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inkstaineddove · 3 years

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Man as Mirror

Ships: PruAus if you wish; background PruHun and FraAus

Characters: Roderich, Gilbert; mentioned Erzsi + Francis

Summary: Arriving home early from Paris, Roderich encounters a shirtless Gilbert in his kitchen, leading them to have a conversation Roderich could've gone without.

Vienna, 1774.

Once his carriage safely rolled to a stop, Austria stepped out of it and stretched. While even he could not deny the beauty of Paris, nothing pleased the heart quite like home. Servants rushed about him, ushering in his extensive luggage. Sidestepping away from them, he gazed up at the early-morning sky and allowed himself the luxury of taking it all in. The fading purple of night, the sun shyly poking its face out through his hedges, and the birds singing their daily hymns. Truly, there was nowhere quite like home.

Feeling sufficiently uplifted, he entered the home and mindlessly made his way up the stairs. He froze once his hand hovered above the doorknob to his bedroom. He had been burned once before doing this and while, thankfully, all other parties had been asleep, the event had caused him enough mental anguish to power him through another three decades. Still, the desire to change out of his travel clothes was nigh impossible to dismiss. Leaning an ear against the door, his decision was made for him when he heard something like a moan come from Erzsébet. Changing could wait.

All remnants of his good mood dissipated as he silently grumbled to himself about their guest. While it certainly came as no surprise – Erzsébet did this every time he was out of town and, honestly, Roderich had grown to expect it – but hearing them was different. Sure, he was no fool and they made no effort to pretend but having indisputable proof of their trysts was another. Roderich was cursed to have found a spouse and enemy full of cunning. He noted that, if the two of them ever put their powers to good use, he’d have to compliment them for it. For now, while he was their target, any appreciation was out of the question.

He felt his body yearning for caffeine and knew what the next item on his agenda must be. Still lost in his thoughts, he was completely caught off guard at the sight of a bare-chested Gilbert standing over the kitchen counter. It was comical, really, watching such a brutish man delicately pour cream into two dainty mugs, mentally measuring out the right amounts. Roderich stood back and watched the whole performance in domesticity, studying the man before him as he never had before. The way his back and shoulder muscles shifted with each movement; how he never slouched even when it would be far more comfortable to; how the whole time, he never stopped humming marches to himself.

This scene felt too intimate and Roderich understood that he was not its intended audience. What he needed most from his rival now was hostility and not misguided fantasies of marital bliss. He cleared his throat and stepped into Gilbert’s line of sight. “For me? How sweet of you.” He snatched the mug closest to him and added in his usual five spoonsful of sugar. He held up a finger when he felt Gilbert gearing up to protest. “She’s still asleep. Besides, no one likes waking up to cold coffee. It sets such a tone for the day.”

They settled into a tense silence, neither one wanting to acknowledge the other. It was childish, Roderich understood, but failing to will the other out of his existence was better than devolving into petty insults or a physical altercation. And, if he ignored all rational thoughts, he didn’t even care. When around each other, what else were they but ancient children? There was no reason for them to speak, why invent one?

“Paris again? How many times have you been there over the last three months?” There almost appeared to be a hint of affectionate teasing in Gilbert’s words.

Roderich turned to face him and was surprised to find Gilbert already observing him with mild interest. What a strange morning, one he wished he could find some escape in by returning to bed but felt certain would provide him with no real escape. If anything, the pair would wake him up and demand he leave his own damn bed for another room, that’s how selfish they were. Against his will, he felt himself noticing the strength in Gilbert’s body, all broad shoulders and muscle, the physique of the ideal warrior. All suddenly clicked on why Roderich always found himself flat on his ass whenever they’d begin to trade blows. His arrogance had blinded him to the fact that imperial power mattered little when they weren’t trying to kill each other on the battlefield. With biceps like that, his only chance to get the upper hand would be a swift kick to the groin, which even at his worst he was too principled to resort to.

He was brought back to reality when Gilbert began snapping his fingers in his face. “Jesus, has anyone ever told you how creepy that staring thing you do is? Like you were trying to undress me with your eyes.” He straightened up and shivered. “Commission a portrait, it’ll last longer.”

“Please, don’t be so crass. This,” Roderich flippantly pointed to Gilbert’s outfit, “is already enough. If I imagined you in any less, I’d be ill for at least a month.”

Gilbert smirked as he took a sip. “Funny, most people have the opposite reaction.” He leaned his hips back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, how much more stalling can you do? What’s kept you in Paris so much? I don’t recall most treaties taking that much time to…hammer out.” He bit his lip, trying to suppress his snickering.

“It’s rude to talk work at breakfast.” Austria couldn’t be bothered to mask his irritation. Things such as ‘politeness’ and ‘civility’ always seemed to go to waste on Prussia. “And, if you’re fishing for what’s in our agreement, you’ll have no such luck from me. You’re wasting your time.”

“You think I give a damn about what’s on a fucking piece of paper? As if I’d be wasting my time on that. I don’t know who blabs more for the right price, your officials or France’s.” Gilbert’s demeanor was too casual. “Most of the time, we don’t have to go to those damn meetings anyways. We’re little more than decorations, the bureaucrats have everything written before they even breathe a word to us. We know that, they know that. There are always ulterior motives for our little business trips. Whenever I come here, I tell my current minder I’ll be off doing a diplomatic something-or-other in Vienna for a week, don’t wait up. They buy it even though they know the real reason I come to this shrine of gaudy antiques.”

“Your point, Gilbert?”

“My point is that you’re no different. Sure, you tell everyone that you’re renegotiating this or that little detail and maybe your officials believe it. And you tell it to Erzsi, and she believes it since it’s easier than thinking the husband she loathes so much is just as miserable as her. And maybe you believe it too because you have to lie to yourself first to lie to everyone else. But you can’t fool me.”

The whole time he spoke, Roderich was staring down into the contents of his mug. When all was quiet between them was when he finally looked up, laughing. “You must be desperate if you’re begging to get a morsel of gossip on me from me.”

Gilbert scoffed. “I’m not fishing for gossip. If I was, I would’ve gone through your letters while you were gone. And, before you ask, I’ve never done that. Not for lack of trying, I’m just not good at picking locks.”

The vein behind Roderich’s left eye began pulsating. He rubbed his temple gingerly, wincing. “I think I prefer it when you act like you can’t stand to be in the same room with me. Why the annoying younger brother schtick?”

“Maybe I’m making up for lost time.” For added emphasis, Gilbert made sure to loudly schlurp down a sip. Roderich’s wince at such a noise caused him to snort some coffee out his nose. Wiping it away, he grinned. “Or maybe I just want you to stop thinking you’re any better than me. Get you when you’re unguarded.”

“There’s a glaring hole in your plan. You’ve forgotten that I would never allow myself to be so vulnerable around you, no matter what time of day it is.” He mockingly shook his head, tutting. “I understand that, for now, we’re officially getting along just fine, but don’t mistake that for camaraderie. The first chance either of us gets, we’ll be back to stabbing each other in the back for sport. It’s who we are.”

“Well, aren’t you a pessimist.”

“Hardly. I simply know our natures too well,” Roderich sighed, growing weary at this line of conversation. “So, if this is only temporary, why should I feign tolerance towards you? Quite honestly, you’re not important enough to me for that sort of performance. Even if you were, you would see right through it. No, my energy is better spent on nobler pursuits.”

Gilbert had set his mug down, now drumming his fingers on the countertop. “I’m not asking for friendship; I’m asking for honesty.” He rolled his eyes with the temperament of a teenager. “Whatever. You got me sidetracked. It’s pointless anyways; you’re too delusional.”

“Excuse me?” That was quite the accusation from an unusual source. “At this point, you may as well come right out and say it.”

“If you insist,” Gilbert’s tone lilted up, songlike and jeering. “What you won’t admit is what I started this whole conversation with. All these trips to Paris, they’re not about work or diplomacy or any of your other shitty excuses. I know and you know that the only purpose is to blow a load in Francis’ ass and get away from your miserable life.”

Roderich set his mug down gently. There was no need for it to spill, to make a mess all over the clean marble. “For a moment, I’m going to ignore the vulgar insinuation you’ve made about my relationship with Francis.” He looked up, not breaking eye contact with Gilbert. “You know nothing about my life and my contentment with it. I understand that you are a deeply unhappy and wretched creature and why shouldn’t you be? There is nothing for you to go home and boast about, no shining accomplishments of yours not bathed in the blood of an innocent people, but do not project your misery onto me. For all your crowing to the contrary, we have never been, nor will we ever be, the same.”

Gilbert scoffed. “And everything you’ve ever done, there was only glory to be found there? All the princes you absorbed into your own lands, they were willing? The Bohemians, the Hungarians, they love your rulers? Are you pretending that only Russia and I invaded Poland because I remember seeing you at the table, carving out portions for yourself.”

“I’m not so naïve to believe I haven’t picked up the sword before. And, if necessary, I would again. You’d be wise to remember that.” Roderich straightened up, pulling his shoulders back. “But I’ve achieved just as much without force as with. The home we’re currently standing is a monument to such.”

“Please. It’s a monument to other people’s power and what it can get you. We don’t impact change, we just ride the waves of it,” Gilbert sneered. “This house is a prison for all who come in it. A golden cage is still a cage, Roderich, even for the largest bird.”

Roderich sighed with a roll of his eyes. “Mixing your metaphors doesn’t make you sound wiser, I’ve told you this before.” Needing caffeine for his growing headache, he took a sip. “I assume you’re including yourself among the captives.”

“To a degree. I can leave whenever I want – as you love to point out, I do have my own house – but where would one of us be without the other two? We are the protagonists of our own tragedy.”

“I sincerely regret that old king of yours got you into theater. Next you’ll be telling me how all the world’s a stage and we are but merely players.” When Gilbert opened his mouth to comment on that, Roderich held up his hand. “That wasn’t an invitation for your Shakespearean theories!” He rubbed the bridge between his nose, his prior weariness intensifying. “Why does it matter to you so much? Why must I parade my discontent as you and Erzsébet do? If you make your life’s purpose revenge against an unjust world – there you go! I admit it’s unjust! – you are sure to become more miserable than ever before. Perhaps you should learn that before it destroys you like one of your dear tragedies.”

“It matters because you act like you’re superior to us in every way when, really, you’re no different. And I don’t think I’ll ever understand that,” Gilbert’s voice softened with something akin to regret.

Something in his tone of voice, in his posturing, lit a fire within Roderich. His eyes hardened and he pressed his lips into a scowl. “Understanding is what you want? If it’ll get the defiling power of your pity off me, then so be it! I am better than you in every conceivable way. If I am to you but a mirror, peer close and you’ll realize it too. Where you feel trapped by the circumstances life has thrown us in, with a life that can never truly be our own, I’ve taken what you’ve failed to grasp. While you were slaughtering pagan Easterners in your little bog, I was here, accumulating wealth and power you’ve only fantasized about. I am the seat of an empire that you only have access to through Brandenburg.

“But those are meaningless things, aren’t they? Because here’s what really matters to you – the only thing, isn’t it? I’ve seen how you stare; I know that look – I’ve got what a childhood spent pining among the monks prevented you from getting. Did you ever mention it to them? How young love made that vow of celibacy torturous? How close did you come to breaking it? How many Hail Mary’s did they make you perform for every impure thought? Do you wonder what they’d think of you now, going through all this because you’re in love with your brother’s wife? Phrased just so, they would burn you at the stake again. Ah, but the hellfire is familiar, isn’t it?” Roderich glanced at the clock hanging behind Gilbert’s shoulder. “Erzsébet should be waking now. Go play domestic and bring my wife some coffee.”

Roderich forced himself away from Gilbert, who was left crestfallen with his wide eyes and gaping mouth. He had said enough, gloating would be overkill. He entered his study and locked the door. If there would be consequences for his monologue, let them come later.

The day was still new. Roderich stared out the window. Despite checking the clock, his adrenaline had made him forget the time. He approximated it was no more than nine. He began pouring himself a glass of brandy, but stopped, preferring to drink from the bottle. He gazed around the vast emptiness of the room beyond its sole occupant. He raised the bottle for a toast:

“To the prison of my own making. There is no place quite like home.”

#aph prussia #hws prussia #aph austria #hws austria #pruaus

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dindjarindiaries · 4 years

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Mandoctober - October 31: Family

summary: You’re alone and in need of a family and a home—and the Mandalorian notices.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x gn!reader

warnings: insinuations of past harm/abuse, soft!din

rating: G

word count: 1.423k

mandoctober masterlist

october 31: family

The wind hasn’t been this bad in a while. It whips through the alleyway you’ve been accustomed to hiding in, shivering into the crates left abandoned by the local shop owners. Your hands grip at the sleeves of your run-down tunic, hoping that you can somehow fill the small holes that have started to tug at the fabric. You have no idea how many days it’s been since you ran from your old life, from your everyday torture—but you know whatever suffering you face in this alleyway now is much better than what you’re used to.

The galaxy isn’t kind and you’ve learned that the hard way. Years of trying to work as a servant to earn your freedom, instead getting shipped around like the items circulating in the nearby marketplace, has been enough to make you come to such a conclusion. You’d only been shown love by the animals that have crossed your path—and sometimes the children of those you served.

But this last one had been different. The entire family was out to get you, working you to the bone and barely paying you a single credit for it, constantly berating you about the Rebel past of your parents. They would purposely forget to feed you most days and nights and they’d make sure you went to bed late and then had to wake up early. Although most of the pain was psychological, you felt so worn down that you thought you’d break—and so you left it all behind. You ran as far as your feet could take you and now you’ve ended up here.

And shivering in an alleyway is a much better alternative to the life you used to lead. At least out here, you have freedom.

Your face hides in your arms as you cross them over your knees, hugging them tight to your chest. You can feel yourself trembling but many things have since become numb. The alleyway has always been windy thanks to its build, but today, it’s whipping harder than usual and you can practically feel every hair on your body standing on its end as you grit your teeth.

A shadow suddenly passes over you and you think it must be an oncoming storm. But then, there’s the sound of spurs treading the ground lightly, as if they’re trying to keep their steps light. The coldness of terror grips you as you dare to look up, instantly meeting the blank visor of a Mandalorian. His silver armor reflects the light of the overcast sky, making blink a few times as you adjust to it. The metal of his armor clinks as he bends down to your level, one of his elbows resting against his knee. You swallow hard.

“What do you need?” you ask, your voice hoarse from its lack of use since running away.

The Mandalorian doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his helmet tilts at you, as if he’s observing you more closely now. You flex your fingers nervously. “I would like you to answer that.” His voice is modulated and comes out in a rasp, sounding gentle yet also revealing how rough he’s used it in the past. It makes a chill run through you.

You shrug, fingers starting to grip at the dirty fabric of your pants. “I’m all right.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t move. You hold your breath, waiting for the moment he cuffs you and announces that your previous employers had sent out a bounty for you. Surprisingly, he stays in place and asks a question that knocks the breath from your lungs. “Has anyone asked to help you?”

You hesitate, wondering if this is somehow a trick. In your desperation, you decide it’s not, and you shake your head.

A grunt falls from the Mandalorian’s helmet in disapproval as he looks away from you for a moment. When his visor returns to your gaze, you watch him gingerly reach a gloved hand out to touch your upper arm. “I will be the first, then.” He pauses, never moving. “Do you like bone broth?”

You nod, opposed to refusing any kind of food when you’ve been living off scraps even before you ran away. The Mandalorian nods in understanding and stands up.

“Stay here. I’ll return with some.”

You nod again and hold your tunic close as your shivering continues. The Mandalorian hesitates, and you watch as he suddenly unclips his cape from his back and sets it over you. Your hands tug at the rough fabric graciously, your cheeks heating up a bit at his kindness. “Thank you—very much, sir.”

The Mandalorian simply nods yet again, heading off in the same direction he’d came. You notice now that he has a circular metal compartment following him, floating wherever he goes. You wonder what he’s bringing along as he disappears from sight, and you feel your shivering slightly beginning to subside thanks to the warmth of the Mandalorian’s cape. Though his actions seem gracious and nothing short of kind, you can’t help wondering what his intentions are, and you can only pray to the Maker that they’re not unkind.

You’re lost in these thoughts until the Mandalorian returns, a bowl of broth in hand that he gives to you once he kneels next to you again. You accept it with another word of thanks, holding it between both hands as you sip at it almost viciously. The Mandalorian remains silent beside you as you eat, nearly tearing up at the feeling of such warmth and fullness inside you. You’re amazed at the fact a Mandalorian finally got you to such a point.

When you finish, you set the bowl down onto the ground beside you, facing the Mandalorian with gratitude and curiosity. “Thank you,” you say genuinely, your voice low as you keep the conversation between him and yourself. “You’ve been very kind.” You hesitate, swallowing hard as you go on. “Now, may you answer my first question? What do you need from me?”

The Mandalorian lets out a sigh, crackling through his modulator as his visor never leaves you. Despite the fact there’s no gaze there, you can feel it burning through you, and you writhe a bit under its intensity. “You are alone.” The Mandalorian pauses as if waiting for confirmation of his statement. You nod. “You have lost your family.” You nod again. “You have no home.” You nod yet again. This time, the Mandalorian returns your nod. “Then I will provide you with both.”

Your brow furrows together as your mouth falls open in shock for a moment. “I… I—I’m sorry sir, you said you’ll provide me with a family and a home?” The Mandalorian nods again. You’re still at an utter loss for words. “How much will it cost me?” You expect there to be some work you must do in exchange for such hospitality.

Instead, the Mandalorian shakes his head. “No cost. No work.”

“But surely, you must need something in return.”

The Mandalorian simply bows his head. “This is the Way.”

For a quick moment, you smile, but you fade when you remember that a stranger is the one offering you this deal. Things could quickly become worse should his intentions switch up as soon as you leave with him. Your guard goes back up immediately and you can tell the Mandalorian notices.

“There’s no need to be afraid. I will not hurt you.” As if to prove it, the Mandalorian taps something on his vambrace, and the metal casing from before splits in two to reveal a small, sleeping form inside. Your eyes widen to see a tiny green baby, his ears like petals as soft snores tumble from his lips. He looks at ease—and you realize you won’t be the first one this Mandalorian’s taken in. “I was trained to protect and to uphold my Creed. This includes being of service to you—should you accept it.” The Mandalorian closes the contraption and faces you again. He’s now proven his ability to be true to his words and keep you safe, and so you let your smile return as you answer him.

“I will accept your gracious offer, Mandalorian.”

The Mandalorian nods at you, standing up and offering a gloved hand to you. “Then come, kar’ika. It’s time to bring you home.” You accept his hand as he helps you stand up, supporting your unsteady legs as he leads you to the family he’s just promised you, one that’s bound to last until the day you meet the Maker.

mandoctober tag list: @the-navistar-carol

permanent tag list: @mikahid @bestintheparsec @stilllivindue2spite @givemethatgold @xbrujita @mandalorianspace @blushingwueen @sevvysaurus @myakai13 @thisis-theway @beskars @rachelloveseveryone @theindiealto @hiscyarika @wickedfrsgrl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @bookwafflefangirl @charliepeaceout @cable-kenobi @ezraslittleblondestreak @hdlynn @your-pixels-are-showing @b0n-chann @javier-djarin @nettyklecan @mistermiraclee @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @smellssharpies @catfishingmorales @wille-zarr @kaetastic @saltywintersoldat @agentpike @mrsparknuts @readsalot73 @yespolkadotkitty @mandhoelorian @lilangeldevil006 @roxypeanut @hail-doodles @randomness501 @this-cat-is-dea @hopplessdreamer @paintballkid711 @dracos-jedi-marvel @whataenginerd @katlikeme @petertingless @propertyofdindjarin @theocatkov @bisexual-space-slut @cyaredindjarin @arkofblake @cryptkeepersoul @motleymoose @mrschiltoncat @f0rever15elf @lady-of-nightmares-and-heartache @rogueonestan @goldafterglow @thedevilwearsbeskar @badassbaker @pancakepike @alwritey-aphrodite @mymindisawhirpool @antmnwasp @capbrie @xjaywritesx @arabellathorne @mandilflorian @phoenixhalliwell @beiroviski @darthadeline @cheriedjarin @edencherries @mstgsmy @seasonschange-butpeopledont @buckysbeloved @poesflygirl @weirdowithnobeardo @dee-rosemary @ceebeetheartdork @kiwi-the-first @mitchi-c @arcaeperditaeinimicus @thatgirlselectryc @littlevodika @marvelinsanity @insoucianttt

mandalorian tag list: @lola-wolf @hoodedbirdie @chibi-liz05 @nerd-without-a-cause @hdlynn @thepjofanqueen @bwemph @starwarsslytherin @iellarenuodolorian @littlevodika @jjemcarstairs @promiscuoussatan @fahrenheit-not @vernon-dursley

#the last one :(#but this classic!#i love soft!din please #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mandoctober #drabbles #dindjarindiaries

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not-close-to-straight · 3 years

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Shackles (MurderIron)

Okay well if anyone missed it, I’m obsessed with Hannibal Lecter being a pre-Afghanistan Tony’s therapist. The MurderIron ship is going to pop up every now and again, just bear with me till I work it out of my system. Or, alternatively, encourage my obsession and help me create and support this ridiculously niche pairing.

