#also I’m pretty sure old rich people will die again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

husbandohunter · 3 years

Note

May I request a Childe X Reader fanfic where the reader has been pushing herself too hard lately and so Childe has to forcefully get her to rest? ty

By my side [Childe x Reader]//Genshin Impact

Synopsis: You were an artist and he was an adventurer. Two people from vast backgrounds and Childe just wants to spend some time of his busy life with you. However, things didn't really go his way...at first.

(Childe x F!reader. Its all fluff)

(A/n): Perfect request anon. I too, would like to have a Childe in my life. Been getting 5-6 hours of sleep on average 😃😁. Yeah kind tossed some extra ideas with artist s/o, its a perfect reason for anyone to be busy.

============================

Once recieving the permission to take a week off from his diplomatic duties, the first thing Childe thought of was none other than his lovely significant other.

The harbinger knew quite well what lays ahead of his ventures to Liyue. During his quest for the archon's gnosis, he encountered many interesting events, such as meeting the rumoured traveller hailing from afar and a broke yet courteous man who turned out to be the ultimate ruler of this very country he walks upon then there was the battle against a dead god until he revived it using the sigil of permission. All of them were great additions to his story as Ajax the hero, something he always wanted to pursue since childhood. In which, also gave him something nice to write about when preparing letters for his siblings living back home. But little did the harbinger know that he'll one day bump into the heroine. A little too soon. Through your little art shop, he met you, a sweet and audacious woman with plenty of humour. That was how it all began.

While he strides down the streets between Liyue's exquisite buildings, Childe suddenly stops in his tracks and looks up to the sky. There, was painted a scenery of an evening dusk, sun rays relfected across until red and orange hues cast a river stream that led to the ends of the world. He watched the birds follow that streak like it was a path made for them to fly towards. A new adventure. You would have loved to captured this in your pictures.

And then he wonders, what might you be painting right now?

"Hey babe, I'm home~"

In a sing-song voice he calls out to you by your nick-name. You knew that Childe was an active member of the Fatui and that his time was limited, hence he made sure to write to you as well. Of course long distant relationships only makes the waiting more anticipated. When he does pay a visit, you'd run straight into his open arms, leaping off your feet to engulf him in one enourmous embrace. Then his hands will hold against your waist as he spins your round and around in the air, stealing the laughter out of your lungs before planting you back on the floor. Sometimes Childe would consider that being far away wasn't be such a bad idea as long as he was able to experience this, the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory. However...

"That's great."

He was met by a response similar to the wintry grace of Snezhnaya.

Huh?

All the fantasies he had from earlier shatters in the background as he stands there frozen. You didn't even spare a glance to the entrance, eyes still glued to the large canvas displayed at your front, too busy to even care. Childe clicks his tongue between the awkward silence with an uncertain expression. When there was no signs of initiation on your part, he shuffled his way to where you were and observes from behind.

"Well you're particularly quiet today," he muses to himself, placing a hand over his hip, "I guess that painting of yours must be really important then."

It was obvious that he was trying to nudge you into his favour. Something that you've found endearing was how quickly your boyfriend can be when he's in a needy state. So you quickly twisted over to peck him on the cheek before going back to work.

"That's better," Childe satisfiedly grins, "So who is this project for?"

"It's a commission requested by a wealthy family serving the Qixing. They're really influential in terms of the market and can really give me a competitive edge. I have to get it done in five days."

His tone flactuates as he squints his eyes, "Five days you say," he disliked the news of your schedule taking over his own, Childe only managed to take a week off and after that, he'll be away for quite some time, "Why don't you take a break? From the looks of your progress, it seems to me that you've been working on it for hours. I've got plenty of interesting stories to tell and you know, nothing can compare to sharing a warm meal within your company," he leans down to your ear level, "How does that sound?"

Several seconds went by as he waits for some sort of reaction, "Oh. Right," you blurted out and the harbinger only smiles, "I made some food earlier this morning. You can go help yourself if you're hungry."

Today was not his day.

Childe pulls out the wooden chair and slumps into the seat, a defeated huff escaping his mouth as he stared at the crystal shrimp placed on the table. It was hastily wrapped by plastic, most likely cold for a while, just like the romantic evening he had planned in his head. Normally you'll be sitting on the otherside while listening to the many tales he went through along the way. Although painting was your passion, it was undeniable that you also enjoyed his kind of lifestyle if you ever had the choice. He was rather surprised on how someone ambitious like him would end up with such a simplistic person but quickly accepted it as life was meant to be unpredictable, just the way he likes it. As Childe entertains you with his stories, he'll listen to your giggles amidst eating the homecooked meals that you both prepared together.

"I wonder if she ate already," he mumbled to his lone self. You most likely did but Childe knows you well. Artists are obsessed and they can go as far as to neglecting their own health for the sake of their masterpieces. Hence, he made sure to remind you to eat properly through the letters he wrote to you.

The harbinger takes a quick glance around the kitchen. It was a mess. The cupboards were slightly opened, metal pots were still displayed on the stone stove and the stench coming from the sink....

Childe pushes himsel up to see what was the cause.

Not even the dishes were washed.

Running his fingers through his bangs, he sighs wearily, "Old habits die hard huh?" And above all else, when artists are obsessed they also forget how disorganized they can become. Childe begins to roll up his sleeves before taking off his gloves. At times like this he'll have to pitch in and take care of it for you, "Looks like I'll be here for a while."

Throughout three sunsets and three moonrises, Childe had no option but to observe you from afar, minus the few attempts he made to regain your attention again. How you would go to bed much later than him, waking up before he opens his eyes and the effort he put into making your food only left with too many leftovers. It wasn't that you were unappreciative, instead, your mind had become too focused that your body was considered a second priority. Like anyone else, Childe genuinely thought you possessed great talent and supports you wholeheartedly. He loved it when you painted pictures just for him as if they were scenes coming out of his hero story, reminded by his adventures, capturing every detail. However he also needed to learn how to deal with this stubborn side of yours.

"Hey babe, I just finished preparing our dinner. Don't you smell that? Such a rich aroma, you should go eat."

"I'm busy."

Your diet were just small bites, the rest being substituted by coffee. Childe could clearly tell that you weren't getting enough sleep either as there were dark circles forming underneath your eyes and slowly, he was starting to become a little irritated.

Three hours passed midnight but you were still awake in the same place doing the same thing. Childe leans against the doorframe with arms folded, already changed into his sleeping clothes. He clears his throat to break the silence, "Ahem."

Your wrist hangs in mid air by the sound of a strange visitor, it was your boyfriend. Gaze in a daze, you lazily turned your head, "What time is it?"

"Way passed the sleeping hours as you can see," he points with his thumb at the table clock in a half-hearted manner, "You should already be in bed by now and don't think you can coax yourself out of the situation this time," his eyes parted in slits as he added with a smile, "Otherwise I might just have to force you myself."

You shook your head, "Give me one more hour? There's some finishing touches I really want to add so," clasping your hands together, you beamed sweetly, "Pretty please? I'll finish up soon."

"Oh really?" Childe challenges, head tossed back like he was interrogating you instead, "I believe that was also what you told me yesterday. And the day before? Adding up all of those days that would be.....four in total?" He deliberately counts upon his fingers before facing you again, this time his expression was slightly more serious, "As much as I find your determination remarkable, there are moments when you need to consider a sufficient amount of rest and this just isn't going to cut it."

"Four days already?!" You exclaimed, "Jeez, I don't even know if I'm halfway done."

Pressing his lips together, Childe glares in an acutely deadpanned countenance, it was also his time too, "Can't you ask this commissioner to extend your due date to next week? In your case, mora shouldn't be the issue since, well...you're dating me anyways."

It's true. Childe was the main reason why you didn't have to live as a starving artist. He had all your expenses fully covered from the marketing aspect to your residence, you simply chose to work out of pure will.

"I don't want to always rely on you so much," you confessed, "This commissioner could turn my whole career around. If I'm able to gain his favour, maybe I'll get promoted to a court painter for the Qixing! Who knows when there will ever be a chance like this again," pumping your fists, you spoke purposefully, "I'll pull an all nighters if I have to!"

Childe brings his hand to his forehead, you looked as if you were nearly about to collapse and yet still considering the option of an all-nighters? The harbinger should've detained you days prior before.

"Hm? Childe, what's wrong?" He suddenly falls deadly quiet and you watched him walk closer towards you, "What are--"

Hooking an arm behind your knees and the other at your back, your boyfriend lifts you up in one full swoop as he tossed you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Guess we'll have to do things the hard way," he remarks cheerfully.

"W-Wait," you flailed your arms and kicked your legs but to no avail. Childe was an experienced combatant indeed, "Put me down! I have work to do."

Your protests fall upon deaf ears as the harbinger carries you to your room. You were oddly lighter than the last time he carried you, the strength less vigor than before, it was obvious that your body was in need of relaxation. He suddenly thinks there was a possibility that you would maintain this habit while he was absent.

I should probably visit more often.

Using his free leg to nudge the door open, he places you upon the shared bed in a gentle manner. You winced at the impact of the soft sheets, surprised by how much it affect you.

"There we go. All done. Man, you really are a stubborn one, aren't you. Makes me a little worried since I can't spoil you all the time."

He quickly invited himself to the empty space on your bedside and wrapped his arms around your figure, pulling you close and feeling you whole. Childe made sure there was no escape once putting his chin above your hairline so that you could feel his warmth as much as possible.

"This is--" you stuttered. His tactic was enough to make your limbs soften and you could almost hear him smirk into the distance, "This is cheating..."

"You think so?" He comments as if pledging innocence, "I don't know babe. Where I come from those who take the initiative are the ones who end up claiming the prize," pulling back, Childe takes the opportunity to observe your pouty face, "I don't make the rules. It's just how it goes."

You wanted to argue back but he suddenly took the bedsheets and covered both of your bodies with, completely trapping you with his presence. He snuggles into you further as if you were a bear made of linen and you felt the drowsiness taking over your mind. The way he gently pats down the back of your head was enough to instantly lull you into a deep sleep.

"Cheater," you mumbled.

He laughs softly, the rumbles emitting through his chest, "I love you too babe."

Even after you've let go of your resistance, Childe continues his actions until he was sure that you were resting. He had been longing to touch you like this since living a chaotic life only made peaceful moments much sweeter, "You're such a hard-worker you know that? I'm proud of you but you have to know when to call it a day," he whispers, "If not, how can I go on trips while knowing that you're still refusing to eat properly?"

You closed your eyes and said nothing in return. All your senses were too cloudy to come up with a reassuring response. Childe listens to the way your breath evens as you intake his scent during the process. It smelled like the soap you used in the showers, lotus leaves mixed with his own unique musk. You could only focus on him. His comforting embrace. His slightly accelerating heartbeat because you were together with him.

Letting out one final yawn, you succumbed to his spell and allowed your energy to drift away.

The corners of his lips tug upwards, "Sleep well princess."

Childe reaches over to your desk drawer and shuts off the alarm clock before turning over to face you again. He couldn't fall asleep immediately, not when he had to consider taking care of the commissioner who gave you an impossible deadline. But that will be saved for another day, for now, he observes in silent serenity.

If he were to quit his job for a year, what would his life be like?

Peaceful. Something opposite of what he was living right now. Something similar to the life he had back home. As you arrange the many paintings in your little home, he'll offer to help you among the places you couldn't reach. Without a doubt, Childe was far taller in comparison. Taking strolls into the streets and trying the new dishes the merchants came up with. Then in the evenings, you'll both go to dinner dates while listening to the storyteller revealing the rumours of the legendary Tianquan Qixing. Although Childe loved the adventurous life he led, he had to admit that your domesticity and family-bringing atmosphere was a tempting idea.

Maybe one day.

He lightly takes a strand that had fallen over your nose and tucked it smoothly behind your ear. The soft snores coming out of your parted lips caused his gaze to melt. And so he steals them with his own, placing a chaste goodnight kiss.

One day I'll be sure to bring my family here with us.

Closing his eyes, he joins you in your slumber, hoping to see all that he envisioned in his dreams.

#genshin impact #childe x reader #childe genshin impact #genshin childe #childe #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia #genshin impact childe #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scenarios #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons

382 notes · View notes

soft-october-night · 3 years

Text

The Love Interests in the Works of Jane Austen: An Assessment

This is an "extremely scientific" and "thoroughly researched" ranking based on personality, money, family and connections, and is a bit of a blend between the book characterizations and the film characterizations (and is in no way only based on my own opinions). Here we go, grouped by book but not much else.

Edmund Bertram: absolute trash. His family has treated you unbelievably shitty since day one and not only has he BARELY noticed, he ALSO has treated you shitty. Will fall in love with someone beautiful and fun and when she dumps him will come crawling to you for a rebound. His passion for you is so lackluster that even the esteemed author who wrote about it barely spared a paragraph on your relationship. Has a job but only because his dad owns the land the church is built on. You’ll gain no connections or family by marrying him, since he’s literally your cousin. 0/10

Henry Crawford: There IS such thing as too much fun, and that is never clearer than in this man, who will try to seduce you as a game, freak out when his middling overtures don’t work and then try and seduce you “for really real” this time. You will definitely move up in the world if you marry him, and if you play your cards right it seems like his sister is also just REALLY into you, so see how that goes. Life will be pretty okay until you find him in bed with one (or more, who knows) of your relations. 3/10, 8/10 if you’re into that

John Willoughby: Will be like something out of a romance novel, you’re thinking he’s going to propose and then he just fucking ghosts you and embarrasses the fuck out of you at a party by acting like he doesn’t know you. Somehow marry him (congrats on the inheritance you must have, btw) and get ready to take a backseat to the whims of his aunt for as long as she lives. 1/10, at least you get to live in a nice house.

Edward Ferrars: Oh Edward. He’s a bit of a mess, isn’t he? Super kind, your family loves him, he made a bunch of stupid decisions in his youth that are coming back to bite him in the ass. He is loyal to an absolute fault, but you luck out when his fiance turns out to be a bit of a gold digger and dumps him when his mom disowns him. He doesn’t have a job and neither do you, but his family doesn’t wanna speak to him (lucky you!) and you’ll be happy and poor together if you two can work on your communication skills. 7/10.

Colonel Brandon: He’s got a nice house, the respect of his friends and the community, and he has a LOT of passion. He’ll give your sister’s penniless husband a job, dramatically rescue you from a rainstorm, make sure his dead girlfriend’s daughter is happy and taken care of even after your ex fucks HER over too, and is all around a pretty decent guy. Just. Uh. Maybe, kinda, sorta, needs to go after women his own age and is probably with you because you remind him of his dead girlfriend. 5/10 with the wildly inappropriate age gap, 9/10 without it.

Mr. Wickham: Please don’t. He’s a thirsty bitch who lives for drama and you think he’s fun until you find out he tried to sleep with one teenage girl and is making eyes at your fifteen year old sister behind your back. Marry him (through the grace of mysterious benefactors, cause he ain’t marrying anyone unless he’s paid the right price) and get ready for a life of being surrounded by military men in the north of England while your husband tries to fuck everything that moves. Work that out somehow with him and you might actually be happy. 0/10.

Mr. Bingley: He is a softboi who will do literally anything his friends tell him to do. He is SUPER rich, and marrying him will throw your sister’s into the path of other rich men and he is REALLY into you, but get ready to be sucking up to his sisters for literally the rest of your life. Unless he can ship Miss Bingley off to live with Mrs. Hurst, have fun trying to wage a war of barely concealed insults over the breakfast table every morning, and if you’re marrying Bingley I’m sorry but that is a war you just cannot win. He doesn’t have a job but he does have five thousand a year, and neither of you can manage money. You’ll love simply and deeply and be happy as any two can be. 8/10.

Mr. Collins: Last resort to rescue yourself from a life of being a burden to your parents until they die and then having to become a governess or something. Has a job but never shuts up about his boss. You will have to rearrange everything in your house according to his boss’ will. 2/10

Mr. Darcy: Is a anxious disaster who doesn’t know how to talk to girls at parties and needs to learn how say no to going out when he’s just not feeling it. He doesn’t have a job because he’s a landlord; he owns half of Derbyshire and has ten thousand a year, but turns out that all of that money and land can’t buy tact or charisma. Doesn’t know how to flirt and thinks he’s doing a great job (he’s not). He’ll propose to you out of the fucking blue one day by insulting literally everything about you, but don’t worry! Reading his letter unlocks Darcy 2.0. This patched version gives him humility, a personality, and he WILL gain the ability to rescue your family from utter ruin. Marry him and enjoy a life of luxury and witty ripostes, but beware! You ARE going to have to deal with Lady Catherine until the day she dies, not to mention Caroline Bingley’s barely concealed contempt every time you meet in polite company. Darcy 1.0 3/10, Darcy 2.0 8/10.

