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javier-pena · 3 years

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take

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f!reader

Word Count: 3k

Rating: Explicit (that means 18+/no minors!!)

Summary: Javi and you are enjoying breakfast on his yacht until things take an unexpected turn.

Notes: I saw a picture of Javi and all I could think was, “I wanna feed him berries”. So that’s the reason I wrote this fic. That’s the only excuse I have. Oh and also that I want Javi to call me a bad girl but whatever, we don’t need to talk about that. Anyway, as always, I owe most of this to Dani @javierpcna, literally everything I write should come with Dani’s name listed as co-author, her support knows no bounds, she literally drops everything when I send her a fic to proofread, and this was no different. And she also lets me use her brilliant lines from time to time, for which I can never repay her.

Notes II: I have neither seen the movie nor have I read the script, so if there are any spoilers in there (I doubt it) I didn’t put them in intentionally.

Notes III: Artwork by @honestly-shite | Moodboard by @frankiemorales

***

One.

He lets you feed him one berry, but only after you tell him how good they taste, how they melt on your tongue, how they fill your mouth with a soft sweetness. He raises an eyebrow at that, and you know what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he takes the small blueberry from your outstretched fingers, leaning on the laden breakfast table to make it easier for you to reach him. The berry is so small it’s impossible for him to pull it in between his lips without the tip of your finger vanishing, too. You shudder at the sensation, shudder despite the heat, despite the hotness of his tongue brushing against your sensitive skin.

Javi hates breakfast. He hates dedicating time during his busy day, during the mornings when he feels most productive, to eating when it can be done en passant. You keep telling him it’s not healthy to eat while he’s distracted, and you’ve been trying to convince him to have breakfast with you for a few weeks now.

Why, babe? You said distraction is bad for me when I eat.

He still doesn’t eat during the mornings, only drinks his heavy, smoky, black coffee, but he keeps you company now whenever he can. He reads to you from the morning paper, he tells you about his plans for the day, or he listens to you talking about a dream you had last night or about things you would like to do with him one day. And today … today he even made time to take you out on his yacht, to anchor it in a secluded bay where there’s no noise except the lapping of the waves against the bright white hull of the ship and the cries of the seagulls circling above, hoping to snatch a crumb of the croissant on your plate. Today, he’s made time to be with you.

Two.

You try it again, another berry, another taste of sweetness, another burst of flavor and color and sugary juices. This time it becomes clear he’s chasing something else, craving something else, as he sucks on your finger, just for a brief moment, just under the pretense of getting the sticky juice off your skin, but he also isn’t shy about it, he also doesn’t try to hide what he’s doing. Your skin prickles when he releases the digit, and you pull your hand back across the table too quickly, too hastily. He notices and leans back on his expensive outdoor couch with a satisfied sigh.

You dry your finger against the hot skin of your leg, already burning up with the heat of the approaching day, even though you keep to the shadows. Only your feet rest on an empty chair in direct sunlight, while you keep the rest of your body safe under a wide canopy. Javi is doing the complete opposite. He’s lounging in direct sunlight, and you’ll never understand how he can stand it. Your skin always starts to tickle and itch from the heat, while he looks like he was made to live in a Mediterranean country and spend his days in the sun.

The bright, orange shirt he’s wearing is unbuttoned to expose half his chest. His bronze skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, and you cannot tear your eyes away from it, imagining what it would feel like to run your fingers over it, how hot it would feel under your hands, how he would sigh and relax into your touch. His chest is your favorite place in the entire world. You feel safe when you rest your hand on it, when he softly runs his fingers along your arm, tells you how beautiful you look, how he will always take care of you, no matter what, how you’ll never need to worry about anything ever again because you’re his and he’s yours. And you feel oh so secure when you’re trapped under it, when you feel its weight pressing down on you, when your sharp nails leave angry, red scratches on his soft skin as he whispers into your ear – encouraging, soothing, filthy.

Three.

You want to see it move, see the muscles flex and strain as he leans forward again to accept a third berry from you. And this time he’s not shy about it anymore. This time, he does suck your finger in between his lips, the berry forgotten, and you see his eyes widen behind his dark sunglasses. You suck in a sharp breath at the sight. He releases your finger with a wet pop and suddenly this isn’t enough. Suddenly you need more, more of him, but you lower your gaze to your plate instead to hide your shining eyes. There is a time and place for these things and the deck of his yacht in broad daylight isn’t it.

But you cannot deny what your body wants, even though your mind tells the aching between your legs to shut up. You push yourself out of your chair fast and within a few steps you’re leaning against the railing, hoping to catch a breeze to soothe your flushed face. But there is none, only unbearable heat.

When you turn around again, you feel a different kind of heat; Javi’s gaze is on you as he takes you in. You know he loves to do this, especially when you’re wearing something he bought you, like you’re doing this morning – an expensive black bikini that leaves little to the imagination, one you found on your bed one morning with a small note that made you shudder, so you decided to save it for a special occasion. And you were right to do so because he’s unable to tear his eyes away from you.

You walk back to the table as slowly as possible, determined to finish breakfast, but something pulls you toward him, like an invisible rope slung around your waist, like his gaze is enough to make you lose all sense of control. And before you know it, you’re straddling his thigh, while he pulls you into a kiss, one that lasts forever yet not long enough, one that sets you on fire more than the sun on your back yet makes you want to expose more skin so more of you will get burned.

The second his teeth release your lip his hands fly up to rest against your hips, his grip firm but easy to get out of if you wanted to. “Is there something you wanted, baby?” he asks you, innocence written all over his face, as if he truly is completely unaware of the effect he has on you, of the things he makes you want to do when his eyes follow you around like you’re the eighth wonder of the world.

You bite your lip, bite the spot that still feels raw from where he sucked on it moments earlier, and then you start rolling your hips, start chasing the friction to relieve some of the hot, searing pressure that’s been building between your legs since he sucked your finger into his mouth. You see his eyes lower dangerously when he realizes what it is you want from him, and everything shifts, shifts as if the yacht is hit by a strong wave. You’re all too familiar with this change and you know exactly what it means, and what it entails.

One of your hands lands on the collar of his shirt out of its own free will, your fingers clawing at the material in a desperate attempt to steady yourself. The palm of your other hand presses against his warm, sun-kissed chest, your nails eager to leave marks on his skin. But instead of pressing into your touch, he leans back and watches you with mild interest.

This is all the permission you need. You grind your hips with a sense of purpose now, and when you feel the muscles of his leg tense between yours, a small whimper escapes your lips.

He smirks at you, and you know his eyes are sparkling, even though you can’t really see them. “Come on,” he urges you, pressing up into you, “make yourself feel good.”

With a desperate moan, your head falls onto his shoulder, your forehead scraping against his shirt, and you bite your lip because it’s the only thing stopping you from biting the exposed skin of his neck. You know he’d like that, he likes it when you are rough with him, but it also unleashes something in him you want to keep locked away today. You know it’s selfish and greedy, but all you want to do this morning is take, and not think about him.

He makes that resolve very difficult to keep.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asks you, a hand at the back of your neck, trying to get you to lift your head.

You don’t answer him, you can’t, but you indulge him and lift your head again. You pick up the pace, determined to show him how much you like it, how good it makes you feel, but he only smirks at you again, like he doesn’t need an answer anyway, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

And suddenly, suddenly that selfish streak is gone, and you want him closer to you, all over you, inside of you. You don’t care that you have to give up the last bit of control you cling to, and give yourself over completely to him, you don’t care that it’s broad daylight and that another boat could sail into your tiny bay any second now, you don’t care about being discovered or about this being, strictly speaking, illegal. You just care about him fucking you like he does when he has you to himself, sprawled out under him, trapping you with his broad chest and toned arms, forcing you to take whatever he gives you.

But before you can tell him any of that, the hand at the back of your neck is gone and he lifts up his sunglasses and tosses them aside, so you can look right into his eyes, so you can see that you’re not the only one who’s affected by all of this. His gaze roams all over you, from your eyes shining with hazy lust to your legs squeezing around his thigh and your hips rolling with an urgency, pushing you steadily closer to finding the release you’re chasing. But this isn’t enough, you both know that; it’s enough to keep the fire going, but not enough to push you over the edge.

His free hand brushes against the exposed skin of your belly, his fingers run along the seam of your bikini top, and you push yourself forward, willing him to cup your breasts, pinch your nipples, anything, anything to relieve the ache and burning, the feverish craving you feel for his touch, his lips, his words that leave no doubt about who is in control. But he doesn’t give you any of that. Instead, his hand moves to your back to steady you, to hold you in place, and all he does is toy with the strap of your top holding everything in place at the back of your neck.

You don’t know what makes you look down to where your bodies are connected, but you do, and he follows your gaze. You both watch as a dark patch forms on the light fabric of his slacks, as it spreads more and more with each thrust of your hips.

“You’re making a mess,” Javi breathes quietly, so quietly you almost don’t catch it over the sound of the water against the yacht’s hull. His gaze is transfixed, his attention is on the evidence of your arousal as he watches with great interest. You feel heat spread from your chest along your arms and up your neck to your face, but you don’t stop.

“Look at you, princess,” he goes on, his left hand gripping your side tighter to slow you down until you drag yourself along his leg painfully slowly. “Look at how you’re getting daddy’s trousers all wet, they’re probably ruined now.” He pauses at your sharp intake of breath. There’s a dark glint in his eyes when he speaks next. “You’re a bad girl.”

You’re pretty sure the sound you make isn’t human. He lets go of your side and rests his hand on your thigh, letting you set the pace again.

“Please,” you whine, and you don’t quite know why you say it, what you want him to do, you just know he needs to do something, or you’ll go crazy. “Please, Javi,” you repeat. “Please, just … touch me,” you finish, and it’s stupid, he is touching you, just not in the way you mean, but you cannot come up with anything else to say.

“You’re always so greedy,” he observes, not making any move to fulfil your request. “I’m already giving you what you want and still you want more. Don’t you want to be daddy’s good girl?”

You don’t know the answer to that question. You wouldn’t know your own name if he asked you right now. Not because of the things he’s saying but because he raises his leg ever so slightly to push up against your clit and every coherent thought you might have had is drowned out by incoherent sounds leaving your mouth. You press down against him, grinding down with so much force he’s bound to lower his leg. Only … he doesn’t.

“Sorry, I didn’t get that,” he says, a picture of calmness and poise. “Can you repeat that for me?”

You absolutely cannot because you can’t remember what you said in the first place, but you give it another try. “Javi, please, give me something,” you swallow, “anything. Touch me, please.”

“No,” he says, but his voice sounds strained now, like uttering that two-letter word takes a lot of effort. “I want to hear you beg.”

“Please,” you say again, knowing it won’t be enough. “Please, I can’t …”

“Why not?” he wants to know.

“It’s not enough, I ...,” you swallow again, your throat completely dry, “why are you doing this to me?”

“Oh, baby, you’re not even trying to get yourself off,” Javi chuckles. “I know you can do better than that.”

“I am trying,” you tell him, but it’s nothing more than a desperate whine.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he asks you.

And he’s right, it is, it was ten minutes ago when you thought all you had to do was look pretty and he’d fuck you, but now that he’s seen right through you, now that he has decided he doesn’t want to give you anything more than he has to, it isn’t anymore. You want so much more than this, and you know there’s just one way to get it.

With a small movement you change your position slightly until you roll your hips against where he’s straining against the fabric of his slacks, and a low hiss is your reward, followed by a sharp slap to your ass that makes your hips stutter, and you lose your steady rhythm. Both his hands are on your hips again and he pushes you down hard against the firm muscles of his thigh.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he tells you. “I’m gonna give you what you came here for, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Javi,” you groan.

His hands move your hips, his arms straining with the effort of keeping you in place, and you let him, even though all you can think about is his hard cock only inches away from you. You think about him pushing into you, about the filthy, wet sounds it would make, about how he’s the only one who can reach so deep inside of you he makes you see stars with every thrust.

“All right,” Javi says. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “You can have it.”

You’re sure you misheard. You’re sure he didn’t just say that. After all he’s put you through, he won’t give in that easily. But you clench around nothing nevertheless, clench around thin air at the thought of him inside of you.

“Later,” he adds, and your heart almost stops. “I’m gonna fill your pretty mouth, but only if you’re good for me.”

You want to, you’re trying to, but you cannot do this anymore. If he’s not going to touch you, if he won’t fuck you, you have to do it yourself.

One of your hands leaves his strong shoulders and you frantically push the fabric of your swimsuit aside, pressing a finger against your aching clit. You moan in relief, but it only lasts a moment, because his left hand closes tightly around your wrist without any warning, and he twists your arm until he has it in a firm grip pressed against your back. The ring he wears on his little finger digs painfully into your soft skin.

“You were doing so well,” he says with a disappointed sigh.

“It’s not –,” you start, but you’re not allowed to finish the sentence.

“No, it is enough,” he tells you firmly, his eyes boring into yours.

But he does reach up, he does pull the string of your top until it comes loose and your tits spill out. He lets go of your arm but before you can decide what to do with your newfound freedom, his fingers close around your throat at the same time as his mouth closes around one of your nipples.

That’s all it takes.

You arch your back with a scream and come right there on his thigh in broad daylight, while he holds you in place with hands and mouth. It goes on forever, or at least it feels like that, and he’s unrelenting, first sucking one nipple into his mouth, then biting down hard on the other. When it becomes clear he’s not planning on stopping, you grab a fistful of his soft curls and pull him away from your chest with a sharp tug.

“Had enough?” he asks, his lips shiny and slightly swollen.

You nod slowly because you don’t trust your voice right now.

“Well, I haven’t,” he growls. “And I will tell you when you’ve had enough.”

taglist: @badbatches, @darksber, @doin-stuff, @filthybookworm, @for-my-satisfaction, @frannyzooey, @javigutierrez, @karkii, @pann-malii, @raspberrymama, @silksaddle, @skeletonstwins, @skyshipper, @sunnydunnydays

#the unbearable weight of massive talent #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez x you #javi gutierrez #pedro pascal #fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #i hope it makes sense #i'm high up in the mountains so if it doesn't it's the lack of oxygen

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sorry-i-ship-drarry · 3 years

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12. Liars and lovers

Dialogue prompt : If you don't hug me right now, I think I might fall apart.

Request by my favourite @thebusyfangirl @sunflowerishdolphin

TW- ANGST | highly inspired by young royals..

" you're just young in love. It's all just puppy love " beat

" it's not real. Wake up from this horrid dream" beat

" you're not in love, you can't be "

" you have black blood in you " beat

" you're a Malfoy " beat

It felt like flashes imploding in front of his eyes with the shutter of those lights going off with his heart palpating heavily like the beats of a rock music deafening his ears. He was over the solid surface but he felt as though he was in a Quicksand, sucking him under and his throat as if tied with a telephone cord which Only tightened with every beat. He could feel his hands but not his legs, it was weird, it felt strange like his eyes were closing but they were forced open. The feeling of the resting tongue on the top of his mouth felt very strange, as if it was the first time he was feeling it, but he wasn't. He always had felt it but it seemed so vivid. All his thoughts ran into had that wall always been that black? It was as if he was standing in the middle of a raging cyclone but not an inched of him was harmed as the water passed through him. And there he was, standing in his white sweater with emerald eyes, staring in the longingness , waiting for draco to take his hand.

" Mr. Malfoy ?" He heard. Draco's eyebrows shot up as his trance of thoughts broke and he looked at the opened door with a small figure's shadow casting on the surface.

" they're here " Reggie, the house elf said. Draco nodded from where he was sitting on the bed with a remembrall in his hand.

" I'll be there in a second " he whispered. Reggie nodded and left the door opened. Draco breathed heavily as he stood up and watched himself in the mirror, fixing his suit.

With a beating heart, he went where he was supposed to be.

" you know what to say ?" Lucius asked as he squeezed on draco's shoulder.

Draco reluctantly nodded, pulling his coat, shaking his hands to get rid of the anxiety bubbling.

Narcissa smiled fondly at her son, fixing his tie, then leaning down to whisper in his ear "it's all on you draco "

Draco tried to give a fake smile as he entered the living room, an interviewer waiting for him.

" the name had already a been corrupted enough for us that you had to be seen with the potter kid. Have our name not been tainted enough that you had to pull up another stunt to drown our name draco ? You're the hier of Malfoy, you can't be like this. We can fix this, fix you together but all you need to do is refuse any accusations that stand our way. You are a Malfoy draco, a Malfoy and we don't play with love. You are to marry a girl and live a life like everyone of ours and it ends there. You are to say, to deny everything printed out in Media. It's the Only way, the only way "

" are you ready ?" She asked. Draco heaved before he nodded, sitting down in front of her.

" we'll start of with the business you are bound to take upon soon ? So is it true that you had came up with the Malfoy business, right after you've been drowned in debt and you actually want to run something like that ?" She asked

" but I don't want to be the chairman or the bloody ceo or anyone of that company "

" yes, I will be taking over. And I very much look forward to it " he smiled stiffly.

" and is it also true that you will be in denial to any muggles and strictly follow a wizards and witches employees ?"

" people are never going to like it. Think-"

" that's enough Draco "

" yes. We believe that wizards and witches are the only one's capable of being our employees " draco answered with a stiff nod.

" and you're going to manage running the business alongside school ?" She asked

" but my education-"

" think about the family for one bloody second instead of just your own self " Lucius sneered

" I think it's very much that I run it alongside my education. And I very much think I'll do my best "

" now as of talking about the news that recently spurred through, you were seen with mr. Harry potter, at the recent fundraiser after party held by Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry ?" She asked, penning down with much interest

" big deal I was seen with him-"

" you can't be and that's the end of it. You are going to say that you were having a civil conversation, that's it "

" we have put our differences aside and I see no reason as why I cannot be seen with him " draco sternly replied, earning a low threatening glare from his father behind them " We were in a civil conversation if anyone interested " draco added

" so it's not true that you two were supposedly dating ?" She asked

" it's a lie "

Beat.

__________________________________

Have that wall always been this green ? Draco wondered as he stared at the opposite wall longingly, unnoticed tears escaping his eyes. He didn't even cared anymore to wipe them away as the memories rang loudly in his head from the very afternoon, the conversation he had with harry himself, how he had let him down and his loving eyes and the pain it caused him. The look of pain etched so defined over his face.

" I waited like an hour for you " draco whispered as he watched harry come closer

" oh did you now ? Why was that mr. Malfoy? Shall I apologize my majesty?" Harry sarcastically replied as he crossed his arms in front of him after reaching close enough to have a conversation.

" harry-"

" it's potter to you " harry raised his eyebrows sternly

" harry, i can explain " draco sighed

Harry looked at the tree behind draco, almost rolling his eyes " and what would it change Malfoy ?"

" harry, please-"

" please what? Or do you want me to please you with another comforting things so you can bluntly say it to the media that we aren't fucking together " harry Snapped

" I had no choice " draco raised his voice

" you never have one draco " harry too raised his voice. Just for a moment, just one, draco wanted to scream at harry, to tell him thing's aren't served on a silver platter for him as everything think's it to be.

" I- it was the only way whether you accept it or not" draco sighed. He shook his head as he Turned around to watch over the lake they'd been standing near to away from everyone, their meeting spot. Maybe looking away would make it all easier, just maybe.

" also I think we should break up" draco suddenly whispered behind him.

Harry frowned as he turned to see Draco "you want to break up?"

" is that your decision?" He added

" yes, i don't think we should do this anymore then" Draco's voice quivered as he spoke through " we knew it wasn't going to last anyways. And I m- I need the family name to go on and not being with you is the only way. It'll just be like a little school fling "

"fine " harry whispered after a long pause, sniffing, wiping off his escaping tears.

" it's better anyway. I'd rather be with someone who doesn't throw me away " harry whispered.

Draco sighed turning to face harry and cupping his face in his hands " you know it's not like that "

" seems otherwise " harry distantly replied as he stared far ahead over the lake.

" hey" draco tried to make harry look at him but only met with stern denial " look at me, please " Draco chewed his lip controlling his emotions.

Harry finally looked at draco, his jaw clenched " and what ?"

" I'm sorry " draco whispered as he wiped Harry's tears and kissed his forehead. Harry hummed, avoiding draco's face again. Frowning draco wrapped his arms around harry, not meeting with the same..

" hug me" draco insisted

But harry didn't.

Draco let his tear finally escape his eyes over Harry's shoulder " you have to understand harry, please "

" I do understand, very clearly " harry replied stiffly

Draco had nothing more left to say. His tears spilled with his arms still wrapped around Harry's in unrequited action, feeling his heart palpating rapidly with a void.

" I'm sorry " draco whispered again, wrapping his arms tighter but met with only the emptiness of lost love. The pain soothed across his body with the denied physical touch harry had once enjoyed so much. He hated this harry, the one who didn't hug back, the one who was so distant. He needed his harry back, if only for a moment before they break apart but aware of the pain he caused harry, he knew he wasn't going to but he tried.