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

“Can I come over?”

The voice on the phone had been muffled, the words slurred, and while most therapists might have simply talked their client through whichever drunken crisis had occurred at two am, Hannibal Lecter was not most therapists and Tony Stark was not most clients.

“I was going to take them home.” Tony was a mess, shirt half unbuttoned, shoes scuffed and a splashed stain on his pants that smelled faintly of alcohol. He held a glass of ice in one hand and picked at a thread on the upholstered seat with the other, eyes bloodshot and mouth turned down into a frown and it was such a pity, Tony’s lips were far too pretty to grimace in such an unflattering way.

“I was gonna take them home.” Tony rolled the glass over his forehead and Hannibal pulled his attention from the curve of the lovely mouth to the bitterness evident in Tony’s eyes. “Then somewhere between drink three and five, I realized they were smiling more at the cameras than they were smiling at me and that-- that--”

Hannibal hadn’t said a word when Tony had shown up at his doorstep swaying and drunk, he hadn’t said a word when the brunette had half stumbled his way into the study and thrown himself down into the customary client chair and the therapist didn’t say a word now, only steepled his fingers and waited.

Tony Stark only said what he wanted to say when he wanted to say it. Weeks of therapy with the young billionaire had shown Hannibal that even the most leading questions were dead ends if Tony didn’t want to share, that not even Obadiah Stane’s considerable and uncomfortably overbearing influence could force the brunette to speak his mind.

But waiting, allowing Tony the chance to speak at his own pace away from cameras and the press, away from the so carefully crafted image the Stark name demanded from it’s bearers-- waiting led to revelations. Hannibal was usually loathe to admit a too keen interest in any of his clients, truth be told he was rather bored by the mostly plebian problems they came crying to him about.

The revelations from Tony’s mouth were intriguing, heart breaking to someone with a soul perhaps, but intriguing to a man like Hannibal who found inspiration in what most would consider tragedy, beauty in what most would consider horror, art in what others saw as desecration.

The desecration of Anthony Edward Stark’s soul would be art indeed.

“Why don’t they see me?” Tony slumped forward in the chair and groaned. “People look at me and they don’t see me. Why?”

“Because you don’t allow them to see you.” Hannibal kept his voice calm, tone professionally even. It was too soon to reveal his hand, too soon to take a step past the barely there manipulation he carved into their therapy sessions. Tony was brilliant, genius even, and too soon a move would cost Hannibal the young man’s trust.

“You don’t allow them to see you.” He said again. “This is a careful mask of yours, Tony, one you perfected at a very young age. No one sees you because you don’t allow anyone close enough to your truth, and if you don’t allow anyone close enough to your truth, you cannot be upset when they look and only see your facade. A lonely existence to be sure, but one of your own creation.”

“You’re speaking from experience.” Tony’s head lolled back against the back of the chair. “About facades.”

“And as always, you are astute in your observations.” Hannibal tipped his chin slightly in acknowledgment. “Even while in a drunken state.”

“Yeah.” Tony chuckled but it was an ugly sound and Hannibal briefly wondered what an honest laugh from the beauty would sound like. “Yeah. I’m drunk as fuck right now. But you-- you’re lonely.”

“Achingly so.” Proper manipulation required just as much give as take, and Hannibal wasn’t above fostering a sense of camaraderie in a moment like this. Tony was too drunk to remember their conversation, but not so drunk as to forget the feeling of being seen and accepted at a vulnerable moment. An appropriate step forward in this dark little dance of theirs. “I find myself lonely at the most inconvenient times.”

“You’ve put up walls and masks to hide yourself from the world.” Tony was staring up at the ceiling, throat bared and legs splayed, the very picture of nonchalance-- or a tempting picture of prey for a creature bent on destruction.

“And we’ve established that you do the same with your actions and your press persona.” Hannibal reminded him.

“Sure sure, but I don’t sit over there in the worlds most phallic chair and watch everyone else at their lowest, most vulnerable points.” Tony put the glass down and covered his eyes with his hands. “And don’t-- don’t look too far into my comparison of your chair to phallus, Freud. It’s wide at the base and narrows at the tip. I was supposed to be having sex right now, not an impromptu therapy session, you’ll have to forgive my mind still being on dicks.”

Hannibal’s mouth tipped up at the corner in a quick, almost begrudging smile. Even drunk and surly, Tony was quick witted and funny and it had been a very long time since Hannibal had been genuinely amused by someone.

“What uh--” Tony lurched forward again, folded his arms and tucked his chin into his chest. “Waht do you see when you look at me, Dr. Lecter? Not the-- the clothes or the way I stink like a bar -- sorry about that by the way.” he tapped his nose. “I know you have that enhanced olfactory thing, I won’t be offended if you breathe through your mouth. I stink right now.”

“Beneath the smell of mixed drinks and cloying coed perfume, you scent of ocean water from your Malibu home, sea salt from your runs along the beach, the tang of engine oil from your tinkerings in the garage.” Another give instead of a take. “It is delightful.”

“You’re full of shit.” Tony stated, but the tips of his ears turned red and Hannibal he’d won just then, gained a foothold in the slippery slope of Tony Stark’s trust. “What do you see when you look at me?”

“I see a child lost with out his mother, a young man reaching for a father’s approval that will never come because death gives us no comfort and your own expectations will never allow you to reach the level of approval you think your father would give.” the doctor said slowly. “I see a brilliant mind limited by self imposed rules. A beautiful creature begging to be set free. A phoenix waiting to rise from the ashes all the while snapping shackles about his own wrist because fear is a crippling force in his life.”

Tony swallowed hard and looked up, and the softness in Hannibal’s voice wasn’t planned or faked or even purposeful-- “I see a galaxy in your eyes as if the heavens are calling you home, but you have chained yourself here to Earth because you are afraid to fly.”

“I--” another hard swallow and Tony’s fingers gripped right at the chair. “I’m not afraid to fly.”

“Aren’t you though?” Hannibal took the moment to gather himself again, to re-shore defenses he hadn’t realized he needed. Tony had a way of insinuating himself right into Hannibal’s thoughts with no effort or intent and it was uncomfortable.

“I’m not--” Tony shook his head. “No. Not to fly. I’d love to fly.”

“Would you?”

The brunette’s jaw worked as he clenched his teeth. “If I kissed you right now would you kick me out?”

“I don’t make a habit of kicking people out from my office.” Hannibal disguised the sudden pounding of his heart with a sip at his water. “Usually I have observed and taken steps to avoid unsuitable behavior from a client before it reaches that point.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“Just because something isn’t the answer you seek, doesn’t mean it’s now an answer.”

“Kay.” Tony nodded a few times. “Well I’m gonna kiss you.”

“And why is that, Tony?”

“Because you see me and no one else does.” Tony stood up in one abrupt motion as if he were afraid he’d talk himself out of it if he waited. “No one else ever does but you-- you see me.”

Hannibal held himself very still while Tony advanced on him, held very still while the beautiful brunette bent to push their mouths together. He inhaled the scent of scotch and the faint taste of cigarettes, parted his lips obligingly when Tony’s tongue pushed sloppy at the seam of his mouth but made no attempt to kiss Tony back, no attempt to chase the velvet of soft lips or to coax a groan he knew would be like music to his ears.

“Oh Jesus, you’re not kissing me back.” Tony wrenched away from the one sided kiss and stumbled back several steps, voice thick with self loathing. “Jesus, what am I doing?”

“Tony--”

“I’m going to be sick.” Tony ran for the bathroom and Hannibal closed his eyes against the sound of retching, the way Tony was sobbing into the toilet before it flushed.

.... “You’ll stay the night.” Hannibal said when Tony came back from the bathroom. “In my guest bedroom. You’re in no state to drive and you show a marked proclivity towards self destructive behavior when you are unstable. I’d feel better if you slept here. Stay the night.”

Tony didn’t even have the energy to protest, pliant and almost submissive as Hannibal guided him up the stairs to a well appointed guest bedroom. Pliant and almost submissive when Hannibal handed him pajamas, pliant and almost submissive when Hannibal tucked him into the thick quilts and silky sheets.

Submissive and it twisted something possessive in Hannibal’s chest as he turned the lights off and left his project sleeping off what was left of the night.

Tony slept and dreamed of chains round his wrists and feet trying him to the cliffs outside the Malibu house, dreamed of the ocean eroding and the rocks falling way beneath him, dreamed of trying to break free of the shackles but realizing he had put his own key just above his head where he couldn’t reach.

And he screamed but no one was listening, he screamed and the shackles rattled against his bones, he screamed but the ocean drowned out the noise and no one heard.

Tony screamed and the paparazzi's cameras snapped picture after picture, flash flash flash until the shackled cut into his skin and the blood dripped down scarlet against all the iron he’d forged to hold himself captive.

*********

In the morning, Hannibal served Tony a breakfast sandwich, creamy mushrooms brie and pancetta layered onto a warmed croissant, sausage sliced along the edge of the plate and tempting Tony to mouth watering with the smell alone.

“Even your breakfast is pretentious.” Tony drained an entire cup of coffee before cramming several pieces of sausage into his mouth, and Hannibal ignored the rudeness only because he garnered supreme satisfaction seeing his project eating what he had so specially prepared. “Thank you. It’s delicious.”

Hannibal inclined his head in a brief nod, and after another minute Tony spoke again-- “I’m sorry about last night. I was drunk and belligerent and terrible. Sorry.”

And then softer, “I uh-- I don’t remember what we talked about but I feel like you were very kind to me and that’s-- that’s rare.” Tony’s hand tightened on his fork. “I don’t usually wake up feeling cared for after a night of drinking and I appreciate it. Thank you.”

“How do you usually feel waking up after a night of drinking?” Hannibal sipped at his own coffee. “And would you like more sausage?”

“Yeah, I’ve never had this blend before and it’s great.” Tony held his plate out hopefully. “What’s the meat? Can’t be pork.”

“Not pork, no.” Hannibal obligingly piled more on Tony’s plate. “How do you usually feel waking up after a night of drinking?”

“Alone.” Tony said flatly. “As if I should be ashamed of everything I’ve ever done. Cold. Embarrassed.”

“And this morning?”

“...I feel taken care of.” Tony crammed another bite into his mouth and the words came out garbled. “I dunno. It’s nice. I appreciate it. Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Hannibal took another drink. “I have a favor to ask you, Tony.”

“Sure.”

“The next time you kiss me, please do it sober.” Hannibal didn’t even flinch when Tony choked loudly on his bite of sandwich. “I found it hard to enjoy the experience when I knew you were barely coherent and wouldn’t appreciate my efforts during the moment.”

“Fuck my life, I kissed you.” Tony thunked his head onto the table. “Guess I should be ashamed and fucking embarrassed. Sorry.”

“No apologies necessary.” Another slowly measured sip and Hannibal waited a beat to make sure this particular sentence carried all the necessary influence and weight to steer Tony towards a particular direction. “I found my dreams particularly pleasant last night, but I’d much rather repeat the experience when you are sober.”

“You--” Tony’s dark eyes narrowed, but the tell tale flush spread across his cheeks. “You dreamed about me last night?”

“What did you dream about last night, Tony?”

“Deflecting means you are avoiding an answer I’ve already figured out.” Tony realized and Hannibal was happy to let him think it, happy to give so long as the beautiful brunette saw it as a win.

Tony’s self conscious smile was worth the give, a truly pretty thing that lit up his dark eyes with stars and Hannibal took it, stored it in his mind and heart for use later.

Yes, Hannibal thought to himself. The desecration of this soul would be art.

***********

That night Obadiah was cranky, snapping at Tony and disappointed after his night spent binge drinking, angry about the tabloids, upset Tony hadn’t finished any more work on the Jericho, irritated that Tony kept smiling sort of secretly and wouldn’t share why.

“I think another session with Dr. Lecter is necessary.” Obadiah decided. “We will get to the bottom of this behavior or so help me God....”

...that night Tony dreamed about shackles again, about being chained to the rocks and cringing away from the flash of camera. But this time when he looked for his key he found Obadiah tightening the manacles at his wrists and feet and up there above him framed against the sky and tinted red from the setting sun was Hannibal holding his key.

Set me free.

#hannibal #tony stark #murderiron

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writing-is-my-guilty-pleasure · 3 years

Text

Patient || Kylo Ren/Ben Solo x Reader ~ Part 4

A/N: Part 4! Thanks for everyone’s patience (lol) with this part - Uni has been incredibly time consuming and I’ve just been too tired to write anything - so I’m trying to write a few things in advance on my Christmas holiday! I think there should only be one or two more parts in this series, and feedback is always welcome :)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Main Masterlist

Star Wars Masterlist

“What’s your reason?” Your eyes flickered up to meet Kylo’s after he spoke, trying to make sense of his question as your eyes unintentionally trailed over his face.

“My reason for what, Sir?” You eventually replied as you gave up trying to figure out what he was talking about. Why did he have to speak so cryptically? “You’re going to have to give me more than that – it could mean anything knowing you.” You smiled cheekily at him from your position at the end of his bed; this time he’d called you with a deep gash stretching up the side of his left leg. It looked incredibly painful, and you couldn’t comprehend how he was purposefully putting himself through this much pain just to see you – at least, that’s what you hoped he was doing, otherwise you were completely misreading this whole situation.

“You reason for joining the First Order.” Kylo spoke bluntly. “You’ve been fixing me up for months now, and yet I feel like we are still strangers to each other.” If you hadn’t just averted your gaze back to his leg, you might have noticed the corners of his lips twitch up into the slightest shadow of a smile – but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“Oh! Oh, right, of course.” You smiled. “Well, my father was the Chief Medical Officer when he was in the First Order, and on his breaks he’d always try and teach me as much as he could about medicine before my mother caught him teaching me things that were too gory or troubling for my ‘young eyes’.” You huffed out a laugh at the thought of your parents. “So I joined because I wanted to be a Doctor and to hopefully be the Chief Medical Officer myself one day – I love my father and I’d be proud to follow in his footsteps and be as half as successful as he was.”

“And I wouldn’t say we’re strangers – I mean I’m pretty familiar with your body by now.” Your eyes widened at the realisation of what you said, and you continued in slight panic. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it to sound like that at all, Sir, oh dear.” You sighed, deflated. “I look like such an idiot now.” You muttered under your breath, as you returned your efforts to applying some soothing balm to Kylo’s wound, and preparing the equipment you’d need to give him stitches.

“It’s alright.” Kylo peered down at his leg to try and see what you were doing. “I’m used to your tongue-tied manner of speaking by now.” You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

You let out a giggle at his attempt at a mild joke, and the rest of your visit was spent in friendly silence, dispersed with the occasional small talk.

“Y/N!” You jerked upright in your seat, blinking rapidly as you came to your senses, the memory of one of your favourite interactions with Kylo fading from your mind. Yasmyn was staring at you in slight concern. “Are you alright? I’ve been trying to get your attention for a minute now.”

“Oh yes, sorry!” You sighed, running a hand through your hair distractedly. “I’m fine thanks, just a bit tired I guess.” You adjusted yourself on Yasmyn’s bed; the two of you were having your weekly girl’s night – or as girly as it could get aboard the ship.

“Something on your mind?” Yasmyn asked sympathetically as she finished braiding her long, dark hair. “Or someone?” She grinned at you, wiggling her eyebrows. “Maybe someone tall, dark and mysterious?”

“I wasn’t thinking about Kylo.” You chided firmly, trying not to let your blush be too visible. At least once every girl’s night the topic of Kylo Ren would be brought up, as Yasmyn was always eager to hear about what the you and Kylo had shared with each other, because ‘even though he’s practically the leader of our fleet, nobody knows anything about him, and the gossip on this ship is so dry, your relationship with Kylo is the only thing I have going right now’.

“I never said you were thinking about Kylo.” Yasmyn grinned triumphantly. “I only said you might be thinking about someone tall, dark and mysterious. I never said it was Kylo, Y/N. I never said-” She was cut off as you threw a pillow at her face in retaliation.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Another two months had gone by since Kylo’s incident with the ‘scavenger girl’ – although it was never too easy to tell the time in space, and you had gone from being someone relatively quiet and unknown except to those you worked with, to someone whose name was slowly being passed around the entire ship. This wasn’t your fault – you hated having more attention than was necessary – no, the only person you could blame for this sort of attention was none other than Kylo Ren.

Over these two months, he’d managed to amass a mysterious amounts of injuries – when you compared the sheer amount of times you’d been called in to the times he was off the ship or in training, you were finding it harder and harder to believe that Kylo wasn’t getting all these injuries on purpose. But try as you might, you couldn’t really complain about it, as every time that you were called to assist Kylo, the more you got to know him, and the more you opened up to him.

But the closer the two of you grew, the more the rumours started to spread around the ship; and they were very clearly not in your favour. Because the more you were sent to assist Kylo, the more your co-workers noticed, and the nosier they all got; every time you returned from a trip to Kylo’s room you were crowded with questions from those closer to you, and judgemental and resentful glances from everyone else.

By now, whether because of these rumours or not, you’d got a reputation for yourself, and had even been personally called by other high-ranking officers to personally assist them – if you were good enough for Kylo Ren, then you were good enough for them. And that was actually how you got yourself into the situation that you were currently in. You were currently attending a very important meeting regarding a mission that would put quite a lot of Stormtroopers at risk, so you had also brought various medical records and lists of all the medical equipment on-board the ship. You had also had to evaluate the percentages of how many soldiers would either die or be seriously injured, so the rest of the medical team could prepare the right amount of equipment.

When the meeting was originally arranged, it was supposed to be attended by the Chief Medical Officer, however he was needed elsewhere; he had an emergency surgery that he needed to attend, and he trusted you out of all the other medics to cover for him. Possibly because he knew Kylo…favoured you over everyone else.

“So,” General Hux spoke up, finally starting the meeting. “The attack on the rebel base will begin with at least a quarter of the soldiers on-board, as we currently only have a rough estimate of just how many rebel soldiers are hiding out in that base.” You nodded, typing out quick notes on your personal padd for later.

“We’ll most likely be sending about one third or our forces down to begin with – enough to scare the rebel forces and if needed we can send in reinforcements.” Hux moved tiny digital figures about on a screen, illustrating where each group of the forces would be positioned to attack the base. “The rest of the fleet will be on standby in case a new strategy is required and a temporary retreat is needed. I would hope that our forces aren’t pathetic enough for us to even consider retreating.” He turned abruptly, eyeing you haughtily. “Do we have sufficient medical supplies for the foreseeable casualties?”

You looked up nervously from your padd – you’d been making rough notes about this most recent plan so you could report back to your boss and he could begin to prepare everything.

“Yes, General Hux, I do believe that we have enough supplies.” You pulled yourself together, trying not to ‘um’ and ‘err’ your way through your sentence. “But of course, I will send all the necessary figures to my superior as I do not have full access to all our equipment, and in the case that there are any supplies we may be short on.” You added as an afterthought – if there was anything that needed to be ordered you didn’t want the responsibility to be solely yours. “One third of the forces was it? And the rest on standby…” You re-capped while scribbling down extra notes. “And my superior sends his most sincere apologies that he could not be here instead of me.”

“No matter.” General Hux waved away your apology indifferently. “As long as all information gets relayed I could not care less who is here in his stead.” And with that, he continued with explaining the various stages of the attack.

Then, just as you were retreating slightly back into the mass of officers crowded around the main screen, you heard someone speak under their breath; ‘Well, it won’t be long until she does have authority to all our medical supplies, considering she’s been sleeping her way to the top with Ren. And then who knows how irresponsibly she’d use our supplies.”