Captain Wentworth: Absolutely top tier. Has a job, has earned everything he has, including a fortune and the respect of his peers, superiors, and subordinates. His sister and her husband are practically the only happily older married couple you know, his friends are super fun and nice (even the dour one with all the poetry knows how to have a polite conversation). If you dumped him ten years ago on the advice of your almost comically shitty family yeah, he’s going to hold a grudge, but he WILL NEVER STOP LOVING YOU and the MOMENT he gets over his pride will do everything and anything in his power (including leaping the bounds of propriety!) to win you back. Based on his love, money, and connections you should RUN, not walk, into his arms TODAY and allow him to rescue you from your family and whisk you off to see the world on his ship, at least until Napoleon busts out of Elba. 12/10

Mr. Eliot: Will lose all your old schoolfriend’s husband’s money in a bad deal, has debts out the ass, might be trying to get with either you or the woman your dad has been flirting with for the last few years, you’re not sure. Is totally ruining the rekindling relationship you’re trying to get going with your far superior ex. He wants the land and title your dad has and will stop at nothing to get it. Marry him and you can move back into your old house (maybe? it’s a little unclear what with all the debts) but have every single cent your mother left you immediately put into some dumbass scheme. 1/10

Henry Tilney: another softboi who just wants to act in the school play while his dad and brother plan to ship him off to military school and berate him for not joining the football team. Bring him shopping with you to pick out dresses, spend long nights over tea chatting about books. Has a job, but again, only because his dad owns the land the church is on. Loves you even though you have some very strange ideas about his house, and will forgive you when he realizes you thought his dad either murdered or imprisoned his mom. If he can find the courage to tell his dad to fuck off and let him live his own life, expect a long, happy marriage of snuggling together in a window seat somewhere, sipping tea and reading. 9/10

John Thorpe: Trash bastard man. Peaked in whatever equivalent of high school he had. Shitty and rude to everyone, would post racist memes on facebook and start fights if he could, all while being shitty and manipulative and CREEPILY possessive of you. -2/10

Robert Martin: A sweet himbo farmer who just wants to love and worship you. He has a job, is pretty rich, and while his connections may not be above his class, he’s an earnest boy who wants to take care of you and be taken care of in turn. Marry him the first time, absolutely do NOT let your friend influence you against him, because who KNOWS if you will get a second proposal! (You will, he likes you THAT much.) Marry him and enjoy a sweet, simple life of exactly zero drama (unless your friend is around). 7/10

Mr. Elton: Trifling gold digging trash who doesn’t know what the word no means. Do not marry, unless you want to be censured by decent, hardworking people -1/10

Frank Churchill: Knows how to have fun, but you know there’s something more going on. He won’t let you see his letters, he sends out secret notes, then he smiles and tells you that everything is totally a okay. Another boy with ANOTHER overbearing aunt, only this one doesn’t know how to say no. Marry him if you’ve got the money, but he will always be longing after the poor girl next door that auntie wouldn’t let him married, and would have cheated on you already if she was into it. 3/10

Mr. Knightly: He’s your brother in law and you’ve known him almost your whole life, so that’s a little sus, but he is also the ONLY person in your entire life who knows how to tell you no (and you really, REALLY need to be told no sometimes.) He is extremely wealthy, but more importantly he’s kind and caring about people who are considered “beneath” him. He will break his weird no dancing rule to dance with your shy friend, he will ream you out for being shitty to unwed spinsters who value your opinion, and somehow has the correct read on everyone all the time. You will gain no connections by marrying him, since the two of you already have the exact same connections anyway, but the two of you should be content in a test of wills that will last a lifetime. You’ll be very happy as long as he doesn’t get super pedantic and start correcting you about everything. 7/10

#jane austen #pride and prejudice #persuasion #sense and sensibility #emma #mansfield park #northanger abbey #mr darcy #captain wentworth

1K notes · View notes

scarletwidowaf · 3 years

Text

broadway, baby. (part 1)

Florence pugh x female Reader

Summery: reader is a singing waitress in a new York restaurant (like in glee) where many famous people go to, and one night the little women cast are are there and R is their waitress.

Warnings: there's some cursing and harassment. Its not revolve around it but its there.

A\N: im soft for florence pugh and this is a complete shit.

masterlist

Credits: Glee Gif Credit • Florence Gifs Credit

“I'm just a Broadway Baby, walking off my tired feet, Pounding Forty Second Street to be in a show. Broadway Baby, learning how to sing and dance, waiting for that one big chance to be in a show.” - Cast of follies

Life can be hard and some days can be rough, especially in your line of work where people competed for the spotlight on a daily basis. but that's life and that’s the road you chose to walk through. And it's alright, after all, what's life without a spark? A movie without a breaking point? or a shift at Clayton's without drama?

This was one of these days, the kind of days who kept you on an edge as your body and mind both ached for a break.

'Just roll with it. just a few hours for your day off.' You silently said to yourself.

Being a young artist in New York was a challenge you’ve taken on yourself, luckily for you working at "Clayton's" was a good way to start a career. most people who started working there were young talented artist who were determined to make an impression over the industry. The place was always packed with many famous people, from actors to singers and producers. So, in many ways, working in "Clayton's" could be a ticket to Broadway or the music industry. And that was the reason you moved there in the first place.

You tried the traditional way, but after months of trying to get into college and fix your past mistakes, like your high school career, you decided that this path wasn’t for you. no matter what you did or how hard you tried your ADHD still managed to kick your ass. So, that’s how you ended up as a singing waitress in NY. You liked your job, truly. You liked singing and dancing and meeting cool people along the way, but sometimes it was just too much.

"You look like shit" Aaron said from his spot at the bar.

Aaron was a sweet guy and probably the only straight person in your group of friends. He was charming and talented and most importantly; he was the first friend you got in NY.

Aaron pulled his long brown hair into a bun as he chuckled at you. You huffed in frustration in return.

"Thanks" you muttered as he passes you a mug with coffee, hoping to help you get a grip before the restaurant opens.

"You need to rest" he said. "properly"

"that’s overrated" you joked and took a sip.

You felt an hand on your shoulder and you turned around to meet your friend's stern gaze. "You, okay?" she asked

"Always" you answered Mackenzie's question and she raised her eyebrow, knowing full well you were lying.

"we should sing as a warm up!" David, another one of your coworkers and Aaron's twin brother said.

"Let's not" Aaron said as he rolled his eyes at his brother's enthusiasm.

You laughed quietly as the two started bickering. Mack and you glanced at each other knowingly. Both of you already know who will win in the stupid argument.

15 minutes later, after a group warm up and Aaron's dramatic sighs 'Clayton's' was open for business.

It was a nice evening, not too full, not too loud. And most importantly, not too many known faces.

Of course, you liked to have famous people on your shifts, and it could obviously be a game changer for you but it can get intense at times and you want in the mood. Seriously, how can you be the only one who found singing "defying gravity' in font of Idina Menzel as a very stressful experience?? You were terrified by the idea you'll fuck up in front of the original singer- and make a total fool out of yourself.

When 10 pm rolled around, every opinion you had about the evening flew out the window. at this point, the restaurant was full with costumers and some known faces as well, and you found yourself holding every inch of you together as you approach the table who was occupied by the one and only Meryl Streep, and some fellow little women cast members.

*rule number 1 of working at Clayton's: don't make costumers feel uncomfortable. Don't annoy the costumers, don't ask for autographs if they're famous and generally treat them as normal and respectfully as you can. *

"Hello, my name is Y/N and ill be your waitress for tonight" you introduced yourself with a small smile. The women smiled at you brightly.

"How does it work" Meryl held the tablet with a puzzled expression. "Am I that old?" She joked

"Barley" One of the other women, Emma fucking Watson, said.

"I know it looks complicated-" you told them as you took the tablet from Meryl's hand."-But it's pretty simple, actually, I promise. As you can see the top part of the tablet is divided into two sections: The right one who says 'ask for a waiter'- which means that your waiter- which in this case, me, is busy- probably performing at the moment, and you can ask for a different waiter." You said with an ease, knowing the explanation by heart.

"The left section says 'ask for my waiter' which is a pretty simple one to understand... I guess- if you'll need me for whatever reason, you can press it and it'll page me. Feel free to use it." You said with a smile as you scanned their faces, making sure they understand the first part.

"And the bottom section?" Saoirse asked.

"The bottom section is the 'refill' sections. It will get into validation only after ill place your order in my own tablet and send to the kitchen." You explained as you gestured to your own tablet. "It's pretty useful, the point of it is that you can ask for a refill without having to social with me. Its awesome"

You noticed one of them, Florence pugh, scanning the tablet with a small smile- as she listened to your explanation. She was absolutely a sight for sore eyes, that's for sure.

"Thats pretty cool" she said and you nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, I got really excited over it when I started working here" you admitted awkwardly "most importantly- When a section isn't relevant its will be grey instead of in color so you won't get confused. Like, for example - if You haven't ordered anything yet you can't get a refill, for the obvious reason. or if I'm not performing you can't ask for another waiter... which means you're stuck with me for the time being" you finished with a small chuckle.

"I don't think any of us mind that" Florence smiled and the others agreed. The blonde smiled at you again and you blushed slightly. "You're singing, right?" she asked out of the blue, just when you were about to leave and let them look through their menus.

"Yeah, i do. In a few minutes, actually"

"Thats cool! Good luck" she smiled and you wondered if Emma, who set the closest to you, could hear how fast your heart's beating.

"Thank you" you said with a smile and turned around to the stage.

__________________

"you paged? I'm guessing you guys ready to order then" You said as you approached their table after your performance.

"YOU WERE SO GODD!" Florence said excitedly.

"Thank you" you blushed slightly.

What. The. Fuck. Y/N?! You scolded yourself.

The others joined into the conversation with their own compliments and you thought you'd die when Meryl Streep, the legend herself, complimented you.

After another few moments the conversation calmed downed and moved to the next, and most important topic: the food. You tried your best to not blush under Florence's soft gaze and keep your focus on the other members of her table as they consulted you about the dishes, but damn, that was hard. luckily for you it didn’t take long and a few minutes later, their order was sent to the kitchen.

The next hour and a half weren't much different. you sang and placed orders, you smiled to costumers and even pretend to laugh at some old man's joke. And maybe (just maybe) you glanced over to Florence every now and then.

The thing about Clayton's is that apart for the famous people who visit there frequently, it also contains many of the rich and the snobs of New York, so you weren't surprised when you got paged from a table who was occupied by two guys with fancy clothes and their parents credit card.

"Hey" one of them said to you as you approached them.

"hey, welcome to Clayton's! You're David's table, right?" You said and pointed at your friend who started his own performance.

"Yeah, the fag one" the other guy said and your smile fell.

Take a deep breath, Y/N. It's not worth it.

"I see you guys already ordered a few minutes ago" you said as you checked your tablet.

"Yeah" the asshole confirmed.

"Okay, in that case, how can I help you?" You asked politely as you could.

"we would like to get the check." The first guy said politely as he pulled out a few bills from his wallet. "Keep the change" he said as you took it and made sure it was enough.

"Thank you" you smiled politely and made a mental note to give David his well-earned tip.

"my brother want to know if you're single" the asshole said and the nicer guy looked at his with his eyes wide.

Shit.

"I'm sorry, I'm in a relationship" you lied after a moment, hoping the lie will spare both his feeling and any more questions in the subject.

The guy nodded in understanding but on the other hand, the other guy didn’t seem to get the massage.

"I'm sure he won't mind sharing" the asshole said and you felt sorry for the poor guy for being related to this ass.

"What the fuck Chad" the nice guy said as chad smirked at you.

"yeah... that’s not going to happen." You glared at him "have a great weekend tho" you gritted out and turned around to leave.

you were taken by surprise when you felt chad's hand on your ass. Again, what the fuck?!

"What the fuck is wrong with you' asshole" you gritted out and moved away from him.

Don't make a scene. He's not worth it.

"C'mon-" he started to say as he got up. You moved away, knowing you were cornered since the place was full, the lights were deemed and the music was loud.

"Don't touch me" you said and moved away; you're back hitting an empty table who stood nearly.

"Hey what's going on here?" You heard and turned to catch Florence walking to you.

If a look could kill chad would’ve been dead. that’s for sure. It's like the sweet and excited Florence had left and a different, intimidating (and hot) version of her took her space and so help you god, you were glad she was on your side.

"Nothing! we were just leaving, really" Frankie said.

"None of your business" brad said and Florence raised her perfectly shaped eyebrow, daring him to cross her.

"I see" she said "well, I'm sure y/n won't mind my intruding"

'Thank god for Florence Pugh.' You thought.

Before chad could press the subject any further David, who just finished his performance, got there. You were sure he noticed that something was happening.

"what's going on here?" he asked after he scanned the situation quickly.

"nothing as I said to your friend, we were just leaving" Frankie said again.

he didn’t want to draw any negative attention, just like you, and thankfully for the both of you, not many people noticed the situation.

This time chad didn't answer, he just glared at Florence and you while his brother pulled him away from the place.

"so, are you going to tell me what happened?" David asked Florence and you after the two left.

Florence looked at you, waiting for you to answer him.

"Nothing" you lied. "it's okay David, you can go" you promised your friend. David looked at you with his 'I done believe you' expression, but he didn't press it any further. He just nodded before he turned around and left.

Rule number 2: do not make a scene under no circumstances. At Clayton's, everything you do while you're on the clock is practically showcased. You slip? you fall? you sing out of tune? Its under a spotlight, everyone can see that and everyone will have something to say about it. Thats the thing about this place. most people who started there and moved on to bigger things as Broadway or Hollywood were practically trained to keep their best poker face, act on the demand or pretend that everything is okay when it was clearly not.

"You should go back to your table" you said to Florence

she looked at you with an unreadable expression before she went back to her table. You didn't have much time to read into it since a few minutes later you found yourself at her table, printing their check and having a small friendly conversation with the women. You smiled at them as they left before you turned your tablet off and went to cover for Aaron at the bar.

"I thought you guys left" You said with a smile when the blonde approached you a few minutes later.

"Why did you lie?" Florence asked with the same unreadable expression from earlier.

Okay. No smiling then.

"I didn’t" you pulled out two shot glasses and filled them with tequila. The blonde gave you a 'are you kidding me' kind of look and you couldn't help but to chuckle. "I didn't see a reason to make a scene over nothing" you explained and downed one of the shots.

"It wasn't nothing Y/N" she said before taking the other glass.

"its fine. I'm fine. He didn’t do anything " you said as she downed her shot.

"Yeah, because I was there" she argued.

"I can handle guys like him. Seriously, at this point it might as well be a part of my job"

"you're not helping yourself"

"I liked you better smiling" you chuckled as she glared at you.

"I'm sure you did"

"shut up"

"How's your back?" She asked/

The blonde definitely didn't seem convinced about the chad situation but you were just grateful for the change of subject.

"It will be alright"

"Good"

"I appreciate your worry, truly. But I'm fine and I really don't want to hold you back here over it" you said

"Who said I was worried" she smirked at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh, you don't?" You played along

"Nope"

"Then why are you still here? Its almost 12 am, don't you have something better to do" you teased her

"no. Do you?" She turned the question and you laughed.

"I guess not - considering the fact I work here and I'm still on clock"

"Oh, please we both know this place is about to close" she argued your logic

"True" you admitted

"So, if you have nothing better to do, and you don't, would you like to go out with me? You kinda owe me after I saved your ass earlier"

"Uh, and here I thought you did that as an act of kindness" you joked. A small smile playing on your lips.

"Ew no" she said and You laughed. "Well?" Florence pressed with a cheeky smile.

"Yeah, why not. It's not like I have something better to do"

"Just what I wanted to hear" she joked.

#florence pugh #florence pugh x reader #florence pigh x female reader #florence pugh x fem!reader

227 notes · View notes

lydias--stiles · 3 years

Text

“The simple act of being in love with you is enough for me.”

jiara | post-s2 | pining idiots | title: quote by Pacey from Dawson's Creek

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

“Kie.”

“Hm?” The girl’s mop of curls obscured her face as she mumbled out some vowels, clearly still buzzed from the night before. An amused smile ticked up his lips and slapped her calf again. She sighed. “What?”