" harry, please " his voice quivered in Harry's neck

" if you don't hug me right now I think i might fall apart"

" you don't deserve it " and with that harry broke free and without a glance walked away leaving draco with the the agony of losing him. He wanted to hug harry, he really wanted him to, he needed to but harry didn't and somewhere draco knew he was left to deal with it himself from now on. Harry was gone and it was draco's fault.

" Draco I asked if you're coming for dinner ?" Someone asked as they opened the door slightly

Draco looked up from the wall to the door, pansy holding the door half open " you go. I'm not hungry " draco sniffed

Pansy looked at Draco with pity " take care " and she left, too.

_______________________________

They were officially broken up. It was clear. Harry didn't spared a single glance at Draco, not even accidentally, he didn't share the table at potions with him either and much so, he didn't even cross paths with draco anymore but would rather be 4 minutes late to the class.

Harry was distant and not just with draco but with everyone else and it ached draco. Layin on the bed with lonely feelings, he missed their nights together, the nights of Laying under the star watching each other instead of the sky because they thought other was more beautiful. He missed the way Harry's wrapped around his waist from behind and the way he kissed his neck and whispered words so smoothly of a normal conversation as if it didn't affect him at all but most of them all, he missed kissing harry. He missed feeling the way Harry's lips Whispered in the howling wind his love for Draco. He missed it.

Draco threw his head back, sighing to himself, wiping away the tears of unhappiness that visited him like a nightmare every night after having lost Harry's because of his own faults.

But grief turned to sorrow, sorrow to pain, pain to numbness and numbness to anger, he threw away his journal at the opposite wall.

" fuck " he yelled as he harshly tugged at his hair " fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck " he groaned, crying heavily.

The entire month he had been waiting for the void to be filled with something, something other than harry but harry like a pest had reached the core of his heart and infected every inch that he missed him in every song, in every story, In every poem, in every walk, in every talk, in every conversation, in every tear, in every smile, in every melody, in every tune, in every aspect, he was infected with Harry's love and he missed him with the core of his infected heart that Could've only been cured by harry, who had left. Left for Christmas break, left draco, left everything about him.

He ran his hand down his face, pinching his nose trying to get rid of the feeling but nothing worked and he had to show up at another interview in another hour to talk about inauguration. He was screwed and he blamed himself.

" you are responsible for your own actions " narcissa had said one night " always remember that. Before anyone else's you're your own. Remember that "

" save the heart, you moron " harry had laughed one day while they were discussing a silly riddle..

" Save your heart, moron " draco's reflection mocked as he stared at himself in the mirror.

Wiping away his tears, he immediately got ready and checked out of the school.

__________________________________

" and you'll be running the business, right ? Like your father expects ?" She asked, over the mic..

" yes, I will be" he replied, uncrossing his legs..

" Mr.Malfoy, if you don't mind of course, after having denied last month of any sparks of your relationship with mr. Harry potter, are you In general seeing anyone then? Someone who'd take forward the malfoy name ?"

That ought to do it, possibly. Draco stared at the fraction of people waiting for his reply.

" save your heart "

" you're your own "

" mr. Malfoy ?" She asked again.

Draco broke out of his trail, suddenly becoming aware of the mic in his hand.

What the fuck was he doing ?

Suddenly everything seemed so real and all he could think of was the emerald eyes, standing in the middle of the cyclone waiting for him to take his hand..

" I'm sorry" Draco suddenly said as he stood up, dropping the mic and walking off the Little stage

" Mr. Malfoy ? Can you please answer the question?" She asked again..

Draco looked at her before for one last time he picked up the mic and said " I lied "

" what do you mean you lied ?" 2 people asked

Draco stared at everyone, his mind doing circle one more time before he found the little courage and replied

" I'm gay"

" and I love harry potter "

Will have part 2

300 followers appreciation dialogue prompt requests open

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

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Rewrite the Stars

Day 7, Post #1 is by @adenei

Title: Rewrite the Stars

Author: adenei

Pairing: Ron/Hermione (Romione)

Prompt: Songfic

Rating: PG

TW: Depiction of blood purity/discussion of prejudices against Muggleborns, Violence/Murder mentioned (but not graphic)

************

*This fic is inspired not only by the song, but also Anne and Philip's relationship in the movie The Greatest Showman.*

Summary: AU In a world where there’s no Voldemort, but blood purity is strictly enforced, Ron and Hermione must navigate their budding relationship, and all the trials and tribulations that come with it.

********************

“Are you sure this is alright?” Hermione asks as she smooths the front of her dress, checking for wrinkles for the fifth time in as many minutes.

“Yes, it’s fine! You look beautiful,” Ron assures her.

He places a warm, comforting hand on the small of her back as they enter the grandiose ballroom where the Auror department is hosting their annual dinner. A handful of Aurors are honored for their achievements, but over the years, it’s turned into an event for the upper classes and Purebloods.

Hermione knows she doesn’t belong here, amongst the men and women whose wealth and social status put them leagues ahead of anyone else, and it’s rare to receive an invitation to such an event even as a Halfblood. But as a Muggleborn, Hermione braces herself for an onslaught of jeers and slurs. If Ron wasn’t being honored for his success on a case he’d worked six months to solve, she wouldn’t be here at all.

Ron has always encouraged Hermione to follow her dreams, even during their Hogwarts days. Though they were sorted into different houses, the two shared many Prefect rounds together. Being named Head Boy and Girl also brought them closer together, where they began seeing each other in secret . Neither had intended to break things off upon graduation, but when Hermione received rejection after rejection for potential jobs within the Ministry, she pushed him away too.

There was a time years ago when she hoped to be working within the Magical Law Department with dreams of making the magical world a more accepting place for every witch and wizard, no matter their blood status. But those bright-eyed and bushy-tailed dreams have long since dissipated. The rules are archaic, and there’s no chance of overturning something so set in stone until there’s a new Minister of Magic who would be open to the possibility.

So, for now, Hermione tends to a job that gives her equal satisfaction. She teaches young Muggleborn students in a special school that she founded with the help of Professor McGonagall. Hermione earned her certification to teach the primary levels at University after graduating from Hogwarts, and now works with Professor McGonagall to teach those students between the ages of five and eleven how to prepare for the world they’ll enter when they’re old enough to go to Hogwarts. This is in addition to all of the regular courses that Muggle England expects them to study.

The prep school is what reconnected the pair, when Ron was assigned to work the case of an eight-year-old that disappeared last year. It was determined that the child was abducted by Fenrir Greyback and turned into a werewolf. Ron found the boy’s body deep in the Forest of Dean, where it was determined that Fenrir became too bloodthirsty on that particular hunt.

Hermione was distraught over the outcome and took comfort in Ron, who was equally shaken by the case. As the weeks following the case progressed, Hermione found herself spending more and more time with Ron. Slowly but surely, they found their way back to each other and had only just rekindled their relationship a couple of months ago.

Since their relationship still feels so new to Hermione, they’ve kept things quiet. But she knows how important tonight is for Ron, and she wants to be there for him. To support him the same way he supports her. Hermione knows he will be by her side through it all, and has assured her that no one will make any comments.

Ron leads them around the room, exchanging pleasantries and mingling with people Hermione’s only heard stories about. Thus far, everyone she’s encountered has been polite. They are about to make their way to their table when a voice calls out to them.

“Ron! There you are, dear! We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Hermione turns to see a plump woman with hair the same shade of red as Ron’s. A man follows in her wake who peers at them through half-moon spectacles with the same cerulean eyes that she’s so familiar with, only they’re attached to a different face. They’re much colder than the warmth Ron’s eyes emit, and that’s when the dread begins to expand from the pit in her stomach.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were both attending tonight,” Ron attempts to hide the surprise as he greets his parents.

“And miss the opportunity to see our son receive an award for his hard work? Don’t be silly,” his father responds with a wave of his hand.

Hermione has yet to meet Ron’s parents. A chill crawls up her spine as they talk to their son as if he is standing by himself. Suddenly, all of Ron’s promises become emptier than the desk of her former student.

“Er, right. Mum, Dad, I’d like you to meet someone.” Ron gestures toward Hermione.

She can see his mouth moving, but no sound comes out, at least not that she hears. The blood drains from her ears, causing momentary deafness as she stands under the scrutinizing stares of his parents. Hermione holds her head high as his mother admonishes his choice of a date. There’s no empathy for them whatsoever.

“...What will everyone think? You come from a certain class of people, and we need to uphold our status. At least go for a Halfblood, darling.”

Years of following the mantra ‘hold your head high, don’t let it bother you, stay in your lane’ have still not prepared Hermione to endure this moment. She is a strong-willed woman, she fights for what is right, and she refuses to stand here and take this woman’s judgmental words all because of the family she was born into.

This is the exact reason why Hermione insisted on keeping their relationship private. Her feet move on their own accord as Hermione tears herself away from Ron’s side and weaves in and out of the clumps of people. She manages to find the visitor’s entrance and exits to the bustling streets of London. Refusing to cry, she rushes along the cobblestone sidewalk and down a deserted alleyway.

Hermione forces herself to forget the sound of Ron’s voice calling after her as she disapparates away from the Ministry of Magic. She finds herself in her classroom, staring at all the empty desks in front of her. Desks of students who would be forced to meet the same unfair limitations that she lives day to day. She feels so helpless, not knowing what to do in an effort to make their lives easier.

Looking down at the elegant maroon ball gown she’s still wearing, she feels dirty. This isn’t the life she’s meant for, no matter how many assurances Ron can give her. She doesn’t belong in his world. Thank goodness she keeps an extra outfit in her coat closet, which she rushes toward before shedding the expensive formalwear from her body.

Once she’s changed, Hermione sits down at her desk, staring at the piles of papers left to be graded. Ron insisted she leave them there so they could spend their weekend together. A heartbreaking realization enters her mind as she thinks of his name.

We can’t be together. This is never going to work.

It’s as if he knows that she’s thinking of him as the floo lights up and he stumbles out. Ron sheds his dress robes, leaving him in his starched white dress shirt and pressed black trousers. She refuses to look up even though she can feel his gaze boring into her as he stands at the head of her desk.

“Hermione.”

She says nothing because what is there to say?

“They’re small-minded people. What do you care what they think?”*

He reaches for her hand, but she tugs it away as she sits back in her chair.

“It’s not just them, Ron. You haven’t lived this life. You don’t know what I’ve been up against. You’ll never know what it feels like to be looked at the way your parents looked at me tonight. The way they spoke down about me to my face. I can’t—I can’t be subjected to that. The way people will look at us because we’re together. I don’t deserve to feel that way.”

Hermione stands up and exits the classroom, stepping into the abandoned hallway. She can’t do this anymore— it’s too painful. She’s learned to pick and choose her battles. It’s better to let people like the Weasleys think they’ve won while she keeps fighting on her own.

You know I want you, it’s not a secret I try to hide.

I know you want me, so don’t keep saying our hands are tied.

You claim it’s not in the cards, that fate is pulling you miles away and out of reach from me,

But you’re here in my heart, so who can stop me if I decide that you’re my destiny?

“Hermione, don’t do this. Please. I don’t care what they think. I want you, and nothing else matters.”

She stops and only turns her head slightly to see him leaning out of the doorway, his hand gripping the door jamb as he calls after her.

What if we rewrite the stars, say you were made to be mine

Nothing could keep us apart, you’d be the one I was meant to find.

It’s up to you, it’s up to me, no one can say what we get to be

So why don’t we rewrite the stars, maybe the world could be ours tonight.

“Please, love, don’t let them dictate what our life looks like.”

The desperation in Ron’s voice is what makes Hermione turn all the way around to face him. She begins to walk a few paces toward him before the voices in her head get a hold of her. He’d become an outcast if she stayed with him. She can’t let him risk everything he’s gained by choosing her.

You think it’s easy? You think I don’t want to run to you?

But there are mountains, and there are doors that we can’t walk through.

I know you’re wondering why because we’re able to be just you and me within these walls

But when we go outside you’re gonna wake up and see that it was hopeless after all.

“You know it’s not that easy. We can’t just run away from everything so we can be happy. Your family would never forgive you, or me for that matter! Everyone will do everything in their power to tear us apart. It’s not worth it.”

“So, what? You’re saying we’re not worth it?”

No one can rewrite the stars. How can you say you’ll be mine?

Everything keeps us apart, and I’m not the one you were meant to find.

It’s not up to you, it’s not up to me, when everyone tells us what we can be.

How can we rewrite the stars? Say that the world can be ours tonight.

Hermione reaches out and clasps his hands with her own. “No, you’re not listening to me. You’re worth so much to me that I have to let you go.”

“But what if I don’t want to let go?”

All I want is to fly with you.

All I want is to fall with you.

So just give me all of you.

It feels impossible (It’s not impossible).

Is it impossible? (Say that it’s possible.)

“I don’t want to let go, either, Ron, but I have to. You mean too much to me.”

She knows it’s better to be hurt on her own terms than to let someone else hurt her instead. Ron will see reason eventually. He has to. Hermione wraps her arms around him, tighter than ever before, putting all her feelings into one single embrace, hoping that he can understand.

How do we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine?

Nothing can keep us apart, cause you are the one I was meant to find.

It’s up to you and it’s up to me, no one can say what we get to be

And why don’t we rewrite the stars, changing the world to be ours…

There are many things she can change, but her blood status isn’t one. Above all else, she’s proud of being a Muggleborn, and she’ll keep teaching her students to be proud of their roots as well. She’ll keep her memories of Ron and how wonderful he is locked up tight as she finds a way to navigate this world without him. Hermione has made her decision as she kisses his cheek and lets go. Perhaps in another lifetime, they’ll be able to be together with nothing standing in their way.

You know I want you.

It’s not a secret I try to hide.

But I can’t have you.

We’re bound to break and our hands are tied.

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice leaves the faintest echo among the abandoned halls. Before she loses her nerve, she turns on the spot and apparates away, leaving the hurt look that is etched on Ron’s face burned into her mind as she leaves him alone.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #hp canon pairings #canon fest romantic #submission #romione #ron x hermione #tw: blood purity #tw: prejudice #tw: violence (non graphic)#tw: murder (non graphic)

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stardewvalley-headcanons · 3 years

Text

Stardew Valley playlists

Sam

• Green Day - 21st Century Breakdown

• Post Malone - Circles

• Ozzy Osbourne - Ordinary Man

• Goo Goo Dolls - Iris

• Queen - You're My Best Friend

• Billy Joel - We Didn't Start The Fire

• Ice Cube - It Was A Good Day

• 2Pac - How Do You Want It

• Mighty Mighty Bosstones - Knock On Wood

• Falling in Reverse - Losing My Mind

• Golden Children - Paper Bag Interlude

I feel like Sam would have the most diverse Music. He would mostly listen to alternative music. And he would listen to older stuff from the 80s and 90s. Like 90s hip hop, or 80s rock.

Harvy

• Weezer - Buddy Holly

• Luminaries - Ophelia

• Plain White Ts - 1234

• Owl City - Hot Air Ballon

• Queen - Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy

• Vance Joy - Mess Is Mine

• Phillips Phillips - Home

Harvy is a basic man. I imagine him liking folk music and things that just calm him down. (I'm sorry if its not accurate. I dont really like harvy all that much but I still wanted to put him in here because I know some people like him. Please tell me what I can fix)

Sebastian

• Palaye Royale - Mr. Doctor Man

• Savage Ga$p - Pumpkins Scream In the Dead Of The Night

• Hale Storm - Freak Like Me

• Rob Zombie - Dracula

• Fredie Dredd - Weather

• Green Day - Holiday/Boulevard Of Broken Dreams

• Falling in Reverse Losing My Life

• Solence - Black Out

• Five Finger Death Punch - A Little Bit Off

• Kamelot - Liar Liar

Sebastian gets most of his music tast from Sam but as they got older Sam expanded his music taste while Seb stayed in the rock genre. He doesn't mind Rap or Alternate and sometime he will listen to rap on his own when he is in the mood.

Elliott

• Vance Joy - Saturday Sun

• Alrighty Aphrodite

• Conan Grey - Idle Town

• Joe Hisaishi - Merry-Go-Round Of Life

• Cold Play - Sparks

• Elvis Presley - I Can't Help Falling In Love With You

• Yiruma - Rivers Flow Into You

Elliott Is a chill dude. I feel like most of his music is for wrighting and paino songs he likes to play.

Alex

• Adventure Time/Olvia Olson - Everything Stays

• The 1975 - I Always Wanna Die

• MGMT - Kids

• Motion City Soundtrack - Everything is Allright

• Falling In Reverse - Comming Home

• Conan Grey - Heather

• Aireey - Under The Moon

• Hale Storm - Here's To Us

• Quickly Quickly - Getsomerest

• Green Day - Ordnary World

I feel like Alex would use music as an escape without realizing it. He loves Everything Stays because he has issues with people leaving him and that song is just so beautiful and can really make anyone happy. He would listen to it the day his mom died and remeber that no matter what she will still be there for him in his heart and nothing will change that. Like imaging him him listening to this song while holding the Farmer or his kids or grandparents in a hug. And I can see Adventure time being his favorite show and him wanting to do something great like Finn. The rest of the Playlist is about getting better and comming to terms with your self and giving yourself a break. Last thing is that I feel like his mom would listen to Alternative music and his dad hated it so he would just listen to it just to spite him. (Sorry it's so long I really love Alex with all my heart.)

Shane

• Ozzy Osybourne - Crazy Train

• Pink Floyd - Another Brick In The Wall

• Poison - Every Rose has Its Thorn

• Queen / David Bowie - Under Presure

• Queen - Another One Bites The Dust

• Guns And Roses - Welcome to the Jungle

• Tom Petty - Free Fallen

• The Police - Every Breath You Take

• Bruce Springsteen- Dancing In The Dark

Shane would strictly listen to 80s rock. Likes to remeber when he was younger and life was just so much easier and less complex.

Elliott 2.0

• Just sea Shanties

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nonbinary-ghost · 4 years

Text

A Conversation Between Vessel and Wyrm

So, I know I’ve never posted my writing here before but this scene has been playing in my head for days and I just need to share it. The premise is based on @chipper-smol ‘s shitlordAU where Ghost somehow goes back it time to when they and the Pure Vessel were kids, and decide to absolutely torment their Father in between finding a way to kill the Radiance. It’s such a fantastic AU rife with opportunities for both humor and angst. Anyone who reads this should totally check out chipper’s work!

(This turned out longer than expected: ~2700 words, so the rest is under the Keep Reading tab)

Ghost leaned back and tilted their head to the side, observing their painting with a critical eye. The corridor in which they worked was dark, but the barest glow of the occasional lumifly that flitted about the palace halls provided just enough light for Ghost to be able to make out the dark lines of ink they had scrawled across the white wall. They nodded to themself in approval. The painting, while quite sloppy, could at least be recognized as the Pale King with monstrously exaggerated teeth and a grotesque tongue. They rubbed their chin thoughtfully, unwittingly getting some of the black ink on their mask, as they pondered if there was something more they could add to the painting to make it even less flattering.

Their current prank was one outside of Ghost’s typical inclinations. Until the Queen had begun to teach Ghost to write, they never held much interest for anything to do with a brush and ink. They had found Sheo’s art beautiful or interesting certainly, and they marveled at the skill with which the retired nailmaster could wield a brush – but such things never appealed to Ghost. There had been so much they needed to do at the time that learning about art seemed unnecessary. But now that they were learning to write, Ghost realized that art could be used to communicate just as much as words, and the motions of painting were somewhat easier for them than the neat script they were attempting to master. Sheo hadn’t lied when he said the strokes of a brush were not unlike the strokes of a nail, and Ghost had found they enjoyed the act of creating something that others could see and understand.

This particular painting was not their best, but it wasn’t intended to be. It was intended to stir up the Knights and bother the Pale King, to prove yet again that Ghost could think and feel – and to illustrate how they felt about the King.

Ghost didn’t notice the approaching bug until the shadow eclipsed the faint lumifly light they were using to paint by. Ghost froze as the shadow slipped over them. Their shoulders tensed as they prepared for the cold hand of a Kingsmould to grip the collar of their cloak, or a loud scolding from Dryya. When neither came, Ghost dared a hesitant glance over their shoulder. Shock rang through them like a stag-bell when they found not a Kingsmould, nor one of the Five Knights behind them.

It was the Pale King.

Ghost went ridged, half prepared to bolt and debating if doing so was worth the effort. Their painting was meant to be discovered after all, and it would never have been any question by whose hands the crude caricature had been created. But the King’s gaze focused not on the guilty Vessel standing before him. Rather, he appeared to be studying Ghost’s painting, his secondary hands clasped behind his back and while his primary ones rested in the wide sleeves of his robe. The Pale King’s unusually calm demeanor unnerved Ghost and they slowly turned to face the Wyrm, their hand almost instinctively reaching for the reassuring hilt of a nail that was no longer there.

