#a true shame for Din (I worked out the lighting right the first time and then flipped them around too much! D:) but I like Cobb very much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grandlinedreams · 7 months

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Hiii, long time lurker first time requester here!! (on anon bcos tumblr is my safe place, I hope that’s okay :3) I was wondering if I could submit a request before you close them? 💕

I love how you write lighthearted scenes with Law, it’s always the perfect balance of comedy while staying true to his character! So, may I propose: the fake relationship trope with Law x reader?? Yknow the iconic scenario when two characters who are definitely not dating find themselves in a sticky situation so the reader pulls the ‘oh this is my boyfriend/girlfriend’ card completely out of the blue and the other person just has to kinda go along with it so as not to blow their cover?

Idek how that would even come about in a scenario involving Law but I just know he would be so exasperated but still committed to going along with it hehe

Anon your mind is 😙👌🏼 chefs kiss I love that trope and I hope that I made it work well bc i wanted to go the humor route but decided that the Kaz/Inej coding of reader and Law needed some more food so ㅡ

[heads up!: spy!reader, reader is not specifically gendered but they do wear a dress, angst, Law's a lil dumb okay]

The party is beautiful.

Soft orchestral music plays over the soft din of conversation, the sway of couples in lavish clothing and practiced weaving of staff through the clusters of socialites, trays of food held aloft and offered at various intervals.

Flute of champagne in hand, you watch from your place near a pillar, half-studying the people around you, half watching the fizz of tiny bubbles in your glass.

"Not much of a dancer?" The speaker's tone is light and conversational, and when you look over, you half-recognize the man now standing next to you. He's the grandson of the man hosting this entire soiree ㅡ and you turn towards him.

"Unfortunately no," you answer with a demure smile, then dip your head to look through your eyelashes, tapping the rim of your glass against your lip. "I'm waiting on someone."

You know his type, playing right into the invisible appeal as his gaze flickers, then brightens as he offers you his arm. "Perhaps I can at least offer a dance in the meantime?"

Your smile widens just a little, the careful bat of your eyes. "Perhaps you can."

Your flute is set down in favor of tucking your arm into his and allowing him to sweep you out further onto the floor with the whisper of your dress against your legs. It's heavy and far from what you're accustomed to, but worth the extra beri for the way you fit right in amongst the others.

The press of his other hand is warm against your back, just shy of touching exposed skin ㅡ and you welcome the touch of dizziness from the champagne to keep from balking at the idea of him touching you.

"This person you're waiting for," your partner says as he leads you through a graceful arc past another couple, "shame on them for keeping such a lovely creature such as yourself waiting for so long."

Your skin crawls, even as you laugh softly. "I assure you, they'reㅡ"

"There you are." A familiar voice makes you turn, finding sharp gold eyes focused on you, then your partner. Trafalgar Law looks less than thrilled about much at any given moment but right now, he looks livid, jaw taut as he watches you and your partner scramble for something to say.

"My apologies," your dance partner says, his expression shifting to mask his discomfort at Law's sudden appearance. "I take it that this is your…"

"My boyfriend," you answer smoothly, sheepish and apologetic as you disengage your arm from his and step towards Law. "It was lovely to dance with you. But if you'll excuse us for a moment?"

You don't give him or Law a chance to answer, grabbing the latter's hand to pull him with you as you hurry away as quickly as your dress and situational awareness will allow you. You're still working, after all, even if Law showing up has potentially jammed a wrench into the cogs.

What is he even doing here? You want to demand answers, furious that he'd decided to show up unannounced ㅡ like he doesn't trust you. That alone both stokes your fury and douses it in cold water, an odd juxtaposition that ultimately just makes you feel sick.

Law lets you drag him down the hallway, the hard click of your shoes against the marble floor, studying the bounce of your carefully styled hair, the way the jeweled end of your hairpin sways with your movement.

You'd been lucky enough to weave your web of deception strong enough to secure yourself a place to stay close to your target, and you let go of Law's hand in favor of fussing with the door before yanking him inside.

Law watches your shoulders sag with visible relief as you shut the door, then turn towards him. "What were you thinking? I had this under control."

He knows. He knows you're more than capable of handling things like this, have proven yourself time and time again ㅡ he doesn't need to check in on you. But he doesn't want to admit the real reason, that he'd been jealous of someone else's hands on you, touching you the way he should be.

Of course he'd never admit that, he'd rather take it to the grave with him than offer the open wound of vulnerability when he isn't sure you'd return his feelings.

"You know what?" You say when he's quiet for too long, tone sharp with hurt wrapped in exhausted disbelief at his actions, "I don't want to hear it."

He should apologize. Tell you that he hadn't meant to almost blow your cover, that he hadn't been thinking ㅡ but instead he watches you cross the room with the rustle of your dress, trying to clean up the clutter of just hours before.

"I just wish you'd trust me," you say, and Law can tell that it's more than just tonight that's bothering you.

"I do trust you."

You scoff, silence broken by the hard click of plastic cased cosmetics that you toss roughly back into your bag and then reach to tug the pin out of your hair. "Could have fooled me."

Your tone is scathing, all raised hackles and sharp teeth ㅡ remnants of the wild thing you'd once been and in some ways still are. You, for all your sharp edges and uncomfortable truths, still find a way to nestle in his chest, tuck yourself in his heart in ways that terrify him.

Your huff of frustration breaks Law out of his thoughts to find you struggling with the zipper at the top of your back, and he crosses the room without thinking.

The silent bat of his hand against yours makes you stiffen, hands moving to the bodice of your dress as he pinches the key of the zipper between his fingers.

"I do trust you," he repeats softly. He struggles, the drag of the zipper teeth agonizingly slow. "I apologize if I haven't made that clear."

You stare at the mess of your bed. "I don't understand what the issue is, then." Your words are a knife you know how to wield and do it well, tight grip on the hilt and sharp tip at proverbial underbelly. "You do your job, I do mine. It's simple."

And yet it isn't. As much as Law wishes that it were, it's far from it. Because he cares about you, cares for you in ways he's trying so hard not to.

The slow gap of your skin exposed, soft and unguarded that entices him, makes him want in ways he knows he shouldn't. You should pull away, demand he leave, that you'll see him later when you return to the Polar Tang.

You don't. Instead, you let him pull the zipper down further. And maybe, if he were a different man, that would be enough.

It isn't.

The ghost of his fingers against your back makes you stiffen, but you don't discourage him. They slide along the slope of your shoulders, make an invisible path he entertains the brief fantasy of following with his mouth.

And maybe he could, maybe you'd let him ㅡ after all, you'd told those party goers he was your boyfriend. It'd been hasty, quick thinking on your part, but brilliant ㅡ as always. You never miss a beat, always thinking ahead. What he admires about you is the same thing that drives him crazy ㅡ you're always ahead of him, even in this. He knows, and is aware all he has to do is meet you in the middle.

He pulls away.

"Do you regret allowing me to join your crew, Law?" Your voice, ever that blade, slices through the uncomfortable silence to twist deeper into the ache of his chest. "If you do, this is the perfect time to tell me to leave. I'm sure you can come up with something to tell the others."

You're offering him an out. A way to escape this complicated tangle, let him deflect and deny until you're nothing but a distant memory and a handful of reminders left around the Polar Tang. He should let you leave.

"I want you," he says instead, and he means to follow that up with something, but it falls flat in the now stilted gap between you.

You exhale. "You want me."

You turn towards him, moonlight against the slope of your neck, the dip of your collarbone. Your eyes gleam, flashing with emotion. "And how would you have me, Law? Fully clothed, head turned so our lips can never meet?"

That knife slips between his ribs and up, punctures his heart, lets him silently bleed out between every breath. He's reminded that you don't wear the boiler suit, your clothes unadorned with his jolly roger ㅡ a reminder that he does not own you (nor does he want to. He just wants you to stay.), and you are not his. But you could be, you tell him silently. You need him to meet you in the middle. That's all.

Something in your face shifts, breaking in his silence. "I will have you without armor, Trafalgar Law, or I will not have you at all."

#ㅡmine.#one piece scenario #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader

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lordabovehelpme · 3 years

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The Proposal- Din Djarin x Reader

Request: Din proposing to Reader like in the movie The Proposal 😆- @along-the-lines-of-space

A/n: Wait! This is such a cute idea. I kinda strayed from the movie plot and made my own, so hopefully, you like it! I love you, darling!!!

Summary: You and the Mandalorian have to play husband and wife to capture your next bounty. But major things start to show and come to light.

Warnings: some foul language. But that’s it. :)

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“Don’t you walk all menacingly like! I had no other option!” You storm after the broody Mandalorian, your hands waving in the air as they try to demonstrate your thoughts.

He just growls as he continues walking to the ship.

“Did you have a better idea?” You give him a minute to respond and when he says nothing, you lift your head a little higher. “No, just what I thought. All I care about is the fact that we are going to get this bounty thanks to me!”

He twirls around suddenly and stalks towards you. Instinctively, you want to shy away and you have to bite down a squeak. But you keep your ground and glare right into his visor, hoping his stupid eyes will feel your hatred.

The abyss of his visor stares hard and cold into your soul. And you stare back. Hard.

But he just sighs and turns away. For whatever reason, this just makes you even madder.

“No, you don’t get to walk away! Come back here!”

Then he speaks for the first time in the past hour.

“Get on your knee.”

Your face recoils in confusion, “What?”

He turns around and looks at you with a hidden smirk. “If you want to marry me, then ask. Get. On. Your. Knee.”

Your mouth hangs open in shock at the audacity of him.

“No.”

“Looks like we’re out two thousand credits then.”

Cursing, you hate that he’s right. You both need this money. Greef had said that if you wanted this high of a bounty then the two of you would have to somehow get to the bounty's wedding. In a sudden burst of creativity, you declared that the two of you would play a newlywed couple. You’ve never seen his helmet turn so quickly.

You seethe as you fall to your knee. “I hate you.”

“That’s not the right word, dear.” He stands smugly as he puts emphasis on the pet name. His arms cross over his chest and he leans his weight onto one leg.

You mentally stab him about five times before sighing. “Mando…”

He hums, amusement laced in his voice.

“Will you,” a smirk works its way onto your face, “the love of my life, my sweet sweet puppy. I will never be able to live without you.”

His weight shifts back to be centered.

“I cannot go another day without asking you this.” Your hands clutch over your heart as you bat your eyelashes at him.

“Get on with it.” The amusement is no longer there.

“Will you make me the happiest person in the world and…” You intentionally stop, seeing just how long you can draw this out before he snaps.

“Ask the god damn question.”

Ah, not as long as you thought. But alas, the show must go on. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes, now get up and walk faster. Maybe if you run you can keep up.”

***

All those couples you see smiling at each other make marriage look like a dream come true.

But these past few days have been hell. Literal hell.

Clinging to his arm and smiling as people talk to you. Having to hold his gloved hand that is way too large to be anatomically correct. Making up scenarios of how you both met, of your first kiss, of your own wedding day.

If the ground opened up and swallowed you, you’d probably say thank you.

As for now, you’re sitting next to him at the large table you’re all having the rehearsal dinner at. Surprisingly, the bounty seems to be a nice guy. You can tell he loves his soon-to-be husband, and that he loves him as well. You’d never think that he used to be an imperial spy.

“Oh, you two are so cute!” An older lady from across the table smiles at you.

You smile back and thank her, squeezing the Mandalorian’s arm. His visor turns to look at where you did, then rises up to meet your gaze. His hand moves over and squeezes your thigh.

Grabbing his wrist, you bring his hand back above the table and offer the lady another smile.

She giggles and leans forward, “You have as much fun as you want, I won’t tell.”

It takes everything in you not to cringe as you slowly nod your head and turn back to the Mandalorian.

His shoulders slightly shake and you just know he’s softly laughing under that helmet.

“Don’t laugh.” You whisper at him.

“But honey, why don’t we go back and have some fun.”

You glare at him, but then you get his idea. “Shhh, don’t say it so loud.” You both rise from the table and slide outside the restaurant, but not without the older lady sending you another wink.

As soon as the fresh air nips at your skin, you lean over in loud laughter. “Oh my goodness, I can’t.”

His vocoder cracks as his own laughs filter through. It’s a strong handsome laugh, one that is contagious and makes you stare at him with awe. In all honesty, you weren’t sure he knew how to laugh.

***

A knock sounds on your door and you rise up immediately. Crap! Mando is on the floor, that won’t look good to anyone. Grabbing anything you can, you throw it at the sleeping warrior.

Thump!

The first pillow does nothing.

Thump!

The second heavier one makes a louder sound but still draws no response from him.

The knocks sound again.

“Coming, just one second!”

You grab whatever you can and…

Clank!

You cringe as the water bottle hits him directly on the helmet.

He instantly rises and then the knocks sound again. Catching onto the problem, he stands up and starts throwing everything back on the bed.

You mean to help, but those strong golden thighs distract you. What you would give to be able to run your hand over those muscles and feel them ripple beneath your touch.

What you would give?

Nothing! You hate him! He’s annoying and snores loudly.

Shaking your head, you make the bed presentable and pretend to have just woken up as he opens the door.

“Hi!” The bounty’s fiancé peaks his head in. “Just wanted to let you all know that my mom made cinnamon rolls, I would get down there before they are gone. He offers a smile to you before walking back out into the hall.

You have no idea why, but the fiancé has taken a liking to the two of you. It almost makes you sad to collect his husband.

The Mandalorian turns to you and starts to grab his clothes and armor, dressing himself.

Suddenly you realize that if you both go down he’ll be unable to eat the cinnamon rolls. You play with the end of your shirt, the edges fraying from many years of you sleeping in it. “You know…” his visor looks up to you, “I can go get a couple and bring them back. That way you can try one and I’ll take a shower.”

Why did you say that? He’s not going to care. He’ll probably just laugh at you. In fact, why do you care?

He slowly nods his head after a minute. “That’d be nice.”

***

The hot water pours down onto your back and yet you can’t help but to ponder about the man outside the door. He’s out there, with his helmet off.

You’ve never cared about this before, but you start to wonder what he looks like. Does he have a soft boyish face or one of a hardened warrior? Is his hair a dark black or a light blond? What about his skin, is it light and fair, or deep and brown?

Thoughts run through your mind as you wrap the fluffy towel around yourself. Then you catch your reflection in the mirror. Since when have you had a small smile on your face?

Shaking your head, you slide your clothes on and open the door. You’re met with the back of a head, brown hair curly and shaggy rested atop a strong golden neck. Before you can even process what you’re seeing, you slam the door shut and lock yourself in the bathroom.

A soft knock sounds on the door. You slowly open it and keep your eyes trained on the floor. “I-, I only saw the back of your head, sorry.” Your body deflates as your shoulders drop in shame.

“It’s okay, but I need to pee.”

“Oh.” You shuffle out of the room and as soon as the door shuts you fling yourself onto the bed. Grabbing a pillow you press it against your face and scream. Why do these things always happen to you?

Why does his hair have to look so perfect to run your fingers through? Why does his neck have to be that perfect golden brown that you want to kiss? Why does he have to be so handsome?

***

As the wedding approaches, you have started to see the fierce warrior in a new light. He offers to help old ladies up stairs and jokes with the other young men. When asked about you, he speaks with so much adoration you have started to forget that he doesn’t actually love you.

Maybe you’re just being hyperaware, but he seems to always be watching you. When you turn your head to him, he already has his visor trained on you. Even when you’re across the room conversing with others he always has an eye on you.

His voice has become softer, losing the gruff edge it once held. The underlying anger having melted into a warm glow that surprised you both. A small smile seems to have made its home on both your faces, only leaving when one another isn’t around.

As the two of you lay awake, you on the bed, and the Mandalorian on the floor, you break the silence.

“I can’t do it.”

The Mandalorian makes no response, so you continue.

“I can’t take him. You’ve seen how happy they are together. How big they smile for one another and how their eyes soften. Sure he may have once been a spy but he’s changed. I mean since then his record is nearly perfect. I don’t want to be the one who tears his happiness away.”

Again, your companion says nothing.

“I know we need the money, so I can pull some strings and we can work stuff out. You won’t have to do anything, but I can’t let either of us come between them. I know it may be cheesy but what they have is a pure and true love.”

You fade back to silence, staring up at the dark ceiling and contemplating everything you just said.

“Okay.”

***

The wedding is big and bright. Garlands of beautiful flowers hang everywhere, matching the candles and lights perfectly.

And as the two men say their vows, you can’t help but entangle your arm around the Mandalorians. A single tear falls from your eye as you notice the way they look at one another. With so much passion and devotion, it’s the kind of love people wish for.

You don’t know it, but the Mandalorian's eyes don’t watch the two lovers, they instead watch you.

It’s in this moment that he finally understands why his heart swells when you’re around. He understands why he always needs to make sure you’re safe and sound. He understands why everything in him screams to wipe away your tears and hold you close.

Because he loves you.

***

You sit in silence, the Mandalorian piloting the Crest and you to his right. As the Crest falls into autopilot he turns to look at you.

When you meet his visor, you offer him a smile. “That was beautiful. I mean did you see how amazing the decor team did.”

He only nods heart heavy with anxiety.

You continue talking about all the aspects you loved, from the color scheme to the cake. But you stop when his hand rests on your own.

Tension lays thick between the two of you, suffocating and intense. You don't miss the way his adam apple bobs as he clears his throat.

“I- last week I was so furious at you. I loathed you. But, as we had to pretend things started to change. But…” his hand squeezes your own as you look up at him with wide eyes, “I didn’t realize any of this until I saw you on the wedding day. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. And as you shed your tears I wanted nothing more than to be able to wipe them away and promise you comfort.”

He slides off the chair to rest on his knees before you.

“So, please… marry me. Because I want to be able to make you as happy as that bounty, I want to stand before you and say my vows with the pretty lights and amazing garlands. I want you.”

Your jaw hangs open as you draw on hand to cover it. Water wells up at the corner of your eyes as you replay his words over in your head.

Nodding your head frantically, you fall into his hold, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close. “Yes… yes yes yes.”

One of his hands cups the back of your head while the other snakes around your waist. He chuckles as all his anxieties fade away.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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So yeah I hope you liked it!

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment. I love hearing what you all have to say.

Love, Lordy :)

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 3 years

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@sicktember Prompt # 28: Missing Out

Title: Unforgettable

Fandom: N/A

Based on this post as well as an ask box prompt. The prompt: “I’m currently dying for something set in a big house (any period) and the young master of the house has a party to attend but he feels awful and is trying to hide it and be a good host but keeps having to sneak off to cough/sneeze. Until maybe one guest notices and that’s how he meets his future wife.”

A young heir attends a Christmas party with his childhood friend as his date. They find themselves in an interesting position when he falls ill.

CW: Vomiting.

(Author's note: Never written this time period before, but I would like to again in the future! I really enjoyed this prompt. And yes these two are definitely in love and will be married someday.)

The year is 1927, and two young men are seated in the back corner of a jazz club in New England, talking little as they sit, enjoying the music. As the band finishes their opening set and prepares to take a break, the older of the two men takes a deep drag from his cigarette, then glances at his companion.

"All ready for your parents' big Christmas shindig next weekend, Jesse?"

Jesse rolled his eyes and scoffed, tapping a cigarette of his own out of the pack. "Sure John, of course. It's such a thrill to be a captive audience as they get smoked and strut around peacocking for their friends. Highlight of my whole year, that. Masquerade Ball, my ass. What drivel."

John chuckled, reclining back in his chair and taking another drag. "You're expected to bring a dame too, yeah?"

"Naturally. It'd be too bad for the heir of the Hamilton fortune to attend without a looker, wouldn't it? Shame all the women in this town are abhorrent."

John shook his head with another chuckle. "That attitude is why you're a perpetual bachelor, hombre. But I have some news that may interest you. Did you know Miss Greenwood is back in town?"

Jesse's interest was piqued in spite of himself. "Lillian Greenwood is back?"

"The very same. Home from university for the holidays."