“Leggo,” he pushed, “we gotta get to Pope’s place.”

“Why?”

Even if everyone else would deny it, JJ swore Kie was as bad as he was: slow and fucking lethargic before eleven in the morning. Sure, she had better grades in school, but he wasn’t gonna give her more credit than that. Speaking of, “Helping him with that new scholarship, remember?”

The girl groaned and rolled over to face him, droopy eyes cracking open to scowl at him. She slept where he used to crash whenever his dad’s place became too much, but since the old man fucked off to Yucatán, he found peace in the quiet walls and cracked windows. Regardless, it was weird seeing her sprawled on this mattress, the boy almost able to envision himself beside her. A dangerous fantasy to linger on, so he pushed it aside and kept on trucking.

“C’mon, Kie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered and sat upright. “How did you even get in the Château?”

JJ grinned and snagged a key chain from his shorts. “Spare key. Duh.”

She rolled her eyes, uttering, “John B’s stupid,” and then pushed him out the guest room, telling him she’d get ready. His mouth opened to make the joke if he couldn’t stay and watch, but the door slammed in his face and that was that.

Having a crush on Kiara was the freakiest thing ever. First of all, JJ and emotions didn’t mesh well — it only led to trouble, a perfect example being his dad and him with the most fucked up dynamic to boot. He preferred to not even think about the man, though one glance in the mirror often betrayed his mind and brought a rush of memories to the forefront, whether it was a shiner against his eye, or the fact that he resembled his father when he was young.

So yeah, he didn’t like anything ‘love’ related. It was stupid. It was more reckless than buying a jacuzzi or trying to steal a golden cross from a boat with dozens of armed men. Friendship, however, was easy. He told the Pogues just that: they were ‘it’ for him, he’d go through fire for them, through hell and fucking back.

But he didn’t think he’d actually die for them, which almost happened when he tried saving Kie on the Coastal Venture — to which she ended up saving him. (A vision illuminated by a golden sun, hovering over him. He’d never forget it.)

While he inspected the contents of the fridge, embarrassingly filled with only beer, eggs, milk and junk food, the door creaked open and revealed a dressed and less-wrecked Kiara. His gaze flicked up and down her frame, quick, and then averted it back to the fridge.

“You got no food, man.”

She chuckled. “I know. It’s not exactly The Wreck type of food…”

“You haven’t gone back?”

“Nope,” she replied, curt, and moved past him to shove a container of sausages aside to grab a bottle of almond milk. Even if she wasn’t with her parents, she still somehow kept up her ‘no dairy’ principles.

Also, Kiara was hella beautiful. He hadn’t let it register when she walked in, but it was true. Her soft-looking, shiny skin, sporting the prettiest smile in all of the OBX, and she was just hot. Especially when she propped herself on the kitchen counter, to which he settled beside her to not look at her legs.

“How many scholarships are there?” she asked. “Like, I’m obviously proud of him, but…”

“He told us last night,” JJ laughed. “You were that fucking high?”

She giggled, “Yeah! You were there, I was just on my ass.” And then, quieter, “And… I don’t know, I guess I’ve been kind of distracted.”

He perked up, surprised. Though the Pogues were family, openly talking about emotions when it wasn’t prompted by anything, remained rare. They were better at talking shit and smoking and napping on boats. Whatever, he took the bait.

“Why?”

She shook her head. “It’s stupid, JJ.”

“Kie, you’re talking to me,” he nudged her shoulder, “throw me a bone here. Is it Pope? You got the hots for our favourite nerd again?”

Taking a sip from the bottle, her brow quirked up as though that was the stupidest thing he ever said, and retorted with, “Why’re you always doing that?”

His hands raised instantly, defensive. “Doing what?”

“You’re always digging, like, when I was with Pope you got all weird.”

“I don’t dig.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. Kie, what’s up?” He kept it moving before she found the core of his problem, and bounced back to the original issue. “Before I start saying shit to Pope.”

She scoffed. “You're full of shit.”

“Oh, Kie,” he drawled with a smirk. “You can do better than that.”

Silence fell. He waited, fiddling with his fingers, and quietly hoped Pope wouldn't be too annoyed when they arrived late — then again, they were begrudgingly coined 'tortoise and tortoise' by the group anyway.

She placed the bottle back in the fridge and sent him a rueful smile, one he often saw her showing Sarah before they went aside and had a private talk. Their eyes locked and she finally spoke.

“Sometimes, I… I miss my parents. And it's like, I don't get how they don't just accept that I'm a Pogue, that I'm friends with you guys, you know? But I still miss them.” She looked down at her feet, crossing at the ankles like a little girl waiting to be reprimanded by the teacher. “I miss my dad's hugs.”

Instantly, his arm swung around her for a gentle side hug, a grateful smile pulling on her lips as she leaned into him. Both knew they should savour a moment like this, as hugging with a twitchy JJ and often irritated Kie happened once every blue moon.

Ignoring the guilty look in her eye — yeah, he didn't understand missing a paternal embrace, rather used to a blow in the stomach or a crude remark, but that didn't mean he lacked empathy — he resisted the urge to encourage her to reconnect with them. Knowing her, she'd just close up and glare at him for the rest of the day.

So no, he wasn't going to ask her. And no, she shouldn't feel guilty. P4L 'til the end, baby.

“Thanks, JJ,” she whispered.

He snickered and pushed her off. “You can't tell the guys I'm becoming soft, dude. Theyʼll give me so much shit for it.”

“They know you're soft,” she teased, “don't even try.”

“I'm tough,” he tried.

“Like Play-Doh.”

“Whatever,” he mumbled and motioned at the kitchen door. “Let's go, Carrera. Before John B and Sarah come back and act all married.”

Now that was fucking annoying. After John B and Sarah faked their death, they got married by a bandana strip and hadn't let that notion go after returning. Sure, there was that small blip when they were fighting the crazy religious chick, but that was old news.

John B made him swear he wouldn't tell a soul, but the guy waxed poetry about Sarah whenever they were drunk and alone. It was hilariously sad. Another man lost to a girl.

(“She wants a beach wedding,” JB sighed a couple nights ago. “Nice, right?”

“I– yeah, I really don't care about this, man.”)

JJ knew that when he got a girlfriend (Kiara unintentionally but also very intentionally crossed his mind), he'd act normal. No mushy shit. No poetry. Definitely no creepy Romeo and Juliet references thrown in as if that shouldn't freak the Pogues out. Their behaviour better not be infectious.

Expectedly, Pope's scowl reached them all the way from the car, Kie and JJ sharing a sheepish look before stepping out.

“Gee, guys,” the boy deadpanned, “thanks for making haste. Really appreciate it.”

JJ's wide grin hoped to salvage it. Slapping his friend on the shoulder, he pushed past him and yelled, “Kie was dead, dude!”

Pope grimaced. “Don't joke about that.”

He watched as Kie stopped beside Pope with an apologetic expression, telling him she overslept and was sorry and that he knew how JJ was — “Always joking.”

His chapped lips pursed, a familiar punch hitting his chest with him then pretending it didn't hurt. She always did this. Even if she claimed she didn't, she always took Pope's side. Relationship or not. JJ knew she didn't owe him her 'side', but it'd be a nice change of pace either way.

Whatever. This wasn't the JJ Pining For Kiara Show. Pope needed their help.

A state-wide scholarship competition gave Pope another shot at winning a huge chunk of money (no gold type of rich though) and getting his ass out of OBX, hopefully launching himself into some fancy college when he revealed to be of Denmark Tanny's lineage. Those hibrow assholes loved a good sob story.

All Pope had to do was score hella high on some test — easy — and impress the panel — not so easy — and he'd be the luckiest Pogue of all.

But that did mean Kie and him had to sit on his creaky bed with a freaky amount of flashcards while a stressed out Pope paced around his room. He was pretty sure the floor was eroding.

Also, he had no fucking clue what any of the flashcards meant. Did Pope's smarts really attracted Kie that much? Was it the brain? Brain over brawl? But where was the fun in that? JJ loved Pope to death, but the guy had to be fully medicated or high before his brain shut off and he acted carefree.

“Pope, do you even know what this all means?” Kie bemoaned, flipping the cards around.

“You got a dictionary somewhere?” added JJ, squinting at the word aberration. It sounded like some weird disease. He showed him the word.

Pope dismissed it. “It means: different from the norm.”

“Dude, why not write that then?”

“Because they want aberration.”

He didn't get it. “No one uses it though.”

“JJ, that's just the way it is,” Pope pressed.

“Guys, stop,” Kiara interrupted. “But honestly Pope, it's so, like, elitist. None of these questions are important to the world, or the well-being of the people.”

“Sorry, Kiara, but unfortunately not everyone cares that much,” he sighed. JJ could tell they were starting to annoy their friend, their tortoise bullshit bleeding through.

Her nose scrunched up, peeved. “Right. Because there's a planet B just waiting to be used by us. Duh.”

“Ooh,” JJ drawled, nudging her arm. “Are there donkeys shitting money?”

Kie laughed. “Yes. All beaches, clean air, no Kooks, and money-shitting donkeys.”

“Nah, I want it to be hella Kooky,” he joked, gesturing wildly. “I want a yacht and tell people someone else does my laundry, or something.”

“You don't even do your laundry anyway,” she bounced back with a roll of the eye. “I know you force John B.”

“He's already playing House with Sarah, might as well wash my underwear, too.”

Oh, man. He could do this all day. Talking shit with Kiara went as smooth as fishing for him. Each time he thought he one-upped her, she threw more on top and kept it going 'til neither knew what the point even was anymore. Sarah dubbed it as 'banter' which he believed was a rich way of saying 'talking smack.'

“I don't believe you even know how to do it,” she challenged.

JJ huffed and crossed his arms. “I can do it.”

A smirk bloomed on her lips as she kept jabbing. “It's kinda cute, how you need John B to be your mom.”

“I don't.”

“You literally said it five seconds ago.”

“Guys,” Pope groaned, followed by an exhausted sigh eerily similar to Heyward. “Can we get back to the flashcards?”

Kie and JJ were too far into their discussion though, jabbing at each other at rapid speed. Then she threw her cards at him and all bets were off. He yelled she should make a goal with her hands, to which he folded up a flashcard and shot it straight between her fingers.

And that was when Pope kicked them out. JJ presumed it was a victory they lasted as long as they did. Kie kept apologising over her shoulder, prompting Pope to ask Cleo for help instead.

For a beat, they were silent stepping out of his place and back into the car. JJ felt a stab of guilt for fucking up Pope's study time, but it was hard to dial his brain to school when his friends surrounded him. Just when he wanted to ask if she felt bad too, she went off about the climate — as usual.

“It's so dumb how there were no questions about the environment or human rights or, or anything like that! It's all science and lit, like, there's more to life than fucking chemistry formulas!”

“I skipped those cards. Didn't get them.”

“It's so fucked,” she hummed. “And I'm obviously glad that you drove to the Château to wake me up and all—”

“Yeah?”

“—but I really wish those questions would matter. We almost died, JJ!”

“No, shit,” he grumbled, quickly starting to lose his patience with the ranting girl. She didn't even realise what the fuck she was saying anymore — what she did to his heart, skipping like some elemtary school girl on the playground, when she slipped some nice words in.

“Died!” she pressed. “Why even care about stuff like that?”

“Fucks sake, Kie—”

“And I didn't want to say it, but did you see how many flashcards there were? How many trees were cut for that? It's like, hello, Quizlet exists!”

“Kie, shut up!” he yelled.

Her mouth fell slack, gobsmacked, gawking at him like his interruption was a slap in the face.

Gesturing wildly with one hand, he exclaimed, “You know, you can just go on and on and I hear you talking and it's like, yeah, we get it, Mother Earth needs to be saved, we're fucked, you don't gotta repeat it twenty-four seven.”

“What the hell, JJ!”

“You have an opinion about everything! A man gets tired!”

“A man?” She scoffed. “You're not even eighteen.”

“Point is you don't gotta act all preachy all the time.” He turned the corner, hands tightening around the steering wheel.

Kie scowled. “Where is this coming from? I'm not preachy, I'm educating you.”

Now that was just fucking with his head. Incredulous, he exclaimed, “You think I don't listen? Kie, I'm the only one that does. JB is on Planet Sarah all the damn time and Pope only did shit 'cause—"

"That!” she yelled, throwing her hands up with frustration. “That's what I mean! You're doing it again! You dig!”

“What?!”

“Every time you mention Pope and I, you dig. You needle!” Twisting in her seat, his gaze flickered to catch her disgruntled expression. “Why do you do that? It's so… sus.”

JJ laughed. “Sus?”

“You don't ask John B about Sarah.”

“'Cause they're fucking obvious.”

“Still,” she pressed. “Did I do something to piss you off? Is that it? Is it me constantly asking you to recycle and yet — shocker! — you never do?!”

“Fucking God,” he grumbled under his breath.

With frazzled thoughts and shaking hands, adrenaline coursed through him as he swerved to the side of the road and stopped the car. If he fought with Kie any longer to this degree of fuckery, they were gonna crash.

She frowned. “What're you doing?”

“You, Carrera, are driving me insane,” he deadpanned, matter-of-fact. Then he slammed the door open and stepped out, desperate to catch his breath.

In the back of his mind, he had an inkling as to why he was so keyed up. Kiara would call him a Neandethal, but fuck it, here was the truth: Kiara was hot as hell when she argued with him.

Following his lead, she got out, her sneakers stomping against the asphalt. The sun steeped low on the horizon, the light hitting the hood and reflecting onto her face; her curls shifting from dark brown to gold. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was so fucked. He almost missed the start of her spiel, too enthralled.

“I'm driving you insane? I'm always getting you out of trouble, because you never think things through! You never see the bigger picture!”

He rolled his eyes. “Bigger picture? The only thing I see, Kie, is you going on about nature. That easy.” And then, before he could stop himself, he spewed out, “And you don't have to do that.”

“What?”

“Getting me out of trouble,” he said, pursing his lips. “That's not your responsibility.”

“Right. Duh. Because after everything we've been through, I can't care about you,” she exclaimed, face twisting up in pure fury. She got in his space, shoving his shoulder, but when he didn't budge, it only seemed to anger her more.

JJ didn't know what was going on anymore. Why was she so mad? Even if she didn't want to admit it, he was telling the truth. Of course all the Pogues had each other's back, but Kiara doted over him more than was necessary. The constant checking of injuries, limiting his day drinking, all that. Like he was some child!

He leaned in and mumbled, “I can take care of myself.”

Kie smirked. “Then do your own laundry.”

It happened naturally. One second he stared at her furious eyes and thought about how much he loved arguing with her despite the bullshit, the next his fingers curled into her hair and pulled her in a fierce kiss.

At first, her hands laid frozen on his shoulders, surprised, but the moment he realised his impulsive decision was a mistake, they slid around his neck and kept him close.

JJ sighed in relief and deepened the kiss he'd been craving ever since they were fourteen and Kie went from gangly to statuesque. Her lips were warm and soft and her hands were soft and she hadn't let go and holy shit — he was kissing Kiara Carrera.

The kiss lessened when her mouth quirked into a smile, their grins pressing flush together, and JJ shivered from delight. Oh, man. He was gone.

“You drive me damn crazy, Kie,” he murmured, voice dropped to an undeniably soft tone.

She bit back her silly grin and whispered, “Good.”

Taking a deep breath, he tried focusing up, but all he could do was stare at her face. A shy hand grabbed hers.

He had to get it out of the way now, or else he'd kick himself later. “I'm… really into you. I'm– oh, fuck, uh–”

“Maybe we can talk about it not on the side of the road?” she suggested, amused.

JJ grinned, elated (What was the word he saw on the flashcards? Exalted!), and kissed her again, because he could.

On the ride back to the Château, he confessed to seeing her in a different light for years, while she couldn't really pinpoint a time or moment, that it just happened. It didn't matter, though he was in utter disbelief that he and Kie were having this conversation. No jokes, no BS, all seriousness. Tomorrow, he'd wake up and it wouldn't be some sick dream. Kie liked him back.

JJ was sure he'd doubt himself or overthink it in the future, but today, he'd bask in the certainty and the major ego boost.

“Okay, but did you ever legit like Pope then?”

A sheepish smile crawled up her cheeks as her gaze averted to the window. “I thought I did. But we have, like, no chemistry, so…” She shook her head. “I was confused.”

“That's okay,” he uttered. He couldn't give her shit for it. Even if he did torture himself with their short-lived relationship, he understood.

