not an average person?" Even if she knew the answer, Klaudia had to ask the question to get it off her chest.

"He was the Colorless King's first victim,' The gold king paused for a moment before explaining himself more. "I was just named the head of the family. That night a small child washed up on the shore wrapped up in his dying mother's arms." He told Klaudia the grim tale of the selkie begging with her last breath to protect her son...naming their executioner 'The Colorless.' "My family raised him, educated the child until we could locate more of his kind. Hisui was only a child when we last met."

Klaudia had to make him stop right there as her mind was going in circles. "Before you explain anything more, I may need a few drinks to clear my head." With so much unknown only one question kept bubbling up and out of her mouth. "So when do you marry your anchor?"

That question almost felt like a dagger to his heart, impaling itself deep into his chest, twisting, and butchering his heart. Before Daikaku could respond, the sea captain ran past him, nearly shouting, "Who's that naked man sitting beside my sister!"

"Oh, hello, sis," of all the things Addi could say to her older sister right now, she chose those three words... not explaining herself with a naked man...who was holding her hand, more like having a death grip on her hand. "Mmhmm, she's my older sister. I know she looks scary, but she can be kind... at times. Oh, you know, Daikaku,yes.. people look different as they age. No, they are not. I know you're right. They should be."

It appeared as if Addi was having a one-sided conversation with herself. If Klaudia didn't do an in-depth study on every mythology sea creature using telepathy to speak, that ability was strictly for families and lovers. Klaudia's blue eyes shot back at the gold king, needing someone to explain everything to her now... right now. "Klaudia, I would like for you to meet Nagare Hisui," Addi paused before dropping a cannonball on her sister. "My husband."

Holding up their interlocked hand to give the older twin more visual aid as Nagare said only one faint word. "Wife."

"Congratulations, best wishes for a lifetime of great happiness." Daikaku bowed his head, giving his heartfelt wishes to the happy couple as Klaudia, on the other hand, stood there speechless. Blinking uncontrollably at this sight with her (I had no desire to be someone's wife, Lady of the house, or someone's mother), sister clung to her... to her...

'Come on, Klaudia, say the word, and all will be fine... great even. Now say it!' Scolding herself for the lack of ability for not being able to say this single word. "Husband?" There she managed to say it... yes, it came out more like a painful screech, but at least it came out. "I'm going to die an old maid, and my baby sister just plucked her husband out of the sea like it was nothing."

"Nagare says thank you for letting his kin rest, and there's nothing else here; the Colorless King took everything, no wait, everyone else with them." Addi kept her attention on this beautiful slim-built man with messy dark green hair.

"With the tide coming in, I suggest we take our leave. Gathering what we know and what we don't, he will be leagues away from us by now. I have to contact an old friend, who has been tracking the last king much longer than I have." With all of their research back at the villa, it was best to retreat to the former ground.

"We agree with the gold king. Oh, so that's what you meant by a King. I see now. Yes, I think we can pull that off," The selkie still wouldn't let go of his wife's hand. "I won't leave you behind. I know your family didn't want to leave either. We can make a found family with the four of us."

The Kokujoji and Weismann family's world turned upside down the moment the sun rose this morning... many things became clear as many remained in the shadows. For Daikaku, the burden was lifted off his shoulders as he no longer needed to hide who or what he was—the Gold King with the blood of sirens running through his veins. The blood of the sea guided him to remain anchored to his course, revealing its silent whisper to him, and showing him how to use his power to heal the broken and save the weak.

If only this aura could give him the courage to face rejection.

***

As for the Weismann sisters, Addi came to understand the longing in her bones after hearing the saddest song the one night their family stayed at the Kokujoji castle on the very night Nagare washed up on the shore. The selkie didn't realize someone was answering his song. Someone heard his prayer, never to be left behind again.

The fates wanting them to meet, need them to be apart of each life as destiny was not yet done with this strange couple.

The young gold king couldn't help but smile, watching the newlyweds walk hand in hand across the ship's deck, teaching each other about the other world—the endless beautiful dark waters of the sea to the breathless evils of the life above.

"Sister, you’re a sea captain, correct?" of all the dumb questions her genius baby sister could ask, she picked that one to find her voice again finally.