Jesse leaned back in his chair, trying to look unbothered. "So what if she is. What's it to me?"

"Well I dunno, only that you might like to invite her to the Masq’. If memory serves, you never found her particularly abhorrent."

"We were kids!"

"You were damn near inseparable. You don't *have* to do anything, Jess. But as your oldest friend, I'm asking you to think on it. You'd enjoy the party more if you had company, and I'm sure she'd like to see her old stomping grounds again. Just something to consider is all."

Jesse made no reply as the band resumed the stage just then, but he did indeed think on it very hard.

***

John's information was proven true only a day later. Jesse was just exiting a drugstore he frequented with a fresh carton of cigarettes when he caught the eye of Lillian Greenwood, who was just about to enter the same store, and looking very fetching in a blue fitted coat and hat. Both their eyes widened in surprise upon seeing each other, and for a moment they were speechless.

"Jesse?" Lillian finally said, a slow grin spreading over her face, so familiar to him. "It's been at least an age!" She seized his hands in hers, reaching up on tiptoes to peck him on the cheek. "How are you? I've missed you!"

"Lil!" He wrapped her in a hug. "I've missed you too! What are you doing back in this dump, accomplished University woman that you are now? I'm surprised you didn't run in the opposite direction from here a long time ago."

"Well I haven't graduated yet, silly. And I couldn't miss another Christmas at home. I missed everyone here so much. Oh Jesse, it's so good to see you!" She hugged him fiercely again. "You must tell me everything you've been up to! Come inside while I shop before we freeze."

He willingly followed her back in, looking fondly at the soft brown hair brushing across her shoulders. He was so sick of the horrid bobs all the girls were wearing, and he loved that Lillian was still wearing hers longer.

He trailed her through the whole store, gamely answering the barrage of questions she directed at him, but mostly content to enjoy her familiar presence. Eventually she stopped short, turning to face him.

"Are you all right? You're very quiet. You've hardly said anything."

"I'm sorry. Just worn out I guess. Been working extra before the holidays."

"You are looking a bit peaky. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jabber your ear off."

"No it's fine, honest. I'm just happy to see you."

"Likewise." She gave his hand a little squeeze, accompanied by a warm smile. Knowing he wasn't going to get a better opportunity, he took a deep breath.

"Lilli, do you remember that big bash my parents host every year for Christmas?"

"Oh yes!" she said, her eyes lighting up in pleasure. "It was my favorite part of the holidays!"

"No kidding? Well anyway, they still throw it. The last few years they changed it to a Masquerade Ball, but otherwise it's still just like it was. It's a week from Saturday. I know you just got into town and all, and maybe you already have plans… but what do you think about going with me as my date?"

Lillian's grin was immediate, and she clasped her hands together joyfully. "Oh Jess, I'd love that! Just like old times."

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck, attempting to smile. "Yeah, I guess. Same old dumb party. Like I said, if you're busy, don't worry about it. But you're welcome to come… if you want and all."

She looked confused and a little hurt at his abrupt backtracking. "Of course I want to come. I'll be there."

"Great. I better get going though. I'll call you in a few days to give you the details. It was great to see you, Lil." He pecked her on the cheek. "I'll see you around, kid."

He strode out of the store with hardly a backwards glance, leaving her shocked face in his wake. He hated himself for behaving that way, and he wasn't even sure why he did it. Perhaps it was because the "old times" she was referring to included the present he was stuck in, while she had clearly moved on. Perhaps it was the realization that he had resorted to asking his childhood best friend on a date rather than finding a real date to avoid the embarrassment of attending his parents' party unaccompanied. But whatever the reason, speaking to her had made him equal parts thrilled and miserable. Surprisingly, when he called her a few days later as promised, she again agreed to accompany him, despite his rude behavior in the drug store, and continued to insist she was excited for the party, despite his constant negativity towards it.

***

The Saturday before Christmas dawned bright and snowy, and the Hamilton estate was in an uproar all day with last-minute preparations. Every surface was bedecked for the holidays with ribbons and garlands and tinsel and wreaths and holly and candles. A Christmas tree stood in every room, making the whole house aromatic, each twinkling and topped with a star. When evening rolled in, so too did the guests, all as twinkling and bedecked as the house, filling every room in no time. The Masquerade Ball had begun.

Lillian arrived promptly. Jesse met her in the foyer. Even wearing a mask, she was easily recognizable. She looked stunning in a sparkling gown that accented her figure perfectly. Her eyes were a color that would be easier called unique than pretty, her nose a touch irregular, and her teeth a touch crooked, but Jesse had always found her beautiful. Yet he was in a foul temper, and had been the whole day, and seeing her gave him little pleasure. He noted she had pinned up her hair so it appeared “bobbed” like everyone else's, and even such a simple thing soured his mood further. Upon seeing her initially, he took her hand and kissed it, then gave a sarcastic bow.

“Welcom, Lillian dear. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil

She curtsied daintily, smiling warmly. “The pleasure is all mine. You look very dashing and alluring in that mask.”

He chucked coldly. “You’re looking spiffy yourself, kid. Well, shall we get on with it?” He offered her his arm, which she took, almost hesitantly.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “You seem… not yourself.”

“Fine and dandy. Ready to cut a rug and show a girl a good time. Let’s not keep the evening waiting.” He didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of his tone, but continued to tug her toward the dining room, albeit gently. She reluctantly followed, casting him worried glances.

The young Master Hamilton performed his part admirably through the whole evening, however, donning the persona of the host as easily as he did his mask. He chatted and danced and flirted with the appropriate people, giving Lilli adequate attention as required as well. His mother must have been pleased, for the night was a smashing success, from the dinner to the dancing to the decor. Everyone was raving the whole evening about what a splendid party it was. The best one yet, everyone said, just as they said every year.

Jesse, however, was utterly miserable. The bodies packing every room made him too warm, the lights were too bright, the music and din of talking made his head throb, the food smells turned his stomach, and the aroma of pine everywhere left him feeling on the verge of a sneeze all night, especially since his nose had been on the verge of dripping since he awoke. He could only nibble the rich supper. He was barely able to swallow even small sips of Christmas punch without feeling the urge to gag.

In order to keep his sanity, whenever Lillian was occupied talking to someone and he wasn't otherwise engaged, he would duck into one of the unused side parlors. In this sanctuary, away from the lights and sounds and smells, he removed his mask and composed himself. He would first allow himself to sneeze unhindered, finally able to stop his incessant stifling and sniffling, each time surprising himself at how wet and messy and ill they sounded. Then, if he hadn't been gone too long, he would rest his face against the icy window pane, breathing slowly and deeply as a halo of condensation spread out from his hot forehead. Inevitably though, the time would come when he was forced to replace his mask and reenter the ball before he was missed. He counted down the hours desperately, willing himself to last until the end of the party.

The evening began to wind down, and Jesse found himself ducking away more and more frequently. His stomach was in knots and his nausea was gradually rising, so composure was getting harder to maintain. He always checked to ensure Lilli was involved in a conversation before he did so, however. Imagine his surprise then, when moments after he snuck into his sanctuary yet again, he heard the door open after him and Lillian appeared just as he had given over to a violent sneezing jag:

Hiihhh'GEHSSSH'ieeew! ESSSHH'yuuh! Hrrr'USH'IIEWW! Kuhh-hhiiih-ISSSHYUUH!"

"Bless you, Jesse! Heavens, that was a fit! Are you alright?" she asked, approaching him and removing her own mask. "Have you been sneezing like that all night? You keep disappearing."

He flashed the most winning smile he could muster even as he wiped the mess from his face. "I'm just ducky," he said, swallowing thickly as his stomach also decided to give a nasty lurch. "All the pine in the air gets me sneezing. Must be a bit allergic. Sorry for worrying you. Let's go back out before we're missed. I think I owe you a dance or two."

She ignored his rambling and came to stand directly in front of him with a searching look. She lifted a hand and brought the back of it to his sweaty forehead. She clucked softly.

"You're sick, aren't you? You're not feeling well at all."

The thin facade that was holding him together finally crumbled. He limply leaned against the wall, nodding mutely.

"Why didn't you say something? You should be in bed. You look awful."

"I didn't want to spoil the evening," he mumbled.

"Well we need to get you out of here. You look like you're about to collapse."

"I am about to collapse," he said ruefully.

"Come on then. No one will miss us anyway. Let's go up the servants' steps over here so we're not seen."

"I don't want you to miss out on the ball. You looked like you were having fun."

She caressed his cheek fondly. "I came here tonight to spend time with you. I'm not missing out on anything."

They shared a smile, his first genuine one of the night. Then she took him by the hand and led him expertly along the least conspicuous route to his bedroom. The pair of them had spent hours exploring every inch of this house from top to bottom as children, every cupboard, cranny, and corner. He hadn't forgotten those times, and clearly she hadn't either.

It was strange bringing her back to his room. They had spent hours together here too during their growing-up years. He couldn't help but imagine it through her eyes--what was different, what was the same. He realized bitterly that the only thing that was really different was the lack of toys and games everywhere. His room was a reflection of his life--boring and stagnant.

If she was thinking along those lines, she gave no indication. Instead she led him to his bed with a hand at the small of his back, guiding him into a sitting position and helping him remove his jacket and tie. His shirt clung to his back with sweat, and heat rolled off of him in waves. The drier air up here made him begin to cough as soon as he sat, the sound hoarse and desperate. She made a sympathetic sound as she carded her fingers through his damp hair, then dug through his dresser, pulling out a set of his pajamas and tossing them over.

"Make yourself more comfortable, and I'll do the same." She headed to his en suite bathroom. "I'll be right back. Try to relax, Jess." She gave him a little smile, which he attempted to return, a hand going to his sore stomach even as he did.

Once the bathroom door was closed behind her, he slowly changed into his pajama bottoms and managed to strip down to his undershirt. All at once, his stomach had had enough, and he knew he was going to vomit. With the bathroom occupied, the next available option was the balcony off of his room. He dashed outside to the railing, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground below, heaving until he had nothing left. As the spasms slowed, his vision began to go gray and wobbly. He sank to his knees weakly, unable to do anything else, clinging to the railing in the freezing cold, which at first felt pleasant on his fevered skin.

He wasn't sure how long he knelt there, and it would have been even longer had Lillian not come out to find him. By the time she did, he was shivering so violently that his teeth rattled in his head. She was speaking to him, but he couldn't register what she was saying. Finally she pulled him bodily to his feet and helped him inside, her arm wrapped around his waist as she supported most of his weight. She again led him to his bed, making him lie down this time and bundling blankets over his icy cold skin while she sat at his side. His consciousness solidified and the world stopped spinning, and eventually he noticed that while she was still wearing her party dress, she had removed her makeup and unpinned her hair, looking more like her old self. The thought made him marginally warmer.

"Let me go fetch some tea for you, and some medicine," she murmured, stroking his hair. She stood and tried to pull away, but he quickly grabbed her wrist, his grasp surprisingly strong.

"Don't go," he rasped, choking back a cough. "I don't want tea or medicine. It'll only make me vomit again. Just stay."

"Stay…" she repeated. "Right. I suppose I could stay."

She went to pull a chair to his bedside, but he stopped her.

"No, come lie here with me."

"Jesse…" she began. "That's not--"

"Why shouldn't you? You were my date. It's what everyone is expecting anyway," he said, a glint of humor in his eye.

She laughed in spite of herself. "I suppose there is that." Against her better judgement, she crossed to the other side of his bed and slipped under the blankets, trying to be mindful of her dress as she got comfortable. He immediately rolled over and nestled against her, and she wrapped an arm around him and began to rub his back soothingly.

They passed the night exactly like that. He was exhausted and very ill, and was clearly miserable the whole night through. However, he refused to let her leave the bed to fetch him anything and only wanted to lie against her all night as he slipped in and out of sleep. She vaguely recalled him being the same way when they were young, but she certainly hadn't expected such behavior tonight. Then again, she hadn't expected to be sharing his bed either.

He slept fitfully, his symptoms keeping him from true rest despite his weariness. Away from the pine trees his sneezing was less, but the congestion and coughing was worse. He was achy and nauseous and too hot or too cold. He also wanted to be touching her at all times, so she slept even less, for between his tossing and groaning and his sweltering fever heat, she could not get comfortable. Yet she knew he needed her this way tonight, and was glad to be able to help her oldest friend.

The morning dawned gray and cold. Lillian lay awake still, while Jesse was at last sleeping beside her, his face tucked into her side. She was trying to decide how best to convince him to let her go home and change when an opportunity for escape presented itself in the form of his mother.

Lillian heard her well before she saw her, for her best shoes clattered loudly on the stairs, and her inebriated giggling and whispering was impossible to miss. It was almost certain she hadn't gone to bed after the party. Lillian quickly slipped out from under Jesse's arm and slid to the floor, ducking under the bed. Just because Jesse seemed to think she was expected to spend the night with him did not mean she wanted to be caught in it, especially by Mrs. Hamilton, regardless of what did or did not happen.

Mrs. Hamilton attempted to be stealthy as she peeked into her son's room, but only his fever-induced slumber prevented him from waking. However, even while intoxicated, what they say about a mother's sense is true, for she apparently noted something amiss and crept closer to her son's bed. Lillian could only see her feet and legs, but she assumed she Mrs. Hamilton reached out to feel her son's forehead, for the elder woman made a little sound of dismay and began to shake him awake.

"Jesse, you're burning up! Oh my, what happened? Are you sick? Did it start at the ball? How long have you not felt well? Oh you're so pale! And you're shivering! My poor baby! What can I do?..." It seemed she had no end of exclamations and questions. Lillian couldn't help but roll her eyes.

Meanwhile Jesse made sounds of waking, sounding very irritated and confused at first. He didn't realize what was happening initially, and Lillian heard him say her name more than once. Thankfully his mother did not notice over the sound of her own constant flow of verbalized concern. Eventually Jesse realized who was speaking to him and began to give appropriate answers, leaving Lillian out of most of it, which the young woman appreciated.

Mrs. Hamilton didn't stop speaking the entire time she was in the room. Eventually though it became clear she intended to fetch a doctor, tea, medicine, and one hundred other things for her son's illness. Jesse spoke only as much as he had to, his voice weak and hoarse and congested. He did not argue with her about any of it, knowing it was futile. Finally the well-meaning woman left, still talking even as she shut the door behind herself.

Lillian gingerly rolled out from under the bed, startling Jesse when she appeared beside him out of nowhere. However a grin split his face when their eyes met.

"I thought you left me without saying goodbye," he rasped.

"Well now you see I haven't. I do need to leave now though, before your mother returns with an army of doctors and finds me here. I would also like to change my clothes at some point and freshen up. Perhaps take a bit of a nap."

He looked devastated at this, but perked up as she continued:

"I'll come back soon though, as a proper visitor. I don't fancy ducking under the bed whenever anyone comes up the stairs."

"All right," he sighed. "I'll be waiting for you, then."

She approached him, pressing her lips to his hair as he hugged her fiercely.

"Be well, Jess. I'll see you soon." She moved to the doorway, her eyes twinkling in a smile. "And thanks for a great night. That was a date I'll never forget."

#sickfic #everyone is hotter with a fever #sicktember2021 #prompt 28

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acebladespades · 3 years

Note

For the sicktember thing, 9 with Nameless King, please? Thank you! 😊

Title (Do not) let him eat cake!

Fandom: Dark Souls

Characters: Nameless King, Ornstein, Gwynevere, Smough, Artorias, Sif.

Word-Count:2911

AO3-Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/34321024

Summary: Eating too many cakes in one go may not have been as fun as Gwynsen had thought...

Prompt: I am not sick

I am so sorry for taking so long!! Life got in the way but I finally finished your prompt :D I hope you like it, writing this was fun!

@sicktember

It was the smell which lured him out of his way and guided him to the dinning hall. Deep down, he knew there was something of importance he was meant to be doing. There was someone waiting for him.

Unconsciously, Gwynsen tried to remember, but all his thoughts faded into the background of his mind once he saw the tower of freshly baked pastries carefully placed on the table.

They exuded a sweet and delicious steam, the spicy scent of marzipan.

There were plenty, enough to feed a small army or a very hungry court.

Or, in Gwynsen’s case, a god of war with a grumbling stomach and a watering mouth.

Well, marzipan cakes are my favorite. Gwynevere finds them overly sweet and Gwyndolin often says they would rather lick a basilisk’s eyeball than to take a single bite of these sugary abominations. Oh Dolin, always so melodramatic.

Gwynsen carefully took one of the cakes in his hands.

So, surely, these were baked for me. The cooks must have wanted to surprise me. They are too generous to me. I shall see that they are rightfully rewarded! But first…

“I shall feast!” He opened his mouth and prepared to take the first bite.

“No, Gwynsen!”

But all he ended up biting was thin air and almost the tip of his tongue when, with a swift swing of her hand, Gwynevere took the cake away from him.

“What the--” Gwynsen said after his jaws recovered from the forceful impact of his empty bite. “Sister, where did you come from? And more importantly, why have you stolen my cake? Could this be fraternal betrayal?”

Gwynsen’s heart started to break at the mere thought of his own sister turning against him; thankfully, Gwynevere soon proved him wrong, but not before giving him a small slap on his head.

“Please, stop fooling around.” Gwynevere said with a heavy sigh as she placed the marzipan cake back in its former place. “Father will not approve of you eating his desserts. You know well how finicky he is about his midday cravings. Do you remember the time he destroyed the East tower with one of his lighting spears just because his pastries did not have enough powdered sugar on top? Because I do, and so do the cooks. I created many lovely memories in that tower. I loved that tower, brother, I really did.”

Gwynevere’s gaze became dark and sharp.

“Sister, please. You are scaring me.”

“Oh, I am sorry. I got a little carried away.” Immediately, Gwyenevere went back to her laid-back and cheerful demeanour, but her determination had not waned. “In any case, you shall have none of these baked goods. Unless, of course, you convince Father to share a few of them with you, but we both know that taming a rageful dragon would be an easier task, so really brother, don’t waste your time.”

“Ask Father?” Gwynsen snorted, half amused and half angry at how ridiculous the idea was. “Please. I would rather kiss Smough on the lips.”

“Brother, don’t be like that, for underneath that grotesque armor, lies a skilled kisser.”

“What?!”

“I said I would never want to do so either.”

“Gwynevere, that’s not what you said.”

“Brother, don’t you have places to be?” Gwynevere interrupted him without shame. “Isn’t it time for your daily training with Ornstein? It is not proper of a god to leave others waiting for long.”

Ornstein!

So that had been his original task before he had become distracted by the mesmerizing aroma of the cakes.

“I shall go to him at once.” Gwynsen exclaimed. His treacherous stomach seconded him with a loud growl.

He looked at the cakes again.

I’m already late for our training… so truly, you wouldn’t mind waiting for a few minutes more, would you, Ornstein?

Ornstein would definitely mind, and Gwynsen knew it.

I’ll think of a way to make it up to him later. Right now, there are more important matters at hand. And I know the way to turn things into my favor...

“Nevy, please.” Gwynsen looked around to make sure no one was around. Once he made sure there were no witnesses, he joined his hands together and looked at Gwynevere with hazy and sad eyes. “Let me have one. Father will not notice its absence, I promise. Please my dear, wise, beautiful, patient, smart, noble, brave--”

“No, Gwynsen.” Without mercy, Gwynevere interrupted her brother’s overused list of compliments. “I already told you no.”

“Then I hope you know how to explain Father about those little kisses you steal from Executioner Smough everyone now and then.”

“Oh dear… you know about it? Yes, I should have expected it. Gossip travels faster than light in this place.”

“So it’s true?! Gwynevere, you really should be more mindful of your secrets and your words. You are not what I would call subtle about them. And why, sister? Why Smough?”

“I think the right question here is ‘ Why not Smough?’ ” Gwynevere answered, winking an eye to Gwynsen.

“Gwynevere, stop. You’re killing your big brother.”