“A remarkable likeness.” When not raised in anger the Pale King’s voice was almost as melodious as the White Lady’s. Ghost cocked their head enough to glance between their painting and the King in disbelief. The painting, while recognizable as the King by the crown-like horns, was by no means a “remarkable likeness” to the actual subject. Ghost had deliberately made the painting as messy and obnoxious as possible. Perhaps sensing Ghost’s disbelief, the King unclasped a secondary hand from behind his back and raised it toward the painting.

“I imagine that this is how you must see me,” he murmured. “I cannot truthfully say it is all that far from accurate.”

Before Ghost could process the meaning of the King’s words, the Pale Wyrm finally turned his gaze on them. The weight of that unwavering attention felt like a heavy pressure against Ghost’s shell and they found themself tensing, feeling as if the Pale King was staring right into them. It was unusual for the King to actually look at Ghost without some other distraction dividing his attention – distractions Ghost typically crafted – and they weren’t certain they liked the scrutiny of the King’s abrupt interest in them. Despite the fact that Ghost now stood taller than the King, they felt suddenly small.

“Vessel-“ he began, but stopped before the word fully left his mouth. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Ghost. If I may have a word with you somewhere more comfortable?”

So startled by the Pale King’s use of their name and the phrasing of the request as a question rather than an order, Ghost found themself nodding yes without really considering the consequences. They followed the Wyrm with their thoughts swimming. This was not the kind of response they had come to expect from the King – anger, yes, shouting, almost certainly. But this calm, quiet passivity left Ghost uneasy and they struggled not to fiddle with the hem of their cloak as they walked behind the King, following him down corridor after corridor. As they walked, Ghost began to notice that the pale white light that the king always seemed to give off was much fainter than they remembered. Perhaps the Wyrm was suppressing the glow to avoid disturbing any sleeping bugs whose rooms they passed.

With a final turn the two of them entered a veranda that overlooked a vast garden glowing bright with thousands of lumiflies – no doubt one of the Queen’s creations, though Ghost didn’t recall ever coming to this particular garden with their mother. The King gracefully lifted himself up to sit upon the short wall that separated the tiled veranda from the garden, his wings flaring slightly to aid his balance. Ghost stared, uncertain of what to do. They were fine with breaking formalities for the sake of rebellion, but at the moment the King was adhering to no formalities for Ghost to go against. It made them feel strangely directionless. They fidgeted. They didn’t like this feeling. The King lifted a secondary hand to gesture to the space beside him, keeping his primary hands nestled in the sleeves of his robes.

“Would you care to sit with me?”

Ghost rocked forward to oblige but halted before even taking a step, instead crossing their arms over their chest and staring at the Pale King expectantly. While they could not fathom what all of this was about, they could clearly sense there was something specific the King wanted to say. Ghost waited and the King sighed, turning his head to look out over the garden.

“It has come to my attention that you have begun spending some time with the Pure Vessel.”

Ghost didn’t move. So what if they had? Pure was not some hollow thing, no matter how much they pretended to be in order to appease their Father. Ghost knew the Knights went to great lengths to keep the two siblings away from each other, but that didn’t mean Ghost didn’t seek Pure out from time to time. When they were alone, Pure sometimes even relaxed a little, and showed sparks of interest in the language of hand-signs Ghost was crafting with the Queen. Their meetings were few and far between, as Pure’s life was strictly regimented and Pure would never go against something they were told to do, but their meetings had been occurring with more frequency after the sparing match Ghost had instigated.

“This cannot be permitted.”

Indignation sparked through Ghost and they clenched their hands against their folded arms. The Pale King let out a long breath and turned on the wall to face them, his expression unreadable.

“I must admit, was wrong about you.”

Ghost stared, their anger faltering somewhat. Making their hands into fists, Ghost held them up in front of their chest with their thumbs pointed toward themself. With a quick twist of their right fist, Ghost pointed their right thumb upwards. The motion meant “how” – in what way was the King wrong about them. Ghost wasn’t sure if the King knew any of the signs they used with their Mother, but it was what they had. The King at least continued as if he understood the motion.

“You were never hollow – only a fool would watch your mayhem and attempt to claim otherwise. For a time, I have ridiculed myself for allowing you to remain here with the Pure Vessel. I believed you should have been removed.”

The King’s gaze had shifted down to stare at his primary hands resting in his lap. Ghost could see, now, that they were stained a dark black that stood out starkly against his silver robes. A black so deep and bottomless it looked like it would leech the light out of the room around it. A black so similar to the void of which Ghost was made … Ghost went cold as they suddenly comprehended what the Pale King was implying – that they should have been killed. Discarded into the abyss. The King shifted and Ghost dropped into a defensive stance as their whole body trembled with sudden fear, once again reaching for the hilt of a nail that was no longer there. But the King only lifted his head to meet Ghost’s eyes.

“It was wrong of me to believe that.” He paused only long enough to take a deep breath before continuing. “You are a sentient being, very full of life and will, with a personality all your own. To believe that I have any right to take that from you is a crime against everything I have built Hollownest around. And to see the way my Root adores you … how could I ever take you away from her?”

The raw honesty in the Pale King’s voice made Ghost hesitantly stand from the half crouch they’d fallen into. He…cared? He cared that Ghost could feel? Enough so for it to stay his hand in killing them, when he’d never hesitated with all of their lost kin in the abyss far below? Why? Was it because he knew without a doubt that Ghost was not hollow, and could not delude himself into thinking otherwise as he had with the others? Or was it because the Queen had taken a liking to Ghost and going against her wishes would cause strife between them? Ghost almost didn’t hear the King’s next words, but at the mention of Pure their attention was quickly pulled back to the Pale King.

“But the Pure Vessel is a different matter. It has a purpose – one whose success or failure will determine the fate of every bug in Hollownest.” The tentative hope spurred by the King’s acknowledgment of Ghost’s sentience vanished as the King continued to speak, and unease began to worm its way through Ghost’s chest. “You are not hollow, of this there is no doubt, but the Pure Vessel must remain as such if it is to succeed. The more you are around it, the more likely it is to begin to feel. If it sees the leniency with which you are treated, it may begin to develop a will of its own, and all of the sacrifices made to protect this kingdom will have been for naught. You must stay away from the Pure Vessel to preserve that hollowness for which it was created.”

Rage thundered through Ghost at the King’s words and they sharply signed “You are wrong”. Pure had never been hollow. The King’s plan had already failed, doomed from the very beginning, and Ghost refused to let their sibling go through that suffering again. That was the whole reason they were here – to stop the radiance before their sibling was sacrificed, before Hollownest fell to ruin. The King blinked at the venom in Ghost’s movements as their hands flittered through the signs for disgust, for being too late, for refusal. They were too angry to keep the motions smooth and they shook as that fiery emotion pounded through them. Even if the King could not understand all of the motions, the message was clear: They refused to stay away from Pure.

The Pale King’s brow pinched in anger and his wings flared slightly.

“There is no other way to keep Hollownest safe,” he rumbled, his voice tight with controlled anger, but Ghost shook their head. The King’s hands clenched into fists. “We have tried everything else. Without something to contain the Radiance and Her infection, Hollownest will fall and every bug in the Kingdom will be corrupted. I cannot doom the entirety of my people to an existence of mindless misery for the sake of any one bug. If you continue to interfere with the Pure Vessel, you will condemn everyone in Hollownest to a living death. Surely you must understand this! I know you are not blind – you have been outside of the palace, you have almost certainly seen those the Radiance has already corrupted.”

The Pale King had no idea just how much suffering Ghost had seen at the hands of the Radiance’s infection. The memory of Pure’s eyes filled with the yellow light of the Radiance swam up and Ghost recoiled as they remembered the wretched agony in their sibling’s motions as they turned their nail on themself, trying to cut the infection away. No. The King could not possibly understand just how much Ghost knew about the pain the spreading infection caused. They shook their head, feeling oddly ill as they clenched their trembling hands into fists at their sides in their sign for “I’m done speaking to you”. They turned sharply and moved to leave the veranda.

“If there was any other way, I swear to you I would take it,” the Pale King whispered to Ghost’s back, his voice soft with some kind of emotion. Regret? “But I cannot See any other path that will slow the Infection’s spread.”

Ghost straightened, spinning to meet the King’s gaze with a furious glare. Of course he could not know of any other way. He was looking at this problem from a completely different angle than Ghost. He was trying to find a way to slow the infection, to contain it, while simultaneously trapping and starving the Radiance in a Vessel of Void. He could See no way to remove the infection at its source. Ghost realized that while the Pale King had a measure of Foresight, his Sight must be limited to the scope of the knowledge he already possessed. He did not know of the Seer, of the Dreamnail, of Godseeker. He could not fight the Radiance directly, not without a way to enter Dream and face the enraged Goddess, and so he was attempting to defeat her in this roundabout manner. Did he know his doomed plan would ultimately fail, but believe it to be the only way to buy his people time?

“You are wrong,” Ghost signed, pointing at the king and lifting their thumb and pinky in a gesture under their chin. They then closed their fist and pointed their thumb to the side before using both hands to imitate the sides of a path: “There is another way.”

The King’s brow furrowed and he shook his head.

“I do not understand.”

Ghost opened and closed their fists at their sides in frustration. Even if the King could understand their signs, Ghost did not have the gestures for the ideas they would need in order to convey their plan to the Pale King. Their anger cooled somewhat, shifting to a steady burn in the pit of their being rather than the all-consuming fury that had raged through them not moments before, and they realized that if they could find a way to explain their plan to the King, he might help them find the Seer. If he knew there was another way, would he help them do it?

“I don’t have the words to explain,” Ghost signed by drawing a finger over their throat. They held up their index fingers a little ways apart, then made an ‘L’ with their right hand, pressing their thumb into their raised left palm and twisting their right hand so the ‘L’ was upside down: “I will tell you later.”

They did not wait for the king to respond before turning and storming out of the veranda, their mind ablaze.

The Pale King could not See that there was another way.

So Ghost would make him See.

#hollow knight #Ghost hk #Pale King HK #my writing #this ended up more serious than intended but it was sooooo much fun to write

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eury--dice · 3 years

Text

history, huh?

chapter 5: incipio

(ao3 link in notes)

Ronan and Adam met at the 2016 Rio Olympics.

Adam was merely a presidential candidate’s son then, not the First Son, and Ronan was in the height of his rumored rebellious phase. They shook hands, exchanged polite smiles, and then Ronan turned to the man that 21-year-old Adam could recognize as Mr. Gray and said, “Can you get him the hell out of here?” No preamble. No further conversation. Just a voice full of prickly English aristocratic politeness and his head turned to reveal a sharp and deadly jawline, the barest hint of a black tattoo peeking out from the back of his neck like poison.

Adam had seen Ronan before, of course. Everywhere. Trapped between the covers of a magazine, blowing up his Instagram feed, even sneaking into his 538 daily emails. Ronan had always made him pause what he was doing and stare for a moment as though making sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, that this was a real person who existed. He thought it was an annoyance at Ronan’s perfect life and his ability to throw it away without any care for what he may be giving up that made him unable to look away.

And 21-year-old Adam, eyes locked on the GLAAD informational page about bisexuality and the memory of Ronan’s lips seared onto his mouth, just barely knew better.

Tweet from Madonna Wanna-Be (@chengheirapparent)

1 January 2020, 7:13 AM

and we take to the skies! after a fantastic weekend with @AdamParrish and the rest of the white house gang, we’re off back to england. nothing makes this puppy - sorry, prince - quite as tired as a 7-am across the Atlantic

*ronanpassedoutonplane.jpg*

Sometimes, when overwhelmed by the reality of his life, Adam wandered around the living areas of the Residence.

Three years into his mother’s term, he didn’t do it as often as he had. After first moving into one of the most historic buildings in the United States, navigating classes at Georgetown, and being under greater media scrutiny than he ever had been, he made the trip often. To settle his mind or acclimate himself, he wasn’t sure; all the same, a nice aimless stroll around the hallowed halls of the White House never failed to calm his nerves and clear his thought process.

Well, not until mid-January, at least.

As far as ways to start the new decade went, kissing his proclaimed enemy and diving headfirst into a game of 4D geopolitical chess he wasn’t even aware he was playing was one of the worst. Between that and the crisis over his sexuality, he couldn’t get his mind to settle one bit. Much as he tried to turn his thoughts to the campaign or his steadily-growing pile of work, they relentlessly strayed back to the garden, Ronan’s ghost of a smile, the prayer lingering in the spaces between their faces, heat and shocking cold and everything all at once.

It wasn’t exactly conducive to doing good work, and his one and only trick was failing him.

Adam slowed at the unmistakable sound of keys clacking on a keyboard, drifting to him from the music room. At eight PM on a Wednesday, there was little question of who it could be. It would be all too easy to move on and away and stew in his distractible mood alone.

Letting Blue distract him, however…

Well, it was probably easier.

“Unless you have yogurt, I’m not interested,” Blue greeted as he slid through the wide double doors to the music room.

He entered anyway, shutting the doors behind him. “I can’t indulge your sugar habit.”

“Asshole.” Blue hit the enter key in her laptop with a bit more force than strictly necessary. She sat on the floor, her laptop balanced on her knees as she curled with her knees pulled to her chest.

“I know that’s the only reason you keep me around, but you’ll have to adjust.”

“Luckily for you, you’re not expendable, so I guess I’ll have to keep you around anyway.” As far as expressions of emotions went, that was a pretty good one to come from a Blue Sargent absorbed in calculations.

From one of the tabs of Blue’s computer came the unmistakable sound of Colin Greenmantle’s voice, wide and expanding and pretentiously even.

“Are you running numbers for anyone or just yourself?”

“Nate Silver and I can serve the same purpose.”

Adam smiled. “Of course.” After a moment of letting her type, he continued, his tone a little more serious, “Is there any way it’s anyone but Greenmantle?”

Blue sighed. It was a tiny, resigned thing. “Not unless he drops out, and even then we’re facing write-ins - he’s already priming the ‘affront to Democracy’ act.”

“Jesus.”

“If only.”

Just being in the same room as Blue was comforting. There were few people Adam even felt comfortable enough around to be alone with, but Blue had been a comforting force since they were kids.

If anyone could provide clarity for this situation, it was her.

“Blue,” he said suddenly, falling back against the wall. “How do you… I mean, how do you normally know you like someone?”

That got Blue to look away from her spreadsheet. She blinked, swiveling her head to look at him. “Is this about Gansey?”

“No, of course not. Not everything is about him, you know.”

“I know that. I sometimes wonder if you know that.”

“You’re one to talk,” he muttered. “No, I just… I’m curious?”

“Have you officially forgotten how human emotions work? Is that what’s happening?” She cocked her head to one side before he could reply. “Well, shit. Um. Okay, so sometimes you see a person and you’re like “oh, them - I would let them shove me into-”

“No!” Adam yelped, sliding down the wall to balance in a half wall-sit. The burn was welcome; it distracted him from the mortifying idea of having this conversation. “Absolutely not. I don’t mean the concept. I just mean the actual realization.”

Blue turned back to her laptop, one chunk of her short hair falling back into her face. “I don’t know, Adam. It’s different every time. Gradual. Sudden. Mundane. Dramatic. It can be anything.”

“Right, but, I mean…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words. It wasn’t like he never thought he might be bisexual. He knew himself well enough to realize that he had probably known that for a long time. But actually feeling something for someone else beyond passing attraction - because if it were just passing attraction he wouldn’t be so goddamn distracted - was more foreign to him. Especially for a boy. Especially for his enemy. “Tell me to shut up and leave if you want to. But when you liked a friend for the first time, or you liked… a girl for the first time, how did you know it was different?”

Everything was silent for a moment. Blue’s fingers had stilled on her keyboard.

“Someone caused your gay awakening, didn’t they?” She said, her voice carefully still, probably guessing that any big emotions would spook Adam off.

“It’s not a - I mean. Maybe.”

“You keep pulling out the ‘I mean . ’ I say yes. Who’s the lucky man?”

“No one said there was a-”

Blue was staring at him. He wasn’t sure when she’d started. His knees finally gave out from his wall sit and so he let them buckle, sending him to the floor. Blue’s eyes followed him, reminding him of where he was. This was Blue. They’d been joined at the hip since they were five. If he couldn’t tell her, he really had no hope.

“At New Year’s,” he began instead, “when I disappeared for a while, out into the garden - I didn’t realize Ronan was there.” He ignored the grin slowly spreading over Blue’s face, fiddling with his fingers in a nonsense pattern. “He kissed me.”

“Knew it,” Blue said.

“How? Have you been running statistics on my love life?!” Adam demanded.

“No,” she replied. “You’re just obvious.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So was he g-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Adam warned.

Blue let out a little sigh. “Good. I just felt like I had to ask. I don’t want to know. Have you seen him since? What’s he said?”

“No, and I don’t know. We haven’t spoken.”

“What’s there to say? ‘Hey, I’m a member of the British monarchy and I’m gay?’ I don’t know what you’re expecting here, Adam. Take your bisexual crisis and move on with your life.”

“He’s not gay,” Adam said automatically.

Blue threw him a look.

“What?” He demanded. “He’s not. He’s always going on dates-”

“And every good date has a full camera crew involved and a blessing from the Queen. Honestly, Adam, use your brain.”

“But-”

“Why else would a date be in People?”

She had a point, but Adam wasn’t ready to concede defeat. “He’s never said anything.”

“Why would he? He’s not exactly in a good position to come out or anything.”

I might as well be wishing for the stars, Roman had said that night. As though entering space was a more realistic possibility for him.

“Okay, so he might be gay,” Adam conceded. “Still. I mean. We…know each other. Dated.”

“Good memory. Thanks for the ensuing nightmares the resurgence will inevitably cause me.”

Adam frowned. “It wasn’t all bad.”

Blue shook her head, a chunk of hair freeing itself from her clips and falling into her eyes. “No, but we sure were dumb about it.”

“I’ll give you that.” Adam drummed his fingers against his knee absently. “I’m not…sure that that’s what I’m feeling, is all I’m saying. And you kind of know that side of me.”

“Oh, we’re still there?”

“Still where?”

“Admitting your crush on Ronan,” Blue said as though it was obvious. “Your rival act was a little too forced, you know. No one jumps to pure hatred that quickly. And he always seemed more uncomfortable than angry.”

Well.

It was obvious, wasn’t it?

“Shit,” Adam breathed, letting his head drop against his chest. His heart sunk painfully with it; each beat felt sluggish and slow. “There’s no way for this to end well.”

Blue reached over to pat his hand comfortingly. “At least you’ve got the public eye watching your every move.”

“Yeehaw, God bless the press.”

“It can’t be all bad, though, right? It was just one kiss.”

“You’d think.” Adam laughed, the sound bitter even to him. “As I said, we haven’t spoken.”

“It’s been two weeks, Adam.”

“That’s a record.”

He felt her eyes, pitying and warm, familiar, on the side of his head. “Don’t you have work to be doing? I never thought we’d see the day where I had to motivate you to do work, but here we are.”

“I’m sure I do.”

Blue’s gaze weighed heavily on the side of his face, but she knew better than to call out that contradiction to his personality directly. “Right. Distractions are out, then?”

“Productive ones.” He huffed out a thoughtful breath. “Is this what insomnia is like? I’m always too tired to know.”

Blue shrugged. “Gansey’s the insomniac. Your boy, too.”

“What would Gansey do to focus?”

Blue peered off into the distance, her expression thoughtful, one unruly tuft of hair falling into her eyes. She blew it away with a gentle huff. “Ride with Helen in her helicopter?”

“Too obvious. Water his mint garden?”

“Nah, he does that anyway. If anything it’s a distraction.”

“Of course it is,” Adam said, stifling a smile.

“Build models of towns?”

“He did that at Monmouth. I’m pretty sure they’re still there.”

“How did I miss that?”

Adam shrugged. “You weren’t about to mess around in Monmouth.”

“You had the fridge next to the toilet.”

Adam raised his hands. “That was not my choice. That’s your man.”

Blue wrinkled her nose, offset by the humor lined into the corners of her eyes. “Remind me to bring it up later and make him flustered.”

“Of course, you’ve gotta make him sweat in his polo.”

“Gotta turn up the heat on that rich boy,” Blue said, slipping into a full rural southern accent.

Adam laughed, taken aback and pleasantly surprised. “At least we have that to look forward to.”

He wouldn’t ask her what he should do - of course, he never did - but it was as though she heard the question anyway.

“Give it some time,” she said. “That’s all anyone ever needs. Time.”

“Right,” Adam said, his gaze unfocused on her laptop screen. His mind snapped back to the present as he said “right” once more, before rising and nodding his goodbye.

iMessage chat to WASP man

Resumed 17 January, 2020, 3:17 pm

Heard a big thud over there, everything alright?

Yeah just dropped my laptop.

Also my mental stability but the laptop isn’t broken so it’ll be fine for now.

Want me to send articles about idiots who blame their poor homeowning on ghosts?