"Yes, Addi. You know full well that I am. Father took great strife in teaching me how to fly against the waves." The sea captain kept her eyes on the sea, not liking the clouds forming to the east of them. "If we want to beat the next storm, we need more speed." Barking her orders to the crew. "What is it you want, sister? Please make your request quickly, then get yourself below the deck."

"Marry us," Bluntly asked. No, Addi begged her sister to perform the sacred ceremony, almost acting like this whole thing was some stage play. "You're the captain, so in the eyes of the law, you can marry us."

"No." There Klaudia said it, putting her foot down until her sister saw reason.

"No? No, you can not perform the marriage, or the law won't allow it?" Addi pushes for the answer for a single-word reply. "Daikaku? Can not a captain or a Lord perform such a ceremony?"

"Klaudia, please explain to us your reasoning." Now the young sea captain has three sets of eyes looking toward her, seeking an answer her voice might not be able to give. Klaudia could go into great detail about the typhoon brewing to their east needing her full attention if they were going to outrun it, or she could be simple and honest.

"You can not marry someone you just met." Explaining more reasoning behind her single-worded answer. "Don't even drag Lord Daikaku into this. I'm the captain here; this is my ship until we dock. No one is getting married, and if they do so behind my back. I will sink this very vessel into the sea."

"Klaudia, you can not be serious. In selkie-" The sisters bark and disagree with each other even as the storm is on their heels. Addi finally felt a familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach. "How long could you control the wind!?"

"One does not control anything. I simply let the wind guide me." Klaudia always hated the words 'control.' It was like telling everything lesser than yourself that it should live life under your boot.

The angrier the sisters became with each other, the more the wind- no winds, fought against the canvas sails. One gust of wind came from behind them, pushing them toward the coast, towards home. As the second wind came from the west, shoving them more into the raging storm.

Ever since they made landfall on the Island of Tears, something felt off, like it was tearing their sanity apart.

"I only want you to be happy!"

"And I want to marry my happiness!"

"Kings are such foolish creatures," Nagare spoke up. "Throwing their aura around like pebbles across some river."

The very moment Nagare hands reached out for Addi, something changed inside her chest, something no words could describe. "Wait, I thought only life and death circumstances could awaken Kings- Oh, did I drown?"

Spitting those words out carelessly in front of your older sibling will get you the same result as jumping into the ocean and holding a couple of cannonballs—a suicide mission.

"Nagare, would you like to join me inside the captain's cabin to discuss the events of the attack-" Addi quickly corrected the gold King's choice of wording. "Slaughter."

"Forgive my mistake, the slaughter." The two men left the sisters to battle out their pettiness as either one of them would give ground.

"Much like before, he stole the younger one and used his king's abilities to slaughter anyone who resisted him." The selkie continued retelling the event as the Colorless waited until mid-day to start his assault. "The fog came first, just like you said it would. I managed to get some safe but not many, and his right eye is much darker than I remember."

"Do you believe the sea witch is helping him?" The selkie shook his head slowly as the gold King sighed deeply.

The sea witch could be dealt with without effort; a single death could cut off the Colorless King's power link until she was reincarnated. However, if their sacrifice were to the Syrens that something Daikaku was not experienced enough in, books clearly stated all Kings could slay the three, yet his siren blood told him differently. Only one King could kill such a dark creature, known to be the most ruthless and violent of the Kings.

The Red King.

Sadly for them, the last Red King passed away ten years ago during childbirth. Her descendants live deep within the Demon swamps, and few dare to adventure upriver. The Suoh family has quite an arsenal to them with the ability to unleash fire chaos upon any who dare to cross them.

"They won't be born for some time," The Selkie finger kept outlining an area on the old map that covered the sea captain's desk.

"They?" The gold kings question only to get the fair skin man to smile, knowing its best not to speak on such matters; even the ocean has ears and lips to whisper such tales into their enemies' ears.

*****

The Timeless palace made landfall hours later, looking as if it had been in war as some of the railings were missing, some of its sails ripped to shreds, and she was taking on water from the crack in the hull.

"Welcome home, Nagare. You have to see the libraries, water garden, oh, and my research!" Addi rushes off the ship, pulling her husband behind her, disappearing into the crowd at the port, shouting to everyone she knows quickly introducing her husband to them.

