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nishigo · 3 years

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an anomaly. // bennett x reader.

a page from the book of memories.

[ p a g e 3 2 9 ｡ ]

authors note: hello! this is my first ever attempt at something for genshin impact. this is longer than i expected, and there may be errors here and there, so i am sorry about that in advance. i do hope you will enjoy it though. i got bennett yesterday after rolling and although many say he’s annoying...he’s very much like me in real life. coincidence? i think not. Σ('◉⌓◉’) i also rolled a girl named keqing. she seems nice, and is a five star, but i don’t know if she’s rare. i truly don’t know how this system works, apologies. T^T anyways, traveler, happy reading. (*'▽'*)

word count : 2191

tw : none that i can think of. very much fluff. and perhaps a touch of a flirty!reader. :)

request status at time of posting : open.

in which he had finally someone who could balance out his unluckiness.

would you like to read?

＞　行｡ ( y e s )

＞　不行。( n o )

———

Bennett was, to put it simply, confused.

He had just finished a mission with you, being your support the whole entire way through. There had been an offering that had been posted on the tavern’s walls in dark, smudged text that caught his eye at an earlier time. It read that whoever could get rid of the new pop-up hilichurl camp that blocked the path to Liyue would receive a grand sum of Mora. Course, running low on money, Bennett had decided to take up the offer. They would be easy enough to take down, just a simple slash of his sword and a few burns here and there could get the job done in no time. However, there was a problem.

No one would come with him.

Bennett knew that he was very...loud. And he was energetic. And annoying. And, though he hated to admit it...he was unlucky.

Everything seemed stacked up against him. Everyone he turned to in the tavern took a simple glance at him and rejected the offer with no further questions asked. He would try to convince them, but they would simply get more annoyed at his stubbornness and shoo him away with a flick of a hand or some splash of beer to the face. It’s not like he could take the older adventurers out either, they could barely walk on their own two feet. They were so old that they certainly would have shriveled up in the sun if he brought them along. So there that option went, leaving him with practically nothing else to turn to.

But then, if he had no one to go with him, what would happen? Would he continue to be stuck in that tavern? No, he wouldn’t allow himself to waste away like that. He was meant to be out there, in a world that could supply him with the thrill and rush that his heart yearned for. The boy desired to be just as great of an adventurer as the ones who came before him, or perhaps, dare he dream, even greater than them. Bennett desired to be a legend. But being a legend could not be done alone, even if that was what Bennett determined he would forever be, deep in the back of his brain.

Which is why you were such an anomaly.

You were the last person he spoke to that night. He was a complete mess. His shirt was damp with beer and some white wine, his white locks were a birds nest with the goggles sliding off slowly, and his eyes looked devoid of life as he took a deep inhale and they brightened up again. This was his last chance. You were the one who was either going to make or break this plan.

“Hello stranger! I am the great Bennett, and I was wondering if you would be able to help assist me with a mission that was posted on the tavern walls. It’s about the hilichurl camp by Liyue! Although I am rather strong, I need some help so it’s done more efficiently and faster. I’m even willing to split the Mora with you that we make out of it! What do you say?” Bennett recited his lines again, as if he was in an interview of sorts. His leafy green eyes watched as you scrunched up your eyebrows, as if thinking and examining him. Your face was blank other than that, lips in a straight line and hand cupping your cheek. Bennett found it to be quite terrifying. It was such an intimidating look, in fact, that he was about to ask you to forget about it before you spoke first.

“Sure.” You stated simply, a smile forming on your face as you crossed your arms.

“Ahhh, understood, I’ll get goi- WAIT!” The pyro boy turned to look right at you as he gasped. His face was one of shock morphed with a cute, ecstatic look. One could compare it to a puppy of sorts. You were not meant to say yes. You were meant to be like everyone else and reject him. He was dumbfounded as he grabbed a hold of your shoulders and tilted his head.

“You’re not joking?!”

“Course not! Why would I do such a thing?” You rebuked before he giddily jumped up and down while pulling you up to a sweet hug. It was a gentle and firm one, though, he pulled away quickly after realizing he still wreaked of alcohol. You told him you didn’t mind it though, making him rub the back of his head sheepishly and laugh. You two would converse for the night, agreeing to meet up at the gate the next morning so he could lead the way to the camp and also split the mora gained evenly. After the small chat, you would leave the tavern to stay at the local inn for the night and get some rest. Bennett’s eyes were trained on you as the door then closed, realization hitting him like a truck: he found someone. He found a real person to take on a mission. Better yet, they were as gorgeous as they were strong. This was better than any dream he could have made up. Bennett decided he had to turn in for the night soon after you left, taking a spot in his cozy bed under the sheets. His eyes closed as the curtains rustled at the soft wind that blew through the window. The pyro’s last thought before going to bed was that he truly hoped that you would fulfill your end of the deal and show up.

And you kept your promise. You were there as the morning sun rose to reflect your beautiful skin, hair flowing gently in the light breeze as he ran up to you and froze. You looked powerful now that you were out of the tavern and he could see you properly. You had on your adventure gear, dressed appropriately for a mission that required taking out many enemies. What caught his attention, though, was your white cape with golden accents that flowed from behind. Flicking your hood down and off your head, your face was now fully visible as you watched him stare. He was adorable, like a little baby who was just discovering the world for the first time.

“You’re really gonna do this with me?” Bennett asked in wonder. His face was blank as a smirk landed itself on your features. You positioned yourself to stand upright, away from the wall you were leaning on as you held your weapon of choice in your dominant hand. As for the other, you outstretched it towards him with a grin.

“Lead the way.”

Bennett didn’t even have to think twice about it as he eagerly took your hand into his own gloved one and began to lead you out of the city and into the wilderness. He seemed to be very hyper from what you could tell, as he couldn’t seem to stop commenting on how he was destined for greatness, or how thankful he was that you were going to come along with him. He also bombarded you with questions about yourself as well, like if this was your first time in Mondstadt or what kind of element you had control over. He was easily excited, but especially when you told him that you were a traveler that had been moving around place to place to see the sights of the world. It was why you were so strong, you had defeated a wide range of enemies, great and small, on your journeys. Bennett was fascinated by that, drawing him to be more and more curious about you. Alas, the questions and storytelling had to wait. You two had arrived at the camp, and it was time to take some enemies down.

You two ended up making a fantastic duo of sorts. With his sword and experience, he was able to cut down enemies with ease. You did the same, your speed and agility outmatched as you two basically made a massacre out of the camp. His fire would spread through the long grass, and with the natural wind, spread quickly to begin burning it all down. You were quick to come to his aid when he would sometimes get backed against the rocks or a tree, helping him heal with some quick magic you had learned. It wasn’t anything special, but it was enough to keep him up and moving. With such precision and perseverance, your duo was able to defeat the camp with relative ease. However, both you and Bennett were still tired from fighting for so long. You two were out of breath as the fire died out, heaving for air as you gave him a head pat and grinned.

“You did amazing out there. You’re a talented pyro user as well, I’m impressed.” There you went again, making him all confused as he sat there. You just complimented him. A powerful traveler, that has practically defeated every sort of monster there is out there, was impressed by him. Bennett, the unlucky, was impressive? For the first time, he was rendered speechless as he looked at you. It was now night, the moon high in the sky as it illuminated your face. Oh goodness, you looked ethereal. The way the stars were reflected in your eyes, the way the gold of your cape sparkled and flowed behind you, the way you smiled at him, like he was the most handsome boy you had ever seen. The only thing that stopped the comfortable silence between you two was the fact that he shivered when a breeze brushed against his pale, scar littered skin. You snapped out of it and looked him up and down, noticing how a lot of his skin was exposed to the chilly night.

“Here, take this.” You told him as you unbuttoned your cape, taking it off your shoulders. With one swoop, you draped it over his own figure, being as gentle as possible as you buttoned it up again. Bennett was reduced to continuing to stay silent as you clothed him. You placed the hood up on top of his head, a hand on your hip as you grinned at him. It was a bit big on him but nonetheless, it was rather cute. You used your other hand to take his chin gently, making him look you in the eyes. He was rather happy that the hood cast a bit of a shadow, because his cheeks were flushed a hot pink as he was forced to look at you.

“Huh. Looks better on you than it does me.” You commented before he seemed to regain his ability to speak.

“You need this more than me! I-i’m literally a pyro user, I c-can heat myself-” You hushed him, letting go of his chin as you put a finger to his peach pink lips.

“Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t waste your energy to heat up, especially since we have to walk back to town. I’ll be fine, I’ve been through worse weather situations.” He glanced down at your finger, and then back to you as you dropped your hand and began walking down the path again, back towards the city. Why did you have to be so, so...enchanting? And you were so smooth as well! He had never been so flustered when talking to someone, heck, he was the one who was meant to be doing most of the talking! Though, he supposed that him being talkative didn’t equate to being able to flirt. But something about the thought of you leaving made him pout. It was as if the butterflies were leaving his stomach, but they left him emptier than before.

Bennett refused to be lonely anymore. Not when he had you.

“Hey, darling!~ Would you stop standing there and staring off into space? I know I look wonderful tonight, but we gotta get a move on! We won’t be able to get to town and rest our weary bones if you keep this up!~” You called out to him, making him shake his head and refocus. Right, a bed. Sleep did sound rather good right now, along with a shower and something to quench his thirst. He ran and caught up to you, walking by your side as he grinned. He began to already ask about other missions that the two of you could do together, like gathering supplies for the alchemist or helping around the town for some spare Mora here and there. Bennett then stopped for a moment again, looking at you.

“Would you like to work together again?” There was a moment of silence before you nodded.

“I think I would. We make a great team.” Bennett then continued walking with you, as if time didn’t just stop for a second as he went back to his usual, bubbly nature. The more he thought about it, the happier it made him. More adventures to be made. More memories to be created. All with you at his side the entire time.

And you would make all the difference.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin oneshot #genshin bennett #bennett #bennett x reader #bennett x reader genshin impact #genshin impact bennett #genshin x reader #aaaAAAAA ITS OUT-#flirty reader? i think yes.#i hope you all like this #maybe kaeya next?#anyways i hope bennett isn’t too ooc #sorry if he is ;3;#hao’s library #the book of memories

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neonnoir-ao3 · 3 years

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Some Words of Comfort.

Recently, I’ve seen a lot of people (especially those who have read spoilers/are actively searching for leaked content) lament about their future reactions to the deaths of our beloved characters in-game.

We all knew this was inevitable, and that them living was not an option for the plot of the game, but the time has finally come to face it head-on.

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I understand that someone outside this community might be like “it’s just a game”, but I know it’s way more than that to many: the concept of a female villain that, to many, can be seen as sympathizable and even endearing, is a bit of a new concept— especially on such a large scale as this instance.

In addition, Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters have become a bit of a comfort item for some (with an emphasis on sapphics/wlw, from what I’ve seen personally) in the form of a large, protective, and caring hypothetical partner, or even just a maternal character one can appreciate simply because of her love for her children. Regardless, most of us are here due to some desire for comfort.

Take my own story with this community, for example:

(tws for death, covid, suicide, and general medical emergencies)

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Frankly, 2020 and the beginning of 2021 have ruined me. I lost two men who were the only two positive father figures I’ve ever had. The last of the two tested positive for covid and deteriorated within days, to the point where less than a week after testing positive, my family was making the choice to pull the plug. This all occurred days before Christmas and my birthday. On the first day of the spring semester, having not had the time to properly mourn my grandfather, my mother is in the ER for multiple days with an internal infection that doctors said likely would have turned septic if she had waited to come in any longer. This led to three surgeries throughout the next few months. (Oh, and one of my relatives quite literally dropped dead on that first day of class, too). I am also estranged from one of my parents, and they have been trying to contact my family: they have multiple untreated mental illnesses (severe NPD, bipolar, and more) and they are extremely aggressive in that state of mind and they are agitated extremely easily. That only brings more stress, along with resurfacing trauma and related emotions. Every moment of every day has been a struggle. So much so that I failed half of my classes voluntarily simply because I couldn't do them anymore.

To be perfectly honest with you, I didn’t expect to be here right now. I expected that the pain of simply moving forward would have finally overridden my fears of death and that I would have already ended my suffering by now.

Then, in late January, I saw something trending on Twitter. About a new female villain in an upcoming horror game. And it went from there.

As cheesy as it sounds, this fandom and its content seriously saved my life. In the darkest of days, I’ve come to this tag for comfort. The oddest way I found said comfort was through those who were attracted to Alcina aesthetically. I have extremely long-term trauma related to being bullied and being the victim of a hybrid catfishing/'Oreo Game' on early social media by peers in middle school to the point where I do not think of myself as being able to be loved, let alone being worthy of it. Finding this community not only provided a great form of escapism (and opened a door into a fantasy world where I could imagine my own person vampire milf gf), but also gained a little bit of self-esteem (as many of you know, I share a lot of visual qualities with Alcina. -yes, I'm still kinda freaked out about it-) via seeing people where features/attributes like mine were actively praised and desired rather than insulted and pushed away like they have been until now.

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(okay sorry that kinda turned into a trauma dump but I needed to emphasize the fact that this community has seriously helped me during a really dark point in my life, and I know I can't be the only one with that sort of experience)

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What I’m trying to get across here is that, like many others, this community and its content have been comforting and therapeutic, and it really is more than just a game to us. It’s entertaining and even a form of escapism in these extremely trying times. We all have some degree of PTSD from surviving a literal mass plague— and this is something we're using as a method of coping. a distraction. a coping mechanism.

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With that being said, here are some ways to hopefully assist in lessening the emotional stress:

(please note that I am not a mental health professional and these may not be healthy coping mechanisms for everyone.)

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Understand that it’s just a game.

I know, this sounds completely counterintuitive, but it’s more or less about keeping your level of immersion down. Personally, I can’t do scary shit in general: I have to listen to music on low volume while watching dark ARG vids at night or when I’m alone because I get too into it, and then my paranoia kicks in. Sometimes just pausing for a moment and grounding yourself/reminding yourself that this is a video game: a jumble of code and 3D rendering that doesn’t have to affect your views/headcanons if you don’t want it to. Did your favorite character just get slaughtered? Nope, that 3D rendering of them just got un-alived, that’s all.

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Ignorance is Bliss/We are the Captain Now

Simple: Capcom can’t even pronounce Dimitrescu right, or even acknowledge the way it’s correctly said in Romanian culture itself. How can you trust them to give you a perfect canon? That’s the thing: with that logic, you can’t. What they say is true means little (if anything, for that matter) to your headcanons and preexisting ideas of the Dimitrescus. In short: fuck ‘em.

I’m currently seeking a double major in pop culture, and one of the cool things I’ve learned so far is affirmational vs transformational fandom. Affirmational is where official canon is seen as the law of the land, and followed to a T. Transformational is seen as much more inviting for audiences, allowing them to bend canon as they wish to fit their own creations. This fandom is obviously transformational, so take that game canon, rip it up, and get back to whatever you were doing.

Capcom’s canon is not the end-all, be-all. Far from it, actually.

Want to still acknowledge canon? Godmod your way out of it.

Character A died? It’d be a shame if they emerged from the rubble they 'died in' a few hours later, very beaten but alive nonetheless... how awful would it be if they sulked away, nursed their wounds, and continued to live... (/s)

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Ignore it completely.

Remember: give it time. Once the game drops, there w be a wave of grief, but eventually, we as a community will recover, and get back to business as usual. Think about it like the in any way. Stay with the version in your head that makes you happy.

Get Creative!

If you're into creating fanart, writing fics, or even just posting a list of headcanons, take some advice from the late Carrie Fisher: "Take your broken heart, and make it into art". Make the fluff oneshot of your dreams! Draw the fanart you've been wanting to! dump lighthearted headcanons into the tags! Not only will it cheer you up, but sharing it with the community will spread the love!

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I know a lot of people are struggling with this emotionally (especially with the pandemic making entertainment like this even more important sources of escapism and coping mechanisms) and I hope that, at the very least, I was able to help comfort one person who reads this.

Remember: give it time. Once the game drops, there will be a wave of grief, but eventually, we as a community will recover, and get back to business as usual. Think about it like the flowers that bloom after major wildfires: after a period of loss, some beautiful can still come of it.

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💙

#tall vampire lady #lady alcina #lady dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #castle dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #dimitrescu daughters #dimitrescu family #dimitrescu sisters #cassandra dimitrescu #countess dimitrescu #house dimitrescu #resident evil #re: village #resident evil village #resident evil: village

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ashesandhackles · 3 years

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More of where Snack came from

This is what happens when you discuss narrative parallels between them and end up creating scenes during the conversation. @thedreamermusing wrote the Sirius parts, while I wrote the Snape ones.

Here is a little AU, where Sirius lives at the end of Order of Phoenix.

When Sirius sees Lily's patronus--beautiful and graceful and almost forgotten in the years in Azkaban -- landing in the kitchen of Grimmauld place, he's mystified, remembering when James saw it for the first time. 'We're made for each other,' he'd said, spinning Lily around in his arms. Sirius reverently reaches out an arm to touch it. And then---'Black,' a silky voice made of grease and cold water says. 'Your godson is of the opinion that you aren't uselessly hiding away in your mother's house and somehow thinks that you're with the Dark Lord. Do try to prove him wrong and stay where you are.' As the patronus fades away, the only thought left in Sirius's mind is 'Motherfucker'.

Snape always wondered if his life was an elaborate joke. It was humiliating enough, revealing his Patronus to Black, of all people. He was dreading stepping foot in the house. It was amazing - how showing that vulnerable part of himself, that part he asked Dumbledore to swear no one must know, makes him feel like a teenager again. Powerless. Anxious. Twitchy. This is all the fault of that stupid boy - if he didn't prize that connection of his, if he had heeded what was said, he would not have been in this position. It's only luck that no one got killed for his stupidity. Luck favours everyone but him, apparently.

To Snape's horror, he was early at the headquarters. Black was sitting at the long table, reading a letter. He stilled when he entered. "Snape" Black acknowledged gruffly, without looking up. He didn't deign to respond. It was a trap - whatever it was. He wondered when that ridiculous woman would come and knock over the umbrella, so that the entire house is filled with Black's delightful mother's shrieks. There was an uncomfortable silence, broken by Black looking up at him. "So....Evans?"

Snape's insides were glacial. Don't react, don't react, don't react. He used her maiden name to get a rise out of you .. lull you into a false sense of security...

It seemed that Black was amused by his inability to respond. This made him angry. "Well, it turns out I no longer doubt your alliegances" he continued. "So what's in it for you Snivellus? Revenge?"

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Spare me your curiosity. You know as well as I do that I have no inclination to chat with you". "But I want to chat with you" Black smirked. "You see, I want to make sense of this". Snape reached for the handle of his wand instinctively. "Contrary to whatever you may believe, Black, you are not entitled to any answers and certainly not from me".

"When did you turn spy?" Black asked abruptly. "Were you the one who told Dumbledore that there was someone close to us who had betrayed us?"

Snape said nothing. He would give nothing to Black, no information about that hideous year spent fearing for her life and his own, tangled in loyalties he knew not where. "I am going to take that as a yes" Black said, his grey eyes boring into him. "Why did you do it? What really made you turn?"

"Shut up" he hissed, finally drawing his wand and flicking it into his most useful spell, Langlock. No one can know. No one, he remembered telling Dumbledore.

Black stopped speaking as his tongue got stuck to the roof of his mouth. He looked furious as he whipped out his own wand. The Order filed in just then - all looking unsurprised to see them both pointing their wands at each other. "Sirius, please" the werewolf implored. Black looked up at him angrily, but his jinx rendered him unable to say whatever was on his mind.

For the first time since he stepped into the house, the anxiety in Snape's chest eased a bit. He still had power. He was no longer that young boy - no longer. "Unfortunately for us, Black wouldn't be gracing us with his remarkable wit today," he said, stuffing his own wand back into his robes. The werewolf glared at him. He sneered. "It's quite alright, not like he has been upto anything useful recently - apart from not getting lured into the Ministry to run after his idiot of a godson. And we don't want endless reminisces of that, do we?"

'Fucking Snivellus,' Sirius thought furiously, hardly listening to the Order meeting. It burned--burned him to think he owed his and Harry's life to the greasy bastard, that he'd listened to the warning and stayed put, that Harry and his friends were apprehended before they went on to make a tragedy of things at the Ministry. He never would have thought Snape would be capable of such depth of emotion, that he felt so deeply for Lily. He'd known of course that they were friends of a sort in their initial years at Hogwarts, something James railed about constantly back then. But he'd never considered it important, thought Snape was a bit of a charity case for Lily. But he should have known better; Lily wasn't one to make friends out of charity. She'd seen something in him evidently, something they had all missed.

And yet, none of them had seen anything in Peter.