How would he react though? John B and Sarah wouldn't care, or Cleo, but Pope? He didn't want one of his brothers hating him. Being iced out by the guy fucking sucked, as it meant he was truly hurt and therefore meant JJ truly fucked up. He couldn't handle disappointing him.

Kie read his mind. “He'll be fine with it.”

“I dunno, man…”

“He will,” she repeated. “We're Pogues. We've all narrowly survived death. And besides…” She turned back to him with a secretive grin. “I think he has a thing for Cleo.”

Whoa. He did not see that coming. His brows shot up to his hairline, mentally kicking himself for being so focused on Kie that he didn't even notice the shift of interest between Pope and Cleo. They made sense, too. Know-it-all's, but well-meaning, and only speaking when needed.

If the idea didn't relief him of worries, he'd be concerned as to why they were all seamlessly coupled up like in some 90s sitcom Big John had on VHS.

“What a player,” he joked.

“Tell me about it.”

They arrived at the house, the Twinkie and Sarah's bike sprawled on the overgrown front lawn. JJ frowned. He had hoped to have some alone time with Kie, not to jump her bones and fulfill a regular dream of his, but to talk. To figure it out. He wanted to do this right. Because after everything, they deserved to have good things, to start on a high note — he deserved it.

Kie noticed it, too. Puckering her lips on contemplation, her gaze trailed from him to the rest of the property, ending on the trusty ol' hammock. She jabbed her thumb at it.

“Let's sit there.”

Normally, they laid on opposite ends on the hammock, if they even shared one to begin with. But now, she pressed herself right beside him and he felt like heaven dropped down on them in the best way possible. He suddenly understood what John B was lamenting about — the company, intimacy, the ease. Nerves rippled through his body like a summer storm, but he figured that was what it cost to lose one's mind over a girl.

He didn't know what to say, so Kiara spoke instead.

“I don't want us, the way we are around each other, to change, you know?” she said. “Like, I don't want you to think you have to act like some mellow ass boyfriend all of a sudden.”

He smirked. “Who said anything about boyfriend?”

“Bye.”

“Hey, wait,” he grinned, latching onto her arm before she pushed herself out. “C'mon, Kie.”

Her nose scrunched up. “I don't do this usually, okay?”

“You think I do?” he asked. His hand softly slid down to wrap around hers, to which she hooked their fingers together. Okay. Wow. It felt so damn nice that it propelled him to say, “I wanna be your boyfriend, Kie.”

The girl smiled and then surprised him by leaning in herself, pressing a gentle kiss on his chapped lips. It was overwhelming having her instigate it, his gut twisting up in excitement like when he was about to backflip from a boat, or cliff dive, or something similar like that.

He let go of her hand to cup her cheeks, only to whisper, “That's a yes, yeah? Gotta get a yes.”

“Yes, JJ,” she uttered back. “Here's to not fucking this up.”

“Cheers, baby.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

#jiara #outer banks #obx #obx fanfiction #otp: cause i'll come #It's messy but in a cute way

86 notes · View notes

cabensonsgirly · 3 years

Text

👼Baby's Got Trouble. Don't Know How To Live. Don't Want To Die. (Cordelia Goode)👼

Cordelia Goode x fem!reader

👼Part 6 of SP getting reader pregnant👼

👼Slice 1👼

Co-authored with @billiedeannovak

Somewhat au but more so later xx

👼Wordcount: 3422👼

👼Posted on AO3: Read Here👼

👼Content: Your mum sucks, slow-burn, fluff, angst, alcohol, more to be added later👼

👼“No, ma’am. It isn’t crazy hippie rubbish. As I said, your daughter has a place here at the academy. She will start classes upon arrival. It is best she bring all the clothing she has and any other personal items she might wan-“👼

“Hello? Is this the Robichaux or whatever place?”

“Robichaux Academy, yes it is. My name is Cordelia Goode, I’m the Headmistress of Robichaux Academy. How may I help?”

“Brilliant. My daughter, Yn, has somehow managed to break our wine glasses while we were- my husband, son, and I were sitting eating at the dining table. She then managed to fix them once the initial shock wore off but this can’t go on. She’s a disgrace to the family. We heard tales from her great grandmother about witches in Salem but we just thought she was going batty in her old age. Regardless, can you fix our daughter?”

“I- Ma’am, I understand that to people like you- er, I mean, people without magical abilities, that it is scary when these abilities show themselves, but it doesn’t mean your daughter needs to be- to be fixed. Yes, she can come to the academy, there should have been a letter in the-“

“Oh. That place. We got the letter and threw it out thinking it was some crazy hippie rubbish.”

“No, ma’am. It isn’t crazy hippie rubbish. As I said, your daughter has a place here at the academy. She will start classes upon arrival. It is best she bring all the clothing she has and any other personal items she might wan-“

“She will take what she can fit into that stupid bag of hers before we kick her out. We don’t want her in the house any longer. She’s a disgrace and is putting us in danger.”

“I think- I think she’s the one in danger, not you. People still- There are people out there that still want us dead. She will be safer surrounded by her sisters. Someone will come by to make sure she makes it here safely.”

“Good. I suggest someone come quick because after I hang up, she’s no longer welcome.”

“I- Okay ma’am. Very well then. Someone will be there shortly. Have a pleasant evening.”

You have always hated the dark ever since you were a little kid, it’s not the darkness itself that scares you but rather the inability to see what could see you. The lights that lined the streets offered little to no visibility, they were as useful as soldiers would be standing in their place, in fact, they were probably what made you most unnerved about sitting outside on the curb at night, they had this uneven yellow glow to them that only managed to give off light in a very small orb around them. The only thing that would make your current situation more unpleasant than it already was, would be if a thick fog rolled in, trapping the light in an even smaller radius, and making the darkness around you all that more ceaseless.

It was a relatively quiet part of New Orleans, and at the moment you couldn’t tell whether this was a blessing or a curse. Sure, there weren’t random people approaching you and asking if you have money or if you need help, but there was also no one around if something were to happen to you. Yes, your scream could be heard but no one would come running to see where it had come from or why it had been made.

Your parents hadn’t really explained much about where you were going, they said “gather your shit in that bag of yours and get out” followed by a “someone from that hippie academy will pick you up” but that was all they had said before the door hit your ass on the way out of the house.

There weren’t any hippie academies that you could think of, you doubted they were even a thing. Wouldn’t a hippie academy be counterintuitive to the whole hippie thing? Why were you even being sent away? It wasn’t your fault that the glasses broke, it was an accident! And you had fixed them so why were you suddenly sitting on your ass on the curb?

The low hum of a car draws your attention from your phone and makes you jump up and back from the curb so you don’t get hit by it. It’s a fancy car so surely it wouldn’t be here for you. Why would a black Mercedes A-Class Sedan pull up in front of you?

Maybe it was one of those gross rich people that wanted to give you a nice place to stay and anything you could desire in exchange for sex. No Bueno. One of the doors swing open and a young blonde woman steps out, brushing down the front of her knee-length black skirt before smiling shyly at you. “Are you Yn?”

You narrow your eyes and tighten your grip on the straps of your backpack “Who’s asking?” Despite current circumstances, the woman doesn’t come across like she would do anything to hurt you, she seems kind and has a certain air of innocence about her.

“Oh! My apologies, I’m Cordelia Goode. I’m the Headmistress of Robichaux Academy. I’m here to take you there. Have- Did your parents explain where you’re going and why?”

You shook your head and looked down briefly, toeing the dirt with your shoe before glancing back at her. “No. They pretty much told me to get my shit and leave, and that some ‘hippie academy’ person would come get me. Are- are you that person? Not- not a hippie person but- not- not that there’s anything wrong with if you are.”

Cordelia laughs softly and moves closer to you, offering her hand to carry your bag “Let me take that for you.” You hand her your bag, quietly apologising for it being heavy but she seems to hold it with ease. “So they told you none of what I discussed with them on the phone? That’s- that’s to be expected I guess. We can discuss this in the car on the way, okay?”

You nod and follow her back to the car, climbing in after her and closing the door. She whispers something to the driver before the car sets off, turning her attention back to you. “Do you know anything about witches and covens?”

“A little? My great grandma use to talk a lot about what happened to family in Salem but mom and dad always said she was just getting batty in her old age. She said that witch hunters would tear people from their homes and slaughter them, sometimes whole villages of people that were believed to be witches or- or even harboring them.

She use to show me magic tricks as a kid, making her purse disappear then reappear in my school bag. I never knew how she did it but- but it fascinated me. I talked to mum and dad about it, how amazing it was but they just told me to stop talking and never talk about it again. Other than that… I have no idea.”

“Your- your parents- mother- did briefly mention that your great grandmother use to talk about it but she, as you said, put it down to her being batty in old age. Unfortunately for your grandmother- great grandmother, sorry- what she talked to you about was- in some cases, still is, true. Witches, all though now have safer places and are more widely accepted, they- we, are still at danger of being killed by witch hunters.

At the academy, Robichaux, we are safe, the Supreme is incredibly strong and capable of protecting us, and there are a number of other older witches who help too. But like most covens, we are stronger together than we are divided. We are here to protect and help new witches grow. With us you will have a new family who will never turn their back on you when you are in a time of need.”

Looking out the window it was just a blur of colours from the lights and neon signs that lit up the streets signalling that New Orleans night life was just waking up. “What do you do when you grow up licking poison off knives and now that you’re finally going to be in a situation where you're fed on milk and honey, all you can think about is running because something that sweet can’t be anything other than poison? What is that quote…

I don’t know how to stay tender-“

“with this blood in my mouth? Ophelia, act 4, scene 5. It is… appropriate considering your situation but… if I’m going off my impression of you, you are going to find it easy to continue being kind, even if you feel like you’re only good at hurting people. I can see that you have a good heart, Yn. Although my mother does tell me I’m not good at judging people.”

You smile shyly, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly “Thank you, Cordelia. I hope I can prove your mother wrong and be the good person that you think I am.” You return your gaze to look out the window, admiring the different colour lights you can see and how busy this part of the city was. “It’ll be nice finally having someone that believes in me. That believes I am good.”

“You will find that there will be others out there who will see goodness in you too. But- but even if there aren’t… Know that I see it.”

The rest of the drive was filled with light-hearted banter, the kind you would hear good friends throw back and forth. You wouldn’t consider you and Cordelia to be friends seeing as you two have only just met but you felt as though it wouldn’t take long until you were.

By the time you made it to the academy it was around midnight, the building was grand and imposing, it had this energy to it that gave off the distinct impression that if you tried damaging it in anyway you would be the one that came away worse off. There were lights that lit the pathway and entryway up which somehow managed to make the building all the more intimidating despite feeling perfectly safe.

You went to grab your backpack but Cordelia bet you to it. “I can carry my bag, you know that right? I don’t mind taking my own shit- stuff in. You’ve already saved me from whatever hell my parents were going to impose on me, the least I can do is take my own things inside.”

She shakes her head, a small smile tugging at her lips as she leads the way up the path “I’m sure you can, but you’re new here and you’ve also had a long day, it’s the least I can do for a new coven member.” You let out a dramatic groan as you follow after her, she opens the door and steps to the side to let you in before coming in after you and closing the door behind you both.

“It’s so quiet. Is it always this quiet? I can’t- Nevermind” You shove your hands in your jacket pockets, waiting for Cordelia to take you to where you can hopefully get some sleep.

“It’s only this quiet when the girls aren’t creating mischief and partying, as well as when my mother hasn’t been drinking, mind you, I haven’t seen her since she left to travel the world... You’ll grow to appreciate this rare moment of silence.” She gestures for you to follow her as she leads you up a grand staircase, leading you down a hall before opening a door to your left.

“It’s a small room but I doubt you’d want the girls harassing you with questions at this hour so we’ll move you into their room tomorrow if you would like? There’s drawers for your clothes, a small desk, and of course a bed. The bathroom is next door and if you want hot water I suggest waking up before 7 or else Madison will use it all up when she takes her hour long shower.”

You nod your head and thank her quietly, taking your backpack from her you step in the room, dumping your bag on the desk before moving to close the curtains. “Is- Is there anything else I can do for you before I let you get some rest?” You turn around to look at her before looking at the floor “Is- Is it okay if I turn some music on? I’ll have it quiet so it doesn’t disturb anyone. I just- I can’t sleep when it’s silent.”

Cordelia smiles softly, she finds it rather adorable that you can’t sleep unless there’s noise of some sort but she doesn’t want to embarrass you or herself by admitting this. “Of course you can. I will make sure- or try to get you a radio so you don’t have to play it through your phone. I’m sure it will be nice to hear music rather than the girls screaming at each other over who stole whose makeup. I- I wouldn’t mind hearing what you like listening to” your eyes shoot up to look at her, a blush settling on both your faces.

“I- uhm… I- Good- Good night, Yn. I’ll come see you in the morning so I can introduce you to the others at breakfast. Uhm… Let- let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help you settle in. Good night.” She rushes out, hoping that you don’t notice how flustered she got but also has a gut feeling that you did notice. She gives you a small wave before leaving quickly, the door closing behind her.

You let out a slow breath, feeling the exhaustion from the day hit you like a bat out of hell. You knew this made no sense seeing as you did nothing physical but apparently being kicked out of home for being a witch had the same effect as running a marathon, it left you broken and tired.

You remove most of your clothing, leaving just your shirt and underwear on before climbing into bed, taking one last glance at your phone to see if you have any messages or calls from anyone but unsurprisingly there weren’t any. You turn the volume up a bit so you can hear your music then put it on your small side-table before turning over and trying to sleep.

No matter where you stayed or how exhausted you were, the first night sleeping somewhere new was always the hardest night sleep you had. Nevertheless, you managed to get to sleep relatively quickly but staying asleep was where it became difficult; the days events were playing in this off-kilter manner, like they were somehow glitching and just playing that awful moment where your powers revealed themselves and you saw the look of fear then disgust in your parent’s eyes on loop. No matter how hard you tried to change what you were dreaming about, your dreams would always end up looping back to this.

“We can never have a fucking normal dinner when you’re involved, can we? There is always something going on with you. Last night it was because you wanted to have a glass of wine and ended up polishing the bottle off yourself. And now!? Now it’s because you’re some freak.”

“Honey, that’s not- you can’t call our daughter that. This time it isn’t her fault this happened. Yes last night was unpleasant but you certainly weren’t helping and now you’re berating the poor girl.”

“Oh? It’s my fault? So what, you’re defending our freak of a daughter?”

“No- No that’s not- I’m not defending her. Tonight was- is just- this is out of her control and ours.”

“Exactly. Out of our control. She’s always been like this. I’m going to go make a call to that academy place. See if they can fix her.”

“I don’t need fixing! I’m not broken!”

“You’re right, you’re not broken. Just defective.”

“Mom? Don’t make her leave. She helps me with my homework when you’re not home. Please. I’ll miss her if you make her-“

“Shut up. This isn’t for little children to discuss. Take your dinner to your room and eat there. This is the last time you’ll be seeing your sister.”

“But-“

“No. Say your goodbyes now then go to your room.”

Your little brother gets out of his seat and walks over to you, wrapping his arms around your legs before hugging you tight, mumbling “I’ll miss you. Sorry mom and dad are making you leave. If- if it counts for something I- I don’t think you’re defective.”

You hug him back, giving his hair a ruffle before letting him go, a sad smile on both your faces. “I’ll see you again someday, kiddo. Be good.”

“Unlike you, your brother isn’t a disappointment to this family.”

You wake with a start upon a knocking on your door, you feel panic surge through you thinking it was your mother about to verbally berate you but then you hear a soft voice. “Yn? May I come in? I thought it best to discuss with you what happens in the morning before lessons start.” You feel your cheeks heat up and pull the duvet up to cover you as you sit up, “uhm yeah- yeah you can come in.”

The doorhandle turns and the door swings open, revealing a youthful Cordelia, her long blonde locks tied back in a ponytail; if you hadn’t known who she was, you would have thought an angel had lost its way, she was beautiful. You look away not wanting to get caught staring, suddenly finding the ceiling to be the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen.

“Hey! Is that the new girl!? It’s the new girl! Co-“ Cordelia closes the door, shaking her head and letting out a quiet sigh before turning back to face you. “And here I was trying to make sure you would have a relatively peaceful morning, but it seems that the girls have other things in mind.”