Unrepentantly, Gwynevere chuckled. “Don’t you worry, it was all a jest. Very well Gwynsen… if only to keep this small rumor between us, I shall let you eat one of Father’s cakes. Just one, understood? Now, if you excuse me, I too have someone to meet. He awaits for me in the west tower. And that someone’s name is Smough.”

Lighting power began to manifest around Gwynsen’s frame.

That bastard! How does he dare?

Gwynevere laughed at his reaction. “Oh brother, you are so easy to fool.”

She gave him a small pat on top of his head to calm him down. Gwynsen had just succeeded in controlling his temper when Gwynevere pulled him closer to her and whispered, “Seriously now, don’t come by.”

And with that, she was gone.

“My dear sister and the Executioner? No, I will not allow it!” Gwynsen exclaimed, his voice echoing with ruthless determination, the same way it did every time he commanded his soldiers to battle. “This is a transgression I cannot overlook! Wrathful lighting shall be your punishment, Smough! You shall curse the day you were--”

His stomach growled again.

Almost unconsciously, one of his hands reached for a marzipan cake.

“By the first flame, they sure smell good.”

His fury started to disappear, and it was completely forgotten when, at last, Gwynsen took the first bite.

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

“Master!” Ornstein welcomed him as soon as Gwynsen entered the training grounds. His apprentice and friend did not bother to hide his anger at his pronounced delay. “What took you so long? We were supposed to start our training two hours ago. I had to listen to Artorias’ anecdotes this whole time. And don’t get me wrong, Artorias is my beloved friend and you know how much I care about him, but I swear, if I ever hear one more story about Sif’s antics...”

“What?” Gwynsen had heard only half of Ornstein’s rant. He wanted to pay attention, but it was difficult for him to focus on anything else other than the torturous knot on his stomach.

It hurt more than a dragon fang stuck in his gut after failing to evade the beast’s jaws. Gwynsen didn’t know how he was still standing, or how his fever had not melted his brains yet.

Oh, nonsense. I’m fine. Am I not the god who slays dozens of dragons and comes out of their fiery attacks unscathed? I am fine! I just need to walk it off.

“Oh… Oh yes, Artorias.” Gwynsen said, doing his best to sound amused. “Where is he? I thought he would be joining us.”

“He had to leave. It was time for Sif’s daily walk.”

“Wait, the wolf walks his master?”

“What? Master, what are you talking about? Sif is the wolf, Artorias is the knight.”

“Oh… right.”

An awkward pause followed, one in which Ornstein took off his helmet and revealed his concerned expression to Gwynsen.

“Master, is everything alright?”

Ornstein’s worry was like a wake-up call for Gwynsen.

“Of course it is! “Gwynsen replied with the most forced smile he had ever made in his life, even more than when he had to pretend to be happy in his father’s presence. “ Why would you ever think otherwise, Ornstein?”

“You are sweating, your face is red, your legs are trembling.” Orbstein observed, unamused but still concerned. “And you keep embracing your stomach as if you were hugging an invisible lover.”

“Ornstein, don’t tell me you’re jealous!” With gigantic effort, Gwynsen straightened his back and unfolded his arms. The sharp sting in his stomach came close to making him gasp; to conceal it, Gwynsen cackled instead. “There is no such thing as an invisible lover in my arms! Ornstein, you say the wildest of things!”

An agonizing sting pierced Gwynsen’s stomach.

I am going to pass out.

His sight blurred and his belly burned as if he had swallowed the First Flame like it was wine.

No!

Gwynsen stomped his feet. Lighting energy shattered the ground below his sandal.

No, I am not sick! I am fine. My stomach is simply overreacting at the memory of my sister and Executioner Smough sharing kisses.

His stomach growled louder than a furious dragon.

Why Gwynevere? Why did you brand that image on your brother’s mind?

“Master, you are not well!” Ornstein exclaimed with great concern. “We need to take you to Lady Gwynevere. She will know how you heal whatever ailment is--”

“Nonsense!” Gwynsen countered, making Ornstein jolt back in surprise. “My sister is quite busy, you see. He is tending to Smough at this time of the day, and not in a chaste way.”

“What?” Gwynsen and Ornstein said at the same time.

Realizing he had spoken more than he should have, Gwynsen quickly gave Ornstein a strong slap on the back. “It was a jest! Ornstein, you are such a stick in the mud! You need to loosen up and relax, for laughing and resting are also fundamental parts of a knight’s training.”

Before Ornstein could protest, Gwynsen wielded his spear and readied his fighting stance.

My stomach is going to explode. Oh Father, what will you see when you gaze upon the scattered guts of your first- born?

He would probably say something akin to “Oh Gwynsen, look at the mess you made! You are a lost case, boy, you truly are!”

“Oh Father, you insensitive knave!”

“Master, there’s no need to be rude.” Ornstein protested. He too had wielded his spear and had readied his stance.

“No, I was not talking about you, Ornstein. I was talking of my big, dumb, stupid… No, it doesn’t matter.” Gwynsen shook his head and focused. “Let’s begin. Come at me and try to land a hit, Ornstein. I will treat you as I would an enemy, so don’t hold back.”

“Master, I really think we should take you to your sister instead.”

“You talk too much! Battles are not won with words, but with arms!” Gwynsen charged at Ornstein. For a second, the adrenaline of battle, even one of training nature, erased any trace of pain. For Gwynsen, it was like a blissful and distracting gift.

I knew it. I knew my pain would go away on its own.

Gwynsen closed his eyes, rejoicing in his healthy and numb stomach.

You were no foe for this god of war, marzipan cakes! Your sweet and delicious ingredients are no match for my iron guts. MY IRON---

The rest of his victorious thought remained forever unfinished after an explosion of burning pain, born from the impact of the blunt side of Ornstein’s spear, spread from his stomach to the rest of his body.

Perhaps… I am sick.

Gwynsen thought as the darkness of unconsciousness took over his world.

Just a little bit.

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

“Last time, Gwynsen.” Gwynevere said to her brother with anger as she and Ornstein helped Gwynsen keep the vasin still on his lap as he emptied his stomach inside it. “That was the last time I ever trusted you and your insatiable hunger!”

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to.” Gwynsen stuttered in a small pause his intestines gave him. “My will may be strong, but the marzipan was stronger.”

He wanted to say more, but he was interrupted by another gush rushing up his throat. Once he was done, Gwynevere and Ornstein put the vasin down on the floor and tucked him in bed.

“Well, I have to say,” Ornstein sighed with little enthusiasm, “this is not how I pictured my day would go. There was supposed to be more training in it and less vomit. At the very least, I am glad you are feeling better now, master. Next time, don’t try so hard to pretend you aren’t feeling well.”

“And while you are at it, how about you also try not to devour four hundred marzipan cakes in one go like some hungry animal?” Gwynevere added as she glared at her brother. “God of war… The only thing you are a god of is gluttony!”

“Four hundred marzipan cakes?” Ornstein said in disbelief, only adding to Gwynsen’s shame. “Master, how could you have done such a thing? And here I was starting to think one of the cooks had tried to poison you! Four hundred cakes! And worst of all, why didn’t you ask me to join you or save some for me? You know they are my favorite too.”

“Dragon Slayer Ornstein!”

“N-no, no.” Ornstein turned crimson and began to stutter. “What I meant was… I was just saying… Oh, bollocks.”

“Ornstein!” A newcomer exclaimed. He entered the room and carefully closed the door behind him. “Such foul language in the presence of Lady Gwynevere. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Gwynsen, Gwynevere and Ornsteind stared at Artorias at the same time.

“Hey now, do not look at me all at once.” Artorias chuckled nervously. “No, seriously, please stop. I’m getting self-conscious.”

“Artorias, what are you doing here?” Ornstein asked. “I thought you were walking Sif.”

“I was, but Lord Gwyn summoned me. He told me about what happened with Lord Gwynsen and his poisoning. Something about marzipan cakes? I am not sure. Honestly, I stopped listening to Lord Gwyn soon after he started talking. I don’t know the details, but he assigned me one task: to be Lord Gwynsen’s one and only companion during his recovery. I told Lord Gwyn that you would be more fit for the job, Ornstein, but he insisted I was the one to do it. He also told me how much Lord Gwynsen is fond of my anecdotes of Sif…. Oh master, I had no idea you felt that way. Worry not, I have plenty of stories I have not told you yet. I’m sure they will be a fine diversion while you recover!”

Gwynsen closed his eyes and cursed his father in his mind.

Father, you vengeful twit! I knew you would not let my mischief go unpunished! It was just some cakes… is this truly the punishment I deserve? You are cruel, Father. Cruel.

“But at the very least, I’m not alone.” Gwynsen said under his breath with relief and gratitude. He opened his eyes again and smiled. “For I have my dear sister and loyal friend by my side.”

The words died in his mouth when he saw neither Gwynevere nor Ornstein around. The only evidence they had left behind of their presence in the room was the open door they had forgotten to close during their hurried escape.

“Nevy?” Gwynsen whispered in despair. “Orny?”

But they were gone.

Only Artorias was there with him.

Artorias and his endless anecdotes of Sif.

“Do not worry master, I am sure they will be back soon.” Artorias said, pulling a chair closer to Gwynsen’s bed and sitting on it. “In the meanwhile, how about I tell you about the time Sif answered the call on nature inside Smough’s helmet and he only noticed once he put it on? That was a day Smough will not forget....”

Father, if I ever turn against you, know that this was the reason!

Gwynsen thought as he hid his head under the pillow.

As for Artorias, he kept talking and talking.

This was the reason!

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

It didn’t take long for Artorias to regret having left his master behind.

“Oh Lady Gwynevere, we should have not abandoned your brother. We should have remained by his side.”

“And listen to the time when Sif chewed on Father’s favorite sandals and almost brought doom upon us all? Do forgive Ornstein, but I think I shall pass. Besides...” Gwynevere turned around and stared longingly at the West tower. “There is someone waiting for me, and his name is…”

“No, I do not want to hear it. My mind shall not be branded as my master’s was!” Ornstein covered his ears and escaped from the scene. He did not know where he was going, but anywhere was better than staying there. As he ran, he kept chanting, “If I don’t hear, it isn’t real. If it isn’t real, it won’t haunt me!”

Gwynevere watched him go and laughed, unaware that Smough was standing behind her and had witnessed the whole thing.

Before he too walked away, he shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“By the Lords,” he lamented under his breath, “it is always the same thing with these gods and their knights. Every day. Every darn day.”

#dark souls #sicktember #godwhatamidoing68 #thanks for the ask and your patience!

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fly-like-a-phoenix · 3 years

Text

House of Lust (part 5)

Abbé de Coulmier x reader.

Summary: Five years has passed since the events of Quills. The Abbé de Coulmier is released of prision by a misterious event. And he will know again those feelings he never thought will meet again: love... and lust.

Warnings: spoilers from Quills, some mentions of sex, things will go a little wild from here...

"Excuse me, madmoiselle." François said. "But I don't really understand anything. My parents said you will---"

"Oh, yeah. Your parents, yeah." Odelle interrupted him. "They... They came here two weeks ago, maybe more, before leaving to Spain. Are you hungry, Abbé?"

His stomach was grunting. He was thirsty too. He hadn't drink anything since the morning. But he needed some answers from those women wearing their nightgowns.

"Who are you two? Why am I here?" He said, his voice deeper than never.

"Come with us. You too, Y/N." Josephine said. But you stepped in front of François, covering him from your sisters view.

"He asked you two questions. Answer him, Odelle." You said. Knowing your sisters, you will try to protect him to all costs.

"My name is Odelle, and she's my sister Josephine. And it seems you already know Y/N, the little one. You knew us all, Abbé. But let me explain you better in the dinning room."

François and you shared a look. You nodded with your head, walking right next to him while he zipped his shirt. You weren't going to let him alone with them.

François saw the large hallways, admiring them. The walls were full of paintings, but there were not enough lights to see them properly. Some red courtains covered the windows, not letting the moon light enter the house.

And then you all arrived to the giant dinning room. A large table was in the middle, at least thirty chairs surrounding it. Josephine moved her hand to him, inviting him to sit.

"Y/N, can you bring him some food?" Odelle said, siting next to him. "As I was saying, we knew you from before. The three of us went to that theatre play in Charenton five years ago. We thought we were seeing The Happy Shoemaker, but actually you allowed the presentation of the Marquis de Sade play.

"I didn't allowed it. I didn't knew the inmates prepared another play to mock about doctor Roger-Collard and his young wife. I didn't---"

"Shh, shh. Whatever you say, Abbé. But let me finish. That play, those moments, seeing everyone enjoying it, and some quotes said from the actors... That changed us completely."

"It changed you both, Odelle." You said, bringing a plate with potatoes, a piece of meat and bread, letting it in front of François. "Don't talk for me, please. I was just sixteen years old, and I didn't care so much about---"

"Let me finish, then, if you think you didn't change too."

The silence crowned the large room for a few seconds. You looked at your sister with hate. You did hate her, actually. Because of many things.

"As I was saying before my sister interrupted me," said, as she didn't do it before with you and him. "That Marquis' play changed us. We started to read more of his work, you know? More of those hundreds of stories he had to tell. And then, we started to believe different, to feel the world and see it with other eyes. Seeing that we're just here to enjoy the carnal pleasures."

François looked at you, but you were with a hand in your face, trying not to see him or your sisters and not showing the shame you were feeling. Josephine continued what Odelle was saying.

"It's like a creed, Abbé. A creed based on lust, greed and violence. And we believe in it, as many other friends of ours do. You are pale, Abbé. Are you okay? Is the food alright?"

François was breathing heavier. He remembered that horrendous play very well. The Marquis, with Madeline's help, used the inmates to perfom those blaspheming performances that made Roger-Collard angry with him.

"This is the House of Lust in France, Abbé. Many people come here to satiate their thirst for sex and perversion. We help them to do it. And we enjoy it a lot too, just as the Marquis used to say."

"You're damn crazy, all of you!" He said, getting what Josephine just told him.

"Abbé, I'm not part of---"

"Shut up, Y/N." Odelle interrupted you again. "What were you saying, Abbé?"

"Please, stop calling me Abbé. I don't have that charge anymore. What am I doing here, for Christ sake?"

Josephine left her chair, and went to stand just behind François, letting her hands in his shoulders. Odelle touched his hand with her fingers slowly, her nails scratching the skin, hurting him a little.

"Your parents asked us to help you, that's true." Odelle said. "But they didn't know about our... activities this month. And you, as a man who took the vows, have never experienced things like we do. You're still innocent and pure, even if your body doesn't feel like that. And you got free and arrived the Villa just at the perfect moment to discover those feelings.

"What the hell are you talking about? I just wanted a place to sleep and eat something. I think I'm going to Paris again..." He responded, trying to get up. But Josephine stopped him, sitting him again.

"Now, Abbé, are you going to be a good boy and accept we're helping you? or you are going to try to escape? It's not gonna be easy, tho. Guards are everywhere, and we're not letting a cute virgin guy like you to come to this house and let you go like that. He have to taste you, you know what I mean. Or we kill you right now and we say to your parents you were killed by a thief. You choose."

François looked at you again. This time, you were seeing him too. Not only shame in your face, but fear. You nodded again, convincing him not only to stay in there, accept and survive, but also that you were in the same situation, under their threat.

"Alright, mesdemoiselles. I see I don't have other option. What do I have to do?"

"For now, just go to sleep. You arrived late, and every room in the Villa is full of our guests. We don't have other, maybe the dungeon. But I think Y/N doesn't mind he can sleep in her room. Do you, Y/N?"

You saw the young man with pity. What a poor lad! Just getting out of his unjust imprisonment to get beaten and now under the power of those mad women that your sisters were.

"It's okay." You answered, knowing that in your bedroom, at least, he will be safe for some hours. And that you both could plan a way to escape.

"Amazing! But will you let her fuck him, Odelle?" Josephine said, as if he was just a toy. "We should take care of that first."

"And we will, sister. We will. Tomorrow we will see how we start him in this. They can do whatever they want. But as I see it, she's too shy even to touch herself, so I don't think she will do nothing. And he... well, he can't do nothing without our permission. So don't you dare to do nothing to our little sister, Abbé. You're still a priest to her, until she doesn't respect those vows. She never wanted to be part of our creed, but she's our sister, and we love her. Are we clear?"

François couldn't believe all that was happening. How could people be so sick? You see them on the streets, walking, shopping, being arrogant assholes. And then, you learn how depraved they are, as Roger-Collard and Madeline herself.

"What will happen tomorrow?" Said he, scared.

"It's a surprise, my dear." Josephine responded. "For now, finish you dinner, go and sleep. Recover from that beaten you took. And wait for us. Tomorrow you will get a bath and new clothes."

Josephine squeezed his shoulders, and left with Odelle, both talking low and laughing while they went to their bedrooms.

François kept his eyes in the plate, looking at the meal in shock. What did he got into? He just needed some help his parents promised. What a fuckminded friends they got!

You served him some wine, and gave it to him. He drank it quickly, feeling the sweet savour going through his throat, waiting for you to say something.

"I'm sorry, François. I'm truly sorry. I don't even know if your parents really came here and talked with these two harpies. Maybe that isn't even true. But I should have taken you out of here as soon as I recognized you."

François looked at you in awe. He couldn't believe you were so different to them. He took your hand with care, and smiled even if he didn't knew what your sisters will do to him the day after.

"Is other people in here?" He asked.

"Around seventy guests of the famous House of Lust my sisters run. God damn it, I can't believe this is not an awful dream. They've being doing this since the last five years. And it's so wicked that I can't believe is real. I fear all them."

"Well, I can't believe you're so different to them. It's true you're not part of this madness." Said he, smiling again with pain in his eyes. "So you think we can't get through this? I'll help you escape if you help me."

Your prayers were answered! This young man you felt attracted to five years ago was going to got through many things these days, but you both will go out that Villa, that was for sure.

He finished dinner in silence, you looking at him, admiring his factions and manners. He was in prison a lot of time, but he was still a gentleman.

He decided to sleep in the divan you cured his face before. He didn't want to disturb you. But he was the most normal man in that house at the moment.

You regretted talking about him to your sisters that time after the play five years ago. Maybe him being in there was all your fault.

"That priest is really gorgeous." You said to them when you were at the carriage, leaving Charenton. "I wish he hadn't taken the vows. Maybe we could know each other and have been friends."

Your sisters seemed to take this seriously, because when they knew he could get out of the asylum, they took advantage of it.

And now, there he was, a prisoner again, like you were those last years, of your own family. Hopefully, his mind would not get so dirty those days as his body covered of mud when he was out the Villa a few hours ago.

Tagging: @darknessisafriend @five-miles-over @yukis-writing @thegirlwho @jokerflecker @missrockabilly99 @luperugorria99 @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @skaraboo @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @ohcarlesmycarles @beautifulyoungprospect @sophiefleck @the-queen-of-things @jokerphoenix @ajokerfangirl

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

#abbe de coulmier #abbe thirst squad #abbe de coulmier thirst squad #abbe x reader #abbe de coulmier x reader #quills #joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix x reader #marquis de sade

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darth-schism · 3 years

Text

Evidence to Suggest that Luke was NOT all that he seemed in TLJ

Luke Skywalker may have isolated himself because of his guilt/depression. But I also believe he did it for practical reasons, and that his “totally given up” act, was just that, an act. Evidence for this Head-cannon/interpretive take:

1. He made a map to his location

Not only that, but it was so specific, it was literally called “The Map to Skywalker.” The only way it would have gotten a name as tailored as that is if someone else had found him before Rey, or, if he told people about it himself. In any event, to whatever varying degree, Luke wanted to be found and/or influence the galaxy around him.

One piece of the map was tossed around to all sorts of corners of the galaxy, while the rest of it was entrusted to R2D2.