Sirius glares at Snape, who continues to glare back. 'Fucking greasy bat. Why couldn't you just be an enemy?' To think that Sirius had gotten it all so wrong about Peter, his brother in all but blood, the boy he'd patiently tutored through the animagus transformation, the boy who he would have died for while Snape, fucking Snivellus Snape, would end up being loyal to a friend who'd cut him off years earlier, would switch sides and save Sirius's life even--it's funny really. He's tempted to laugh, laugh like a maniac, at the absurdity, the injustice, out of grief--let out all his curled up emotions in a big hearty laugh. But then again, that hadn't worked out so well for him 15 years ago. So the only thing he can do is glare at Snape. But the familiar hatred is more unsettling now than comforting.

Snape couldn't help but stiffen at the prickly sensation of being watched during his meeting report. He knew without really looking that it was Black - Black trying to fish out his truth with his grey eyes, truth that he is not willing to give to him. He would leave immediately after the meeting - perhaps ask Dumbledore whether he could just give his reports in person, in his office, rather than bother coming to Headquarters. After all, the Order is hardly a democracy with Dumbledore controlling what information gets presented in his report and what remains between them. What's the difference? It's not a good idea anymore to come here. And Black will surely be prepared for his jinx next time - he can't be stupid enough to hope he will get him to shut up everytime.

So when the meeting got over, he jumped to his feet, ready to escape, when a thin hand gripped his shoulder. Snape turned around, pulling out his wand and wasn't surprised to find it pointed at Black's face.

A small, teenage part of him wanted to yell, leave me alone!

"Easy" Black said, quietly. He made no move to take out his wand. It could perhaps be the werewolf close by, watching them. "I want answers. I am grateful you saved Harry's life- and if I hadn't known what I know about you now, I would have not thought too much about this. But I want to know, Snape. I want to know what happened before they died. I want to know how many other transgressions I should be killing Wormtail for".

Snape took in the look on his face. "You want me to help with murder? Great idea Black, since I was on receiving end of your clever jokes-"

"You don't want to kill him?" Black interuppted, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. "You wanted to get me Kissed by Dementors because you thought I killed her and now-"

"I can't kill him!" Snape hissed at him.A twisted truth came tumbling out of him. He wanted to - oh, he wanted to. He went on: "Unfortunately for you, not every fight is won by smashing your way in like a moronic Gryffindor - there are things only I can do and I don't intend to put myself in any position that is dangerous to the cause".

There was a silence. "Fair enough. " Black said, stepping back. Snape thought it was safer to put his own wand back into his pocket now. "You don't kill him" Black simply said. "You help me find him".

Snape looked at him in utter disbelief. He couldn't believe him ."Didn't you just hear me? I am not risking blowing my cover. There will be a time for that and an opportunity will arise - he is no longer useful to the Dark Lord. But I don't want any eyes on me and certainly not for your schemes. Get your wolf to do it for you - at least he can plead temporary insanity".

"Leave him out of it" Black said harshly, glancing at him sitting close by. "Too late for that, isn't it?" Snape said, softly. "You involved him in the first place. What's the matter? These are your rules, I am just playing by them".

Black looked like he was praying for patience before he said what he did next. "I don't suppose you will tell me about that year". Snape sneered at him. "No, I won't. Now, goodbye Black " he whipped out of the headquarters, hoping he'd never have to step foot in it again.

Remus approached Sirius, a little amused. "Well, that went well. " Sirius shrugged. "I suppose. I still need him to tell me about Peter". Remus' eyes were cold. "You think he would help us?"

"He has to," Sirius said flatly. "After what Peter did to Harry in the graveyard, I am going to kill him with my bare hands if I have to".

Now if anyone wants to make this full fledged AU where they all corner Wormtail and revise their traumas and deep projections in the process, feel free to continue. XD

#snack manifesto #hp snack #hp AU #Sirius black × Severus Snape #sirius x severus

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goodfish-bowl · 3 years

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Dead to the World

So, I’ve seen that prompt floating around a couple times, the one about Danny waking up at his own funeral, and have decided its mine now.

Can read it here on AO3, or below the cut.

Also, how the heck should I tag this on AO3, I’m still a bit unfamiliar with what tags I’m supposed to use, especially for this, suggestions?

Extras:

Snippet 1: Alone

Danny remembered exactly what happened after he tripped inside of the portal. He remembered that moment of whirring electricity before he had felt it. A hum in the air before everything fell apart. When it came, it came in full. It had torn and ripped him apart with such ferocity and animosity you’d think he’d done something to offend it. Well, Danny supposed he had been the one to turn it on. It raced and burned through him, a wicked arch starting in his hand and then spreading to the rest of him, like a limb falling asleep, but also getting set on fire. It tore apart his ability to feel in seconds, or at least it felt like seconds.

Danny’s vision blurred out, unfocused, on anything but white, green, red, and black. He could no longer see. His lungs ceased to function, and his throat felt raw and torn apart, had he been screaming? Danny felt like someone had set him on fire, or one of the ecto-weapons had shot him, except it was his entire body, raw and sensitive. But it also felt like he’d been dumped into a frozen river. His senses were shot, and he could barely feel the pain, that awful boring and numbness and cold, but he could no longer feel himself either. Where were his arms and legs? Was he still standing? He couldn’t feel the ground beneath him at all. There was awful strain in his chest, as something tried to continue working before it gave out.

Then it stopped. He was no longer in pain whatsoever, like he had never been hurt in the first place. His mind cleared up and he could focus on something other than the pain, just for that moment. Hadn’t Tucker and Sam been outside the portal when it turned on? Well, this probably wasn’t the most pleasant thing for them to experience. Wow, Mom and Dad weren’t going to be happy he was messing around in the lab, they’d probably be furious, and Jazz would be a mess, lecturing him after his parents were done fussing over him. He wasn’t looking forward to that at all. He was just hurt, right? He’d come out just fine, and then he’d get the lecture and fussing-over of his life.

The lights and pain were gone now, but Danny still couldn’t feel anything. Maybe he was just in shock? He tried to get up, to let out a weak laugh, and imagine the pain he had experienced away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t feel his limbs. He wasn’t breathing. Danny so desperately tried to take a breath, to at least get the air into the lungs he could no longer feel. Then he felt something. He felt cold and hollow, and the blackness closed around not just around his sight, but his mind as well. He fought against it as hard as he could, because he knew what was coming. He didn’t want to die. Well, he supposed very few people did. Danny fought and struggled against the darkness with everything he had in him, or whatever was left, but it wasn’t enough. The darkness came, and it devoured him whole.

Daniel Fenton had died, days after his 14th birthday, due to electrocution in his parent’s basement.

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

Sam knew she was never going to forget the moment the portal had turned on. She wasn’t going to forget how the darkness and the strange, too-bright, green lighting had reflected off of the white and black hazmat suit Danny had put on before steeping inside. She wasn’t going to forget the expression on Danny’s face as he tripped over some loose wiring on the floor of the portal. He had been surprised, his eyes had widened just a fraction and he had let out a small, a rather unmanly yelp before his hand connected to the wall to steady himself. She wasn’t going to forget how that expression shifted as the portal powered on, humming with electricity like an old appliance before it unleashed all of its fury at once. She wasn’t going to forget how she had called out his name in warning second too late, as the bright green white of the portal had roared to life, blinding her, and only overcome by one noise. Sam wasn’t ever going to forget how Danny shrieked in agony as it reduced him to a smoking corpse, sizzling and twitching in the blackened metal of the portal, within a fraction of a second. The sound was going to echo through her mind and nightmares no matter what she would tell herself. Sam was never going to forget that she was the one who had killed her best friend.

She and Tucker had sat there for minutes, too shocked to move, just waiting. They were waiting for Danny to take an unsteady breath, then laugh, maybe limp his way out. They were waiting for anything. Any indicator that the glue in their friendship was alright. Any indicator that Danny was alive. But he didn’t move, and the twitching stopped seconds after the portal had shut itself off, and the power had gone out, probably causing an outage on the whole block. With a groan, a back-up generator had kicked on, bathing the lab in subtle, blue-green light, turning all the metal in the lab to ice, just like the blood in her veins.

The power going out had been enough to draw attention to the lab from all the Fentons, the remaining ones at least. Sam refused to believe Danny was dead. He couldn’t be. Yeah, he was just knocked out, unconscious. Why wasn’t she going over there to make sure he was ok? Probably because she knew that if she did, she would know for sure that she had killed her best friend.

Jazz was the first one to enter the lab quickly followed by Mr. and Mrs. Fenton. Jazz quickly took in the situation, demanding to her parents to stop whatever they had done to make the power go out, only to find Sam and Tucker frozen in the middle of the lab and Danny d-… passed out in the portal. Jack Fenton was quick to go by his daughter’s side to where Danny lay. Maddie Fenton, on the other hand, quietly asked what had happened.

Something inside Sam broke then. What had happened? It had been so fast; she couldn’t really wrap her head around it. She tried to tell Mrs. Fenton, she really did, but she choked up. She couldn’t say a thing. Sam, who had always been so vocal and outspoken was rendered mute, Danny’s scream echoing between her ears.

Jazz let out a pained cry from the portal, and Danny was gently gathered into his father’s arms. Mr. Fenton looked pale and horrified; Jazz was on the verge of hysterics. Neither expression suited their respective wearer.

Some words were exchanged, but Sam didn’t hear them, only focused on Danny’s limp form in Mr. Fenton’s arms, he looked like he was asleep, if only it weren’t for his ashen skin, and electrical burns covering most of his body revealed where the hazmat suit had been torn off, exposing the blackened skin underneath. Sam could smell his burnt skin and the scent of burnt up electronics from the portal. She did her best to avoid hurling or even associating the two together. It had been all her fault.

At some point, the authorities had been called, and her parents had come to pick her up. She didn’t refuse the hug from her parents as she was loaded into some unbelievably expensive car and toted off back home, a place she always tried to stay away from except as a place to sleep and eat. She didn’t push them away as they embraced her in the living room, whispering sweet nothings to her, as she finally broke and cried out in anguish at what she had done.

Danny had died and it was all her fault.

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

Tucker was faring just about as well as Sam was, to be honest, except he never broke down. It probably wasn’t healthy, to keep everything locked up, but all he could see behind the lenses of his glasses was Danny, charred and burnt in his Dad’s arms. He remembered the sound of the portal coming to life as it took Danny’s. He had been fascinated at the time, with all of the technology that the Fentons created, he had wanted to see the impossible machine for himself and had completely disregarded the danger Danny was in as soon as he agreed to Sam’s stupid, stupid dare to go inside the damn thing.

Tucker had electrocuted and burned himself on electronics countless times while messing with his oh-so-precious technology, so he knew how it felt, but just couldn’t imagine what Danny had gone through in his last moments. Electrocution was not a way he wanted to go. But now his best friend, one of the only ones that he actually knew, a friend that wasn’t behind a computer screen, but a physical, tangible person, one he had known for most of his life, was dead.

Tucker looked over at the lonesome PDA sitting on his computer littered desk amongst the trash and miscellaneous tech-parts he had been messing with or intending to mess with after school. He let out a lonesome sigh, unwilling to leave his place in bed to retrieve it, in fact, the thought filled him with disdain. He envied the Fentons’ for their skill in technology, now he wasn’t so sure. The very tech he loved and worshipped so dearly had taken his one tangible friend from him. He wasn’t even sure he could call the people he had met through the internet friends, since he knew practically nothing about them outside of whatever he had connected with them over in the first place.

There was still Sam, he supposed, but he currently wanted nothing to do with her. She probably needed to be alone right now anyway. If she hadn’t dared Danny to go inside, he would still be alive. But yet again, Tucker hadn’t tried to dissuade her or stop Danny from going in in the first place. Yes, he blamed Sam for Danny’s death, but he wasn’t innocent either. He never would’ve gone near it if he hadn’t been so fascinated with the tech required to pierce through entire realities in the first place. He was to blame for Danny’s death too.

Tucker looked at the PDA and assortment of computer parts on his table with a scornful looked, the whirring of the portal powering up overcoming any sense of self-doubt he had in what he was about to do. He mustered up the will and half-dragged himself to his desk, glancing over every detail of his beloved collection and part of his contribution to the future as a “techno geek”. He pulled the trashcan out from under his desk and with a sweep of his arm, cleared the entire desk inside. Something broke in the bin, but he refused to even acknowledge it. For the first time in ages, he saw the clean surface of his desk. His heart panged at what he had done, but it didn’t last for long. Tech could always be replaced, people couldn’t. Tucker unlocked his door, set the full trashcan right outside for his mom to find, then closed and relocked the door. He trudged back into bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. After a moment, he took off his beanie and glasses, setting them on his nightstand.

Tucker had no idea where he was supposed to go from here. Should he cry, break down, trash his room? Instead, he just felt hollow, and he refused to seek comfort in the online discourse and disconnect from everything around him like he always did. He refused to do anything, even think. He just sat there, empty and hollow, blank and empty like a wiped hard drive. Tucker didn’t know how he was supposed to mourn his best friend, he didn’t know if he could. He didn’t know if he would ever find anything, he could use to fix himself. Computers could be fixed and modified to work how someone wanted them to, but not people.

Electronics were replaceable, but people weren’t, and that fact left Tucker hollow.

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

Daniel James Fenton’s funeral was planned three days after his death. His body had been whisked off to the morgue while his family desperately tried to figure out what had happened. Madeline Fenton had tried to get either of the kids to tell her, but both had been practically catatonic with shock, they had witnessed it, after all. Maddie was near hysterics herself, but she couldn’t yet. She had to make sure her boy got a proper burial first, then she could break down. She had three days.

Jack had wanted to have Danny cremated, but Maddie had vehemently refused. It was a tradition in his family line, not hers. She wanted to have a grave she could visit and mourn over. The funeral was a simple one, just friends and family, no matter how hard the news reporters pushed to come.

That had been another thing Maddie had to deal with, the news. It wasn’t every day a boy as young as Danny died in such a tragic way, and journalists did love tragedies. They had been getting so much unwanted criticism lately. A more opinionate journalist claimed it was their fault Danny had died in the lab because they had failed to put proper safety measures in place to prevent this sort of thing from happening. Another journalist questioned their decision to have a lab in general, claiming that the “science” they did was bogus, and if they really needed a lab, they should’ve rented a warehouse or office, away from the home and their children.

Maddie refused to admit to herself that they were right and moving the lab had been a frequent argument between her and Jack. It was a decision between safety and leaving the kids home alone. A warehouse would’ve also given them much more space to work with rather than the cramped basement. But that decision had been made for them, Maddie and Jack no longer had any disagreements about what was going to happen concerning the lab.

It had been a long and solemn conversation between her and Jack, but they decided the lab had to go, completely. Their science had not only taken their son from them but had also taken away most of the time they should’ve used raising their children. Maddie regretted it deeply that she hadn’t spent as much time with Danny as she should’ve, more fixated on her work rather than her children. Jack and Maddie had decided together that they were dismantling the lab and the portal along with it. They were giving up their search for ghosts, then searching for new jobs to supplement the income they earned from their numerous patents. They were no longer going to be ghost hunters, just the Fentons.

The funeral was closed casket, held in one of the smaller halls Amity had available to rent. Collapsible chairs were lined up in neat rows, parted in the middle, enough to seat 50, but only half were actually being used. Maddie had invited both Sam and Tuckers families, and then the little family she and Jack had left. Alicia, Maddie’s sister, had booked a flight as soon as the news reached her. Jack’s family was unsurprisingly unreachable as always. But what had been surprising was when an old college friend of theirs, Vlad Masters, had reached out to them and offered to come. Vlad had come up with a fortune since their college days and had snatched away most of the bills for the funeral, even helping her plan.

When people began to arrive, everyone was dressed in black, apart from one person. Sam Manson was in blue. She wore a long, deep navy dress, the bottom decorated with silver rhinestones, making the bottom half resemble the night sky Danny had loved enough to reach for. Tucker was dressed in black, beanie missing. He wasn’t wearing or carrying a singular piece of technology that day, no matter how much he used to cling to it. Their families seemed to fade into the background, taking seats a row back with Alicia, while the Fentons, Sam, Tucker, and Vlad Masters sat in the first row.

The casket Maddie had managed to find for Danny was a simple one, but that was enough. It was made of a simple oak, strong enough to withstand the tests of time, meaning it wouldn’t collapse when buried underground. The inside was a soft, silky, black cloth, padded as much as any cot or thin mattress could be. Maddie didn’t have the wits at the moment to be incredibly picky, but she still wanted to get something of quality. Inside, Danny had been changed out of the burned hazmat suit into something else. Maddie had given the morticians in his favorite outfit, his NASA hoodie and a torn up pair of jeans. Jazz had been the one to joke about how Danny would be buried in that hoodie, and now he was. A colorful array of flowers in a variety of cool colors was piled up on top of the casket and around it, courtesy of Vlad, who had ordered the massive arrangement only a day prior, and had it rushed at a massive fee.

Another five minutes after everyone settled down, it was time to begin. Maddie pulled herself out of her chair and steeled herself. She could do this. It had been three days, and she only had to get through this, then she could grieve herself. Maddie walked up to the mic stand and began the funeral.

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

After the black was gone, there was green. Danny didn’t know where he was, he wasn’t sure if he was really any place at all. It was green, and that green flowed through him like he wasn’t even there. But he could feel it, it was the only thing he could feel outside of his own thoughts, which were convoluted and confused, too many questions, so he preferred not to think. It poured over him like water, swirled inside of him for a moment, then left on its merry way. He couldn’t speak, and he didn’t have arms or legs, he was just a speck of dust in the wind, a small green blob amongst the rest of the green, given eyes to see and nothing else.

Danny, (if he was Danny, he couldn’t remember), floated through the green, wandering through it, a small sense of wonder and curiosity being his only motivation. The green swirled in the distance, forming endless spirals and twists in a continuous pattern Danny would never have been able to replicate on paper. There were occasional masses of black, islands that seemed to disobey all laws of physics as they sat suspended in space. Sometimes there were building on them, and sometimes there were people too. They were odd beings, with strangely colored skin and weird clothes, some looked human while others didn’t. They usually ignored him or couldn’t see him as he wandered about the endless expanse of green before him.

One place looked like a medieval kingdom, peasants going about their daily business, living(?) lives that seemed absolutely miserable. The low lived in filth, toiling away while barely reaping any reward for their labor, suffering, and existing for no other purpose than to be taken advantage of. There were knights and nobles here too, but they only took from the peasants before returning to the great castle that took up most of this floating island. The castle was lavish, covered in draconic symbols and displays of power. Danny didn’t dare go near the throne, only peaked through to see a cruel king on a cruel throne. He wandered through the castle a bit more, finding small nooks and crannies to explore, not tiring as he went. Up in the tallest tower, there was a woman, or at least she looked like a woman, peering down on the miserable little village just outside the wall of the great and terrible castle. She looked just as miserable as the peasants, if not more. She looked a bit like the cruel king, but she was kind, and also locked away. She was sad. He floated around her for a bit, and she looked at him, not through him. He revealed in the fact that someone(?) could see him, and she gave a small smile at his joy, poking him with a finger.

“Thank you, little one, but I think you have a better place to be than here,” she said. Danny didn’t know, but he decided she was probably right. He had somewhere he was supposed to be going, so he left the kingdom with its miserable peasants, cruel king, and sad princess behind.

Another island(?) was covered with forestry, and a river running through it. Some strange animal-like creatures wandered through there, some regarding him passively before leaving. But they were afraid, and it seemed like they had every right to be. Moments after, a large, metal man came bursting through the tree, equipped with all sorts of blasters and rockets, pursuing the animals with a lustful, gleeful fury. Danny decided to hide, slipping easily into small crannies and under bushes, away from the eyes of the hunter. He didn’t dare go near the large skull-like structure at the peak of the island, it gave him a bad feeling. He left that island without discovering much more than that it was a scary, bad place to be, and that it wasn’t where he was supposed to be going.

The final place he went through was a library, large enough that it became its own labyrinth, full of so many books their titles blurred together in his mind. There were so many books, some looked fresh off the press while others looked like they had been saved seconds from turning to ashes, or barely kept from turning to dust, tomes snatched away seconds before their destruction. (Jazz would’ve loved this place). He didn’t care to try and read one of the many books that were splayed open across the numerous library tables. He couldn’t seem to grasp the words for more than a few seconds before they slipped carelessly from his mind. There was only one person(?) in the entire library, mumbling incoherently as he typed away on a strange keyboard, the words themselves incomprehensible, or in some other language Danny didn’t understand. They didn’t acknowledge him, but they knew he was there, since the writer gave him half a glance, then huffed and returned to his writing. The library seemed to be so lonely, full of knowledge yet no one to read it, only the writer who continued to make books without anyone there to take in the story. Danny left this place too, because he felt like this wasn’t the place he was supposed to be going.