Actually yeah.

Thanks, Gansey.

Of course :)

Adam was nothing if not patient - a lifetime of low incomes before his mother’s political career took off had promised that particular part of him develop - and so, as January turned into February, he really had no problem waiting.

After his talk with Blue, everything had a funny way of steadying out. Maura only had to send him away from the weekly briefing once. He managed to suffer through his work for the Press and the Presidency course. He even managed to convince Noah to let him look at a few of the bills coming up for a vote. He thought of his phone, utterly devoid of any new messages from the HRH shitty bird boy, but it was nowhere near as all-consuming.

His first breaking point came in his cubicle at the campaign office.

From the moment Adam met his cubicle mate, a late-twenties man by the name of Jesse Dittley who seemed averse to speaking at anything lower than eighty decibels, his immediate thought was that Gansey and this man would probably get along very well. For all of Dittley’s practicality and good work, his desk was positively covered in tabloids at all times. They made a funny contrast to Adam’s side of the cubicle - completely bare, save for what was necessary to work - and was cluttered in more ways than one, with giant family photos and the consistent, low volume of The Pogues constantly emanating from his monitor. After Adam saw Jesse in animated discussions with Blue over by the statistics department, who normally could never be torn out of her own head when it came to numbers, he gave up on deciphering all of his coworker’s eccentricities.

It did not, however, stop him from seeing some of the tabloids.

Adam, bone-tired due to the February chill and his heavy course load, slid into the cubicle around six at night. He’d already been there for two hours, running by the grace of coffee and trying desperately not to think of Ronan or the macroeconomics problem set waiting for him back at the Residence. Naturally, his eyes snagged immediately on one of Dittley’s tabloids.

Ronan’s face was plastered across the front, a smattering of candid and nearly-posed shots. He sat across the table from a girl with sheets of blond hair, his not-dangerous but not-pleasant smile affixed firmly to his blank face. A dozen or so of those shots lined up, right next to each other. Them close together, her lips on his cheek, his hand on hers.

Suddenly he was back in the cold night air with Ronan’s lips on his for the barest, briefest of moments.

His first thought was doesn’t People have something better to report on? And his second thought was oh, so it really was fake this whole time.

He must have paled or gone still or stared, because he was broken from his reverie by his cubicle mate. “Everything alright there, Parrish?” He said, so loudly Blue probably heard it by the statisticians.

If his face betrayed even a fifth of the anger and sadness coursing through his veins, Adam wasn’t surprised Jesse was concerned.

He forced a smile. “Yeah, ‘course,” he said, his hand clenched tightly around his coffee mug. He set it down, indifferent to the few drops of coffee that splashed out of it and onto the desk. “Just tired, is all, and I’ve got more coursework tonight. I might dip out.”

“Of course,” Jesse nearly shouted. “Do whatever you need to, little man.”

It was a strange nickname, but Jesse stood close to seven feet and Adam had been called much worse, so he let it slide in favor of packing up his things.

Calla trailed from not far behind him as he hurried his way back home, and for once he was glad it was her rather than Persephone. Although Calla’s presence often felt like more of an unpinned grenade than a reassuring and necessary safeguard, she never initiated conversations when they could be avoided. While Persephone would already be asking cleverly disguised questions, Calla just let him stew in his emotions alone, trailing him like an ever-silent shadow. He thought that if anyone asked him if he was okay he might just shatter into a thousand pieces.

By the time he stepped into the wing with his and Gansey’s bedrooms, most of his anger had burned off. He remembered Blue’s assertions of Ronan’s sexuality, remembered his Press and the Presidency professor remarking that anything that made it into People was meant to be there, just like Maura so often said. It was possible that, as he thought, he’d misread the situation, misread Ronan himself.

It was also possible that People magazine - or, no, the rest of the world - had misread the situation, had been fed the complete opposite of the situation.

In a sudden burst of energy, he veered away from his own door and made a sharp turn to nudge Gansey’s.

Gnasey looked up as soon as the door started to open, his brows furrowed and hand poised over a well-worn notebook. Adam stood stock-still in the doorway for a moment; he’d shaken Calla off sometime after entering the Residence, but he still felt vaguely as though someone was standing behind his shoulder, watching, waiting. On any other day, he would have waited to be invited in like some kind of sad vampire unable to cross a threshold without prompting, but it was not any day.

“Everything alright, Adam?” Gansey said, his voice perilously soft, as Adam crossed the room jerkily and sank to the floor with his back against the wall, hair ruffling against long-dried paint.

“Peachy,” Adam replied.

“Weren’t you going to work on the campaign?”

“I was. And then…”

As though he could sense that Adam needed to gather his words properly, Gansey set down his pencil and fully swiveled to see Adam properly. He just sat, the scent of mint hanging around him, and let Adam think for as long as he needed to.

“It was irrational,” he said finally, forcing the words out. “Something made me feel…irrationally.”

“In what way?”

Thankful that the question wasn’t what caused it, he replied, “Angry. Sad. Maybe something else.”

Gansey sat back a bit in his desk chair. “I see. Probably for the best you left, then.”

“Yeah,” Adam agreed tightly.

Gansey turned back to his notebook, tapping his pen against the side absently. Outside of the window, a corner of the Kennedy Garden peeked at him.

“You love her, don’t you?”

The room froze. Without the dull taps of Gansey’s pen, it was almost too silent for Adam to bear. He didn’t require a response to continue his blunt - well, questioning wasn’t the right word. There was no question of Richard Gansey loving Blue Sargent. Maybe there was a question nestled inside of it, but it was not a question itself.

“How do you know that you love her?”

For a moment, Adam thought Gansey wouldn’t respond. But of course he did. Gansey has never been able to deny Adam much of anything. “She makes me quiet,” he admitted, his voice almost an undertone. “Calm, I suppose. No one else does. I know there’s supposed to be…butterflies and fireworks, and I suppose there can be. But mostly she’s…” he dug his nail into the side of his pen. “She’s like taking a deep breath and walking through the door home.”

It was very Gansey, but somehow, Adam understood anyway.

“Something happened that shouldn’t have,” Adam said, and Gansey didn’t look fazed by the change in topic. “With someone it definitely shouldn’t have.”

Gansey blinked once. “Okay.”

“And I…it’s been different ever since.”

“Right.”

Adam pressed the tips of two of his fingers together, trying to keep the sudden swell of emotion inside of him at bay. “I don’t know how I know that this thing is something that I want. That should happen.”

“This doesn’t sound like something you can micromanage.”

He tried to hold back a withering look. “Forgive me for simplifying.”

Gansey waved a hand for him to continue.

“This is a bad idea no matter what, probably. And it would be even worse if…feelings were in consideration.”

“Aren’t they always?” Gansey mused, but Adam didn’t think it was really directed at him. “So you wondered how it’s different when they are?”

“Yes.”

“Right,” Gansey said, then “right” once more. “Well, I know you’re not exactly one to know people casually.”

“I-”

“You have three friends, Adam. Four at a generous count.”

“I have more friends than that.”

Gansey pinned him with a look. “And how many of them really know you?”

Adam shrugged, feeling the itch of irrational anger in him claw a little deeper. “Point taken.”

Gansey sat back, fixed Adam with a stare that seemed to stare right through to the painted wall behind him. “Does this person make you happy?”

Adam couldn’t lie. Certainly not to Gansey, and certainly not about Ronan. “Yes. They do.”

“And it’s…good? This thing? Despite the moral qualms.”

The answer sprang off his tongue. “Yeah. It is.”

“Then…you should go for it, right?”

“…I guess so.”

“Don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with,” Gansey said, picking up his pen from where it had rested on the desk. “But Christ, Adam. You deserve a little bit of happiness, even if there’s a risk to it.”

Adam wasn’t so sure of that, but he would have to take Gansey’s word for it.

Adam could have happily thought over the incident for the rest of his living days. Not exclusively, of course - he had an education to finish and a political career to begin - but he certainly felt no particular urgency to see Ronan and act on anything, feeling inclined to dizzying self-reflection in the stead of decisive action.

But then there was the tiny problem of them being contractually obligated to fake a friendship. And Maura, always nothing if not fantastic at her job, executed their plans perfectly, which is how Adam and Ronan ended up seated next to each other at a state dinner for the new English Prime Minister in late February.

After a solid five seconds of eye contact in the entrance of the dinner, they’d slipped back into their routine from the England trip. There was a stiffness in the set of Ronan’s shoulders inside of his perfectly tailored suit that hadn’t been there before, and Adam was sure his smile was fraying at the edges like a worn rope, but they fell into their rhythm all the same.

“The boys are back together,” joked a photographer, and Adam drew his arm around Ronan’s shoulders, flashing another smile.

They didn’t dare speak a word to each other, but there was something in their silence that felt almost like an accusation along with the general resignation coming from their situation.

“You’ve been well?” Adam managed sometime after they were seated directly next to each other.

Ronan nodded stiffly, but clearly didn’t know what words to say. He remained silent over his appetizer salad, mouth shut, no attempt at eating or making conversation.

“It’s nice to know you’re alive, of course,” Adam continued.

Ronan grunted, doing his best to mimic a conversation with a brick wall. Adam thought his head might explode.

He kicked at Blue’s foot under the table sometime after the main course was cleared away. She nodded at once after his slight jerk of the head in Ronan’s direction. He rose from the table at once, making quick work of folding his napkin to settle it on the tablecloth. His eyes scanned around the perimeter of the room until he saw Calla standing along with several security and Secret Service agents. As he set off from the table, he heard Gansey’s voice swell in conversation about a Welsh myth, and he stifled a grimace.

Adam halted by Calla’s side, impossibly aware of the teeming mass of people he’d just emerged from. “I need to see Ronan alone.”

“Sorry,” Calla replied, her eyes never looking at his face but instead out at the crowd. She examined the packs of politicians and foreign dignitaries with her normal, hyper-focused look of clinical disinterest. As always, she looked poised to pounce at the slightest hint of trouble. “No one can leave the dinner. I can clear it with his security and escort you both out to the terrace-”

“No,” Adam said firmly. “Alone-alone. Privately”

She finally looked at his face, her near-black eyes sliding over his features, at once quick and discerning. “No. Sorry. Can’t be done.”

“Please,” he said. Her resolve must have shattered because something in her eyes shifted calculatingly, and she lifted her hand to drum her long, dark fingers across her cheekbone.

“Five minutes.” Before he could thank her, she said, “Five minutes only. That’s the best I can do. Not a second more.” And she stalked away before he could say anything else, leaving him with the sight of inky-colored leather.

Noah appeared at his elbow, flashing his congressional smile. “Some members of the subcommittee on foreign affairs with an interest in meeting the new Prime Minister,” he said by way of explanation, beginning to steer him towards another group of blazer-clad politicians with a hand rested casually on his shoulder. “They’re always looking for young people to be interested in them.”

“Of course,” Adam muttered in reply, but he quickly had to cease speaking and affix a smile of his own to his face.

Dinners such as that should have been more important to Adam. But, truthfully, he wouldn’t have enjoyed it even without the looming possibility of speaking with Ronan and demanding an explanation. Adam loved politics, but he tended to enjoy the policy part rather than the, well, political aspect. The networking, nepotistic, incestuous side of Washington never appealed to him because he never felt like he really belonged. Not white enough, not old enough, not rich enough or charming enough. Events like state dinners were made for specimens like Gansey, bred to act well in those situations. Even Blue often fared better than he did, never caring enough to let the opinions of the stuffy older side of politics bother her. But for Adam, every bit of his energy was placed into appearing like he genuinely wanted to be there.

Luckily, a familiar press came at his shoulder blade. Calla. “Excuse me, sir,” she said, more for the show of excusing Adam from his group of congresspeople than out of any desire to use the title. Calla was more of an aunt to him than anything; she was more likely to call him any variety of choice words than any title of respect. She guided him from the group and towards the end of the ballroom. “I’ve already got the prince in place. Five minutes and that’s it.”

“Thank you,” Adam said a little breathlessly, just as Calla pulled him to a stop just outside the doors he recognized as the Red Room. She shoved him through the door before he could think of bracing himself.

Ronan leaned against a small side table, looking all manner out of sorts, his eyes scattered and wild like shards of ice. He looked up at Adam’s arrival, but if he wanted to say anything or ask what Adam was doing, he hid it well. Adam normally found the presence of portraits in the White House to be unsettling, as though the inhabitants could read his thoughts, but he barely took notice of the ornate frames hovering above the red and gold adorned chairs and couches. He would have moved to sit on one, but after-dinner refreshments were set to be served in the Red Room and he didn’t want to leave any trace. The lamp on the table beside Ronan reflected onto the royal red of the wall behind him, creating an almost ethereal red glow behind his head, a devilish halo. Ronan looked very near to a portrait himself, the noble set of his jaw and the intimidating posture he held even half-slumped on a table, eyes ice and a clear fire in his veins.

“Hi.” Adam said, breaking the silence. He squared his shoulders, adjusted his stance to stand more securely, drawing himself to full height.

The edge of Ronan’s mouth quirked ever so slightly. “Hi.”

God, they really were useless. Standing only feet apart with two months separating the truth from them and they couldn’t speak beyond single syllables.

“What the hell happened?” Adam blurted. The words reverberated off the walls, accidentally loud. The portrait of Alexander Hamilton would probably wake in its frame with how harsh his voice struck.

Ronan rolled one shoulder, eyes anywhere but Adam. “Do you really not know?”

“Of course I know. But I don’t know anything else.”

He blew out a breath. “Well, I was shoved rather unceremoniously in here after my security informed me I might be asked for a chat.”

“We only have five minutes, and I’d rather spend them actually doing something productive instead of squabbling and pretending we don’t understand each other.”

“Aw, Parrish, but we’re so good at it.”

Adam could feel a muscle tick in his jaw. “Yeah,” he admitted. “We are. We’re also pretty decent at communicating.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Adam leaned against the wall, arranging his features into his most passive look - one that had been described by the press as intent, as intimidating, as professional. It was a face that he knew Ronan wouldn’t be able to stay silent under for long. “Fine. I don’t understand what the fuck happened.” Summoning every bit of his patience and poise, he folded his hands over the buttons of his blazer, settling his eyes on the edge of Ronan’s tattooed neck.

Ronan remained a fierce competitor in silence, but his resolution must have cracked under Adam’s persistent gaze.

“I’d think it was rather obvious.”

“Explain it to me, then. I’m slow.”

“Shut the fuck up, you’re not.”

Adam waved his hand, ever conscious of their five-minute limit.

Ronan cleared his throat. “Alright, then. I was a pillock and I did something stupid involving my own feelings without any regard for yours and I dragged you into everything, and now all my secrets are laid bare and I’ve fucked it all up. Happy?”

Something cold slid down his throat and dropped to his toes, just like it had in his and Jesse Dittley’s cubicle.

He shook his head slowly, a shadow of a movement, one he wasn’t even sure if Ronan could see. “You think you fucked this up?”

Ronan hoisted himself fully onto the table with his arms, indifferent to his suit. “I don’t know what else it would have done. I’m the bloody Prince of England. There aren’t a lot of options, you know. And you’re the son of the President.”

Adam shook his head, prolonging it to ensure Ronan saw it. “The only way we fucked this up is by not saying anything,” he admitted softly, wondering at their stupidity.

Ronan’s gaze was unwavering and challenging, just as it had always been. “We?”

Adam pushed off the wall, trailing closer to Ronan. “You didn’t kiss yourself, Lynch.”

“But we implies…well, rather a lot. An us. A this.”

He stopped just in front of Ronan’s hanging legs, fixing him with a soft smile. “Couldn’t there be? If that’s what you want.”

A pause. “If that’s what you want,” Ronan repeated.

“Good,” Adam replied. “Because I think I’ve wanted this for a long time, and I think you have as well.”

Ronan nodded, and Adam was once again struck by his pale skin illuminated in the warm light.

Adam placed the tip of his finger at the inner edge of Ronan’s knee, coaxing a space for himself. Ronan acquiesced fairly quickly from his perch on the table, although his face remained guarded and uncertain. He was sure to keep his eyes trained on the catch of Ronan’s cheekbone rather than his eyes themselves, sure that he’d be caught in their icy depths forever. But he felt the ice of Ronan’s gaze all the same, melting a bit at the edges as though making leeway for him. He stepped into the gap between Ronan’s knees, his long, graceful fingers making quick work of straightening a crease around the buttons of Ronan’s shirt. His pulse jumped into his throat so he could taste it on his tongue, metallic and rich. Under the tightly-woven material, heat radiated from Ronan’s skin and his breath hitched.

Adam dragged his gaze up the two inches to Ronan’s eyes at that sign of emotion, entirely unprepared for the look in them. They were wide and open, expectant, afraid. Like Adam held his life in the palm of his hands like Ronan had once held a baby raven, and he had the capacity to crush it in one fluid movement or breathe life into it. Like he was coming apart at the seams just wondering which one Adam would do, his stitched-back-together wounds on the brink of tearing open.

He couldn’t blame Ronan for wondering, of course. But it was achingly, tragically laughable how incapable Adam was of doing Ronan any harm.

Adam breathed in and out once, twice. Ronan matched him, breathing the opposite breaths and sharing the opposite space like two puzzle pieces slotting together. The silence pressed against his ears, and Adam lifted his hand to press against the corner of Ronan’s jaw with the calloused tip of one finger. Ronan relented easily, letting his face be guided ever so closer to Adam’s. He let his gaze trail down to his lips for an extended second, shared one breath, two, heard the whispered fragment of Ronan’s prayer - pray for us sinners now - and he leaned imperceptibly closer to let their lips touch.

Where Ronan’s kiss had been immediate and impulsive and demanding, Adam’s kiss was controlled and steady and slow. Gentle, almost, although neither could claim to be gentle in any capacity. It was barely a brush at first, the scantest hint of touch sending a shiver up Adam’s spine. But then Ronan’s hand slid along Adam’s face just as it had on New Year’s and he pulled Adam even closer, gripping his hips tight with his knees. The pressure almost bruised, but Adam welcomed the feeling eagerly. Like the first time, everything narrowed to Ronan: to the tug of his hands in his hair, the cascading beat of his heart, the infinite heat billowing from him. Adam Parrish, First Son, knew that their clock was ticking and the dignitaries in the dining room were ready and waiting to ruin everything. Adam Parrish, the boy, the broken, the saved didn’t know anything at all besides the boy in front of him.

A sharp knock startled them out of their solitude. Adam spun his head around at once, but thankfully the door remained firmly shut.

“It’s been five minutes,” came Calla’s crisp voice. “You’ll need to be out in the next sixty seconds.”

“Shit,” Adam muttered, backing reluctantly away so that he was no longer circled by Ronan’s knees. Thoughts became a little clearer once he only had the air touching his overheated skin. Ronan and Adam exchanged a glance as if to say where the hell do we go from here.

Adam raked his fingers through his hair in a desperate attempt to smooth it down, taking careful attention to not looking at Ronan in his attempts to smooth his clothing back down from where Adam had rumpled it. “Shit,” he muttered again, simply because it made him feel better.

“‘Shit’ is right,” Ronan said, any semblance of gentleness gone from his face. He slid down from the table with the grace that probably came from years of dismounting high objects - planes, horses, his family’s reputation.

Adam did not need his thoughts to go down those routes at that moment.

“We need to talk about this. Actually. Face-to-face.”

“Is that what you call it?”

Adam pulled a face at Ronan’s back. “Come to the East Bedroom at eleven, if you think you can make it.”

“I can find my way in a big house, Parrish.”

“Good,” Adam said, just in time for Calla to come through the door and escort them back to the dinner.

Ronan switched places to engage in a better discussion with the English Prime Minister, and Adam breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Have any engaging conversations?” Blue asked once he’d returned, one eyebrow raised in suggestion.

“Plenty,” Adam said tightly. From across the room, Ronan threw back his head and laughed, a gesture so barely Ronan it ached.

Eleven couldn’t be soon enough.

#history huh #rwrb au #pynch rwrb #pynch #pynch fanfiction #adam parrish #ronan lynch #rwrb #trc #the raven cycle #richard gansey #blue sargent

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dickwheelie · 3 years

Text

heyyyy coming in a few days early with the “expression” prompt for @aspecarchivesweek! just a lil something about jon wearing a shirt he doesn’t like. enjoy!

(also on ao3)

_______________

All of Jon’s clothes are in greyscale.

Well, this isn’t entirely true—some are a very light tan, or a dingy brown. One mothbitten vest is a glaring 70’s orange that Jon deeply dislikes, so it stays at the back of his closet. These are the clothes he inherited from his parents and possibly also his grandparents, which he can’t bring himself to throw away. The rest, however, strictly range from white to black, practical to a fault.

Jon has a working theory that he may be the first person in history with an allergy to clothing stores. Entering one instantly stresses him out, and all he wants is to get what he came for and get out as quickly as possible. Figuring out how to match colors, as he eventually learns by the time he’s in uni, is a waste of time and consideration. Much easier and simpler to only buy clothes in shades that match no matter how you swap them out.