You stop where you stand, feeling a flush creep up your face, turning it bright red in embarrassment. You could see those nearest to you glancing in your direction with obvious distain and disapproval, as if they were imagining a future where you were in some ways their superior. You could hear whispers on every side, many of them agreeing with the nameless whisperer, and you finally opened your mouth to defend yourself, when-

“I hope you’re not insinuating that I, the descendant of Darth Vader, would be capable of behaving like a common whore on my ship.” Kylo’s cold, slightly robotic voice echoed loudly across the room, silencing everyone, including General Hux. Nobody dared to speak, and you stood frozen in a mix of fear and embarrassment. “Because that’s certainly what it sounded like, Lieutenant Kendell.” At this, a few people subtly turned their heads in the direction of the offending statement, and you turned to see a relatively weedy looking man visibly shrink away from Kylo.

“I- of course, no sir, I didn’t mean to offend you-” You watched him backtrack, stammering over his response as Kylo simply stood, watching him. “I-I simply wish to see our forces grow and thrive, and was only remarking that this medic would not be our best way of seeing this happen – I mean she may be far too inexperienced for such a role-”

“So you assume she is using me to gain status? Her family name far outranks yours in any case, Lieutenant, so such foolish thoughts are unnecessary.” Kylo interrupted, and the room seemed to grow darker. “You assumed that I would succumb to any such advances?” He took one single step towards the unfortunate Lieutenant. “You forget your place, Lieutenant. It would be wise not to do so again in the future. It would be unfortunate to lose a member of our staff because of such a foolish mistake.” With this threat hanging in the air, he turned, cape flowing dramatically behind him, to face Hux, who continued his speech.

As everyone began to settle down, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander as you replayed the conflict. You weren’t hurt by Kylo’s behaviour, more confused that he would go out of his way to seemingly defend your honour – you assumed he wouldn’t want people to know that the two of you were even relatively acquainted. You mulled over your thoughts, confusion fogging your mind as you absentmindedly followed suite and exited the room amidst the other officers, heading back to the med-wing.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Later that day, after you’d relayed all information back to your boss, and sent him the notes you’d made, you finally made the journey back to your room. Luckily, it was your day off tomorrow, so you could afford to have a nice, relaxing shower that would hopefully clear your mind of the stresses of the day.

Eventually, when you’d got out of the shower and put on less formal clothes, (not quite pyjamas – these were your own clothes so your evening consisted of leggings and an oversized shirt) you just so happened to check your padd for any messages from Yas, when you saw a message in your inbox that was unread. Upon checking it, your blood ran cold – it had been sent 8 minutes ago, and it was from Kylo himself. Not another officer messaging on his behalf, but from Kylo himself.

You sat bolt upright from where you had been reclining in bed, and double checked the message. It was from Kylo alright, and it had been sent-

“Eight minutes ago?!” You shrieked, hurriedly scrambling to your feet, shoving your feet in your usual uniformed shoes, pulling on a long cardigan and rushing out of your room. It took you longer than eight minutes to get to Kylo’s chambers, but it was a decent enough amount of delay from the time the message was sent to when you actually saw it, that Kylo would be sure to notice that you were eight minutes later than you should have been. He didn’t even set a time; he had simply requested your presence in his chamber, but the underlying message was that your presence was to be requested immediately.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

About fifteen minutes later, you skidded to a halt outside Kylo’s chambers, having run most of the way there. You frantically tried to catch your breath as you smoothed your hair, trying to appear as though you hadn’t spent the last fifteen minutes worrying that your lungs were going to explode. You introduced yourself to the guards outside Kylo’s room, and no sooner than you spoke the door slid open, one of the guards gesturing for you to go through.

“You’re late.” Kylo stated after the door had closed behind you. He was standing at his window, back to you, helmet off.

“My apologies, Sir.” You began, taking a few cautious steps forwards. “I was…well, occupied at the time that you sent the message. Believe me, I would have come sooner if I had seen your request sooner-”

“Occupied?” Kylo turned to face you, his expression impassive as ever; his interrupting statement, rather than question lingering in the air. “I was under the impression that once your shift was over you no longer need to be occupied.”

“Um...” You flushed slightly, subconsciously running a hand through your damp hair. “Occupied…in my shower?” You avoided his burning stare. There was silence for a moment, as if Kylo was trying to determine whether or not he believed you without delving too deep into your mind.

“You are excused of your tardiness this time.” He eventually spoke, and you relaxed slightly.

“If I may, Sir, why did you want me here?” You ventured, rocking back and forth on your heels as you glanced around the (now) familiar room. “If it’s to do with the comments made in the meeting earlier, I apologise if I’ve done anything to-to damage your reputation-”

“If anyone was going to ruin my reputation, it would not be you.” He cut in coolly. “You are not exactly in a position to do so.” He gestured to a chair set out in front of his desk. “Sit. We have much to discuss.” You did as he said, shifting around on the surprisingly soft seat, trying to get comfortable. He too, sat down in a chair he seemingly pulled out of the shadows of his room.

“If you think it is better for not to…run into each other more often, Sir, I understand that.” You started, leaning forwards in your seat. “I feel like rumours about-” you paused, unsure if you could refer to whatever the two of you were as ‘us’, but decided to go with it anyway. “Us, have been following me for almost a week now and it could ruin any chance I have of becoming Chief Medical Officer because everyone thinks I just sleep around and haven’t earned my place because of my family name.” You continued in frustration. “And it doesn’t help that, no offence, you seem to acquire a range of injuries from who knows where, and nobody else seems to want to take up the job because they’re convinced we’re having an affair or something – I’m lucky my boss is sympathetic towards me otherwise I could have lost my job or been demoted by now.” The words seemed to tumble from your lips, unending.

“You think my situation is any better?” Kylo stood, beginning to pace around the room. “I have the power of the Force, I can easily tell what people are thinking, and they do little to conceal their thoughts in my presence.” He spun on his heel, his bulking form towering over you. “I will not be taken for a fool by those pathetic enough to believe such rumours. I will not let them defile my name and my presence, or yours-” he cut himself off as his voice grew louder in anger. You stood as well, anxiously wringing your hands.

“I appreciate that, Sir.” You said quietly. “I know what’s on the line for you, and I’m sorry that it got this far. Maybe it would be better for a different medic to attend to your many injuries.” You felt more dejected than you probably should – after all this was a professional relationship.

“That won’t be necessary. While I am sure your co-workers are capable at doing their job, I know that you are most familiar with what antidotes work with my body and what do not.” Kylo dismissed your suggestion.

“Well what do you suggest?” You asked, a hint of exasperation in your tone. “While I do enjoy your company, Sir, I don’t want our meetings to affect your image.” There was a pause as Kylo took in your words.

“No. I will not be bullied by my insubordinates.” You heard him say, almost to himself. “We shouldn’t even be having this conversation; I don’t need to please the rest of the fleet – I just need them to win me this fight against the rebellion.” He strode to stand in front of you, and you gazed up at him. “I should not have to change my behaviour for them, and neither should you.” You opened your mouth in protest.

“But Sir, I-”

“You are under my protection. If there is anyone giving you trouble, you will report it straight to me.” He stood tall, not like that was hard for him to do, and you swallowed heavily, in awe of the sheer power he radiated. “That is an order. Do you understand?” His voice grew quieter at the end of his sentence; but he was no less grand.

“Yes, Sir.” You replied, suddenly finding it difficult to speak clearly, a smile visible on your face for the first time that day. “Thank you, Sir.”

“I think we’re past the use of such formalities, considering that today you’ve been accused of sleeping your way to power and I have been accused of doing such with someone of a lower station.” He said smoothly, his face as clear of emotion as ever.

“How else should I address you?” You asked, slightly flustered. (And slightly stung by the ‘lower station’ jab but it was the truth.) This must be one of the most bizarre days of my life, you thought to yourself, mind racing.

“You strike me as an intelligent woman, Officer Y/N; surely you do not need me to spell it out for you. Obviously the usual title when others are present.” He said, now walking you towards his door, hands behind his back, his form looming over yours. “Just because I allowed you to address me as such in private, I must remind you I will not be as lenient when we are in public.” He said placidly.

You nodded in acknowledgement. Kylo it is then – that was the only less formal title that you could think of. “Of course. I wouldn't dream of doing any such thing, Kylo.” You saw the left corner of his mouth twitch ever so slightly at your words as he opened the door, allowing you to step through. “I do hope you don't over-exert yourself in training, or do anything to worsen your injuries.” You called as you started to walk back down the corridor. “It would be a shame to meet again so prematurely.” For one of the most feared men in the galaxy, he isn’t nearly as subtle as he thinks, your smile widening as you walk back in the direction of your room, and you could have sworn you heard a chuckle echo down the corridor behind you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Taglist: @ah-callie

(also tagging @joscelyn02 - just in case you wanted to know when the next part was out :) )

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #ben solo #ben solo x reader #kylo ren imagines #ben solo imagines #star wars #star wars imagines #star wars x reader #adam driver #Star Wars The Force Awakens #star wars the last jedi #star wars the rise of skywalker

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eirist · 3 years

Text

Little Bits and Pieces of Heaven

ATTIRE ON FIRE

One-shot #: 26

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T (Slight suggestions)

Note: I’m kinda on a scribble roll here. Well actually, I’m trying to lessen my files. This idea came from an SBS that I read a few years back. I already drafted this one-shot right after that and forgot about it.

Summary: All of a sudden he was standing directly in front of her, looking down at her with a glint in his grey eye that tells her he’s gonna get retribution.

"Alright. Wear this!"

Something suddenly hit Zoro's face without warning. Cursing, he made a grab for it and an irritated expression appeared on his normally stoic face. He stared at the shirt in his hand before shifting half of his gaze to the orange-haired girl across him.

"Why?"

"Because," Nami placed both of her hands on her hips before pointing at the clothes he hastily threw on before running out of the men’s quarters after he heard her screeching his name. "Everything on you hurts my eyes!"

Zoro looked down at what he is wearing and frowned. "Then don't look!" He growled angrily before throwing the shirt right back at her face.

Nami let out a yelp when it hit her. She pulled the cloth away from her face before marching towards him.

"You are changing your clothes Zoro!" She forcefully shoved the shirt back into his arms, earning her a disgruntled ‘oi’. "I won't have you walking with me like this one big, fashion disaster that you are!" She gestured from his head down to his toes with one hand. “Unless you are trying to be a tree, I don’t know how you can think that that green and brown color combination will work!”

"The hell I care about how I look!" The tall lad snapped at her.

There was a pause and navigator's eyes narrowed into tiny, dangerous slits. And everyone who was outside the Sunny’s deck swore that at that very moment the sky turned dark and ominous as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled—a foreboding sign.

Zoro met Nami’s gaze directly, unflinchingly. Petty things like clothes don’t bother him at all. As long as there is something to wear no matter how ugly it is, he doesn’t give any shit about it.

Besides, like he’d let her have her way. Again. He already agreed to accompany her to town and be her pack mule for the day. And that was after she interrupted his post-lunch nap with all her shrieking.

Wasn’t that enough already?

"You. Are. Changing." Nami hissed through gritted teeth, punctuating each word threateningly.

“No. I’m. Not.” Zoro answered back, folding his arms across his chest with a huff.

"You are changing,” Nami repeated tautly. “Or I swear I'm gonna call Robin and have her use her devil fruit powers to pin you down while I change your clothes for you!"

Zoro look astounded for a second. Did she just threaten him with Robin?

Now this is something new. Whatever happened to the usual debt threats Nami loves subjecting him to?

Regardless, like hell he's gonna let the Hana Hana no mi user lay her multiple hands on him.

“Come on Nami, you can do better than that,” he snorted. “Now you’re using that gloomy woman to—”

“Ara, how rude…” Robin cut him off suddenly as she entered the room.

Zoro stiffened despite himself. After all, the story of Franky’s first-hand experience from Robin’s power was enough to give any Mugiwara man nightmares.

Even if that happened two years ago.

The archeologist glanced momentarily at the swordsman, her gaze piercing. Zoro did his best not to move or make another sound lest she breaks his neck.

Nami caught his reaction and a menacing smile appeared on her face. “Robin!” She exclaimed chirpily. “You’re just right on time!”

“Need help Nami?” With an ominous smile gracing her beautiful face, Robin inquired as she headed towards her side of the bed. “Is Zoro giving you trouble?”

Zoro glared scathingly at her. He opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself right in time.

Nami eyes met Zoro’s as she answered smugly. “Yes he is!” Her gaze dared the green-haired man to contradict her.

It was Zoro’s turn to grit his teeth at her. But he still he held his tongue. He learned long ago never to butt heads with two women at the same time.

One is enough. And he already had his hands full with Nami. He didn’t need Robin joining the navigator in making his life more miserable in the ship. Though Robin is sensible most of the times… but she does have this weird affinity for scaring the shit out of her nakamas for her own amusement.

“Need a hand?” Robin coolly asked as she busily perused the pile of books on her night stand.

“No she doesn’t!” Zoro fiercely stated.

“Yes I do!” Nami answered at the same time.

Both glared daggers at each other as Robin chuckled. Oh, she’s used to it by now. After all, Zoro and Nami’s never-ending disagreements are always a source of entertainment on their ship.

“I don’t see what the hell is wrong with what I’m wearing.” Zoro finally grumbled.

Nami scowled in answer. “Everything.”

He snorted. “It’s just clothes woman.”

“An awful choice of clothes!”

“Why the hell do I need to dress up Nami?” Zoro complained, his tone cranky. “You’re just gonna use me as your pack mule for the day. Why do I need to look good for that?”

“I want my mule to look dashing.”

He scoffed. “Then take ero-cook! He does it better.”

Nami raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” she mouthed, a bit exaggeratedly. “So you admit there is something Sanji-kun’s better than you at?”

Silence.

And Robin fought the urge to giggle out loud. With the mention of their cook’s name, Zoro’s bound to hit the roof soon enough.

“That ero kappa will never be better than me at anything!” Zoro exploded.

“That’s not true, Sanji-kun’s better than you at cooking!”

Robin can actually feel Zoro seething from the other side of room. Trust Nami to rile him up so easily. Though she knows that after so much resistance (and shouting) from Zoro’s part… it will still end up the way it usually does. Their swordsman catering to Nami’s whims regardless of how inane it is.

Well, it’s actually good since there’s no need for her to use her powers. With how strong Zoro is, she doubts if she’ll be able to hold him down long enough.

That would be tiresome. She thought with an inward sigh.

Guess it’s just Zoro’s nature to go and face the enemy head on even if there’s no chance of winning.

With her chosen book in hand, the older woman turned to watch her friends. They are still glaring and gritting their teeth at each other. Robin took it as her cue to exit the room.

Whatever happens between her two nakamas after this, she’d rather not be caught across the crossfire no matter how amusing.

“Alright,” Nami suddenly sighed in a dejected manner, surprising Zoro when she gave up easily. “You can go and do whatever you want.”

Zoro stared at her in astonishment.

“I’ll just ask Sanji-kun to accompany me.” She began to tap a finger to her cheek as if she was thinking. "What was it that Luffy said?” Her brows furrowed as Zoro bristled, apparently aware of what was coming. “Oh! Worth a thousand men." She threw a sugar-sweet smile at Zoro. “Guess that is so true after all.”

That was all it took for Zoro to relent.

“Damn it! I’m changing alright!” Zoro barked as he shot Nami a venomous glare while the girl gave him a triumphant smirk that could rival a shark’s.

“Very good Zoro!” Nami gleefully nodded in approval, reveling at the fact that she won against the him for the umpteenth time. “Do it now. I promise I won’t peek.”

Zoro’s glare was enough to rival the coldness of Aokiji’s devil fruit powers.

And Robin just shook her head slightly at the already expected outcome.

“I’ll leave you two here,” she said with a small smile. Zoro was growling as he removed his shirt. Totally unbothered by their presence. “And Nami,” Robin called out to get the mapmaker’s attention who’s attention was fixed quite intently at the now stripping swordsman. We’ll be docking at the island’s port in half an hour according to Franky’s calculation.”

“If you have time, you can check if he is right.” She suggested, moving towards the room’s exit. A disembodied hand appeared to open the door’s knob even before she reached it.

“That is… if you’re not busy trying not to ‘peek�� while Zoro changes his clothes,” she said with a sly wink at Nami before exiting.

“ROBIN!” Nami all but screamed at her friend as the disembodied hand gave them a wave before closing the door and vanishing in a swirl of pinkish-white petals.

But not before surreptitiously locking it.

Nami turned beet red at that. Trust Robin to insinuate that and give Zoro something to tease her about.

A discarded shirt hit her. She scowled and her attention returned to the former pirate hunter who was unbuttoning his pants.

She glowered at him. “Don’t just strip down to your underwear like I’m not even here you moron! You could learn some modesty you know.”

“I don’t wanna hear that coming from you.” Zoro retorted before throwing his pants at her.

“HEY!”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re now being shy and all.” The grin on his face was vicious. “Besides, nothing here you haven’t seen before Nami.”

Blood rushed to her face at his statement. But definitely not because she was embarrassed or anything.

She didn’t answer and instead, grabbed the clothes she had picked for him earlier, throwing them at right at his face.

“Shut up and just get dressed Zoro. We’re wasting time!” She said with a huff. Kami knows how he needs direction with what is appropriate to wear just as how he needs direction with which way to go.

“I swear, you, Luffy and Chopper needs all the help you can get when it comes to fashion,” she muttered exasperatedly, as Zoro finished changing his clothes. She gave him a glance over and nodded approvingly. “That’s a heck lot better. You don’t look much of an eyesore now.”

“Oh good,” Zoro drawled sarcastically. “If this gets you off my back then I’m all for it.”

Nami beamed at him. “Glad we finally came to some kind of an agreement. If I get to dress you, then it would be less complaining from me, ne?”

Zoro remained passive at her declaration. “Great,” he grumbled rather sarcastically. “So you get to dress me now Nami?”

“If it makes you look better, then yes of course.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her before a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. “Guess I have to return the favor then.”

Nami blinked. And when she realized what he was pertaining to she shook her head vehemently. “Oh no, no, no! You don’t get to dress me Zoro! Not in this life or the next!”

All of a sudden he was standing directly in front of her, looking down at her with a glint in his grey eye that tells her he’s gonna get retribution. “You’re mistaken.” He said with a sneer.

He stole a glanced on the room’s door that Robin conveniently locked earlier.

“What do you mean?”

“You get to dress me? Then I get to undress you.”

Addendum: According to SBS Volume 37: Luffy, Zoro and Chopper cannot dress up on their own. If they do, it’s because either Sanji, Usopp, Nami or Robin is with them. It has merit. Remember that blue tank top in Skypiea that made Zoro look so hot? We have Nami to thank for that.

And Zoro does not really care about clothes and all but it’s just fun to play with this fact.

#zoro x nami #ZoNa #zonami #zonalove #zona one-shots #zona fanfiction #zoro nami fanfiction #roronoa zoro #nami

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im-totally-not-an-alien · 4 years

Text

Final Fantasy 7 prompts no. 30

1. Someone uses an ancient dark spellbook in an attempt to summon the old gods, but accedently summons Cloud Strife instead. Even funnier if this someone is Genesis.

You can't tell me he wouldn't sick Strife onto Sephiroth anyway.

(On the other hand It could be Reeve.)

2. Vincent proposing to Cloud in the most dramatically romantic way possible. It's probably gonna rain rose petals or he'll set off an entire set of geysers just to add to the atmosphere.

3. Cloud being the descendent of Cetra or people who have been infected by Jenova's taint in the past and survived, and that's why he was resistant to Reunion

4. Time traveler Sephiroth saving Cloud from normal Sephiroth in the remake and fighting him off. Cloud tries to sneak away since he's too weak to fight either of them off but is caught and captured by TTS.

5. AVALANCHE is a group of mermaids/ mermen that began sinking ships by clawing the hulls and killing the crews. Why? A whaling ship harpooned mer-Aerith and killed her but AVALANCHE can't tell the difference between boats, so they just attack all of them

Shinra sends it's Silver General to deal with the problem

6. AU Yuffie and Clouds first meeting:

Yuffie knew those eyes anywhere, after all, they were the mark of a SOLDIER. Monsters in human skin that would ruthlessly slaughter and destroy anything that stood in thier path only for a little gil. They had ravaged her kingdom, and as the crown princess of Wutai, she would have her revenge!

The little ninja launched herself at the hot blond, and screamed, "For Wutai!"

And punched him in the dick.

7. Sephiroth and Zack were leaning over the railing of the ship, watching the mythical creature below as it gave off an enchanting bioluminescent glow only enhanced by the soft veil of moonlight that filtered through the graying clouds above.

"I think the fish guy is flirting with you."