There, Danny decided, that’s where he was supposed to be going. Large, black gears floated haphazardly around the green, surrounding what seemed to be a clock tower. A large pendulum, like a grandfather clock, swung lethargically in the center of it, internal gears visible through the glass. A large set of wooden doors were open just wide enough for him to slip through, so he did. The inside matched the outside perfectly, exposed gears working walls and barriers in-between spaces, with a set of stairs ascending to somewhere above. Clocks covered every available wall space, clocks ticking seemingly at random, some fast some slow, others broken and not moving at all. There were screens too, shows places Danny didn’t recognize and scenes he couldn’t make sense of.

“It seems you’ve found the place you’re supposed to be, Danny,” the being said.

They were blue with solid red eyes, a large scar going across the right one. A purple cloak covered his(?) shoulders and he lacked feet, a trailing tail taking their place. His chest was the inside of a grandfather clock, the pendulum swinging away as if it wasn’t part of a person. The being carried a staff of sorts, the top pronging out into a crescent with something that looked like a stopwatch suspended in the middle. Danny didn’t know how he knew his name, (if his name was, in fact, ‘Danny’), but that meant he was in the right place. He wasn’t scared of this being either, he knew he would’ve hurt him. He was supposed to be here after all.

“Now let's get you home,” he hummed, taking Danny from the air and cupping him in his hands.

Danny was brought over to a green circle, it swirled more definitely than the green outside. It went someplace. Danny looked up at the being, who smiled down at him reassuringly. He was given a small toss and thrown through the green disk, vanishing within it.

“All is as it should be.”

And then the green was replaced with black once more.

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

Danny’s bloodless body rested beneath the cool, dark wood, engulfed in dark the dark, silky cloth that made up the interior of the casket, hidden away from the world. He had become a pale, hollow vessel, void of life in any form. And then he wasn’t.

A small green entity emerged from a portal no bigger than a fist, directly into Danny’s chest cavity, then froze solid, right next to what had once been his heart. It shifted from a small green blob to a crystalline structure, emitting a soft light that would’ve been visibly through the skin, then it seeped out green.

The green slowly filed out what had once been veins, turning what had been red into green, fixing things as it spread. Burns and scars faded away, melting to the skin until they were barely visible lines, only seen when inspected closely. It flooded muscles that had since ceased up and massaged them back into working condition. A finger twitched. The green went upwards, preserving the mind and all the memories it once and will hold. It fixed and reconnected nerves that had been severed and damaged, restoring feeling to every part of the body. And then, once everything else was as it was supposed to be, the green seized his heart, flooding it with a burst of energy. Danny’s heart burst to life once more, as if it hadn’t stopped beating in three days.

Danny’s eyes burst wide open, still alight with green energy as he gasped in musty, still air. He gasped and panted, reclaiming feeling over his own body, confused and disoriented. He glanced around in a panic, who turned out the lights!? After catching his breath, nose wrinkling at the odd smell of his surroundings, Danny reached out an arm, only to hit something solid inches from his nose. He tried a different direction, only to be met with the same result. He was boxed in.

Danny couldn’t remember how he got here, the last thing he remembered was… He thought for a moment. The last thing he remembered was stepping into the portal, then pain, and then green. The first event was perfectly clear in his mind. Sam had dared him to go check it out, and he had, only to trip, and then the portal had turned on. He… he had gotten hurt really bad… right? And the memory of green must’ve come from the inside of the portal… His mind throbbed in exhaustion and pain, unable to make sense of his situation or the hazy memories between then and now. Why was he lying down in a box?

Danny pushed upwards, but the top wouldn’t budge. There was barely enough room inside for him to fit, he couldn’t properly attempt to lift it. Was Jazz sitting on top of it or something? Was this a prank for passing out in the portal? Didn’t Sam and Tucker know he could suffocate in here?!

Danny began to pound on the surface and cry out for help. His voice was course and his throat dry, causing him to cough as soon as he tried to cry out. Why was he so thirsty? Did he sleep with his mouth open or something? Despite the pain, he continued to cry out, pounding weakly on the lid for help. He couldn’t hear anything outside of the box, not even a snicker, and hopelessly wondered if they could hear him.

Suddenly the lid of the box lifted, or at least half of it was, and Danny was blinded by the light that assaulted his eyes. Strong, unfamiliar hands lifted him into a sitting position while his eyes slowly readjusted, wincing as his stiff legs and body were forced to move, it felt like he had cramps everywhere. The green flickered away from his eyes as the lights from the ceiling slowly filtered in and Danny saw a small crowd of people, most he recognized, one he didn’t, the man who pulled him out of the dark box. Danny’s mind could barely make sense of what he was seeing. The looks he was getting from his friends and family, horrified, confused, shock, awe didn’t make sense in his tired and exhausted state. He didn’t like what his mind concluded, somehow making much less sense than any prank he could’ve imaged.

Daniel Fenton had woken up at his own funeral.

#Danny Phantom #danny fenton #sam manson #tucker foley #maddie fenton #clockwork #goodfish writes #help me i don't know what i'm doing #might've put a bit much angst in there but it be like that #fanfic

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chokemeanakin · 4 years

Text

First Kiss - Anakin Skywalker x gn Reader

Summary: Anakin treats you to your first kiss ;)

masterlist

Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469749

It happened on Tatooine. Anakin didn’t want to come back, but you had begged him to show you where he grew up.

“I grew up with Obi-Wan, travelling the galaxy,” Anakin corrected, a scowl clouding his face. “Not on Tatooine. I was just a slave there.”

“But it’s got your history,” you argued. “It’s where Qui-Gon found you. It’s where you build C-3PO. It’s where your--”

“It’s where my mother died,” he bit, jaw tense and eyes shadowed. “I know.”

“Maybe we could visit her.”

Anakin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He did that a lot, ever since he came back from the dark side, to calm the anger inside of him. His hands clenched over the controls of the pod, then suddenly relaxed. When he opened his eyes, he was considerably less tense.

“Okay,” he agreed. “I think she’d like that.”

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

“I hate sand,” Anakin muttered as he hopped down from the ship. His boots landed on the ground, sending dust to cloud up around him. He swatted it away from his face.

“Oh, quit pouting,” you take his flesh hand, then raise it over your head with both of yours. “You’re home!”

“This is not my home,” he tried to sound angry, but his face softened when he looked at the smile on your face. He could see you were excited-- for what, he still didn’t understand. You would have to stay in the remote parts of the planet because Anakin would never be welcomed back after what he did to the sand people. You wouldn’t even be able to see the market or Jabba the Hut’s pub, or the place he used to live. Not that Anakin ever wanted to go back to any of those places, anyways. They came for one reason-- to see his mother.

Anakin led the way to the grave. It was just a plank of wood sticking up from the sand, so you weren’t sure how he even knew this was hers. But it was the only thing out here for hundreds of miles, and the somber look on his face was proof enough. This was his mother.

You sat on the sand in front of the wooden plank, drawing shapes in the course minerals. You didn’t say anything, and neither did Anakin as he sat down beside you. The silence was comforting, and just being there was enough. Anakin closed his eyes and his face was peaceful.

You watched him, his face unmoving, as you thought about Anakin and his past. This was where his life began, as a slave, working in a junk shop while his mother struggled to get by. He built his own pod and would race because he was good at it. He built his mother a robot so she wouldn’t have to work so hard. He could still speak the language, as sometimes he would mutter what you were pretty sure were swears under his breath in the foreign tongue.

This was where the sweet, unsuspecting, hopeful little kid who loved flying and wanted to be a Jedi grew up with his mother. He had left her to do just that, and that was the beginning of the end. He never got to see his mother again before she died in his arms. The Jedi Council consistently underestimated his power and belittled him. They alienated him from the one thing he was destined to be. No wonder he turned to Darth Sidious, who was the only person who seemed to trust him in those harrowing times. He had fallen, like Icarus from the sun, like an angel from heaven, and fell and crashed and burned.

But now he was back. He was here again, that same sweet, hopeful boy who just wanted to be a Jedi. And he was sitting before you, with his mother-- a family again.

You were there for hours, until the suns began to lower in the sky. A gust of wind blew sand in your direction, and Anakin cracked an eye open.

“We should get to higher ground,” he said, standing and holding his mechanical arm out for you to take. He helped lift you up, and then brought you in close so he could share his cloak with you, shielding you from the sand. “The wind should let up as the suns go down. For now, we can watch them set from the pod.”

The two of you climbed on top of the ship and sat with your legs dangling off the edge, watching the double-suns inch toward the horizon. The sky seemed to bleed when the lower sun crashed into the sandy mountains, but then melted into a melon-orange glow as the higher sun followed in its wake. Soon, the whipping sand clouds calmed and the sky turned to a deep purple, then black, dotted with thousands of stars. You wondered how many times Anakin had watched this sunset as a kid, and if it’s changed at all since then.

“You’ve come a long way,” you told him, breaking the silence. He lowered his head and looked at his hands.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

“But you always come back,” you said. He lifted his head and his eyes connected with yours, but they were far away. He was deep in thought, and there was something warring behind them. Guilt.

“I left you,” he said, and it’s barely above a whisper. “We were friends, but as soon as Padme came along, I left you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You were happy with her.”

“I was happy with you, too.”

The confession caused an eruption of warmth to blossom in your chest. You smiled at him, a genuine, delighted smile, and knocked his shoulder playfully with yours.

“You have me now.”

At this, Anakin lifted his arm and wrapped it around your shoulder. He pulled you close for a moment, then relaxed with his arm still around you. For once in your life, you didn’t move away.

Anakin was warm. You basked in the weight of his arm around your shoulders, the feeling of his torso pressed against your side. Your thighs were touching and you realized that this is what you needed, this is what was missing all along, this warmth. Suddenly, you felt complete.

“Why haven’t you ever been with anyone?” Anakin asked suddenly. You tried to fight back the blush from your face at both the question and the fact that his fingers seemed to be absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm. Suddenly he paused. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you told him, and he resumed the patterns. “I just… have a hard time connecting with people.”

“Because of your mother?”

“Because of my mother,” you confirmed, and he coaxed every bit of information out of you on how your mother was strict and mean and cold and judgmental, and your father watched as she stripped your humanity away. He listened attentively as you told him of the suitors you’ve failed with in the past, and his arm tightened around you.

“I just get nervous,” you frowned, twisting your fingers in your lap. “Like the closer someone gets to me, the more they’re going to realize I actually suck.”

“I don’t think you suck,” Anakin said, his voice that sweet, comforting timbre with a gentle rasp that you loved so much. He always sounded like that when he’s spitting off orders to R2 when piloting, or late at night when he’s half asleep and doesn’t know what he’s saying. He also had that stupidly soft look in his eyes, and that half smile you’ve only ever seen directed at Padme.

God, he’s so pretty, you groaned inwardly, unintentionally tensing up when you realized just how close you were sitting. And he was looking at you so deeply, and man, his eyes can be so intense sometimes-- your face burned and you ducked your head so he couldn’t see.

He caught your chin with his gloved mechanical hand, cradling your chin between his index finger and thumb. He turned your face to look at him straight on, right in the eyes, and all you could see was Anakin. He was so close, and he was getting closer. Your eyes shifted to his lips, the same ones you had fantasized about for years, and hoped he couldn’t notice what you were thinking.

“Have you ever been kissed?” you could feel his breath on your lips, your heart pounding against your ribcage. You blinked madly, breathing erratic, palms sweating. Every single atom in your body was buzzing with energy-- excitement, nervousness, fear. You wanted to pull him in and kiss the living daylights out of him. You wanted to push him away and run as fast as you could until you got to a cliff high enough you could jump off and never wake up. You wanted to explode.

“You’re trembling,” Anakin’s eyes shifted across your figure for a split second. “Do you want me to let go?”

“No,” you begged him, your hands shooting out to hold onto him without your permission. They landed on his thighs, and your face burned harder.

“Do you want this?” his thumb stroke your chin. There was nothing you wanted more.

“Yes.”

You weren’t sure how he even heard you, as you barely uttered the word. But before you could do or say or think anything else, Anakin was leaning in. Your eyes closed on instinct and you felt, very softly, the brush of his lips against yours. The volcano was back in your chest, spurting lava all over your insides as you realized, holy shit Anakin Skywalker’s lips are on mine. Holy shit, Anakin Skywalker is kissing me!

The feather light touch tickled more than anything, and you could feel his mouth twitch into a slight smile as your hands’ grip tightened on his legs.

“This okay?” he pulled back a centimeter to ask. “You want more?”

“Yes,” you said again. It was the only thing you could manage to say, the one syllable word, and you began to wonder just how much of a lost cause you were if a simple brush of his lips against yours could render you brain dead.

He muttered an ‘Okay’ and then brought his flesh hand up to cup your face, fingers sliding along your neck and locking into your hair as his thumb stroked your cheek. You shivered, goosebumps staining every inch of your body with the touch. His gloved hand stayed on your chin, tilting it up toward him for easier access.

You closed your eyes again, and he leaned in, and this time he really, actually kissed you. He applied the slightest bit of pressure, then he did it again, shifting his head and capturing your lips in his, pulling back slowly only to do it again.

You were in heaven.

You forgot to respond at first. All you could think of in your short-circuited brain was how Anakin smelled so good and his lips were so warm and he tasted like the stars. Oh, he definitely knew what he was doing, with the way he was moving his lips and the confidence he did it with. You had no idea what you were doing, so you let instinct take control.

You unclenched one of your fists from his leg and raised it to place on his shoulder, pushing just a bit to get a bit of leverage, get a little bit closer so you could respond in earnest. You opened your mouth and closed it over his lips, your stomach cartwheeling as you hoped you were doing this right. It felt right. It felt good. So you kept doing it, and Anakin’s metal arm dropped from your chin and fell to your waist as you rose onto your knees, hands finally tangling into the soft curls of his hair, kissing him like you’ve wanted to kiss him for years.

When Anakin pulled back for air, you realized just how starved you were for oxygen as well. You didn't even notice. You panted, fingers loosening in his hair, lips tingling and burning. Anakin was looking at you like you were everything he wanted, and his eyes caught the twinkle of the stars. This is right where you belong, you realized, right here in Anakin Skywalker’s giving arms. Your breathing evened out, and you seemed to be thinking the same thing.

You leaned back in.

#anakin #anakinskywalker #fluff #starwars #starwarsprequals #firstkiss #soft anakin #anakin hates sand #anakin x reader #anakin x y/n #shmiskywalker

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veiledsilver · 3 years

Note

Top five moments you've felt like the universe was messing with you.

Oh boy everyone get ready this is a long list. In descending order, from mildly funny looking back on it to "oh god oh shit oh fuck":

5. Catfishing: College Edition

In 6th grade, I decided to apply to colleges early to see how they were like. I was scared that if they knew I was too young, they'd arrest me. So I created a gmail account as my persona, a white 12th grader named Emilie Alexander. Emilie was planning to go into nursing, dating a high school linebacker named Kyle Kenderson, and deathly allergic to bee stings. If she even came near a bee, she would die.

This part was of the utmost importance.

See, I was constantly paranoid that one day, the jig would be up- I might forget that my fake last name was Alexander. Or the college dean might come knocking at my door and tear up my home in his mad search for Emilie. If that happened I would fake her tragic death, presumably caused by one big fucking bee.

I secretly collected my information. What nearby states were the prettiest to visit. Which colleges were the safest and most affordable. How often they held courses that I liked. In my emails with colleges I tried to sound as mature and professional as possible.

Then, one day, a college member asked me what high school I was in, so they could check my records.

My blood froze.

It was time to bring out the bee.

In response to their question, I sent an email that was like this:

"Dear Mr. McLaughlin, I was a proud graduate of- ugh! Ah! Kyaaaa! Uwaa! W-w-what's this... huge goddamn bee doing here?! Eek, pardon my foul language! It's just that, as I told you earlier, being stung by a bee would kill me.... and now it's stung me thrice (three times)!!

What do I do?! I can't die... I've always wanted to attend your beautiful college...

But this is... the end...

Mr. McLaughlin...

*looks at you sadly*

Tell... my mother... I loved her...

*dies*"

He never responded, probably because he was rendered speechless, but I never touched that account again.

My private gmail for fun stuff like tumblr still has "Alexander" as a surname, though.

4. Wild and Authentic

Alright. Alright. So. My art teacher in middle school.

Right off the bat, they endeared themselves to the tumblr art kids- they proudly used they/them pronouns, dyed their hair vibrant colors, deeply encouraged OC creation, and was chill with any art style even if it was anime. Mx. Mason was very cool, except for one thing.

We had complete artistic freedom when it came to their assignments, EXCEPT FOR ONE THING.

Drumroll, please.

Take a deep breath if you must.

Ready?

...

Cats had to have extremely distinct whisker pores.

YES, they believed that modern depictions of cats were too streamlined. Too... idealized. As a cat owner themselves, they were convinced that society's vision of cats did not do their feral feline ancestors justice. In making their faces flawlessly smooth-furred, we were stripping the cat of its true nature.

I found this out the hard way, when I was drawing warrior cats fanart for class (it was of Firestar cuddled in the arms of an orange haired anime catgirl who was his reincarnation in my first ever comic series, Warriors Neko Desu! ♡ Heart Academy Dokidoki).

Mx. Mason came over to look at my magnum opus, and I expected them to have their socks knocked off at my artistic talent. They lifted up my drawing for all to see, and I smugly leaned back in my seat.

Only for them to launch into a passionate lecture about how, in neglecting to draw whisker pores on cats, I was DENYING THIS FICTIONAL CAT OF ITS WILD AUTHENTIC SELF.

My friends absolutely lost it when I told them this story, and there was a period of time when all our discord nicknames were wild and authentic too.

As for Firestar and his counterpart Hoshineko Orenji-chan, I never did give them wild authentic whisker holes, but that's to be expected of a kittypet, I guess.

3. Stan Jungkook Or Whatever

A couple years ago, my family and I flew to Seoul, South Korea, to visit our relatives and teach me more about my heritage. It was very nice! I got to visit shrines and festivals and palaces, and I was in awe that this was what my ancestors had once seen in their daily lives.

Then, when we went to the modern side of Korea, I realized just how much I didn't fit in.

It was clear that I didn't know how to act, or how to speak Korean, and I spent my days fumbling around and getting scammed multiple times by salesmen. But I clowned myself the most... during an interactive event with kpop stars.

They had this experimental event where holograms of the boys would sing onstage and dance in place of the actual idols. Before the show began, girls could stand in booths that scanned their appearances, and holograms of THEM could dance onstage with the hologram boys.

I didn't know this.

When Cousin Ae-cha told me to step inside one of the machines, I thought I'd be hilarious and stand backwards, so it would scan the back of me instead of my front. As I walked out, I saw other girls putting on their best makeup, cutest clothes, and most expensive accessories, and I slowly realized that I was in danger.

But the danger didn't come until halfway through the concert, where the boys looked eagerly off-stage and a holy staircase appeared and all the hologram girls descended from heaven. There were cherry blossoms. There were roses. There was me, among the crowd of beautiful airbrushed girls, walking backwards.

I felt the judgemental gazes of twenty girls and their mothers.

Each boy danced with a girl, who got a cute animated moment with special effects, and sang about how they found a dream girl to have a true love romance with. Finally, all the girls vanished except one, and it was me.

One of the boys didn't dance with any girls, and now he was all alone in the rain, feeling dejected that HE did not find his true love girl to have a dream romance with. Then the rain stopped, the sun came out, and I emerged. Still backwards.

He was thrilled and sang about how my face (that he didn't see) stole his heart, and now everyone in the audience was giggling, and he slowly brought me very close to kiss me... but because I was backwards, his nose was cutely nuzzling my hair.

The audience members- at least the adults- were now laughing their asses off. His lips met the back of my head, and together we vanished into the wind.

I'd say I couldn't show my face there ever again, but I never did show my face, so... hm...

2. Horrid Little Temptress

If I wasn't a minor, I'd need a drink before starting this story. Sadly, I cannot drown my sorrows- and neither should you after you hear this, because it's only fair.

Mrs. Appleby was my Spanish teacher in like, 9th grade. Even the wild and authentic art teacher thought she was insane. Appleby forced kids to brew tea for her and yelled at them when they didn't get it right, and I thought she had a chronic squint until I realised she just did that to mock me and my Asian eye-folds. She forced us to watch Dora the Explorer to "absorb knowledge." Everyone fucking hated Mrs. Appleby.

But the worst thing she ever did... was during the school festival.

See, whenever she's angry, she zooms right into kids' faces to scream at them. Her wrinkled flesh would blot out the goddamn sun and all you see are her bloodshot yellow eyeballs so victims just stayed rooted to the spot like cornered animals or something similar. This is important.

Because when she was sampling her own brownies (read: hoarding them so no one else could eat them), one parent foolishly decided to grab one and she thought it was a student and she grabbed his wrist so hard she could've nearly snapped it and... and... zoomed into his face.