Of course, there are exceptions, and as life goes on in its chaotic and unaccountable way, he acquires items of clothing he wouldn’t otherwise have picked for himself. A colorful sweater from Georgie as a birthday gift. A free T-shirt from a uni event. He keeps these things for their sentimental value, but rarely wears them out of the house.

However, sometimes life is not only chaotic but also utterly unmanageable. And sometimes Jon finds himself with a promotion he doesn’t really know what to do with, an entire archive to organize, and less time than he’s ever had to do laundry.

And, well. One has to wear something to work, doesn’t one.

This is what Jon keeps telling himself as he miserably pulls on the last clean shirt left in his flat. He should know; he’s checked four times, and if he checks a fifth he’ll be late for work. He gives himself a glance in the small, dirty mirror stuck to the inside of his closet door, and looks away almost immediately, strangely embarrassed.

It’s just a long-sleeved, striped T-shirt, which is maybe a bit unprofessional for the workplace, but it’s not as though anybody minds how the people who work in the basement dress. The problem comes from its colors. Well, one of its colors. Three of them—black, grey, white—are perfectly suitable for Jon. But following those, at the bottom of the shirt, is a glaring, bright violet.

The shirt is a casualty of the aforementioned chaos of life. A friend of an acquaintance had given it to Jon to wear to a pride parade several years back, which he had ended up skipping out on anyway. Since then the shirt had been kept out of sight and mind, packed into the back of Jon’s closet for a rainy day that he’d never really expected to arrive.

There’s a first time for everything, Jon thinks, almost reflexively. The words don’t mean much to him, philosophically speaking, but they are a steadying mantra nonetheless. He goes to pull on his coat; by some measure of luck, it’s a cold day out. He plans not to take it off again until he’s safely back in his flat that night.

The trouble is, of course, that wearing one’s coat while making tea in the break room in an adequately-heated basement looks rather conspicuous to one’s coworkers, and leads to questions.

“You feeling alright, boss?” Tim asks, as he retrieves his bagged lunch from the fridge.

“Yes,” Jon says, stiffly. “Perfectly fine. I’m just cold.”

Sasha, who has followed Tim in, says, “Not sick, I hope.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Jon says again, though he is beginning to feel a bit overheated. “It’s just cold in here. You don’t feel cold?”

Tim and Sasha shake their heads, looking concerned.

“I’m fine,” Jon says for the third time in thirty seconds, and promptly flees the break room.

By late afternoon, Jon is sweltering, and has no choice but to take off the coat. He’s careful to close his office door before he does so, resolving to put it back on if he needs to be seen by anyone for the rest of the day.

Though the garish violet stripe in his periphery is distracting at first, he loses himself in his work soon enough, spending an hour or two tearing through a stack of statements that are, by and large, utter nonsense.

He loses himself in his work so much, in fact, that when there’s a knock at his office door, he says “Come in,” without thinking.

“Hey, Jon,” says Tim as he enters, “d’you have a copy of statement zero-one-three-two . . .”

Tim’s voice drifts off, and Jon looks up, irritated. “Zero-one-three-two-what?”

Tim’s staring at him, an eager expression on his face, and Jon’s stomach goes cold. He looks down at the shirt, remembering, and stops himself from groaning. If he doesn’t react, maybe Tim will leave it alone. “What number were you looking for, Tim?” he says instead, very calmly and professionally.

But of course it doesn’t work. Tim’s face breaks into a smile, and he gives Jon a big, showy once-over. Jon rolls his eyes even before the words are out of Tim’s mouth. “Looking good, boss.”

“Tim, I have even less patience for sarcasm than usual, so if you could please—”

“Who said anything about sarcasm? You look good! Casual, ah, Tuesday suits you, Jon.”

Jon puts his elbows up on his desk and massages his temples. “I ran out of laundry.”

“Ah, been there.” Tim seems to have taken Jon’s resignation as an invitation, because he helps himself to the chair opposite Jon’s desk. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for the pride flag type, though. Don’t even think I’ve seen you with laptop stickers.”

“No,” Jon says, “I’m not. Not usually. This is just the only thing I had lying around. It’s from years ago, I never wear it.”

“Aw.” Tim genuinely looks disappointed. Jon wonders if perhaps he’s losing what remains of his tenuous ability to read people. “That’s a shame. You look good in purple.”

Jon has reached a point in his life, he’s fairly certain, where he ought to have heard such a comment before, or at least know the proper response. In actuality, he cannot recall a single instance of someone in his adult life complimenting his choice of fashion. He looks down at the shirt again. It’s the same as it was before: too-bright and obvious. He highly doubts it could look good on him in any shape or form. “Um. Thank you?” he says, sounding more bewildered than grateful.

“Really! It, like, brings out your eyes, or something. I dunno, but I think it’s nice on you. Not sure why you went through all the trouble to hide it all day.”

Jon shifts in his chair. “It’s . . . I mean, it’s very loud, isn’t it. And obvious. It’ll just attract attention.”

Tim looks at him for a moment or two. “Jon,” he says, “is this just about the shirt? Or is it also about the shirt?”

“That makes no sense, Tim.”

“You know what I mean.”

Jon, admittedly, does. One of the things he appreciates most about Tim is that they can be honest with one another, if only after some customary back-and-forth. He sighs deeply. “It’s—it’s just . . . a lot. I know it isn’t, really, in the grand scheme, it’s just you and Sasha, a-and Martin, too, I suppose. And it’s London, no one’s going to—it’s safe. I know that. B-But it’s a lot, being seen with everything—out in the open. By strangers. To know that they know. And even if they don’t know, they’ll . . . they’ll probably be able to guess.” He stares down at the scratched, cheap wood of his desk. Long ago, someone had carved a tiny pentagram on the lip of it. If Jon’s sense of humor weren’t buried under three layers of anxiety at the moment, he’d probably find it funny. “And I know it’s childish, to care what a bunch of strangers would think. But I can’t . . . I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t just let it go.”

There’s a painfully long pause before Tim speaks up again.

“Well, I’ve got good news for you, Jon.”

Jon looks up at him warily, and finds that Tim is smiling at him. “What?”

He points at Jon’s coat where it hangs off the back of his chair. “You can put that back on.”

Jon blinks at him.

“At five,” Tim goes on, “you can put your coat back on, button it up, and walk out of here, and when you get back to your flat, Jon, you can do your bloody laundry. And you never have to wear that shirt ever again. Problem solved.”

“But . . .” Jon’s voice peters out before he can come up with a real protest.

“If wearing pride colors makes you feel like that,” Tim says, his voice gentler, “then don’t wear them. Simple as that. Not everybody’s got to carry a flag twenty-four-seven. Or ever. Doesn’t make you any less queer. Hell, even I take the pins off my bag sometimes.” Tim squints into the middle distance, muttering, “I can never seem to get the laptop stickers off, though.”

“But—what about what you said about me wearing purple?” He’s grasping at straws, he knows, but Tim’s argument is quite good. And the thought of never wearing this particular shirt again does sound rather appealing.

“So wear an aubergine button-down every once in a while!” Tim shrugs. “Or don’t! It’s none of my business.” He tilts his head to the side. “Actually, please do wear an aubergine button-down sometime. You’d turn some heads down here.” He pauses. “Figuratively, I mean. I’m sure everyone would be very respectful.”

Jon lets out a startled laugh. “Alright,” he says, feeling lighter. He runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe, sometime, I’ll . . . I’ll try it.”

“I know you like your blacks and whites, Jon,” Tim says, “and I’m not here to tell you how to dress. But if you ever need advice, or want to borrow a colorful, strictly nondenominational shirt . . .” He points both thumbs at himself. “I’m your guy.”

“Okay,” Jon says, and is surprised to find that, in this one, specific case, he is.

“And,” Tim adds, pointing a professorial finger in the air, “it’s not childish to care about what other people think of you. Pretty sure it’s the most universal thing there is. Welcome to the human race, Jon. You’re among us peons, now.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “How unfortunate,” he says, drily, and Tim cackles.

Jon wears his coat home, keeping it carefully buttoned, and when he gets back to his flat he tosses the shirt into the back of his closet from whence it came. He’s not going to throw it away altogether, of course. It has sentimental value. Someday, maybe, he’ll dig it back up, if only just to look at.

For now, Jon does his bloody laundry.

#tma #the magnus archives #AspecArchives #aspecarchivesweek #gwyneth writes #it's ok jon i'm allergic to clothing stores too

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katyobsesses · 3 years

Note

Katy my darling <3

how are you in this funky Sunday?

hope everything is going well!!

I have a very fun ask for you, because I remembered an old ask game and I thought it'll be fun to bring it back.

I'll give you a bunch of random words and some characters.

dancing + kurt

camping + sam

traveling + jesse

food + adam

mornings + rachel

autumn + tina

if you may, chose a ship for each character and write some headcanons!!

take your time!! and here's a hug 🧡

Hey Myle!

🥰

this is a fun ask! also i love that gif so much, but i find it so funny how the people in the background are dressed in summer clothes and here's kurt and rachel just... dressed for autumn...

dancing + kurt

Kurt does enjoy dancing, i mean we know that because of Single Ladies, but its not his most favourite thing to do (see First Time and Blame It On The Alcohol) he mostly likes to watch others dance if he's in a club or at a party, he's actually kind of a wallflower - unless of course he's trying to keep Sebastian's hands off of Blaine. That being said, I can see Kurt enjoying, maybe, ballroom dancing, or going swing dancing. Something more old-fashioned like he'd see in his favourite old black and white movies. Chummel popped into my head first, for obvious reasons, but I'm imagineing a senario where Kurt is some famous Broadway star, or some household name in fashion, or whatever, and he's invited onto Dancing With The Stars. now, we know they're willing to do same sex pairs (thank you JoJo Siwa! (and also Nicola Adams who did it first on Strictly (british DWTS) last year and John Whaite as the first male/male pair on Strictly this year, apparently!)) So Kurt requests this, and he gets paired up with Mike - they'd lost touch a few years back and Kurt isn't actual a DWTS fan so he didn't know Mike was a dancer on it (or maybe he's new and Kurt is a fan idk) and they have loads of fun dancing and catching up and they win the competition and get together.

camping + sam

Sam is definately a camper! and whoever he's with will have to just deal with that. But they love him so they put up with it. I'm imagining Samcedes, after getting back together around their 30s would go camping a lot when Mercedes isn't on tour. Either they'd go somewhere in Ohio near Lima or they'd go up to the mountains in LA/California and camp there, maybe even somewhere around the appalachians in New York. Mercedes demands it's more like Glamping though, maybe in some cool Air BnB in nature without other people where there's running water but it still feels like camping enough to Sam. This could also really work with Hevans, but I can imagine Kurt actually starting to kinda like camping. I mean, Burt totally took him a few times when he was a kid, but he didn't like the bugs and the dirt. But with Sam it's easier, because Kurt's in love. So he puts up with it, and begins to really get into, like, making campfires and roasting marshmellows. Maybe they go for the first time with Burt and Carole and Finn the summer before S4. and then, when Kurt and Sam are together (idk how in this senario) they go to the same campground in Ohio, or places around the appalachians. Blam, however? Blaine would totally be up for camping with Sam. idk why because he doesn't look like the type exactly but I can see Blaine, in all his button up shirts and bow tied glory, being at one with nature sitting outside a tent roasting marshmellows and making smores with their adorable little toddler next to him and Sam looking at the scene with heart eyes. (I couldn't choose just one ship for some reason... my multishipping heart is too big)

traveling + jesse

I'mma do St. Cooper because it's fun to ship them. So Jesse, after years of theatre, realises that maybe he's not the hot commodity he was in High School and he sells out and starts doing commercials and TV just to get his name out there. he hates it just so we're clear. Because he's a theatre snob. Anyway, on a job he meets Cooper. it's for a TV show set all over Europe or something and they're playing small bit roles, glorified extras really, but still, they've got a lot of time to wait around and do nothing and they're being paid to do so and traveling all around europe, so as the two glorified extras in the show they hang out together a lot and just explore the cities or towns or small little villiages in the english countryside where they're filming. and eventually they fall in love. neither of them have any idea they both have connections to the New Directions until Cooper introduces Jesse to his family like a year later, namely Blaine and Kurt, and all hell breaks loose (mostly Kurt accusing Jesse of having some nefarious plan.)

food + adam

Adam is always on the look out for british shops or restuarants in New York, but hardly any of them are right. But somehow, when he and Kurt start going out, Kurt shows him this little high tea place in Brooklyn (which totally feels out of place in the hipster neighbourhood) that is perfect. it has his brand of tea!!! and trust me, even as a non-tea drinking brit this is a thing here. Sure, most people will be fine with any if you're at a person's house, but there is a lot of debate over which is better. Tetley? PG Tips? Yorkshire Tea? Adam himself is a PG Tips man for English Breakfast tea, mostly because of their little monkey mascot that he remembers fondly from his childhood and because it was the first cup of tea he ever had. And this place had it and they brewed it to perfection and now he and Kurt go there for most of their dates and Adam talks the owners (a nice old british couple from surprisingly close to his hometown in Essex) and convinces them to let him buy boxes of the tea for himself to make at home. (okay so this is less food and more drink ahaha)

mornings + rachel

Rachel is such a morning person it's obnoxious. The only person I can think of who would be right there with her, ship wise, is Jesse. Who is also an obnoxious morning person. They would both be up at like... 5am, and working out in the gym of their apartment building together looking out at the manhatten skyline (because they totally live in one of those fancy expensive appartments), and then running scales at their piano and doing scenes at their breakfast table as their cook makes breakfast (because they are both terrible cooks, though Rachel can at least bake well)

autumn + tina

Tina loves autumn, but not the snuggly sweaters, pumpkin spice latte autumn. Tina is all about spoopy season. From September until Early November her home is decked out with Halloween decorations. She likes the tasteful gothic look, slightly celestial. She has crystals and skulls and purples and oranges, and on the week leading up to halloween proper she adds spider webs and skeletons and vampires, tacky plastic monsters that sing The Monster Mash as you walk past them and pumpkin string lights. I can imagine Artie haveing fun decorating with her, with his director brain, and he and her would dress up their kids and they'd all make cute little home videos and 'horror' movies each year. and of course they'd all go trick or treating.

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cakesunflower · 4 years

Text

Between The Aisles [Prince!Calum AU] One Shot

A/N: this is just a random piece i drummed up. it’s 5.3k which is relatively short for me LMAO. i MIGHT do a second part to this but i’m not too sure yet; it depends if i’m in the mood to write second person again since we all know how much i hate that. but anyways. happy reading hehe

The palace library is where you felt most at ease. It was, unsurprisingly, the quietest part of the overwhelmingly large estate, and you spent countless hours roaming the aisles, fingers brushing along the spines of the books, before finding a comfortable spot or a leather chair and losing yourself to a book of your choice. There were large windows on one side of the library, the glass actually taking up the entirety of the wall, allowing for endless natural light to bathe the room. The view was that of the valley below, the greenery as bright as the sunlight that streamed in—save for this time of year, where snow blanketed the grounds in pristine white and provided a haze through the sky. And sitting on a chair by the window, the snow falling gently outside, a book in your hands, was your favorite way to spend your time in the library.

Along with, of course, the moments the Prince caught sight of you.

The shelves in the library were many and stood tall, full of any and every novel and textbook and document the royal family and its curators could get their hands on to stock up. And through the gaps of the shelves down the long aisles, you would catch glimpses of Prince Calum making his way through, though never towards you—despite his attention being solely on you. You could feel it, every time—feel him. The way his dark eyes burned on your skin, a delicious sensation that simultaneously warmed you and sent chills down your spine. His wandering through the library would appear innocent, but you knew it was anything but. Knew that he was a predator on the hunt and every time, it was you who he was after. And you were compliant every time.

Sometimes, the Prince would join you by taking a seat across from you, a book in his own hands. You two would sit in the quiet of the library, both doing your best in keeping your interest strictly on the books you were reading, never giving away the glances you’d lay upon the other. It was a game; always wanting to look at the other, but never wanting to be caught.

It wasn’t as though your dalliance was forbidden; you were the daughter of Calum’s father’s, the King, most trusted advisor. You’d been living at the palace for as long as Calum had, were practically treated as royalty—though, not to the same extent as Calum, of course. But the only relationship you showed the world you had with Calum was that of being his friend, nothing more. It was easier that way, less attention.

You didn’t enjoy it—the attention. But if it was Calum’s, during your private moments, you reveled in it.

You often thought of that first night, where your friendship had turned into something more intimate, where you crossed a line neither of you expected to. It had been during one of the many parties the royal family threw in the palace—you couldn’t hope to remember what it had been for—and unsurprisingly had grown bored of the festivities. You were more prone to spend most of the night reading rather than drinking and entertaining people, which was why you had snuck off to the library. As the daughter of a high ranking member in the palace, just below the King and Queen, you were expected to present a smiling face and adapt to the role you were given. Unfortunately, your pretty face also deigned the attraction of the sons of noblemen and local lords—sons you didn’t want to entertain. So off to the library you went, the wine you had drank giving you the motivation to do so.

It hadn’t been long after until there was another presence in the grand library, and you had been surprised, that first night, to look up from the book you had been reading to see the Prince himself wandering inside. How you two ended up hidden between the aisles as he took you against the shelves was a blur—but the memory of it actually happening was one burned in your head.

It wasn’t as though the library was the only place where your trysts occurred; you’d often fall into one another’s beds, or the various hidden spots around the palace you grew up finding together in your explorations. But the library—it was a mutually favored location. A spot amongst hundreds of stories where you participated in one of your own, just for your eyes.

Tonight, you were lost in the corner where the wall met the historical fiction section of the library, your bodies hidden by the rows and rows of high rising shelves, the setting sun dimming the room. How easily had Calum slid the leggings off of you, hands gripping your bare thighs, rings chilly against your heated skin as your legs wrapped around his hips, while he devoured your moans with the kisses he gave you. He tasted like peppermint, smelled delicious, and fit in you perfectly, familiarly, as his hips drove into yours at a wondrous, greedy pace.

The world slipped away when it was just the two of you, and you tried not to think of how dangerous that was. To be so in tuned with the Prince, in how he made you feel, that everything else seemed second-best. But thoughts of anything else seemed impossible when you were with Calum, ever since you started seeking each other out for intimate companionship. You’d gotten a taste—more than a taste—and you were worried that you had grown addicted far quicker than anticipated.

When you finished, heavy breaths mingling with his face buried in the crook of your neck, stubble tickling your skin as your fingers remained tangled in his growing blonde hair, you closed your eyes. Still joined intimately, you waited for your heart rate to settle, were all too aware of the electricity still coursing through your veins in the aftermath of your shattering release. That’s what it felt like every time Calum brought you to the edge—like the world had slipped from beneath your feet and you were falling, falling, falling.

Calum pulled away as his dark eyes met your gaze, and the windows high on the wall behind you provided for just some of the setting sunlight to gleam against his eyes. His cheeks were slightly flushed, lips kissed. Your own gaze fell to them briefly, a tug in your chest to kiss him again, but you remained pressed against the wall, trying to ease your labored breathing. “You’re comin’ to the party tomorrow, right?” Calum asked, voice hushed and raspy, just a hint of breathlessness present.

You reveled in the feel of one of his hands raising so the back of his knuckle could graze along your cheek, his touch gentle. A small, lazy smile tilted at your lips as you gazed up at him, appreciative of the rasp in his voice that always trickled in when he was with you. “Of course,” you answered, just as quietly. With a teasing tone, you added, “I wouldn’t miss your Highness’s twenty-fifth birthday.”

He rolled his eyes, though the amusement danced in them, as well as in the tilt of his lips. Calum wasn’t too fond of you referring to him by his title—at least not when it was just you two, absent from the eyes of the public—but he was all too aware of your tendency to call him by such in a playful manner. He couldn’t lie, though—the look in your eyes when you did so, mischief glimmering in them, always stirred something in the pit of Calum’s stomach. Something desirable, something wanting.

“You have the habit of running out of parties early,” Calum pointed out with a ghost of a smirk, heart thudding when the flush on your cheeks darkened.

You leaned your head back against the wall, never breaking your gaze. Your voice was soft as you responded, “Nothing’s ever as riveting as what I find in this room.”

Calum quirked an eyebrow, smirk widening. You often found him in this room, just as he did you, so Calum was inclined to agree with your statement. He leaned in, fingers dragging up the warm skin of your thigh as his lips brushed against yours, the electricity of the touch singeing his veins. In a low voice, he persuaded, “At least wait until after the cake’s cut.”

A breathless laugh escaped you, knowing there was no significance in his request other than the fact that the cake was always cut hours into the party. Calum just wanted you to stay longer than you normally would. Since it was his birthday, you were inclined to let him have this. So you tilted your head, just enough to brush the tip of your nose with his, words coming out in a whisper, “As you wish, sire.”