2. This was a deliberate combo to serve two different purposes

- Keep Snoke distracted: The entirety of TFA was Kylo and Snoke obsessing over Luke’s location. Their preoccupation with it was evident and, instead of letting them focus on relentlessly attacking the New Republic, Luke gave them a reason to go on wild goose chases. Consider that Snoke doesn’t go ‘all in’ on trying to destroy the Resistance until after he realizes he lost the race to get to Skywalker. Which shows just how much stock he had put into that singular Jedi. What’s more, even if they had succeeded, they’d only have a useless fraction with no reference as to where in the galaxy Luke’s secret location actually was.

- Meanwhile, R2D2 would also play the role of a “given up/powered down” hero: But we see that, soon as the coast is clear, and some plot heroes arrive with the map, he assessed the situation, turned on, and sent them right to Skywalker. I think it’s safe to say that R2D2 was merely in ‘sleep mode,’ as opposed to ‘shut down.’ However, despite all this, the element of being powered down/unassuming was still crucial because...

3. Snoke made it abundantly clear that when he found Skywalker, he’d blow up the entire landmass he was found, or even theorized to be, on

Luke would never put a population of innocents at risk of complete annihilation just because someone might to recognize him at a local market. So it’s no wonder he chose a place as isolated as he did (On top of that, considering his critical stance towards the Jedi Order by 28ish ABY, it wouldn’t necessarily be a heartbreak to him if the island did end up getting destroyed, or one to anyone else really, because of how obscure/unknown it was...or so he convinced himself).

4. He was picking his battles

If Luke Skywalker wanted to be found. Then why was he so dismissive of Rey? There’s no solid evidence here (aside from the whole existence of the map scheme), but I think there’s good reason to believe that Luke’s instant stand-offish behavior is one of caution and assessment not dissimilar how how Yoda and Kenobi put up an initial façade when they were discovered in exile (but more on that later). In any event, this approach would give him the means to offer personalized help to those who ended up on his doorstep. It honestly didn’t take Luke long to go from tossing his father’s lightsaber, to offering Rey the three lessons she needed to understand the force better. Although I believe Rey’s visit to Luke was far different than what others had probably been but (again) more on that later.

5. He was able leave anytime he wanted

The very clear image of Luke’s submerged X-Wing in the ocean painted a picture of cut ties, and a “no going back” stance. However, it wasn’t the first time that starfighter had been at the bottom of a water bed, and clearly it wasn’t the last. I’m inclined to believe that this is another part of Luke’s deliberate presentation of a hero who had lost all hope. But all speculation aside, there was nothing to physically stop Luke from leaving that island whenever he wanted. There’s nothing to say that he didn’t break form/character operate to find a way to undermine Snoke further.

6. He was actively protecting others close to him

There was a reason Luke getting Grogu at the end of Season 2 of The Mandalorian caused such a stir in Disney, and caused Kennedy to go for Faverau’s throat. All “who’s idea was who’s” arguments aside. At the end of the day it created two possible outcomes for this element of the Star Wars franchise: Either Grogu died in Kylo’s attack. Or there were survivors. Since killing the money making Baby Yoda isn’t necessarily on Disney’s to do list, it’s a reasonable bet that he survives the slaughter (unless he’s returned to Din’s side before Kylo goes ballistic, in which case he avoids it all together). But even if that does happen, this theory still holds a little water). Luke lying low, and operating in secret may have been the only way he was keeping himself, the galaxies citizens, and his few remaining students from getting hit with an orbital strike.

7. He was never fully disconnected from the force.

Perhaps, somewhat disconnected, but it’s clear that Luke hasn’t cut himself off from the force as much as he, perhaps, wanted to admit. Luke is still able to effortlessly summon a weapon, keep control of the duel between himself and Rey, and gently lower his body to the ground when he loses his footing. Despite his stance on using/taking ownership of the force in TLJ, it seems as though Luke kept just enough around so that he could still fight. This theory is more optimistically minded than some of the others, but I still can’t help but think that Luke kept these reserves of power ready, because he already had to use them more than once during his supposed isolation.

8. Rey’s visit was different than the others who had come before.

“You went straight into the Dark. It offered you something you needed, and you didn’t even try to stop yourself.”

“I've seen this raw strength only once before, in Ben Solo. It didn't scare me enough then. It does now.”

Other plot heroes/adventurers may have come, gone, or even convinced Luke to help them in secret. So assuming all, or even some, of the above is true, then that means Luke wasn’t just pushing to dismiss Rey, but also disillusion her. I think this is because Rey wasn’t there to get help with a specific mission, rescue, etc, but there to have Luke become the public symbol of hope again. And we’ve already listed the reasons why this couldn’t happen. On top of that, this push was done in a way that directly conflicted with all the “none theorized” reasons Luke had isolated himself. Luke knew he couldn’t accommodate this. He sensed the darkness in Rey. He sensed her connection to Kylo. In many ways his lessons also doubled as a means to properly evaluate Rey, and confirm his suspicions. In any event, all of this brought up an element of his isolation that no one else knew. He already had the, half truth, story as to what happened to his temple well rehearsed. But it was Rey’s visit that dragged out his greatest regret, which was his near attempt to take Ben’s life, due to both the mind bending fear Snoke had manipulated into palce, and the hypocritical, and self destructive Jedi philosophies that had been drilled in to his head. This was the final straw that made him want to destroy the Jedi texts. But it was also the push he needed to find inner peace, and think of the means to make one last public appearance, without endangering anyone.

9. In no interpretation is Luke an attempt child killer

This is more of a bonus point in nature. I think so many people were caught off guard by the narrative choice Luke undertook in this part of the film, that it painted the whole ordeal in a far more unfavorable light than it actually was. For starters: Ben was no child. He was 23 years old when he fell to the darkside. Luke was saw the images of planetary destruction, and the deaths of friends and family alike at the hands of an adult. But even at that, Luke’s ligthsaber had already lowered, and his face expressing that of shame and sadness, when Ben glances over, and decides to take up his lightsaber, and make the first strike. Luke doesn’t even ignite his lightsaber in response until after Ben swings it. The influence Snoke had over Ben, and the mental attack he lured Luke into suffering, to make this moment come to pass cannot be understated.

- This also means that Luke’s isolation lasted only 7 years. Not twenty, not even 10. Just 7. Which is less than half the time both Yoda and Obi Wan imposed on themselves.

10. He was following in the footsteps of his masters

I think Luke’s response to trauma is a little unfair in some ways. Obi Wan and Yoda witnessed genocide, and imposed exile on themselves for twenty years. Now, in film, we know that Obi Wan, while playing the part of a delusional hermit, worked to protect Luke as he grew up on Tatooine, and that Yoda, playing the part of a silly swamp kook, did...something...on Dagobah (?), waited for Luke to grow up so he could train him for a few weeks at most (?).

Those are two pretty limited things, and yet they don’t catch near as much flack for “abandoning the galaxy to the Empire” as TLJ Luke does, after he also witnessed slaughter, and went into isolation for only 7 years. But, of course, we know Obi Wan did more during his time in the desert, and that Yoda did more during his time in the swamp. So why can’t Luke have also done more while on his island? Everything about the parallels here point to Luke, despite his own misgivings, applying what he learned from his master. All three Jedi isolated themselves because of their personal tragedies. All three greatly reduced their presence in the galaxy. But all three had no choice, and all three still did what they could despite their circumstances.

11. Luke may have been overcome with grief. But he hadn’t truly changed

Now, I fully admit that this is a very optimistic way of looking at things. But some of these points also have more weight to them than others. I also cannot stress enough that even though I think some of what Luke was doing was an act, I also know it was equally proportional to the very real, emotional reasons, and struggles he faced. I also definitely do NOT think Kennedy/Johnson meant for any of these possible theories to have any validity to them. But with how they are presented, they also can’t be disproven.

If Favreau doesn’t formally put the sequels in it’s own little pocket universe, then I really hope he takes the opportunity to make something like ^the above^ happen. It could easily be established in one to two episodes in a live action show. Lots of things could be done to make the sequels a more bearable set of movies to watch. And as much as I’m worried that hoping for this is simply too optimistic, at least now there is a justifiable interpretive take that has both in film evidence to support, and a lack of otherwise to refute.

At the end of the day (and as usual) the important part here is to see that Luke hadn’t given up. Struggling, disillusioned, forced into a tough spot, willingly keeping himself scarce, etc. All bearable. But knowing he hadn’t given up is super important to the character and fanbase, so hopefully we get something that makes that cannon. In any facet really.

AND IT WOULD GET MARK HAMILL BACK ON SET GODAMNIT! XD

*Reblogged with new gifs and information

#star wars #the last jedi #tlj #mark hamill #luke skywalker #the mandalorion spoilers #the mandalorian season 2

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harrylee94 · 3 years

Text

The Tournament - Chapter 4

You can find this on AO3!

Summary: The pain of losing the Witch King had been greater than Cobb had ever expected. Hearing the bells ring he had thought only of what the Prince had lost, but when he’d woken the next morning and donned his red shirt and scarf, it occurred to him that he had also lost.

Notes: A certain Bird and Kappa gave me some inspiration... Thanks guys!

Chapter 3

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“ Hey, womprat! Quit your daydreaming and get back to work!" - Cobb

The pain of losing the Witch King had been greater than Cobb had ever expected. Hearing the bells ring he had thought only of what the Prince had lost, but when he’d woken the next morning and donned his red shirt and scarf, it occurred to him that he had also lost.

He had been a boy when he’d stumbled to the castle, barely old enough to be considered a tween. He remembered feeling so hungry that it felt like there was a fire inside him, burning at his lungs, and that his feet were blistered and covered in sores and blood and mud. He remembered begging the guards to let him see the King, that they had tried to send him away, but then hearing a voice ordering them to let him in.

Mand’alor the Beloved had welcomed him herself, and to his eternal shame, he had collapsed into her arms. She had carried him through the halls to her own personal physician, and his feet had been tended to as he’d pleaded with the Witch King to save his home from the bandits that had taken over in the night. He’d explained how the entire town was being held captive, and that he’d only escaped because they’d been distracted with setting an example of those who had tried to defy them. His tears had been wiped away by the Mand’alor’s thumb, and she’d held him as he mourned the loss of his parents, the leaders of the squashed rebellion.

She had rallied her forces to eradicate the dar’ijaat, and though his feet were still healing, he’d insisted he go with them.

Mandokarla, she’d called him, and set him on the saddle behind her son on the horse beside her. It was the first time they’d met. He knew better than to hold him, clutching instead to the back of the saddle to keep himself stable as they headed out, but he could remember the Prince’s curious glances back at him. They hadn’t spoken during the ride, but his village had taken two days to reach, and the nights were spent in quiet conversation around the Witch King’s fire.

The Witch King had been genuinely interested in him, in his likes and dislikes, of what he did back home, and Din had eventually joined in. It was a memory he held close to his heart.

When they’d arrived at his home town, they’d found it in flames. Barely anyone was left and the bandits had taken anything of value. Mand’alor the Beloved had sworn vengeance on them and given the survivors the option of taking a place in her home.

Now without a home as well as without a family, Cobb had accepted. He didn’t want to be a member of her household though -- even then he’d known it would be too stifling for him to be trapped indoors -- and so he’d been apprenticed to the stable’s head groom. The bandits had been found, tried and executed, and he’d grown up in the shadow of the castle.

He was here because of her. He worked with creatures he adored and had friends aplenty, and it was all thanks to her willingness to listen to a half-starved boy knocking at her door. He owed her so much. It had all suddenly hit him the morning of the funeral, and he couldn’t stop himself from sobbing.

The day itself had felt like both an eternity and only a blip in time. Following her body to the pyre and standing vigil until it was gone had been agonising, and with each friend who departed his side to return to their work he'd felt angry that they didn’t hold the same respect that he did. He knew that wasn’t true, but at the time it had only made his pain grow. But then there were the moments when he’d looked up from the flames and seen Din standing across from him.

Seeing the Prince, bedecked in finery and the colours of loss and respect, the flames flickering between them, it reminded him of that journey to his town all those years ago. It reminded him of how close he’d felt to him once, and how his company had eased his sorrow. He hoped that his own presence eased some of the Prince's.

Since that day, almost a week ago now, he had thought of Din frequently, noticing a little more about him every time. He had looked truly royal that day, the embroidery on his collar and sleeves shining in the light. He could vividly recall the way it had framed his cheeks, how the sleeves had accentuated the muscles in his arms, his belt the way his body tapered from his shoulders down to his middle, and his armour spoke of the warrior he was. It was an image he frequently revisited at night.

In the days since, Cobb had seen him in the ward, directing the preparations for the Tournament. He’d returned to his usual, practical clothing, but Cobb couldn’t help but see the determined set of his shoulders now, and the way that made him hold himself. It plagued his thoughts in the most inopportune and inappropriate moments. He shouldn’t be thinking this much about the Prince, and definitely not like this. He shouldn't be thinking of ways he could make him smile and make those beautiful brown eyes sparkle in mirth. Should he?

"Hey, womprat! Quit your daydreaming and get back to work!"

Cobb jolted back to the present and blinked wide eyed over at his bushy haired employer with a wince. "My apologies, Peli."

The short woman snorted and folded her arms across her chest, eyebrow raised to show him how unimpressed and unmoved she was by his words. "You can be a lovesick idiot in your own time. You're here to work! Or did you forget that today was Crest's exercise day?"

"Lovesick?" he repeated in surprise. "I'm not… Peli, I ain't pining."

"You think I don't know what a man in love looks like?" she asked and pointed her finger into his chest.

“I ain’t in love,” he said with a scowl. Appreciative maybe, but in love? He couldn’t be.

She rolled her eyes. "You're even more of an idiot than I thought, Vanth. Now get that horse saddled and get gone!"

“Look, I’m sorry I spaced out a bit, but I ain’t in love!” Cobb said as he headed towards Crest’s stall.

“You keep telling yourself that.”

“You’re seeing things!”

“I’m gunna pretend you didn’t just say that, for your own good!”

Cobb ducked into Crest’s stall with a smirk;he truly enjoyed his arguments with Peli, even if they did occasionally dip a little too far into his personal life on occasion. Luckily, Crest was much more forgiving than Peli was, and she was at his side in a moment. He chuckled as she nudged her nose into his shoulder, and he patted her flank when she came closer still.

"Hey there, beautiful," he said, leading her around the stall with an easy smile so he could look her over as best he could when she was following him like a puppy. "You look ready to burst out the door."

Crest whickered her agreement, and moved to offer her back to him.

"Now darling, you know we've got to get you saddled first," Cobb teased, brushing at her back before turning away towards the saddle that was waiting on the stall wall, but before he could make even a step she whinnied and trotted around him, making it very clear that she didn't want it. "Crest.."

The mare huffed at him, and gave his hair a tug with her mouth before offering her back to him again.

“Peli’s not going to like this,” he muttered, but when she refused to budge, even going so far as to wiggle, he sighed. "Well alright." He patted her flank again and headed towards the steps he’d set up outside so he wouldn't hurt her as he mounted, Peli watching him with narrowed eyes as he went. "But if anyone asks, this was your idea."

Crest didn't make a sound in reply, not until he'd heaved himself up onto her back when they'd stepped out of the stable's four walls that was, and his fingers were curled gently in her white mane, then she whinnied her approval.

"I should never have introduced you to bareback riding," Cobb chided himself as she trotted with great excitement towards the gatehouse.

It wasn’t the first time he’d ridden the Prince’s horse without a saddle or bridle, and it certainly hadn’t been the first time he had taken her out for some exercise, but for some of the people he rode past, it was their first time seeing it, and they stared.

Visitors had been making their way to the castle in droves, the news of the upcoming Tournament having spread far and fast. There were strangers everywhere, most of them servants and squires of knights and lords and varying chiefs, but there was the occasional craftsman and even a nobleman or two. The sight of a servant riding a superior breed of horse would no doubt have left them all reeling, and Cobb couldn’t help but to smirk as he nudged Crest in the right direction.

An encampment had been erected just outside Castle Town’s walls, and the usual place Cobb would have taken the horses to exercise was currently being partially overtaken by carpenters as they constructed the stands and lists for the jousts, but there was still some space for Crest to run free. That, and the fact it would be exciting to see how things were turning out, made Cobb choose to head in that direction, and they trotted their way through the streets.

He nodded and waved to a few of the people he knew, a number of them from the town he’d once called home, but Crest was too restless to stop and so he couldn’t so more than say hello before she pushed on ahead, moving them swiftly out and through the encampment.

It was as he was still within the enclosure of the forest of tents that he noticed a familiar face.

“Jo!”

The woman turned her head and smiled up at him, setting a hand on her hip. “Cobb Vanth.”

“Where are you off to at such an early hour?” Cobb asked, managing to get Crest to slow down enough to allow Jo to walk comfortably alongside them. Usually he wouldn’t see hide nor hair of her until at least the midday meal, working hard by the bellows or working the heavy duty hammer, but it was still morning, a rare treat. “Don’t you have a forge to tend?”

“I’ve been sent to deliver nails,” she replied, hefting the large bucket in her free hand, “and the Armourer needs some privacy to work on the Helm.”

Cobb nodded. Jo had been apprenticed to the Armourer for almost as long as he’d been in the stables, but when it came to the next Witch King’s helm, a great secrecy had to be upheld until the day it was placed upon its bearer’s head, and not even an apprentice could be party to it.

“I’d offer you a ride, but someone decided they didn’t want a saddle today,” he said, and snorted when Crest flicked her ears at him.

“I can walk just fine,” Jo replied with a smirk. “You’re the one who spends too much time with his head in the clouds lately.”

“Hey!”

“Peli’s been complaining about it all week,” she continued, ignoring him. “‘He spends more time staring at the wall than he does sweeping! It’s a miracle anything gets done anymore!’” She did a surprisingly good impression, but it only made him groan.

“It’s not that bad!” he defended, but realised it was the wrong thing to say when he caught her smirking at him.

“That’s not a denial.”

“Dank farrik,” Cobb muttered and Jo laughed.

“So who is he?” she asked. “Do I know him?”

“Jo…”

“What? Can’t a girl be curious?” she teased with a wink. “Ah you don’t need to say anything. I already know.”

Cobb pulled up short, Crest huffing in surprise. “You do?”

“Uh huh,” she said, her eyes taking a brief detour to look at Crest, “and you are royally screwed.”

He groaned as she laughed again, bringing attention to them. She knew. There was no escaping it now; he was going to get teased about this for the rest of his days.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the stable boy?”

Cobb stiffened and Jo’s smile fell as he turned at the disgustingly familiar voice.

Ser Jaonar sat lazily in Parjai’s too tight saddle, wearing his more casual finery with only a few pieces of armour strapped to his shoulders, wrists and chest. He also seemed to have gained himself a posse of equally spoilt and haughty looking lordlings, all of whom looked like they were expecting some entertainment. Cobb hated them all on principle.

“Is there something I can do for you, ser?” he asked, all the happiness he’d felt not ten seconds ago long gone.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Are we disturbing you and your little girlfriend?” the knight said in an exaggerated tone. The others snickered behind him. “I don’t know about my new friends, but I couldn’t help but notice that you’d neglected to properly saddle your… steed.” He almost sneered the last word, looking down his nose at Crest.

“I’m taking the Prince’s horse for some exercise,” Cobb said, taking some pleasure in watching some of their smiles fall into a slightly panicked grimace. “This doesn’t necessarily require a saddle. Ser.”

Ser Jaonar hummed and looked both him and the silver mare over again. “To think that our Prince, soon to be the new Witch King, would entrust his own horse to a nobody from nowhere.” He shook his head. “When I -- or of course, one of my fellows here -- become the new Protector, we’ll be sure to make sure he knows who the right sort to trust are.”

“You’ll have to win the Tournament first, ser,” Cobb said. “Competition’s fierce, I hear.”

“Oh yee of little faith,” Ser Jaonar said, and spurred Parjai onwards with unnecessary force, his ‘friends’ following close behind him.

Jo spat on the ground in their wake. “Filth like that don’t deserve to win the honour of serving our Prince.”