Except she underestimated his height and kissed him by accident, but it was more like her mouth was sucking in his face like a vacuum.

His wife was shrieking like an ape. His kid, my classmate, saw his social life flash before his eyes.

In her defense, she did not mouth to mouth with him on purpose and afterwards she cried in the bathroom and when I foolishly followed her in to comfort her, because I am a teacher's pet through and through, she snatched the paper towels I got for her and wailed that she was a-

A-

HORRID LITTLE TEMPTRESS.

If I had decided to not be kind, I never would've heard that string of fucking words. But I did. And I paid for it dearly. The end.

1. Violence IS The Answer, Sometimes

Thomas, my dearly detested.

Back in sixth grade, I used to have a crush on him because he had the surfer boy look with nicely tanned skin and pale blond hair and the clearest aquamarine eyes I've ever seen. He also liked surfing and swimming. He seemed like the perfect little trophy waifu except for one absolute dealbreaker.

He and his parents were extremely conservative and so, when I told him I liked him, his response was basically "haha no you're a [slur] and would probably eat my dog."

I was horrified and ran away to cry. But then, by the next day, I decided I needed to punish him. Thomas walked in before class started and I was waiting for him with these hands. I kicked him so he doubled over, slammed his face into his chair's seat, and quickly clambered on top of him to SIT ON THE BACK OF HIS HEAD. He started shaking and twitching and trying to pry me off, but eventually he went limp and stopped moving.

I thought he fell asleep, but Mohammed, another classmate who was bullied by Thomas, told me that Thomas might never wake up again (not that he was very sad about this. I didn't know until later, but Thomas said slurs at him too).

While I was sitting on the guy, he'd straight up passed out from the lack of oxygen.

Screaming and crying, I told our homeroom teacher that Thomas suddenly fainted, and she was the type of Caucasian that thought all little Asian kids were sweet and innocent, so it didn't even cross her mind that? It might've been me? Who sat on his head when she walked in?

He was sent home early that day. I had to go to a different school next year because Thomas's mom threatened legal action. The only reason I didn't get punished further was because my rich cousins out-Karen'd her and donated a huge amount of money to the school to keep them quiet.

Anyway, I never did anything that insane ever again, because something like that is enough for a lifetime. My cousins made it clear they would never back me up again. I was sure this whole event would be put behind me, too.

But last fall, during my first day of online learning... who did I see in my zoom meeting... BUT THOMAS! I had my mic and camera off, but the moment he saw my name, his face went pale. His soul would've left his body, but then it would've gone to hell, so it wisely decided to stay inside.

Still, out of shame and embarrassment, I never turned my camera on for the rest of the school year.

#asks #there you have it #i feel like I'm confessing my sins to the pope

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jenovahh · 3 years

Text

The Honey Pot - Ch. 26 - Irrational

“Oh thank the Twelve, you’re coming to.”

Blinking your eyes, you feel like you’ve been floating in space and have finally come down to earth, your limbs feeling heavy after being suspended in zero-gravity. You’ve been passing out too much lately you think, circumstances be damned.

Milky eyes that belong to a powdery face come into focus, Merlwyb the picture of worry as she calls for a doctor to check on your condition.

“Chief Merlwyb?” you cough, a glass of water held in front of you before you can even ask, Merlwyb slipping a straw inside and gently holding it towards your face. Mumbling a word of thanks, you take a sip, the water refreshing and quenching as you nearly down the whole cup until Merlwyb draws it away.

“I think you should slow it down. From what I understand, they were having to reintroduce you to food.” Merlwyb murmurs, setting the cup down on a nearby nightstand. Taking a look around you’re back in the same makeshift sick room within Cid’s mansion, IV hooked up to your arm as it pumps you full of whatever is in the bag attached to it. The doctor shows up soon enough, giving you a quick once over as she makes sure you’re on the mend.

As the doctor asks you a few questions, you notice Merlwyb looking incredibly guilty, wondering if she really feels so bad you had gotten captured. Surely she can’t be beating herself up over that?

“And if I may ask,” the doctor begins but Merlwyb holds up a hand gently.

“If it is alright with you doctor, I would like to speak to my officer about this alone.” Merlwyb interrupts, the doctor giving a nod of understanding, saying nothing more as she exits the room. Turning to you, Merlwyb’s fists are clenched tightly in her lap, and you get too worried to keep your peace.

“Is everything okay?” you ask with a broken laugh. “I mean, I know it was scary, Varis locking me up, but I’m okay. I’m okay.” You grin, reaching out to try to console her but she jerks away. “Chief,”

“Do not call me that.” She bites out, the harshness of her voice shocking you. A little hurt, you begin to question what you could’ve done to warrant such a flip in her attitude, until you see she is shaking with unshed tears, liquid pooling in the corners of her eyes as she finally gains the will to meet you eye to eye. “Do not refer to me with such respect after I’ve failed you so catastrophically.”

Confused, you shift to try and sit up a little better. “Chief Merlwyb, what do you mean? I thought we went over all the risks at the start! We knew that this would be a dangerous job,”

“The job would be dangerous, yes! But never would I have made you become pregnant with that bastard’s child!” She cries, tears finally running down her face. You sit in perfect stillness, unsure what to say. Faced with the reality of having to explain that you were not only pregnant with Zenos’ child, but that you didn’t even feel bad about it. When Varis had revealed that same fact to you, you didn’t even care.

“We sent you to simply try and catch his son in the act. To give us any kind of proof of illegal activity. Only to realize too late we had put you in that monster’s hands!” Merlwyb sobs, clutching your hands within her own. “When I had said that you must protect the mission at any cost, I never meant that you had to bear Varis’ child. That you would have to accept him forcing himself upon you.”

Eyes widening as you see the cause of her grief, you fumble to try and find your right words. “Chief, I...did the doctor,”

“The only one that knows is myself and Cid. Cid is busy preparing other avenues to try and handle Varis.” Merlwyb grumbles, over the worst of her crying. “He was appalled to learn of this, he had--”

“Please, please, stop right there.” You groan, sick at the thought of if things really had gotten to where they assumed they had. Taking a deep breath, you fix Merlwyb with a guilty look of your own. “Never would I have guessed the famed Annihilator to be a crier.” You joke weakly, watching as she seems to lighten the tiniest bit.

“Strong I may be, but I am not immune to the suffering of my officers.” She sniffs, rubbing your hands with her larger ones.

Looking at your hands joined together in your lap, you struggle on what to say next. “While I’m...glad you feel such concern with me...things didn’t get that far. Not with Varis.”

Brows furrowing, Merlwyb shifts closer to you in her seat. “What do you mean?”

Breathing deeply, you try to get everything out in one breath. “I will not deny it. What led to me being locked away was actually due to Varis trying to force himself on me.” Saying it nearly makes you throw up, tilting your head back as you take calming breaths. “He had drugged me with a substance mixed with aether rendering me unable to move. If his right hand man hadn’t shown up when he did...then he would have--” You nearly throw up again, having to keep the bile down as your body breaks out in a cold sweat.

“You don’t have to talk about this.” Merlwyb consoles, rubbing your back gently.

“No. Because I need to...I need to explain.” You sigh, feeling weary already. “What I’m trying to say is, Varis only tried to force himself on me before he locked me away. And...if my math is right, I should be a month or two along.” Placing a hand on your stomach, you rub it gently. “It’s not his.”

A mix of relief and worry passes through Merlwyb’s face, standing to her feet. “Thank the Twelve it isn’t so. I must tell Cid,”

“It’s Zenos’.” you cut off before she can even leave your side.

She stops in place immediately, shocked by your words as much as you are having said them. To put out in the universe you are carrying the child of someone you once thought a monster.

“Honey…” she whispers, sitting by your side once more. “Honey, did he,”

Shaking your head furiously, you refuse to meet her surely judgemental gaze. “No. I...it was consensual. Multiple times. I…” swallowing your fear, you press on. “I was so stressed from working for Varis, my health suffered. I stopped taking supplements, vitamins, and my birth control. I had met with Zenos that day when Raubahn died and one thing led to another.”

As tears leak from your eyes as you finally give voice to your shame, you still cannot bear to face her scorn. “I tried to hate him. I tried to hate him for so long, but he…” you sob, wiping furiously at your tears, “he’s the only one that understands me. The only one who’s strong enough, the only one who makes me happy. I didn’t even blink when Varis told me I was pregnant with his kid, I didn’t even feel sad. How fucked up am I for falling for him?!” You laugh, the sound broken and mangled. “I’m a failure to the mission, Raubahn would be ashamed--”

Merlwyb crushes you in her arms, ceasing your downward spiral. She says nothing, merely holding you tightly as your tears catch in her shirt, clutching you tight as she buries her face in your hair. “Honey...no matter what I better not hear such self deprecating language from you ever again.” She whispers, stroking your head softly. “Raubahn would be proud. You’ve survived. You are alive. And that’s all we ever wanted. For you to come home.”

“But I--”

“No ‘buts’.” She interjects, pulling away to give you the stern look you had known her for. “Not to throw him under the bus, but Cid had already filled me in on your entanglement with his bodyguard and Zenos respectively. I can’t lie that at first I was alarmed, but when he recounted all the trauma he had known you had gone through, how he could see you warp and change...I could not think to hold it against you. And neither would Raubahn.”

You weep thankful tears at her words, a weight lifted from your shoulders at her comfort. You embrace each other once more, wrapping yourself in the comfort of simply being held, knowing you both have been through the wringer these past few days.

Merlwyb notices your eyes begin to droop, promising to see you again when you wake up next. She would go off to find Cid and relay what you had told her in a calmer, less emotional fashion, sparing you the risk of potentially triggering yourself. You allow yourself a few more hours rest, drifting thoughtlessly as you have the most restful sleep you had in what had apparently been weeks.

Two weeks had Varis managed to stow you away, Cid and Merlwyb knowing something was wrong when they hadn’t heard hide or hair of you in two days. The phone Cid had given you had been confiscated and destroyed, giving them no idea on how to find you. They had been sick with worry with no way to find out what happened until Zenos had showed up on Cid’s doorstep in the dead of night, demanding that you be saved. Cid had immediately called for his personal doctor to begin treating you, bringing you to the present.

Even while you rest, your thoughts are too tumultuous to let you sleep long, the steady drip of your IV and the light buzz of the alarm clock on your nightstand your only companions when you wake. It is a few hours past midnight, the mansion quiet, but in a good way unlike the Galvus estate. There’s just enough white noise in the halls that gives a comfortable ambience, a home that is lived in, prompting you to drag yourself out of bed and into some slippers to walk a bit to maybe tire your mind a bit to go back to sleep.

Forced to drag your IV pump around with you, you shuffle down the hall, enjoying the peace as you let your feet aimlessly wander. Though you know Cid was prone to all nighters if he was knee deep in a project, something tells you he’s fast asleep. Making your way downstairs you enjoy the calm of his mansion at night, slipping past the many doors as you struggle to not bump your shin into any unsuspecting furniture.

As you pass through the living room, you hear grunting, looking through one of the many floor to ceiling windows to spot Zenos outside, running through his practice routines. His golden hair now looks to be made of spun ivory under the moonlight, muscles flexing with every movement as he swings his sword through the air. Each strike is precise, measured as he hones his skill, a fierce determination on his face as he snarls his frustration.

Heading to the sliding door, you gently push it open, the warm night air soothing you instantly as you stand in the doorway, watching him quietly. You’re surprised he’s yet to notice your presence, too focused on whatever he’s thinking about to catch you watching him. Leaning against the doorframe, you’re content to watch how his body flows effortlessly through each stance, dressed in his usual workout attire, clinging to him like a second skin.

It is only when he spins does he take note of you at the door, uncharacteristically startled before a shadow of guilt darkens his features. Frowning, you move to join him in the yard only for him to give you a look that promises retribution if you move from your spot at the door. “What are you doing here?”

Tutting, you stand up straight. “From what I heard, you brought me here.”

“That’s not what I,” he pauses, turning away from you for a moment. “I meant what are you doing outside? You should be inside, resting.”

“I was trying,” you grumble, stepping out onto the manicured grass, dragging the IV pump along uneven ground. He turns to you once more, unable to meet your eyes. “I couldn’t sleep, probably because I had spent the past two weeks being made to sleep. My body’s quite sick of it, I think.” You joke lightly, coming to stand before him.

He still won’t meet your gaze, which is strange in and of itself. Creeping closer, he shifts away and you frown, trying to peek under his fringe of hair. “Zenos? What’s the matter?” you ask, reaching out for his hand but he jerks it away.

“What do you want?” he snarls, eyes furious. Though you begin to get angry, you take a step back and look at the situation. Though your memories are hazy, you can remember his desperation to get you out of that facility. His worry at seeing you look so frail and weak. The guilt you had seen once he had realized you were there--

He was scared.

Lowering yourself to the ground, you can’t help but laugh a little at how he casts his sword to the ground while reaching to catch you in the same motion, uncaring of where his blade ends up. “I’m not dying, Zenos. I’m not falling apart.” you sigh wistfully, motioning to the ground for him to sit next to you.

Pursing his lips, he seems to debate between picking you up and carrying you back inside, versus giving into your whims. “You’ve not seen the horrors of my father’s experiments.” He answers instead, lowering himself to the cool grass to your side, one knee bent with the other leg extended before him. You relish in his slight intake of breath as you shuffle to be closer to him, leaning upon his warmth. It’s not too cool out, but the furnace that is his body isn’t unpleasant. “But I suppose for that, I am thankful.”

“I’ve not. And I’m glad I didn’t.” you murmur, relaxing immediately from his presence alone.

The two of you are quiet, Zenos stiff as if he does not know what to do with this nearness from you. “I...I’m glad I had found you in the condition I had. I had feared the worst.” he admits, which coming from him, is no small feat.

Gazing up at the moon, you rest your weight fully upon him, his arm naturally coming to support you and hold you close, almost as if on instinct. His hand seems unsure where to place itself, so you help by gently coaxing it to sling around your waist, linking your fingers with his. “He had told me so many horrible things. He told me how awfully he would treat you.” you murmur, satisfied to stay just like this.

“What did he tell you?”

His voice is guarded, cornered. Scared.

“He told me...that he forced himself on your mother.” You answer, unable to look him in the face.

He tenses then, skin heating before you tighten your grip on his hand, hearing his deep breaths behind you as he calms himself down. “The story the public knows is that my mother passed away due to sickness. Only a select few know the truth.” His voice is far away, distant, as if lost within a nightmare. “After all, it’s not really palatable to have it leak out that your father had threatened to have your mother killed if she tried to run. That when she felt she had no option left, she had killed herself.”

Gasping, you turn in his arms to look at him, finding nothing but an emotionless gaze staring back. You can see the truth in his eyes, a pain so guarded and so deep that you wonder if this is the first time he’s told anyone else. “Zenos,”

“After all, wouldn’t you do the same? Would you not burst into hysterics upon looking at the child you not only had forced upon you, but were also forced to bear?” he laughs humorlessly, as if the joke is tired and worn out, the punchline having lost its kick.

You wonder if he can hear your heart breaking.

“Zenos,” you whisper carefully, reaching with both hands to cup his face, feeling its warmth but a cold expression is all you get in return.

“I do not need your pity.” he snips, though he makes no move to push you away. “I’ve had my share of it. And for what? It would not bring my mother back. Not that she would want to stay anyway. Not when she gave birth to a monster.”

Tears pool in your eyes at his words, wondering how much he had of this locked up inside, and for how long?

How long had he not known love?

One of his hands reaches up to dab at a tear trailing down your cheek, frowning as he does so. “Why do you cry? I told you I didn’t want your pity.”

“I’m crying for you.” You murmur, turning in his hold to be on your knees, crowding closer to where he parts his legs more to give you room to sit between them. “Because you’ve not had the chance to do it for yourself.”

His lips part at that, emotions of all kinds warring on his face before he settles on anger. “You are a fool if you think that would change things.”

“I’m not trying to change things you idiot!” you whisper harshly, not wanting to yell and potentially wake anyone up. “You come and save me from being experimented upon by your father until I die and you don’t want me to show you I’m at least a little grateful? When I had started to believe that no one would come for me and you carried me out in your arms?”

“Sweet words won’t excuse your cowardice.” he growls, trying to pull away. “That even after you apologized, you had gone running back into my father’s arms.”

“For you!” You snap, clutching his face desperately.

Confused, he shakes his head. “What do you--”

“You think I would go back to the asshole willingly?” you seethe, begging him to understand. “That me, a cop, would want anything to do with his desire to be a dictator? To remember the good ole days of imperial rule?” Despite your earlier reservations, you raise your voice with every question. “Do you know how much it hurt to be apart from you? To see the betrayal in your eyes as I left your side for no other reason than to try and take your father down so you would be free from his influence? To fall for you--”

Your words catch in your throat, unable to take them back. The two of you only stare at one another, wide eyed and frozen as your unsaid words hang between you, wishing you could simply disappear. Zenos is solid as a board and your heart sinks, releasing his face as you begin to stand. “I should get back inside,”

He pulls you back to him forcefully, not letting you flee back to the safety of your room. You try to tug away but you’re still too weak to fight against his might, huffing and puffing for him to release you as you try to run from the shame of your actions. “Let go of me,” you whine, resisting his touch as he wraps his arm around you like a vice, refusing to let you go anywhere.

The rough pads of his fingers urge you to face him as you squirm in his arms, not wanting to face him, to face your feelings. “Honey.” He breathes, finally getting you at a suitable angle to press his lips to yours, ashamed at how easily you melt in his arms. He deepens the kiss, full of all the passion, the emotion you now know he’s capable of, threading his fingers into your hair as you rest your hands upon his chest before looping around his shoulders.

The kiss is all passion, all affection, all possession as your tongues dance together, as teeth nibble each other's lips, as you breathe each other's air. You fall into him just as easily as you did the first time, wondering how on earth did you get here? It is only when he feels you crying again does he pull apart, dabbing gently at your tears with an indescribable emotion upon his angelic features.

“You would run because you’re afraid of what you feel for me?” he asks, holding you as if you were made of the most delicate glass. The same man who had no problem flipping you over his back, grappling you like a wrestler, was now cradling you as if you were the most important thing in the world to him. “I have never run from how I feel for you, even if I cannot understand it. I have only wanted you. It can only be you.”

“You don’t get it!” You sob, pounding your fists on his chest. “I love you, you idiot! I was sent to try and take you and your father down and look where I am! I fell for you instead, I’m having your ch--” you stop yourself once again, afraid of what he would possibly think.

“I do not know love but I do know I would have no other. Is that not good enough?” he asks, desperate to understand, and Twelve above you wish he did. Perhaps he loves you in his own way, but there’s so much of him that needs healing, so many bad habits he needs to break before you could truly be by his side. It occurs to you only now that you looked at him through rose-tinted glasses, seeing nothing but the happiness he brought you, and you alone.

A child brings new questions into the mix.

Would he treat the child the same way he treated you? Would he fall into the bad habits of his father, having no good example of how to be a parent? Continuing a cycle of abuse because he had never known love? Would he train that child for the sole purpose of becoming stronger, unsatisfied until either of them fell in battle?

Deep down you knew you were being foolish, but fear overcame reason as you kept your eyes shut tight, crying against his chest as he held you. It was such an irrational fear, one you were completely self aware of, but that did not stop you from crying, nor did it stop you from falling into his embrace as he kissed you once more.

You are no stranger to Zenos’ touch, though you are a stranger to how gently he treats you as you recover from being detained by Varis. Only with your permission do you allow him to visit, except visitation is not satisfactory. He all but moves into your room, seeing to your needs during the day until he goes about his own business before returning to you at night. He’s always there to bring you your meals, sitting in comfortable silence or making light conversation, making you remember just how much you loved him, until he reminded you just how much you needed to run away when this was all over.

You only wish he knew how hard he was making it for you.

There wasn’t a need of yours that wasn’t seen to by Zenos personally. Whatever you wanted to eat, he went and got it. If you wanted to walk around, he was the one to pull your IV pump along, leaving you free to simply stretch your legs. From fluffing your pillow to simply being a warm body to hold at night, there was nothing he would not do for your sake.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

As you recuperated and strength once again flowed through your limbs, he turned into your physical therapist, helping you stretch your muscles and make you limber enough to fight again. He would only spar lightly at your request, making you feign exhaustion so he didn’t feel angry for making himself hold back. Naturally you made sure to avoid all blows to your abdominal area, flowing like water around his strikes, taking a more defensive approach, which you thought would make him angry.

It had the opposite effect. It seemed to only make him want you more, pursuing you like a man possessed, fucking you into the floor until your voice was hoarse from crying out his name.

This is how I got here in the first place, you grumble to yourself, walking with him to meet up with Cid and Merlwyb on another part of the estate. There was hardly a day he was not by your side, something you did not mind after spending so long apart, but you began to think it strange considering the circumstances. Varis had to be wondering where he was. But if Zenos was not worried, you figured you shouldn’t be either.