"I can't believe I agreed to marry my sister in the middle of a hurricane... of our own making. This King's ability will take some time to grow accustomed to. Could you give me lessons, Lord Daikaku?" Klaudia gave away her own pride, agreeing she only- and ever wanted Addi's happiness, but she refused to be seen anywhere near the newlyweds. Watching them cling to each other was enough to make anyone uncomfortable since the selkie needed to understand that if he was going to live among humans- well, half-humans. Clothes were not optional; they were a must.

"As you wish, however, my lesson starts early, and I'm very strict."

"I'm not giving up my wine." The holder to the head of the Kokujoji clan heart declares, marching right into the tavern. After the two days she just had, a few drinks were past due.

"Your Excellency, you have an urgent letter from Master Miwa," this said letter was one Daikaku knew was already on its way when they cast off for the island.

Dear, Daikaku. I hope my letter finds you well. Please give my complete happiness to the newlyweds and my best to the new Silver Kings. I know they are prepared for what's coming. Ten years from now, the unique emerald will be among us. Its value does not go well for us, yet I urge you to do nothing...until the appropriate time.

As for the rubies, I will keep them safe for you until they reach a higher value.

Your friend,

Ichigen Miwa

The battle for the slate was one of patience until all seven kings could come together; everything was out of reach.

3 notes · View notes

nomdepen · 2 months ago

Text

“Hm, maybe you're right. I fear wouldn’t have had the courage to even speak to you if that were the case. Though, I barely had the courage to do so now. Nevertheless, I stand by my claims that your seduction skills are utterly unmatched.”

You are trying to kill me, aren't you? Pen shook her head, a deviously playful smile gracing her features. “I'm not trying to kill you, no. That would make for an awfully sad wedding, don't you think?” Murder wasn't on her list of to-dos as much as perfecting her own skills in seduction, a skillset she hoped to master in time.

“Yes, I certainly understand why such a thing is discouraged now. How dreadfully ignorant I have been.” Beaming, she nods, accepting defeat with a smile. "I dare say it might not be terribly long before we have our own bundle of joy," Raising her hand, she gently tapped his nose with her finger. "Especially if you keep looking at me like that."

In truth, it depends: do you want to be untoward?

“My word, who’s the bad influence now? Tsk, tsk.” She playfully scrunched her nose, the apples of cheeks glowing red. Her mind and body were utterly torn between staying proper until the wedding and simply acting on any desires as they arose. She wouldn't chase the feeling, she decided. She would try her best not to provoke any feelings of passion, but she had no intention to squash them if they appeared naturally. Even so, a part of her was filled with girlish joy at the idea of returning to the library together, hand in hand, as man and wife. Just a simple outing together, enjoying one another's company without a care in the world. A petty sliver of her even hoped to run into Bartholomew and Weathersby, so that she might turn up her nose at them, to snub them for all their ill-intended jests at the pair's expense.

“What time does your lesson finish? I'm sure Gregory would have no qualms with cutting the session short. Even if he has a wonderful teacher." She hummed as she thought. Her mother would most likely be spending the day planning various parts of the upcoming wedding, parts that Pen herself couldn't have imagined being important. The color of the garlands on the balcony or the type of floral arrangement by the terrace doors hardly seemed important enough to plan, let alone mull over incessantly. But her Mama was enjoying herself and Pen couldn't bear to take it from her. After all, she didn't care how big or fanciful the wedding was, as long as she was lawfully wed to Ben at the end of it.

Depending on how invested Portia and Varley were in preparations, Penelope could very easily slip away unnoticed before dinnertime rolled around. "I could, mayhaps, find some time in my awfully busy schedule to take a little stroll around the block at that time. Surely, it isn’t untoward if we just happen to cross paths, by mere coincidence. And it certainly couldn't be untoward if I needed an escort home after said stroll.”