“No, they don’t,” Cobb replied, watching their retreating forms. “We can’t let them.”

“‘We’?” she repeated, stunned.

“We,” he repeated with a nod and turned to face her. “Or rather, ‘I’.”

She smirked. “I’m listening.”

——————————————————————

Mando'a Translations:

Dar’ijaat -- without honour (lit. gone honour)

Parjai -- Victory

Chapter 5

#writing #fic #fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #cobb vanth #peli motto #jo (mandalorian)#medieval au #dincob #pining

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sulphuryasecretcloset · 4 years

Text

Paz has a day off

(Excuse me while I DIE over this ADORABLE piece of Paz and his snacks! @cacodaemonia really murdered me with this one. RIP me. And I can only offer up a one-shot that this masterpiece inspired as my eulogy.)

Lounging on his bed, his little make-shift table (That is in reality a transport box.) covered with all kinds of treats and a drink, Paz is lazily scrolling through the inventory list of weapons in the Covert and absently chewing on some particularly crunchy snacks. He'd done a full inventory check yesterday and it isn't making sense. There are too many weapons. Which is weird.

There is a slight thump, a body bumping into and then an incessant knocking on his door.

“Paz.” Raga's voice is clearly set to 'whine'.

Grabbing a handful of crunchies, Paz shoves them into his mouth before putting his helmet on and scooting out of bed, careful not to knock over his 'table'. He shuffles over to the door on bare feet, unlocks said door and opens it to look out at his impatient friend standing there.

“You got company?” Raga asks.

“Yes.” Paz replies.

She peeks inside and then faces him again. “Snacks do not count as company, Paz.”

“I waited three weeks for some of them. Damn right they count.” Paz replies.

Sighing, Raga shrugs. “Can I come in or not?”

Paz pretends to consider it, then turns and walks back to the bed, leaving the door open for her to enter. “Lucky for you they will keep. What's on your mind, vod?” He chews some of his 'cheek-supply' and crawls back into bed.

Raga steps inside, closes the door behind her and soon climbs into the bed as well, forcing him to reach out and support his 'table' to prevent her from sending it tumbling to the floor.

“Carmela refuses to let me borrow her clippers. I don't know why she's being such a Jawa.” Raga makes a frustrated sound and worms her way to lie across Paz' stomach like a dead-weight, which also leaves her facing Paz' 'table' of snacks. “Hey, are those pepper pretzels?”

“Yes.” Paz picks up the datapad to gets some work done while she complains and he rests his arms on her back, too used to her crawling all over him the second he's out of armor to mind. “Want some? Then buy your own.” He scrolls down on the screen and starts chewing on his last pre-stored snack. “And Carmela is still pissed about you beating up her boyfriend last week. Should have done your hair before kicking his ass.”

“He was the one who wanted to spar.” Raga mutters.

“The guy is a weakling and an idiot. He got what he deserved. But that is why Carmela is pissed.” Paz smiles a little when that makes her let out a frustrated grunt and start playing with the hem of his t-shirt. It's not Raga's fault that she embodies the true Mandalorian fighting spirit. It was just a shame that she was born in the wrong time period. Raga belonged to the time when the Mandalorians were warriors instead of hiding below ground and getting bored. He places one hand to her neck, covered by the rough material meant to protect where there is no armor, and gives it a light and comforting squeeze. “She'll get over it.”

Raga lingers to complain a little longer, clearly very bored, but eventually gets tired of that as well and decides to go find someone else to bother.

She crawls over Paz, giving him a minor heart-attack when her knee slips and he automatically reaches out to prevent her from falling only to find his hand ending up on her gorgeous ass. Oh. That's going to haunt him. Clearing his throat, Paz quickly covers up his awkwardness by giving said ass a harsh slap. “Move. You're in the way of my expensive and tasty company. Get out.”

Grumbling, Raga does as ordered. And when the door closes behind her, Paz gets up as well and walks over to lock it, making sure it would be safe to take off his helmet.

Just as he reaches out, the door slams open and Din Djarin is standing there.

Instantly annoyed, Paz just wants to have some peace and quiet and eat his snacks, is that too much to ask for on his ONE day off? “What?” Paz snaps. “What do you want?”

It seems like Din needs a moment to collect himself, then he almost hisses; “Did you tell everybody that me and Corin are sleeping together?”

Paz snorts. “Yeah. I walked in on you, remember? All half-naked and getting freaky at that inn.”

Din jolts as if Paz just stabbed him. “That wasn't... You can't just...”

“And in the training room.” Paz knows the excitement of a good sparring session, but honestly. “What if some kid had walked in on you two naked and busy? I'm still recovering!”

This makes Din cringe. Actually cringe. Paz hasn't seen him cringe since he was a child.

“We're not, okay?” Din declares, sounding like he has to force the words out through clenched teeth. “We're not sleeping together. We're not together like that. Yet. Just friends. So, stop telling everyone we are! If he hears, then...”

Paz shakes his head a little. “Wait. What? Seriously?”

“Yes! Seriously!” Din barks, radiating awkwardness. “So shut your big, stupid mouth!”

It's too funny. Paz can't help himself. He breaks out laughing. And can't stop.

Din takes a step closer, tempted to use violence to make him stop probably, and without his armor, merely in his jammies, Paz would be at one serious disadvantage. However, Din then clenches his hands into fists and holds himself there. “Tell them you were wrong. Tell them you were drunk and hallucinated. I don't care. Fix it!”

Paz manages through pure force of will to calm himself, then he leans against the doorway and smirks. “There is another way to solve it. So your boy isn't shocked to hear that you're sleeping with him.”

Din's visor tilts suspiciously. “Which is?”

“Sleep with him, of course. He was eying you like you were a fine meal in that training room.”

Din makes a half-choked sound, turns on his heel and, for the first time in his life, flees from Paz.

Paz starts laughing again.

Down the hallway, Barthor steps aside as Din storms by him, then he looks over at Paz in the doorway. “Paz. Hey, I was looking for you. I need to ask you if-”

“No.” Paz shuts the door resolutely, locks it and crawls back into bed.

Removing his helmet, sighing satisfied, he gets comfortable, reaches out towards his snacks and suddenly realizes that the pretzels are gone. “RAGA!”

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #Paz Vizla #Raga #Din Djarin

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heliads · 4 years

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Away With Me Chapter 1: Marriage Contracts

Princess Y/N is dreading her looming arranged marriage to a wicked nobleman when she makes an unlikely friend in castle craftsman Peter Parker. Will they be able to become close despite their differences in status?

series masterlist / next

The quiet of your room is slowly slipping away. You can hear footsteps growing louder outside of your door, and the distant din of conversation is making its way through the stone halls to reach you. You breathe out quietly, embracing the silence for as long as you can before the knock sounds on your door.

“Come in.”

Your best friend and lady-in-waiting, Elizabeth, walks in and shuts the door quietly behind her. “Are you ready?” You turn back to the mirror, finally taking in the sight of the girl reflected back at you. Her gown is intricately beaded, flowing to the ground. A small golden crown glints out from her hair. She looks powerful, and yet still so lonely.

You turn back to your lady-in-waiting. “I don’t know if I can ever be ready. In just a few minutes, that marriage alliance will be approved and I’ll be stuck with that awful man forever.” Elizabeth smirks at that, gently fixing one of your sleeves. “Oh, come on now. Surely it won’t be that bad, right?” The young Werner von Strucker, son of the wealthy Baron von Strucker, is waiting for you in the throne room of the castle. You’ve long known that you will be forced to marry him, but today is the day it will officially be set into motion.

You sigh unhappily. “You don’t know him, Elizabeth. Both him and his father are not good men. This is a terrible idea.” Your friend touches your shoulder sympathetically. “You don’t have much of a choice. As princess, you’ll have to take on an equally powerful husband. Besides, it’s what your mother would have wanted for you.”

Your breath catches at the mention of your mother. Queen Natasha was one of the most important people in your life until she had died defending the kingdom from Thanos and his invaders. The Battle at Vormir has gone down in history, but no amount of fame and praise will ever bring your mother back to you.

You blink away your tears. “But that’s the thing! My mother would have wanted me to live a happy life, and marry the man I love. Werner von Strucker is not that man.” Elizabeth looks at you, understanding mixing with helplessness in her gaze. “I know, Y/N, but princesses rarely get a say in their futures. You know that as well as I do.”

You look back at the mirror one last time, then turn towards the door. “Yes I do.” Elizabeth opens the door, and you step out into the hallway, heels clicking on the tiled floors. It’s time to sign the marriage agreement.

Werner von Strucker is waiting with his father in the throne room of the palace. You feel yourself tense up when he walks towards you. Something about him is just repulsive, and it’s confirmed when he whispers in your ear: “You’re late, I won’t tolerate that in any wife of mine. You should know better.” You can only nod politely and walk towards your father, the king.

“Ah, Y/N, here you are at last. If you’re ready, Baron von Strucker, let’s begin.” With that, the kingdom’s scribe brings out a parchment and quill, your father taking it and beginning to read aloud. The document is long and cumbersome, full of legal jargon you can only barely understand. The gist of it is more than clear, though: you will sign away your life to be wed to von Strucker, thus guaranteeing you will leave your home to live with him in misery.

Clearing your head, you focus back on the current matter. Baron von Strucker approaches the marriage contract, quill in hand. He signs his name, and so does his son. Your father turns to you. “Y/N, please sign below their names.” He offers you a quill, and you take it. Can everyone in the room see the way your hands are shaking? You dip the plume in ink and slowly pen your name on the document. Even after you finish signing, you stare at the curls of black on the paper spelling out your name. It is done.

Your father claps his hands together with content. “And so our two children will be wed.” He shakes the hands of Baron and Werner von Strucker, then turns to answer a courtier who has just approached him. The work of a king is rarely done, even on the days when he signs away the life of his daughter.

With the king distracted, Werner von Strucker approaches you. He takes your hands in his, appearing to all as a kind, loving gesture. His grip, however, feels tight enough to break bone. “You will marry me in a month’s time. Trust me, Princess Y/N, this is only for the benefit of our kingdom. If you disappoint me in any way, I will have you killed. Do you understand me?”

You look up at von Strucker, eyes wide. When you don’t respond immediately, he tightens his grip on your hands even more and leans forward until he’s only a few inches away. “Do you understand?” You nod fearfully, and wrench your hands away from him the second he lets go. Werner von Strucker steps away from you to speak to his father, and you take this moment to start walking away from him. You move slowly while in the presence of the courtiers, but once you’re out of sight, you start moving faster and faster until you’re almost running.

Your feet take you as far away as you can from the throne room. It doesn’t matter where you’re going, just as long as it is where nobody can find you. Your breath comes harshly in your chest as you fight back the hot tears that threaten to swell from you. Finally, you run into the sunlight of the courtyard and throw yourself down behind a tall flowering trellis where nobody can see you. You fling your head into your hands, desolate. It’s all gone now, every dream you ever had for the future. With von Strucker treating you like an object he can destroy at a moment’s notice, you won’t be able to visit friends or even your family. You won’t be able to be anything more than a delicate doll of a wife, brought out to show support for the von Struckers and nothing else.

“Are you alright, miss?”

A voice behind you makes you jump in fright. You turn around quickly, and see a palace craftsman walking towards you, eyes full of concern. The first thing you think is that he might have been the first person to ask you that in a long time. The second thing you think is that he is one of the cutest boys you’ve ever seen. His light brown hair falls in slight curls around his face, and the golden brown of his eyes leave you speechless. You can barely stammer out a reply, which is testament to how distracted you are. As a princess, you’ve been trained in confidence and conversation, and you should not be this unsure of yourself around a boy you’ve never met.

“I’m-I’m fine. It’s nothing.” The boy raises his eyebrow, then steps closer. “With all due respect, miss, you don’t exactly seem fine.” You open your mouth to rebuke him for being so forward with a princess, and then it hits you. This boy has no idea who you are- you rarely appear in person before the artisans and craftsmen of the castle, and without an escort, you are just another escort. As the boy crouches to sit beside you, you hurriedly remove your crown while his back is turned and hide it in a purse at your side. You’re not sure why, but something about this boy makes you want to be friends with him. True friends, not the dutiful companionship often brought about with royals.

“Do you want to talk about it? I know I don’t know you very well, but I can hardly leave you here without doing my best to help.” A genuine smile comes to your lips, the first one in a while. “There’s nothing you can really do about it.” You sigh, and look out across the gardens of the castle courtyard. “My father has procured an arranged marriage for me. The only problem is, the man I’m supposed to marry is abysmal. He’s horrid to me and I can’t imagine spending an hour in his company, let alone the rest of my life.”

The boy clucks his tongue in sympathy. “Arranged marriages sound dreadful. Luckily enough for me, craftsmen don’t have to worry about such things until they’re far too old or boring to care.” The boy widens his eyes as if he’s suddenly remembered something. “Oh! Forgive my manners, I don’t believe I’ve properly introduced myself. My name is Peter, Peter Parker. I work with the craftsmen up on the other side of the castle. And you are?”

Peter’s gaze falls to you, and you fish around for some response that doesn’t involve the fact that you are actually a princess. “I’m just a, uh, lady-in-waiting. My name is Y/N.” Peter’s smile is true and kind, and it makes you smile in return. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Y/N.” His brow furrows as he thinks for a second. “Wait, Y/N like Princess Y/N?” He leans closer conspiratorially, and you can feel your heart pound in your chest. Has he figured you out already?

“Did your parents name you after the princess because they looked up to the king and queen?”

You try to hide your sigh of relief. “Yeah, that’s it. They figured it would do well for me to be similar to the princess.” Peter nods understandingly. “Yeah, I could get that. It’s a shame about your marriage, I know most ladies-in-waiting don’t really have a choice about all that.” You tilt your head to the ground, despondent. “I have no other option. My parents need me to marry so I can secure a good standing for my family, but I wish I had some control over my future. I have to give up all my hopes and dreams for a man who does not care whether I live or die.”

Peter places a hand on your shoulder, and you find yourself leaning towards him just a little. It’s funny- as a princess, it’s never been easy to form friends or close relationships. Everyone who gets close to you has to be investigated to make sure they’re not a spy or a killer, and even then, most people your age in the castle avoid you for fear of upsetting you or your family. Being a royal means that you have to keep your heart closely guarded, but somehow, Peter has already gotten past your barriers without even trying. You never intended to tell him anything, but yet, here you have.

“I know you don’t know me very well, Y/N, but I want you to know that I’ll be here for you.” You raise your eyebrows at him, and he grins, continuing on. “Okay, I know, but I want to be friends. Honest. You seem like a really nice girl, and there aren’t many nice girls who hang around the craftsmen’s workplaces. I say we both could use a friend.” He holds out his hand with mock seriosity, and you consider it for a second before taking it with equal solemnity. “To being friends.” You shake hands for a moment, then both of you dissolve in laughter.

Across the courtyard, a few ladies passing by look over at the two of you, frowning at the loud sounds of your laughter. You and Peter turn to each other with twin sheepish expressions, then do your best to stop your amusement as the ladies walk past. “I guess we’re not as inconspicuous as we thought.” Peter says.

You’re looking at him, hand pressed across your mouth to hide your laughter, and wish you could freeze time in this moment. To be free, with him, not as a princess but just a girl with a boy, is one of the most golden feelings you’ve ever had. The glint of mirth in his eyes, the flush in your cheeks, it all comes together to change this awful day into a splendid one. It hits you then that you don’t really want to leave this courtyard, or him.

“You will try to meet up again, right?” Peter nods. “Of course.” You let yourself relax once more. So many people have seemed like your friend before, but once they get word of how stressful it is to be a member of the royal court, they always seem to forget about you. Somehow, you don’t think Peter will leave you behind, even without knowing you’re a princess.

Peter looks at you, troubled. “Wait, but if we’re both working, how will we be able to meet up? I don’t know where you would be.” You think that over for a moment, then an idea comes to you. You stand up quickly, and, grabbing Peter by the hand, you guide him over to a tree along the edge of the courtyard.

“This tree is hollow. How about this: we put a note in the hollow tree, and it’ll tell the other person if we want to meet or not. We can say a time and everything.” Peter nods, understanding. “We’ll meet here, by the trellis. Where I first saw you.” You beam at him. “Perfect!”

Across the courtyard, you hear the toll of a bell. Peter looks at you through panicked eyes. “Oh, that’s the bell for work. I have to go.” He starts to stride hastily across the courtyard, but then dashes back to you. “Promise you’ll meet me again.” You nod eagerly. “I promise.” He looks at you one last time, with a smile that could put the sun to shame, and then he takes off across the courtyard once more. You are left standing by the flowers, feeling yourself truly be happy for the first time in a very long time. You barely spoke to Peter for a few moments, yet somehow, you know he will grow to be very important to you.

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagines #spiderman #spiderman imagine #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagines #spiderman homecoming #spiderman far from home

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florenceandthemachine · 4 years

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it took me a while to think of something but how about a dialogue prompt? "I don't know what you want from me." for buddie!! fluff or angst, you get to decide :)

COMBINED WITH BUDDIEWEEK2020 PROMPT

July 10th - Day 5: “It’s okay, you can cry.” + comfort

living that two birds one stone lyfestyle bc I am what? a lazy pos.

anyway here's some fun Buckley siblings feat Buddie xoxoxo

There were several things that Eddie knew to be true about Buck.

One, was that he loved Buck, with every piece of his heart.

Two, that Buck loved him with his whole entire soul.

Three, that no matter what happened, no matter who came into their lives, long after Eddie was dead and gone, Buck had Maddie, and Maddie had Buck.

The Buckley siblings were both bound by trauma, so to speak—they had survived natural disasters, complete miracles, their parents, and they were more or less connected at the hip. It was good, a camaraderie that Eddie wished he had with his sisters; who were nice enough when they wanted to be, but who's teasing remarks cut a bit too deep when they weren’t careful.

Buck and Maddie had a built in support system with one another, and that much was obvious.

What was slightly less obvious was how fiercely, painfully competitive the Buckley siblings were with one another; a fact that was typically forgotten until it was too late.

It started out harmlessly enough.

Hen had invited everyone and their kids to Dave and Busters for Denny’s birthday. It was a nice enough gesture in a fun, neutral location—a huge building filled with games, prizes, and that kind of greasy food that looks amazing in the moment and leaves you feeling sluggish for days. Buck and Chris were stuck together like glue—Eddie had learned long ago that simple acts of fun were as good for Buck as they were for Chris, and it was easy for Eddie to cheer them on in whatever shenanigans they took on; he wasn’t about to allow anyone to call it out and risk Buck feeling an ounce of unnecessary shame.

Besides, he really couldn’t find anything in him but delight as he watched Buck scoop Christopher up in his arms and promptly launch them both into a ball pit, the bright peal of Chris’s laughter ringing above the low din in the building.

Chim, as usual, was the one to ruin everything.

(Okay, not ‘as usual’, but still.)

He and Maddie had arrived a little later on in the evening, their arrival perfectly timed between the stampede of children and cake cutting, their gift bag nestled securely on the present table that Denny kept eyeing with growing excitement.

Chim was the one who let out a whistle when he walked into the building, taking in everything around him.

Chim was the one who bent down to greet Chris, letting Buck’s attention stray from Eddie’s kid, going over to hug his sister.

And it was Chim, who opened his fat mouth, when Maddie and Buck were less than an arms length from one another, as he ruffled Chris’ hair and looked over to the far wall of the building.

“Who the hell thought a Mario Party tournament would be a good idea?”

Eddie could feel a cold chill run down his spine, his stomach dropping in despair as he caught the matching glints in Buck and Maddie’s eyes.

“Mads, do you wanna…?”

No, no, no, Eddie could literally feel his sanity sliding away as Maddie pretended to think it over.

“I mean, if you’re in the mood to lose…”

Eddie shot a nasty look at Chim, who was blissfully unaware of what hell he had just served up on what was supposed to be a child’s birthday. A fun night. A night where the kids got to be kids, and the adults were supposed to know how to act.