You laugh lightly and shrug, “I’ll have to get use to it sooner or later so it’s alright.” She hums a bit, clasping her hands together at her waist. “So… We usually have breakfast together. Some mornings it’s a pleasant affair but then there are mornings where Madison decides to start drama…”

Cordelia trails off, a light blush colouring her cheeks “I- I probably shouldn’t talk like that but… there isn’t much point trying to sugar coat things. It was a lot worse when mother was staying here, as soon as she had some alcohol in her there is no stopping her. But that’s in the past anyway. She’s off traveling” she gestures vaguely with her hands “somewhere.”

You cover your mouth with your hand to stifle laughter, it seems like you’re not the only one who has a tempestuous relationship with their mother. “You’re not laughing at me, are you? It’s not a good look for a new student to laugh at her Headmistress.”

You bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing, it’s not that you were laughing at her but the situation in itself was pretty funny. “I- I’m not I swear” you manage to get out through little fits of laughter “It’s just funny that’s all.” She rolls her eyes but smiles “I doubt you’ll be laughing when mother has a fit and tosses you across the room. God… I really need her to stop doing that.”

Cordelia walks over to your curtains and opens them, flooding the small room with natural light, the golden and bubble-gum hues of the sunrise bringing life to the otherwise dull walls. “You’ll be fine. I doubt she’s returning home any time soon.”

She turns to look at you, a small smile on her face. “I should let you get dressed so you can get downstairs to have something to eat. I try getting breakfast over and done with before 10am but there are usually a few stragglers that appear later and pick at what’s left in the fridge. I’ll talk to the girls and try to get them to not hound you.”

You thank her and she makes her way over to the door, she rests her hand on the doorhandle, looking down before looking back at you. “I’m sorry that you came here because you had no other choice. I promise you that I won’t give up on you, regardless of what path you take in life.” She gives you a sad smile before leaving, the door closing quietly behind her.

#Cordelia Goode #Cordelia Goode imagine #Cordelia Goode x reader #Cordelia foxx #Cordelia foxx imagine #Cordelia foxx x reader #Sarah Paulson #Sarah paulson imagine #Sarah paulson x reader #ahs #ahs imagine #ahs coven

64 notes · View notes

ffangirlingsince2001 · 4 years

Text

Nothing Alike: I

Description: Geralt of Rivia has been tasked with taking out a fellow Witcher who has decided to settle down in a town. She has no intention of leaving and Geralt is forced to take matters into his own hands.

Geralt x Reader

Warnings: (future as well as present) violence, angst, smut, fluff, language

A/N: Hello and thank you for choosing to read Nothing Alike. If you read my last series with Geralt you know that things can get pretty dark, but for the most part (at least right now) this story is going to be a bit more light hearted.

Masterlist

He prayed the rumors weren’t true.

He prayed that the dreaded letter he had received was nothing more than hyperbolic ramblings of the townsfolk.

He prayed that he wouldn’t have to raise his sword at all.

He just wanted to sleep, to be free of monsters for just a few days, to lay beneath the stars beside his horse while a fire cooked a rabbit he had caught and he dozed to the sound of crickets in the trees. That’s all he really wanted, and yet he was marching through the woods towards another town that had requested his presence. The sun was warm, filling the air with the rich scents of heated forest. It caressed his neck and shoulders, as if lulling him into the sleep he so desperately craved.

It had been a long time since he had been to the town that summoned him. When he had first been released back into the wild as a Witcher. 200 years ago, and it was still the dirtiest town he had ever seen. The moment he stepped inside he felt as if an extra layer of grime had been added to everything he owned. The air was thick and clogged and the windows were all shuttered closed, but strangest of all was the lack of people. The sun was still in high noon, yet there was no one. No one bustled to finish their shopping and no children played in the streets, it was like a ghost town. The only sound was the crows sitting on the rooftops and a very distance rumbling. He moved towards the center of the town, hoping the find an explanation for the silence.

And an explanation he received. Surrounding a bar was a mob of people, screaming and stopping their feet. That at least explained the rumbling, but it failed to explain why they were here, and what they were screaming about. He shoved his way through the crowd, knocking over the angry townspeople as he went.

“Hey, we don’t need another Witcher in this town to take our money,” an angry woman sneered at him, spitting on his shoes. He ignored her and continued forward, but her angry cry seemed to have alerted the crowd to his presence and pushing through the crowd was growing more difficult with each step. Finally, he made it to the center and found a crude fighting ring. Inside the ring was a cloud of dust and two people rolling around in the dirt.

One seemed much smaller than the other and he was unsure why such an unmatched fight had drawn such a crowd, until the bigger opponent let out a howl of pain. The smaller leapt away and then with a well-placed kick, knocked out a few teeth. Geralt dodged the molars and moved closer, trying to get a better look at the two opponents. Another few hits and the smaller was on top of the larger, a strong arm around his throat. The larger staggered backwards, slamming his opponent into the wall but they didn’t budge, only squeezing tighter until he tumbled to the ground, face blue.

“Tap out,” came the cry and without hesitation he did so. The smaller opponent climbed off and the crowd booed, clearly not in favor of the winner. The winner did not seem to care as they bowed, their hair tumbling out to reveal a woman behind all that grime. She was grinning as she collected her gold from the unhappy townsfolk. Her eyes flashed across his and he stepped back, startled by the gold irises that mimicked his own.

She was a witcher like him, and here she was wasting her life by robbing people of their gold. She walked towards the bar, her bag of coins jingling like bells on a sleigh. He pushed through the crowd and followed her into the bar, stalking her towards the booth in the back corner that he would have chosen anyway if she had not been there first.

He sat down across from her, but she didn’t acknowledge him, instead counting the gold that she had collected while outside.

“The bastards cheated me,” she sighed before glancing up and smiling. “Do you need something?”

“You’re a witcher.”

“Ah yes, an observant fellow, so are you.”

“You’re taking advantage of these people. You know you’ll win, it’s not a fair fight.”

“Our whole lives are unfair.”

“We were not made for this, we were made to save-,”

“Save ourselves, survive. Darling, you owe them nothing. How old are you anyway, a couple hundred years?”

“A few,” he growled, and she laughed, sliding the gold back into her pouch.

“Makes sense, you older witchers are all about tradition.” He wanted to throw her against the wall, anger boiling in a deep pit of his stomach. Here she was insulting him, and she didn’t even have the decency to offer him her full attention. She was braiding her hair!

“And by that you mean?”

“You think you’re the first Witcher with a vendetta to come around here and try to end all my fun?” He did his best to not let a look of surprise pass over his face, but she caught it anyway. “Oh you did, well if it makes you feel any better you’re the politest. The others had no sense of conversation, just show up and try to drag me out of town or kill me. You’ve all ranted about the same thing though, tradition.”

“You are a disgrace to your school-,”

“The school I didn’t choose to attend you mean, or maybe I’m a disgrace to the Witcher who brought me in, who convinced my mother that him taking me away was for the best because she couldn’t afford to feed us. Maybe I’m a disgrace to my dear old mother, but she’s dead now and honestly I wouldn’t give a fuck even if she was alive.” She stood up and turned towards the door but Geralt caught her wrist, yanking her back into the booth.

“Leave this town or I will be forced to make you.”

“You won’t be the first to try, and you won’t be the last to fail. This town has been trying to get me out for months. No one can make me do anything I don’t want to do, that’s the only gift they gave me, power to get ride of invasive pricks like you. So why don’t you move on, Witcher,” she spat. She yanked away but he didn’t let go of her arm, tightening his grip with every moment. She rolled her eyes and pulled out a needle point dagger, driving it through his arm and into the table.

He growled like a tortured animal, grinding his teeth trying not to let her escape his grasp, but she slipped out and disappeared into the unhappy crowd. He yanked the blade from his arm and charged after her. He watched her long braid whip around the corner, towards the inn portion of pub.

The stairs creaked under his feet, crying for reprieve but nothing slowed him down. He was going to drag her out of this town if it killed him. A door slammed behind him and the young witcher was grinning at him from a shutterless window. She blew him a kiss and fell backwards, dropping out of view. He rushed to the ledge and with a sneer she pulled herself out of the hay in which she had landed and took off down the street. He jumped, not bothering to brush off the hay and taking off after her.

The streets were crowded again with merchants and buyers, now that there was no desperate fight to rid themselves of a witcher everyone could continue with their day and make Geralt’s life a little more difficult than it had to be. While the complained about her under their breath it almost seemed that they were protecting her, rolling carts into his way and sending chickens after him.

Throughout the chase, he never let her out of her sight, trying to study her on the run. He was big and strong, a clear advantage if it came to hand to hand combat but he could tell she was quick and clever. Darting in and out of the crowd, using magic to gently shift things out of her way. It was skilled magic, one that he had never seen such a young witcher use so well. She must have been one of the best at school, an idol to all those who desired to become the best. But she had also been rebellious, the scars that creeped above her neckline proved that. There was no anger in her eyes when she looked at him, only annoyance and small plea that he would just leave her alone. It was clear she had an idea about life that she could never achieve, but from the way she ran he was sure she would rather die than not try.

She darted into an alley and he followed/ When he finally came close, she was scaling the wall, punching handholds into the walls with very bloody fingers and moving faster than he would have expected. With the blunt edge of his sword he smacked the back of her knees, sending her tumbling to the ground.

From the ground she eyed his sword and backed away like a wild animal that had been cornered. He didn’t move while she stood, her back pressed against the stone wall. There was still no anger in her eyes, now, instead of annoyance, it was a wild look he had only found in rabid dogs.

“Not so tough now,” he taunted, drawing nearer, is sword prepared to defend whatever she threw at him. She barked a hoarse laugh and he watched as her fingers crept to her belt. There was no sword, only a small knife that would do nothing against his sword.

“They always said to go down fighting,” she replied and he shook his head.

“You don’t have to go down at all, just leave and you’ll never hear from me again.”

“Until I set up in another town and their lord calls for you to exterminate me, you don’t get your gold if I’m not dead. That’s why I had to kill them, every one he sent my way, because no will ever tell me what to do again.”

“What’s your name?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Just humor me.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m Geralt.”

“I don’t care who you are, only one of us is going to walk away from this, and if it’s me I couldn’t care less what the fuck your name is.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, we’re both going to walk away from this and you’re going to need to know my name,” he told her very calmly before swinging his sword and catching the side of her head with the blunt edge once more. Completely unconscious, she dropped to the ground, her knife tumbling from her hands.

518 notes · View notes

miserabull · 3 years

Text

A very long meta-analysis on P2 Bad Grief

So, I've gone over every dialogue with this guy a few times, and there is some stuff I've never seen addressed before. This is a mix of analyzing and theory that have been in my head for a while, and I’d love to know if it all also makes sense to other people

The thing about Classic and P2 Grief, is that they are very different characters playing the same role. Who is Bad Grief? A thief, a kingpin of the town's criminal underbelly, and a smuggler working for Big Vlad. In P1, he's also a dangerous murderer who kills people for fun, but denies it, even claims that he kicks people out of his gang for daring to take up knives. Dude lies a lot. In fact, he maintains the lie up until the last route, the Changeling's, and then tries that on her too but ends up confessing. This is my very wordy way of saying that while I kinda agree with people who are like "he's not a violent murderer like P1 Grief", P1 Grief also claimed to not be one up to the last minute. I don't think they are making him a sadistic killer this time, yeah, but I'm pretty sure he's a liar, and that there's a darker secret. The game implies Grief keeps his cards close to his chest and there is more to him several times, like here, when you talk with Lara's reflection

Lara's Reflection: You see, she puts her stock in deeds and not in words. So Stakh was always close to her; for he would hear his heart, and act. A trait you share, Burakh.

Haruspex: And the most taciturn of us all, Bad Grief.

Lara's Reflection: He speaks so much yet does so much more.

or when Artemy confronts him at Aspity's Hospice:

Bad Grief: You heard about Rubin? Know why the Kin wants him dead? He's walkin' around all downcast, doesn't sleep. Says not to ask. Says it's safer like that. What's he done, I wonder? I wanted to ask Sahba, but maybe you know?

Haruspex: You're lying. That's not what you wanted to ask. I can tell.

Bad Grief: If I did lie, I wouldn't tell you the truth now anyway, would I? So back off.

I'm not gonna go over the blowing-the-train tracks quest now, though I have some thoughts on it/what I think might be his plan there. For now it suffices to say that that whole thing is very odd, that his plan doesn't make sense(yeah, blowing up the tracks is a bad idea for his business. kinda meaningless though if the alternative is being hanged). That is to say, I'm pretty sure there's a hidden agenda there that we're probably only finding out in Changeling route.

So, what I mean is, if you think P2 Grief is harmless, or just a clown, or became a gang leader by accident, then, well. I think honey, you got a big storm comin'

A few more notes on Grief's character, and what I think of what we got so far:

-I believe the reflection(I have some thoughts about the nature of those too, actually lmao) is telling the truth, mostly. He is terrified, he doesn't want Artemy to think badly of him, he never wanted violence. P2 Grief is younger, more sympathetic, and very obviously more scared than his P1 counterpart. I don't think he's out there killing for fun. Still, I think he has a lot of blood on his hands anyway.

-I think his loyalty to his friends is sincere. He's kind of really big on companionship and loyalty, which fits, as a gang member. I really think that he wants to belong, to a gang, to a friend group, somewhere. Artemy mentions he's "always been weird" a couple of times, or stuff like "I knew you'd end up like this." and that thing with Lara's reflection... I think Grief was always a little bit on the margins, even in his own friend group, and that's why he made a place for himself as the leader of the misfits, of the people who don't fit what the town considers to be good society. I gotta get on with this because this is gonna be long enough without me rambling about every single thought and feeling I have about this bastard though

-He doesn't give away Stakh's hideout accidentally because he's goofy and dumb. He mentions more or less where it is like, three times. I think it's obvious that he's practically asking Artemy to go check on him, but he doesn't want to be a snitch, so he plays the fool like "Oooh no I gave you a hint, I sure hope you don't go looking for him now, don't ask me because I’d never tell!!". He's playing the clown, he's not that stupid

Okay, now we're getting to the heart of things. In P1, along with the reveal that he's actually a violent murderer who played another violent murderer(Barley) into taking the fall for his crimes, we get something else: he's working under the patronage and protection of Vlad Olgimsky. In P2, they put a lot more emphasis on that, Grief will tell you about it in the first AND second conversation you have. There is even a certain imagery associated with it... actually, allow me a quick digression here, I wanna go over some motifs around Grief.

Grief is pretty into clockwork and gears, going by his choice of decoration for his Lair. The town itself is compared to a machine several times, by himself, by Big Vlad, and regarding how the Kains view it. I risk to say that the way Grief sees it is rather different from the Kains, at least at first. For him it seems to be more of a blunt factory machine, while to the Kains...it means something else, more complex. Grief seems to have glimpsed what that is inside the Cathedral, near the end. That reminds me of something else, in the Diurnal End when Grief talks about how he used to be a clocksmith before, and now he's going to be "another kind of clocksmith", I don't think he's necessarily being literal in either case. Curiously, there's also a Clocksmith inside the Cathedral in Marble Nest...but I'm going off topic again

Bad Grief: Not a keeper of stores, but stories. This town, this great machine, the gears don't turn on their own, no, not till they're slick with secrets.

But so, webs and puppets. We return to Vlad Olgimsky(old), who uses the metaphor of his “web”. There's also an important character in Grief's journey that is strongly associated with (spider)webs and strings, and that's Aglaya. The most notable time Grief himself refers to it though, I think, it's in the Theatre of Death, if you let him die:

“My path was not called 'The Spider'. No, think wider. It was 'The Silkworm'! The end of a railroad, I pulled strings firm; unaware someone more cunning pulled mine upstairs.”

So about that. He’s referring to the PTB right? Probably, but not only. A theme in Patho is like...these layers of manipulation. I’m gonna pass the mic to P1 Clara and Saburov for a second:

Alexander Saburov: Begin with the Olgimskys. That is the most important sin for me, and the least for him, for it is not his fault. So did Olgimsky protect his illicit trade? Did he benefit from it?

Changeling: He didn't just benefit; he presided over it. Grief was his stooge.

Alexander Saburov: Now then, we shall skip the issue of the barber gang, since it's clear now who their true mastermind was... thanks to your courage, my brave girl.

Changeling: Don't skip it just yet. Barley was as much of a puppet in Grief's hands as Grief himself was for Olgimsky. Everyone has their toys.”

Grief is a puppet in Vlad’s hands both in P1 and P2, as there he says he’s Vlads “eyes and ears” in the warehouses. In the Cathedral, he seems to more or less realize the extent of it, and how it goes against what he always wanted in the first place: to not be trapped by anything.