Reaching the conference room turned “briefing room”, you give a small wave to Cid and Merlwyb who greet you in return. “You’re looking better by the day, Honey. I’m glad to see you’re making a recovery.” Cid welcomes, standing from his chair to come give you a hug. You return it with equal measure, glad to have people on your side. “Please sit. We haven’t been waiting long.”

Nodding, you pull a chair out from the table, not at all surprised as Zenos takes a seat in the one directly next to you. “I’m sorry to delay everything for so long.”

“Your recovery was paramount, Honey.” Merlwyb speaks up, giving you a serious look. “You have shouldered so much of this upon your back. There is no way we could ask you to put your life on the line anymore than we already have.”

“But I want to. I want to take him down.” You insist, refusing to take no for an answer. Merlwyb looks ready to argue but Cid quickly interjects, physically leaning between the two of you.

“Easy there, ladies. We’ve got a common goal, and let’s just look at the facts before we start making plans.” Cid offers in the interest of neutrality, slowly sitting back down in his chair. “We’ve got quite a bit of information to catch Honey up on anyway.” He sighs, reaching for a remote and turning on the mounted TV. The screen is paused with Varis’ face on it, a news ticker reading “Varis Unveils Revolutionary Technology”, your heart immediately sinking.

“This has been on the news for nearly two weeks. Yes, it’s exactly what you’re thinking. Varis has revealed his ‘discovery’ of aether upon your capture.” Cid grounds out, clicking on the remote to start the clip. It is silent, but the clip continues to play, allowing Cid to speak. “It’s been a nightmare since. I’ve been called by more news outlets than I care to remember asking for my response.”

Sadness creeps into his features as he watches the TV with a forlorn expression. “As I had told you, my father’s laboratory had burned down, leaving me with no physical proof that it was he who originally discovered aether. All I have is my word against his ‘proof’.” Banging his fist against the table, he runs his hands through his hair. “It’s infuriating.”

Clicking the remote a different press conference plays on the TV, Varis showing off different bits of technology powered by aether. "He's got the public in the palm of his hand. Everyone's dazzled by the power of aether, but of course only we know the truth. We know that aether is not to be messed with, that it is dangerous and more powerful than we could possibly comprehend." Cid explains, tapping his fingers against the table. "I've considered trying to make my own sample, to show what a volatile resource it is…"

"We already discussed this Cid. Absolutely not." Merlwyb interjects. Their interaction comes as a slight surprise. Merlwyb was Cid’s senior by barely a decade, but within the past month they became fast friends. "Varis has already tried to take your life once and is already so sure of his victory that he's content to leave you alone for now. Let's not give him reason to try and take you out."

Nodding grimly, Cid turns back to you. "As you can see, we've got our hands tied. Varis is, if anything thorough, making it hard to plan any sort of move. We're running out of time."

Gnawing your lip, you find yourself focusing on what Merlwyb had said. "If...do you think he would try and target Lord Hien?" The room is completely silent, and you don’t know if it’s because they find the notion preposterous, or they wonder how the thought has never crossed their mind. “I mean, clearly Varis has to think he’s nigh untouchable now. He’s attempted to kill Cid once without facing any consequences. He successfully killed Raubahn and forced Merlwyb into hiding. Don’t you think…?”

Cid drags his hands over his face, heaving out a dry laugh. “Nymeia save me, I think you might be onto something.”

“But Cid, why would he need to kill Hien? The election is so close, he’s already done so much to make himself look like the ideal candidate. What more could killing Hien do for him?” Merlwyb questions, posing some good points.

“An easy win.”

The three of you turn to Zenos who has remained uncharacteristically quiet this entire exchange. “Honey has been around my father long enough by now to understand how he thinks. However, as his son,” he grounds out, “I have intimate knowledge of how his mind works.” Shifting in his seat, he sighs. “Before he had stopped telling me of his plans, he thought himself untouchable; he had evaded you all for decades.” He explains, looking pointedly at Merlwyb before his gaze shifts to Cid. “And the only one who could ever bring any evidence against him had no physical proof, nor the courage to say anything.”

Giving a frustrated sigh, Cid turns once again to the TV. “I can’t deny that. My own cowardice has allowed this to go on for as long as it has.” Cid murmurs, fidgeting with the remote in his hand.

“And if he were to kill Hien, who could stop him?” Zenos asks, glancing around the table. “The Chief has been killed, and the only other ‘good cop’ remains hidden for her own safety. Who is next in command to take Raubahn Aldynn’s place?”

You gasp, turning to Zenos. “Ilberd.”

Shrugging, the heir goes back to looking bored once again. “With his longtime supporter at the head of police, it would be no problem to have Hien’s death look like nothing more than an accident even if he shot him point blank on national television.”

“Twelve above…” Merlwyb whispers, burying her face in her hand. “Decades worth of planning. Decades worth of moves. I had always suspected Ilberd, but on this large a scale…” Gasping, her eyes widened in horror. “By the Twelve, he has the entire police force under his control. If he wins the seat, he would have an entire army--”

The room is silent once again, the three of you processing the scope of Varis’ plans. When he boasted of his intellect, you had thought little of it, knowing that like any businessman he was educated, but to be so thorough, to make the right connections, to plan this far ahead…

Clenching your fist, you stand to your feet. “We have to save Lord Hien.”

“I don’t disagree, but--”

“But what, Chief Merlwyb? I refuse to have another person die because of that bastard!” Your chest is heaving, Cid looking surprised at your outburst while Merlwyb maintains her composure, giving you a knowing look.

“Honey, please calm down.” She urges, reaching across the table to place her hand atop of your own. Something silent passes between the two of you and you take a few calming breaths, sitting back in your seat. “If you will allow me to finish, what I was trying to say is that this is not something we can go into guns blazing. We are dealing with a man who knows how to run circles around the law; this I know well. We will have to make a plan that is fool proof and draws no attention to us.” Her eyes turn to the heir sitting by your side. “Especially now that we’ve got his son on our side.”

At that Zenos fixes Merlwyb with a hot glare. “And where did you get the notion that I would be assisting you in any way, shape, or form?” Zenos asks, his voice even and neutral, but you can see the rage within his eyes.

“If you are not helping us, then why have you stayed here, Zenos?” Cid asks sternly.

“Is it not obvious?” Zenos scoffs, eyes upon you. “My only focus has been, and always will be Honey. But even then…” Something haunting passes through his eyes, seeming far away before coming back to the present. “...even then I could not aid you. I cannot go against my father, but I will no longer aid him either.” Standing to his feet, he prepares to leave but you snag his hand, giving him a pleading look.

“Zenos...I,” you begin, unsure what to say. “We could use your help.”

Shaking his head, he tugs his hand free and continues on his way, saying nothing else. Your heart breaks that much more to see him go.

Stewing in your thoughts a bit, you find yourself a bit hurt at Zenos’ refusal to take down his father, but try to think about it calmly. Given what he revealed to you, that his own mother did not want him, saw him as a monster, who knows what psychological damage had been done to him to make him unwilling to raise a hand against his father?

You’d make a point to ask him about it later, but for the time being, you needed to make a plan. “We’ll have to carry on without Zenos. He’s not against us, which is almost the same as being on our side. Trust me...if Zenos did truly serve his father and Varis had kept me hidden, the only being who can take Zenos down, Varis truly would be unstoppable.” Cid and Merlwyb nod grimly at your words, having no other choice. “Do we have any way of contacting Lord Hien?”

“I have his number due to working with him for the...rally. The only problem is he’s surely seen my funeral and thinks me dead.” Merlwyb answers, flipping through her phone.

“In that case, perhaps Cid can give a call, especially since he has the technology to make sure it isn’t tampered with.” You direct, having taken the lead. “We’ll call Lord Hien and apprise him of as much information as we can. If I have to go in and make the rescue myself, then so be it.”

“Absolutely not.” Cid interjects, eyebrows pinched together. “I will not have you shouldering this entire operation again. Besides, if you’re not familiar with Lord Hien, he’s got an excellent shadow of his own I hear. Yugiri, I believe her name is. What she lacks in your sheer strength she more than makes up for in stealth. In fact, she just might be our ticket to get Lord Hien to safety.”

Unfortunately, Lord Hien has other plans.

Cid contacts Hien as promised, relaying as much information in as little time as possible. Lord Hien expresses his concern and guilt for the recent happenings, and due to the credibility of your accusations, hears you out.

However, he will not escape.

“But Lord Hien,”

The three of you are seated in the same conference room, staring at the TV screen where current Kugane Prime Minister, Lord Hien sits staring back.

“I understand your concern, Mr. Garlond,” Hien pauses, handsome face deadly serious. “But this would be a terrible time to abandon the public. I would go as far to say that my sudden disappearance would only usher Varis into his seat faster.”

Biting your lip, you can’t deny he’s right, but still you worry. “But we can’t let him get to you either!”

“Do not worry for me, my friends.” Hien smiles, as if all will be well. “I did not say I won’t take safety measures. I will remain out of the public eye, and stay hidden with those who I know are loyal to me. These past few years as Prime Minister have allowed me the opportunity to gain many allies.” Hien explains calmly, pausing to take a sip of water. “This will also allow me to help you behind the scenes as well.”

“While we appreciate your aid, Lord Hien, this entire operation is contingent on you living. Will you not reconsider coming into our custody where we know we can protect you?” Merlwyb asks, sounding as strong as ever.

“The operation does not revolve around me, my friends. It revolves around Varis atoning for the crimes he has committed against the people.” Hien frowns, threading his hands together. “He has murdered civilians he is desperate to rule over. Lied and stolen from his constituents. While Kugane needs a good leader, yes, it does not have to be me.” Smiling, something about him makes you wish you knew that kind of calm. “While I appreciate that you want me to remain in my seat, what matters most is his crimes coming to light and being locked away for what he’s done.”

Unable to argue against that kind of logic, you merely stand from your seat. “I understand. I need a moment of rest, so if you will excuse me.”

Not stopping to hear what anyone has to say, you flee from the room, allowing your feet to carry you anywhere within the estate.

Lord Hien either put too much faith in you, or he was a fool.

His certainty that all would be well, that things would work out, where did it come from? You could see his appeal, a confident, easy going charisma backed by an unwavering sense of justice, of doing right by the people. All the things that Varis lacked, that would make Hien the ideal candidate for Kugane.

But he was right. No matter how ideal he was, what mattered most was making sure Varis did not come into power. Even if it meant Hien somehow died in the process.

It was a tough pill to swallow, that Lord Hien was so okay with being a willing target so long as Varis was brought to justice. It made you feel as if his life was in your hands, a deeper part of you whispering to trust in his words, that he would do his best to keep himself safe.

Coming to a stop to a door leading outside, you step out into warm, summer air, feeling the grass between your toes. Days like these did wonder for your mood, making sure you made a point to keep as much stress off of you as possible. With everything going on, it was hard to do, but Merlwyb had aided in that department, making sure you kept your temper in check for the sake of the child growing inside of you.

The thought of getting rid of it had occurred to you more than once, to simply rid yourself of all the “what ifs” and “maybes” and be done with it. But each time you did, you found yourself weakened by the thought of being able to give your child everything you didn’t have. To raise her with the same love and adoration in which Minfilia had raised you.

When this was all said and done, you would have plenty of time to make your escape. Perhaps you would flee to Eorzea, make a new life and name for yourself there. You doubt Zenos would care enough to spend time to track you down on another continent, making it the ideal place to start anew. You could get a new home. You could find a new job.

You could continue running away from the best thing to ever happen to you.

#FFXIV #ff14 #Final Fantasy XIV #zenos #zenos yae galvus #THP

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sweetteaanddragons · 4 years

Text

Day Fifty-One (And Counting)

With Feanorian Week finished, I managed to complete something for the Tolkien Decameron Project! For those that prefer not to read on AO3, I decided to also post it here.

. . .

Nolofinwe wakes up to find Feanaro about an inch from his face.

He thinks he can be forgiven for a quietly strangled scream. Usually when he wakes up with a face that close to his, it’s his wife, or possibly, when they were younger, one of his children.

Not Feanaro peering down at him like Nolofinwe has just become his latest experiment.

“Good, you’re awake,” Feanaro says with apparent satisfaction. Thankfully, he pulls his face away some, although since he’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, this is still rather awkward.

Nolofinwe looks to the other side rather helplessly in the hopes that Anaire will still be there and will have some kind of idea what’s going on. Unfortunately, she appears to have risen for the day already.

“She’s in your dining room,” Feanaro informs him. “She’s just about to discover there’s a spider on her cup.”

Downstairs, there’s a shriek and the sound of something breaking.

“You put a spider on my wife’s cup?” he says rather blankly. Feanaro is not above pettiness, but he is usually above childish pranks.

“No,” Feanaro says dismissively, and then he moves on, pulling out a sheet of paper that must have been laying beside him. “Number one - “

“How did you even get in here?” Nolofinwe demands, taking advantage of his regained personal space to sit up. “Why are you here?” They are both scheduled to appear before their father in his court today; surely whatever it is could have waited until then.

“I climbed in the window,” Feanaro tells him rather impatiently, and he assumes for a happy moment that his half-brother is joking.

Then he notices the grappling hook hanging over the window ledge and the rope that is trailing behind it. There is also, he realizes with a jolt of dread, a chair tucked under the doorknob as a rudimentary barricade against entrance.

Tensions between he and his half-brother have become high. He had not previously realized that they had become so high that Feanaro would conclude the best method of speaking to him was breaking and entering.

He wonders if it is too late to bury his head under his pillow and pretend this isn’t happening.

Feanaro anticipates this, apparently, because he snatches the pillow away and tucks it under his paper. “Number one,” he says firmly. “You are my brother.”

“Regrettably,” he mutters when Feanaro looks up expectantly.

Feanaro scowls at him. “You are my brother,” he repeats, “and I . . . love . . . you.” He looks like he’s bitten into something sour, but he steamrolls through the sentence regardless.

Nolofinwe gapes at him.

It occurs to him, suddenly, that Feanaro does have a tendency towards experiments and working with dangerous equipment. “Have you hit your head recently?” It’s almost a hopeful question. It would be an explanation, at least. A sensible, rational explanation.

Feanaro ignores this. “Number four,” he announces. “I do not want you dead.”

“I’m . . . glad?”

“Number five. Despite the fact that I hate every single factor that led to your existence, I do not regret your existence itself.”

Nolofinwe wonders if he is supposed to be reciprocating these statements. Feanaro is very clearly waiting for something, and maybe this will all go away if he gets whatever it is. “I’m . . . glad . . . you’re here too, Feanaro.” Well, not here in this room, in this moment, but as a general statement of truth -

Frankly, as a general statement of truth, his life would be a lot easier if Feanaro didn’t exist, but he can’t actually imagine what that would look like, so, yes, he’s glad Feanaro’s here in a general, existential sense.

Feanaro is apparently not interested in this declaration of brotherly sentiment and in fact seems rather annoyed by the interruption. “Number seven."

Nolofinwe wonders what happened to number six, but he quickly decides he does not want to prolong this experience by bringing it up. This seems all the more wise when what Feanaro says is -

"I am sorry for drawing a sword on you.”

“Beg pardon?” Nolofinwe looks around a little frantically, wondering if this happened while he was asleep. There is no sword in evidence, however, and he is growing increasingly concerned that his ‘Feanaro got knocked on the head’ theory is correct.

“Number eight. I am sorry for accidentally killing you.”

“I’m not dead. I have never been dead.”

For a single moment, it occurs to him that maybe he’s wrong, that maybe this is the Halls of Mando,s and the afterlife is far more bizarre than the Valar have led them to believe.

“Not today, I haven’t,” Feanaro says, rolling his eyes, and, alright, Nolofinwe is definitely going for a healer as soon as he thinks he can get past Feanaro to the door. “Number nine. I am sorry for failing to save you on the forty-nine days that followed that accident.”

“Save me from what?” he asks in his best placating voice. Maybe if he edges over to Anaire’s side of the bed . . .

“Dying,” Feanaro says shortly. “I’m not reading you that list, you never react well to it. Number ten - “ His hand shoots and grabs Nolofinwe’s wrist the second he tries to scoot away. “You’re not going anywhere until I’ve tried everything on this list,” he says grimly.

There are many contests Nolofinwe can win against his brother. Contests of tact, for instance. Contests of sanity, apparently.

Contests of strength are definitely not among that number, not after Feanaro’s long years at the forge, so Nolofinwe doesn’t even try to tug against his grip. He tries to play along instead. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

“I’m saying everything they want to hear,” Feanaro says. “Starting with statements about you, since you seem to be the center of all this.”

Nolofinwe works very hard to keep his voice steady. “This?”

“For the past fifty days, you have died every day,” Feanaro says, and there is a terrifying bleakness in his eyes that Nolofinwe has never seen before. “And then I wake up, and Makalaure is singing somewhere downstairs, and you’re alive again, and no one remembers anything. Except me.”

“So you . . . “

“Have been trying to stop it,” Feanaro says impatiently, but there is still that terrible bleakness in his eyes, and it hits Nolofinwe, suddenly, that for all the irritableness Feanaro has displayed today, the terrible rage that has been building between them for years is entirely gone.

Thinking he has seen Nolofinwe die fifty times is apparently enough to do that to him.

He realizes then, that whether or not he believes Feanaro, he at least believes Feanaro believes this, and that’s concerning enough in itself.

“You said they,” he remembers. “Who’s they?”

“The Valar, of course,” Feanaro says, still impatient. “Who else would have the power?”

That’s . . . valid. If this were to happen, the Valar would be the ones to do it, but why?

“I’ve tried saving you, and that never works,” Fenaaro says. “You just die a different way, so that can’t be what they want. I spent all of yesterday compiling a mental list, and I wrote it down as soon as I woke up this morning. Something on here as to be what they want to hear.”

There is a terrible, desperate, light in his eyes, and Nolofinwe decides that no bump on the head is enough to explain this. Either Feanaro is telling the truth, or he has gone utterly, irretrievably mad.

He hears steps creaking on the stairs, and Feanaro says, tiredly, “It’s Anaire. She’s going to knock three times and ask if you’re coming down to breakfast.” His nose wrinkles. “She’s also going to call you ‘sweetheart.’”

There are three raps on the door. “Sweetheart?” his wife calls. “Are you coming down to breakfast?”

Nolofinwe’s mouth has gone very dry. “No,” he manages to croak out. “No, I need to . . . think.”

Feanaro has mouthed along to every word.

“Alright,” his wife says with a sigh, and then she retreats back down the stairs.

“You could have guessed that,” he says, as soon as she’s gone.

“Or I could have come to your house on and off for the last fifty days as I try to figure out a way to fix this.”

It’s insane. It’s impossible.

He thinks he might almost believe it.

Feanaro either sees this or gives up on convincing him, because he pushes onward. “Number ten. I am sorry for the following insults I have rendered you over the years - “

Nolofinwe can see enough of the paper to realize he has an itemized list of these. He does not particularly want to hear it read. “Maybe you have to actually mean it,” he interrupts.

“I do mean it,” Feanaro snaps, and it is with such blazing sincerity that Nolofinwe cannot, for a moment, speak.

Oh.

You are my brother. I love you.

He - had not expected to hear that.

Feanaro glares down at the paper, possibly as an excuse to not have to look at Nolofinwe. “Except maybe for this one,” he admits.

“That’s fair,” Nolofinwe says faintly. “I don’t regret most of the things I’ve called you for the past few decades either.”

There is an ominous creaking sound from above them. Nolofinwe looks up.

There’s a crack in the ceiling. There has been for months now; he keeps meaning to have it fixed, but there never seems to be time.

It’s getting wider now.

And it’s right over Feanaro’s head.

Feanaro doesn’t seem to notice. He’s still looking at the paper, gearing up for number eleven.

The creaking sound grows louder. Stone dust crumbles from the ceiling and starts to fall.

Feanaro looks up, his eyes going dark in absolute horror.

Nolofinwe shoves himself off the bed, and collides into Feanaro, desperately trying to push him out of the way. There’s a sharp burning pain in his back -

. . .

Nolofinwe wakes up to the sound of hammering.

There is a large barricade in front of his bedroom door. Someone is pounding on it.

Feanaro meanwhile, is pounding on the nails he is using to drive a support beam into Nolofinwe’s bedroom ceiling, right over the crack he’s been meaning to have fixed.

For a moment, he is sure he is dreaming.

“What are you doing?” he finally demands.

Feanaro doesn’t even glance down. “Good, you’re awake. Number eleven.”

“Eleven of what?” he demands.

Feanaro steamrolls on without bothering to answer.

It is, Nolofinwe suspects, going to be a very long day.

. . .