You had expected his gaze to darken at your words, had expected them to push him towards the desire that still burned him enough to kiss you again. It was why you’d said them, after all.

*****

The party was more or less a masquerade ball. You knew it wasn’t Calum’s idea as much as it was his parents’, but you knew he didn’t entirely mind. The grand ballroom was decorated fittingly in blacks and purples, several tables along the sides of the room filled with delicious food, while the room itself was brimming with guests dressed in their finest suits and dresses, pairing them with intricate masks that covered their eyes.

You had gone for a red dress, the top half lace with off-the-shoulder full sleeves and a long, slim skirt of tulle that swayed with the slightest of movements. Your mask was of a matching red lace against a white velvet, the click of your heels against the sleek floor drowned out by the music playing and the chatter of the guests mingling. In your hand was a flute of, rings and nails clinking against the glass when you had grabbed it, sharp eyes taking in your surroundings as you moved about. There was an odd sense of relief in your chest that came with this being a masquerade—maybe you could get away with not being the daughter of the King’s advisor but just you.

Though every face was hard to place, there was one that you recognized right away—how could you not? Calum was the man of the night, and he certainly looked like it in his custom made black suit, the jacket glittering with swirling designs that gleamed under the bright lights of the ballroom. Even his mask, black with gold details, did next to nothing to hide his powerful personality. You recognized the rings on his fingers, the jewelry leaving imprints on your skin after every time you sought each other out for your private moments. You would know him anywhere by the way he carried himself, tall and proud and the next heir to the throne. You didn’t even need the stunning golden crown, bedecked in jewels of deep red and blue, to know that it was him. You’d know him anywhere.

You hadn’t seen each other for most of the day, so you were patiently waiting for the moment to go up to him and wish him a happy birthday, to smile at him from under your mask without worrying too much of people looking at you too closely. And you watched, in that moment, as Calum glanced around after breaking away from a couple of people he’d been talking to.

For a moment, you foolishly wondered if he was looking for you.

But then, through the space of guests in gorgeous gowns and elegant suits, somehow Calum’s eyes found yours. You noted the curve of his lips, expecting to see a smirk, feeling the air get knocked out of your lungs at the sight of the grin that he wore. Then he made his way towards you, and you started moving towards him as well, stopping right when you were in front of one another. You smiled, sweet and adoring. “Happy birthday, Calum.”

His smile widened when you uttered his name, raising his own glass to clink it against yours. “Hope you’re not planning your escape now that you’ve made an appearance.”

Your cheeks flushed but smile remained, shooting him a mock offended look. “I would never,” you soothed, adoring the amusement dancing in his eyes.

The music changed then, a whimsical ballad sweeping through the room as people sought partners to dance with. Calum’s dark eyes never left yours, and he offered his free hand with a gentle, “May I have this dance?”

One simply doesn’t reject the Prince with such a request. Ignoring the escalating beating of your heart, you and Calum both put your glasses on a passing waiter’s tray, throat tightening as you placed your hand in Calum’s and his fingers wrapped around yours. You were all too aware of the gazes that weighed you down, the eyes on the Prince and the girl he was pulling towards the center of the room, whether they knew who you were or not. The attention wasn’t anything you enjoyed, though you should be used to it at this point, but you tried to focus on just one thing: Calum.

He moved seamlessly through the crowd that made way for him, turning around to face you as his left hand grasped your right, your left resting upon his shoulder and reveling in his other arm wrapping around your waist, tugging you towards him, too intimate to be casual. But what the others in the room didn’t know just how far your intimacy went—far beyond the would-be innocent closeness of a slow dance.

You tried to put it out of your mind, the stares, as you and Calum moved to the ballad amongst the other dancing guests, your body taut as your front pressed against his, your dress swaying with your movements. “You’re not nervous because of me, are you?” Calum questioned, the teasing tone easing into his voice.

You were grateful for it, knowing that he was all too aware of your issues with too much public attention. Making light of it helped and he knew that. “You think too highly of yourself,” you replied quietly, a secretive smile curling at your lips.

A smirk pulled at his mouth, looking down at you through the mask. “I’m a Prince—it’s in my nature.”

“As is all this attention,” you said, almost breathlessly. You wished you could ignore the gazes completely, but it seemed next to impossible. With a small smile, you asked him, “Are you sure I can’t sneak off before the cake’s cut?”

Calum raised his eyebrows, fingers holding a pleasant grip on yours, the metal of his rings clashing with your thinner ones. “You’d leave me to fend for myself?”

A huff of a laugh escaped you, gently rolling your eyes as the small grin played on his face. “You’d be just fine without my company.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”

Your cheeks flushed, warmth spreading through your body because of Calum’s words—and his own front pressed against yours. Your gaze slid over to your joined hands, a clear picture of crossing the line of casual and treading into intimacy with the way your fingers were linked together. It was difficult to block out the images flashing through your mind of your hands joined exactly like that, except it occurring during the moments where he took you against the wall in the library or where you both were tangled in either of your bed sheets. It was the way Calum held you that always had your thoughts wandering into dangerous territory, wondering if it could possibly be something more than just the two of you biding your time with each other’s company.

Was there room for something more? Did he want that? Did you?

Deep in your heart, you did. You couldn’t hide that even from yourself. But he was the Prince. And you often tried to escape whatever spotlight you already had in the palace—being with Calum would only intensify it.

The voice in the back of her head reminded you of what you already had accepted, He’s worth it.

“Hey,” Calum said softly, giving a squeeze of your hand until your gaze met his again. With a slight tilt of his head, he asked curiously, “Where did you go?”

When you got lost in your thoughts just then, you knew he meant. Calum had the ability to read people pretty well—it was something he learned to do effortlessly in his upbringing—and it never slipped your mind that he could do it exceptionally well where you were concerned. He could read you like his favorite book.

You were surprised you didn’t quite trip on your feet as you took in the way he was gazing at you. Brown eyes soft beneath the mask that glittered against his golden skin, an encouraging tilt on his lips. But you couldn’t tell him where your thoughts had taken you, couldn’t speak out about the imagination that held you captive most days, cruelly making you think about a relationship you didn’t believe would ever come to fruition. Calum was a Prince—he was destined to be with someone of royal status, or close to it, despite the way you, yourself, were treated because of your close affiliations with the royal family. Your name bore no title; you weren’t worthy. Not of him.

Before you could even think of an answer you could casually pass off, someone stepped up to you. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, loves,” Calum’s mother, the Queen, spoke with a smile, always kind. Her eyes went to her son from behind her emerald green mask. “But there’s some people who want to wish you, sweetheart.”

Calum glanced at you as you pressed your lips together in a kind smile. You’d stopped dancing at his mother’s arrival, but your touches remained. Calum glanced at you, as if he needed your permission to cut the dance short, and it pulled something in your chest as you gave just the barest dip of your chin. “I’m gonna get another drink,” you excused herself, reluctantly stepping out of his grasp. You didn’t dare acknowledge the coldness you felt without the warmth of his body.

You watched as he was whisked away, biting the inside of your lip as you made your way out of the dancing crowd. Like you had said, you grabbed another drink, this time going for some red wine as you found a spot to linger at by the wall. You watched, sipping your drink, as the Queen led Calum to a small group of people, and you knew immediately they were some of the local lords—their wives and daughters right by their sides.

Calum smiled at them, that charming Prince smile that effortlessly melted people, and you could just hear the giggles of the daughters despite the distance between you. You were so busy watching them, observing them, that you didn’t even notice the person who came to stand by your side until Luke huffed out a breath. “And so it begins.”

You glanced up at your friend, the silver mask making his light blue eyes pop as you raised an eyebrow. “What begins?”

Luke jerked his chin over to where Calum was, a wry smile on his lips. “The matchmaking. He’s already twenty-five, which means they’re gonna try to marry him off before he’s crowned king.” Luke shot you a glance, raising a curious eyebrow. “Come on, you know this.”

You did know this, and suddenly your skin flushed from embarrassment. He was the Prince—the next to become King, and everyone knew that it would be sooner rather than later. That in itself had never slipped your mind—the notion of him marrying, however, did. And you couldn’t understand how, not with the conversations the two of you sometimes had when you laid in bed, staring at the high ceilings of your rooms. Where Calum would talk about his excitement of becoming King despite the pressures that came with it, only ever worried about the thought of getting married.

He had made it clear to his parents, you knew, that he wanted to marry for love. Calum was never one to take something as significant as marriage lightly, and his parents understood—they, after all, had married for love. Still, that wouldn’t stop them from introducing their son to daughters of high ranking members of their society in hopes that one of them would catch Calum’s eye. It never escaped you that when Calum did talk about marriage, he always ended the conversation—before it could even start, honestly—by simply stating he’d only marry someone he loved, someone who wanted him and not his title. He could easily tell which girls were like that—most of them were, he had said.

And you’d just listen, not wanting to acknowledge the fact that loving Calum was easier than breathing—and that it was his very title that suffocated the confession in your throat before it could ever escape.

Your eyes were glued to Calum, watching that easy smile on his face as he chatted away with the women, and your chest tightened almost painfully. Every single available woman, you knew, would trip over their feet for Calum’s attention, to be the one he takes a second look at and be curious for more. And it twisted something in your stomach at the thought of it someday happening—of it happening tonight.

You and Calum—you weren’t anything. Just two friends who were fooling around, to put it crudely. Who were you to be allowed a seat next to him other than the daughter of the crown’s advisor?

The truth—one you already knew—slapped you in the face as you forced down the rest of the wine. How could you have been so stupid, so foolish, to fall for the Prince? How could you have believed that sleeping with him on more than one occasion wouldn’t lead your heart into despair? How naïve.

You barely managed another hour of the party when you finally slipped away, feeling some guilt pool in your stomach at not being able to stick around for as long as Calum had wanted you to. But he was busy; many beautiful women were surrounding him in hopes of securing a future—he wouldn’t miss your presence too much, you figured.

Of course you ended up in the library once more—getting lost in a fictional world with made up characters sounded much more enchanting than being stuck in reality. It was empty, unsurprisingly, the music and chatter of guests in the ballroom muted as you ventured into the one place you felt most comfortable. Despite it being nighttime, the sky beyond the glass wall was light with the haze of snowfall, frost icing the glass.

You ventured down a random aisle, deciding to pick a book by whatever its title was, hoping it would be enough to distract you from the weight that had settled in your chest. You didn’t know what you were going to do; you desperately hoped this feeling, this ache and yearning, would disappear soon for your own good. But it was wishful thinking, a bitter part of your mind reminded. Falling in love with Calum had been effortless; falling out of it seemed impossible.

You didn’t dare acknowledge the idea of him not feeling the same way about you at all.

Your retreat to the library remained undisturbed for about twenty minutes when, in the quiet of the room, you heard one of the large doors creak open. You had found refuge on one of the leather chairs, your mask sitting on the table beside you as a novel about witches and witch-hunters sat open in your lap, legs folded beneath you as your dress pooled around your lap.

Your heart raced at the thought of who would come to the library while there was a party in honor of the Prince going on, and it damn near stopped when Calum himself appeared, his mask missing as his dark eyes found you.

The breath hitched in your throat as he frowned, approaching you, features shadowed thanks to the dull lighting you’d set the room into. As you peered at him, your stomach sank when you saw the disappointment etched into his face, mixing in with the hurt you hadn’t entirely expected. You knew it was a shitty thing to do, to leave his birthday celebration so early, but you had been thinking with your aching heart. Getting away in order to free yourself from the view of Calum with potential suitors had become a selfish priority.

He stood just a few feet away from you, shrugging bitterly as he asked, “Did you even try to see your promise through?”

You wanted to tell him you didn’t technically promise him anything. Instead, what came out of your mouth was a muttered, “Didn’t think you’d even notice I left.”

Calum frowned, eyebrows knitting together and lips pulling downwards. “Of course I noticed you left. I would’ve come here sooner but Mum kept me by her side.”

Dropping your gaze back down to the open book in your lap, you scoffed lightly. “Right—to introduce you to a potential bride.”

You were losing control of yourself, you knew, with how easily the sarcastic and bitter remarks were slipping past your mouth. It was pathetic how unabashedly you were letting your feelings be known, practically shining a light on your jealousy and resentment. And it wasn’t fair—not to Calum, that you’d fallen for him. That you never let him know that there was something more you wanted with him. That putting aside your reluctance of being in any kind of spotlight would’ve been so easy so long as he was by your side.

“To introduce me to potential suitors, yes,” Calum corrected carefully, slowly, and you could just hear the bewildered frown in his voice. You watched from your peripherals as he took a step towards you. “But I’ve told you—and Mum—that if I were to get married, it’d only be for love.”

There was a burning in your eyes and you cursed yourself for becoming emotional. You couldn’t cry, not because of this. You willed the tears to keep at bay as you looked up once more to look at Calum. He was still frowning, confused as to what was happening, probably wondering what had gotten you in such a foul mood. Too quietly did you respond, “What’s stopping you from falling in love with one of them?”

Dangerous. You were creeping towards dangerous, exposing territory, but you no longer found yourself caring. If he found out about your feelings, then so be it. You wouldn’t shy away, wouldn’t hide. Not anymore. He would know, and then it’d be up to him what to do with it. And maybe that was a coward’s way out, giving him the power so you wouldn’t have to make a decision, but it would make it easier to breathe.

Calum’s lips tightened as his jaw clenched, the muscle feathering under the skin as he looked down at you. Emotions swirled in his dark gaze—too many for you to grasp. His crown glinted against the lights, but you couldn’t help but think his eyes glittered far more beautifully. His throat worked, voice a deep rasp as he held your gaze and stated evenly, “I won’t fall for any of them. I’m already in love with you.”

The air rushed out of your lungs, almost audible in the silence that followed his unwavering confession. You were frozen where you sat, drinking in the sight of him as his words hung in the air. The honesty was bright in his eyes for you to see, open and true and needing you to believe the sincerity in his words—his feelings. Your throat locked as you took in the Prince before you—a King in every right—who had just laid himself bare in a few short words that meant everything.

He loved you. Calum was in love with you.

The tears you had tried to keep away ran freely down your cheeks. You didn’t even care that you could taste the salt on the corner of your lips. Something in Calum’s face crumpled when he saw your tears, and suddenly the Prince was on his knees before you, hands grasping yours in your lap as he looked up at you.

“I’ve been in love with you long before we started finding each other in this library,” Calum said, his voice low and raspy and honest. His hands were warm around yours, the chill of his rings enticing as always. But all you could focus on was his brown eyes. On his earnest words. “It was torture—being with you but not being with you. But I kept it to myself out of fear that you didn’t feel the same, that you didn’t want the. . . Attention of being with me.” It was terrifying—and exciting—how well he knew her, in regards to his second statement, of course. Calum cracked a smile, small and hopeful. “Because holding you like that. . . Kissing you. . . and still being just your friend was better than the alternative.”

Your heart was erratic in your chest, breath shaking as your trembling lips parted and you whispered, “You want to be with me? Outside of the library?”

Calum tipped his chin up, maintaining your gaze, a softness in his eyes that melted your heart. “I want to be with you in any way you’ll have me.”

You would be lying if you said there was no fear in that idea. It was present, of course, derived from your aversion to the attention you would no doubt receive by being at Calum’s side. You wanted him, not his crown, even though most would say it was one in the same. But if being with him meant being tied to the throne, then you would bear it. For your happiness, you would do it. For him, there was no question about it.

Calum was waiting for your response, for you to say something, hands still clutching yours. And although this turn of events was unexpected, slightly frightening—it was all the more exciting and relieving. He loved you. He’d beensilently loving you, perhaps for as long as you have him, and you would have laughed at both of your cluelessness if you weren’t so deliriously happy.

So you leaned forward, the book in your lap long forgotten, gaze never leaving Calum’s. The brown of his eyes was always so compelling, so alluring, his mouth waiting to be kissed. Your lips tilted up, a warmth spreading across your cheeks as you told him quietly, “I’ve spent so long loving you between these aisles. I’m ready to do it out there, too.”

The smile he gave you wasn’t the one he wore as Prince, wasn’t the one he offered to lords and noblemen and their daughters and the media. No, this smile was one especially reserved for you; a smile that softened his eyes and decorated the corners with those happy crinkles, a smile that sent your heart racing and skin warming. It was the smile he gave you when you were in bed together, one he would shoot towards you during events neither of you were particularly fond of and your eyes met from across the room.

It was the smile he wore right before he kissed you for the first time since both of your feelings had been made clear, lips soft and eager. This smile was yours.

tags: @irwinkitten @loveroflrh @meetashthere @astroashtonio @loverofhood @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbabiesss @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @highfivecalum @malumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @miss-saltwatercowgirl @pastelpapermoons @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @metangi @neigcthood @ohhmuke @mindkaleidoscope @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @sunnysidesblog @miahelizaaabeth @dramallamawithsparkles @kaytiebug14 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth @xhaileyreneex @tpwkcal @sublimehood @madbomb @raabiac @britnicole11 @outofmylimitcal @wildflower-cth @wildflowergrae @bloodmoonashton @vxidhood @gosh-im-short @notinthesameguey @mycollectionofnuts @cthwldflwr @everyscarisahealingplace @socorroann @talkfastromance4 @calumftduke @musichoney @treatallwithkindness @partlysunnycal @dead-and-golden @kaeleykaeley @harrys-sun-flower @br-hoe

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Stowaway.”

A couple of you guys wanted to see this go down, and I thought it wasn’t a bad idea, so why not :)

“Certainly not, they cannot be trusted.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Even if their story is true, I have no doubt that they have other motives. No one offers peace accords if there are not ulterior motives.”

“But they already said! They want to trade with us, and they want the precious mineral compounds found in our ice.”

“They want to enslave our planet more like.”

“You saw the creature, it had no fur, and it was freezing as soon as it took its layers off. I have no doubt that it has no interest in enslaving our planet. The environment is to inhospitable for it to consider spending so much time here.”

“Your logic is backward for a scientist…. But I suppose that should be expected of someone with your pedigree.”

“....You are wrong, and your hesitation will cost us. They saved our lives, the least we can do is hear them out.”

“And at the end of the day that is my decision and not yours. You overstep your bounds, and now you will return to your place, scientist.”

Yeb stood ears plastered back against her skull, the fur on her back puffing outward to strain against the inside of her jacket, but she didn’t protest. He may have been wrong about many things,but he was right about this one, she had no power here, and to assume as much would be too presumptuous.

She did know her place.

Had known it since she was a pup.

She raised her chin stiffly at the chancellor and turned on her heels, claws digging against the ice as she trudged from the council chambers and out into the blinding sunlight of early morning. The council had debated for many hours, until unanimously making a decision that she thought would be a great mistake. They had decided not to engage with the GA, and therefore cut off any chances they would have at learning from the more advanced race.

She brushed a dusting of snow from a rock just to her right and sat down staring up at the sky. Over her head the atmosphere was a light bluish purple. The sun blazed down with white blue intensity.

She could have learned so much from them. Perhaps a way to develop better vaccines as they had clearly found the cure to the plague faster than any of them could. If it had been up to her expertise, the entire world would be dead by now.

Yeb sighed deeply.

There were so many things she could have learned from them, so many things, but now that knowledge would be lost, and they would be left to trundle along in a dark age ad never know what glorious things they could have learned.This GA governmental body has offered them transport into the stars! Who would refuse such an offer.

It was a monumental mistake.

She sat there for a long moment, contemplating her next move. The future seemed bleak in comparison to the one they had been offered. How could she just go back to her normal life knowing what was out there? Could she just sit idly by in her ice cave, eating the same bland fish and listening to the same bland propaganda of a government that “couldn’t or wouldn’t” see what a tragedy it was to lose fifty percent of their lower class? It made her sick as she pictured the beautiful images she had seen in scientific journals of the vast cold darkness of space.

She stood.

That was it, if nothing she wanted to at least see the creatures off, tell them good luck, and thank them for what they had done. Maybe they would be more likely to return one day if ‘someone’ deigned to go and say goodby to them and actually thank them for what they had done.

With her mind made up, she stood, and with renewed vigor made her way over the icy tundra and towards the alien landing sight. Government officials were crawling all over the area, keeping the curious, prying eyes of the civilians well back where they couldn’t cause trouble or get any ideas. They tried to keep her back too, but she flashed a badge at the first two and managed to dodge two more before three burly agents stepped into her path.

All three of them had deep onyx fur and glowered at her with intense black eyes.

“This area is restricted.”

“I just want to talk to them. They know me.”

“This area is restricted.” They repeated.

“I am the scientist who first came in contact with them, please, I would really just like to speak with them.” She tried moving around, but it was no good, and they continued to block her path. Behind him, she could see the shuttle that had brought the aliens down. It was of trange construction, cold silver steel in sharp angular lines. The creatures swarmed around the ship carrying boxes, a few of them collected ice and snow in small clear tubes.