Bad Grief: I used to be a thief, yet they made me a storekeeper. And what a perfect fit I made! I got my Warehouse kingdom, and with it, the insides of the Town's great machine. I kept Vlad's riches while havin' all I could dream of. Can't imagine a sweeter life.

Funnily enough, by that time he’s trapped in someone else’s web: Aglaya’s. That seems to be his thing, he thought he was in control and playing everyone, knowing all the secrets and pulling strings. In the end, he’s a Silkworm in the web of bigger fish. I mean, spiders.

Bad Grief: ...Yet they, too, are controlled by someone. Insane to think what kind of teeth you need for that.

But okay. Back to the start, I believe Grief has a lot of blood in his hands even before shit breaks loose. The things he seems to be most afraid of are also… interesting. This ties to his connection to Big Vlad, and the Kin.

Grief’s role in the payroll seems to be as a stool pigeon. He knows where everyone goes, what people are talking about, what they don’t want to become public. And he responds to Big Vlad. What I think is, hm, you know, even after Victoria passed it seems like the Kin and the Bull Enterprise never really defied Olgimsky, or had a leader in any way. Grief, too, seems to enjoy a pretty comfortable life for a gang leader. As an important piece to Vlad, he really doesn’t have that much to fear, since the guy “owns everything” and is very explicit to Artemy about how he can destroy anyone who doesn’t obey him. And probably has done that before. My guess is, Grief kept the machine working right by tattling, so no leadership or enemy to Vlad’s Enterprise could rise. I’d speculate that Vlad possibly paid the favor not only financially, but by maintaining Grief in that position. Basically, I think with Grief’s info, Vlad could eliminate any potential problem. That would mean that maybe without even having to shed blood himself there might be a lot of deaths Grief is responsible for, not to speak of the maintenance of that horrible system in the town. I think the route they are going for here is that Grief is a class traitor.

Why do I say that? Well, first let’s look at Grief’s relationship with the Kin: he’s remarkably close to them for a townie. Geographically, obviously, and also in the sense of living on the margins of society, but he also shares many of their superstitions, and seems to hold Aspity’s opinion in high regard(even calls her Sahba). I find it easy to believe that many of his men are part of the community as well, due to not being welcome in the town. At that time we see him in the Hospice though, and talking with the Kin people there, it’s pretty clear that they are planning some sort of uprising. That it’s imminent. Grief seems to know it. Seems to be absolutely terrified of that too, and to feel betrayed by Vlad.

Bad Grief: It's too late for me, Cub. I've only got one road ahead of me now. Perhaps the outbreak is for the best... Plagues are like fires, people forget old scores. And all hell will break loose here soon.

Haruspex: Any dark prophecies to share? You're the criminal mastermind here, after all.

Bad Grief: No need to prophesize. People fear hunger. Even honest workers will turn their hatchets and hammers to crime. Burglin' houses, lootin' corpses, guttin' each other. They will. Oh, they will.

Haruspex: Not all of them, Grief. Not all.

Bad Grief: The turf's so dry, you don't even need a match-a glare would start a fire. And when the Kin bares its teeth, that's when we'll all dance! They're slow on the start, but oh so fast on the draw! The Master likes them mute and obedient, but apathy makes them that way, not stupidity. They're only obedient till the time comes. And here it comes.

And the people who lose their jobs? They won't be too fond of staying home. They'll find new hobbies, like looking for food, or venting their anger. ...And Fat Vlad shut his facilities down the day before yesterday, didn't he? Crafty... Didn't whisper so much as a single word to me. Do you think he knew?

At the same time he seems to think that he deserves this, and it’s inevitable. “We reap what we sow”, paraphrasing him. He talks a few times about how there’s a vile beast inside each person in the town, about how they are all wretched and everything, including him, which I think might just be a way of coping like “yeah, I sold out, but anyone would do the same if they were in my place”.

So, yeah. What I think is that Grief was a guy that had no power and money, with absolutely no perspective, who due to his very particular skills had an opportunity to climb up and took it(all while still getting to pretend he’s an outlaw, free from the chains of society!). And it’s...very bad. And he knows it’s very bad, and he’s not evil or sadistic, but he’s immature, cowardly, and desperately wants to be in control of his own destiny, and to not be alone, and all that. He’s still Artemy’s childhood buddy, a loyal friend, and someone who never really wanted to cause that much damage. He also knows that what he did is unjustifiable, and that no matter what he truly feels, the damage is done and he’s guilty of horrible shit.

#pathologic #pathologic 2 #bad grief #pathologic meta #I forgot to talk about the shotgun. but oh well #full of spoilers both P1 and P2

147 notes · View notes

rufousnmacska · 3 years

Text

Only You

A Manorian arranged marriage fic requested by an anon.

Huge thanks to @itach-i for her help and advice with plot and beta reading! ❤️

Previously, in Part One

Previously, in Part Two

PART THREE

Manon jumped at the knock on her door. She’d sat up all night watching the fire slowly die, unable to sleep. Stiff from sitting in a chair in a cold room for so many hours, she moved slowly to the door. Expecting Glennis, she was surprised to find Yrene waiting to come in. The healer’s smile disappeared when she got a good look at Manon.

“I’m sure I look how I feel,” Manon said by way of greeting. She turned and went back to her chair.

Shivering, Yrene tried to get the fire going again, adding some kindling and blowing on the few stubborn embers that remained in the fireplace. The flames caught, but it would be a while before any heat radiated from it. She sat opposite Manon, watching her carefully.

“Just say it,” Manon said.

“Say what?”

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

She’d come to consider Yrene a good friend over the last two years. The woman was kind and an exceptionally talented healer, helping Manon overcome some of the darkest moments of her grief. Yrene also helped her navigate her way through the complexities of her relationship with Dorian, giving her advice and translating some of the human customs she didn’t understand. Like exchanging gifts. Manon had never given or received a birthday gift before. Yrene not only helped her find one for Dorian, she listened without judgment as Manon explained how foreign the concept was to her. The idea for the memory book had come to her after imagining what Yrene might get if Dorian and Manon were marrying.

Yrene sighed, resting her head back and staring up at the ceiling. “I’ve never seen this room before,” she said, absentmindedly. “It’s quite lovely.”

Manon glanced up. The ceiling was painted like the sky at twilight. A deep, rich blue turning black with stars scattered across it. It was beautiful, and it reminded her of those frozen nights she and Dorian and the Thirteen spent camped in the Fangs in search of the Crochans. She recognized a constellation or two and realized it was likely the same night sky. She didn’t think there was enough time for him to have commissioned the mural between her accepting the invitation and now. But she’d learned long ago that it was foolish to underestimate Dorian’s love of grand romantic gestures. Whether it had been completed for this visit or not, the intention was the same. She leaned back to examine the stars, smiling slightly as memories came rushing back – Asterin teasing Dorian about his pretty blue eyes, Vesta’s shameless flirting that often came dangerously close to provoking Manon’s jealousy, Sorrel gifting Dorian an Ironteeth blade that he still carried, Ghislaine getting caught up in talking about books with him. They’d only traveled together for a couple of short months. And yet despite the hardships, there was so much good to remember. It made her think of the memory book, and how much she wished to be sharing it with him as his wife.

“Josie asked for you the other day,” Yrene said, drawing Manon’s attention back down from the ceiling.

“She said my name?” Yrene and Chaol’s daughter had just begun forming complex words the last time Manon had seen her.

“Well,” she said with a shrug, “it was close enough that we knew who she meant. She mixed up the words a wee bit, so it came out Ma Nauntie instead of Auntie Manon. She’d seen one of Adarlan’s wyverns flying over the castle and thought it was Abraxos.” Yrene was grinning at the memory. “I’m afraid she butchered his name. But we’ve got her trying Brax for short.”

Manon was returning Yrene’s smile, but she didn’t know what to say. For as fond as she’d grown of Yrene, she’d come to care for Josie just as much. Would she ever see them again after today?

As if reading her mind, Yrene said, “I know it might be hard for you. To come here again. So I was thinking, maybe someday we can visit you?” Tears spilled from Yrene’s eyes and she pulled out a handkerchief.

“Of course! You can come back with me tonight if you wish,” Manon said, stretching out a hand. Sometimes it still felt strange for her to offer comfort to others. But it was something Yrene knew about her, something she never called attention to. And now, the healer leaned forward to take Manon’s hand in hers.

Yrene tried to smile but it just made her cry harder. She stood and walked away, taking a moment to blow her nose and dry her eyes. When she returned, she said, “Please don’t marry that fae prick. He’s not good enough for you. And I don’t trust him.”

Manon laughed, part of her shocked at the possibility, the other shocked at hearing Yrene swear. “No need to worry about that,” she said, further amused by Yrene’s exaggerated relief. “I no longer have plans to marry anyone. A consort isn’t required either. So, when the time is right, I shall only be in need of a … What was that word you so eloquently used just now? I will only need a prick.”

Yrene’s cheeks reddened as she laughed. “Is it not the best word for him?”

Manon grew serious, thinking about her evening with Fennick. He’d been too flirtatious and self-absorbed, and a bit rude towards the others at the table with them. But based on her experiences with fae males, Fennick’s behavior was typical, with Rowan being the exception. Yes, he was arrogant, but he’d also expressed sympathy for the Thirteen, and shared his past heartbreak with her. She knew what Dorian thought of the prince and wasn’t surprised that Yrene would also dislike him.

“Why don’t you trust him?” Manon asked.

Yrene sighed and bit her lip as she searched for an answer. “It’s mostly a gut feeling. He barely addressed Dorian. And him telling us about coming here to find a mate didn’t endear him to anyone. Even Eveline thought he was an ass.” At Manon’s expression, she offered an apology for mentioning the young woman.

“No, don’t worry about that. I’m more interested in what you said about Fennick. He came here looking for a mate?”

“That’s what he said. Some tale or superstition of his grandmother’s claiming fae would find their mate at a wedding. It sounded made up. And when Eveline told him there were no other fae invited, he said he could have a bond with a human or witch.” Yrene shot her a wicked grin. “Dorian wanted to hit him, I could tell.”

Her own lips twitched upward at the thought. But her mind shifted quickly back to Fennick. She’d known of his intentions from the letter. But why antagonize Dorian? Yes, the male was conceited, but he hadn’t struck her as stupid. Yrene was watching her expectantly, but Manon just said, “Well, regardless, you don’t have to worry about him. I don’t intend to see him after today.”

“Thank the gods,” Yrene said, apparently letting the subject go.

Manon knew Yrene had an extra sense about people. Whether it was her healing magic or just her ability to read others, Manon didn’t know. But she trusted Yrene’s opinion and knew it wasn’t clouded by jealousy like Dorian’s. Yrene’s relief set off warning bells. Manon needed to think, and she welcomed the distraction it offered as she waited for the ceremony later today.

“Where is Josie now?” she asked.

“With Chaol. Actually, I should be getting back.”

“Do we have time for an early lunch before the ceremony? You could bring her up here.”

Yrene beamed at the offer, promising to return with her child in a few hours.

After the healer left, Manon bathed and dressed. She sent her guards off on separate errands, giving them the names of castle staff who might know the gossip that was most difficult to come by. Then she set out on her own search for information, something she should have done sooner.

***

Dorian heard shouting from the main stable and poked his head through the door. The head groom was sending stable hands off in every direction, calling out reminders about the diets of certain horses. She saw Dorian and walked over to greet him.

“Apologies, Your Majesty. One of my lead grooms didn’t show up for work this morning and we’re scrambling to get the horses fed.” The woman grabbed hold of a young boy and turned him around. “Other way, lad. And be careful. That horse bites.”

Dorian smiled. “Don’t mind me. I’m just headed for the wyvern paddock. Have they been fed yet?”

Only half listening, she nodded, then turned back to the chaos surrounding her. “Last time I give so much responsibility to one person,” she muttered.

Continuing around the main stable and towards the far end of the yard, he saw a figure standing by the building that housed the wyverns and stopped. But it was only Glennis. The white hair had fooled him for a split second. She was feeding a small, bluish gray wyvern.

“I thought you’d never give up your broom,” he said, holding out his hand towards Abraxos. The little wyvern snuffled against his palm and Dorian rubbed his snout.

Glennis waved a hand, feigning irritation at her new mode of transport. “Neither did I until this little trouble-maker hatched out of an egg.” She tossed a chunk of meat to her wyvern, then moved on to the next one. Apparently Abraxos had already received his breakfast. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” Glennis said, “the wyverns are more comfortable to ride. Especially for old witches like me.”

Dorian laughed, giving her his best smile. “Who are you kidding? You’re still young.” She snorted and waved him off again. As she fed the other wyverns, he turned back to Abraxos.

Fearing this would be his last chance to see the wyvern and hoping no one else would be here, he’d gotten up early to visit. Not that he’d actually slept. He couldn’t remember the last time he got a full night’s sleep. “Hey, Brax,” he cooed, stepping through the gate into the stall. The wyvern curled his long, barbed tail around Dorian’s feet as he continued petting his snout. Dorian pulled a small bouquet of flowers from his cloak and laughed as a low, contented sound rumbled from Abraxos’s chest.

“He’s not like that with just anyone.” Glennis was standing behind them. “Flowers or no flowers.”

“I know,” Dorian said.

“She’d be mad to see you spoiling him so much.”

He huffed a laugh. “I know.” But he didn’t stop.

Glennis knew why he was here and went back to spoil her own wyvern, giving him privacy.

After a while, Dorian inhaled, long and ragged, his breath pooling in the morning chill when he released it. Abraxos watched him, seeming to know this was a goodbye. The wyvern let out a sad whine and Dorian tipped his head forward to rest against Abraxos. “You take good care of her for me, Brax. All right?”

Abraxos huffed in agreement, enshrouding Dorian in a cloud of hot air. The pungent smell gave Dorian the perfect excuse for the tears that had gathered in his eyes as he said goodbye to the little scarred wyvern.

Glennis was not so easily fooled. She knew the reason for the shimmer in his eyes, but said nothing as they started back to the castle together. The main stable appeared to be under control and Dorian waved to the head groom as they passed.

“You were married to a Crochan prince,” Dorian said, breaking their silence as they climbed a hill. “Was it arranged, or did you choose each other?”

For all her talk of old age, Glennis didn’t struggle with the incline. “A bit of both. We’d known each other forever, and our parents had thought it was a good match. There was never any formal agreement but they encouraged us. It was a bond forged of love.”

“So, you were mates then?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling her cloak up around her neck as they reached the top and were exposed to the wind. “But witches don’t have mating bonds like the fae.” She stopped walking to think. “It’s not a tether, not a physical thing like it is to the fae. There’s no silent communication, no feral territoriality. It’s just a stronger connection than a normal relationship. Why are you asking?”

Dorian tried to shrug it off. “Just curious.” They started walking again and he moved so he might block the worst of the wind from reaching her. “Then it has nothing to do with witches having fae blood? I mean, Manon must have more than the average witch since she comes from a lineage without much human involvement.”

Glennis frowned. “Hmmm, maybe. I’d never really thought of it like that. Our fae blood is so diluted, I’m not sure that it really makes a difference.” She stopped, and by her sad eyes, he knew he’d failed to fool her again. “You think Manon is your mate.”

He wanted to say yes. How else to explain the depth of his feelings for her? That constant tug in his chest. Light as it may be, it still connected him to her. Perhaps it was the fae blood in her, making a mating bond between them stronger than with other witches. But then, wouldn’t that also make it more possible for her to be Fennick’s mate? No, he wouldn’t allow himself to go down that path. Not after a long night of fighting the worst his imagination could come up with.

Maybe what he had with Manon was just love. A strong love of two people who completed each other, filled in the pieces that were missing and held the other up when darkness set in. That would be enough, Dorian knew. He didn’t need a mating bond to love her.

Glennis was still waiting for his reply. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully. “I don’t think it matters.” He’d meant the words differently than she took them. But when sorrow crept across her face, so deep it made his chest ache, he knew what she was thinking.

“No,” she said. “After today, I don’t think it will either.”

*****

Manon sat rigid, her eyes facing forward, ignoring all the stares and words whispered in her direction. She and Glennis had blessedly been ushered to a spot with only two available seats, ensuring Fennick could not sit next to her. Giselle and Lara were positioned nearby, but out of the way of other guests. Hearing Fennick’s voice as he took his seat a couple of rows behind them, Manon exchanged a look with Glennis.