(Note: I have many complicated feelings about the tv show Supernatural, not all of them positive. However, I DO uncomplicatedly love the premise of the episode "Mystery Spot," and I got curious about how it might play out with two brothers who aren't . . . quite so willing to admit that they care about the other. This was the result.)

#feanor #fingolfin #groundhog day #fic #silmarillion #years of the trees #time travel

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jesatria · 3 years

Text

Fic: Simple Pleasures, Chap 8

Title: Simple Pleasures Fandom: Kushiel’s Legacy Characters: Isidore d’Aiglemort, Anne Livet Pairings: Isidore/Anne Word Count: 4,888 Rating: NC-17 Summary: The story of Isidore d’Aiglemort & the gardener’s daughter of Lombelon. WIP. Disclaimer: I do not own Kushiel’s Legacy. This is only for fun & no profit is being made from it.

Previous Chapters:

1. The Visit

2. Desire

3. The Harvest Festival

4. Triumph

5. Gifts

6. The Eagle Unbound

7. Lighting the Candle

Chapter 8: The Longest NIght

Winter came early and hard. The snows fell earlier in the City than they were usually wont to do and fever soon broke out. It made me glad that I was not planning to pass the Longest Night there. Poets soon took to calling it the Bitterest Winter. Mayhap others felt the bitterness; I did not. Quite the opposite. Things were proceeding according to my plan. Yes, the King had rejected my bid for Ysandre’s hand and Ysandre herself refused to speak against her grandfather’s decision. It was a setback, but not a serious one. I had other plans.

I was in high spirits when I arrived at Lombelon a few days before the Longest Night. In truth I’d been flying high since Baudoin’s death, as if a weight had been lifted from me. That combined with Anne’s agreement to become my consort, sufficed to keep me in a fine mood since the summer. Then there was her unexpected revelation that she’d lit the candle to Eisheth. I soon realized, however, that I liked the idea of having a child with her. I was past thirty now—it was high time I got myself an heir. Whether I ever married or not, children born of an officially-recognized consort were counted as legitimate.

A fresh dusting of snow covered the ground when I arrived at Lombelon. Anne stood in her usual place of greeting outside the door, the fur-lined cloak I’d given her wrapped tightly around her. As I rode closer, I could see she was positively glowing with excitement. I all but leapt off my horse and rushed over to her. “I’ve some wonderful news,” she said after we exchanged the usual greetings, “I’m with child.”

My eyes went wide. “You’re certain?”

“Quite certain.”

I swept her into my arms and kissed her fervently. “That is wonderful news indeed!” Somehow the possibility of fatherhood had failed to register with me yet; this brought the reality home. I was going to be a father. Anne and I were going to have a child. It was happening, truly happening. The prospect was intimidating, yes, but only a little. The entirely foreign territory of parenthood was not such a wild land when I had Anne to travel it beside me.

“Would you carry me over the threshold as if I were your wife?” Anne’s teasing voice jolted me out of my thoughts. I did as she suggested and set her down just inside the doorway. It was only a casual remark, but it got me thinking, imagining myself as King with Anne and our child beside me. The thought of tossing all political considerations aside to follow Blessed Elua’s precepts was a very appealing one. I resolved to think on it again later, once I had the prize I sought. For now, I would continue with my plan to name Anne my official consort. ‘Twas a pity it would have to wait until I had the throne. I simply did not have the time to see to it before then, not when I had so many other preparations to make.

It was immediately apparent that the Longest Night was nigh upon us. The great hall was decorated with wreaths and evergreen boughs, embellished here and there with red, white, and silver ribbons. Such decorations were common for the Longest Night, but I could see how they would have a particular significance in L’Agnace as a reminder that there was life yet in the earth and green things would return. “I see you’ve noticed the decorations,” Anne remarked, drawing my attention back to her.

“Yes. They’re quite festive. Your doing?”

“Oh no, we always decorate the great hall like this for the Longest Night,” she explained. “I like the greenery. I’d keep it there all winter if I could.”

“How very L’Agnacite of you.”

“Seeing evergreens always cheers me in winter,” she replied. Anne hated winter, a sentiment which seemed rather common in L’Agnace. I recalled hearing Ghislain de Somerville complain about it while attending winter functions at the Palace. I found it hard to relate, as winter has always been my favorite season. Still, I did the best I could to comfort Anne when the cold weather began to wear on her. I’d have my work cut out for me convincing her to ever spend the winter with me in Camlach. She wouldn’t like the cold, but she was L’Agnacite and would see the beauty of the land.

“I’ll need to take you to the Midwinter Masque at the Palace sometime,” I said. “It’s somewhat to see at least once.”

She smiled. “I think I’d enjoy that.”

“The decorations are always quite stunning, the food excellent, the costumes beautiful. The only spectacle I can think of to match it would be the Midwinter Masque at the Night Court.”

Anne’s eyebrows rose. “The Night Court has its own masque?”

I nodded. “Cereus House hosts it every year, and all thirteen houses attend. It’s harder to get an invitation there than to the Palace masque.”

“Have you ever been?”

“Twice, both with Prince Baudoin.” The first time had been the year he played the Sun Prince. None of us had known about that beforehand, only that Baudoin had a surprise he couldn’t wait to share. In retrospect I’m surprised he did not just tell us, considering how he boasted of his mother’s plans so carelessly. Parts of that night are somewhat of a blur in my memory, as I’d been more than a little drunk, though not as drunk as Baudoin. I’d been stuck holding him as he staggered into Cereus House, so drunk he could barely walk. That was somewhat I didn’t miss in the least, carting Baudoin around when he was blind, stinking drunk.

“When was that?” Anne asked.

“The first was around ten years ago. I was just shy of turning twenty.” It seemed longer ago than that. “Baudoin and I were still good friends then.” The thought didn’t sting as much as it might have months ago.

She was silent for a moment and I thought she might ask me about Baudoin, but she didn’t. “Which of the two masques do you prefer?”

That was somewhat I never considered before; I had to think on it. “Well, it’s difficult to match the sheer decadence and debauchery of the Night Court. You can certainly get it at the Palace too, but no one does debauchery quite like the Night Court does. Their masque has a tendency to turn into an orgy before the night is over.”

Anne giggled. “Decadent indeed. I imagine the Palace masque is more restrained.”

“Yes, to a certain extent. I’ve never seen it become an orgy, but that isn’t to say there aren’t plenty of couples carrying on in semi-private niches.”

She laid a hand on my arm. “Those are fêtes worth attending, it seems.”

“Next year you’ll attend the Palace masque with me.” Next year I’d be King of Terre d’Ange if all went according to plan.

“I would like that very much.”

The days leading up to the Longest Night passed quickly, as all days spent with Anne had an unfortunate tendency to do. It snowed a handful of times, ensuring the grounds were covered in a blanket of white for the Longest Night. I’ve always felt the day lacks a certain something when there is no snow on the ground. Once the pathways were cleared, Anne and I spent some time walking outside. The air was brisk with winter’s chill, but not so cold as to be frigid. I was pleased to see Anne wearing the fur-lined cloak I’d given her, along with a new pair of sturdy boots and warm gloves.

“It really is beautiful, the snow,” she commented as we walked through the gardens. The snow had rendered them a foreign landscape, with the only points of familiarity being the evergreen trees and shrubs. “For all that I complain about it, it is beautiful.”

“It is. I’ve always thought there was somewhat peaceful about it when everything is covered in white after a storm, like a blanket for the sleeping land,” I said, feeling unusually poetic. I suppose my contentment in the moment brought it on.

“My father used to say somewhat similar. When I’d feel sad because all the plants died as the seasons changed, he’d tell me that many of them were only sleeping in the earth and would return again in the spring,” said Anne. I was glad to see her speaking of her father with no trace of sadness in her voice. It was nearly a year since his death and she’d seen fit to confide in me whenever the grief was especially strong. I wished I’d known Gerard Livet better so I could share her grief. My own father had died not so very long ago, and it had been a sudden thing. He’d neglected to call for a chirurgeon after being wounded in a border skirmish and the wound took septic. Maslin d’Aiglemort was nothing if not stubborn to a fault. I’d been with him when it happened and was not expecting to find myself as Duc d’Aiglemort before I was thirty.

I took her gloved hand in mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Do you think your father would approve of what has passed between us?”

She grinned. “If you mean would he approve of me getting with child by you, he would. He knew how happy you make me and so he approved of us.”

“I do wish he was here to see the birth of his grandchild. He and your mother both,” I said gently.

“So do I. What of your family? What will they think of us and our child?”

“Well their opinions hardly matter, not when I am the head of the House. I doubt any of my cousins will say a word against you.” A small smile came to my lips. “My father, were he here, would doubtless be pleased I fathered a child.”

“Indeed.”

“Are you concerned my family will not be welcoming to you?” I inquired.

“The thought crossed my mind once or twice.”

“You shouldn’t trouble yourself over it. I don’t expect you’ll need to see them often.”

Her hand relaxed a little in mine. “I know I’ve been worrying about all of this too much, it’s only that… I fear I won’t fit into your world,” she admitted. At my confused expression, she added, “The parts of your life without me in them.”

I was silent for a moment, taken aback by her words. I’d never thought of it that way, at least not consciously, but it was true enough. There were things Anne did not know and could not know. If things went wrong and my plans were exposed, suspicion might fall on her. That could not happen. By keeping her ignorant of my plans, I protected her. She would not end up like Marc and Bernadette de Trevalion, exiled for their knowledge of Lyonette’s plot. Still, it hurt to keep these secrets from Anne. “That distinction won’t matter once you’re my consort, Anne. You will learn to feel at home in my ‘world’ as you put it over time.”

“I do hope you’re right.” She squeezed my hand. “To think next year we might attend the Palace’s Midwinter Masque together.”

Next year she’d be consort to the King of Terre d’Ange if my plan succeeded. “Indeed we will.”

The Longest Night dawned clear and cold, just the sort of weather I liked. Since Anne and I would be counted as a household once she was my consort, we thought to dress according to a theme for the masque. I would be attired as winter while Anne would be summer. It was her idea and I had to own it was a good one. She had some specific ideas for the costumes, which I relayed to my tailor and seamstress. That surprised me a bit, for I’d never seen Anne to express much in the way of opinions on clothing. I hardly ever gave much thought to it myself, so I was glad to have someone else take charge of it.

We were both quite satisfied with the end results. For my part, I wore a deep forest green doublet and breeches, the shade of pine trees in the depths of winter, accented with silver. My first inclination was to wear all white, but Anne quipped that I was like to blend in with the snow given my coloring. The forest green brocade with silver embroidery was meant to evoke a pine tree with snow in its branches. To complete the costume, I wore a crown fashioned of pine boughs accented here and there with red berries.

Anne loved her costume. “I’ve never worn anything so fine,” she said, running her hands over the silk of her gown. It was the color of honey, with a pattern of fruit and flowers on the bodice and along the hem. Her crown was of flowers and green leaves fashioned from silk. Doubtless she could name all of them; I couldn’t.

I secured a cloak of white velvet around my shoulders with a silver pin. Anne left off admiring her gown to look me over. “You look like a winter spirit come from the heart of the forest. The dark green really does suit your coloring.”

“I didn’t know you paid attention to such things,” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Neither did I. I never had much cause to pay attention to such things until now.”

Our costumes were complete with domino masks, mine silver and hers gold. Once they were in place, I held out an arm. Anne took it and together we made our way down to the great hall. Most of the household was already there and they stopped what they were doing to watch us walk down the stairs together, Anne’s hand on my arm. Gasps and whispers could be heard here and there—I daresay we made an impressive pair. “Do they know you’re with child?” I inquired.

“Yes, I imagine so. Word spreads quickly at a small estate such as this.” It was a bit uncomfortable that the household knew, if not exactly surprising. No doubt it was a thrilling bit of gossip.

The decorations I’d noted when I arrived were only the beginning. More had been added since then and the great hall looked entirely unlike I’d ever seen it before. I’d attended several celebrations at Lombelon over the last few years, but none of them had taken place in the great hall. L’Agnacites loved the land and with it came a fondness for outdoor celebrations. But not even they would pass the Longest Night outside. A pair of long tables had been set up on opposite sides of the hall, with ample space in between them for dancing. A fire roared in the large fireplace, keeping the room pleasantly warm. As Anne and I approached the table nearer the fireplace, folk in the crowd paused to bow or curtsy. I knew nearly all of them by name now. There was Thèrese, the head of the kitchen who’d made Camaeline dishes for me. There was Marcel, Anne’s friend and lover before—and also a bit after—she met me. If he had any lingering resentment toward me, he didn’t show it. My men were there as well, casually mingling with the residents of Lombelon. Those among them who regularly accompanied me on my visits had gotten to know the folk of Lombelon and felt at ease attending a fête such as this.

Anne and I took our seats at the center of the table nearest the fireplace. There was nothing like a formal seating arrangement—the higher-ranked members of the household sat closest to us while the rest took what seats were available. The table was laden with a fine selection of dishes. Anne took the time to point out a few of note. “I made sure some of your Camaeline dishes were included,” she informed me.

“Let us see if the other cooks did as good a job preparing them as you did,” I replied as I helped myself to slices of quiche and tarte flambée.

What followed was a Midwinter Masque quite unlike any I’d ever attended. To compare it to the masques at the Palace or Cereus House was as pointless as comparing a rabbit to a swan. They were entirely different experiences, for all that they are both Midwinter Masques. Suffice it to say that the food was quite delicious and I enjoyed the company greatly. Joie flowed freely, along with L’Agnacite wine and the pear brandy no visit to Lombelon would be complete without. I drank a bit more than was my usual want. Anne on the other hand contented herself with a single glass of joie owing to her condition.

When the meal was over, instruments were fetched and several folk left their seats to begin playing. Others moved to the open space between the tables and began to dance. Anne and I watched in comfortable silence for a few minutes. These were not the formal court dances I knew. No, they were the same sort of country dances I’d seen at other celebrations I’d attended at Lombelon. In all likelihood they were traditional L’Agnacite country dances. Each province had its own traditional dances entirely separate from the formal dances found at court. I was well-versed in the Camaeline ones and had more than a passing acquaintance with the Kusheline ones as well. Eventually the lively music gave way to a slower tune. I looked at Anne. “Would you care for a dance?”

“Dance? With you?”

“Of course.”

She blushed a little. “I don’t know anything of formal court dances.”

“Then we’ll start with somewhat simple.” I stood and offered her an arm. “I’ll lead and all you need do is follow.”

She laid a hesitant hand on my arm. “As you wish.”

Together we walked out to the center of the room. Several of the other dancers halted what they were doing to stare at us. Those nearest us moved out of the way to give us space. I took Anne’s hand in mine and laid a hand on her waist. “Put your other hand on my arm,” I instructed, “and try your best to follow me and not step on my feet.”

She smiled. “I think I can manage that.” The musicians took up their instruments and our dance began. I kept it simple, leading Anne across the floor. She was able to keep pace with me without any difficulties. It made me think of how well-matched we were in bed, how attuned we were to each other. As we danced, the crowd around us seemed to disappear until Anne might’ve been the only one there. Her mask completely failed to hide the love that was plain on her face. I could lose myself in the depths of those hazel eyes.

“You’re a good dancer,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Not even with all those times you’ve watched my sword practice?”

“Well, that isn’t dancing exactly.”

“It’s not so very different from it. The footwork is important.” It wasn’t the first time someone had complemented my dancing. The Shahrizai were surprised to find me a passing good dancer when I arrived to foster among them. More recently Ysandre de la Courcel had praised my dancing skills while dancing with me at a fête. Anne and I danced to several more songs until the hour grew late. “That’s certainly a good start,” I remarked once we’d returned to our seats. “It shouldn’t take you long to learn courtly dances.”

“I suspect not with such a good teacher.”

We were interrupted by the doors of the great hall opening wide to admit the Winter Queen. She looked much the same as other Winter Queens I’d seen, dressed as she was in a ragged cloak and hobbling along with her staff. “Our Winter Queen wears the same costume every year,” Anne remarked. “Same thing with the Sun Prince. All we do is make alterations as needed.”

The lights were extinguished. The doors opened once again to admit the Sun Prince. He tapped the Winter Queen on the shoulder with his spear. She cast off her cloak and the lights were restored. The new year had begun. “Were you ever the Winter Queen?”

“Yes. More than once. What about you? Were you the Sun Prince?”

“Of course. Once the year before I went to the Shahrizai and once the year after.”

Anne lifted a hand to stroke my hair gently. “You must’ve made a fine Sun Prince with your beautiful hair.”

Elua, I loved it when she called my hair beautiful. It was my one vanity. I avoided tying it back specifically so I could show it to its best advantage. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

After the appearance of the Sun Prince, the celebration began to wind down. Many people left the hall to retire for the night. We had no obligation to stay for the rest of the masque and thus made our exit. With the whole staff enjoying the masque, a fire hadn’t already been laid in my bedchamber. I saw to it quickly, then removed my mask and crown. After wearing them for hours, it was a relief to take them off. Anne did the same with hers and a moment later we sat together on the bed. A bottle of joie and two glasses stood on the bedside table. I hadn’t requested it. “Your doing?”

Anne nodded. “I thought we might enjoy some in private.” She uncorked the bottle and filled both glasses. “Joy to you on the Longest Night, Isidore.”

I raised the glass. “All the same to you, Anne. Joy.” I drained the glass in one go. Never let it be said I didn’t learn anything during my association with Prince Baudoin. I took a brief moment to savior the icy bite of the joie. I would easily name it my favorite liqueur if asked. There’s somewhat in it that always reminds me of Camlach, as if it retained some memory of the high places where the snowdrops grew. I set the glass on the table and looked at Anne. She sipped the last of the joie and placed her empty glass beside mine. I kissed her then, tasting the joie on her lips. She returned the kiss with equal ardor and we drank deeply from each other. Our costumes were soon a pile on the floor.

We savored each other that night. I must’ve kissed and stroked every part of her and she did the same to me. Somewhat about the simple fact that she was carrying my child made me even more aroused that I usually was. She was not showing yet—it was too early for that—but I couldn’t help stroking her stomach more than was my usual wont. Anne told me she’d already spoken with the local priestess of Eisheth, who guessed our child would be born in early summer. With luck the impending Skaldi invasion would be over by then and I could return to Lombelon to attend the birth.

I pulled her closer to me until I could feel the entirety of her pressed tight against me. She had exactly the sort of richly-curved figure prized in Camlach for the promise of warmth on the coldest winter nights. I laid a hand on her arse and buried another in her hair as if I could keep her from harm if I held her close enough. My mind was too active from the excitement of the day for me to fall asleep easily. Even after Anne fell asleep I lay awake, my thoughts turning to our child. I tried to imagine what the mingling of my blood with Anne’s would produce. Would our child be more Camaeline or L’Agnacite? Camaeline, I was fairly certain. I was of one of the purest Camaeline bloodlines, after all. But mayhap there’d be a love for gardens in there. A son with my hair and somewhat of Anne in his face. Or mayhap a daughter, but in truth I was more excited by the idea of a son. It made no practical difference—a daughter could inherit as well as a son. We are a civilized people, after all. A son, though—a son I could teach to wield a sword, draw a bow, lead the Allies of Camlach in battle, as my father had taught me the entirety of Camael’s Arts.

With that pleasant thought, I finally drifted off to sleep.

With the Longest Night now passed, my natality was soon upon us. I did not generally want a big fuss made of it, a preference formed after years of the Shahrizai and Baudoin insisting on throwing fêtes for the occasion. This year I was determined to spend the day with Anne. The only thing that disrupted our time together was a message from Melisande, and I quickly dispatched several of my men-at-arms to carry out her request. I had to wonder if she knew about Anne and me. All the local folk did. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Melisande did as well.

When the day of my natality came, thoughts of Melisande’s request vanished entirely from my mind at the prospect of spending the day with Anne. She insisted on marking the occasion, and I was happy to go along with it. She spent a portion of her time in the kitchen, preparing a special dinner. It consisted of Camaeline dishes, some which I specifically requested. To be able to enjoy some comforts of home while also spending time with Anne was the best birthday gift I could’ve hoped for.

Anne had other gifts for me. “You really did not need to do this,” I said as I followed her into the bedchamber.

“I know. But I wanted to anyway.” She gestured to one of the armchairs by the fireplace, where she’d laid out my gifts. A pair of shirts were draped over the arms of the chair, with a smaller square of cloth resting between them.

“You made me shirts. But how…?”

“I might’ve… borrowed one of your shirts while you were last here so I could get your measurements,” she admitted. “I know they’re not as fine as what you usually wear…”

“They’re just perfect. Thank you, Anne.” The shirts were fairly plain, with little in the way of embellishment on the collars and cuffs. Not that I don’t wear shirts with lace trim on occasion, but it is not my preference. My eyes then shifted to the square of cloth lying on the seat of the chair. It was a handkerchief. A closer look revealed she’d embroidered it. That took me aback for a moment—I hadn’t known Anne had such skill in embroidery. She’d stitched a pair of silver eagles in opposite corners, with pear blossoms at their feet.