Correction—the adults knew how to act. The adults were just choosing to act like kids.

Because that’s what they regressed to; Buck and Maddie were both two professional adults, who worked with high stake situations for a living. They were both mature adults. And when they got into it, they literally regressed into teenagers, shoving one another, bickering at a rapid fire pace, hell, Eddie was surprised Maddie hadn’t gone for a noogie or a wet willy yet, anything to assure her victory.

If Eddie had to be honest, he was pretty impressed with Buck’s focus, and Maddie’s state of mind (it didn’t feel right to say he was ‘proud’, so impressed would have to do). Most of the time, when the Buckley’s got into it, the rest of the world was a blur, but they were more than a half hour into a game and there was not a single fuck word dropped so far.

That wasn’t to say that the tensions weren’t high—and somehow, the mini games made it so much worse for everyone involved. As amusing as it was to watch Maddie self-sabotage when she was paired up with Buck to ensure he wouldn’t get any points, Buck’s stress levels when he was paired up with one of the CPU’s were nearly apocalyptic.

At the very least, Eddie seemed to be far from alone in thinking that the competition between the two was at least a little bit funny—by the time the Buckley’s had entered their final turn, they had a small crowd of children gathered around them. Eddie wasn’t sure if they were watching the game or just laughing at the antics of the two overgrown children, but honestly, he couldn’t blame them either way.

“Nooo! I don’t know what you want from me, Luigi!” Buck wailed—literally wailed—as he sunk down to his knees, looking more dejected than Eddie had ever seen him before, just moments after his CPU partner had pushed him into an oncoming bomb.

That moment seemed to be enough to turn the tide of the game—Maddie was able to pull ahead in coins to secure her spot in the lead, and when the last mini game started, Eddie couldn’t help it. He was actually holding his breath, secretly rooting for Buck to absolutely trash her. But in a supportive, future-sibling-in-law kind of way.

He felt himself groan as the game swung the other way—something about Maddie literally cackling when she got the final, tie-breaking bonus star sending a shiver down his spine. That woman was vicious, and part of him wanted to warn Chim to watch his back—but then again, Chim was the one who got them into all of this in the first place. The group that had gathered around them started to disperse as Maddie started her victory dance, and Eddie had to sigh as he waded through the sea of children.

For now, he had a man to attend to. A man who was literally laying down on the floor of a glorified Chuck-E-Cheese’s, but that was his man none the less, damn it.

“C’mere Buck, come on.”

“Eddie, it’s not fair.”

“I know, baby.”

“I was so close!”

“It’s okay, you can cry.” Eddie said, sighing as he easily scooped his overly-dramatic boyfriend into a bridal carry, kissing his temple. It was almost amusing—at the very least, Eddie was biting his lip, doing his best not to laugh as Buck made a sound that actually sounded like he was on the brink of tears as Eddie deposited his dead weight back into his side of the booth. He knew better than to suggest that it was just a game, because it was never just a game, not when the Buckley’s were concerned.

Maddie was beaming as she slid into the booth across from Buck, her eyes lighting up with another win beneath her belt, and Eddie could appreciate that; hopefully, it meant that they would cut it out, and Eddie could actually enjoy some time off with Buck, and—

“Buck, they have an air hockey table open.”

“Oh, you’re on.”

—and nope, Buck was already on his feet, previous trauma forgotten as he bolted to the ATM to get another stack of quarters.

Eddie wanted to be annoyed, he really did—but he couldn’t seem to get the dopey smile off of his face as Buck started to cackle. All he could do was order another beer on Maddie’s tab, clinking bottles with Chim as he cracked it open.

“Damn, you got it bad.” He really did.

“Shut up, Chim.”

He really, really did.

#buddie #911 #eddie diaz #evan buckley #maddie buckley #madney #if you squint #911week2020 #the sibling rivalry is a very real thing #my siblings and I used to settle everything in a very fair and diplomatic way #and by that I mean we would have bottle rocket fights #I have SO MANY burns on my legs #mutually assured devotion

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that-random-chaos-entity · 4 years

Note

Writing Prompt: Perturabo, now ruler of Olympia, reflects on his childhood before planning for the future (before Emps pops up and stops that immediately)

So here it goes: my very first writing prompt. I apologize in advance, I’m not far enough into the Horus Heresy series to have reached Perturabo yet, So I hope that my lore-video-informed rendition of him portrays both the way I see him and something close to how he is in cannon.

I also may have deviated from the original prompt just a bit by rule-of-cool (in my opinion), so please forgive me for that.

The grinding of metal. The scent of ash, of blackened wood, stone, and flesh. The din of voices; shouts, screams, howls of fury and howls of terror. The soft thudding trudge of feet pounding earth, freshly turned by the grinding cogs and treads of machinery. The acrid fug of black smoke; the output of engines turning fuel into fumes. Of blood dripping into shining pools like sheets of liquid sliver in the moonlight. Coating weapons. Coating machines.

Coating men.

The sensory symphony of war radiated from what was left of the city-state, though to the man known as Perturabo it might as well have been the low whine of insects during the warmer seasons. The city had lost his interest from the moment it fell over five hours ago. The moment he grasped its warlord by the throat and hurled him, thrashing and screaming, from the tower window. The luckless mortal’s body would break on the iron-piked ramparts below in a spectacular fashion, but the demigod had already disappeared from the window-ledge. The old tyrant had a desk with blank paper, with potential, and Perturabo had plans that needed to be drawn up. He had no interest in watching his own spectacle.

What he did have interest in was the fact that finally, finally, he’d done it. This world, the world that had brought him up, had seen him grow, and had seen him hardened, was unified. This was the last bastion. The last bulwark standing in the way of this ironclad warlord and his goal of global unity. It was finally over.

It is finally time to start doing something about this unsightly morass of a civilization, Perturabo thought to himself, now that some semblance of order exists here.

Or would exist here, once his men, the men from his home city-state of Lochos, finished corralling and executing those civilians who would not bend the knee. He would risk no dissidence. If he truly planned to build a utopia, he could not afford to suffer even the potential for disloyalty. They would be tried, questioned, tortured if necessary, but every man, woman and child would bend the knee to Lochos. Or they would be removed.

Am I just going to sit here, patting myself on the back for the death of thousands, or am I going to actually do something with my night?

The thought entered his mind like a blade, cutting through his ambition and sense of accomplishment both. The thought was his own; who else could it be from? But the emotion it brought with it… …the sense of dread… …Perturabo stole a glance at the window.

The Star Maelstrom hung lazily in the sky, perfectly framed in the shattered remains of the window frame, staring down at him like a terrible eye. But now…

...It was dark out! How many hours had he spent sitting at this desk, just staring at a blank sheet of paper? He should be planning structures. Drawing up diagrams for how to turn this place and the many other conquered fortresses into bastilles of beauty and strength. He should be planning to implement his many creations, to improve the everyday lives of the Olympian people. This was what he always wanted, yes? So how much time had he wasted sitting here, brooding and staring at a blank sheet of paper in a tower that wasn’t even his own?

Too much.

The cluster of stars did not speak. It did not move. I did not do anything other than just make its presence known to him, but its scrutiny was unmistakable. That was how it had always been, even from his earliest memory. Halfway up a cliff in a rainstorm, Perturabo had come to consciousness and lifted his head just to see the hateful thing staring down upon him. From that moment he knew, for whatever reason, he had been abandoned on that cliff face.

A child. Something had abandoned a child on a cliff face in the middle of a rainstorm. He had been left with that starry hateful eye. It was there the day he entered the court of Dammekos, tyrant lord of Lochos. It was there the day he slew the champion fighter of another tyrant lord in his new lord’s honor, securing that trade agreement for him. It was there each and every day as he sat being educated by the so-called “wise men” of Olympia. It was there the day his adoptive sister, Calliphone, was taken by assassins. It was there the day he started this war of unification.

It was always there, and it judged him. Judged him for every failure, every success, everything. It soured him.

Oh yes, it soured me? Try again Perturabo; I’ve always been sour. Was it the Star Maelstrom that made me throw a childish tantrum at Dammekos when he entered my study to look at my creations? Was it the Star Maelstrom that made me curse and spit in the eyes of every wise man and teacher I humiliated? Was it the Star Maelstrom that made me break Andos’s statue?

Perturabo still remembered the competition between himself and his adopted brother, Andos. How he’d bullied and pushed his brother in competition after competition, hoping he would rise to the occasion and for once offer an actual challenge to the young demigod in some fashion. And the one time he succeeded; the one time Perturabo had lost, he had been happy. Genuinely happy. It had been refreshing and actually satisfying, in a way.

But then night fell, and the voices and distractions of the day fell away. He was left, once again, all alone. Alone with the Star Maelstrom.

How could I have possibly thought that wine would spare me in any way?

Nobody had seen him. He was way too clever for that. Too skilled, even while intoxicated. But he knew. They knew. Everybody knew. That night the vortex of lights in the sky and his own thoughts drove him to sneak down into the grand hall and destroy the two statues. It was so obvious, especially since he hadn’t even had the good sense to pummel each equally; Andos’s was left a pile of rubble, while Perturabo had left his own statue at least slightly intact.

The shame. Not only could I handle a petty, meaningless defeat, I couldn’t even cover my own damn tracks. Didn’t I want a brother? Didn’t I want someone I could match my skills against? And what did I do? Ruin everything. Same as it ever was.

As if on cue a clap of thunder shocked the demigod out of his brooding, and he realized that he’d been staring into the Star Maelstrom this entire time. Worse still, he’d been slowly moving towards it. One more step and he would have followed the old tyrant onto the ramparts below.

No, stop! I have to stop! The demigod reeled back from the window ledge as if the rain was acid on his skin. This isn’t right. This isn’t me! I can’t be brooding like this. What’s done is done and I have to move forward. I have to make this place better. I have to lead these people. I can make up for it if I just…

…no Perturabo. We want to build a perfect society? We want to make a Utopia? Foolish. How can one craft perfection if oneself is not perfect? And let us face it, Perturabo, we are the farthest thing from perfect. We are a monster. A cold beast of iron that will grind this world and many more to dust.

“No!” he bellowed at nothing. At the Star Maelstrom. At himself. “That is you! That is not me. I am Perturabo. I am a scholar, an artist, a philosopher, an inventor! I will take this world and I will make of it something wonderful, so that when my father, my true father comes, he will see my works and I they will astound him! I will be perfect for him.”

“I must be.”

#perturabo #iron warriors #olympia #writing prompts #ask-a-scheming-sorcerer #warhammer 40k #wh40k #warhammer 30k #horus heresy

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miraculously-lost · 4 years

Note

Marinette and Adrien working together to kill Gabriel and bury his body

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There was no color in his face. How could there be, he was staring at his father’s lifeless body.

Adrien’s mind was blank. All he could see was his father’s cold, unwavering stare. It was not much different from when he was alive, but there was no longer any life behind it. He couldn’t believe what had happened, yet he knew this was the only way.

Marinette stood not too far behind him quiet, unmoving. She watched as Adrien stared, only stared. She knew how difficult this was for Adrien, how could it not be, but it was something they both knew had to be done.

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Days before, late at night Ladybug had spotted Hawkmoth moving through the rooftops in search of something, or someone. She quietly followed him hoping he would head to his secret lair. When she saw land on the roof of the Agreste house she was confused. Then she saw him enter through a rooftop door and she was about to pounce. She could see Adrien sound asleep in his room. She was making her way across the lawn when she saw a light turn on the opposite side of the mansion. She quickly hid behind and a bush and what she saw next she couldn’t believe.

She saw Hawkmoth detransform into Gabriel Agreste!

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him she was about to jump through his window and attack when she looked back into Adrien’s room. This was his father. The only parental figure he had left and sure he wasn’t the best, but he was all he had. She stopped and stared between the two for what seemed like hours. When she finally managed to move and run back home she couldn’t think of anything else. What could she do? How could she destroy Hawkmoth without hurting Adrien? Would Adrien even believe her if she told him? More importantly: would he hate her if she did anything to him?

She didn’t sleep much that night and only more questions popped into her head, but she knew one thing. She couldn’t decide anything without her partner in crime.

“WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT” Chat Noir’s screamed so loud Ladybug thought all of Paris could hear them.

“It’s-it’s not possible. How do you know. What proof do you have” Chat Noir spoke a million miles a minute Ladybug didn’t understand why this was so hard for him to believe. Maybe he was worried for Adrien just as she was.

“I saw it Chat. With my own eyes.”

“Well you saw wrong!” He yelled at her. She couldn’t quite believe it, he had never yelled at her before. She stood there staring at him not sure of what to say.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke softly. There were tears in his eyes.

Wow he must really care for Adrien, she thought.

Chat stood on the rooftop looking up at the sky. Ladybug stood beside him silent. Could his father really be Hawkmoth? Adrien had his own suspicions long ago, but to think it could all be true tore his heart in ways he hadn’t felt since his mother died.

“I know what we have to do.” Chat spoke so soft Ladybug thought it was the wind.

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

It felt like years had passed and Adrien hadn’t moved an inch. Marinette was starting to wonder if it had been Gabriel they had killed or Adrien.

When Chat brought up the plan of poisoning Gabriel, Marinette thought it was an amazing idea. Getting rid of their enemy without any violence, casualties, or suspicion she was all for it. But when he said that Adrien was the one that had to do it she protested like it was her own life on the line. She couldn’t ask that of Adrien and she didn’t want him to know that it was his father that had brought on all this evil.

Chat remained persistent, but so did Ladybug. Their argument didn’t get anywhere and she had to be home soon in time for dinner. They agreed to meet up again tomorrow at the same time to discuss their new plan.

The next day when Chat appeared he told her he had already spoken with Adrien and that Adrien was on board. Ladybug was furious. She couldn’t say a single word to him and she knew that he was aware he did the wrong thing because he refused to look at her. Without saying a single word Ladybug hurried off to the Agreste Mansion. She snuck into Adrien’s room and didn’t see him anywhere. Unsurprisingly she heard the shower turn on. Why was he always in the bathroom?

“Adrien? It’s Ladybug I was hoping I could talk to you. You know. When you’re out of the shower.” She leaned her head against the door stupid was all she could think.

“Y-yeah I’ll be right out.” Adrien replied from behind the door.

When he came out Ladybug was surprised. He didn’t look like he had just showered, but she didn’t think too much of it there were more pressing matters to attend to.

“I know what you’re going to say.” He spoke before she could get any words out.

“I spoke to Chat last night and he told me everything. I know you must not agree with his plan but it is the only way. I have access to him in ways that neither of you will ever be able to have. I can do this. More importantly, I can do this quietly and without question. But I have something to ask of you.” He spoke with such assertiveness and distance in his voice that Ladybug knew there was nothing she could do or say to change his mind.

“Anything.” Was all she could muster out. Somehow she felt this was all her fault.

“You can’t be here that night. Chat and I will take care of everything.”

Ladybug’s eyes stung with tears. How could he say that. No she would not let this happen.

“NO. Chat is my partner and you are my friend. I will NOT let either of you down by leaving your sides.” Ladybug was firm in her decision.

For the first time since they began talking Adrien’s expression changed. There was a sadness behind his eyes, pain, fear, and shame.

“Please Ladybug. This is going to be the worst thing I will ever do in my life and I can’t let you see me like that.” He paused for a moment. Neither of them spoke. “Please.” He said once more.

Ladybug just stared and stared at him. His determination, his sadness, she didn’t know if Adrien could go through with this, but she knew Chat would never let him, or her, down. She did all she could do right now and trusted both of them.

“Okay.” She said quietly and just as the words escaped her mouth her earrings started to beep and she knew she was going to transform soon. Neither of them said a word as she leapt out his window and left.

Both of them knew that this would be the last time they saw each other before the events would transpire.

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When the night came Adrien finally convinced his father to have dinner with him. He had Nathalie and Gorilla take the night off with the excuse that he wanted to spend a night just them two. Adrien prepared the meal and even got his father’s favorite wine. He watched as the powder disappeared into the dark red drink and stared at it. Amazed that it looked like any other drink just how tonight looked like any other night. But just as the wine knew it was no ordinary wine, Adrien knew this was no ordinary night.

Minutes had passed since his father’s body had stopped moving. He sat in the same chair where he had just been alive. His eyes open, mouth closed, body lifeless. He looked almost peaceful. When Adrien heard footsteps his heart sank to his feet. The only person this could possibly be is Ladybug and she promised she wouldn’t be here for this. When he saw Marinette walk in he felt a sensation of fear, sadness, relief, and overall confusion. He wanted to ask her a million and one questions, but all he could do was stare at his father.

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

Marinette had intended to follow through with her promise and stay home, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t do that to Adrien. Besides this was all her fault if she hadn’t followed Hawkmoth that night or told Chat what she knew Adrien wouldn’t be in this position. But what else could she do? This is was her duty as Ladybug, but her duty as Marinette was to be there for Adrien.

She snuck in as Ladybug through his window and detransformed before she went out to look for him. She wasn’t sure had happened yet so she walked quietly in case Gabriel, Nathalie, or Gorilla were around. All the lights were off except for one. She quietly followed the dinning room light and when she looked through the door her heart shattered. Adrien looked directly at her and then looked back at his father. He didn’t say a word so neither did Marinette. She stood behind him in silence watching him, comforting him from afar. She waited for Chat to appear, but he never came.

“What are you doing here?” He finally spoke.

“I’m sorry.” Marinette quietly responded. He was still staring at his father.

“Ladybug told me you might need a friend tonight.”

He didn’t reply. The silence continued.

She slowly walked towards him and lay a hand lightly on his shoulder.

They stayed like that for a few minutes.

“Chat isn’t coming. I asked him not to. I can take care of this alone.” He still wasn’t looking at her.

“You don’t have to” was all Marinette could say. He finally looked at her expressionless.

Without speaking they picked up Gabriel to the best of their efforts. He was heavy, but they somehow managed. They carried him to the backyard with only the light of the moon illuminating their path. Spring was just starting so it was still a little chilly out especially this late at night.

The backyard was big, there were statues and trees and a huge garden. Adrien decided the best place to bury his father was in the tomato field. Nathalie had the gardener prepare the soil earlier this week to begin planting the tomatoes so the dark patch of new soil wouldn’t look suspicious to anyone walking through the garden. They dug for hours in complete silence. Neither knew what to say, but they both knew Adrien was grateful he wasn’t alone.

When the job was done the soil didn’t look a hair out of place. It was neat and looked professionally done. They stood there staring at the grave. No one had spoken in hours and it didn’t seem like that was going to change soon. Marinette stood beside Adrien and he gently intertwined his hand with hers. A thank you she knew, so she squeezed it tightly reassuring him he wasn’t alone.

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They walked the streets of Paris in the dark, quiet, emptiness. Feeling only the warmth of each other’s hands.

They quietly entered Marinette’s home and she set up the couch for him to sleep in. She was about to go upstairs when he reached for her arm. They stared at each other and she hugged him.

She felt his tension and she could feel his warm tear drops running through her back. She felt his body shake as he quietly wept. She held him for hours until he finally fell asleep and when he did she remained on the floor next to where he slept in case he needed her again.

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Hope this is okay!!!! This was an interesting prompt I hope you like it!!! thanks for the suggestion!

#miraculous ladybug #LadyNoir #ladrien #marichat #adrienette #adrien x marinette #adrien agreste #gabriel agreste

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buns-with-a-book · 4 years

Text

Deflowered

A sequel to Flowers of White, completely spicy. So much spice. Includes SDT spice.

There’s two poems in this fic. The second one was written by furyeclipse

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: OC/Vergil, Dante Tags: @nimnox @furyeclipse @synchronmurmurs @harlot-of-oblivion @queenmuzz

Summary: Vergil despises the scent of another man, of Draco, on the person he considers his. The scent infuriates him, enough to make him act on more base desires.

Days after they crashed her ‘wedding’, he can still smell him on her.