The silverette turned to glare at the energetic man, who was quick to throw his hands up in surrender, "I mean, isn't the glowy thing supposed to 'attract mates' or something?"

"And prey, so jumping in wouldn't be wise." The general said easily.

The blackette however, grinned, "I never said anything about 'jumping in'."

Sephiroth coughed into his fist, "I'll be in my quarters if you need me." Then turned and made his escape.

Zack turned back to the blond merman who had stilled the moment the general left, but remained glowing. "Sorry dude! He ran off!" He yelled, then jokingly added, "Will you settle for me?"

The wave of water that soaked him to the bone told him the answer was probably "No."

8. Cloud blows up at Genesis cause he won't shut up about that damn poem and Sephiroth is really smug and proud of his pupet until the blond blows up at him too.

9. Cloud got ruffied at the bar and wandered off, high as a kite and got found by Sephiroth, who is greatly amused by the situation and is letting the giggling blond play with his hair and talk to him. Eventually Cloud cuddled up to his side, and what he said next made Sephiroth pause.

"I wish you were always this nice."

10. Sephiroth is given a spell that can "defeat any enemy", or so the little woodland witch had claimed. He tests it out on Cloud and he was wholly unprepared for the result.

11. Cloud gets turned into an actual doll and Sephiroth has a freaking field day.

12. "Did you turn your boyfriend into a monster again?" The redhead drolled, bored out of his mind despite the discord surrounding him.

"No." The silverette replied calmly before placing another sheet of paper in the 'Done' pile. He largely ignored the troopers and SOLDIERS running in and out of his office in a panic unless they asked him a question. "Cloud is not my boyfriend."

Genesis snorted. "Sure, and I'm the Queen of Midgar."

"The Drama queen, perhaps." The general shot back.

The Crimson Commander laughed good naturedly, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by a thump at the window.

They both turned to see the head of a particularly large Nebil dragon staring back at them. "So he was turned into a monster again!" Genesis groosed.

Sephiroth pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. This was the third time he had been turned into a monster, and the second time he had been turned into this particular species.

"At least it's not a behemoth again, he went on a rampage last time." The commander commented while gathering the nessisery supplies to break the curse. Again.

"That probably had more to do with Zack Fair insinuating he was fat."

13. A!C! Cloud in CC except he gets dragged into being a 1st Class SOLDIER and lives in an apartment literally across the hall from Sephiroths. Genesis of all people dragged him into thier weekly game night to "learn more about him".

There's nothing like playing video games with your arch-nemesis, two strangers, and your dead best friend.

Then they played a board game called "Sorry" and he knew the universe was fucking with him when Sephiroth won.

14. Sephiroth is following Cloud around. Weirder still is that no one but Cloud can see or hear him. The former general isn't really doing anything, he just stands there and smirks...menacingly.

15. Genesis had been brought to his knees, not by force, but by laughter. Next to him stood Angeal and his puppy, wide eyed and pale from shock. After all, its not everyday you get to see a small blond man bitch slap the Demon of Wutai into a river with a fish.

In Clouds defense he was cornered and his sword had been knocked away from him by the silver general, submerging it in the river. He lunged into the water and just happened to grab the wrong thing.

#sephiroth #cloud strife #sephcloud #sefikura #strifentine #yuffie kisaragi #ff7 #ff7 prompts #ff7 story prompts #ff7cloud #mermaid #merman #Sephiroth vs Sephiroth #zack fair #final fantasy prompts #final fantasy 7 story prompts #final fantasy 7

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sunflowers-insherwood · 3 years

Text

Allan A Dale Analysis - 2x05

Analysing Allan’s Experience of the Confrontation with Robin in Ducking and Diving

As I was writing my analysis on Allan in 2x06 (which is coming tomorrow!), I realised it was necessary to first investigate this confrontation between him and Robin, as it changes their relationship massively and sows the seeds for the motivations behind their actions in the next episode. This is a quite casual line by line analysis of their conversation in the bar at the end of 2x05 (Ducking and Diving), and is quite speculative, as I outline my theories but also alternative interpretations – mainly of Allan’s viewpoint. I wrote out the transcript for this conversation myself, so the punctuation is intended to show more the pauses/ emotions rather than be grammatically correct. Let’s dive straight in! (Wordcount: 3.5k)

X = owner of the Tripp Inn, A = Allan, R = Robin

X: You’re late, I was going to keep your money back. Silver, not gold.

As soon as Allan walks into the room, he looks to the back corner and all around to ensure Robin isn’t there already to find him. He’s on edge and doesn’t want to be found, but now trying to do the right thing.

A: You’re gonna tell Gisborne to keep this money. I’m not doing this anymore, alright, I’ve changed.

I’m never sure what to make of the motives behind Allan’s actions here. To me, his actions are more of someone realising that their time’s up: he’s a rat on a sinking ship trying to cover his tracks before it goes under. This obviously paints him in a pretty bad light, as the only reason he’s stopping being a spy is because he’s about to get caught. I find this more believable than a realisation that he’s actually done wrong, however, because I doubt that if he hadn’t felt threatened he wouldn’t have tried to stop working for Gisborne then. I think he would have eventually, but it would’ve taken him longer to realise the severity of his actions. Alternatively, the reactions of the others and his conversation with Djaq have sped up his realisation process significantly and he’s genuinely guilty about what he’s done. Perhaps it’s a mix of both. On top of this, if he thought it was certain he would get thrown out by Robin, I think his survival instincts would tell him to keep the money and run. He refuses it, signifying he feels really guilty about what he’s done, or that he thinks he can still get away with it at camp. Maybe he intends to refuse the money, and then tell Robin he was working for Gisborne afterwards, to prove that he’s stopped being a spy.

X: It’s a bit late for a conscience now isn’t it?

A: Yeah. Very late.

Again, this could mean two things: that he knows he’s almost about to be caught, or that he genuinely feels bad and knows that he’s been playing the double agent for too long. I’m more able to believe the first but I think even if you see him as simply covering his tracks, the sincerity of how this line is delivered implies there is an emotional conflict going down here too.

*Arrow fires into bag of money. X gasps*

A: Robin. *swallows* You’re early.

I think of this as an attempt at humour, perhaps more to himself than anyone else as he says it so quietly. Classically the comic relief of the gang (when Much fulfils this function it’s accidental in his sincerity, Allan is more purposefully cheeky chappy about it) he’s still trying to lighten the situation and break the silence. Robin doesn’t allow it and Allan instantly has to go to defend.

R: Leave us.

A: Stay there.

This is an indicator of just how scared Allan is of what Robin will do to him – he wants the bartender to stay there as a form of protection, as a witness to anything Robin might try to do to him, under the theory that with someone else there Robin won’t hurt him so badly. Allan feels completely cornered, as he knows he can’t really blag his way out of this situation and that Robin would probably overpower him in a fight. Does Allan think he’s about to die? Quite possibly.

R: GET OUT! I need to talk to my spy.

A: What was that with Will? You banished Will.

Allan’s first thoughts are on Will. This could be (again) interpreted in two ways: he’s purely confused about the situation and is trying to work out where Robin stands, or he’s genuinely concerned for his best mate in the gang (which is the interpretation I prefer, although I think it’s a mixture of both). We see how torn up Allan becomes when Robin accuses Will of being the spy that afternoon – he almost admits to being the spy then as he cries ‘no…’ and ‘Robin…’ when he hears Robin explain it was Will, hating the idea that Will would be accused on his behalf. Even if he’s willing to sacrifice the cause, he’s still loyal to his friends, or at least tries to be. It actually benefitted Robin to frame Will as the spy, as Allan and him are so close; I know this was a random choice but it actually worked to Robin’s advantage, making Allan feel worse and acting as an extra punch in the gut.

R: It was an act! Only she knew who was guilty. And I knew the spy would want to come here before me to cover his tracks. For all I knew, it could’ve been Will standing there. But it’s not. Is it? It’s you.

On a related sidenote, @chaoticbitheatrekid recently mentioned ‘i don’t know if this is just me, but i always felt that if Robin had to pick one member of the gang to get rid of, he would pick Allan’. Although he says here ‘for all I knew, it could’ve been Will standing there’, to me the ‘but it’s not… it’s you’ indicates that, maybe if he didn’t consciously think it was Allan, to him Allan was the most likely to betray the gang.

A: Robin, it was over, ask her! I made a decision.

Robin interprets Allan’s presence here as I did, as Allan trying to ‘cover his tracks’. However, Allan did come here purely to reject the money, and he has a point here: if Robin asked the bartender, he would find out Allan was giving it back. I don’t think this would matter to Robin even if he did ask however, as he would purely view it as Allan trying to save himself rather than the more sympathetic view that he’s genuinely regretful.

R: Then what’s this?

A: No, I was giving it back.

This is true, but again Robin doesn’t investigate it any further. He consistently refuses to listen to Allan’s side of the story – something that Allan will become extremely bitter for later.

R: So you betray me. You betray yourself, you betray your king, and for what. For a few silver coins. What have you told Gisborne, Allan?

Another example of the differences between Robin and Allan’s priorities: Robin’s mind almost instantly goes to the King, a person I don’t think crossed Allan’s mind during this entire process. Perhaps ignorantly (or he’s decided to ignore the idea), he’s assumed the only thing his betrayal will impact is the gang’s immediate success. He can’t see the bigger picture that Robin strives towards, as his motivations for being in the gang are less to help other people (which I think he enjoys, but wasn’t the reason he joined) and more as a fun way of survival among friends. Robin also mentions (in true teacher fashion) that Allan has betrayed himself, indicating that Robin did believe Allan was a good person, perhaps especially due to his progression from a shameless liar at the start of series 1 to a pretty sturdy friend in series 2. Allan’s actions could almost be viewed as a relapse into the lies and pickpocketing associated with his brother. Interestingly, Robin doesn’t mention the rest of the gang at all here, implying that he sees Allan’s betrayal as a direct attack on him and the King. Allan begins to internalise this view in 2x06, but I think if he were to explain who he betrayed, he would only mention the gang.

A: Mmm… nothing really.

Allan seems almost awkward here. ‘Nothing really’ is obviously his attempt to diminish what he’s done to appeal to Robin, but also furthers the idea that doesn’t think he’s done anything too serious (he knows betraying the gang was serious, but doesn’t think the outcomes have been that bad), and that he never had intentions for his betrayals to impact more than the gang’s monetary success. This wasn’t helped by Guy reassuring Allan when he agreed to working for him that nothing he said would be of any real weight to the people or wider actions of the gang.

R: Does he know about the camp?

A: No.

R: No. Does he know about Marian?

A: No!

Allan’s reactions to this part of his interrogation further the theory that he really didn’t think he was impacting much outside of the gang’s money – he grows almost appalled at the idea of telling the location of the camp and Marian’s secrets to Gisborne, like they never even crossed his mind, or they were so out of the question that he never would have imagined telling him. He seems offended by Robin’s insinuation that he would betray the gang so greatly, that Robin’s idea of him is so low that he thinks Allan would sell the very safety of his friends for money. Robin’s assuming of the worst instantly is another action that Allan will grow to hate later, and although it is harsh, in Robin’s defence he is quickly ensuring the safety of his gang, not only accusing Allan. Their fighting is entirely based on a lack of proper communication and interpretation. If not loyal to the cause, Allan is loyal to the people he loves, and that can be seen by his repeated protection of Marian in the later episodes. He never tries to harm any of the gang apart from Robin (2x06), but I think that is due to loosing part of his love and respect for Robin in this confrontation. If he doesn’t lose it directly, he definitely projects Robin’s hatred of him onto Robin and villainises him until he feels justified in attacking him later.

R: More lies?

A: NO. This was the last time, I promise. And I was wrong. But he captured me, Robin, he tortured me, I didn’t have a choice-

You can hear how earnest Allan is on that final no. I guess Robin, in the midst of his anger and paranoia, can’t read just how truthful he is being. But I don’t think I’d be able to either, to be honest. Robin then interrupts him from speaking, actively talking over Allan rather than listening.

R: EVERYTHING IS A CHOICE. Everything we do!

Up until Robin says this, Allan has been purely defending his corner and reassuring Robin of everything he hasn’t done, and trying to get back on the same page – but when Robin diminishes his experiences of being captured and tortured, Allan flips and instead starts on the attack. You can see this change happen as he takes a second to think, eyes narrowing with offence as he thinks of what to say back. And what Allan said next has a point, Robin is in a place of privilege as the leader of the gang because if he gets captured, he’s never left for long enough to get tortured, and the Sheriff prefers to go straight to threatening to kill him anyway. He’s too prized a prisoner to be treated badly. Allan’s experiences of being caught are very different: he was left for hours, unsure if anyone would come and rescue him, while being pretty consistently tortured both physically and emotionally. (It’s also interesting that Allan doesn’t tell anyone anything while being physically hurt, but once Gisborne starts preying on his insecurities, he’s bought quite quickly. He is exhausted at that point but it looks like Allan is emotionally hurting more than he lets on to the rest of the gang. Also, he makes it explicitly clear that he isn’t going to help with killing anyone or giving away condemning information, it’s only when Gisborne brings up the idea of little bits of information he becomes swayed. The way to get to Allan is by convincing him what he’s doing isn’t actually harming anyone, actually showing he’s good at heart.) When Robin tells him ‘everything is a choice’, Allan sees it as a complete disregard of the position of hardships he’s been in. Robin’s lecturing him on morals, but in his eyes, Robin has never been/ will never be in the same difficult position as he was. Before that statement by Robin, Allan’s been feeling guilty, and been reaching out to reconnect with Robin – but at the dismissal of his experiences, Allan’s guilt turns to anger.

A: That’s easy for you to say though, isn’t it, huh? You get the glory, you get the girl. Everyone loves you. And then when the King comes back you’ll get lands, property, a wife, EVERYTHING. And what will I have? You are always in the sun, Robin, and I am always in the shade.

I’ll cover this more in the 2x06 analysis, but Allan’s biggest fears are being in pain, deprived, and without security. This outburst is actually one of Allan’s most vulnerable moments (looks like he’s only able to admit to his fears in anger) as he shows all of his insecurities by stating everything Robin has that Allan wishes he did. These play on his being deprived – ‘you get the glory, you get the girl’, ‘what will I have?’ – and being without security – ‘and then when the King comes back you’ll get lands, property, a wife’. As much as Allan enjoys being in the gang, he knows that it cannot be sustained for long and worries about what will happen to him after it ends and, he assumes, everyone goes their separate ways.

R: Is that meant to be an excuse. Heh?

In his anger, Robin misses the vulnerability in Allan’s side of the story. (To be fair to Robin, if I just found out someone I trusted completely had been selling important secrets to my arch nemesis, I’d be blinded by anger too.) But because Allan’s only way of showing vulnerability is by attacking Robin, and Robin takes the attack personally, he misses the insecurities behind Allan’s motivation by taking what he says as an excuse, not a reason. In this moment, Robin exerts his fury physically, pushing Allan up against a wall and shaking him – Allan sees no way out and begins to work on the defences again, realising he can’t gain anything but further disconnect by attacking Robin.

A: Give me another chance, please. I wouldn’t have let Gisborne hurt any of us, I’d never have told him anything like that.

I think this plea makes Allan looks particularly weak, as we see him switching tactics the second he realises one isn’t working (showing how clever he actually is), but also insinuating how happy to shift the truth he is in order to get what he wants. It makes him look almost cowardly, and in Robin’s eyes just furthers the mistrust, as he ricochets from an attack to a plea for forgiveness. However, it’s also a truthful admission by Allan of what he wouldn’t do and where he very firmly draws the line.

R: Harmless lies, innocent betrayals? They don’t exist, Allan!

Robin’s morals are consistently a lot stricter than Allan’s, and at their relationship’s best, this leads to Allan being inspired and positively influenced by him, but at its worst creates conflict and leads Robin to believe he is better than Allan, lecturing him on what is right (see 2x06).

A: Robin, I’ve changed. How can I get you to believe that?

I see ‘Robin, I’ve changed’ as an agreement with Robin that ‘harmless lies’ and ‘innocent betrayals’ don’t exist, but as Allan has only just realised the severity and extent of the actions he believed to be harmless until so recently, he shows his agreement through saying his beliefs have changed. He’s still reaching out to maintain his connection and trust with Robin and in turn, the gang. (I think if it hadn’t been Robin who had gone to the Tripp Inn, it would’ve been a very different outcome. Much would’ve been similar to Robin, casting him out immediately, but taking the betrayal very personally. John would’ve been really angry but I think Allan would’ve perhaps been able to talk him down. Will has a wicked temper for Allan to reckon with, and I think as Will and Allan are so close and Will’s morals so strong, he would be quite personally offended too, so Allan would struggle to win him over, but after some time to cool off Will would’ve heard Allan’s side of the story. Djaq says multiple times she believes Allan is a good man and could have changed, so would’ve listened to his entire story and possibly even let him stay if she believed him. As the leader of the group, Robin sees the gang as his responsibility to keep safe, hence having to be extra harsh in order to make sure they are protected.)

R: You can’t. And the funny thing is, you might be telling the truth.

Here, Robin shows he is aware of how blunt he’s being with Allan, but has so little trust for him he can’t even begin to think he’s telling the truth. He admits that Allan could be being truthful, but that he’s refusing to give him a chance anyway. In 2x06, as Allan becomes highly bitter, saying ‘you should’ve given me a second chance’, it’s likely largely in reference to this moment, where Robin refuses to even consider his viewpoint. For now though, Allan is still trying to regain Robin’s trust.

A: I am!

R: And how am I supposed to believe you anymore?

A: Robin, I swear to you, on my life.

*Robin holds knife up to neck*

A: Don’t kill me. Please.

I don’t think Allan comes across particularly well within this conversation, but the only reason he’s acting in a way that can be seen as cowardly is because he’s doing what he can to fight for his life the entire time, shown as he at first asks the bartender to stay, and coming to a peak here as Robin presses the blade to his throat. His attempts to stay alive have to be spoken, as he knows Robin would overpower him and there’s nowhere to run. His fears of what Robin would do to him are confirmed and in this moment, he truly has no idea whether Robin will kill him or not.

*Robin jerks knife away*

Woohoo Robin doesn’t kill him!

R: You are lucky I’ve left you with a life to swear upon. Never, ever, let me set eyes on you again.

This kind of insinuates Robin thought Allan deserved to die, or at least deserved a worst punishment than just being told to never come back to camp. As we see in the next episode, this doesn’t go to plan and essentially forms the basis for Allan’s further descent and the height of their physical conflict, which is in 2x06.

*Robin stalks away, Allan is left to feel sorry for himself*

TO SUMMARISE:

- Robin continually refuses to listen to Allan’s explanations, instead seeing them as excuses

- He dismisses Allan’s experiences of being captured and tortured, instead lecturing him on morals that Allan thinks he can’t afford to have (this is the biggest hurt for Allan, I think – the complete dismissal of his experiences)

- Robin’s quick to assume Allan would betray the gang completely (admittedly it’s better to be safe than sorry in these situations)

- He knows he could give Allan a second chance but doesn’t even consider it, and tells Allan this (a major catalyst for Allan’s anger in 2x06)

- He separates Allan from the gang, meaning Allan can’t go back to camp to collect his items, and can’t explain to his friends his side of the story; they will only hear it through Robin, furthering the bias against him

- Allan tries to reconnect and reassure Robin, only attacking him once and playing defence the rest of the time

- He came to the Inn to cover his tracks but also to return the money, implying he’s doing everything he can to stay with the gang – and whatever the motive, he was about to stop working for Gisborne

- Allan didn’t think his betrayals were as severe as they were, he never imagined telling Gisborne anything more than when they were planning on targeting a certain area

- Allan and Robin’s inability to listen and respond to one another properly leads to a worsening of the situation and drives them both to the actions of 2x06, as Allan becomes more bitter as he reflects on the conversation and Robin still doesn’t understand Allan’s motivations properly

Thank you so much for reading if you’ve made it this far, I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know your hot takes and interpretations too – did I miss anything? My analysis on 2x06 is coming tomorrow so keep an eye out for that :)

#allan a dale #robin hood #bbc robin hood #character analysis #robin of locksley #ducking and diving #allan a dale analysis

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allycryz · 3 years

Text

Incandesce

Explicit Fic

Thancred x Nerys (WoL) x Emet-Selch / Thancred x Nerys / Emet-Selch x Nerys / Some Thancred x Emet-Selch

When Nerys made the mistake of telling Emet-Selch to surprise her, this is not what she had in mind.