As she mused aloud, Pen shifted to sit upright. She could very well allow herself to lounge in his arms for the rest of eternity, but time would continue to move with or without them. If she waited too long, it would be increasingly harder to sneak back into her bedroom unnoticed, even with Rae and John's help. Peeling herself away from Ben was one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do and it was visible by how long her palms and then her fingers lingered on his skin, desperate not to break contact entirely.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing." She continued, tittering at his words. "What a pleasant disappearance from society it would be..." Pen let out a dramatic, dream sigh before slipping back into her teasing tone. "Though, to be fair, there are quite a number of surfaces we haven’t graced with our love yet. The bed, for instance. Or the table... Or the desk... Or…” She grinned and turned to scan the room, ultimately deciding on a careless gesture towards the door. “Over there. Or there. And that's not even mentioning my bedchamber at home. So, so many places... we very well might need an eternity to cover them all.”

Unable to help it, Benjamin snorted, a disbelieving grin tugging at his lips. "I think you highly overestimate how I looked back then," he teased. "When I turned around nine-and-ten, one of the locals claimed that manhood hit me like a carriage...so evidently, I was a bit on the scrawny, unappealing side for the vast majority of my youth." He kissed the tip of her nose. "But I thank you for the lovely lie...as misguided as it may be."

Propping his cheek on his fist, he peered down at Penelope with a fond smile, scrunching his nose. "How is being shy queer?" he wanted to know. "If you ask me, those who are blatantly loud and attention-seeking are far more unappealing. But then, I prefer the company of books... And now you." Gently, he grazed his thumb along the curve of her cheek, brushing his fingers through her disheveled hair. "If you could believe it, I was far more outgoing as a boy. My three best friends were wild and mischievous -- and loud -- so I suppose that had something to do with it. Still, I found myself playing 'mediator' far too often even back then."

"We would've certainly made a peculiar pair, you and I."

Benjamin grinned. "The most peculiar," he agreed, "but you shouldn't tease me with the loss of not having been a pair since boyhood. If nothing else, we desperately need to make up for lost time."

To his amusement, Penelope seemed confused by the prospect of sheepskins -- perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned it -- but mercifully, she didn't dwell on the subject for long. Her mouth found his again, sweet but fierce, and her whispered, "Naughty boy, you have enough time to ponder such things later," made him shiver.

"You're making it exceedingly difficult not to ponder them now," Benjamin fired back.

As if determined to prove his point, Penelope whined and wrapped her arms around him, anchoring him close.

"You are trying to kill me, aren't you?" he asked, laughing. "By God..." Trying his best to keep from inciting any new excitement, he put a modicum of distance between them while mulling over her query.

"When can I see you again? As much as I would like to be a dutiful wife and abstain from seeing you again until the wedding..." Her nose brushed his and a warm, fluttery sensation danced across his heart. "I fear I am not strong enough to be apart from you for three entire weeks. I could not survive it. Especially not now."

Benjamin chuckled. "Well, I suppose now you can understand why premarital intimacy is discouraged? If it were not, I can guarantee that no couple would be able to walk down the aisle without a bundle of joy in their arms." Expression softening, he nudged his forehead back into hers. "In truth, it depends: do you want to be a bit untoward and meet me after my tutoring lessons at the Bridgerton manor? Or shall I 'accidentally' find you outside the library? Because if you were to come here again...well..." His gaze turned impish. "I fear we'd never again return into society."

#the entirety of the dash is just screaming at them to get a room 😂#“oh brottherrrrrrr this guy STINKS”#honorhearted #long post

198 notes · View notes

mt-musings · 7 months ago

Text

To Inherit the Night - 8

Claude stared at Cecily for a long time as the others filtered out. Hilda and Lorenz had remained the longest, dramatically debating whether or not the heroine of their latest read should choose one love interest or the other and complaining about the wait for the sequel, something he knew Cecily would have usually been right in the middle of. He would have never pegged her as an avid romance reader, but he did enjoy her absolute buck-wild takes on whatever book they were discussing. They always involved too much murder and subterfuge and possibly the overthrowing of a small-to-medium sized kingdom, but she always made them sound endearingly amusing. Instead, though, she just stared into the middle distance, brows pinched together as she nursed a glass of wine.

He couldn’t help but let his eyes trace her face, note—as he did every time she returned—all the differences, the new scars and bruises, the sharper jut of her bones beneath her skin.

They were his fault, at least partially. Every injury gathering intel for the Alliance, every wound sabotaging the front lines to keep the Empire at bay, keeping the war from their doorstep. He remembered when she used to laugh, when her smile had been easy and warm, when sadness hadn’t hung so heavy behind her eyes.