After her lunch with Yrene and while they readied themselves for the ceremony, Manon and her guards had discussed what little they could find out about the prince. The two witches gathered minimal gossip from the castle workers. The prince had brought no attendants or valets of his own, and he’d made a show of turning down the head steward’s offer to provide him one. It wasn’t unusual for a noble to eschew servants, even for a long and important trip such as this. But it felt off given his formality and haughty nature. Of course, it kept him out of the streams of gossip among the staff.

Manon had gone herself to the royal library, hoping to find some information on Fennick’s lineage. The Whitethorn clan was old and spread out in the fae lands across the sea. And with his age, she thought perhaps he’d been mentioned in a genealogy or even history book. But the librarian had been unable to find anything substantial. The only occurrence of his name was in a recent book about the fae that included trees of the older families. Fennick was indeed a second cousin to Rowan and Sellene, stemming from a side of the family that Maeve had passed over when it came to titles and lands. How he’d risen to prince so quickly, she didn’t know. Sellene, ever practical and shrewd, had not seemed the type to toss out prestigious titles to just anyone. Nor was she the type, Manon realized, who would send an extravagant gift in an attempt to brag about her kingdom’s wealth.

They’d found nothing, and what little she did know made no sense. And yet, it left her unsettled. Glennis too. But, like the others, her grandmother had hated him from the start. In her mind, Manon had already dismissed him as a possible consort or provider of an heir. Yet she was still more ambivalent about Fennick’s flaws than Glennis and Yrene. His story about the human woman he’d almost given up his immortality for had touched a very raw nerve and stuck with her. Whether it was the faint similarities to her own situation, or just that she pitied him, she was unsure. Perhaps Yrene was wrong. And Glennis.

That was what unsettled her the most. It seemed impossible that both of them would misjudge the male. If only she weren’t here for Dorian’s wedding. Everything from her wits to her instincts were off kilter because of it, and she didn’t trust herself. Then again, if not for this wedding, she’d never have met Fennick and wouldn’t need to concern herself with him. The one good thing to come of it was the distraction it had provided her today.

There was movement at the front of the large chapel and Manon used every ounce of control to keep her face calm as Dorian and Chaol walked out towards the podium behind which the priest stood. Dressed in an azure jacket that brought out the brilliance of his eyes, he looked even more handsome than he had last night at dinner. Damaris hung from his side, and with his crown, he looked like a warrior king of old. This was it then, she thought, praying uselessly for more distractions or delays. Anything to keep her from having to watch Dorian pledge himself to another.

When he and Chaol took their places, the strings began to play a soft, beautiful melody. She couldn’t help herself and looked right at Dorian. He was, of course, staring at her. And for that moment, she pretended that she was walking to meet him. That she would be taking him as her king, becoming his queen, instead of Eveline. The hint of a smile caught his lips and she suspected, hoped, that he was imagining the same thing.

It wasn’t until Chaol lightly touched Dorian’s arm, drawing a frown in response, that she noticed the music had started over. She turned to Glennis and saw confusion, which was mirrored on the others in the crowd. Her grandmother stretched around to look back at the front entrance where the bride should have been standing.

“Maybe she has cold feet,” someone muttered.

In the first row, Lord Frey was turning red with rage. And right before he could jump up to go find his daughter and likely drag her down the aisle, Yrene came running in with a note in her hand.

***

Dorian hadn’t noticed anything. He’d been too busy looking at Manon. She was seated, so he couldn’t see the entire thing, but this dress rivaled the one she’d worn last night. A silvery gray color that matched the shimmering wings of her wyvern, the dress had a neckline that stretched across her collar bones, from shoulder to shoulder. Hanging down over her chest was a single red ruby, large enough to fit within the eye in the pommel of his sword. Her hair was braided into a crown atop her head. Despite their fight, despite everything, he smiled at her, unable to tear his gaze away. Unable to keep from wishing it was her walking towards him today.

Until Chaol tapped his arm and brought him back to reality. Where the musicians were fumbling to begin the processional again. Where Lord Frey was staring daggers at him for admiring Manon. Where Yrene was walking up the aisle instead of Eveline. He hadn’t even noticed Yrene wasn’t seated before them.

Trying to keep her voice low, she handed Dorian the letter she carried and said, “She’s gone. This was all she left.”

With so many eager ears and the heightened acoustics of the building, everyone heard her. Immediately, the chapel was in an uproar. Some guests were shocked, upset to see their king abandoned at the altar. Others were watching the scene unfold with glee, anxious for the tales they could tell afterwards. The priest stood with his mouth agape. Lord Frey was reaching for the letter, sputtering curses and pushing back the lords who’d allied with him. They were gathered around him, clamoring for an explanation. Manon and Glennis both stared wide-eyed at him, unsure how to react.

Dorian spun away from Lord Frey’s grasp and began to read.

Your Majesty,

Please forgive me for the lateness of this wedding gift. I had hoped to have it weeks ago, but my father is a paranoid man with many hideaways, and my efforts were delayed.

My father is not what he seems. He lost most of his gold during the war and has been pretending to be wealthy ever since. He fears nothing more than losing his title and being relegated to a life of poverty. His complaints to his neighbors about your rule were nothing more than talk. Is wasn’t until he was approached from afar that the talk turned into real threats of rebellion.

I was aware that someone was pushing my father down this path, offering to pay a rich reward for his work, but I didn’t know who until just an hour ago. A friend was finally able to procure some messages sent from the foreign party to my father as proof of their plan. They have been placed in your valet’s safe keeping. Ruben was always kind to me, and I believe him to be a trustworthy attendant to you.

I am sure you are curious about who is funding my father’s play at rebellion. I must confess I was shocked and confused to learn that Prince Fennick is behind the plot.

According to the messages, the prince had heard of my father’s money woes and came to him with a plan. My father was to stir up trouble among your nobles then offer up my hand in marriage as the only way to appease him and prevent a war.

I cannot be sure of the prince’s motives, but I suspect he has had his eye on your beloved witch queen for some time. I trust you will be able to get the details out of him.

I must also ask your forgiveness for my dreadful conduct in leaving you like this. The truth is, I am in love with a man named Costis, a groom in your stables. We had planned to run away, but my father pulled me unwillingly into his scheme before we could manage it. Costis was able to acquire the letters just this morning. As I have been freed from my father, we are now off to live our own lives.

I said above that this is my wedding gift to you. Of course, as we are no longer getting married, I do not give it to you as a wife to her husband. Instead, I offer this to my King, who is also now free to be with the witch he loves.

With hope for a long and happy life with your queen,

Eveline

Dorian wasn’t sure if he was breathing. He rubbed at his eyes, skimmed over the message again and again, making sure it was real and not some figment of his overwrought imagination. Passing it to Chaol, he ordered him to arrest Frey. And then he found Manon in the crowd and ran to her.

Her face held a million questions, but there was no time. They’d waited long enough. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her. After a second’s hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back. He thought he heard someone yelling but it faded away, just like everything else around them.

The world, his world, was here in his arms. That’s all that mattered.

When they broke apart, the chapel had quieted down. Manon opened her eyes slowly, as if coming out of a trance. “Marry me, witchling,” Dorian said, letting his wild grin take over his face. “Not today. I want our friends with us. But please, will you marry me? Be my queen? The only one I’ve ever wanted.”

Manon began to laugh, and the sound of her joy was like a balm to his heart, repairing all the cracks and pieces that had broken off in the past months.

“Please,” he repeated. “If you want me to beg, I will.”

She laughed again before cupping his face in her hands and nodding. “Yes. I will marry you, princeling.”

Some of the guests began cheering, others were still reeling by the turn of events. Chaol and Yrene were next to them, hugging Glennis.

Dorian turned to see Lord Frey in shackles, being hauled off by the royal guard. A glance to Chaol told him they still had one other person to deal with. Signaling to his remaining guard and Manon’s sentinels, he walked to where Fennick still stood, an expression of deepest insult on the prince’s face.

“Fennick Whitethorn, you are under arrest for plotting to overthrow Adarlan,” Dorian said. Manon looked between him and Fennick, speechless with shock.

The male was stricken with outrage. “What? What the hell are you talking about? When I return to Doranelle, this will not be forgotten! Sellene will not stand for this!”

“I suspect Queen Sellene is not aware of what you’ve been up to,” Dorian countered, noticing Ruben enter the chapel. His valet waved a stack of papers for Dorian to see. Dorian nodded and motioned for Chaol to fetch them. To Manon, he explained, “Eveline found proof that our good friend Fennick was paying Lord Frey to carry out this sham. He wanted me out of the way to pursue you.”

Manon’s eyes narrowed and he saw the anger and embarrassment rise in her like a flood. It was a level of rage he’d never seen on her before. And hoped to never see again.

She turned and glared up at Fennick. He immediately began accusing Eveline and Lord Frey of lying, accusing Dorian of making it up to escape the wedding. But she said nothing, just watched him grow more pathetic as he spouted increasingly ridiculous excuses. When he had nothing left to say, Manon cocked her arm and punched him in the face, sending him shuffling back and twirling around before he thudded to the floor, unconscious. Her witches picked him up and dragged him out, following the royal guard to the dungeon.

*****

After an abbreviated un-wedding dinner, Manon walked with Dorian to the top of the king’s tower, past her guest rooms to the suite she would now be sharing with him. There was much to be discussed and worked out. While their marriage would be a good alliance for both kingdoms, compromises would have to be made. Including, Manon informed him, splitting their time between the two capitols.

Dorian had agreed before she even got all the words out. “I don’t care where we are, as long as we’re together.”

“We can’t be together all the time,” she said, trying to be sensible as she stood before him, staring in wonder at his proximity, listening to his heartbeat. He was taking his time pulling the pins from her hair, one by one. Manon wasn’t sure if sensible was possible right now. The heartache of the last six months, the explosive revelations of hours ago, she exhaled and let it all go, as if the winds could carry it away across the sea. Right here, right now, it was just them. Sensible talk about kingdoms and politics could wait.

“I beg to differ,” he said, reaching around her head for a pin. The movement brought him blessedly closer.

“There you go again,” she purred. “Begging.”

Her hair was free of pins and he began to undo the braid, letting it fall through his fingers. “Only for you, witchling.”

She continued to watch him, getting lost in the perfect smile that hadn’t left his face in hours. When Manon reached up and ran her fingers over his dimpled cheek, he made a little gasp and turned his attention from her hair. “You said last night that I don’t belong to you, but you belong to me,” she said.

“I did.” His smile faded, his voice a deep whisper.

“You were wrong. I am yours and yours only. There is no one else I would give myself to.”

Dorian took her face in both hands and kissed her, and she felt his smile return. “Only you.”

Clutching her hand, he led her to the bed where they took their time undressing each other. She lay back on the bed, losing herself to the charged heat of his touch, the soft fullness of his lips.

“Only you,” she murmured, feeling his mouth curl up against the inside of her thigh.

Dorian took his time, for they had that now. Time to tease and caress every inch of her, time to nip at her ears, time to shift her hips to sink deeper inside her, leaving her breathless and needy for more. And after an eternity where he sent her spinning over the edge again and again, he joined her, calling out her name as if it were his home.

When their euphoria faded, Dorian fell onto the bed next to her, pulling her close as they fought to catch their breath. “And you say I’m the one who always begs,” he teased.

They slept in the next morning, not getting out of bed until almost noon when Ruben knocked and demanded they eat something. There were other things to see to, guests to say goodbye to, and then finally, that night after dinner, Manon and Dorian went to the dungeons.

The second Lord Frey saw them, he dropped to his knees. “Please, Your Majesty. I only wanted the money to rebuild my estate. I never intended to bring about war. Please, please …”

Manon was surprised by the sudden turn. Just yesterday at the ceremony, he’d been trying to urge his allies to stand in support of him, ultimately resorting to screamed threats that had the opposite effect. And now, he was on his knees, pleading for his life.

“You’re accused of treason, Frey,” Dorian said. The man flinched at the loss of his title. “If you really want to continue confessing, be my guest. But you may want to wait for a judge.”

The man shook his head, befuddled. “You … you’re not going to hang me?”

This man had almost destroyed their lives, bringing Adarlan to the brink of civil war. Dorian had every right to punish him harshly. They’d discussed how to handle these interrogations over dinner, though they had not expected it would be this easy. It seemed that Frey was a coward at heart and had been a poor choice of conspirators for Fennick.

Dorian said, “I won’t hang you. If you tell me why.”

Frey heaved a sigh of relief, though he had the sense to still look nervous. “Before the war, Duke Perrington forced me to help fund some of his work at Morath.” At Dorian’s dubious look, he added, “I swear I did not know who he truly was then. I was acting in the best interest of my kingdom and my holdings. But … he bled me dry, offering promises of future reward that never came. And then he was revealed to be Erawan, leaving Adarlan devastated. I had enough in my vault to maintain appearances, but nothing more. Prince Fennick approached me earlier this year with an offer that would allow me to regain my former wealth. I was to stir up dislike for you and get support from other nobles, enough to pose a credible threat to your throne. When talk of rebellion grew to a boiling point, I would demand you marry my daughter. Her hand in exchange for appeasing your enemies.”

“And what was your payment?” Manon asked.

“Gold,” Frey said simply. She arched an eyebrow in a silent demand for more, and he sank miserably onto the floor. “And the promise that when an heir was born, the king would be eliminated, leaving me as regent.”

The gold was expected. But the threat of assassination came as a shock. Dorian was speechless, trying to process how close they’d come to ruin. Frey eyed him, fearful that the earlier proposal to spare him from hanging would be dismissed.

“What did he stand to gain?” Manon continued. Frey seemed oblivious to the fact that he would be installed as a puppet. Or, more likely, set up as Dorian’s killer and disposed of himself.

“Prince Fennick would be able to marry you. He told me all about how the two of you met during the war.” At Manon’s surprise, the man hesitated. “He said that he had fallen in love with you, that you were his mate. But you were attached to King Dorian. He believed the only chance he stood was to have the king removed from the mix.”

Manon and Dorian said nothing as they stared at each other. Frey returned to begging for his life, mistaking their silence for anger at the dark depths of the scheme. He was still calling out to them for mercy as they left him with a guard.

When they reached Fennick’s cell further down the dank passageway, they found the fae stretched out lazily on a cot. His eyes were closed, and something about the scene made Manon’s temper boil to the surface. Dorian cleared his throat, and the fae could no longer pretend they weren’t there. He stood and looked between her and Dorian.

She’d thought perhaps Fennick might still be projecting the indignant fury of the night before, or something worse. But he wore the same confident expression he’d had when she first met him.

“I wasn’t lying about that woman I loved. Mortals are fickle. And they die so easily.”

It was directed at Manon, but Dorian asked, “Was that a threat?” She knew he was keeping his magic on a tight leash, but the air still crackled with it.

Fennick huffed a laugh, ignoring the question and Dorian. “Immortals such as you and I should not debase ourselves by associating with humans. Maeve and I rarely saw eye to eye, but the restrictions she placed on who could settle in Doranelle were something on which we could agree.”

“It seems to me your human was the smart one,” Manon said, somehow controlling the urge to maul him. “Escaping your clutches was the best thing that could have happened to her.”

He grinned at her, his sharp canines flashing, a glint of malice in his eyes. “Who said she escaped me?”

Here was the male she’d been worried they might find, the one kept hidden under the fancy clothes and courtly manners. The one who thought he could take their kingdoms as his own.

“So, you hate humans?” Dorian asked, lightly. “That’s what this is all about?”

Fennick finally turned to acknowledge him. “I don’t particularly care for them. But no, Your Majesty, that’s not what this is about.” Dorian’s title came out of his mouth as a sneer. “I had just as much right to Maeve’s throne as any Whitethorn. To simply hand it to Sellene, as if it were some cheap trinket to be tossed at whoever stood nearest was a disgrace.”

“We had nothing to do with that,” Manon said.

“True,” Fennick agreed. “But there were no other kingdoms as vulnerable as yours. Or as valuable, what with all that gold you have hidden in the Wastes. The Witch Kingdom was the perfect place to start.”

Manon growled at the insult, but Dorian asked, “Start what?”

“My rule,” he said simply. To Manon, he added, “Having you at my side was to an extra reward. I understand the valg king wanted you for his queen. I must confess, that piqued my interest.”

She shuddered at the mention of Erawan. It brought back memories of the way his eyes would crawl over her, possessive and hungry. The valg king had planned to keep her as his own. Much like this fae.

Dorian’s restraint was reaching its limit and the air felt suddenly cooler. His voice was just as icy as he asked, “Rule what?”