Even more astonishing: that Thancred is interested.

(A lot of other ships mentioned/discussed, primarily Nerys x Haurchefant and Nerys x Estinien x Aymeric)

Shadowbringers Spoilers

[From This Prompt List]

Prompts Used: Hot Springs in Winter / Restraints / Double Penetration Other Tags: Minor Breathplay in the water, Shaping Aether into Extra Hands, Brief Food Mention

Meta Notes:

This is currently not-canon in the general, overarching sense, but everything that happens prior to Nerys entering the hot springs is canon.

Prelude

Beneath the thickest canopy of trees, Nerys can ignore the great and terrible light above. Pretend she is in the Shroud again. There are Duskwight waiting among the Night’s Blessed for her to return with supplies and reports. Never mind that it’s a name they don’t recognize. The elves of the First separate themselves by region and family, not clan.

Many of Night’s Blessed look like the faces she grew up with. It has...been a long time since she was with such a group. Visiting her parents and Uncle Vaquelin had been lovely, but brief. And that was so long ago now. Before Doma, before Gyr Abania, before Minfilia came here with Ardbert and his companions.

The memory of that long-ago visit conjures Haurchefant, who she had brought with her. Her family loved him–how could they not? It makes her miss him all the more. Their too-brief, too-scarce meetings since her arrival are not enough.

She leaves the nostalgia and safety of the trees behind along with her brooding. People are expecting her. A truth no matter what world she lives on, whether they call her Warrior of Darkness or Light. Nerys is thankful this place doesn’t also remind her of Ishgard. Then the homesickness might turn her brooding into outright tears.

Now. Collecting reeds for the girl’s basket. They should be due south from here.

“Far be it from me to meddle…” Emet-Selch materializes beside her, as if picking up a prior conversation. “But my curiosity outweighs my desire to see where ‘the chips do fall’.”

Nerys turns her gaze toward him without breaking her stride. Last time he did this, she was picking berries and near fell over into the dirt. “Saying ‘far be it from me to meddle’ does not cancel out any subsequent meddling, you know.”

One corner of his mouth tilts up. “I expected my company to be polite enough not to mention it. More fool me.”

“What do I know about manners?” She cannot help herself. Maybe it is the pleased, attractive smirk whenever she says something diverting. Maybe she is tired of all the misfortune around them and needs levity. “I am but a simple warrior, a weapon of brute strength raised in the woods.”

“Self-deprecation does you no favors, my dear. Even when it is clear you know it’s all rubbish.” He waves a hand. “You are among the politest of my enemies.”

“Thank you?”

“Mm. I can be generous.” He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Now, about my query. Tell me...which suitor do you think will win out?”

That almost makes her stumble. And she can tell from his expression, he is reliving when she almost fell upon her basket of berries. A rare mishap from her that he will never, ever let her forget. “I...beg your pardon?”

“No need to beg for it, this one is free,” says Emet. His tone is insinuating as ever on that point. “You clearly carry torches for both Masters Waters and Matoya. I get the impression he was your lover at one time? The outline I have of your activities before the Exarch summoned you does not include the gritty details. As for her, only the Hrothgar moons after her more than you do.”

Nerys opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “You truly have been watching, haven’t you?”

“Oh not everything. Mortals are not so difficult to read, once you have practice. And your eyes…” He catches her chin, directing his gaze into hers. “They are terribly expressive, once you know what to look for.”

Emet-Selch wants a reaction. She puts her hands on her hips, lifting an eyebrow. Waiting for him to continue. As if his thumb isn’t stroking over her jaw, gentle as a lover. The touch as stirring as when he graces her with a particularly enticing smile.

“Now...” He does not need her permission to continue so she doesn’t give it. Clearly, this is a soliloquy he wants to perform. “I am not sure you know how many carry a torch for you, and I shan’t spoil it by telling you. But it does make things interesting. Not to mention, this Lord Haurchefant your group often mentions. Shall you abandon your noble suitor for a rogue posing as a knight? Or for a scholar of great and terrible power? Will one of the yet undeclared reveal themselves and win the hero’s heart?”

That heart thuds painfully against her chest. The way he shapes his syllables charges each provoking word. And the directness of those wine-gold eyes, a shade paler than her own but no less piercing for it.

He has gotten so much of it wrong. That does not negate how easily he has gotten so much of it right.

Nerys curls her fingers around his wrist and tugs his hand down. Emet-Selch does not resist, though when their hands are navel-level he twists just so, clasping her wrist in return, They remain locked thus, neither one letting go.

“Surely one as ancient as you, as easily bored as you,” she says. “Must know there are other options.”

“I don’t think a vow of chastity would suit you. Your eyes run too hot upon your comrades-”

“Lord Haurchefant,” she continues. “He is my lover and my beloved. Were I the marrying kind, his ring would be on my finger. That would not stop either of us from sharing physical and emotional intimacy with others.”

Emet-Selch says not a word, betrays no emotion. He does not veer into patronizing congratulations or arrogant dismissal. That same thumb begins to stroke again, over her gauntlet.

“There are others in the Source with such arrangements. I’m delighted to know it’s fairly common in the First.” Nerys cannot resist her smirk. Is this how he feels when he lectures her? “For some, it is about a variety of sexual partners. Sometimes it’s like that for us. More often...we are the kind to fall madly for someone or someones, in addition to wanting the physical parts. So whatever may happen...it is not a matter of winning.”

“Well,” he says, looking at her as if for the first time. Considering.

“Well,” he says again, with a slow smile. “You are full of surprises, my dear. I thank you for not being as boring as I expected.”

“Accuse me of many things, but never that.” Nerys takes a step back, breaking the link of their hands. “But I don’t think my expansive heart is my most unique quality.”

“On that, at least, we agree.” His enigmatic smile inflames just the right amount of curiosity in her. She resists best as she can. “Well, that puts to rest one of my little games. No reason to stay and help you...what is it again? Collecting reeds so a girl may make a basket?”

“Yes, that,” she says. “Would you like to join?”

“Oh, I am not so starved for stimulation to partake.” Purple and black aether swirls around his ankles. “Whistle for me, when you’re doing something actually worthy of a hero.”

“No need,” she says. “Somehow, I think you’ll know.”

He smirks as he disappears.

Weeks Later

"Alone at last."

In one motion: she slams the book shut, jumps up, has the knife pointed and ready. The sharp edge gleams in the lamplight, as bright as his gaze as he sighs at her.

"Really," says Emet-Selch. "I thought we were past this stage."

They were. They are. It doesn’t change that Eulmore is an ever looming spectre at their heels. That this pressure on her chest and shoulders is building. For their last few talks, Ardbert has made sure to catch her attention well before speaking.

She keeps thinking Ran’jit is about to appear and cut her down.

Nerys exhales a breath, blade staying poised for the moment. “Do you always startle trained warriors?"

“Only you, hero.” He touches the pad of his gloved finger against the dagger point. “This is not so beautiful a weapon as your lance."

"A lance is a little more difficult to keep close at all times." It is, in fact, leaning against the wall of her room. Just behind him. By the way his eyes flicker to the side and then to her, he knows it.

They are well past when she might run for it, and brandish it at him. The gaze feels so much like a challenge though, she contemplates it. He wouldn’t expect her to start a physical fight after weeks of banter.

Nerys withdraws the blade.

“It is a well-made little knife. A gift? I don't recall seeing it on you before."

"I always keep a dagger on me, one never knows when an ambush is coming." She slides it back in the sheath, touch lingering on the deep-plum leather of the hilt. "...But yes, this is new."

"I thought so. From Thancred no doubt, as he has been lavishing attention on you as of late." He steps away, spreading his arms. "He was the paramour I expected to win. At least until you explained that you don't limit yourself to just one."

His words conjure visceral memories without much effort. Her tender, still-aching reconciliation with Thancred at the start of this week. What they could have had in Ala Mhigo had the Exarch not spirited him away the day they meant to talk.

But also, the day in the Rak’tika Greatwood with Emet-Selch. His teasing about the choice she would “have” to make. Her defiant lecture. His fingers on her chin and on her wrist.

"Over Y'shtola, you mean?" She leans her back against the desk, arms crossed. "Or the other admirers you claim I have? Which are who, exactly?"

"Ah, ah, ah," he says with a wag of a finger. His pale gold eyes and wicked mouth brim with laughter. "You will have to try much harder than that to get my secrets."

“Does that mean you won’t explain what ‘alone at last’ means?”

"That one should be obvious, my dear." He remains apart from her but his gaze feel like a touch. Like a stroke of hand over her arm or cheek.

Attraction is like that. And she is adult enough to admit he is attractive–painfully so–without it needing to be a problem. It doesn’t change who they are or that one day, she may need to face him on the battlefield.

(Nerys had been able to face Estinien and Thancred both after all. Though unlike them, this man’s mind is his own. She is certain Zodiark’s pull is not the same as Lahabrea’s or Nidhogg’s.)

"I have been busy of late,” she says. “But surely there are others you might visit."

"None of your Scions will play with me the way you will," he pouts. "Even your scholarly Elezen friend will only suffer me so long."

Nerys laughs. "Who says I am willing to play with you? Or that is what we do?"

Emet-Selch’s expression reminds her of Aymeric’s cat, affronted over Nerys taking his spot upon the chaise lounge that one time. Unlike Sainte, he does not stomp away with a disgruntled noise. “I have never lied to you. Do me the favor of not lying to me.”

"Never?" She asks without real conviction. Nerys is certain he has not lied to her or anyone in their group. Omitted, yes. Likely a great deal.

“Never.” Emet-Selch crosses the space, moving close to her. The fur of his jacket brushes against the front of her gray linen gown. He leans in, leans in, his breath tickles her face and she tries not to give him the reaction he seeks.

He gets so close his lips graze her cheek and she breaks, breath hitching. And then he leans past her, reaching behind to take up the book she closed. "Collected Folk Tales of Lakeland. I admit, I expected something related to your quest."

His face is hidden but she feels his smirk as keenly as she feels the heat of his body against her. "I needed a little break and stories always cheer me. I wish the ones I heard as a child were collected somewhere."

"Ah, but they lose magic that way, don't they?" He breathes into her ear. "Some in the telling, but far more when we commit them to the page."

Don't shiver. Don't react. "Why not have the stories both ways?"

His chuckle is low. "Why not indeed. You do not like to make choices, do you?"

"It isn't that." Her arms remain folded against her chest. Still, if someone were to come in they would think something else was happening. And that would not be a full lie.

On impulse, her eyes flicker about to make sure Ardbert isn't there.

"Too many people reduce life to hard, either-or decisions," she says. "And I have found there is almost always a third or fourth or fifth way."

"An optimist. How very…" Emet-Selch pulls back to look at her. Sighs. "Very boring. I expected better, given all the pathos I have seen in your eyes."

"I'm sorry to disappoint." She turns towards the book, straightening her disrupted papers.

His hands come down on either side of her, balancing against the gentle curve of the desk edge. She is caged, with his breath upon her nape and his body a wall of flame grazing her back. Nerys has managed this session to not rise to his bait, but her resolve is weakening and this does not help.

Attraction does not have to mean anything. You have the will, to have it be a simple fact; not a catalyst or excuse.

"Come now,” he murmurs. His nose tickles the back of her neck. The skin there is extra sensitive; hair freshly trimmed to the new, shorter length. “You have a better retort than that."

"You think so? Maybe you're the optimist."

His laugh is a puff of air upon her. "Better, but still sloppy. I expect more from my playmate."

She wants to argue that point but he has already exposed her defense for the lie it is. Call it play or teasing, Nerys does enjoy these times. When she might pretend he is just a handsome man come only for banter; not...whatever they are to each other or will be.

She enjoys him.

Her eyes flicker to the window. Fading sunlight catches the light fall of snow, the first in a long time for Lakeland. It pulls at her heart for another reason: terrible homesickness for Ishgard. And the position of the sun now means-

"I have to cut this ‘play session’ short. I'm expected elsewhere." Nerys turns in the cage of his arms and gives him a gentle push. "And you're not allowed to be in my room when I am gone."

"Spoilsport. Whatever do you expect me to do? Languish in waiting?"

Her way cleared, Nerys moves past him to the bag she packed earlier. Just a small thing with the necessities for this jaunt...and if she doesn’t sleep in her room tonight. "I know you'll think of something. Surprise me."

As soon as she says it, she regrets it. Too late, his smirk is wide, his face lit with enthusiasm. “I can do that.”

He disappears in a swirl of aether. Nerys wonders if she made a fatal error.

---------

Amaros fly them to the Ostall Imperative. From there, she and Thancred walk the forest path. The creatures of the lilac-and-bone-colored forest keep their distance tonight, many hiding from the strange weather. They still need to be alert though, lest they or brigands cross the path.

Even still, she keeps having to look at him. Assure herself he is there, with her. Truly with her. Their hands brush together once, twice, three times before he at last laces their fingers together. Smiles up at her with a look that stills her breath no matter how many times it happens.

She has loved him...a long time. Grieved him in different ways for different reasons for a long time. And now here he is, having asked for another chance and she hopes this week is not a long, wishful dream.

“It’s never snowed while you’ve been here?” Nerys asks, using her free hand to dust the flakes off her shoulders. Five long years here, under the horrible light. She cannot imagine. No wonder he felt like a stranger when first they found each other in Laxan Loft.

"Not that I've seen. You've brought balance back to the place."

"We have, not just I." She squeezes his hand.

Thancred chuckles. "You should take the credit."

"So should you. And-"

He cups her cheek, tugging her down into a kiss. Deep and soft and intoxicating. All week he has caressed her like this, each time overwhelming her with the gentle sensuality of it. She can almost forgive him doing it just to win an argument. Almost, until she pulls back and sees the old familiar gleam, the old familiar smirk.

"You can't...do that every time." Nerys says, a little breathless. Hands still gripping the supple material of his coat like a lifeline.

"I would never. Only some of the time." His smirk grows. Twelve, but she missed that expression on his face. Not that she loves this new, more serious Thancred any less. Every part of him, every facet, she adores. "Though, I think I need to do it once more."

Never mind whoever waits for them. Now that she can touch him like this again, feel him like this again, she never wants to stop. And from the way his hands grip her, run over her sides and hips, he doesn't either. She presses herself close to him, lips tracing the line of his jaw to the shell of his ear.

Thancred pulls himself back, eyes hot. "If we don't start walking again, I'm going to drag you into the bushes."

She doesn't move. "That isn't incentive to walk."

"I should have known better." He holds out a hand and she takes it, surprised when he starts down the path again. “Come along.”

He must want this date to happen as planned. Thinking about it...they have not had many formal engagements like this. They were either comrades or they were lovers. Maybe there would be a trip to the market or a shared drink in Revenant’s Toll between battles and bed.

Nerys wonders if he might be inspired to poetry, like he had once with his other paramours. Not all of his couplets were groanworthy.

Bosta-Bea awaits them at Clearmelt, her smile wide and welcoming. The sign near her declares that the springs closed at sundown. That alone means Thancred put down a lot of coin for this. Bosta-Bea’s excellent humor doubly verifies it.

“I’ll be just inside if anyone tries to bother you,” she says after greetings and pleasantries are exchanged. “I doubt anyone will but just in case…”

“My thanks,” says Thancred. He hasn’t let go of her hand yet and he squeezes it while he speaks. “The changing rooms are just through there?”

“Yes, with towels to use in the bath.” Bosta-Bea ushers them through to the first room. It’s filled with large stalls that each contain shower, changing room, and locker. Everything hums with magic, likely a number of convenience charms throughout to dry hair and keep belongings safe.

In her own stall, Nerys strips away her leathers. The cool air of the new winter prickles over her skin until she can get under the hot water, rinsing the day off. She is still not used to washing shorter hair. Her hands reach for phantom length to lather with shampoo.

Nerys misses her curls. The haircut was necessary. For catharsis: chopping away locks that held memories of the past moons. For symbolism: starting again, refusing to let grief weigh her down.

And she did it in the city she calls home. Jandelaine paid a house call to the Fortemps Manor. Lord Edmont tried not to hover. Artoirel did hover, repeating questions and bringing her cups of tea and plates of orange-cardamom shortbread.

The hole in her heart began to scab over, the patch knit in tandem with her brother and second father; her friend wielding his scissors; and all Aymeric and Estinien did for her and with her the days and nights following her rescue from the Ascian in Zenos’ body.

Nerys is glad she did it.

Even still, she misses the length and the curl. Hasn’t acclimated to the change yet. Everyone has been complimentary. Thancred spent last night and the night before murmuring about her beauty as he took her apart. And Emet-Selch-

She yanks on the knob, turning off the shower and the intrusive thoughts with them.

The charms she expected are present, drawing the moisture from her skin and hair. Most don’t submerge themselves fully in these springs, never mind the new addition of cold wind and snow. Nerys wraps the soft towel around her body, slips her feet into the provided sandals. She takes her pack and lance with her. No offense to the lockers, but trouble never picks a convenient time to find her.

The first thing she sees is his gunblade propped up against one of the walls, just out of range of water but close enough to run for. She laughs and walks over, doing the same with her lance before taking the knife from her bag.

"Knifeplay?" Thancred asks. "I'm not sure I want to introduce that in this setting."

She turns to him with a snappy remark but it dissolves away.

He sprawls against the side of the bath, arms draped over the edge and head tipped back. What she can see of his muscled chest gleams with moisture in the moonlight. The light snow falls on his cheek.

“Nerys? It’s cold out.”

“It’s uncharacteristically cold tonight,” he said, standing outside her room at the Pendants. A pile of blankets in his hand. Two nights ago. Three days after they agreed to begin again, starting a slow and sometimes aching courtship.

Her chest tightened. “You had better come in then.”

“Just to deliver the blankets?” His eyes gleamed.

“Hm…” She pulled him inside. “That’s a start.”

His towel is folded, just within reach outside of the pool. Well then. Nerys lets hers fall, watching his eyes rake over her lush curves to the apex between her thighs. She takes her time walking over. A swell of pleasure rises in her gut. At the water’s edge, she bends at the waist to set towel and knife down within easy reach.

"You should come here," he says, a soft growl beneath his words. She fights the shudder wanting to rip through her.

"Just a minute." She slips out of the sandals. Dips a toe into the water, testing it. He starts to move towards her, but stops all at once when she holds up a hand. "Sit. Stay."

Thancred smirks. "You remember right? That I always repay you when you tease me."

A soft warmth incongruous to the moment floods her chest and she is helpless not to smile at him with soft eyes and a softer voice. "I have never forgotten a single moment, Thancred."

He swallows, his eyes telling the jumble of emotions roiling in him. She can see all the Thancreds she has known–the serious, protective Thancred, the closed-off and grieving Thancred. The teasing, playful Thancred who seduced her all over Mor Dhona. The attentive, caring Thancred who always knew when she needed him to take over and give her release, or when to let her hold the reins.

The loving Thancred, though neither of them have said the word yet.

"Nerys," he says, voice raw. "Come here."

She goes to him, sliding into the water and into his arms, into his lap as he embraces her. His tongue slides over her bottom lip and she opens to him, lets him plunder her mouth as his hands slide over her hips and waist. Traces her new scars, every mark she has earned since the Bloody Banquet. She finds the ones he has gained since, and where the First has failed to duplicate them. His soul is a near-perfect copy of the body in the Source, but there are small differences.

He parts from her after an eternity, gasping as he rests his forehead on her shoulder. "My plan was for a long, slow night of seduction. And yet, here we are."

“We always end up here,” she says with a laugh. Just as they had meant to take things slow, at least a few weeks before they became lovers again. Why had they ever thought that was a good idea? "Didn't you have any company, these five years?"

"Very little," he admits. "Almost none, once I took in Min-...Ryne. I couldn't exactly leave her to wait at a campsite while I lurked in a tavern looking for a companion."

"Very little," she repeats, cupping the side of his neck and the tattoo. Rubbing it gently. "You don't have to tell me details but...anyone I know?"

He smiles; a little sad, a little soft. "Despite having all the time to do so...no, I didn't make a move on either of them. By the time they got here, I was once again wrapped in my anger and grief."

Nerys sighs and kisses his forehead. "At our pace, neither of us will confess to Y'shtola before our sixtieth Nameday." As to when he might speak to Urianger, maybe before his fiftieth.

His laugh is gentle. "I forgot you were an optimist."

The word startles her in a way she can’t disguise and Thancred is alert all at once, ready to ease whatever troubles her. She shakes her head to assuage him. “Nothing. Nothing, just reminded me of a conversation I had with...someone, earlier.”