His demonic blood gave him heightened senses, hearing and smell and speed. It usually was a blessing but, in this moment, it was a curse. He can smell that scum, the scent of silver and sage and too-expensive cologne, still lingering around her. A part of him, a deep base beast that he sometimes wishes would just quiet down, snarls every time she passed by him before promptly filling him with shame for snarling at her when the whole affair was no fault of her own.

How dare Draco, a pathetic excuse of a man who had shown nothing but disapproval and dismissal, believe himself worthy of Cassandra? Cassandra was nothing short of extraordinary, the blood of a warrior-saint in her veins. A part of him was always in awe of how she maneuvered herself on the battlefield, brave and bold and unafraid of the demons they faced. That fool would never know the joy that burned in those deep green eyes of hers when they got paid for exterminating demons, the determination when they clashed in the training room, the way they sparkled with amusement at whatever foolery Dante got into. Draco would never know that and he was certain he didn’t care.

Cassandra was far more than just her ancestor, far more than just the daughter of a warrior-saint. She was a queen. A queen that Draco would never respect, would never appreciate, never be worthy of. (And, if he was honest with himself, he wondered if he himself was worthy of her as well).

“Verge? Earth to Verge?”

Vergil blinked, seeing Dante’s hand waving in front of his face. He was sitting on the couch in Devil May Cry, the setting sun casting long shadows across the shop. Dante was hovering next to him, a curious but playful smile on his face.

“Dante, I’m right here.” Vergil slapped his brother’s hand away from his face.

“Yeah, sure you were.” He smiled and sat down, the couch dipping as he settled next to his twin. “I know that look of yours when you’re thinking really hard. What’s stewin?”

“The best way to get rid of you.” Vergil replied dryly, a spectral sword appearing by his will and pointed at Dante. Dante laughed, of course he would laugh.

“Nah, I feel like trying my luck.”

“Your very horrible luck, you mean.” Vergil raised an eyebrow. Despite his mild irritation, it wasn’t enough to skewer him yet. “I believe even Lady can attest to how rotten it can be.”

“I can be lucky every once in a while!”

“Like a broken clock can be right twice a day.” Vergil snapped his book shut, finally admitting defeat. “I’m...afraid my mind still wanders back to the day we crashed Draco’s wedding. I can still smell him and it infuriates me, like an unwelcome stench that refuses to leave.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Dante hummed. “You two should go on a date.” Vergil could feel heat rising in his cheeks.

“A...date?”

“Yeah! Get your mind off the whole wedding shit.” Dante waved his hand. Vergil closed his eyes in thought.

“Perhaps star-gazing. It’s nice and relaxing, a reprieve we need from...that event.” Even mentioning it left a foul taste in his mouth, Vergil thought with a scowl. Dante let out a soft chuckle, seemingly unaware of Vergil’s inner turmoil...but Vergil noticed the mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

“Well, there’s this nice forest outside of Red Grave. You can hike to the top and maybe get some ac- OOF!” Vergil promptly whacked him upside the head. “OW! Jeez, I’m trying to help...”

“Your idea of help is not actually help.”

“Look, I know what’s going on with you. You’re pissy another dude touched Cass when that’s your job. God Verge, you’re so easy to read when you’re angry.” Dante crossed his arms. Vergil just stared at him, not sure what to say. On one hand, Dante wasn’t wrong: the thought of Draco touching Cassandra in any capacity infuriated him to no end. On the other hand...did he have to say it so brazenly?! It always infuriated him that Dante had no shame. While Cassandra was more than willing to encourage him in his shamelessness (because she found it hilarious when that very shamelessness got him in trouble), Vergil had to draw the line somewhere.

“...if she consents.” Vergil said, standing up stiffly. “I will ask about...a date.”

“If you don’t run away from being awk-” And that was when the sword slammed down into the floor, barely missing Dante’s knee. “Hey!” Vergil ignored his exclamation as he made his way into the kitchen, where he saw Cassandra enter. Sliding his book into his jacket, he entered the kitchen to see Cassandra hard at work. A savory scent wafted through the kitchen as Cassandra stirred up waffle batter for baking. Aside her stirring bowl was cheese, tomato sauce, and herbs. He smirked, knowing that tonight’s dinner was pizza waffles.

“Hi Vergil.” Cassandra said quickly. “What do you need? As long as it’s not pestering me to finish up din-”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Vergil shook his head, earning a confused noise from her. “I would like to know if you would like to go on a date with me.”

“You sound like you’re trying to ask me out for the first time.” Cassandra said with a soft chuckle. Before he could object, she continued. “I’d love to go on a date. A nice simple date, maybe we can go stargazing on the roof.”

“On the roof of Devil May Cry?” He asked.

“Not in the mood to go anywhere for a bit. If we can stay home, I’d go for it.” A part of him, that hungry beast inside him, purred appreciatively at the idea. He watched her work on dinner.

“As you wish.” A faint smile crept on his face as he watched her work. It seemed like that little affair was nothing more than a bad memory, a memory that was rapidly fading. As she poured the finished batter into the waffle-maker, Vergil’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned against the doorframe. The sound of her making dinner was...surprisingly soothing. The fact that he could indulge in domestic scenarios like this was a feeling he couldn’t quite describe. He could only barely remember the last time he was this peaceful, the feeling of contentment with his life being foreign to him. If he had to recall, it would be back in his childhood, before the attack that changed his fate forever. But now, he had that...peace in his life. Reunited with his brother, slowly bonding over the son he only recently found out existed, and with a woman who cared about Nero just as much as he did (but more openly. Vergil being open with his emotions remained a struggle that he tried hard to work through), he was just...happy.

He opened his eyes, watching as Cassandra finished with the waffles. She drizzled tomato sauce, cheese, and basil all over them. Setting the plate on the table, she walked past him. His nose caught her scent, of herbs and morning mist and too-expensive colog-

No. That was Draco. The beast roiled at the scent. He flinched, thankful that Cassandra wasn’t nearby to notice it.

“Dante! Dinner!” She called before slipping back into the kitchen, followed by Dante padding his way after her call. He rounded around Vergil, pausing next to his brother.

“Did you ask her out?” He asked, ice blue eyes glimmering mischievously.

“Yes.”

“Did she say yes?”

“Of course I did Dante.” Cassandra huffed. “We’re gonna go stargazing on the roof of Devil May Cry in the future.”

“How romantic.” Dante hummed. “I mean, aside from the whole ‘sitting on the roof’-”

“I’m sure it’ll be romantic somehow. Vergil’s very good at reciting poetry.” Cassandra said as she prepared a second plate of pizza waffles. She ignored the sound of Dante gagging. “Yeah yeah, you keep gagging all you want mister ‘has rotten luck with the ladies’.”

“Ow!” Dante whined. “That huuurts.”

“It hurts because it’s true.” Vergil added.

“Beating up on your own brother…” He sighed in mock defeat. “You two are mean.”

“That’s our job.” Cassandra winked at Dante before handing Vergil the plate of pizza waffles. Vergil took the plate and the fork Cassandra offered before sitting down next to Dante. Cassandra made one last plate of pizza waffles for herself, humming softly as the waffle-maker did it’s work. Vergil closed his eyes, quietly eating what she had served. He remembered the first time she made this meal, and how quickly he made his distaste known until he actually tried it. It was this very dish that made him only occasionally question what Cassandra made (most of the time, as he had come to understand it, some of her more stranger options was just to get Dante to eat more than just pizza and sundaes).

His mind moved away from that memory, to that promised date. If the devil within decided to behave, perhaps it would be just a gentle and loving affair, as she deserved after such tribulation. But it all hinged on if the devil inside him behaved. And if even the slightest hint of that scum’s scent sent it into a huffy rage…

He wasn’t too sure how he would deal with that.

---

The skies of Red Grave City were clear, the summer stars shining brightly above them. As most of Red Grave had been ripped apart, the light pollution was not as strong as it used to be, providing one with a clear view of the stars above. Normally, every reminder of the destruction of the city stung Vergil’s heart with guilt, even if he wasn’t in the right mind when he did stab himself with Yamato.

It was here, on the roof of Devil May Cry, that Vergil found Cassandra. In his hand were three books of poetry, one of Shakespearean Sonnets, his prized book of Blake, and a small notebook he kept in his coat pocket. Cassandra had given it to him on his birthday (a day he usually forgot). He had taken that notebook and tried his own hand at poetry. It’s quality was...questionable but, according to Nero, it was passable. Cassandra was busy smoothing out a large plush blanket on the floor of the roof. Not too far away was a basket, full of sweet and savory snacks to pass the time. Very faintly, in the far distance, he swore he heard a piano playing. Returning his gaze to Cassandra, her attire was a simple deep blue dress, the thin linen fluttering with her movements.

He was right, he thought with a soft smirk. Blue did look good on her.

“Vergil, I can feel you staring.” Her words, accented with a tease, made his heart jump. He hid his brief surprise as he strode to her, sitting down on the blanket next to her. She smiled to him, laying herself down on the soft blanket. Vergil shed his coat, setting it next to the blasket of food. He set the books down on his coat. She laid down on the blanket, Vergil settling himself next to her as he took out his book of Shakespearean sonnets.

“Shakespear?” She asked, staring at the beautifully decorated book curiously.

“Why not?” He asked in turn. Cassandra laughed.

“You got me there, Mr. Poetry.” She pecked his cheek before laying down. Vergil settled down next to her and opened the book, flipping through the sonnets until he found an acceptable one. With that, he began to read.

Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all; What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call; All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more. Then if for my love thou my love receivest, I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest; But yet be blam'd, if thou thyself deceivest By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, Although thou steal thee all my poverty; And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury. Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, Kill me with spites, yet we must not be foes.

Cassandra hummed thoughtfully as he finished reading. “That’s not 18, is it?”

“No. Too overdone. This one is his fortieth sonnet.” Vergil explained.

“Hm. 18 is a classic for a reason.” She hummed.

“Every man woos their lover with 18.” He countered. “But you are no ordinary woman, Cassandra.”

“I’m the only one that’s knocked you on your ass.” She said proudly, earning a chuckle from him.

“I believe that was because you pulled a cheap tactic on me.”

“That was one time Vergil!” Cassandra playfully whacked his shoulder. Vergil sat up, placing the book of Shakespere away. His hand took his small notebook, to which Cassandra raised an eyebrow at. “What’s that for?”

“...I’ve been practicing poetry myself.” He admitted, flipping through the pages. “It’s a hobby I’ve been working on when I am not busy.”

“Aww…” She smiled, retaking her place at his side. She rest her head on his shoulder. “Which one are you going to read?”

“Reclaim. My 78th poem.”

“78!? You either have a lot of downtime or you have a lot of ideas to immortalize in poetic form.”

“A little of both.” He smiled at her surprise. “Shall I begin?”

“Yes, please.” She rested a hand on his chest. He wrapped his arm around her, his hand resting on her back, and began to read.

The rightful queen came home today. She came back with her head high, Proudly bringing the slain man's head for all to see. The dress of white was gifted to the winds and carried away. It's shameful imitation of fabric no longer touched her. Now she's taken back her rightful crown, The light basked in her glory as she came to her knight.

She tilted her head, just a little, and suddenly that scent came back to him. Caught off guard, he let go of the book. It landed on his face rather ungracefully, earning a surprised gasp from Cassandra.

“Vergil?”

“I...I’m fine.” He grumbled.

“I doubt it. You’ve been...stiff ever since we came back from Rothes.” She sat up a little. “What’s going on?” Vergil lifted the notebook off his face, meeting her dark green eyes. They were searching him, trying to find out the answer to his state. He let out a sigh, setting the notebook back with his books. He sat up, helping her into a sitting up position, and turned to her.

“That man...Draco, his stench clings to you. It infuriates the devil inside me. It is of no fault of your own. You did what you had to do to save Nero and I am grateful for your bravery.” He paused, taking in a breath. “It still does not change the fact that Draco dared to touch you, dared to be in your presence when he is not worthy of it…”

“You’re jealous.” And there it was, that simple succinct phrase. “Does that mean your devil considers me a mate or something?”

“Along that line, yes.” He sighed.

“So…” Cassandra’s eyes were closed, the spellblade warrior deep in thought. “Your devil considers me as a mate and Draco’s shit caused them to get jealous and see Draco as competition. Does that sound right?” She opened her eyes, seeing Vergil’s confirmation. He nodded. “Ok, so, how do we deal with this problem?” There was a quiet that fell between them, Vergil’s eyes fluttering closed to think. He could feel Cassandra’s gaze on him, intense and searching for an answer to the predicament. Vergil knew the answer but his pride refused to let him say it. “Is it sex.”

“What?” He blinked.

“If it wasn’t something like that, then you would’ve said it by now.” Vergil looked away, a blush on his face. “What? I’m not wrong. You never mince words about what needs to be done to solve a problem unless it’s salacious.” And indeed, she wasn’t wrong. Vergil let out a sigh.

“You are...correct. Specifically, it involves scenting.” He could feel his face burn as he spoke. “It’s...messy.”

“We have a bath. And we paid the water bill for the month.” Cassandra said. “Are you afraid I won’t like it? Or I won’t like what will happen.”

“No. It is the fact that all this was born out of a desire to possess you. And you deserve more than someone who refuses to let go.” Cassandra mulled over his words.

“Earthmother help me, you’re such a gentleman deep down.” She said with a smile. She gently took Vergil’s chin, guiding him to face her. “If you’re worried about me consenting, then don’t worry. Of course I’d consent. I know you know your strength and I trust you to not break me too much.” Her hand moved down to take his hands. “You wield Yamato so skillfully, after all. I’m sure you can control yourself or drive me mad with pleasure.” She glanced up and gave him a wink. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re insatiable.” He breathed.

“I know.” With that, she leaned forward to kiss him. Her hand rested on his hip, the other threading through his silvery-white hair. She gently nipped at his lips, earning a soft surprised gasp. She slid her tongue inside quickly, taking advantage of his surprise to establish her dominance. He chuckled into the kiss, slowly tipping her back onto the blanket. The hand on his hip moved to rub his groin, earning a low groan from the half-devil above her. He pulled back, earning a soft gasp from her. He leaned back, pulling the dress off her. She aided him in the effort, pulling the soft fabric off her. He leaned back, carefully pulling off his vest. He could see the hunger and appreciation in her eyes, she didn’t even try to hide it. Placing the vest next to her dress, he worked on sliding his pants off. His eyes flicked to Cassandra, who was reaching back to undo her bra. He took in a soft breath, watching as it fell away. He pulled off his pants, noticing how Cassandra’s gaze flicked down to his groin and thighs.

“Yes?”

“Lace underwear, huh?” Cassandra asked, quite obviously amused. He tensed for a moment.

“The other options chafe. It’s distracting.”

“I like it.” She leaned forward, pulling the waistband of his underwear and pulling it back and down, exposing his cock. “And it makes your dick look that much more appetizing.” She smirked at his blushing face, pulling him out of his underwear. “And those thighs? To die for.”

“Are you going to spend the rest of the night showering me with compliments?”

“I might.” She winked. “But I’m not wrong.” She reached down, stroking Vergil’s cock. He let out a grunt, eyes fluttering closed. “That’s a look…” She murmured.

“You drive me mad.” She felt his hand grab her hair. “You insatiable harlot.” She grinned at him, meeting his smirk. Before she could reply, he forced her down onto her back. He presented his cock to her. Quickly getting the hint, she took the tip into her mouth and sucked, swirling her tongue around the slit. He let out a grunt, his hand gripping just a little tighter on her hair. He remained still, groaning softly as she leaned forward, bobbing her head on his cock. Vergil groaned as she worked, her hands moving up to massage his thighs, the very part of him she praised to high heavens.

Well, not that hers were lacking in any manner. But that was neither here nor there. His more immediate focus was on Cassandra, his ice blue eyes meeting her dark green. That half-lidded sultry look made him shiver, a look that shot down his spine and made his cock throb. That deep base beast rumbled with approval at the sight...and it wanted more. Despite his attempts to stay in control, the beast within refused. He could feel his body shift and change, slowly as his control loosened. He growled as his load poured down her throat. With the last of his control, he moved back. In moments, he transformed with a burst of demonic energy.

Cassandra stared at the now transformed devil hovering over her, wings flared out behind him. The chill of the oncoming night was gone, replaced by the warmth that radiated from the very devil she was admiring. The devil let out a slow exhale, blue meeting green. She looked up and down the devil’s armored body, the deep blue that pulsated like a glowing heart from his chest to his flared wings. She could hear his tail swaying slowly behind him, faintly seeing the sharpened tip from behind his wings. He shifted back a little, as if he was worried that he had startled her.

“Wow...hot.” Cassandra said, earning an amused rumble from the devil hovering above her. Cassandra sat up, her hand reaching up to cup the side of his face. The devil leaned into her hand, warm against her skin. She smiled at the sight. “What? You thought I would be running for my life at the sight of you?”

“...a little.” He rumbled, voice warped from the demonic energy. “From the shock of my transformation.”

“You’re such a gentleman.” She took his hand and gave the warm palm a kiss. With a pleased rumble, he slowly moved his way down to her thighs. He pushed her thighs apart, noticing Cassandra shiver at the claws that pressed into her skin. Vergil leaned forward, his tongue rubbing slowly against her cunt. It rubbed up and down her slick folds, occasionally rolling around her clit, before moving down to push inside her. She gasped out, her hand reaching down to grab his horn. She pulled him closer to her, wanting to feel more of his tongue against her. Her body shook as he gave her more of what she wanted, his tongue lapping up her juices. Cassandra began to grind her hips against his mouth, shivering at the sensations.

He pulled back, letting out a pleased rumble. Cassandra lifted herself up a little by her elbows, looking down to Vergil’s groin. The carapace protecting his cock had split open, revealing a girthy slick blue cock. The bulbous head was slightly larger than the ridged shaft and, at what she presumed was at the base of his sac, was a knot. The scent that reached her made her shiver, a wave of arousal washing over her.

“Shit…” She panted. What was it about the heady scent that just seemed to make her wetter? She was certain Vergil could tell she was more than aroused, more than ready for him, but he restrained himself. “Veergill…” She whined.

“Yes, my love?”

“Nnn...please, just fuck me.” She panted. She could barely think, the heat at her core was almost overwhelming. She faintly heard a soft but warm hum before the tip of his cock rubbed at her entrance. Her body burned with unbridled lust at the contact, a cry of pleasure ripped from her. The devil pushed the tip into her, earning breathy moans from his writhing mate. With the tip inside her, he paused and looked at her. Even with only the tip inside, he could sense her trying to pull him in. He leaned down, resting his forehead against hers. She reached up, holding tight onto his scaled body. She let out a whine as he pushed forward, sinking more of his cock into her. He could feel her walls squeeze and ripple around him, a sensation that made it difficult to not start thrusting right then and there. The devil let out a slow exhale, trying to not thrust with wild abandon, not yet.

Until she pulled him close, pressing her lips against his fangs. It did him in.

With an aroused growl, the devil began to thrust hard. He felt her legs hoist around his armored midsection. In the back of his mind, he knew she would come out of this scratched up. He would take care of that later, his mind too focused on the unbridled lust that was spurred on by her moans and cries of pleasure. His wings dug into the blanket below, growling as he thrust into her shaking form. The warmth that surrounded them felt as if it was pooling in his core, his thrusts devolving into short harsh movements. He panted as the knot at the base of his cock began to swell and with it, the oncoming orgasm.

“Vergil! I-I’m close!” He heard Cassandra pant. He could feel it, it was so close. With a final thrust, he pushed the knot into her and roared, warm seed pouring into her. With him, he heard her cry out and tense up around his knot, body shaking as her orgasm finally hit her. After a few tense moments, he felt her body go lax. He looked down, seeing her breathing heavily underneath him. His gaze moved down her body to her stomach, slightly swollen from the seed that he poured into her. If he was capable of blushing, he would be doing it. He stayed there for what felt like hours, the knot slowly deswelling. He pulled out, letting out a soft groan. Settling himself next to her, the devil disappeared with a flash of blue, revealing an exhausted flushed Vergil. She turned to him, reaching out to pull him into a brief kiss.