His stomach lurched uncomfortably as he thought about the way she’d stared at the food laid out for dinner, food that wasn’t out of the ordinary to anyone else at the table, besides perhaps Balthus. It was enough to make him realize that he’d never truly been hungry, not in the way she surely had.

Lorenz had cornered him after she’d disappeared off to his laboratory, his face pinched in the way he was oh so familiar with from Roundtable meetings and their time at school. He’d known it was about Cecily before he’d even opened his mouth, had known it would be from the moment he heard him fussing over her as they came up the stairs to his study.

He was quite sure Lorenz liked her more than a friend and also quite sure that, besides Cecily, he was the only one who hadn’t a clue. He might have found it terribly amusing that the most pretentious of nobles, who had most loudly and frequently declared that he needed a proper Lady wife equal to his station, had fallen for the peasant spymaster of a criminal gang. He might have, if he didn’t understand exactly why, if he didn’t see the way she viscously protected those she cared about, if he didn’t see how absolutely she devoted herself to whatever she deemed important, if he didn’t see how brilliant she was when she wanted to be.

If a big part of him didn’t feel the exact same way.

He knew that was why he’d offered her the advisory position in the first place—strategically, it was terrible. Sure, he could find other spies, he hadother spies, but none with the same far-reach, none had the same sort of initiative, none kept him so well-informed. Could he use her strategic mind in keeping the Alliance safe on the razor’s edge of neutrality? Absolutely. But that task would be made infinitely harder without her intel.

Of course, if she’d take the job he’d know each morning that she was alive, that she hadn’t been murdered in the night at the hands of one of Hubert’s agents or while sneaking behind enemy lines. She wouldn’t be thin enough that he could count each of her ribs, that he could feel them, right under her skin. She wouldn’t come back with a dozen new scars and twice as many bruises.

“She nearly died, Claude,” he’d said, jaw tight. “Loudon said had she not had the foresight to pack the wound with the rough antidote she made she probably would have, especially with how underweight she is. She was—I’ve never seen her cry, not in all the times she’s shown up bleeding at our doorstep, and she couldn’t stop herself until Loudon was able to give her a painkiller. She couldn’t breathe, would have suffocated if the wound was half an inch deeper and it fully pierced her lung. It’s not a jest, when I say that she needs to rest.”

He’d still thought then, perhaps Lorenz was exaggerating as he was want to. Until he’d seen the wound for himself. He was sure she’d meant to placate him by showing it to him—it was hardly two inches of stitches along her rib, after all. She might have fooled him that way, if it hadn’t been for the blackened veins spidering out from the wound, the deep bruising from the internal bleeding. Her nerves had been so fried from the toxin that she’d winced at the slightest brush of his fingers. Of course he’d also been taken aback by the sheer number of brutal scars that covered her skin. Scars that hadn’t been healed with magic.

It was hard to believe she’d acquired so many, especially when anytime she’d gotten so much as a bad scratch at the Academy Yuri had always been quick to heal it. Maybe with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, but he’d always healed them, whether she’d asked or not.

She turned and caught him staring, furrowing her brow.

“What? Why are you staring?”

“How about a nightcap?” He asked. Her face softened at that.

“The roof?”

“Of course.”

“Alright. See you there,” she said, and finished her wine and disappeared out into the hall. He waited a moment before he followed, stopping in his study to grab a bottle of liquor, something he’d been saving. He didn’t bother with glasses, though he did grab a thick blanket from one of the armchairs facing the fireplace so they wouldn’t have to lie on the cold tiles. She’d already beat him to the roof by the time he climbed out the window, head tipped back as she surveyed the stars just beginning to peek out against the dusk sky.

He laid out the blanket and plopped himself down, uncorking the bottle as she scooted over to sit beside him. It wasn’t something he’d usually favor—he preferred bold, rich flavors, savored the burn of whatever liquor he happened to drink. This was delicate and floral, so smooth he could hardly guess it was alcohol at all, though he knew it packed a punch. He knew Cecily would drink whatever was offered—he’d tried the swill she’d drank at the Wilted Rose, had regretted more than one swig of the flask she kept at her hip—but he knew she enjoyed the subtle sweetness, knew she favored florals and bright citrus and would never pay half of what he had for the bottle. He offered her the first sip and she hummed appreciatively at the taste, passing it back to him.