“I copied them from the eagles on your standard,” said Anne.

“It’s quite a good likeness.”

“I wanted to give you a lover’s token you might take with you when you ride off to war again.”

Her words fell heavily between us. I’d not spoken of the coming Skaldi invasion to her at all during this visit. Better not to speak of it at all than dwell on what I had to keep hidden from her. I steered the conversation away from the impending invasion. “A very thoughtful gift. I’ll be sure to keep it with me.”

“I’m so pleased you like it.” Anne smiled. “I’ve been quite busy with sewing lately, for I mean to make a quilt for our child.”

“Really? I’ve not seen you doing anything of that sort since I’ve been here.”

“That’s because I’ve been too busy spending time with you.”

I sat on the bed. “Well, you can rest assured our child will have all the blankets he could possibly want.”

She raised an eyebrow. “He?”

“Or she,” I added. “I’ve been thinking I’d like to have a son. The idea of teaching him to wield a sword really appeals to me.”

“Could you not teach a daughter?”

I considered her question a moment before answering. “I could, yes. Camaeline women are taught to defend themselves should they be attacked, but they don’t fight on the battlefield.” I met Anne’s eyes. “You know I wouldn’t love any daughter of ours any less.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she replied, amused, “and in case you were wondering I have no particular preference for a son or daughter.”

I spent most of the winter at Lombelon. Business did call me away from time-to-time, but for the most part I was able to spend much of my time with Anne. There was a sense of urgency in it as winter began to loosen its icy grip on the land. When the days grew warm enough that I judged the nearest pass to be open, I left for Camlach.

It was a difficult parting, the most difficult we’d had thus far.

Soon I would be at war.

Notes

I’ve been writing Kushielfic for 10 years, & this is the 1st time I’ve actually managed to post a Longest Night scene on the Longest Night. Enjoy, & joy to you on this Longest Night!

#kushiel's legacy #simple pleasures #jesatriafic #isidore d'aiglemort #anne livet

3 notes · View notes

angelofthequeers · 4 years

Text

Will You Marigami Me: Marigami Week Day 1

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

Okay, yes, I know this is like a day late for the @marigami-week 2020 day 1 prompt but I’ve had wifi issues all day, don’t @ me

Day 2 | AO3 link

1. Kwami swap

“Here. I trust you.”

Fukō blinks down at the small hexagonal box that’s being offered to her by Scarmony. “M-Me?” she says. “But you picked Foxglove and Princesse Tortue. You always choose the other heroes.”

Behind Scarmony, Princesse Tortue giggles, the fringe of her blonde pixie cut falling in her eyes as she ducks her head. Next to her, Foxglove shifts on the balls of her feet, peeking sideways at Princesse Tortue with reddish-brown eyes.

“I figure it’s time I got your input,” Scarmony says. His blue eyes glimmer playfully behind his spotted scarlet mask as he places the box in her hand but doesn’t let go, giving her the option to back out if she truly wants to do so. That’s one of the things Fukō appreciates about her partner, to be honest: that he doesn’t bluster and try to boss her around like some egomaniac, but rather treats her as though they’re truly equals, such as when he’d told Master Fu off for trying to keep her out of the loop at first.

“If you’re sure, then I won’t let you down.” Fukō slips the little box into a pocket of her black suit. “I’ll find the perfect Bee holder.”

“Well, don’t take too long,” Foxglove says dryly in her usual quiet voice. “Or we’ll just think that you’re trying to hide from the mean akuma while the rest of us get sent to dreamland.”

“Foxy!” Princesse Tortue elbows Foxglove. “Be nice!”

“What?” Foxglove says. “It was a joke. I was kidding.”

“I appreciate your attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere,” Fukō says. “But I don’t intend to hide. I’m going to find the perfect Bee to paralyse Fatigue and then I’ll be back.”

But who to pick? rings in her head as she leaps through Paris. Scarmony seems to have the talent to pick a frightfully fitting holder for the Miraculouses; Foxglove is quiet and used to skulking, making the most of being a deceptive hero, and Princesse Tortue possesses a loud, vibrating energy that makes her perfect as a hero to draw fire and shield others from that damage. If the Bee’s power is subjection then they’ll need someone quick, both physically and mentally; someone who’s not intimidated by power but will jump in to do what’s right regardless; someone like –

Like Marinette. The thought hits Fukō like a bolt of lightning, and before her brain can catch up with her body, she’s bounding in the direction of the Dupain-Cheng bakery, praying that Marinette’s there and hadn’t ventured out and gotten caught up in Fatigue’s attack. Despite wielding the primordial force of destruction and bad luck, it seems that the universe has granted Fukō her wish, because when she lands on Marinette’s balcony and raps on the hatch door, it swings open after just a few short moments.

“Fukō?” Marinette says with wide eyes. “What’s wrong? Are we in danger from the akuma?”

“No. May I come in?” Fukō waits until Marinette nods before slipping inside and leaping off Marinette’s bed with the grace of the animal that she embodies. Marinette follows down the ladder at a more sedate pace. “We need your help, Marinette.”

“Me?” Marinette points at herself. “What could I possibly do? Unless you’re – oh no – you’re not going to –”

Fukō grins and fishes out the little Miraculous box, then holds it out to an ashen Marinette. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I present you with the Miraculous of the Bee. With the power of subjection, you will help our team defeat Fatigue, then return the Miraculous to me after the battle. Can I trust you?”

“W-Why me?” Marinette pushes Fukō’s hand away, her own hand trembling. “My only superpower is super clumsiness! Why not Alya, she’d be a much better superhero –”

“Because being a superhero isn’t dependent on your physical attributes,” Fukō says. “Your mind and soul are what matter. I already know that you have a brilliant mind and you never hesitate to stand up to people like Chloé Bourgeois. You’re exactly the type of wielder we need for the Bee. The Miraculous will take care of any physical shortcomings. You don’t think I can jump off buildings as a civilian, do you?”

Marinette snorts as she chews her lip and frowns at the proffered box, while Fukō holds her breath. Thankfully, after a heart-stopping few moments, Marinette nods, takes the box from Fukō, and snaps it open. Brilliant golden light pours out, making her gasp and shield her eyes, and when the light dies down and materialises into a little bee kwami, Marinette’s rendered speechless.

“Hello, my queen!” The kwami bows. “I am Pollen, at your service!”

“Bug-mouse! Fuzzy bug-mouse!” Marinette jumps away from Pollen, trips on a stray piece of fabric, and would have fallen backwards and collided with her chaise if not for Fukō swooping in to grab her. This close, Fukō can clearly see the freckles that dust Marinette’s cheeks like stars in the night sky, and she can’t help but wonder what it would be like to gently lay Marinette down on the chaise, then count every single freckle with her lips and –

Fukō blinks and resists the urge to shake her head. Where did that thought come from? Clearing her throat, she sets Marinette on her feet and releases her.

“Sorry,” Marinette says shakily. “I understand if you don’t want to work with me –”

“Of course not, my queen,” Pollen says, her blue eyes gleaming. “I’ve seen far stronger reactions in the past. A previous holder attempted to impale me with his sword, so at least you didn’t throw anything at me.”

“O-Okay…” Marinette removes the Bee comb from its box and slides it into her hair. “Um, what do I need to know? How do I transform? What’s my power?”

Fukō smiles. She can most definitely appreciate someone who asks the right questions. “Your special power, from my understanding, allows you to paralyse an opponent. Pollen is the kwami of subjection.”

“Indeed,” Pollen says. “Your Venom will allow you to immobilise one opponent and then you’ll have five minutes before you detransform. And you must simply say “buzz on” to transform.”

“Pollen, buzz on!” When the golden light that encases Marinette fades, Fukō can’t help but look over her outfit. It’s simple but striking, just like Marinette: a tight suit that’s black across her shoulders and upper arms, meeting elbow-length yellow gloves with black fingers, and a yellow torso with a sweetheart neckline and black stripes tapering down her abdomen, yellow thighs with black stripes also tapering down, and knee-length black boots with yellow soles. Her pigtails are striped and tipped with yellow, her bright blue eyes now stare out from behind a simple yellow and black mask that unfortunately hides the freckles on her cheeks, and –

Fukō blinks and wrenches her eyes away before Marinette, who’s now examining her weapon, can realise that she’s openly staring. It wouldn’t do to be seen exhibiting such unprofessional behaviour, especially since she’s never once stared at Foxglove and Princesse Tortue like this. What’s going on with her today?

“Um…” Fukō clears her throat. “Name. You need a name. And then we can go and help Scarmony, Foxglove, and Princesse Tortue.”

“Oh, wow.” Marinette replaces her trompo around her waist. Her gorgeous, shapely waist. Oh no. “You need Foxglove and Princesse Tortue as well? This must be a tough akuma!”

“He can put anyone to sleep with one hit,” Fukō says, praying that her warm cheeks aren’t visibly red. “That’s why we need you to immobilise him. Foxglove and Princesse Tortue are there to distract him and shield us from hits. We really need to return and help. Name! What should we call you?”

Marinette hums. “I never really considered a superhero name for myself. I never even thought I’d be a superhero. What do you think, Fukō?”

Well, if Fukō can choose a name for Marinette, it’ll most definitely be something to do with honey, to reference Marinette’s sweetness. Honeybee? No, that’s far too generic and common for someone like her. Honeycomb? Hmm, close but not quite. What else does Fukō love about Marinette?

Her pastries, whispers an annoying voice in her head. Fukō tries to swat it away. And her buns, as Adrien would say, not that you’d understand that kind of –

“Honeybun!” Fukō blurts out. Marinette blinks.

“Honeybun?” she repeats. Fukō nods and scrambles for an explanation to hide what had just played out in her traitorous brain.

“Yes! Because, um…your parents are bakers! And you like sweet things, and honey is sweet and references bees!”

Tell her that you think she’s sweet as honey, you coward.

Marinette’s face lights up in her signature wide smile. “I like it! Honeybun. It’s sweet and cute, but too much of it and you’ll be sorry.”

I could never have too much of you. Okay, seriously, Fukō’s going to have words with her brain after this. For now, she forces herself to compartmentalise her flustered feelings and she clears her throat.

“Excellent reasoning,” she says. “But we should really go now, before Fatigue catches Scarmony and the others.”

“Right!” Honeybun unslings her trompo and follows Fukō out of the trapdoor and onto the balcony. “So, um…I just jump? Off a tall building? And fall?”

“I’ll catch you if need be,” Fukō says, her lips twitching. Honeybun giggles and hoists herself onto her balcony railing.

“And I trust you to do that a hundred percent. Okay…here goes!”

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years

Text

Ginsberg, Again

PART SEVEN OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of death, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: To avoid Mother’s Day, Ella takes a spontaneous journey to the park where David Lee Roth was arrested.

A sleepy Thursday at the diner and Ella was almost finished with her sketch of the streetlamp across the way. Upon doing the preliminary line work, she found it dull, so she had added a UFO circling above it to spice up the drawing. The clinking of mugs filled her ears, but the diner was only moderately populated. Luke was busy filling out some spreadsheet, stealing glances over at the staircase every few minutes. Jess was due downstairs at any moment. Near the front window, Rory sat with piles of notes and textbooks out in front of her. Having overhead Luke and Lorelai, Ella knew Rory had been tasked with tutoring Jess, who was in danger of repeating the eleventh grade. Ella did not envy Rory. She’d only run into Jess a handful of times in the hallways of school, and though they had no classes together, she’d certainly heard tales of his insubordination and mischief. Just as she had finished the shading on the face of the alien through the window of the spaceship, Jess bounded down the stairs. His face brightened when he saw Ella at the counter, immediately taking up the stool across from her.

“Okay, honey, prepare to be amazed,” he began, shuffling his deck of cards before she had even looked up at him.

She scoffed at the name, shutting her battered sketchbook in fear of him catching a glimpse of her work. “Dazzle me.”

It only took him one attempt to guess her card and she smiled proudly.

“It’s Houdini himself,” she appraised.

“And…” he trailed off, grabbing a shiny red apple and a dish towel from a ways down the counter. Showing her the empty sides of the towel, he feigned the apple appearing out of nowhere from beneath it.

Her smile grew, taking the apple as he held it out to her. “Also good. But I’m not the teacher you should be giving the fruit to now, am I?”

Jess sighed heavily as she munched on the apple. “I swore off institutional education long ago.”

She rolled her eyes. “Calm down, Nietzche. You’ll only have to get over yourself for a couple hours so you can stay in this small town utopia.” As she spoke, she gestured to the town around them.

“Well, it’s off to the salt mines, I guess,” he said, head hanging low in resignation.

Ella chuckled at his theatrics and gave his shoulder a gentle push in Rory’s direction. “Yes, I pity you. Now, go.”

. . .

About sixty pages in to White Oleander, though she had read it two times before, Ella was enjoying the decadent prose when the phone broke the silence of her bedroom. A smell of lavender, the plant for luck, calmed her as the candles on one of her crate nightstands burned slowly. The flickering flames were the only ones which lit the room. Clearing her throat, she sat up against her pillows and took the old white phone, sitting on the floor in the corner, off the receiver. She expected Lane, though she didn’t call nearly ever. However, Lane’s nearly-never calls were pretty much the only ones she ever received on her landline. The separate number was one she had installed herself, after her mother died, a cheap phone bought at Radioshack with her first paycheck from Luke’s. She knew she would need a form of communication Fiona didn’t have to pay for, to lorde over her during their screaming matches.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Eleanor?”

She furrowed her brows. “Jess?”

“The one and only,” he joked through the line, though she could tell his heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t hear the smirk in his voice like she usually could.

“What’s wrong?” she asked quickly, her heart in her throat. Since her mother’s death, any sign of trouble made her stomach sink, no matter how small the issue turned out to be.

“It’s that obvious, huh?”

“Jess. What’s wrong?” she repeated, swallowing dryly.

He heaved a tired sigh. “I’m going back to New York. Tonight.”

She was rendered silent for a moment, the information registering. “Oh. What...What the hell? Did something happen? Is it your mom? Do you-”

“Honey, just shut up for a second, okay?” he cut in, and she didn’t even have time to be annoyed about the pet name. “Rory and I...I screwed up. Tonight after we…” Jess stopped to sigh again.

“You don’t have to-”

“I crashed her car. Rory broke her wrist.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus, are you okay?” she asked urgently, running an anxious hand through her hair.

Jess uttered a noise between a laugh and a scoff. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m indestructible. I thought you knew that by now.”

Ella cleared her throat again and struggled to find words. “Mariano, I-”

“Look, I gotta get going in a second. But, I uh...I got your phone number from Luke’s address book and if it’s cool I’ll give you a call when I get there?”

Taken aback, Ella couldn’t help but let out a doubtful laugh. “Um...yeah, sure. Of course.”

“Good,” he said shortly.

There was a prolonged silence, full of words Ella couldn’t grasp, feelings she couldn’t articulate.

“So,” she said, her free hand fiddling with the hem of her quilt nervously. “Don’t forget to call me, okay? No matter how late it is. I’ll worry you got mugged or something.”

“Yeah,” he said, almost fondly. “I know, Stevens. So...I’ll see you.”

“Yep. Bye, Jess.”

“Bye.”

The line went dead, and she spent one moment still clutching the phone to her ear, listening to the monotonous final tone. Once she hung up, she tried to keep reading, but found herself distracted. Why the hell did he want to call her? The entire conversation felt unreal the moment it was over, and she knew she should have asked more questions. Though she was aware the news and rumors about the car accident would spread through town like wildfire, everyone glad to be rid of the local Antichrist, otherwise known as Jess Mariano. But there were so many other pieces she felt were missing, even if she couldn’t really name what they were. She thought of how dull her shifts would now seem without Jess to argue with about books and music, to laugh with while she closed, to reprimand and call a jackass. Maybe the peace she’d once enjoyed would return, but she already knew how different, how lacking, it would feel.

. . .

Clutching her books to her chest, Ella checked her watch every few seconds waiting for Lane to arrive. Again, Lane had been grounded for some random transgression. But they’d made plans to meet before school and go for pancakes. Ella was too nervous to actually step foot inside the diner alone. She knew Luke would give her those small, sympathetic glances. Especially after Mother’s Day last year. Lane had agreed to be her emotional backup, joining her for breakfast and shielding her from all the dead Mom reminders. Breathing out a sigh, Ella checked her watch again and knew they wouldn’t have time for Luke’s pancakes before school anyway. She was glad at least the morning air was warm, and she could wear her flowy black sundress, covered in tiny pink flowers. She thought wearing her favorite outfit, complete with her black boots and fishnets, would raise her spirits. Of course, the get-up was yet another reason she had to steer clear of the Kim residence for fear of incurring Mrs. Kim’s wrath.

Suddenly, Lane appeared from the front door of the antique shop and sprinted over. “Ella! I am so sorry, I had to-”

“Lane?” Ella said, looking up from her gaze on her shoes with a resigned tone.

Immediately, Lane lost all her joy and urgency. Her face fell and saw the redness in Ella’s eyes, her sleepless features. “What?”

“I can’t do this today. Look, can you cover for me? Tell everyone I’m sick, or something? Get my homework?” she ventured, looking around suspiciously.

Lane narrowed her eyes and put a hand on Ella’s arm. “Yeah...but where are you going?”

A wicked smirk covered Ella’s tired face. “I don’t know. Somewhere I’ve never been before.”

. . .

Even the air and the light were different in New York, though she figured it was probably the multiple kinds of pollution permeating the atmosphere. The local bus had a smell like pine which was not altogether unwelcome, and she was able to finish annotations for an article in earth science class. Squealing tires screeched in her ears as the bus stopped outside Washington Square Park where Jess told her he often hung out on the less than rare occasion he cut class. Her stomach churned anxiously as she ran her hands through her messy hair, loose and wavy. Of all the places she’d never been, New York seemed the most feasible, not quite so far away, a place where she had contacts. She needed to get away from Stars Hollow, away from the memories, away from the life she hadn’t asked for, where she carried baggage which didn’t even belong to her.

Descending the stairs of the bus, Ella clutched her messenger bag, heavy with the books she’d originally packed for school, tightly at her side. As soon as her feet hit the concrete, a smile crossed her face. She was really in New York. And she’d gone all on her own, from the station to the local bus, and she didn’t have to deal with any of the Mother’s Day flower sales or the sad looks whenever she entered a room. For a moment, she watched the streets on either side, the bustling people, as the bus rolled away and she had officially arrived. It took almost no time at all to see Jess’s dark hair sticking up from a bench across the road. She didn’t need to see the other side of him to know he was knee deep in a book. Rushing over the crosswalk, Ella felt excitement rising in her stomach, though fears of being run over also thumped against her chest. She plopped down next to him on the park bench and caught a glance at the cover of his book and scoffed.

“Ginsberg, again?” she asked dejectedly. “And you think I’m predictable.”

Jess looked calm as he recognized her voice and smirked at her appearance. “Always. What are you doin’ here, honey?”

Groaning, she threw her head back dramatically. “Again with the ‘honey.’”

“Hey, I’ve only been gone a month. Not everything changes,” he shrugged, saving his place in his book and stuffing it in the back pocket of his worn jeans.

“We talk on the phone almost every day. The ‘honey’ thing was dead, or so I thought.” She shook her head, speaking with her hands.

“It’s not as gratifying when I don’t get to see you almost ready to murder me,” he explained, smug as ever.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a little sexist, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?”

“Calling girls ‘honey,’ Jess. Keep up. It’s the twenty-first century,” she said, exasperated.

Jess shook his head and ran a hand over his mouth, a nervous reflex. “I don’t call girls ‘honey,’ I call you ‘honey.’”

She snorted a laugh, missing the redness which colored the tips of his ears. “If that’s supposed to make me feel special, it doesn’t.”

“It was supposed to make you feel unlucky, actually.”

“Well, then you’ve succeeded, jackass,” she said, though she had a fond look.

Jess grinned and cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest curiously. “So, what the hell are you doing here, Stevens?”

Ella shrugged, cavalier as she stared across the park and the May breeze blew the hair back from her freckled face. “Working on my spontaneity. This was a preliminary exercise.”

Narrowing his eyes, he nodded slowly. Ella tried to quiet the memories flashing before her vision, screaming through her mind. She hoped Jess wouldn’t notice. Her heart was yearning for adventure, something positive. Anything positive. Jess looked down momentarily, mulling something over. Then, he eyed her again with a smirk on his lips.

“You wanna go somewhere?”

“Anywhere.”

“Well, that narrows it down a bit.”

. . .

“Y’know, it’s just like you to hang out in Washington Square Park in the middle of a school day,” she scoffed, then taking a bite of one of the hot dogs they’d bought off a street vendor. It was salty, but good. The mid-day lull had hit the city, and the streets were only slightly overcrowded as they weaved around.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, chuckling.