“Sweetheart.” The old endearment enfolds her in its warmth despite the slight reproof. “I can guess who from the evasion. It won’t bother me.”

"The last thing I want is to cause you more pain."

“He is not Lahabrea.” Thancred squeezes her hip. "Not that I am fond of our 'friend.' But it won't injure me to know you talk to him."

"Alright." She wraps her arms about his neck to better balance herself. The cold air and fall of snow prickle at her shoulders and chest, a sharp contrast to the heat of the water and where their skin presses together.

"And what about you?" He asks, shifting his leg just so between her thighs. No pressure against her center, not yet. "Was there anyone since I saw you? I know it wasn’t five years for you but..."

"Ah...yes." More heat rises in her. "...Estinien and Aymeric."

Thancred’s eyebrows shoot up. "Both? At the same time?"

“Mm.” Nerys finds herself ducking her head, vulnerable. Those stolen nights in Ishgard seem a dream now, all the more because she had thought it would never happen. And had made peace with that. "Estinien walked in on us and...well, they are a couple. It wasn't so odd to invite him…"

"And you’ve wanted him as long as you wanted Aymeric," says Thancred. He has that smug expression he gets sometimes. “Perhaps for longer. I wondered when it would happen.”

She huffs, scowling. "Is this what you do? Figure out who I am in love with and wait for me to say something?"

"I can't help it." He dips his head, kissing her shoulder. "I seem to have an extra sense for this sort of thing with you."

“I’m glad we found each other.” She means it teasing but again, her words come out warm with emotion. How long till she can stop feeling so much relief to have him in her arms? Sometimes she thinks she feels more than she is supposed to, with no way to stem the tide.

“So am I.” That leg moves with purpose now, nudging against her folds. He leans forward, catching her cold-stiffened nipple between his lips. She gasps, a low moan following right after. Thancred smirks and looks up at her. “Your exploits make for stirring tales.”

“Well, that answers that.”

In an instant, Nerys is up with the knife while Thancred rises, his fists raised. Their usual weapons are just far enough that blades and hands make sense for the interim.

Emet-Selch lounges on the opposite side of the bath, chest and below submerged in the water. He chuckles. "This is the second time you've aimed a blade at me today. I'm starting to think you don't like me."

Thancred growls. "You're trespassing, Ascian."

"Oh?" He shrugs. Nerys refuses to note how well-sculpted his shoulders are. "I wasn't aware you owned these natural springs, the night air…"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Mayhaps. But I was practically invited. Isn't that right, my dear?" Emet-Selch turns his gaze to Nerys, making no secret of how his eyes sweep over her nude body, her erect nipples, the drops of water coursing down her blue-gray skin.

She is already bare and it still feels like he is undressing her with his gaze.

“What? No.” She shakes her head at Thancred’s shocked expression. “No. When I said ‘surprise me’, this is not what I meant.”

“Well, this is why being specific is important." Emet sighs, sinking deeper into the water. “Will you put that knife down? Having two things pointing at my way is rather disconcerting...though stimulating."

At that, Thancred seems to remember he is naked and erect, though the cold air is working to amend the second problem. He sinks back into the water.

Nerys stoops to set the knife down, one arm shielded over her breasts and trying keep her thighs together. It wreaks havoc on her balance and makes Emet look even more amused. She gives up–he has already seen her–and sinks back into the water without further attempts at modesty.

The Emperor was a soldier, in his way. If his immortality hadn’t made him immune to being scandalized, being in the barracks surely had. As soon as she sits, Thancred slides an anchoring arm about her waist.

"Better," says Emet. "No wonder you have been neglecting me to spend all your time with him, hero. He is rather spectacular, beneath all the scowls he sends my way."

Thancred rolls his eyes. “You got your surprise and answered your question. Whatever that was.”

“Oh, that?” Emet-Selch’s smirk unfurls, slow as honey without the sweetness. “Our Warrior told me about Lord Haurchefant, how open they are with each other. I wondered if she was so with her other paramours, talking freely about her conquests."

Thancred glances her way again. There was no reason to volunteer that information, it just...came up. When provoked, to be fair. Every other time she’s spoken about it...no she cannot say it was always to score points against Emet.

The look he gives her isn’t accusatory, she realises. It is...considering.

“And then here I find you two, comparing notes. Well, comparing notes against near celibacy. Either way, it’s very interesting.”

Nerys squeezes Thancred’s knee below the water. Rubs her thumb over the joint. “How long were you there?”

“Oh, long enough to be enjoyable but not so much to have been rude.” He slides a hand through his hair, pushing back locks damp from steam and snow. It...does things for his face, which he likely knows. “I did tell you that I like to watch.”

“Had your fill then?” Thancred asks, squeezing her hip.

"It takes much more to sate me. But it seems you two will be boring and stare at me till I leave." He sighs. "And as you are both submerged, I cannot even have something nice to look at. So, I suppose I'll go…"

No wait- She almost says.

She almost says! Twelve, Fury, whoever was listening, preserve; Nerys had actually thought of asking him to stay. This attraction is more dangerous than she thought. Clearly she is not so cool and objective about his beauty, if she is so on the verge.

Thancred goes very still beside her.

Nerys curses inwardly. Of course he catches on. This is what he does–understand what she wants before she admits it to herself. And that is all fine...until it is this man behind everything they have fought, everything that has hurt them and taken away their loved ones.

Attraction is not harmless and objective if Thancred is beside her, hurting because of it and her.

“Depends,” says Thancred, squeezing her hip again. “Are you going to sit there and make remarks, or are you going to do something useful?"

What?

She turns to Thancred, at a loss. Even at his most reckless, he wouldn’t invite an enemy to...maybe she misunderstands.

Emet-Selch is very still, the self-satisfied expression gone from his face. Thancred has surprised them both.

“Are you…” She swallows and starts again. “Are you saying…”

“You’re attracted to him, and he to you.” Thancred says, pressing lips to her temple. The soft pressure is unlike the rigid way he holds himself, tension all through his body. “And while neither of us trust him, sex doesn't have to require that.”

It doesn’t, but it always has for her. Even one night with a stranger requires someone she feels relatively safe with. More than that–he isn’t telling the whole truth. He isn’t testing her. That isn’t his way. But he has a reason she can’t guess at yet.

She does not trust Emet-Selch. He is not safe.

But. But.

If...when he strikes, it will not be while making love to them. It seems too gauche, too crude for him. There have been other times, more seemly times he might have waited for her to lower her guard. Like hours ago, when she presented her back to him and he had all but molded to it.

And she trusts Thancred.

“Okay,” she says. Not even sure that Emet will agree or if he is about to laugh at their temerity. Two sundered beings, thinking they might bring pleasure to an Ascian. “But if anyone says stop, we stop. No questions asked.”

“Agreed.” Thancred says, keeping her close to him.

Emet begins to rise until Thancred lifts a hand, gesturing for him to stay put. Clearly amused, the other man complies.

Nerys startles when Thancred lifts her into his arms and out of the water, carried like a bride through the chill air. He has always been strong but...he lifts her as if she is nothing. His muscles speak to the strength he has honed these five years but still, she hadn’t grasped the change. Not until now, cradled against his chest with her long legs dangling over his arms.

Thancred crouches, setting her into Emet’s lap with her back against the Ascian’s chest, smoothing his hands over her arms before he lets go. At once, Emet slides his hands around to palm her breasts. She gasps at the electric touch–both too much and not enough.

He is not shy. And he is not going to dismiss them.

His hands feel better than he imagined. And she can admit now: she imagined.

"I've no idea what you're trying to prove, Thancred." Emet says, breath against her ear. "But as it gives me something I want, I will examine it later."

Something in her clenches at that. “When you spoke of play...have you been flirting this whole time? Or was that just to rile me?”

“Yes.” Emet presses his lips to the side of her neck, feather light. Almost imperceptible. His hands are the opposite, purposeful as they knead her breasts, roll her dark purple nipples between his fingers until she squirms on his lap. It’s like he knew how sensitive she would be there.

Thancred’s hand reaches behind her, gripping somewhere on Emet. His shoulder? Digging into his hair? He has to lean in close to do it and Nerys takes advantage. She presses her mouth to his brown nipple, chasing a rivulet of water down his chest. Sweet, just like he can be.

"You don't put anything inside her until I say so," says Thancred. His voice is harsh but he shivers beneath her lips.

"Oh," Emet breathes. "Do you always let him boss you like that, my dear?"

He squeezes her left breast and she gasps against Thancred instead of answering. All at once he stills, waiting for her response. “S-sometimes. It depends.”

That earns her more pressure against her needful flesh, the fingers pinching just so. “Tell me.”

Nerys tries to look back at him. He frees one hand to catch her chin, directing her eyes back to Thancred who kneels before her. It almost doesn’t feel real, without seeing Emet and his smile and his pale-gold eyes. It could be anyone behind her, certainly not him of all people.

Except that voice. She would know it in the haunting light of Kholusia or in the darkest cave of the Night’s Blessed. At some point, he slipped under skin as if he was meant to be there.

Thancred watches them, running one hand up and down the outside of her thigh in slow strokes. The other is underwater, mirroring the touches on himself. He nods, giving her permission to tell their secrets.

“We...switch,” she says. “I often prefer someone to hold my reins. But...sometimes I like telling him what to do. Withholding from him until he is good. Making him beg.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Emet purrs, proving just how long he watched them. She frowns and puts her hand on his wrist, giving it a light squeeze.

“That’s his name for me. You need to choose your own.”

He sighs and she can feel his eyes rolling. Dramatically. “Oh, very well. I suppose I could continue calling you my dear.”

At those words, his teeth sink into her earlobe and his hands resume their kneading. His erection presses at her under the water, the thickness apparent just from the feel of him. She resists the urge to grind against it, lest it end things too soon.

"Any other orders, Thancred? Or are you content to watch me tease her until she begs for release?"

Thancred cups her face between his hands and kisses her, unhurried and deep. She grows pliant under the luxurious touch of both men. No reins desired in her hands tonight. And from the glint in his eyes when he parts from her, Thancred can tell.

“Hold her arms behind her,” he says. “And you’ll be nice for us, won’t you sweetheart? He shouldn’t have to worry about holding you back."

"I'll play nice. This time."

“Ha." He nips her jaw. "Say stop, and we stop. And if you can’t speak, go very still and I will too.”

Nerys nods. Strong hands grip her arms, arranging them to cross behind her back before locking tight upon her. Except-

Except, there are still fingers on her breast. Palms anchoring her hips tight against Emet. She looks down and sees black and purple aether in the vague shape of hands, cupping her aching chest.

Emet chuckles, low and dark. His cock twitches against her. "I have my talents."

Twelve. Growing wet is...different in hot water. But there is still a heated, slick pulse between her legs and her hips try to jerk in response to the idea of what he could do with all those hands. The heat filling her has nothing to do with the springs.

Thancred pushes the aether-hands off her chest so he can cup her breasts, drawing them up as he lowers his mouth to suckle at one. Her head tips back and Emet-Selch takes advantage, lips pressing to the side of her neck. The barest hint of teeth whispers with them.

“So sweet, so good,” murmurs Thancred. His large, callused hands slide over her as his tongue traces her nipple. "What do you want tonight?"

Nerys can barely shiver, the hold on her is so tight and strong. Emet’s fingers pulse against her, firm but not harsh on her skin. “I want you. I want you both. However you want me.”

He smiles and she readies to receive another litany of compliments. The words always flow from him when he is amorous, praising every twitch of her muscles, every way she takes him into her. Instead, he rewards her with another dizzying kiss; so intense she forgets herself and tries to throw her arms about him.

Emet tightens his grip, tutting against her neck. "And she was so well behaved until now."

“Sorry,” she murmurs against Thancred’s mouth. “I just-I need to feel you-”

“Shh, it’s alright.” Thancred hushes her, his fingers against her mouth as he moves into her space. She parts her lips and takes the tip of one, swirling her tongue about it. “Ah, I’ll give you what you need.”

He slides a hand onto the back of her neck, nudging her down while she continues lathing his finger. The many hands clutching her accommodate, till she is suspended and bent over, balanced by the arms held taut behind her, barely on Emet’s lap. Her chin dips into the hot water and she stares up through lowered lashes.

Thancred stands, sliding a hand to grip just beneath the swollen head of his cock. Not as thick as what she feels against her rump, but it has grown to its full aroused length. Emet hums appreciatively, likely at the outstanding number of ilms on display. She thinks–it is hard to think, held like this, a slip away from all of her sinking into the water, his cock before her-

She thinks there are more hands on her now, thumbs rubbing subtle, light circles into her arms and legs and ankles. Emet follows the orders; nothing is inside her yet. But oh how she wants there to be, an end to the sweet torture of the many teasing touches.

“Well?” Emet asks. “Are you going to give her what she needs? You certainly have enough of it.”

Thancred smirks over her head, slowing the pace of his stroke as he goes from root to tip. Caressing each bit of the shaft before swirling his thumb over the head, worrying at his lip when he does so. Both she and Emet make pleased sounds at the same time, hers much more needy and inelegant.

At last, Thancred slides one hand into her short locks; keeping her in place as he guides himself into her mouth. Slow at first, then pressing deep as she relaxes her mouth and throat. She cannot take him all the way but she tries, savoring the heady taste of him and spring water until her toes curl.

He fucks into her mouth, his hips jerking in quick thrusts. The water splashes up her face and she closes her eyes, the sensations heightening the moment she does. Over the splashing she hears Thancred say something. In response, two fingers plunge into her folds. In and out, pulling back as soon as she tries to grind against them.

She thinks they are Emet’s flesh hands. She cannot be sure.

Nerys squirms to free herself, needing to touch Thancred. Run her hands over his shaft where her mouth cannot possibly go. The grip on her limbs tightens, a third finger slides into her. She can feel Emet’s body move with a chuckle even though she can only hear the water splashing over her nose and closed eyelids. The threat to her breathing goads her pleasure.

Thancred’s grip in her hair tightens, the other hand joining to burrow in the violet and white strands. His fingers in her scalp send a new wave of feeling through her. She moans around him, the pressure in her building but with no outlet in sight.

His thrusts speed up and she knows what is about to happen, groans in encouragement as his release pours into her. He doesn’t let go, not until he is fully spent and the momentum gives way. She can hear him now, the running litany of praise he must have kept up the whole time. “-so good, so good you did so well…”

He drags her off him and kneels, pressing her to sit again with her back against Emet, lips brushing against hers as she swallows and catches her breath. Nerys opens her mouth to him and he follows her, tasting her more fully. Tasting himself more fully.

“Fuck,” she whispers. “I feel like I’m close but also not at all.”

“I can take care of that.” Thancred says, kissing her forehead. He takes a deep breath and submerges beneath the water. She isn’t sure what he’s about until his mouth latches onto her clit, sucking as much as he can below. The fingers inside her curl

“Fuck,” she hisses again. They’re going to eviscerate her like this.

“Look at you.” Emet says, mouthing along her shoulder. "How easily you come apart. How eager you are to obey, and he is not half so dominating as I would be."

She moans–from his fingers, Thancred’s mouth, the implicit promise in Emet’s words. Nerys answers the challenge in them instead. “I-I know he’ll make it good for me. I d-don’t need that much encouragement.”

“Implying what? You aren’t so assured of me?” He catches her chin between thumb and forefinger, turning her head back towards him until it almost hurts. The edge of pain thrills down her spine, joining the rest of the heightened feelings in her. “I think you can accurately guess the heights I could drive you to.”

His breath tickles the corner of her mouth. At last she sees his eyes and the roaring fire they contain, the undisguised need and want. She gasps, not just from the increased thrusting of his fingers, the pressure and seal of Thancred’s mouth. If he had ever shown her that look before, she would have dragged him to bed and the consequences be damned.

Thancred emerges, taking a breath at the same time he slides his hand over the one Emet has on her face. Presses his mouth over the other man’s fingers before kissing Nerys like she is the oxygen he couldn’t have underwater.

His other hand slips between her thighs, direct and purposeful on her sensitive bud. His words pour into her ears–”yes, let go, let go, I want you to come like this, just like this”–and Emet’s fingers move faster inside her. With his wonderful, knowledgeable hand at her clit and his ragged words against her cheek, it doesn’t take long for her to come with a cry.

Thancred swallows her yell, her shaking prevented by Emet’s grip. For a moment, all she sees are the brilliant stars above them in the inky sky. The snow falling on her hair. The crescent moon, reminiscent of one of Emet’s toothier smiles.

Emet lets her go all at once and she collapses against Thancred, melting into his soothing touch. Her breath is loud in her ears, near as much as her heart slamming against her ribs and his against her ear.

“Good girl.” Thancred kisses the tip of her pointed ear. “Do you know what I would do for you, if we were in a different setting?”

She shivers, feeling the cold air for the first time since he put her in Emet’s lap. “Tell me. Please.”

“I would let you take us both, together, at the same time. Get you so stretched and wet for us, so slick...” The soft growl is back in his voice and she might climax again, just from that. As maple-sugar-sweet and poetic he can be, as worshipful as he may choose to be, this is a part of him too. Hungry and demanding.

“True, we cannot prepare her easily in this setting.” Emet says. “Very well, you’ve convinced me.”

There is a soft snap.

Nerys lies in a bed–her bed, in her room at the Pendants. She is warm and dry, not a drop of water on her. Warmer still from Emet, stretched out and pressed along her side, tracing patterns into her abdomen. (Also, the bed is made. The coverlet is far too expensive to come from the inn. She touches the red material in wonder.)

“Hilarious,” Thancred says from the center of the room. Naked and sopping wet, with all their belongings beside him in a careful pile. Emet would not harm their weapons, even if he might be unkind to Thancred’s person. “You might have dried me off too.”

“Hm…” Emet pushes himself on one elbow, the other hand tapping a finger to his lips. “If you fetch the oil from her bathroom cabinet, I shall dry you off.”

For a long moment, Thancred stares him down. Eyes narrowed. But there is no real ire and with a sigh, he makes for the bathroom. The aether lights flicker on as soon as he steps inside.

“How did you know...Emet-Selch! I said you’re not allowed to be here when I’m gone.”

She starts to sit up. Quick as any hunting animal, he braces his arm on the other side of her and swings a leg across. He leans over her, caging her in on all sides without touching her. Yet. “Yes, but I never agreed to those terms. Underhanded but...my hero did request surprises.”

Nerys puts a hand flat against his shoulder with the intent to push. His skin is warm beneath her palm, the silken feel of him unexpected. It would be so easy to shove him off, storm away from the bed. Except this is the first time truly looking at him since they began and...he has her trapped. Immolating in the pale gold fire of his eyes, mesmerized in the quirk of his brow and tilt of his full lips. The longer she stares, the more neutral his expression becomes and he returns the scrutiny.

There is no buffer. No Thancred to protect her or distract her. And she is afraid-

But not of him, she realises with a start. It’s the intensity I feel when he touches me. I’m scared of how much I want him to touch me again. I’m scared at how right this seems.

She pushes herself up with one hand, the other cups the back of his neck. Pulls him down to her. Emet stills only a moment before his eyes flutter shut and he submits to her, mouth moving soft and slow over hers. His hands curl about her waist, thumbs stroking over her skin. He savors her with the slow drag of his tongue coaxing her more open, more vulnerable to his ministrations.

When they part his eyes are half-lidded, expression utterly relaxed. He’s beautiful. He’s always beautiful. But this pierces her in a new way, so lovely he could rend her heart in two with one look. And he just might.

The hands on her hips pull her forward as he leans back. She ends up in his lap, straddling his waist in one fluid motion. Nerys reaches between them to stroke him. He has been patient this whole time, the least she can do is-

Emet catches her hand and lays the attached arm upon his shoulder, then the other. She opens her mouth to protest and he interrupts her with another kiss. Just as slow and aching, one arm hooked behind her back while the other traces fingertips along her jaw. His hand is gentle as it runs over her throat, down between her breasts, stroking circles into her waist and hip.

Nerys realises it is the longest he has gone in her presence without talking. And she feels the laugh bubbling up her throat, mouth trembling with the strength of holding it back.

“Laughing at me, hero?” He murmurs against her mouth. Nips her lower lip in reprimand.

“N-no I just...felt giddy all of a sudden.” Damn her, ruining the mood like that. Just as his hand was traveling down.

“Liar.” His scolding teeth sink into the side of her neck. She gasps against him, laughter dissolving into a breathy sound. “Better. Let’s see what other preferable sounds we can draw from you.”