She seemed perfectly happy to sit in silence, eyes trained on the stars. There was something heavy hung about her, something more than the usual cynicism she carried with her from the front lines.

“You’ve been really quiet,” he said, finally breaking the silence. It was another beat before she turned, taking a breath before meeting his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she said, clever eyes narrowing slightly as she searched his face. It almost made him laugh.

“I didn’t ask you if you were fine.”

“It’s what you meant. I know it’s what you meant.”

“And I know you’re not fine. Not really.”

She sat in silence for a long time, lips pursed, before she sighed, letting her head thud back to the roof. “I’m just tired. It’s been four years. I’m just—I’m tired, Claude.”

He sat up to look at her. She avoided his gaze, jaw tight.

“Cecily—“

“I’m going to go to bed,” she said, rising quickly. She snagged the bottle from where it sat between them and crossed back to the edge, ducking effortlessly back onto the balcony and through the study window.

~~~

He knew he’d been right to go through Shae, to pay her ridiculous finder’s fee to track down the information he needed.

Yuri stared at the tome, eyes almost blurring with how fast he read. The whole thing seemed outlandish—farcical, even. A fairytale, an old myth, some half-baked legend—of course, three years ago he would have said the same about giant, near-immortal shape-shifting dragons. Still, the idea that Cecily could be some sort of apocalyptic harbinger of death and darkness, that she might carry in her the blood of a long-murdered god—

He should dismiss it as insanity, he wanted to dismiss it as insanity. Goddess knew he wanted to dismiss it. But he’d seen glimpses of what she could do, felt the raw power coursing just under her skin, knew what Arundel and his ilk were willing to do for a few vials of her blood.

Hell, he’d seen first hand the horrors they’d been able to inflict with her refined blood.

It wasn’t a Crest. He’d known that since she was twelve, since he’d poured over every tomb on the subject in House Rowe looking for one that might fit her powers. It didn’t work like any of the other, didn’t even work like any magic he’d seen or studied, not even Faith magic—it didn’t take her force of will or belief, and certainly didn’t take any fancy equations or components. It came purely from herself, from something alien and innate within her.

And he was convinced it was killing her.

More so than the constant runs and skipped meals, he was convinced using her power as she was was killing her. That it was chipping away at her very being. He couldn’t prove it, not with the stress of everything else on her shoulders, but he could see it when she returned.

He’d hoped to find a solution, potions to brew, perhaps a spell or two to rejuvenate her, to work on replacing what had already been lost, what Arundel had stolen from her, but instead he was met only with horrors, with a mandate to destroy any and all perceived to be like her on sight, to burn their corpses and scatter them to the sea. That they were capable of nothing except death and pain and misery, that they needed it, fed on it to even sustain themselves.

Yuri looked up as the door burst open, mages flooding the room. He grit his teeth at the familiar figure who stepped into the room last, taking the second before silence was cast over him to incinerate the book in his hands to ash.

The last thing he needed was the Empire to have more motivation to track down Cecily, for them to know the true extent of her power, her capabilities. He remembered the tiny, broken thing he’d found in the tunnels of Rowe, remembered what they’d done to her when she was a tiny girl with a strange Crest. He couldn’t fathom the atrocities they’d inflict on her if they even suspected she carried the blood of a dark god, a god of endless night and shadow, a god that seemed opposed to the goddess in every way.

The spell cost him his moment to spirit away, or at least his chance to try. There were seven Empire agents, including Hubert, and only one of him. Even he knew it would be foolish to put up a blatant fight under those odds.

“Ah, the Mockingbird. How lovely to see you again, it’s been far too long,” Hubert said, the same sinister smile he’d worn too often at the academy plastered on his face.

“Go to hell,” Yuri spat back. There would be no sweet-talking the Emperor’s right hand, no reason to resort to flattery.

Not that he was convinced he could make himself, anyway, not when he could read Hubert’s intentions in his stupid, smug face.

#hubert von vestra #hubert von vestra x oc #lorenz hellman gloucester #yuri leclerc #slow burn #friends to enemies to lovers #fire emblem three houses x reader

0 notes