The commotion must have alerted them, and she saw their leader raise his head as the agents began to push her back.

She waved a desperate hand in the creature’s direction, and it broke into a trot over the icy ground its boots cringing over the snow.

“Hold on!” It called, and its booming voice was enough to make the agents stop and back away nervously.

The only thing she could see under its mask and hood was that sharp green eye.

“Everything alright?” he wondered

She sighed but nodded, “Well…. No…. not really. I just wanted to let you know that…. Well Not all of us agree with the chancellor. Don’t…. Well just don’t forget about us.”

She watched the creature’s face wrinkle about the eyes, and the feeling she got from the expression was… one of surprising pleasure.

“Don’t worry, we won’t forget about you. We are a bit harder to ignore than all that…. In a strictly annoying sort of way and less of the tyrannical, we are going to take over your world sort of way.”

The creature made a strange repeated whirring noise deep in his chest, and she yipped her own amusement.

He held out a hand to her and she stared at it, “It's a human greeting and farewell.”

Gingerly she reached forward and took his hand feeling as he wrapped his fingers around hers in a firm grip and shook once.

It was a strange gesture, yet one that simultaneously made her feel connected to him, in a way, not altogether unpleasant.

Then he let her go, turning back to his ship and striding over the ground with the confidence of a creature that had done this sort of thing many times, that was until he slipped on the ice and staggered awkwardly, arms flailing. She yipped again in amusement and he waved a hand turning around to see if anyone had seen.

She turned and made her way back up towards the plateau watching as the ice and tundra spread out before her, white on blue purple, and just as she was reaching the top, she stopped. She could go no further.

She glanced back to where the strange creatures were beginning to load their equipment back onto their ship, and then forward to where the government agents were busy pushing back a line of curious onlookers.

No one saw her.

Yeb sat in thought for a long moment, and before she really knew what she was doing, she turned around and raced back down the hill skidding and sliding on the ice with barely controlled speed. She wasn’t sure what she was doing, or what she was going to do, but as she reached the bottom of the hill, and saw an open box resting on the ground; she made a decision.

It wasn’t a good decision, nor was it a well thought out decision, and honestly later, she would come to realize that there were easier ways to do what she was about to do, the number one being to simply ask politely, but none of that crossed her mind as she dove into the box and pulled the lid over her head.

As far as she knew, no one had seen her, and before long she felt the crate lurch upwards and wobble its way towards the shuttle, while the creatures outside grunted at its unusually heavy weight.

She was set down inside, and, she thought, strapped down.

It didn’t occur to her again, until the engines ignited, just what she had done to herself.

Her stomach lurched into her feet and she screamed in fear and shock as the ground fell out from beneath her. All she could hear was the roaring of engines and feel the battering of the atmosphere around her as they cut through the atmosphere.

And then, after just a few minutes, the rattling died away, and she found herself floating inside the box like a free droplet of water in freefall.

With her tail tucked around her she hugged herself tight, screaming internally about what she had just done.

At some point, she felt the ship lurch, and aftera moment, she dropped back to the bottomotom of the box as gravity reinstated itselfreinstateditself.

Inside her box, the air grew stiflingly hot, and she began to pant vigorously as the heat seeped into her body. She hadn’t expected it to be so hot.

She felt her crate lurch again, and her ears were filled with the echo of a large space, and strange alien voices calling out to each other. She shrunk back into her box, there must have been hundreds of them…. And now she was a stowaway.

She really hadn’t thought this through. What was she going to eat? What was she going to drink? What would happen if they found her skulking on board the ship without invitation. The creatures had seemed hospitable originally, but that didn’t really mean anything if they thought she was some kind of spy.

Her insides churned a bit as the crate was set down and the voices retreated.

The box continued to gro hotter and hotter.

She tried to wait it out as best she could, but soon, it became to much, and with a gasp of air she threw off the lid of her crate and gasped for fresh air.It was, somewhat fresher than it had been inside the crate, but the heat was still unbearable.

Panting fit to burst, she tripped off her jacket,undershirt, gloves and any other layer she could think of, tossing them into the box.

It was marginally more bearable, but still,she felt as if she could barely breathe.

This was a worse idea she had ever had.

How could she have been so stupid. The creatures were clearly very cold on her planet, what made her think that she would be comfortable in their environment.

She heard footsteps,and quietly dropped to one knee, still panting.

“You see that place. Frozen hellhole for sure.”

“I wouldn't mind the cold so much, but the place looked like a prison with ice.”

“Hmm if their government leaders knew what they were missing maybe they wouldn’t be so hasty to tell us to shove off.”

A familiar voice broke in with them, “I don’t know, i thought it was kinda cool, like Hoth from star wars.”

“Admiral, haven't we established that you are like…. The only person on this ship who knows what that means.”

“You know what it means.”

“Thats because you forced us into a star wars marathon.”

“You can thank me later.”

There was some grumbling from the group of humans as they passed by, and Yeb finally got a good look at the creatures without all their layers on. They were, surprisingly, a lot thinner than she had first thought, long and lanky in their limbs and really rather bony. The right skin of their faces extended into their arms and necks. From here she could see the small little hairs on their ams though they would be pointless for keeping anyone warm.

But they were powerfully built.

As a biologist, she would have guessed that these creatures were built for a hot desert environment rather than the cold. The thought made her rather uncomfortable. Her home planet had no deserts at all, an the environment was only theoretical based on their observation of other worlds similar in size to their own.

The humans passed by her, leaving her alone.

And, quietly, she moved forward, sneaking through the ship and the warrens of tunnels.

The tunnels were very angular, all of their construction was very angular, ninety degrees or close to ninety degrees.

It was all… odd, and alien, and she found herself lost in the corridors not sure where she was going.

Hot metal was close to burning her feet, sweltering around her.

She felt fent.

Following voice, she peered around the corner and into a large room, where many of the creatures sat together huddled in groups consuming unknown alien food. Behind them, a large viewing window stared out into blackness. She closed her eyes tight and took a deep breath. She felt sick.

It was just so hot.

When no one was looking, she slipped inside and back behind a long countertop and snuck along the side unil….. Until she felt a waft of cold air. She paused and turned her head towards a large silver door. She inched forward and pressed up against it. It was like ice, so cold. In desperation she reached up to the door and popped it open to a waft of freezing air.

In relief, she scampered inside and closed the door behind her sliding to the ground in relief as the biting air rushed through her fur.

She was feeling a little better now, and looking around her, she could see stacks and stacks of crates full of…. strange …. Food?”

She would assume it was food. WIth everything so hot here, they must need a palace to preserve their organic materials from decomposition.

She inched forward across the floor and stuck her head around through some of the crates sniffing at its contents. She would…. Probably be able to eat something here if she was careful about it. She was an omnivore like the creatures, and assumed that they were both based on the same principles of food consumption.

Either way, she was going to figure it out soon to her detriment or not.

This strange frozen storage was going to become her main base of operations, though she did find another location near the medical bay. That one was a little less pleasant though since, from the scientific equipment lying around, she made the correct assumption that they used it to store bodies when someone died aboard the ship.

A morbid thought, but it made sense.

She would stick with hiding in the freezer for the time being.

There Was food there, and no dead people.

From her vantage point sneaking in and out of her hiding space, she was able to watch the creatures from a distance, sure they weren’t putting on a show for her and knowing that their behavior was genuine. As far as she could tell they were social and relatively tame.

They sat in groups, conversed and talked like any one of her people, except maybe a bit more enthusiastically.

They ate together and played games.

And even had the same sort of reactions with other species.

There were a few fuzzy looking aliens that weren’t far off from her species, though they seemed more used to the heat.

Then there were the small scaly creatures, who were just as social, and the large beasts with six arms, towering over even their human counterparts.

From the shadows she watched them as they fought each other with sharpened sticks made from metal their ferocity scaring her as she pressed back into the shadows.

It was a strange an eclectic place of many different peoples.

She saw religion, and culture and tradition as she watched from the shadows.

But she also saw ferocity, anger, and bitterness on quiet occasions, listening in on moments she knew to be private but could not help but listen in on.

And there was something, strange, about the humans.

She wouldn’t have been able to put into words if asked but…. It seemed as if they were disconnected from themselves, like a driver pilots a machine, one with it but no in the same. It was so strange, the sudden blankness that would come over their faces as if nothing was behind the eyes, especially in quiet moments when they were alone with themselves.

She spent days like this, hours on end watching them from a distance hiding in the freezer when it was dark and spending occasion out in the heat.

She used bags of ice shoved into bags to keep herself cool on these forays as the ship always remained rather hot.

She hoped that, in this way she could survive, worried she would be punished if they found her out.

That was until one day.

One day sitting in the air ducts watching the humans pass by that she heard a sound.

A soft scraping.

She turned her head towards the end of the small maintenance tunnel, just as a figure cme around the corner.

It was small, and furry, and brightly colored, and as soon as it came around the corner it froze and locked eyes with her.

Its ears trembled.

She went to run.

“Run and die.” it said eyes narrowing, and despite how small and fluffy it was, shefroze.

She didn’t know what this thing could do, and it didn’t seem concerned with her.

So, Yeb believed it.

She believed she was going to die.

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draganasimpsforjeff · 3 years

Text

Hunting Dogs (proxies x reader) Chapter Three

"Yes, mom. Yes, I know. I'm aware..." You repeated the same lines over and over in a different way each time, hoping that would tell your mom "I fucking get it" but nope she went on until you nearly shouted, "Fuck! I'm gonna be late, call you later, love you bye!" you said in all one breath, pressing the end call button and tossed your phone onto your bed.

In reality, you had plenty of time; roughly 40ish mins until you had to clock in. The events that were held last night replayed in your mind as you brushed your teeth. You began to question if it was real or maybe it was the stress of life getting to you. But you didn't think you could crack that easily from pressure, especially with as dramatic has being a witness to a innocent old man getting killed or three masked men chasing you to your home.

"Damn cold weather." you groaned, noticing a small trail of blood leaving your nose and onto your pajama shirt. You leaned forward, grabbing some toilet paper and try to stop the bleeding while searching through your closet for appropriate clothing for work. The only uniform you would have to wear was a name tag and apron.

Plugging your phone in for another few minutes as you had forgotten to charge it the night before. The current battery level was at 34%. You didn't know how long you were going to be at work and if you were gonna be granted a break or not so, it was best to charge it so you didn't die of boredom.

After a few minutes your bleeding nose cleared up and you threw away the red stained tissue into the trash, fixing your appearance in the mirror before grabbing your phone and tossing the cord away. You walk through the small hallway and downstairs to where you were able to leave your apartment. Opening the door, you peaked your head out of the room trying to see if there was anyone in the hallway.

You weren't paranoid, you just didn't really like your neighbors as they were really loud or there was a few that liked to get in your business, but it wasn't necessarily a bad type of nosy, it was more so that you were new and young in a bustling city with no family members to support you if needed.

You locked your door with your keys before stuffing them into your pocket, debating whether or not to keep them out somewhat so if something happened again it would be easier access, but there was also a chance of them falling out. Sighing, you just tucked them safely deeper into your pocket, walking down the long hallway.

Rain was drizzling down onto the sidewalks as you opened the iron gate and your shoes hit the damp concrete. You didn't know whether to be relieved or slightly bugged as a rainy day meant very slow business and you could catch up on other work, but slow day also meant having nothing to absolutely fucking do and- and that meant you were gonna be somewhat wet and cold as you walk to work and possibly from.

"Ah, the only reason why I give you business Mr. Baldwin- Y/N!" Mr. Saka gave you a frantic wave and you chuckle, giving him a slight wave. "Morning, Mr. Saka. If I didn't know any better I would say you have a crush on me." Mr. Saka howled in laughter. You weren't the type to say stuff like that to older men, but you and him had a different relationship where it was just strictly playful words and nothing else. He had no feelings for you and vice versa, you both enjoyed each other's personality and company. He wasn't a creep either, so there were no red flags either. Plus, you had to admit you were kind of scared of his wife, Catherine. Though, she was rarely joined with her husband the moment you see her you don't know how to form sentences or know if you're doing your job right. She was just a customer but she definitely gave off heavy vibes of taking charge and just seemed like that even if she was in a very good mood.

He open his mouth about to speak before the door made a jingle sound and a girl with auburn hair that looked messy, but like in a fashionable way? She quickly fixes her shirt, brushing off the nonexistent fuzz on her shirt and looks around before spotting you. "Oh! You must be Y/N! Mr. Baldwin said to talk to you when I first get here-" she grabs your hand, shaking it while remaining an intense stare into your eyes. She was smaller than you but a bit scared of how someone could have energy like this it in the morning. "Did he? Well, I don't think I caught your name. " you said, not recalling your boss mentioning her name the night previous. "It's Kristine, nice to meet you." she smiles brightly and you couldn't help but return a smile as well. Damn, she's contagious.

"Right, well, let's show you the basics around here and I'm sure Mr. Baldwin will give you a uniform and start training you. " You said and excuse yourself from the conversation you and Mr. Saka were having.

It took roughly twenty minutes showing where equipment were at the store, briefly explaining their use, where to clock in, areas around the restaurant where she would most likely be, introducing her to the other workers (which honestly she mostly did herself before you could open your mouth) where the schedule was located and explaining the cut off date for paydays and such as well as the best time to request a day off if needed. "I can take it from here, Y/N. " Mr. Baldwin said, smiling softly and you nod, walking away and breathing out a sigh of relief. It wasn't much of a chore, but you were afraid of leaving out information as that was your first time having someone go to you first and having to take on a role, plus she was very bubbly for like 8:15 a.m....without coffee or some stimulant.

Reaching the front of the store, you turned on the coffee makers and look over at Mr. Saka who was looking outside as it began to rain even harder. You sigh through your nose, grabbing a mug and pour coffee into it and grab three packets of sugar, handing it over to him. "On the house." you say and he smiles slightly, nodding in 'thanks' before tilting the cup to his mouth.

The morning process was pretty tedious and you never really liked it as you had quickly caught on when your boss first trained you. Not much was expected from you, not in a bad way, just mostly people came here for the food and no one really came in during the mornings unless for coffee or light breakfast. As of right now, there was only Mr. Saka.

Yep. Today was definitely going to be slow. You walk towards the booths and tables, pulling chairs down and cleaning the tables off a bit, hearing the door open again and three men came in, wiping their faces from water droplets. They didn't look familiar at all, but one of them seem to have notice you as the man with brown hair that was long enough to cover some of his view from you if he didn't flip his bangs away from his eyes nudges the guy next to him. You had to admit, he was sort of buff looking and had great sideburns. He looks up at the other man, glaring daggers until the third man with a stubble and very short brown hair took notice of you.

You didn't like the vibe you got from them, but you just shook it off as they were just new and you didn't know what to expect from them. You look down, avoiding their eyes before they went up to the bar, sitting down on the stools across from Mr. Saka. You stopped your progress with the tables and walk over to them. "Anything I can get for you this morning?" you ask politely, eyeing the coffee pots as they finally fill up to the white line.

"Two black coffees and-"

"Caramel frappe, extra whip cream-" The two older men look at the one who ordered the frappe with a annoyed look. "Yeah, sure, coming up." you say and went over, grabbing two of the smaller mugs for nonspecial coffee and poured the coffee into it, giving it to the two men before walking over and started making the caramel frappe. "You guys new here? I didn't recognize you." you started the conversation, hoping to confirm why you felt off with them but try your best to keep your cool.

One of them had cleared their throat before speaking, "Yeah, we moved in last night." You nod, adding the whip cream onto the coffee and caramel drizzle. Mr Saka took his chance to speak, taking in the rain and then at the men, "I hope you didn't have to go far to get here considering the type of weather we're having today." he sighs and takes another sip of his coffee.

The man with sideburns answers him, "We live just around the corner." Your body grew goosebumps and you nearly let out a gasp, replaying the scene in your head from last night. Were they aware of what happened last night? But nonetheless, you had a feeling that a question like that shouldn't be the one you need to focus on.

Three men last night had chased you from around the corner,

three men came in and said they moved in last night and live around the corner!

You swallowed thickly, grabbing the cup and hand it over to the other man who took it almost instantly and started slurping the coffee. His eyes widen at the taste and he smiles. "This is pretty good." he says and you smile a bit more at the comment. "How convenient." Mr. Saka said to the side-burn man. You snorted at what you had named him and the four men look at you and you wave it off, "It's nothing, just thinking."

Mr. Saka chuckles, nodding his head and continues to talk to the other men. You went back to the tables and make sure everything looks good before hearing your name being called. "Y/N!" you groan, walking to the back room. "Yes, Mr. Baldwin?" you peek your head in, groaning as you had seen what he wanted from you. Piles upon piles of empty boxes needed to be taken out, luckily they were already broken down, but you didn't exactly want to get wet and cold from going outside.

But either, you walk over and mutter to yourself and took as many boxes you could with one hand, using the other to push open the back door immediately your hair blocks your few and is soaked. You ran to the dumpster, quickly throwing the boxes but something caught your attention.

You walk over to it, kneeling down and grab it, minding the needle at the end. It was the syringe from last night with a purple liquid dripping out, making you drop it. You hadn't touched whatever was inside, but the thought that you probably had touched the edge of the broken pieces made you think that that was bad enough. You swallow, staring down at it for a moment and noted your foot placement. You stood in the same spot a man had died last night.

Speaking of which; Where is the body? Did someone call 911 and they took care of it? More disturbing thoughts came in roll as your way of thinking changed, Did stray dogs or cats start get a head-start? No, there was no way. Did...did the men come back after chasing you and hide his body? "Y/N I'm not paying you to just look down at the ground, C'mon. " your boss said and you sigh, walking away from the syringe and back instead. The apron had protected most of your clothes and just seems like your hair had been the victim of the rain as you got back inside. "I'll get the boxes later, Y/N you just go back to the front. " he says and you nod, not wanting to argue with him as you were still disturbed from what you found. When you came back, the three men were gone but a small note was left.

"What's this?" you ask out loud and Mr. Saka shrugs with a smile on his face, "Maybe one of the gentlemen's number, aye? A social life wouldn't hurt." he says and you reach from the folded note, expecting what the old man said, but what you saw on it confused you until you caught on.

402

3rd up

5th left

#HuntingDogs #Hunting Dogs #proxies x reader #creepypasta x reader

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cryptenby · 3 years

Text

an abundance of green

so i’ve been watching critical role over quarantine and apparently it’s impossible for me to half ass anything so i’m obsessed, and obviously my love of rarepairs has gone nowhere, so im basically contractually obligated to write about Fjord and Caduceus. this has no plot, is completely indulgent and i really hope that whoever reads it enjoys it anyway lmao it’s also on ao3!!

They’re at the Xhorhaus at Caduceus’s own insistence. He told everyone he wanted to check on the tree and their makeshift temple, and Caduceus never asks for anything so the Mighty Nein is packing up before he’s finished the question. It almost makes him feel a little guilty, considering he really just wants to get his hands on Caleb and Essek. They need a good pot of tea and a solid talking to. Realistically, he thinks he could have just said that but Caleb is skittish about matters of the heart, especially when he didn’t initiate them on his own.

Beau knows though. She corners him before they leave, out of earshot of most everyone. “Duce. This about Essek?”

He laughs a little to himself, an airy thing. “Kind of. I would like to check on him, I'm hoping he’ll come see us. Or let us see him.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“You probably shouldn’t,” Caduceus grins.

“How is it possible that I know that you mean that but I still feel a little guilty?” she says, a little sheepish as Caduceus laughs. “How can you trust him so easily?”

“I have faith that you guys will ask the right questions. If he doesn’t care for us, or have our best interests at heart, I’m very confident the more suspicious of us will be on top of it. But I trust Mr. Caleb, and he didn't condemn him,” Caduceus says with a shrug. “Neither will I.”

Beau just looks at him for a moment before sniffing harshly and blowing out a loud breath. “Fucking fine. I won’t tear him a new one but don’t think I didn’t notice that you gave me permission to pull every possible piece of information out of him.”

“Of course,” Caduceus says, barely containing his smile. “I know who you are, Ms. Beau, and I expect you to be yourself.”

Beau blushes, for some reason, and clears her throat. “Right. Thanks, Duce.”

He gives a mock, half salute that he’s seen her give to their captain, and it makes her laugh before she strolls off. It doesn’t take them much longer before they’re off, Caleb finishing off the teleportation circle with a dramatic flourish that makes Jester giggle, the whole point of it, Caduceus is sure.

The familiar trek to the Xhorhaus seems to take no time at all, the tree he’s grown so fond of twinkling with a soft light the closer they get, a beacon, of sorts, welcoming them home. He’s a little surprised by how much he loves their place here; he’s not like the rest of the Nein, he already has a place that he considers home, so the new one was not so significant for him as for the others. In fact, it took him a while to even accept the place as theirs and not expect some ulterior motives to come to light. The feelings were unfamiliar territory for him at the time, suspicion and a lack of appreciation for a gift so grand, and the planting of the tree was a way for him to apologize and make peace in the space. It definitely seemed to work, if the happy flutter in his heart at the sound of the chimes when they enter is anything to go by.