“You’re getting close,” she says. Now her smile is irrepressible. “A little lower and to my left…”

“Dear, dear, dear,” he sighs. “And you were so obedient before. Do I bring out the minx in you so much?”

“I thought that was part of why you always came back to talk.”

Instead of a verbal riposte, his hand moves down and to her left. Circling her center, finding the clit and pressing down upon it. As if he has brought her to pleasure a thousand times and knows just where to touch.

Nerys buries her face in his shoulder, shuddering until his strokes are too much and she has to moan against him.

“What delicious noises you make, my dear.” He says, continuing to circle. Continuing to scrape his teeth over her skin. “Thancred was a fool to ever let you go.”

“I was.”

Nerys opens her eyes. (When did she close them?) Thancred stands a few paces from the bed, glass bottle in hand. Both of Emet’s hands splay against her back, pressing her close against him. She feels his fingers snap against her, drying Thancred in an instant.

“At least you admit it,” says Emet.

Nerys has to push a moment before he lets her lean back, getting a better view of Thancred. Shakes her head. “It wasn’t as simple as all that, or one person’s fault.”

As mad as she still is at the Exarch...she might have spoken to Thancred a dozen times before this week. Taken the aetheryte to Mor Dhona to see him, pull him aside when he joined their party in Gyr Abania. Or called him over linkpearl, as she did the night they almost lost Y’shtola.

He pushed her away after they found him in Dravania, even more after Minfilia. But she squandered opportunities, each a bright and alarming memory in hindsight.

Before Thancred can respond, Emet puts a hand to her cheek and makes her look at him. His free hand raises, wagging a finger in her face before tapping her nose. “Ah ah ah, don’t let him off so easy. Not when he is doing his best to make it up to you now…”

Nerys sees the moment a thought takes hold, curling the ends of his mouth upward, drawing his brows down. He flicks a glance over his shoulder. “Oh, is that it? Why you asked me to join?”

Thancred cloaks the soft, warm expression at Nerys with a scowl at Emet. “Don’t pretend to understand my motives.”

Emet clicks his tongue in mock scandalization. “Presumptuous of you, thinking you’re allowed to gift wrap and present me as an apology present.”

Oh.

Nerys extricates herself from his lap, climbing off the bed in a hurry. Walking to Thancred. Searching his closed-off expression for a hint. “Is...is that true?”

Thancred reaches out and takes her hand. Lifts it to his mouth. For all the things these two men have done tonight, for all the things they might still do; these soft touches disarm her the most. And then he removes the facade for her, showing the hope and wariness and the mocking little smile. One she knows is always meant for himself, not anyone else.

He sighs “He’s not wrong, but he’s also not right.” Thancred peers behind her at the bed. “But if Emet-Selch feels used, he is free to leave at any time.”

That last part doesn’t sound angry or annoyed as much as...challenging. She watches him smirk and quirk a brow. Daring the other man.

“Naughty boy,” Emet murmurs. “No, I won’t leave. This has proven to be an interesting night indeed and I am not satisfied yet.”

Nerys touches Thancred’s cheek, drawing his gaze back up to her. Looks him dead in the eye. “You don’t have to do this. Your feelings matter to me and-”

“I could have let him leave, and given you a memorable night without him. I decided I wanted to give you this instead.” The old roguish smirk grows on his lips. “And besides, he has a nice prick.”

She exhales slow, deep, making herself relax. Banishing the anxious tension in her neck and shoulders. “Okay. I believe you.”

“You always can.” Thancred draws her face down and she follows, sinking into his embrace. He still holds the bottle and it’s cool against her back as she presses against the delicious heat of his body and the hard planes of his chest. As he moves, so does she until the backs of her legs hit the mattress. Down, down, she goes until she is sprawled with her head and shoulders in Emet’s lap, Thancred holding himself above her.

“That last part,” Emet says, taking the glass bottle. “You couldn’t see my ‘nice prick’ in the water.”

“But I can see it now.” Thancred shifts his balance to one hand, the other sinking between Emet’s thighs. Sliding a hand over the long-neglected length and this time, Emet doesn’t forestall his own pleasure but lifts his hips. His full lips part and he sighs with relief.

Nerys tilts her head to look up at Thancred, who gives her an expectant look. This old game then. They haven’t played this one since the Spring Festival in Mor Dhona. She meets the challenge with a grin of her own and adjusts her position to better participate.

His fingers return to the root of Emet’s cock and slide upward. She chases them with her tongue along the velvet underside. The scents she associates with him–petrichor and ice and stone–are less here. He could be anyone she might bed.

Emet gasps and slides his hand into her hair. Guiding her as much as Thancred. The steady, near-painful pleasure is unlike many men she has taken to bed for a single night. Who often keep distance and treat her like glass. He is unlike anyone else.

The fingers twist over the swollen head and slip away for her to do the same, mimicking the motion with her swirling tongue. Emet increases pressure on her until he slides between her lips. Nerys bobs up and down without further incentive. That his grip remains insistent only makes this sweeter.

He is nearly as thick as Haurchefant, sure to make her jaw ache.

Another hand–Thancred’s–grips the back of her neck and nudges her down, down, her eyes watering as Emet fucks into her throat. Her nose meets the prickling thatch of auburn curls. Emet lets loose a more desperate sound, the groan raw as he pulls her off of him, fingers still digging into her scalp.

“Good girl,” murmurs Thancred.

“And good boy.” The hands in her hair twists, angling her to watch Emet take hold of Thancred and kiss him with teeth and tongue and heat. Arousal pulses through her at the sight. They’re beautiful. They’re beautiful and tonight they are both hers.

Nerys rises up, sliding into their tangle and they open for her, mouths and hands worshipping at her skin. She wants to be at the center of this. She wants to be selfish and feel them attend to every inch of her before they fuck her. She wants them to burn her until she is naught but ash and pleasure.

“I need you,” she says to them both. “Please don’t stop touching me.”

“Oh, my dear.” Emet catches her chin, sliding his thumb between her lips. “As if I-we could. You are a feast laid out for us and we are but beggars.”

She sucks on it, watching desire flare in his eyes. Emet sighs as if resigned, sliding his hand down so that he can kiss her again. The gentleness of it has her arms and neck prickling with awareness, her breath catching. Everything about him screams danger and yet–yet he coaxes her with lips and tongue, courting her instead of simply taking.

As if sensing her thoughts and needing to disprove her assumption, he turns her about in his arms. Bites down on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Nerys gasps and Thancred is there to catch her, soothing her even as his own teeth drag over her pulse. Behind her is rustling and the soft pop of a bottle uncorked. She can hear Emet moving his hands together, warming his palms.

Thancred has not forgotten her request. As his mouth travels over her, his hands move in long strokes over arms and waist, hips and legs, neck and cheek. A dizzying perusal of caresses, maintaining the contact she needs.

She startles when Emet squeezes her rear, shivers when one oil slicked hand slides towards the tight ring of muscle. When the first finger begins to circle, Thancred kisses her shoulder. As it slides in to the knuckle, he strokes her sides.

“That’s it,” Thancred murmurs. “You’re doing so good. Look how wet you already are, ready for me to slide deep into you. And I will, as soon as he’s done preparing you.”

“My,” Emet says, kissing behind her ear. “He is a chatty one.”

“He is one to talk.”

“He must feel lost without some narration. Or is the talk for your benefit? Do you need me to tell you how good you’re swallowing me, how tight, how perfectly made for my fingers and my prick you are…”

Nerys means to laugh but a moan comes out instead. Digs her fingers into Thancred’s ivory locks and urges his lips downward. “I-I don’t need it but I like it.” She could have them talk to her like this for hours.

“Impatient,” Thancred mutters at her insistent pushing. He puts up a resistance, sliding his tongue over her stomach all the same.

“I don’t see you stopping me.” Nerys smiles down at him. “Unless you plan on making me pay?”

Teeth sink into her other shoulder as Emet adds a second finger. She wriggles against the sensation, tugging at Thancred’s hair in response. Quick, as if this is a battle–and maybe it is–Thancred grabs her wrists and pins them down on either side of her. Nerys grips at the unfamiliar coverlet, meeting his smirk with a scowl.

She tries to lift herself up, presenting herself for his mouth. He ignores the offering, attending to her breasts instead. Dipping down and then back up as soon as she thinks he might taste her. His grip is iron when she pushes against it, squeezing in warning when she does it again.

“Two strikes…” He says.

Now she has to know. Nerys tries a third time and finds herself dragged to lie on her back, his shoulders shoving under her thighs until they press against her stomach. Emet's slick hands leave her and she moans at the loss.

"You'll have him back in a moment." Thancred says. He glances up, has a wordless conversation with Emet behind her. Takes hold of her arms and lifts them, passing them over. Her wrists are shoved down, captured in the harsh grip of one hand pinning above her head.

It should be worrying that they are cooperating this well to make her writhe. Instead, she feels giddy and like she might dissolve from the force of anticipation..

She tests the restraint and finds no give, not even with her two hands to his one. Emet looks down at her, pitiless and expression bright with desire. And then her eyes shut because Thancred devours her. No mercy, no restraint, his hands gripping her thighs so tight they might bruise. He pushes her higher and higher until he thighs shake and she can see the edge-

And then he pulls back completely.

"Please," she gasps. "That's not fair. I need you-"

Emet’s face is upside-down above her, but he finds a way to slot his mouth against hers. She pours her frustration into the kiss, demanding release with a bite to his lip. He only chuckles against her mouth, his slow reprimand becoming something fierce. Engulfing.

When he parts from her, his lips but an ilm from hers, his eyes are unfocused and his breath ragged. She tastes his blood on her tongue. Licks her lips.

"Not yet," says Emet. "Not after we went through all the trouble of preparing you."

His hand is unyielding against her. Nerys tries to move her hips and legs instead and Thancred presses further, going the small distance needed to bend her in half. "I could come again after-"

“Listen.” Emet nips her shoulder. "We’ve staked a claim upon your pleasure. You’re going to have it...when we’re ready. Yes?”

Fuck. His words, his lowered voice...She would rub her thighs together if she could, if Thancred wasn't between them. Instead, she feels herself growing wetter, hotter. Thancred’s fingers slide over her but for all the lewd noises he draws out, he does not touch anywhere that might bring her release.

"Answer him, sweetheart,” says Thancred. "For once he is making sense."

“Yes,” she murmurs.

“What was that?”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll do what you want me to.”

"Good girl," Emet says, the two of them moving her to sit up between them again. "That deserves a reward."

"Please tell me the reward is your cocks," she says, leaning back against him. "Otherwise, I don't think I'll make it."

"Impatient." Emet mutters but he drips more oil into her cleft, the three fingers returning to open her, stretch her. She braces herself against Thancred, half slumped over and cheek pressed against his heart. If she tries to touch herself, he will stop her but she considers it. Dares one hand down against her stomach. He grabs at it, kissing her as he does.

Nerys groans, rocking back against the fingers stretching her. Grasping for the peak Thancred almost brought her to.

"She's ready," says Emet at last, his voice rough. His hands dig into her cheeks, squeezing as he parts them. "Needy creature. Who knew you had it in you to desire so much?"

"I knew." Thancred kisses her shoulder. "He'll learn, sweetheart."

"That you think you can teach me anything…" Emet mutters. "Mortals. And their arrogance."

"Please," Nerys begs, her voice taut with need. She clutches at Thancred as an anchor against the sweet torture they’re putting her through. "You can lecture us all you want but first give me your-"

At that, his head presses against her. Rocks a moment before sliding into her oil-slicked passage, his hands stroking circles to soothe her as he enters slow and steady. When her breath hitches and the ache is almost too much, he stops and kisses her nape and spine until she relaxes again.

She’s trembling in his arms, overwhelmed at the fullness, the sensation of him deep in her, wrapped around her. His aether seems to sink into her, embracing her as if he has re-manifested all those phantom hands again. But it is just him, just a barrier taken down between them.

When she beds someone with strong aether...those times were just a shade of this. This is beyond anything she has ever experienced.

Emet skims his hands over her muscular thighs, hosting her close until his chin rests on her shoulder. She opens her eyes as he eases them back, watching the view trade Thancred for the ceiling and instinctively reaches out for balance. And then Emet kisses her neck and soothes her skin and she relaxes again.

"Well?" He says, holding her legs open. "She wants you too, Thancred.”

Thancred crouches between her thighs, running a hand over his cock. It has returned to its full aroused length, a tantalizing bead of moisture at the head. His refractory period is always impressive, and they have taken their time since the hot springs. Teasing her until she feels ready to burst.

"I wonder if you'll even physically be able to take it all." Emet says in her ear. "Stuffed as you already are."

He rocks his hips just so and she whimpers at the feel of him. It is true–she is already full to bursting. It is also true–she wants to take as much of them as she can. All of them if she is able.

“If it’s too much…” Thancred leans over her. Presses his cock against her folds as he lines himself up. “Look at me.”

She looks at him, into the warm depths of his eyes. Into the need and heat. Nerys lifts her hips in invitation and Emet is there to slide them back down, groaning softly.

“You know how to stop things, sweetheart. If it gets too much.”

“If it gets too much,” she repeats, licking her lips. “Thancred please fu-”

He slides into her without resistance, slick and ready as she is. It is almost too much and he isn't even half-way seated inside of her. She bites her lip so she doesn't say the word because she wants more, she wants to be utterly lost-

Emet bites the back of her neck and she cries out, but her body relaxes. Thancred slides deeper inside her, bracing his forearms on either side of them. Tension furrows between his brows.

“Alright?” He asks, more breath than sound.

“Yes,” she whimpers. “Please-please-”

"How sweetly you beg." Emet curls one hand around her breast, the other sliding down her stomach. Dragging to where Thancred is buried inside her and her swollen nub waits succor. He traces outside it, slow and taunting. "It almost makes me want to see how long we can keep you just shy of climaxing."

Thancred smirks. Some of the tension eases in his face. "Keep talking like that, it's making her clench around me."

"Bastards," she moans, reaching for Thancred. Resting arms on his shoulders as he begins to move, his slow, vexing strokes in rhythm with the lift of Emet's hips.

"Oh, do be nice," Emet continues as his fingers brush against her core. "I have only ever admired you. And here you are, exceeding all my expectations. You, who shine brighter than most mortals, you're almost radiant now-"

Nerys cannot think enough to string a response together. Sex is often a release for her, a way to center herself. This feels like...being remade. Like the tandem motion of their bodies strips everything away until there is only the pleasure and the ache. Even the growing cramp in her calves cannot compare with the ecstasy coursing through her.

They are both talking, dropping praise upon her but now she cannot hold onto their meaning. Only the feeling of them sliding in and out of her, the ache and stretch of her body, the slap of their skin on hers. Especially as the pace picks up, both men pushing each other to a greater tempo, snapping hips to drive her back and forth between raging fire and raging fire.

The fingers at her clit press down. The edge is in sight and she sobs aloud for them to keep going. To keep moving. Not to stop again, not when she is so close.

Thancred kisses her. Lips press against her nape and she can feel Emet's smile, his breath as he mouths words into her skin that she cannot hear and cannot parse. They move faster inside her, the finger circling, teeth on her flesh-

Nerys screams as her pleasure rips through her, clutching at whatever she can as her mind enters the strange place of release–a mind so focused on one thing as to feel almost blank, a mind so overcome with feeling that there is nothing but relief and pleasure and not a single thought. She gasps and arches and sobs as they work her through it, the frenzied rhythm milking every onze of pleasure from her

Emet gasps and she feels the final, desperate thrusts of his release. And Thancred, Thancred keeps going, keeps moving in her and moving her against Emet until they are both sensitive and depleted and keening and then, and then Thancred lets himself go.

Nerys is nothing but ash and pleasure, smoldering between them.

Emet moves first, lips pressing to her back as his hand traces patterns into her skin. Idle, swirling loops and flourishes that guide her back to the land of the living. She follows their trail without hesitation, her hand sliding over his as she follows.

She opens her eyes just as fingers slides over her cheek. Thancred leans over her, forehead pressed to hers. Studying her as if he has never seen her before. Maybe he hasn't. Maybe she is someone else on the other side of what they shared.

Maybe they all are.

He slides out of her and she whimpers at the loss, both of him and the heady sense of being filled completely. But he returns to her, resting his cheek against her the swell of her chest while the rest of him lies flush against her.

Nerys strokes his hair and finds the energy to speak. “Okay?”

"Okay," says Thancred. Smiles a little. "I don't ever want to move again."

A soft snort behind her. "Your time is short as is."

"Hush," she says. "You're not going anywhere either."

"Oh?" Emet kisses her shoulder. "Bold of you to-"

Despite what he just said, Thancred moves. Slides up and nudges Nerys just so until he is able to press his lips against Emet's. The Ascian hums in response, submitting to the delightful reprimand.

At last Thancred pulls away with a sigh. "Much better."

Emet chuckles. "So, you two plan on keeping me here tonight. Well, I put myself at your mercy...provided you let me lead the figure at some point."

"If you're good," Nerys teases, and then gasps as Emet rolls his hips against her.

“My dear,” says Emet. His hands slide up her stomach, cupping her breasts. She can tell from Thancred’s expression, they’re sharing a conspiratorial look. Anticipation and wonder sing through her. “Let me prove just how good a playmate I can be."

#nerys eluned #emet-selch #thancred waters #thancred x wol x emet-selch #thancred x wol #emet-selch x wol #thancred x emet-selch #ffxiv #duskwight warrior of light #dragoon warrior of light #elezen #water cw #ally writes

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

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Fic: The Captain

AU-gust Day Ten: Pirates AU Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Rumbelle

Rated: T

Summary: When her ship is attacked by pirates, Lady Isabelle French strikes a deal with the fearsome Captain Gold. As time passes, however, she finds that he’s not as fearsome as his reputation makes out.

Note: This fic is much longer than the other AU-gust fics as it was begun several years ago and was originally intended as a multi-chapter. It’s been slimmed down considerably, but it still ended up getting away from me.

The Captain

When Lady Isabelle French had first set out on the Avonlea’s maiden voyage from Southampton to the West Indies, she had not reckoned on encountering anything more deadly than mind-numbing boredom. She knew that the seas around Port Royal, the Avonlea’s destination, were notoriously rife with piracy, but since Belle had made it through the entirety of her life thus far without anything remotely interesting happening to her, she had resigned herself to a voyage completely bereft of excitement.

Now, looking around the small and incredibly untidy cabin that she was trapped in, she knew that dreaming of adventure had been incredibly foolish, and she was not going to do it again.

The crew of the Avonlea had been jumpy from the moment that they had entered the straits that would lead them to Port Royal, but Belle had paid them no real heed - sailors were always superstitious, and if there were pirates around, then it made sense for them to be on their guard. She had heard the nervous whispers around the deck hands that the infamous ship the Spindle had been sighted in these parts, and the ruthless Captain Gold was on the hunt again.

She had only started paying the melodramatic stories of Gold’s notoriety any mind when a shadow had fallen across the porthole of her cabin at the same time as a cacophony had broken out on deck above her. Looking up out of the window, she found herself face to face with brass letters on a pitch-black hull: Spindle.

The next few minutes were all a blur. She’d heard the Avonlea’s captain give the order to repel boarders, and then she’d hidden under the bedclothes with her fingers in her ears as the sounds and screams of a fight broke out on deck.

She’d still been in that position when two of the pirates had burst into her cabin looking for more loot. Belle had done the only thing that she could think of short of throwing a teapot at them, and she had invoked parley. Whether it had saved her life or not, she didn’t yet know, but at least she was safe for the moment.

That was how she had found herself on board the Spindle, standing in Captain Gold’s cabin and waiting for the man himself to arrive, wondering what would become of her once she met him face to face. Still, although she was overwhelmed by fear, Belle was not going to let it break her. Do the brave thing, and bravery would follow. She wasn’t sure how brave her brave thing was, but it had to be worth a shot.

There were voices outside the door, and Belle heard the huge, silent man who had been assigned as her guard being dismissed.

“Thank you, Dove, you may go now. Mr Nolan is dividing the spoils in his office, make sure you claim your share.”

The door opened, and Belle saw the famous Captain Gold in the flesh.

She had heard many stories about him, all of them with overblown and yet extremely poetic descriptions of his horrific appearance, akin to the devil himself. She wasn’t prepared for a small, slim man with a weather worn but still quite handsome face, and greying hair curling at his collar. He looked altogether too civilised and sensible to be a pirate.