“Everything.” The word was slick, as if coated in venom.

Something had changed in Fennick’s manner with the confession. Gone were the handsome features and polite way of speaking. Locked in a cell, his hair disheveled and clothing dirty, he looked like a different creature. She’d known fae could be feral, animalistic. She’d experienced it, barely survived it. But watching him speak these words, Manon wondered if she’d truly ever seen the transformation before.

“You searched for a desperate Adarlan noble,” she said, “one with a marriageable daughter, one who could be paid off to extort the king. All to force Dorian into an arranged marriage, seduce me to steal my kingdom, then kill him for his. Do I have it right?”

Fennick’s eyes narrowed on Dorian and he grinned. “The seduction part is right, at least.”

Manon flew at him, her iron nails extended and desperate for blood. Bars or not, she wanted to scratch the bastard’s eyes from their sockets. But Dorian grabbed her by the waist and held her back. She struggled against him briefly before calming down. When he let go of her, she still shook with the desire to hurt the male. This fae prince had truly thought he could conquer Erilea? She wanted to scream in his face that he was a fool. But she kept her mouth shut, not wanting to bring more attention to how close he’d come to setting his plan in motion. And to her own foolishness. She’d let this monster touch her, dance with her. She’d pitied him when he deserved nothing but revulsion.

Dorian stepped up to the cell door, eyeing Fennick with a sly smile. “It’s funny that you think you could try to play us against each other.”

The male shrugged, unconcerned. “It was worth a shot. You are only human.”

“I may only be human,” Dorian said, “but I have something you don’t.”

Instantly, Fennick was slammed backwards by invisible hands, thrown up against the grimy stone wall and held there. He tried to speak but couldn’t. Somehow, Dorian had cut off his voice. The male’s eyes bulged in rage.

Manon watched Fennick struggle against Dorian’s magic, her enjoyment of the spectacle growing with each vein that popped out on the male’s neck. Speaking to Dorian, she mused, “Do you think he’s even a prince?”

“From his branch of the family? The one even Maeve ignored?” Dorian taunted. “No, I doubt it. And Sellene certainly played no part in this. He’s here on his own, likely without a coin to his name.”

“That reminds me,” Manon said, turning back to Fennick. “Your intricate plan had at least two big flaws,” she said. “Your reliance on using the Witch Kingdom’s gold was misguided, I’m afraid. The gold we have is mostly still in the ground, unrefined, and worth next to nothing. And your pathetic attempts to seduce me and make me think we might be mates …” She trailed off, swallowing the bile that had risen in her throat at the words. “My mate stands beside me now,” she said, feeling Dorian’s gaze settle on her. Whatever connection they shared, whether it was love or something more, they were mates in each other’s eyes.

Fennick had gone still, a silent, malevolent rage simmering off him. She glanced at Dorian, who loosened his magical hold and let the fae drop to the floor in a heap.

Jumping up, Fennick sprang towards the bars holding him in, teeth bared, his hands reaching out to strike her. Dorian had them shielded. And when his fists were repelled by nothing but air, Fennick screamed. “You bitch! You don’t know-” The fae was thrown back against the wall, his voice cut off again.

“I’ve heard enough,” Dorian said, his face twisted as he struggled to control his magic so as not to kill the male.

Before they left, Manon said, “A messenger has been sent to Sellene, outlining all you’ve done and what you will be charged with. If she asks for you back to throw in her own cells, we may oblige.” When he didn’t seem to care, she added, “And a messenger was sent north to Terrasen. I’m sure Rowan will be interested in hearing about what you’ve done using the family name.” For the first time, real fear flashed across Fennick’s face. Manon smiled, wicked and slow. “You’re right to fear him,” she said. “But I fought with Sellene in the war. She is just as fearsome as Rowan. Why do you think they made her queen?”

By the time they walked back past Frey’s cell, it had been emptied of its prisoner. In exchange for his promise of testimony, he’d been moved to a cleaner section of the dungeons. And when they started up the twisting stairs, Dorian released his magic. They heard a thud and a string of loud curses.

Manon was silent as they came out into a room just off the main entrance hall. Even though she never fell for Fennick’s advances, had never come close to letting things progress in that direction, she’d excused his behavior. The fact that he’d marked her as a fool, marked her kingdom as vulnerable, marked Dorian for death, left her dizzy with guilt and fear. While Glennis and Yrene were happy to be proven right about him, Manon felt adrift, as if her instincts had abandoned her.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Dorian said, motioning the steward over to them. She didn’t hear what he requested.

“I know. But it feels as though it is.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I was duped as much as you were. Thank the gods for Eveline and Costis.”

“Yes,” Manon agreed. “I wonder where they will end up?”

A boy returned bearing two heavy cloaks. Dorian took them and smiled. “I don’t know. But we should find them and send them a wedding gift.”

He draped a cloak over her shoulders and put the other one across his own. Clasping her hand, he led her out of the castle and in the direction of the stables. Abraxos stretched his long neck and arched his back at the first sight of them, excited for their late visit. Manon hugged Dorian tight, thanking him for knowing exactly what she needed at the exact right time. They climbed into the saddle and with a whoop from his rider, Abraxos took off into the star filled night.

***

The following summer in Rifthold, after a week of festivities that brought the Terrasen Queen and her entire court, the Queen of the Western Wastes, the future Emperor and Empress of the Southern Continent, the newly crowned King of Wendlyn, the Queen of Doranelle, and other royalty from across Erilea, Dorian and Manon were finally married.

That night, after the ceremony, as they lay in bed pointing out familiar constellations that had been painted on the ceiling of the royal suite, Dorian pulled a package from the bedside table. Silently, he presented it to his queen. Manon took it, bemused and unable to tell what was under the wrapping. When she tore it off and opened the box, she found a beautiful, leather-bound book.

Stamped in gold lettering on the cover were their names, Manon and Dorian.

“Is this the same …?” She trailed off, knowing the answer before finishing the question.

Dorian shook his head. “No, but Glennis told me about the one you got. I thought we should have our own. Open it.”

She flipped through and found some of the pages in the beginning already filled in. There was a family tree for each of them. Dorian’s included Chaol, Yrene, and Josie. And Manon traced her fingers over the names of the parents she’d never met, and the sisters she had lost.

Then a page titled How We Met. It was mostly blank, except for where Dorian had written

She saved me.

Manon stared at it for a long moment. Then suddenly, she jumped out of bed and went to his desk. After a moment of searching, she found a pen and bottle of ink. Underneath his words, she wrote

He saved me too.

Over the years, the book was carried back and forth between Adarlan and the Witch Kingdom, never leaving the possession of the King and Queen. Its pages were filled with memories, happy and sad. Memories of theirs and of others. Births, deaths.

And when the book was passed on to their daughter, she read her parents love for her and each other in every word. For they were lucky. Rhiannon’s parents were a love match, and she’d promised them she wouldn’t settle for anything less.

The end.

***

Thank you so much for reading! I hope this ending made up for the pain and angst everyone suffered through! ☺️

You can find my writing master list here or on AO3.

@itach-i @bookishwitchling @manontrashbeak @awesomelena555 @jimetg98 @over300books

#manorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #throne of glass #chaol westfall #yrene westfall #glennis crochan #anon ask #my writing #manorian fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #only you

69 notes · View notes

katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

Text

WIP Wednesday Thursday

Title: Extraordinary

Pairings: HotchReid (side pairings Morcia, WillxJJ, others in flirtation)

Summary: League of Extraordinary Gentleman/Vampire AU;

Within the FBI there is a specialized team full of an elite selection of people. Unique individuals with very particular skill sets. And their job is to take the unusual cases: the ones that need to not only be solved, but are undetermined if the unsub is human, or something else entirely.

In a world filled with Vampires, non-human creatures, and subspecies unknown, there is only enough information to have them vaguely regulated. Rules that are so easily, and violently broken, all while hidden in plain sight among the unsuspecting public. Unrivaled for eons.

That’s where the BAU comes in.

Official Posting Date: Now posted on tumblr and Ao3, Click Here

Links: (Masterpost) (Snippet 01) (Snippet 02) (Snippet 03) (Snippet 04)

(TW/CW: This is pretty tame, Emily is just a little intense and eager because Spencer is... well, Spencer, and when she realizes all he can do? Oh she is chomping at the bit. Some trance-like things and witchy stuff and Hotch being territorial without being able to admit it.)

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: this takes place in chapter 02, what you will all see on Saturday evening, and this version is insanely unpolished (I’m about to go through and fix it up and give it a good make-over) but basically this is the first time Spencer is meeting Emily Prentiss and it makes... an impression. Also, Emily has been at the BAU for about 0.2 seconds and Hotch is already done with her. The sibling energy I love to see. It’s also hella long, as an apology for missing last week and being a day late. All you’ve missed is Spencer about ran into Emily turning a corner and she saved him from spilling his case files and coffee all over the floor. Now they are talking)

–

“I apologize, I thought you were an intern or still in the academy.”

“It’s alright, everyone does,” Spencer says without taking offense. He wouldn’t have gotten where he was or lasted very long if he did; however, if he had a nickel for every time someone had been surprised by his age, he’d be as rich as Father Rossi. His full hands actually aids him as he mentions, “I don’t usually shake hands with people, so don’t think me rude. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” He offers her a smile in exchange, and it is mirrored on her face just as her surprise kicks up another notch.

“Doctor, my my I am in for a trip on this team, aren’t I?” she laughs, and it’s a melodic thing that stretches over an expanse of time and history. Ballrooms in Russia and palors of France, Elizabethan and the roaring 20’s and everything in between all rolled into one. He’s not sure how he sees it, an impossible thing, but he can read it like a book and that must have something to do with what she is. “Emily Prentiss, it is a remarkable pleasure to meet you Dr. Reid. Now, I have to ask--” her tone is so charming and playful and probing he barely notices the nuance, “And I’m sure it’s taboo around here, but I have to know -- your regeneration process. Tell me what it is or what you do. You look so young.”

“I am young,” he states simply, finally stunned by a question he’s not usually asked.

“Yes, yes, we all can’t be a thousand years old like your fearless Vampire leader,” she waves off and Spencer’s eyes widen because… he hadn’t known Hotch was that old. Sure he’d said he’d been alive for the better part of a millennia, but he always said it like a hyperbole. A turn of phrase that’s off by a couple centuries. But --

A thousand years old.

That would put him…

God, that would put him alive, as a human, just before the start of The Crusades.

“Oh, did he keep that to himself? Oops, my bad. Pretend you don’t know. Anyway -- so are you a Shifter? Or use a particular spell? Oh, or is it a curse? I’m fascinated by curses, I don’t use them often myself but the rigidity of terms using a power so chaotic is just such a fun juxtaposition that I--”

“No, no, I’m… normal, human,” Spencer interrupts her, still the smallest bit shell-shocked, but now connects a few dots himself as she speaks. Realizes very suddenly that Ms. Prentiss appears ageless because she is ageless. She’s also a Witch. One of the broadest terms for subspecies categories, which really doesn’t do it justice. A Witch could be a number of things. Someone who uses magic and science and the very Earth itself paired with the spiritual planes to do impossible things. Witches are beings so powerful they should be uncategorizable. Something Spencer is fascinated by as well. He’s never met anyone like Emily. “I look young because I am young. I’m 27, I’ve only been with the BAU for the past three years. I’m a little excited to not be the newbie on the team any more,” he tries to joke, but Emily’s gaze has gone distant and sharp all at once.

“You’re only 27? And you’re a doctor?” She asks in clarification, Spencer nodding along each time. “You’ve been a doctor, since becoming an FBI agent?”

“Um, well -- I’m not a medical doctor. I do have three doctorates, though; in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering,” he finds himself shrinking a bit under her intensely interested gaze. “What?”

“Chemistry?” she asks, vaguely more distant.

“That was my first doctorate,” he murmurs back, not sure what has her looking so contemplative.

“You’ve achieved all of this: three doctorates, FBI agent, BAU -- in 27 years?” she questions, a grave yet wondrous sound.

“Technically I did all of that in 15 years. I graduated high school when I was 12,” he manages to do more than mumble, and Emily’s wide-eyed stare has him spewing forth information like it requires an explanation. “I have an eidetic memory, and I can read 20,000 words a minute, and my IQ is 187 so by human standards yes -- I’m a genius, and borderline on the advanced brain developments scale. But I’m still human. Nothing paranormal or extraordinary.”

The pause that follows is palpable.

“Oh,” she says in an exhale, “Oh, you young soul. You have no idea, do you? What you are capable of...” She tilts her head as she steps closer and Spencer is very suddenly aware that he’s not sure she’s blinked since they started speaking about his qualifications. What he can do, how he got to where he is. No one usually shows this much interest, he makes them uncomfortable for reasons he doesn’t always understand.

Emily doesn’t look uncomfortable, she looks… hungry.

“You are so very, very extraordinary. Exceptional, really. Look at all of what you’ve accomplished with just 15 years of life.” That astonished sound again, like she can’t believe her luck--

And then she’s in his space, gaze boring into his, and Spencer can see galaxies in the depth of her eyes. His breath stolen from him and feet rooted to the floor. So he doesn’t step away as she leans just the smallest bit closer, words resonating with echoes across ages.

“Imagine what you could do with a thousand.”

“Prentiss,” the deep voice of Hotch’s monotone (edged in something vaguely aggressive, and more than a little aggravated) breaks through their moment. The trance fading like a fog from Spencer’s eyes. “No recruiting. It’s in your contract.”

“You have such a gift, it’s a shame to waste it,” Emily whispers in a rush as Hotch approaches them from down the hall. More earnest than intimidating, now.

“Prentiss!”

“Think about it,” she winks, and then turns to give Hotch a smile that’s all teeth so sharp she resembles a shark. “Oh, what a sour face. What’s wrong? Were you planning on asking him first? You snooze, you lose.”

“Conference room,” he instructs, pointing the way Spencer had just come. “Team meeting in 20 minutes. Try not to summon anything between here and there.” She sticks her tongue out at him childishly as she leaves, and sends a quirk of a smile Spencer’s direction that shifts her whole expression into something comically entertained. He’s never seen Hotch interact with someone like this, like they were… familiar, even exasperatingly so. The closest in comparison is probably Father Rossi. But this is less like old friends and more like sibling rivalry.

The space Emily had just vacated is suddenly filled with Hotch, an overwhelmingly welcomed presence and it eases the tension out of Spencer’s spine and shoulders that he hadn’t even realized was there.

“Are you okay?” he asks, low and quiet. They’re the only ones in the hallway, but secrecy is a hard habit to break.

Spencer nods, still gaining his bearings once more. “I think so. That didn’t feel like hypnotism. I don’t know what that was.”

“Prentiss doesn’t manipulate minds or the wills of other people,” Hotch tells him, which is soothing if not for the foreboding question of what just occurred. “She doesn’t need to. She can do a lot of things: change her face, her voice, make illusions and talk circles around anyone -- even you.” Spencer looks up to him at that, aware that his level of intelligence is the only thing that keeps him safe from JJ or Hotch’s influence. His mind can’t be bent, or tricked.

“Then what was she doing? I felt compelled but… not against my will. What was that?” he asks, also quiet but much more high in pitch as his confusion turns his voice to a winded sound.

Hotch’s thin, stern frown does nothing to alleviate the apprehension caught up in his chest like a bad cold.

“Possibility,” he states, grim and not liking that Spencer had fallen prey to such a short moment with Emily Prentiss and her promise of what her craft could do for him. Hotch is well aware that Spencer’s gift of soaking up every speck on information he’s given like a sponge isn’t something to let wither and die like so many before him. There’s so much he could do with an infinite life, such as his and Emily’s, but the curse of living forever alone is not something to be taken lightly. And not to be decided by someone who still has so much more life to live unaided by other forces.

However, Emily was right about one thing. Hotch can’t deny that he’s thought about it. More than considered it as a definite possibility.

An offer, all his own.

–

Tagged list so far: @physics-magic, @thaddeusly, @ssa-noa, @ssa-sarahsunshine, @tobias-hankel, @reidology, @mintphoenix

#THIS IS JUST A SNIPPET #it's a very long one as an apology for missing last week and being a day late #and also because it's COOL and I have no self control #Emily and Spencer would be a terrifying duo honestly #Also Emily and Hotch have the best sibling relationship ever #if anyone wants in on that taglist hit me up via ask or comment or rb #the story is posted! Updates on Saturday evenings #Extraordinary #HotchReid #Katyswriting #Katyswip #wip wednesday

20 notes · View notes