“Cassandra…” Vergil murmured. “I apologize-”

“Don’t.” She smiled at him. “That was...phew, that was something.”

“I could have hurt you.”

“Not much more than sore hips and some scratches, which isn’t a bad thing.” Cassandra slowly sat up, letting out a hiss. “Oof...can you go run a bath? I think I’ll be here for a bit…”

“And leave you alone? Never.” He swiftly picked her up, earning a hiss from her.

“Yowch! Jeez, rail my brains out and all that gentleman behavior goes out the window.”

“You were all for it.” He pointed out. She noticed the hint of a playful smile on his lips.

“Yeah yeah…” Cassandra waved her hand as he slipped back into the shop. Stepping into the bathroom, he laid her in the bathtub. He turned on the water, letting cool water pour from the faucet into the tub. “So, uh…” Vergil glanced at her. “Do I still smell of Draco?”

“No, thankfully.” Vergil sighed.

“Good. I’d rather smell of you than of an old bully.” Vergil wondered if she knew the implication of her words. He turned off the faucet. “I’ll be ok here, you should go get everything up on the roof.”

“Are you sure? It would be remiss if I left you her-”

“Vergil. I’ll be fine. I can bathe myself. You should get that basket of snacks and put it next to our bed so we can munch on those before dozing off.” Cassandra told him firmly. Vergil sighed and stood.

“As you wish.” He left the room. Cassandra went to work on bathing herself, humming softly. She swore she heard swift footsteps, perhaps Vergil pulling on some unknown demon ability. Super speed or something, she didn’t worry herself with it. She continued to wash her body.

“It’s done.” Cassandra jumped and looked up, seeing Vergil back by her side in pants. She stared at him, still shocked at his sudden appearance.

“...fucking hell.” She ran her hand through her damp hair. “I love you Vergil but there’s just some things that surprise me about you.” He chuckled at her mild frustration. Cassandra finished bathing and stepped out of the tub, right into a towel Vergil had for her. She leaned into his strong arms as he dried her body, relaxing. When her body was dry, she leaned against the wall as he drained the tub. As the tub drained, he picked her up bridal style and carried her to their bedroom.

“Would you like me to read to you?” He asked, setting her down on their shared bed.

“Of course.” She smiled at him. “But I’d like to hear some of your works.” Vergil blinked at her before nodding, sliding into bed next to her. He pulled out the notebook and allowed her to cuddle up against his side.

“As you wish, my wild rose.”

#devil may cry #devil may cry oc #devil may cry vergil #spicy #lemon

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lady-divine-writes · 5 years

Text

Truth (Chapter 1 of 2)

(Warning for mild gore associated with the description of a demon.)

“Crowley? Where are you, dear?” Aziraphale hurries through Crowley’s flat in search of his demon, adjusting his cuffs and straightening his collar. He’s dressed to the nines, only he doesn’t know why. Crowley requested it. He claimed tonight was special, so Aziraphale broke out his finest suit. That still might mean his demon will dress in a thin black shirt and jeans but, in his defense, they will be his best jeans.

He rounds the corner to the master bathroom, humming an old hymn to himself. “Are you finished dressing? We’re going to be late for din---“

“Stop! Go away! Don’t look at me!”

Aziraphale stumbles to a halt, catching himself on one foot before he can suffer the misfortune of falling forward on his face. Once he regains his balance, he tries to abide by his demon’s wishes, the pain in Crowley’s voice compelling him to turn away, but it’s too late.

He’s already seen.

Crowley, naked, curled into a partial ball, shredded wings trembling as they try fruitlessly to shield his distorted form.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cries, but out of respect, he doesn’t rush to help regardless of the voice in his head screaming for him to do exactly that. “What happened? Were you attacked? Did a … did a demon get in? Or an angel?” He looks around, searching for any sign of an intruder, but he detects nothing. This bathroom, the bedroom before it, the whole flat smells like Crowley, feels like Crowley. Aside from the touches of Aziraphale blossoming in small corners of every room, there’s no trace of anyone else.

“I’d hoped you’d never see me like this,” Crowley whispers.

“See you like what?” Aziraphale tiptoes closer, needing to be near his demon, to ease his suffering if he can. “What’s wrong, Crowley? What’s happened to you?”

Crowley sighs straight to his bones, defeated. His wings, bent at unnatural angles and nearly featherless, fall away, the strain of keeping them up pushing the boundaries of his strength. He rolls to his knees, bowed low to the floor, reminiscent of a child in prayer. Sparse strands of slate black hair cling to his hollow cheeks; skeletal fingers, sprouting jagged talons, cover his eyes. “This is who I am, Aziraphale. This is what I look like … when I’m not in human form.”

“I---I thought you were a serpent,” Aziraphale stutters, mind racing, attempting to make sense of this, to rectify the fact that this (he hates to think it) monstrosity lying on the floor at his feet is his Crowley.

Crowley shakes his head, the bones in his neck crackling loudly with the movement. “I wish it were that simple.”

Aziraphale takes a step, then another. Crowley turns his head toward him, void black eyes watching his slow progression forward, but he doesn’t object. Aziraphale accepts that as a sign, taking another step until he’s a foot away from Crowley’s mangled right wing.

‘My God,’ he thinks. He’d never thought, never realized …

For six thousand years, he’d seen Crowley in human form. A serpent a handful of times, but mostly human. But human Crowley is a façade. It’s how he imagines himself to be. His human form, and the fact that he maintains it during times when other demons wouldn’t see the need, are two of the most optimistic things about him.

Some might blame vanity, but Aziraphale chooses to believe otherwise.

In truth, Crowley is a demon.

And this is his demon form.

Scarred.

Deformed.

Decaying.

Aziraphale kneels beside him. “H-how … how did you get this way?”

“I … I changed for a moment.” Crowley sniffs. “I usually don’t because … I don’t want to forget ...”

“But why did you change?”

“I got anxious? And now … I---I can’t remember how to change back.”

Anxious? That strikes Aziraphale as odd. Why would Crowley get anxious over dinner? They’ve dined together dozens of times.

“Are you injured?” Aziraphale’s eyes follow Crowley’s spine where it runs between his wings, the bones protruding as if the greying flesh covering them were no thicker than onion skin. Cracks form before his eyes when Crowley breathes too deep. Oily gunk leaks from the wounds, searing everywhere it touches, and from the burns, maggots form, spilling onto the floor, squirming helplessly on the tile.

Aziraphale has been in the company of demons before during his stint in hell as Crowley. He’s seen them as they are – rotting flesh, black eyes, fetid wounds oozing pus and crusted over with coagulated blood, some with dagger sharp teeth, some with their teeth disintegrating out of their heads. He’s been told that, where the fallen are concerned, the punishment fits the crime. Hence, the worse they behaved, the more vile they appear.

As far as he knows, Hastur, who in his demon form is a conglomeration of maggots bound together by mucous and some sort of evil goop, holds the highest honor in hell. And whereas he definitely deserves it, in Aziraphale’s opinion, whoever created that system also has a penchant for overreaction.

For the sins Crowley committed that got him exiled from heaven – the handling of which, over time, Aziraphale himself has begun to question - he doesn’t deserve this.

Regardless of his own beliefs, Aziraphale must have realized that hiding underneath the glamour of Crowley’s human form, something ghastly lay beneath. If he had only known …

… it wouldn’t have changed a thing. Crowley’s human form – the handsome man with the serpent eyes and the exceptional sense of style - appeals to Aziraphale because Aziraphale has seen the heart of the being inside. He sees it now in this broken creature before him, turning himself nearly inside out to hide his shame.

“No. I’m not injured. I just need to get back … need to change back …”

“It’s all right,” Aziraphale says soothingly, reaching out to lay hands on his demon. “I can just …”

“No!” Crowley snaps, but his face crumbles immediately after. This isn’t Aziraphale’s fault. He shouldn’t be taking this out on him. But his first instinct is to push him away, bolt out of this room, jump in his car, and drive – leave and not return for at least a hundred years.

But that’s his pride talking. He needs Aziraphale now, in this horrible moment, more than ever.

“I don’t … I don’t want to be miracled. Please. I just want to remember … who I am.”

Who I choose to be, he means because this … this distasteful creature, covered in sores and pot-marked flesh, is his true form.

Aziraphale scoots closer, fitting himself beneath the remains of Crowley’s wing. Crowley shrinks away, but Aziraphale extends a hand.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please, let me help you.”

Crowley doesn’t. He can’t. He has so many regrets from his thousands of years on Earth, but this tops them all. But his biggest regret isn’t in letting Aziraphale see him this way. He would have eventually. Crowley is a demon. Lying is in his manifesto. But the way he feels for his angel, the way he knows his angel feels about him - keeping this a secret for too much longer would have been unforgivable, even for him.

No, his biggest regret is that he’s lived this lie so long, he almost convinced himself it was real.

When Crowley doesn’t move, Aziraphale takes the initiative and inches closer, hand still extended, pleading with his entire body for Crowley to take it.

“Please,” Aziraphale repeats. “We can do this. Together.”

With a slight nod, Crowley claws his way towards him, meets him half way, and hides his face in his angel’s lap. He doesn’t want Aziraphale to see more than he already has. If this doesn’t work and Crowley has to leave, descend into hell and stay there, he doesn’t want Aziraphale to remember him this way.

Aziraphale puts a hand on the crown of his demon’s head, silently praying for his strength. “What do you need, Crowley?”

“I need … to remember. That’s all. Just … remember …”

“You have wavy red hair down to your shoulders, like the soft parting rays of a summer sunset.” Aziraphale cards his fingers through Crowley’s thin hair the way he would any other time they’re together, touches his neck and spine with soft fingertips, lays kisses on his shattered wing. “You part it down the middle so it frames your face. You never fail to look ten years younger than me. I have a feeling you do that on purpose.”

“Maybe …” Crowley teases in a quiet voice and Aziraphale smiles.

He’s not gone. He hasn’t left me. Not yet.

“You have cunning yellow serpent eyes; a broad forehead; high cheekbones; a square, masculine chin …”

On and on, Aziraphale continues, describing his Crowley from heart, the way he sees him, from his all too kissable lips (which finally makes Crowley laugh) to the fact that, as hard as he tries to fight it, from time to time, he still has faith in the good and the beautiful and the wonderful things on Earth. Aziraphale feels Crowley shiver as he tries to re-form into the man he’s describing, watches scraggly black hair turn brown, then blond, then settle at last on a gorgeous fire red. The maggots disappear, absorbed into the breath of the universe. Sores heal. Pale, grey skin darkens, becomes thicker. Maps of veins and arteries form, then disappear beneath healthier, human flesh. Muscles grow and sculpt beneath Aziraphale’s fingers as his hand moves from Crowley’s head down his back.

His words create a path that Crowley’s magic follows, but his fingers seem to heal on contact with no miracling required.

Crowley’s shuddering slows as his body becomes familiar, more recognizable, and Aziraphale’s heart skips.

“Your wings are raven black,” he says, those words causing feathers to grow, “and shine like obsidian. You dress better than anyone I’ve ever known … (*clears his throat*) aside from me. You can charm the honey out of a bee hive, and you’re a fantastic dancer. A-and I know you don’t like to hear it, but when you want to be, you can be an incredibly kind and generous person.”

“Sh-shut up,” Crowley mutters, but lightly. His wings straighten and extend, full and unbent as the first time Aziraphale saw them. A ripple of red light travels the length of Crowley’s body from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, this sweep restoring the clothes he’d been wearing – a crisp black dress shirt with, of all things, a tartan collar, and black slacks.

Crowley breathes in deep, lets it out slowly, gathering his strength, and stealing a moment to swallow his wounded pride. He raises his head, then his hands to the level of his eyes. He looks them over, flexes them, laughing with relief. He chances a look into his angel’s eyes, Aziraphale’s expression all he needs to see to know that it worked.

And it did.

“I’m … I’m back!”

“You may have looked different, my dear, but you never left.”

“Wait …” Crowley runs a hand through his hair “… you told me my hair is long, but I just got it cut.”

“True, but that was a mistake. I’ve rectified that for you. I’ve always liked it this way better.”

“Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Crowley blinks his eyes, slowly sitting up, getting comfortable again in his human form. He catches a glimpse of the wall clock.

9:47.

How did two hours zip by so quickly?

“I’m sorry, love, but we may have missed our reservation,” he says. “I can miracle us up another if you’d like.”

“I …”

Their gazes land on it at the same time – Crowley’s on purpose and Aziraphale’s by accident. It sits not too far from Aziraphale’s hand, its shape unmistakable, its purpose undeniable, and Aziraphale thinks he may be starting to understand.

“It’s all right,” he says, picking up the little black box under his demon’s watchful gaze and handing it to him. “Actually, I think maybe it would be nice to stay in tonight, in case we’d like to do some celebrating. What do you say?”

Crowley wraps his fingers around the box, holds it over his heart, but he only has eyes for Aziraphale. “I do.”

#Good Omens #Good Omens Fanfic #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley #frankie writes #angst

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washedupfae · 5 years

Text

Story time! How Frail The Heart. TBC

This drabble, story, I have no idea what it will be yet since I just type and go, but this was inspired by @battlemaiden13 for a beautiful yet heart breaking reply to an ask. Please go check out their work, I promise you, it is well worth the read. Listening to Gregorian- My Heart Will go on.

Title: How Frail The Heart. Reader/Underfell Papyrus. Rating: TW: Character death, heart ache. WIP

The Great and Terrible Papyrus held many traits and talents, of which he would often boast.. rather loudly, to further proclaim his superior stance over the rabble he was forced to share the Underground with. Well, there had to be rabble after all, else how well would they know how great and terrible he was, after all? Someone must shine in the imprisoning dark, and Papyrus was more then willing to be this shining diamond in the rough.

This was a trait he thought that he alone carried, no one could hold a candle to his brilliance.. and yet, when the barrier was shattered, his eye lights were greeted to an entire new world. A world filled with people.. humans mostly, predominately. Any plans to over throw the human race, were swiftly abandoned. That war would have to wait, till the monsters had better odds in their favor.

Be it through sheer number, or through something their royal scientist and her team could concoct up. Resources no longer being so scarce, the later seemed more likely, at least within King Asgore's life time, the mad king had already held the throne for far more years then anyone had expected, and there were still rumors.. rumors that the Queen might yet arise from the ashes, the faded memory of her people, and over throw her former paramour.

These plans, these rumors however, were little concern to Papyrus as of late. With humanity holding the monster race at arm's length, granting only the barest of rights for now, there were more important matters at hand. Namely, uncovering just what secrets the human world held from him. If one is to defeat and enemy, one must know their enemy well. It was through this..devising, that he happened to met you. Out of all the people, monster and human alike.. the odds so stacked against him, he met you, his soul mate.

There stood a firm understanding among monster kind, to reveal as little to humanity on their knowledge of souls as possible. Soul mates being one of the more taboo topics to let slip, let alone actually having a human's soul resonate so strongly that it would fall into perfect harmony with but one other soul, a monster's soul. It was unheard of! It was unprecedented and further more.. it was highly illegal to pursue on either party's behalf.

There were yet still humans who believed the tales of old, after all.. why had the term 'Monster' been used to describe the most vile, for so many centuries now? The old fables were beginning to resurface, and with those fears and stories, came hatred. The monsters were not innocent in this department neither, their own fears of humanity... of the souls' power and bodies that existed beyond death, these facts went against the grain, against everything the monsters had held to be true. Now faced with possible foes with every encounter, tensions were high , and tempers were short.

But you, you were a strange one. A small wisp of a human, flitting about as though your feet barely touched the ground. You passed him by, on one of the many evenings in which Sans had invoked his brother's ire. Having to retrieve Sans from yet another dive, had proven to be a daily struggle. The 'lesser' monster, at least in Papyrus' eye lights, had slipped so far from what he had once held as a not too lofty goal for his brother.

Sans had sunk into depression and drink once they hit the surface, and had not come up for air yet. So Papyrus took matters into his own hands, installing an app in his brother's phone, to keep track of him, and come curfew, if Sans had not yet returned home, he could be easily located. It was on one of these irritating ventures, that he happened to spot you.. well, less he saw you, and more of the fact he heard you.

The song of your soul. It had broken through the din and chaos of the busy streets to capture his attention, to enthrall his own soul in a yearning he had thought he had out grown many years ago. The Underground was only so vast, and as a youth, Papyrus had searched every inch of it that he could, searching for another whose soul would reach out for his own.. He had not uncovered one, and thusly had buried the hope of another soul as perfect as his own, existing and waiting for him.

Brother forgotten for but a few moments, Sans could spare the time after all, Papyrus had pushed through the throng of busy humans.. the streets were overcrowded as yet another one of their silly holidays was fast approaching. He had taken offense, at first, to the way his kind was mocked by this silly tradition, but in time had soften enough to even hand out a small offering of candy when the human whelps would show up at their door step. Two years now, two years he had to over look hanging, plastic skeletons, inflatable ghouls, and 'ghosts' hanging from his neighbor's trees another with a plethora of other decorations scattering their yards.

Another holiday, another chance he could have missed you, but somehow , through it all, your soul had finally found his. It sung out for him, in a melody that only his own could capture. As a moth to a candle, he was drawn to you. Across the streets, through the crowd, and into a convince store decked out with yet more of those cheap, plastic decorations.. it was there he saw you.

Small. You were so small, at least compared to his own stature. Your soul spiked and hummed with eager anticipation, something you might brush off as a shiver or just a touch of holiday spirit washing over you.. but to Papyrus, it was the confirmation he needed. His soul mate.. his perfect soul mate, was human. A lowly human at that. Kneeling on a tiled floor that he was most certain was filthy due to the heavy traffic of people who passed over it each day.. you were kneeling, unpacking a box of stars knows what.. he really had lost focus on anything but you, as you restocked the shelves before you.

A small tremor from your soul had him clutch at his ribs, he could not stop the shard of ice from striking his soul.. whatever that may have been, he would have to inquire about it later, for now.. he had to figure out what he was to do next. Of course what did he do? He made a bloody fool of himself! Snatching up the first item he could reach, he flipped the item over to read over its contents. Magic flooded through his bones, heating up his features with shame as he shoved the 'personal hygiene' item back onto the shelf..of course causing several more of the offending products to come raining down.. right beside you.

Of course he tried to cover up his shame, sweeping down at once to collect his mishap and show you just how grand of a monster he was. Silly, disgusting human products were not something to get so worked up over! He had to keep a cool head about him, keep his wits and not blow this first impression... annnnd you were laughing. A small, almost timid sound, the tinkle of a bell. Your laughter was light and sweet, unlike the sort he had known most of his life.

You said.. something, he could not quite recall, something begging his pardon as you quickly stepped in to assist him. Once again, your lips were moving, your soft voice filled his senses, his soul was in rapture to listen and yet not a word lingered with him. Somehow he managed to come up with an excuse why he had been standing near you.. this store, well thankfully had a bag of small chocolates not far from the shelf of his despair, ah a fine reason to be here, given the season after all.

The smile you gave him, was almost a little too knowing. You assisted him, picking out a bag which would do for the amount of trick or treaters he claimed to be expecting this holiday, not many of course, given the fact he had scared off most of the human children the first year.. why did he stumble over that story?

Throughout his babbling, something he never did mind you, you listened and chimed in at just the right moments. It was only later, as he stood outside the door of the store, plastic bag in one hand, and a small slip of paper with your name neatly scrawled over it, along with a series of numbers, that he realized what had just happened. He.. He had invited you over for a Halloween party?! He had not been planning such a thing and yet.. yet he had just invited you to one, one at his house.. a party he had to put together in three damn days!!

-TBC- Got to take a small break, but posting this so I can make myself return to it C_C..

#Work in progress #Underfell Papyrus #Underfell Papyrus/Reader #Battlemaiden13 ask inspired

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