The man who accompanied him must have been his first mate, Milliner. Legend had it that Gold had shot Milliner down from the noose and he still bore the scars from the rope around his neck, but he was currently wearing a slightly worse-for-wear cravat and Belle could not see the veracity of the rumours.

“So, this is our unexpected guest.” Gold sat down behind the desk - half-buried in maps and other papers - and indicated for Belle to take a seat on the bed. “Do sit down, I won’t bite.”

Belle did as bid, trying to make herself comfortable on a surface that was also covered in papers and bric-a-brac. Reaching underneath her to move something particularly painful from jabbing into her thigh, she pulled out a pistol and looked over at Gold, raising an eyebrow.

He sighed. “Mr Milliner, if you please.”

Milliner took the pistol from her. It turned out not to be loaded, which was probably why Gold had not been too concerned about her potentially pointing it at him, but Belle wouldn’t have had the first clue how to fire it even if it had been live.

“So, let’s start with the basics. What’s your name, dearie?”

“Belle. Lady Isabelle French.”

“French, eh? Not related to Lord Maurice French, Collector of Port Royal and thorn in the side of all pirates, by any chance?”

“He is my father.” Belle took a deep breath. “I know that if you were to hold me for ransom at Port Royal, he would pay a hefty sum for my safety.”

Gold scoffed. “Would he really, now? Tax men do not part from their money very easily, I am told.”

Belle bristled at the insinuation that her father would not want to rescue her, but in the back of her mind, she had to concede that he did not have that large a personal fortune and most of the funds he had access to were indeed taxes and not his to use as ransom money.

“If he won’t, then my fiancé will,” she said eventually. “I am engaged to be married to Captain Gaston Chevalier of the East India Trading Company.”

Gold smiled., and Belle caught a glimpse of the yellow metal in his mouth.

“I like you, Lady Isabelle,” he said. “You come with a clear head and a mind to negotiate a deal. I’ve known lifelong seafarers with less pluck and courage than you. Very well. We’ll do it your way. Ransom at Port Royal. We should arrive in three days’ time.” He paused, and his expression hardened a little, although his dark brown eyes retained a hint of amusement.

“I don’t allow sightseers on my ship, Lady Isabelle, and I can think of better things for you to do than wallow in the brig until we reach our destination. Besides, the ship’s surgeon is already in there for drunkenness. You will have to work your way to Port Royal. Mr Milliner, please find someone to break her in and show her the ropes. Red and Swan would be best if you can find them.”

“Aye, Captain.” Milliner left the cabin and Gold stood a moment later.

“You have nothing to fear, my dear. Whilst you are on the ship, you are under my protection. Welcome to the Spindle.”

He too left the room, and Belle was not quite mollified by his words. How exactly did he expect her to earn her keep, and what would this ‘breaking in’ by the mysterious Red and Swan entail?

She took a deep breath and pushed down her fear. Pirates had a code of honour after all, and whilst she didn’t know what it might be, she had to trust that Gold and his crew would stick to it. They had respected her parley, so she hoped she was in good stead.

Belle’s fears were put somewhat to rest when she heard a pair of distinctly female voices outside the door.

“…I think that red beard’s got lice, we’re going to have to stop using it.”

“Don’t you dare mention lice aboard this ship!”

Belle raised an eyebrow but quickly composed herself when the door opened again, and a couple of ladies entered the cabin.

“So, you must be the temporary new recruit.” The taller of the two women, dirty red ribbons woven into her dark hair, looked Belle up and down and gave a nod of appraisal. “Well, you certainly impressed the captain, so we’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“You can’t live on a working pirate ship looking like that, though.” The other woman, blonde, handed Belle a pile of rough cloth that turned out to be a shirt, jacket and trousers much like they were wearing themselves. She held out a hand. “Emma Swan, and this is Ruby, although everyone calls her Red, for hopefully obvious reasons. The captain’s sent us to break you in to life on the ship gently, show you the ropes.”

“Literally, in fact,” Red mused. “You won’t be with us for all that long, so we’ll probably just pop you in the galley with Leroy. He’ll be glad of some company down there, and as long as you can peel a potato and don’t touch any of his pots, you’ll get on fine.”

To say that Belle was a little overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the last few minutes would be an understatement, but she took in all in her stride, changing out of her dress and into the much more practical clothing provided. Red and Emma took her on a whistle-stop tour of the ship, showing her all the ropes to mind out for to avoid her being accidentally hoisted into the air by her ankles, and she was introduced to so many people that she instantly forgot all their names, apart from Dove, the silent giant who had guarded her, and Leroy, the ship’s cook. Although nicknamed Grumpy by the rest of the crew, he had warmed to her quickly and Belle was soon at work peeling potatoes, just as Red had predicted.

The next couple of days passed in a dream-like blur; Belle had to keep pinching herself to make sure that she wasn’t in fact dreaming. When she wasn’t helping Leroy in the galley, Red and Emma were giving her sword-fighting lessons on the deck or teaching her how to climb the rigging. For all she was only going to be staying with them until they reached Port Royal and could ransom her, they were certainly serious about initiating her into the life of a pirate. Belle was surprised to find how much she enjoyed it. It was a tiring time; she had been a lady of leisure just two days before and she wasn’t at all used to this much exertion, but she felt a sense of satisfaction when she collapsed into her hammock at the end of the day.

She didn’t see all that much of Captain Gold during her time on the ship, but then, she had not expected to. He was the captain after all, and in the grander scheme of things, she ranked lowest on the pecking order.

“May I join you?”

Belle was pulled from her reflections by the very object of them, and she turned to see Gold standing behind her on the forecastle. Red and Emma had the watch tonight, and Belle had come out onto deck with them, unable to sleep knowing that by this time next day, they would have reached Port Royal and she would be back in the safety of her own bed on solid ground, reunited with her father and having met her fiancé for the first time. She sighed at that thought. The engagement had been arranged between Lord French and Captain Chevalier and she hadn’t had all that much say in it, but she knew that it was the best thing for both their families, and it would strengthen her father’s position in Port Royal.

“Be my guest.”

Gold came and sat beside her.

“Not long now,” he said. “I’m sure you’re eager to get back to your normal life.”

Belle nodded, but she didn’t say anything, and Gold picked up on her reticence.

“Perhaps not quite as eager as you think you should be?”

She sighed again. “I guess I hadn’t realised until now just how much of an escape this has been. I’m not sure that it’s the route I would have chosen myself, but it’s only now that I’m thinking about what’s waiting for me at the other end, and I keep thinking that perhaps I wouldn’t mind staying here a bit longer.” She glanced across at Gold, catching the amused smile on his face, and gave an embarrassed cough. “I mean, obviously, you’ll want me out of your hair as soon as possible, having a noblewoman with no seafaring experience working on a ship, I’m more of a liability than anything.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Leroy’s been singing your praises, you know, and your willingness to get stuck into our way of life hasn’t gone unnoticed. Besides, you’ve met Red and Swan; we don’t subscribe to the ridiculous notion that having a woman on board is bad luck.” He turned his head on one side, questioning. “Surely you want to be reunited with your father and your intended, though?”

Belle shrugged. “I haven’t seen my father for years; he’s been out here in the Caribbean and I’ve been in London. Our relationship is more like an acquaintance than anything else. As for Gaston, well, I can hardly miss a man I’ve never met.”

“You’re engaged to a man you’ve never met?” Gold’s voice sounded incredulous, and Belle could well see why the situation would feel absurd to an outsider. She gave another sigh, explaining the circumstances, and they both fell silent for a moment.

“I still think that you could at least have met the man before everything was set in stone,” Gold said eventually. “He might sound charming on paper, but that can hide all manner of sins.”

“Or virtues,” Belle countered, but she knew that she was not thinking of Gaston anymore. “You never know what’s in a person’s heart until you truly know them.” Here was Gold after all, one of the most feared pirates on the high seas, and so far, he had been a perfect gentleman to her, and from what she could see, to the rest of his crew as well. Certainly, everyone that she had talked to had only good words about him, and when they were all eating together in the evening, Gold was happy to join in with the ribald songs and anecdotes as much as the next man.

“Well, there’s not long to go now.” Gold leaned back against the forecastle railing, staring at the star-studded sky above them. “Do you know anything about the stars, Lady Isabelle?”

“Just call me Belle, please.” She chanced to lean back next to him, following the patterns in the sky. “I’ve read a lot about them, but I daresay I couldn’t navigate by them as well as you can. I know that’s the North Star.”

Belle wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, looking up at the stars and naming them until the sky began to lighten again, and Belle found her eyelids starting to drop. Beside her, she just about made out Gold’s chuckle.

“I think I’m going to miss you after tomorrow, Belle.”

Docking at Port Royal was a flurry of bustle and activity; everyone on the ship except Belle had a role to play and she just stayed out of the way as much as she could, taking refuge in Gold’s cabin. It had been agreed that she would remain aboard the ship until Gold had given the ransom notice to her father, at which point the captain would come back for her and everything would be solved. It was with a heavy heart that she said goodbye to her new friends, and Leroy gave her an uncharacteristic bear hug and told her that she would be welcome in his galley any time if she decided that she wanted to run away and join them again.

She had been pacing up and down the cabin for over two hours before Gold and Milliner came back. The mood that they had left in had turned around completely, and whereas before they had been serious but optimistic, now it was clear that Gold was incandescently furious.

For a moment, Belle was scared. This was definitely the fearsome Captain Gold about whom so many tales had been told, but as she stayed frozen to the spot and Gold resumed the pacing that she had just given up, she quickly realised that she was not at all the object of his ire.

She looked up at Milliner, who was watching the captain with a grim expression.

“What happened?” she asked.

“Let’s just say that it didn’t go well,” Milliner said. “Your father, well…”

Belle’s heart sank. “There’s no need to be tactful, Mr Milliner. You can just say that he refused to pay.”

Milliner nodded. “It’s not so much that he refused, but he’s stalling for time.”

Belle sighed. “I might have known. I’m sorry; I really thought that this would be a good deal.”

Gold stopped his pacing, leaning heavily on his desk. “It’s not your fault,” he said gruffly. “Any daughter would hope that her father would value her more than his money.” He sighed. “We’re unlikely to get an answer out of him tonight, so you might as well go ashore and stretch your legs. You’ll have to stay with a chaperone; I like to think that you’ll uphold your end of the deal, but one can never be too careful in my position.”

Belle nodded. “I understand. Thank you.”

Dove took her ashore in a rowing boat whilst Milliner and Gold stayed aboard to thrash out their next course of action, and the large man handed her over to Leroy’s supervision. Apparently he had been waiting for just such an occurrence.

“Sometimes pessimism pays off,” he said. “Have you been to Port Royal before? Even if you have, I don’t think a fine lady like you will have spent all that much time around the docks. Come on, I’ll take you to our local. Everyone else will be there.”

The local turned out to be a seedy tavern-come-brothel in a dingy side street; but Leroy was correct in surmising that everyone else was there. Belle recognised several members of the Spindle crew in various states of inebriation, including Red and Emma, who waved Leroy and Belle over to join them. Although Belle was definitely out of her depth in the rowdy atmosphere, she trusted the others to keep an eye out for her, and the next few hours were spent in a warm, alcoholic haze, Leroy, Red and Emma all reminiscing about times in Port Royal gone by as they watched Doc Whale, the ship’s surgeon, attempting to get off with three prostitutes at once and miserably failing with all of them.

Suddenly, Red elbowed Emma in the ribs and the two of them made hasty excuses and left the table, going over to the door. Belle watched them go, patting Leroy awake where he had been dozing off.

“What’s going on?”

Belle nodded towards the door, where Red and Emma were in secretive conversation with Gold and Milliner. Occasionally one of them would glance towards her and Leroy, and whilst Belle trusted the pirates for the most part, there was something about their furtiveness that was making her distinctly uneasy.

After a few moments, they left the tavern, and Belle and Leroy looked at each other.

“Is that normal?”

Leroy shrugged. “I’ve got to be honest with you, sister, I’m usually a lot drunker than this on the first evening in Port Royal. I don’t tend to notice what everyone else is up to.” He paused and gave her an amused look. “You want to follow them, don’t you?”

“Well…”

“Hey, I’m game. A bit of mystery beats wasting all my loot in beer. Let’s go before they get too far.”

Thankfully, Red’s ribbons made her fairly easy to spot amongst the bustle in the docks, and Belle and Leroy were able to shadow them through the narrow streets closely enough that they didn’t lose them when the four put hoods up or pulled the brims of hats down. Things were certainly taking a turn for the interesting, and Belle and Leroy continued to follow them until they reached a small boarding house in an out of the way part of town. Red knocked on the door, which was opened by an old woman, peering around the frame cautiously until she saw the identity of her visitors, whereupon she smiled warmly and let them all in.

Belle looked at Leroy again, who shrugged, and together, they moved a little closer so that they could see in through the house’s front window.

It was not well lit inside, but Belle could make out three children in the room, two boys and a girl. She got the shock of her life when the adults entered and the kids scrambled up and ran over to them, the girl to Milliner and the boys to Emma and Gold, respectively. That she was witnessing a parent and child reunion was blindingly obvious.

She didn’t know why the idea of the pirate crew having families off the ship had not occurred to her. Maybe it was because they all acted like a family on board the ship that they seemed contented and self-contained.

“Woah.” Beside her, it was clear that this revelation had come as a shock to Leroy as much as it had to Belle. “Now that’s something I didn’t know. I knew Jeff had a daughter, but I thought she was in Boston. Em and Gold, though…”

Belle moved away from the window, pulling Leroy with her, not wanting to intrude on the private family moment any longer, but as she glanced back over her shoulder, she knew that it was too late; they had been spotted. Gold was looking out at them, his expression unreadable.

Belle didn’t know what to expect when Gold summoned her into his cabin the next morning. He was sitting behind his desk as she entered, and he indicated for her to take a seat on the bed just as he had done on their first meeting. The room was marginally tidier than the previous times she had been in there, and at least this time she did not find herself sitting on a gun.

She didn’t say anything; she knew why she was there, and she couldn’t anticipate Gold’s reaction.

At length, he looked up at her, pressing his fingertips together.

“Lady Isabelle, I would appreciate it if what you and Mr Short witnessed last night does not become common knowledge among the rest of the crew.” His voice was level, but there was steel behind it.

“Of course not. I’m sorry to have stuck my nose in.”

Gold gave a wan smile. “I can appreciate that we weren’t behaving in the most salubrious manner, but you have to understand that we live in a cut-throat world on the seas here. We are by no means the only pirates operating in these waters and whilst we are lucky enough to enjoy a position at the top of the order, that won’t be the case forever. We have many rivals who are looking for any weakness to exploit.”

Belled nodded. “I understand. It’s safe with me, you have my word.”

“Thank you.” Gold paused. “My son means the world to me, Lady Isabelle, and there is nothing that I wouldn’t do to keep him safe. The same goes for Miss Swan and Mr Milliner and their children, and for Miss Lucas and her grandmother who kindly keeps watch over our babes when we’re at sea.”

“And that’s just as it should be.” Belle paused, thinking of her own father and his hedging about paying her ransom. “I take it that there’s been no word from Lord French?”

Gold shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“What about Captain Chevalier?”

“He’s not in Port Royal at present, but we’ve sent word to him.”

Belle sighed, staring down at her hands in her lap, and she felt the bed dip as Gold came over and sat beside her. One of his weather-beaten hands hovered over hers, and then chanced to take it. Belle welcomed it, squeezing slightly. It was typically that the man whose hostage she was – however much it might have been her idea to become that hostage – was more concerned for her than her own father was.

There was a knock at the door, and Gold let his hand slip out of Belle’s before he called for whoever was outside to enter.

Milliner opened the door and popped his head around it.

“The Huntress has been spotted coming up on Port Royal,” he said. “She’s riding low and Dove’s contacts on the docks say that she’s carrying gold as well as sugar this time. If we cast off before noon we can intercept her; if not Hook and the Jolly Roger will get her.”

Gold looked over at Belle. “Do you mind your stay with us being extended for another day or so?”

Belle shook her head cautiously. “I… I don’t mind, but I know the Huntress. That’s Gaston’s ship.”

“Oh.” Milliner shrugged. “Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone then. We get your ransom and you get to go home.”

Belle nodded. “I guess so.”

She got the feeling that it wasn’t going to be as easy as that.

There was a heavy sense of anticipation in the air as the Spindle drew up close to the Huntress in the waning light of the day. Belle was watching through the porthole of Gold’s cabin, having been instructed in no uncertain terms to stay there unless Gold or Milliner came to get her. Emma and Red were with her, strapping on pistols and cutlasses and preparing to board the ship. Belle was rather alarmed when they tied on false beards as well.

“We prefer the people we’re up against not to know we’re women,” Red explained. “We’re not at Anne Bonny’s level yet.”

Well, at least that explained the strange conversation that they’d been having about beards when Belle had first met them.

They left the cabin and Belle opened the porthole, leaning out as much as she could to get the best view of the proceedings.

Gold was standing on the deck, facing off against Gaston on the other ship. It was the first time that Belle had seen her fiancé in the flesh, and she had to say that her first impression of him was not exactly promising.

“I take it that you got our message,” Gold was saying.

Gaston nodded. “You have my future wife and will let her go for a large sum out of Huntress’s coffers.”

“Indeed. So, dearie, do you agree to our terms?”

Gaston scoffed. “I’m hardly likely to marry her now that she’s been sullied by the likes of filthy pirates like you. You can keep her, Captain Gold. Your crew look like they could do with a ship’s wench.”

There was a moment of complete stillness, the soft waves lapping against the ships hulls and the wood creaking in the wind the only sounds.

Gold’s voice was chilling when he finally spoke again.

“All right, you had your chance. Let’s go, Spindle.”

Belle ducked back inside the portal and threw herself under the desk as the sounds of carnage began above her, the blast of cannon from both sides echoing in her ears as the ship rocked around her. She curled up into a tight ball, pressing her hands over her ears and squeezing her eyes tight shut. She was in the middle of a nightmare, that was all, and any moment now she’d fall out of her hammock in the crew quarters down below and it would all be over. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t happening.

“Belle?”

She had been so caught up in trying to pretend that it was all over that Belle hadn’t realised that it was all over. She opened her eyes, looking up at Gold. He was a bit more dishevelled than when she had last seen him, but he seemed to be unharmed.

“It’s all right, it’s all over now.” He held out a hand to help her up from under the desk. Belle looked around the room to see that Emma, Red, Leroy and Milliner were all there too, all safe and sound, and she was so grateful to see them all in one piece that she flung her arms around Gold in gratitude. He froze in shock before gingerly putting his arms around her.

“It’s over. We’re all safe.”

“Well, some of the guys on the other ship didn’t come off so well,” Leroy said. “It was quite fun seeing Chevalier bobbing around in the ocean after Gold kicked him overboard. You should have seen him, Belle, it was a magnificent moment.”

Belle had to laugh, and she released her hold on Gold, who delivered her to the care of Emma and Red, shooing everyone out of the office so that he could get on with paperwork. If Belle didn’t know better, then she’d say that he’d gone distinctly pink in the cheeks since she hugged him.

Night had well and truly fallen by the time everything had been put to rights on Spindle after the battle with Huntress. Belle was standing at the bow, looking out over the calm sea, and she turned on hearing footsteps coming up behind her. It was Gold.

“We’ll drop you off once we return to Port Royal,” he said. “I’m sorry that your plan came to nothing. You’ve got guts, I’ll certainly give you that.”

Belle sighed, staring out over the rail towards the lights of Port Royal in the distance.

“What if I don’t want to be dropped off?”

“Pardon?”

“What if I want to stay?”

She turned to Gold. He was staring at her with an expression that was half disbelief and half desperate hope.

“You want to stay on Spindle?”

Belle nodded. “It’s not like I have much to look forward to in Port Royal, not now my father and Gaston have made it clear where their priorities lie. I might as well stay where I have friends and where I can feel useful.”

“You really want to stay here? With us? With me?”

“Yes.” Belle inched a little closer along the railing. “With you especially.”

Gold just stared at her dumbstruck for a long while, and Belle decided to take the plunge, leaning in to press her lips against his. Just has he had done when she had hugged him earlier, he froze at first, but then he surrendered into the kiss, his hands coming up to cup her face.

“You’ll be very welcome here,” he said once they eventually broke away. “I’m sure that the rest of the crew would be happy for you to stay.”

“And you?” Belle teased.

Gold just kissed her again, and Belle knew that she was looking forward to a happy, if somewhat unexpected, future with the captain.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Mr Gold #AU-gust #Worry does AU-gust #Pirates AU #Fic: The Captain

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