Everyone goes to their respective rooms to store their things, chatting genially before they go their separate ways.

Everyone other than Fjord.

He does a loop around the common room, getting familiar again with his steps before he centers himself in the room, inhaling, and mumbling something under his breath with the exhale. The gentle reverb that follows confirms what Caduceus assumed he would do; the blade glows blue and Fjord glows with it, his See Invisibility spell activated.

The bunch in his muscles draw his attention first as he holds the greatsword aloft, inhaling again and opening his eyes on the exhale, their blue glow matching the runes on his blade. They highlight the depth of his cheekbones and strength of his jaw, his already handsome features softly accentuated. Fjord starts to walk the room with a more keen gaze, his steps strong and sure in a way Caduceus has only noticed since he accepted their Mother’s grace. He decides to turn tail and head up the stairs before Fjord has a chance to ask questions about his lingering that he isn’t prepared to answer.

The smell of dirt greets him as he ascends the stairs and he takes a deep breath, entering the roof with a grin. Everything is as he left it, the twinkling lights from their tree painting the room a soft yellow with their glow. Every bit of life to be seen seems to reach toward him as he enters and he greets them brightly, apologizing for being gone so long and asking each that he passes how they’re getting along.

A breeze warms him a little while later and it carries a friendly warning as it leaves him, explained when he hears the footsteps of someone approaching.

Too large to be Veth or Jester, too loud to be Beau or Yasha, too heavy to be Caleb, leaving only—

Fjord knocks gently twice before he lifts the hatch.

“Hey, Ducey,” he says with a smile. “Can I come up?”

“You know you’re always welcome, Mr. Fjord.”

Caduceus turns to greet him happily and sees some of the plants turn towards Fjord in his peripheral; he chuckles a bit at Fjord’s look of awe that he catches at a glance and shuffles over to grab the kettle and start a pot of tea. He turns back to ask Fjord if he wants any and stops, blinking slowly.

Fjord is saying something but Caduceus is barely paying attention, distracted as he is by the fitted, soft linen Fjord is adorned in. It’s not as though he’s never seen him in underclothes before, they’ve shared a space too many times for that to be the case, but those clothes all bore the wear and tear of the life the half-orc led, and politeness ensured Caduceus never let his eyes linger too long, for obvious and other reasons.

Never before had Caduceus seen Fjord looking so dressed down, so comfortable, cozy, safe. It fills him up inside, butterflies with wings stronger than any he’d encountered in Melora’s fields fighting for purchase in his belly. He wants to touch him: his face to memorize the laugh lines there, his chest to feel the steady beat of his heart, his back to guard it and ensure no one ever catches him unaware again.

He wants to protect him. He wants to tell him. He wants to keep looking and never say anything else ever again.

And that’s. Well, it’s weird.

Caduceus Clay, infatuated? Enamored? With one of his own party? How could it have happened without his notice?

“Uh, Caduceus?” Fjord calls, and he sounds closer than before.

Caduceus blinks slowly and looks down at his concerned friend now standing close enough to touch, and he takes advantage, grabbing him around the elbow, his dark green skin and black claws clashing prettily with Caduceus’s pale sleeves and light grey fur.

“Alright?” Fjord asks, sounding a little more concerned this time.

Caduceus blinks at him and clears his throat around a little white lie. “Yes, sorry. Sometimes I fall deep into my conversations with the Wildmother. Um, tea?”

Fjord looks closely at him before nodding and releasing him, and Caduceus takes the first chance to hide his face, cheeks blushing with his new revelation as he walks over to the little fire pit he’d dug out just for the kettle. He can hear Fjord walking closer, slowly, probably taking in the roof like he does every time he’s here, even though he’s seen it many times over. It’s endearing, and those butterflies from before seem to have made themselves at home in his belly, fluttering madly. He takes a couple deep breaths that don’t help at all and curses his luck.

“Man, I never get tired of that,” Fjord says, having finally made his way over and sitting down close by.

Caduceus looks at his smile and thinks, yeah, me either.

“It never really gets old.” He says instead. “Is that what you came up for? Not that I ever mind, just curious.”

“Oh, no, I wanted to thank you actually.” Fjord says. He’s looking at Caduceus with such earnest sincerity that Caduceus’s heart swoops in his chest. “I’m loath to admit it but I think I needed a break and I know I would never have bothered to ask, even once I figured out I needed it.

I know you don’t do it on purpose, but just having you around makes everything easier, better. And I feel like we don’t tell you that enough, or tell you thank you often enough. So, thank you.”

Fjord squeezes his hand, smiling softly at him, his lips finally used to the tusks that are growing in proud and strong. Caduceus grips him back and hopes that the answering squeeze and tears in his eyes are enough to express his gratitude.

“And also. I’m not around all the time obviously, so forgive me if I’m wrong, but you’ve never really talked about, you know, anything, really. You’ve gone through some pretty fucked shit like the rest of us and you deserve the care you keep trying to give everyone else. So, if you ever need to talk to anyone,” Fjord says softly, cupping one of Caduceus’s hands in both of his and smiling a self-deprecating grin. “I’m here. I’m a mess, but I’m a good listener.”

“Okay,” Caduceus says, around the lump in his throat. “Thank you, Mr. Fjord.”

“Okay,” Fjord says back, cheeky grin turning into a relieved smile. “Thank you, Mr. Clay.”

Caduceus nods and looks at him for longer than strictly necessary, and it doesn't escape his notice that Fjord lets him, stealing in some glances of his own. Caduceus’s heart swoops again and he finds himself wishing he could ask Melora for a bit of guidance, knowing her answer would be vague and leave him feeling more confused than ever. The frustration barely has time to take hold before he feels a warm breeze like fingers caressing his cheek and Fjord must soon follow, if his gentle chuckle is anything to go by.

He feels selfish for his frustration, fleeting as it was.

He looks at Fjord, and he wants.

He takes a deep breath.

He makes tea.

#fjorduceus #fjord x caduceus #critical role #teahaw #JUST A COUPLE OF BOYS BEING DUDES #just two polite guys!!!!!! being nice!!!!!#anyone else haunted by fjord saying hi caduceus all small and happy after he saved him #also listen melora is in the wind and she is always talking to her boy i dont know what you want from me #also beau just wants to be understood by the people she admires okay.....#tori writes

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aces-to-apples · 4 years

Note

20 and Jessemaul please 🙏

For this ask meme

This got really horny, but like in a weird way, and I am so sorry.

NOT SAFE FOR WHALES

CITRUS SCALE: LEMON (POSSIBLY GRAPEFRUIT, I DON'T REALLY KNOW HOW WEIRD YOU GOTTA GET FOR THAT)

Warnings: Kink negotiation but maybe not quite enough, rough sex, overstimulation, biting and bruising, i think this counts as pain play, D/s, mild(?) sub drop/aftercare, crying during sex, safe word use, asexual character having sex

Here on AO3

20. Confessions

Three months after finally returning to Dathomir, Jesse sat down across from Maul and said, "I want you to hold me down and fuck me so hard I beg you to stop."

They had been intimate since the mess that was Florrum, mostly relegated to hands and mouths, but the suddenness of the request was startling. If Maul were a lesser being, or perhaps merely if Jesse had said this earlier into their sexual relationship, he might have choked on his tea. As it was, he was sure his expression was amusingly wide-eyed to the lieutenant.

"I take it you'd like me to use the... assistive equipment you've mentioned before," he said at length. Jesse's voice had been firm, unyielding, but he carried a tension in his shoulders, hands clasped his own cup so tightly as to turn his knuckles white, and his gaze was fixed on the small eating table between them. This was something... important to him, likely related to the way he'd been prowling about the residence lately. "And should I stop, when you beg me to?"

Deep brown eyes darted up, looking caught, before jerking aside to bore holes into the wall. "No, I... If I want you to actually stop, I'll say 'blue.' That's what a safe-word is."

Maul hummed. "And if I don't want to do this?" he asked, curious.

Jesse ground his teeth. "Then we don't."

He looked as if the prospect pained him. Their minds were no longer as deeply entangled as they had been when their bond was first established, but sometimes Maul missed it. The closeness made communication so much easier.

"This is something you want," he noted, watching with fascination as the skin around Jesse's eyes tightened. "Or, it's something you need."

His ver'alor snarled and a bit of frozen gold crept into his irises. "I don't need anything from you."

Which was such a blatant lie that Maul sat back in his chair and silently observed the fuming lieutenant. As a clone and a very sexual Human man, Jesse needed quite a bit, from Maul in particular.

He needed training in the Force. He needed trusted companionship in the absence of his brothers, sisters, and siblings. He needed skin-to-skin contact like he needed food, becoming sullen and aggressive without it. He needed regular sexual release, although he had admitted that involving Maul in the proceedings was merely a heavy preference.

An incident early into their partnership had proven their needs different, and at times incompatible. With their bond stabilized and their minds no longer so entwined, those differences became stark.

Seeking the physical affection Maul had, until that specific incident, been pleased enough to provide, Jesse had stepped right up against his back and pressed their bodies together. One hand had wrapped around his waist while the other crept underneath his shirt and grasped Maul's opposite shoulder. Jesse’s breath had fanned across the back of his neck and the prickling discomfort and irritation that had plagued Maul all throughout that day had solidified.

The rumbling growl had begun deep in his chest and ripped out of his throat with all the implicit threat his instincts could muster. Jesse had gone prey-still.

Slowly, so as not to startle him, Jesse had released his waist and removed his hand from Maul's skin, then put a careful distance between them.

"Sorry, vod," he'd said after a long silence, the two of them getting their bearings. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Maul had managed to force through gritted teeth that he didn't want to be touched at that time and the incident passed with some adjustment. Ever since, Jesse had brushed a questioning tendril across Maul's mind before initiating such contact. With this in mind, Maul knew that if he declined Jesse's request, that would likely be the end of it.

"Would late afternoon tomorrow be acceptable?" he finally said. "I have a meeting with Dryden Vos, which will no doubt be tedious."

Jesse's nose wrinkled at the mention of his least favorite of their figureheads, but the tightness around his eyes lessened. "Yeah, should be good."

Yes, the request was clearly something that Jesse needed quite badly.

To Maul's surprise, he entered Jesse's quarters after the meeting to find the room soaked with desperate, frustrated lust. He had clearly underestimated the severity of Jesse’s need, if he’d foregone any foreplay in favor of, in his own words, slicking himself up.

“Kriffing finally,” his ver’alor growled, tossing a scrap of clothing that he’d apparently saved for Maul’s appearance at his head. Ignoring the annoyed flick of Maul’s fingers to dislodge the fabric from his horns, he jerked his chin. “Harness is over there. Now, please come over here and fuck me.”

Rolling his eyes at the impatience, Maul stalked over to the indicated table and began to undress.

He could feel the spike of interest as he carefully folded his shirt and placed it aside. Jesse had once admitted that sexual preference in clones tended towards highly individualized species, had called Maul’s markings ‘tooka-nip.’

Maul focused on the feeling of Jesse’s arousal as it brushed against his mind, rather than the awkwardness and indignity of figuring out the aforementioned harness. He knew he was more sensitive to perceived derision than Jesse deemed ‘strictly healthy, by Kix’s standards’; if he allowed himself to become distracted by his insecurities, his already-simmering temper would lash out.

He also rolled his eyes at the red and black markings on the toy that Jesse had selected for his use. “Cute,” he muttered, fiddling with everything to make sure it was properly settled.

“Hot,” Jesse corrected from his place on the bed. “Very hot. Are you going to make me beg first or something?”

Maul sighed and made his way over to the bed. “No, I believe you requested that happen later in the proceedings.” He cast a critical eye over what he saw and could admit that the sight of Jesse splayed across silken sheets was evocative.

The lieutenant had gained weight since coming to Dathomir, his body eagerly hoarding fat and muscle at the slightest opportunity, and the way his warm brown skin stretched across both was pleasing. As was the flush of blood across various aspects of his anatomy as his fingers began twisting among the sheets, becoming more and more worked up the longer Maul did nothing to further his aims.

“Please,” he whined, panting and watching him beneath hooded eyes, his pupils blown wide. His hard-earned shields dropped a bit, letting Maul feel how desperately he wanted this, wanted him.

Swallowing a sudden rush of saliva, Maul carefully crawled between Jesse’s legs and braced himself above his ver’alor. “Is there anything else you need?” he asked, thinking of the little research he’d done that morning before Dryden Vos’ arrival.

“I—” Jesse began, swallowing thickly. “Pin my wrists, too.”

Maul hummed, unsurprised. “And we already know you like my voice,” he prompted. “Is there anything you’d like me to say?”

The blush across his cheeks really was quite beautiful, even if he was avoiding Maul’s gaze. “Nah, nothing—nothing in particular.”

“I see... Would you like me to fuck you now?”

For all his uncharacteristic shyness, the tease met its mark and Jesse leaned up to bite at Maul’s mouth with a silly little growl. Maul let him control the kiss and reveled in his groan as he guided the toy inside his body.

He spent a few moments testing how best to move, keeping a careful eye on how Jesse reacted to each thrust. While he had memories of Jesse’s memories to draw from, he had no practical experience of his own. That suddenly, with the lieutenant squirming beneath him, seemed an oversight. In fact, it was surprising that Jesse had waited this long to ask for it.

“Is this what you want?” he asked lazily, one hand tilting Jesse’s hips to see what difference it made to his enjoyment and the other braced above their heads to keep him steady. “Is this what you need?”

“Ngh,” Jesse eloquently replied. “S’good.”

“But... not quite?”

His head thrashed from side to side and a leg curled up his side, letting Maul sink deeper into his body. “Harder,” he gasped, “fuck me harder.”

Fairly confident now, Maul snapped his hips and watched avidly as Jesse’s lips parted. He did it again, and again, and Jesse groaned and reached up to drag him down for another kiss. Feeling generous, he allowed it for a moment before catching his wrists and pinning them above above his head.

Jesse broke away, seemingly unable to catch his breath, and carefully tested Maul’s grip. He tightened it into something that must be painful and felt a ripple of pleasure all his own at how the lieutenant melted beneath him.

He continued fucking him carefully, increasing the force behind each thrust only marginally, until he reached what Jesse was after.

The bed, a sturdy thing made to last, shuddered against the wall when Jesse’s moans turned to whimpers. Curious, Maul moved farther up the bed, bending Jesse nearly in half and increasing the weight on his wrists. The choked noise of pain and pleasure he got in response was gratifying, but the garbled sob of “stop” gave him pause.

Jesse often mocked his obsessive need for dominance but hurting him in such an intimate manner was not something from which Maul derived pleasure.

He leaned down and pressed his mouth to Jesse’s throat. “If you want me to stop, you say ‘blue,’” he reminded, then snapped his hips and sank his teeth into the yielding flesh. He could feel Jesse’s shout even more than he could here it.

Maul mentally grimaced and prepared for Jesse to say it, but did not stop. He worked his jaw so that he was nearly chewing on his lover, and the change in position made it difficult to truly thrust, resulting in sharp hitches of his hips that... certainly garnered a reaction. The cries turned quickly to crying, which tested his resolve nearly to its breaking point.

Jesse was strong and fierce and sure; it was a tad distressing to know that his actions were the cause of his tears, his shuddering sobs, the way he strained desperately against Maul’s hold. But this, he continued to remind himself, was what Jesse asked for.

“Please stop, please, Maul, I’ll be good, I swear, please...”

Disconcerted, Maul released one of Jesse’s hands, keeping it immobilized through the Force, and trailed his fingers down his chest to wrap around his cock. He would hopefully be content to stop after he came. Fortunately, Maul was well-versed in wringing as orgasm out of his lieutenant with his hands, and as worked up as he already was, it didn’t take long.

He slowed his thrusts and eased the bite into only the presence of his teeth as Jesse came between them, acutely aware that the overstimulation would be uncomfortable to painful. Somehow, he was unsurprised when Jesse, face covered in saltwater, made an inarticulate noise of protest.

With a deep breath, Maul resumed his previous pace, each thud of the bed against the wall suddenly making him wince.

Jesse’s pleas did not change in pitch, but content. “Please, please, fuck, oh fuck, fuck me please, Maul, fuck me, please, fuck, fuck please Kix—”

Startled, Maul’s hips stuttered, and the damage was done.

“Ah, fuck,” Jesse yelped, his voice full of something Maul couldn’t identify. “Fuck, Maul stop, blue.”

Immediately, he stilled and released his hold on the lieutenant’s wrists.

“Would you like me to—”

“Yes, please,” Jesse hiccupped, covering his face with one hand. He didn’t react when Maul pulled fully away, nor when he left the bed to remove the harness and put everything aside for cleaning later.

Unsure, Maul reached out and brushed Jesse’s mind like a question. The response was another shield-drop, which revealed a swirling morass of emotion that Maul lacked the emotional literacy to fully understand. Grief was easy enough to identify, but there was also a great deal of something that tasted like a relative of shame, and a strange dullness creeping along the edges of everything.

Maul steeled himself and ran his tongue over his teeth before turning to face him.

Jesse hadn’t moved much, his legs still brace against the bed, showing off the bruises forming along his hips, the backs of his thighs, around his wrists. The bite mark lacked any ounce of subtlety—a hair’s breadth from bleeding, it was far too high and prominent to be hidden by any clothes of theirs, and spectacular bruising would no doubt bloom around the imprints of his teeth.

Covered in marks and splattered with his own come, Jesse looked like he’d been ravaged. Maul wasn’t sure how much pride he was supposed to take in that, nor how much regret. The longer he stood apart, trying to piece together what he was meant to do, the more pronounced the minute trembling that Maul had taken as exhaustion became.

Jesse’s breath hitched visibly and he at once felt superfluous.

“Ah. Should I. Do you want me to touch you?” Maul asked, completely at a loss.

“Yes,” Jesse gasped, with that terrible, watery tone that meant he was crying again. “Yes. Please. Touch me.”

Clear instruction given, Maul strode back over and settled along his side, careful not to settle between Jesse’s legs again. Hesitating, he slid one arm underneath his shoulders, then huffed out a breath when he arms were suddenly full of quaking clone.

“Pet me,” came a falsely-imperious order, muffled by the meat of his shoulder. When Maul obliged, stroking his free hand down Jesse’s spine, the lieutenant shuddered and sniffled. “Tell me I did a good job.”

“You did very well, ver’alor,” Maul praised immediately. “Such a... good job. Well done, Jesse.”

Jesse took an unsteady breath.

“Tell me you love me.” The words reverberated between them, leaving no room for thought. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to—I’m sorry. For saying Kix’s name, too.”

Maul frowned, unsure if he wished for the openness of their unshielded bond at that moment or not. “I... don’t see why you should apologize,” he eventually said. “He’s your riduur.”

“And I’m fucking you,” Jesse spat, sounding angry. “I shouldn’t have. I asked you for this and then didn’t even say your name.”

“As I recall, you said my name many times.” He could hear Jesse swallow a whine. “Kix is important to you. I don’t protest his... presence, shall we say, during these proceedings.”

“He’s gone,” Jesse whispered.

“Lost, not dead. Out of our reach but for the moment. We’ll find him.” Still unsure what Jesse needed, Maul tightened his grip around his shoulders and continued stroking a firm hand up and down his back. “Did you get what you wanted?”

“I—”

Jesse rolled over, out of Maul’s arms, and flung an arm over his eyes. “Yes,” he muttered, sounding put out. “You were fucking me perfectly and then I karked it up—”

“I don’t see how saying Kix’s name is any different from talking about Alpha-17 while I’m pleasuring you with my mouth,” Maul said glibly.

The following silence was telling.

“That happened once,” Jesse said, sitting up to glare at him, “and you asked.”

Maul shrugged, unconcerned with such trivialities. “Will you want to do this again?” he asked and took his answer from the way Jesse immediately looked away. “Do you... want this to become a regular addition to our usual activities?”

“No, I—” His lieutenant scrubbed a hand over his face, grimacing at the discomfort of dried salt water. “I don’t need it very often, I just. Feeling cooped up, is all. Think I wanna take you up on that offer to take on some more responsibilities for the Collective.”

He said it like a challenge, like Maul wasn’t fascinated by his mind and the way he conducted business.

“That sounds very fine,” he said and bridged the gap between them to press his mouth against Jesse’s cheek. “And you? You’re well?”

Jesse blinked big brown eyes at him and smiled softly. “Yeah, vod. I’m good.”

“Good.”

He waited until his ver’alor had relaxed once more, confident that any missteps had been addressed, then pressed his lips to his ear.

“And Jesse? Since you asked. I believe I do.”

#answered asks #ask meme #fic bits #sw fic #king of the damned #by apples #jesse/maul #not safe for whales #citrus scale #lemon #arc trooper jesse #darth maul #trooper/trooper relationships #jessix #jesse17

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