“I don’t know. Not quite as mainstream as central park, it’s got that David Lee Roth thing. Very Jess.”

“I don’t appreciate being typecast,” he joked, watching her from the corner of his eye.

“Hey,” she said, shrugging. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Whatever. I’m not the Stevie Nicks groupie here.”

“If you think that’s an insult, you’re wrong.”

. . .

After a trip to the record store, they strolled along with shopping bags in hand. Jess had paid in crumpled ones, but still scored an Iggy Pop record to add to his meager collection. Still, Ella insisted he wait to buy any CDs until she was gone again, so as not to offend her delicate vinyl sensibilities. Watching out of the corner of his eye, Jess noticed the holes in the knees of Ella’s fishnets and the shine of her frizzy blonde hair in the afternoon light. The moment was so surreal, his worlds colliding. She looked oblivious to his gaze, though, drinking the city in. He felt tempted to laugh at the excitement she radiated at the novelty. Even on the subway, with its stale smell and flickering lights, she’d managed to maintain a level of amazement Jess found baffling. After a few moments, Jess chose to break the serene silence between them. They walked so close he could feel their arms brushing against each other.

“Explain to me why you bought all that relentless melancholia?” he asked, having kept quiet since he’d noticed her placing her choices on the register in the shop, punk music blaring over the stereo system. She’d bought three records: Kurt Cobain, Elliot Smith, and The Velvet Underground.

“There is a time and a place for it,” she argued. “We can’t all sustain a diet of constant screamo and metal, y’know.”

Jess shook his head, and chuckled but said nothing. In his natural environment, he was much the same, but his gait was marked with fatigue. His footsteps were heavier. She wondered what his home life was like in such a big city, where he could wander around on a school day without anyone asking after him. A wave of sadness rolled over her, and she again thought of mother’s day. They passed a cart selling flowers, and the smell wafted off the blooms in sickly sweet clouds. It made her stomach twist into a knot, her mind clouded with thoughts for the both of them. When she returned home, everything would be the same. No one would know where she’d been. And the whole excursion would be nothing but a memory, a painting she could touch but could never live again. She sighed lightly, staring ahead as they walked. Jess cast her a sidelong glance, nudging her with his elbow.

“So, where to next?”

Pursing her lips, she thought for a moment. “A place you like to look at.”

. . .

Litter peppered the grassy hill overlooking the Hudson river. The engines of the cars which crossed the bridge over the river sputtered with exhaust, adding to the smoggy haze of the air. Clouds had hung in the sky all day, and the air was muggy, but Ella felt light with content. She could hear the slight current of the water under the traffic, and it was oddly tranquil despite the overall grimy atmosphere of the city. People milled about on the sidewalk behind them, their designer shoes clicking away on the gray stone. The sounds swarmed around her and created a comforting sea of white noise. Jess took a seat on the hill without saying a word, and Ella followed suit.

“Good choice, Mariano.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, watching as her eyes lit up at the sight of the water. “In Stars Hollow, there’s the lake. So, I figured, here, there’s the river.”

Ella nodded, beginning to dig through her bag. “You come here a lot?”

“Sometimes,” he said, shrugging a little.

“Oh, he’s so demure,” she teased, then found her sketchbook amongst the hodge podge of items in her bag. Jess watched with a raised eyebrow as she brought out a pencil along with the book. However, she didn’t begin drawing. The weathered moleskin was closed on the ground between them, and Jess didn’t think before he took it and ran his fingers over the cover.

“Can I look?” he asked expectantly.

She turned to him with a suspicious look, eyes narrowed. Then, after a moment, she blew out a tired sigh and nodded, pursing her lips. “Yeah. But if you laugh I’ll tell the principal you were the one who took all the dry erasers.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he warned jokingly.

“Well, the stakes are high in New York, aren’t they?” she said offhandedly, her eyes trained on the river. A huge VW Van rolled over the bridge, and it reminded her of pictures from the Haight-Ashbury circa 1967 in the old edition of TIME Luke had in the stock room.

Scoffing, Jess opened the sketchbook up to the first page, which was slightly yellowed with age. He wondered how long she had been carrying the book around with her. The first drawing was of a vase of flowers, but upon further inspection he found the centers of the blooms had mouths full of sharp vampire’s teeth. He skimmed through the others, similar nature scenes with various ghoulish elements. A few pages away from the remaining blank ones, he stopped short. The shading around the figure was dark, but in the center was the face of a beautiful woman, with the light shading of a skull underneath. He ran a figure over the eyes of the skull and brought his hand back again, hoping to avoid smudging.

“This one is…” he began, then trailed off. She glanced over at him, then felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. She’d drawn it only a few days earlier.

“Not my best,” she muttered, hoping to deflect his attention from it.

He laughed in disbelief. “Are you kidding? This is amazing.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“Stevens, seriously. You’re a fucking artist,” he told her earnestly, staring down at the drawing.

“Well, thank you,” she said, quieting the anxious swirling her stomach. Her heart fluttered. It was rare she showed anyone her drawings, even Lane or Rory. But again, the surreal quality of the moment made her feel as though there would be lesser consequences. Maybe Jess wouldn’t remember her drawing later, as though it were a dream, like she imagined the day would feel the moment she left the city.

He cleared his throat, studying her unreadable expression. “Is it a self portrait? Looks a little like you.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips and she didn’t look at him while she spoke. “No, actually, it’s my mom. Everyone always says how much we look alike.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, a sarcastic smile crossing her face. “Oh.”

“Mother’s Day, huh?” he asked knowingly.

Furrowing her brows, Ella finally faced him. “You keep track of the Hallmark holidays, Mariano?”

Jess snorted. “I don’t subscribe to them, but I am aware of them.”

“I think they should be eradicated.”

“Agreed.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she nodded and looked back at the river. It was murky and green, no doubt polluted beyond recognition, but it still wasn’t half bad to look at. Jess noticed the way her fingers, with clipped black polish on the nails, drummed an antsy tune on her leg. He held the sketchbook back out to her and she gave him a grateful half-smile before cracking it open and beginning to draw.

“You okay?” he asked, breaking through the lengthy, but comfortable, silence.

Her smile grew a little more, and her shoulders visibly relaxed. “Always, Jess. It’s just one day. And I don’t particularly care about it. It’s the people back home.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, if you hadn’t noticed, the town of Stars Hollow isn’t known for minding its own business,” she said.

“Yeah, I kinda picked up on that,” he replied, watching her pencil slide across the page.

Occasionally, she stopped drawing and straightened up a little, appraising her work. Using the pad of her pinky, she shaded the clouds above the bridge, transforming the sketch past just an outline. Jess leaned back on the palms of his hands, letting the time pass as late afternoon turned into evening. He found his mouth left with a bittersweet taste at the thought of her hours away from him by the end of the night.

. . .

Back at the Port Authority bus terminal, the air was chalky. The local bus they’d taken to get back to the station had a decidedly more pleasant feel than the one Ella was about to board. But the ride wasn’t too long, and she still had plenty of school work she could finish on the way. They stood facing each other at the head of the bus, with five minutes until she absolutely had to board. Jess had his hands stuffed in his pockets, his shirt adorned with obscenities and the name of some obscure punk band. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, leaning back against the bus for one final moment of escape before climbing back out of the rabbit hole.

“So, how was the tour?” Jess asked.

Humming in thought, Ella glanced up at the splotchy ceiling for a moment before returning her eyes to him. “I’ll give you a seven.”

“Hey, if it’s passing, I’ll take it,” he said, shrugging.

She laughed. “Not a bad maxim. And I guess it's back to Washington Square Park with you?”

“Guess so. It’s a prime spot to brood.”

“I’m glad you’re finally owning your narrative.”

Jess smirked. “Well, if I’m owning mine, you gotta own yours. Show those pictures to someone important.”

Ella shook her head, then stopped for a moment and reached her free hand into her shoulder bag. Placing the shopping bag filled with her new records between her teeth, she flipped to the page where she’d drawn the bridge and ripped it out as neatly as she could along the perforation. Jess watched in confusion as she retrieved a pencil from her bag, she signed her name and dated the drawing in the lower right corner. When she’d tucked everything back into their rightful spots, she held the drawing out to Jess.

“We’ll call this a baby step.”

Letting out a small laugh, Jess took the drawing and studied the messy signature, a grin coming over his face. He brought the book from his back pocket and stuck the drawing in between the pages for safekeeping. “Thanks. I’ll make millions off this someday.”

She snickered and threw a look down at her watch. Two minutes left before departure. “Don’t patronize me, Mariano.”

“Don’t doubt yourself, Stevens,” he shot back immediately, with more sincerity than she was prepared for.

Shaking her head, she ignored the gravity of the moment.

“I think that’s all motivational speaking I can handle. I gotta get back. You sure you don’t wanna return to Hell with me?” she asked, only half-joking.

“I think the moment I step foot beyond town lines I’ll be struck down by the powers that be,” he said, a chuckle in his voice, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He ran a hand over his mouth.

She sighed through her nose and nodded. “Alright, fine. But in my considered opinion, you shouldn’t let those old gossips run you out of town. Sometimes when the world bites you, you gotta bite back.”

Jess raised his eyebrows. “And I’m the motivational speaker here?”

She rolled her eyes and started towards the bus. “You’re impossible.”

“Same to you,” he called as she boarded, and she shot him one final teasing glare before she turned the corner into the aisle.

Jess watched her blonde head move down row after row through the small windows, and when she finally stopped two seats from the back, he rushed down and shouted to her, hoping she could hear him through the thick window pane.

“Stevens!”

Furrowing her brows, she found Jess standing outside her window, uttering muffled words she couldn’t decipher. She groaned impatiently and raised the glass to hear him.

“Come again?” she asked.

“I said, I’ll call you later tonight. Don’t forget to pick it up. I’ll worry you got kidnapped or something.”

A smug smile crossed her lips. “Ah, I’m rubbing off on you.”

“I avoided it as long as I could,” he shrugged, smiling back.

“I won’t forget,” she assured him. “Bye, Jess.”

“Bye, Eleanor.”

And as soon as she shut the window once again, he was out of sight, meandering back to the station’s exit. A moment later, the bus driver released the break, a shrill squeak sounding. Swallowing dryly, Ella settled into her seat and prepared for the long drive back to reality.

#jess mariano imagines #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano one shot #jess mariano one shots #jess mariano #jess #mariano #gilmore girls #gilmore girls fanfiction #jess mariano x oc #gilmore girls imagines #jess mariano x original character #original character #original character stories

38 notes · View notes

demauryss · 5 years

Note

anonymous asked: “elu with shy Lucas and flirty eli?”

no 40. "I wasn't lying when I said I love you." and 45. "I can't imagine this world without you."

i decided to combine theses two requests! i hope you don't mind :))

all things at once || 2.7k || ao3

lucas lallemant knows a few things about working in a library. he knows he was made to do better things than sort books out. he knows he absolutely hates working the front desk especially during exam season - when the ratio of stressed to calm students is more than one - and when each of them likes to have a go at his throat when something of a minor inconvenience happens, like not finding a book up to their standard.

what he doesn't know is why his legs turn to jelly and his speaking capabilities disappear whenever eliott demaury walks in.

it has happened more times than one, that the presence of eliott next to him when he's sorting books, or in front of the counter when lucas is working there, has rendered him unable to form a sentence consisting of more than one syllable, or stand properly without any support behind him.

and maybe it's the way eliott smiles at everyone in his vicinity - even at lucas, a couple of times - or the way his eyes seem to light up forever, and the way he only, apparently, has one jacket, and how lucas thinks it looks so good on him.

but whatever the reason may be, it has caused insufferable pain to lucas: watching his friends make fun of him; turning into a blubbering mess whenever eliott's around; once dropping the books he was holding when eliott smiled at him. (he had blushed profusely after that, feeling all the heat rising up to his cheekbones, and then as he had bent down to recollect the books, eliott had crouched down next to him too. and lucas's fingers were quivering, like his heart, and when eliott had looked at him with sunshine pooling deep beneath his eyes, lucas's lungs had collapsed.)

there was that day, and how lucas had stuttered a meek thank you - eyes glued to the floor and embarrassment bubbling in his stomach, running away without looking back to see him. and then there's how lucas has been avoiding facing eliott at all cost, running to the back of the library, leaving the books he was supposed to be stacking, or making an excuse to hide when he was supposed to be working up front.

he doesn't know why he keeps doing that - running away. and he doesn't know why eliott is capable of drawing such a response out of him. and he also doesn't know why his brain decides to turn to mush around eliott.

so yeah, while the books and the smell of old paper and wood wafting in the air around him might be the few things keeping him working in the library, lucas knows his heart will soon retire if it keeps on conjuring up a storm whenever eliott does as much as exist.

it happens again - and lucas should be able to expect it now - but when he's rifling through a new set of books in the far corner of the library and there's a presence behind him, lucas looks up, and eliott demaury takes his breath right out of his lungs.

he's saying something - or maybe he has said something. lucas's ears have some sort of an invisible barrier right over them, preventing the sound reaching his ears. eliott stands in a brown jacket, the one he's always wearing, and his skin is golden under the light streaming in from the window on the upper left corner. his eyes are green, grey, and whatever colour that lucas can't name. he's smiling, and lucas feels trapped.

"i-i'm sorry," lucas says, his face burning warm, like a fire is lit just under his epidermis. there's a hummingbird in his chest, and it feels trapped, "do you need something?"

eliott's smile widens a into something soft, something beautiful, and lucas tries his best to not fall in it once again.

"actually yes," it feels like a feather floating in air; light, adrift. it lands perfectly through lucas's chest in his heart, "i was looking for some books but i can't find them. yann said you'll be able to help."

fuck yann. and fuck him for not listening to lucas when he rejected all of yann's claims about lucas liking eliott in remotely any way.

lucas gets up from the hard ground he's sat on, dusting off his hands on his jeans. he avoids eliott's eyes for a couple of seconds, and when lucas thinks he has enough energy to face eliott, he looks up.

"what books do you need?"

eliott hands him a worn out paper, like it's been folded and unfolded a couple of times, or eliott has just dug it out from underneath all the books in his bag. lucas looks over it, removing the creases from the paper by rubbing his fingers over them. his heart has calmed a bit, but his legs still feel like he hasn't used them in ages.

there are four books mentioned on the paper. lucas frowns, remembering the other three were issued at the start of the week, and haven't been returned yet. he tells eliott as such.

"these three books haven't come back yet," lucas clears his throat, hating how small his voice sounds even to his ears. just when his fingers start shaking, he turns his back towards eliott, facing the large bookshelf. sweat gathers at the back of his neck, and he takes a deep breath, summoning energy.

he takes out the fourth book, the alchemist, buried deep behind much newer books. lucas feels the rough spine of the book, and sees how the first page is about to slip off. it was this reason that one of the workers placed it behind so many other books, while lucas just felt it should be kept in the front.

he turns to eliott, handing both the book and the paper to him. his eyes stay down the whole time, and when he looks up, lucas wills himself to stare at the spot between eliott's eyebrows, neither here nor there. he sees eliott's face morph into a smile as he takes the book from lucas's hands, the tip of eliott's fingers touch his, just lightly, softly, but it still sends ripples through lucas's skin, making him drophis hands to his side.

"thank you," eliott's voice is light, and so is lucas's head. he feels eliott's eyes peer into him, and as lucas leans back on the shelf and looks a bit lower - just a bit - he's captured by the green and golden pooling in eliott's eyes. lucas feels his heart stutter a bit, the nerves in his stomach mixing into a mess, chest constricting in itself. he tries to smile, but it rather comes out as a grimace.

"i haven't read this yet, and the teacher has asked us to write a report on this specific book. i need to submit it in two days."

eliott's admission leaves lucas a bit baffled. he knows eliott is a literature student - he hasn't been stalking him, okay? - and as far as literature goes, lucas kind of has an idea that every one and their mothers have read the alchemist at some point in their lives, and to know eliott hasn't - it's kind of amusing.

lucas finds himself taking the book from eliott, much to his surprise. it's like he loses voluntary control over his body, feeling his tongue movie into action. he doesn't even notice that eliott's gaze on him intensifies.

"it's a pretty good one, this book. it's so...amazing to see how following your dreams is portrayed in it, you know? and fate and omens and like, the signs which one misses being so caught up in the world- it's so freaking -" lucas stops speaking, feeling heat rise up to his cheeks, the match now lit directly on his skin. something prevents him from breathing properly, and when eliott's kind of surprised eyes don't move from his face, he swallows harshly, "-sorry, i-i didn't-"

eliott shakes his head rapidly, a smile blooming on his face, "no, don't apologise! it's the most i've seen you talked ever since meeting you, lucas. it was nice - it is nice."

and if lucas thought his face was burning before, it's honestly melting now with the heat he feels on his cheeks. nice. lucas knows his sense of speaking has left his body now, so he meekly nods, pursing his lips together and looking down.

"i should get to working now," eliott straightens, and lucas hadn't noticed he was leaning forward a little. the air around him clears a bit, and lucas finds himself breathing more freely now. lucas hands eliott the book - the cause of his demise. eliott smiles softly, fingers meeting his once more.

"thank you, and lucas?" lucas looks up, letting out a 'huh'. a cheeky look graces his features as he starts walking backwards, "you look cute when you blush."

eliott winks. oh. OH!

lucas places his hands on his cheeks, feeling the warmth seep in. and when lucas says he died, he really did.

so it goes on like this.

eliott comes to the library like before. lucas keeps working there like before. but something changes: lucas starts looking forward to seeing eliott.

but it's not like lucas gets over the fear of embarrassing himself in front of eliott: his brain still turns to mush; his legs go numb; his heart goes haywire; and the muscles in his stomach twist uncomfortably whenever eliott comes in.

and the worst thing isn't the guys making fun of his state in front of eliott - they imitate him terribly. (and for the record, no, lucas wasn't blubbering all over the floor in front of him, okay?)

the worst thing comes when eliott does as much as smile at him, or when he compliments lucas, taking him by surprise. often, he'll say something like, "you look good today," and lucas will lose his shit. often, when eliott will meet him somewhere outside the library, he'll take out time to ask lucas about his day. and often, when lucas will be at the front desk - and yann and arthur will be behind, keeping an eye on him and eliott - and eliott will come, and he'll hug lucas. and lucas will decidedly not notice his heart ready to jump out of his chest, and the way eliott smells so good, and the way the hug seems to linger for longer - and the way yann and arthur will call him stupid when he insists he feels nothing for eliott.

which is a lie, considering he's falling for him, hard and fast.

so it goes on like this. the library's pretty empty that day when eliott walks in. lucas's sorting the books people had returned, and it seems to be raining quite heavily outside. he doesn't notice the footsteps tapping on the floor till eliott's standing right behind him.

"hi," lucas jumps almost ten feet in air, startled out of his mind. the hummingbird in his chest seems to be set loose. lucas turns around, coming face to face with eliott's amused features, and the light burning behind his eyes.

"you almost gave me a heart attack!" he places a hand on his chest, ignoring the way ants swarm his stomach.

"sorry," eliott chuckles, "such was not my intention."

eliott looks far from being sorry. lucas feels a smile creeping up on his face, cheeks burning slightly. "anyways, which book do you need today?"

lucas is midway placing a book in the shelf, when eliott shifts next to him, "i don't need anything. i'm here to see you, actually."

and lucas should be used to it. he should be used to such remarks from eliott. but it still conjures up a storm inside his brain. "yeah?"

he starts moving to the other corner, feeling eliott trail behind him. lucas takes a second to calm his heart down.

"hmhm," eliott's voice punctures the silence which settles between the two, "i need to see your face in order to have a good day."

lucas stills. he turns around, and there is eliott, something burning behind his eyes. "oh really?"

eliott nods, smiling, "yeah. just the other day, i dropped my coffee first, then i messed up my assignment and had to walk home in rain. and you know, it's because i didn't come to see you that day."

and it's amusing, almost unbelievable. lucas smiles at eliott, both frozen in front of the desk, "and when you missed the bus yesterday, was it because of me too?"

eliott rocks back and forth on his heels, eyes fixed on lucas. the library empties, till him and eliott are the only ones left. "kind of. i was at that sushi place you love so much. and it's how it happened."

lucas swallows the boulder lodged in his throat. breathes deeply to make his lungs start working properly again. focuses on the ground to clear his head. he sees eliott step closer to him, his shoes coming in his line of vision. and when lucas looks up, he's taken back by eliott's closeness, his eyes peering in his soul.

"you know, lucas, someone said something and i've been thinking about it ever since."

lucas raises an eyebrow, their closeness making him feel so many things "who is this someone and what did they say?"

"my heart. and it said i've been thinking about you so much that i can't imagine this world without you."

lucas almost chokes on the air he was supposed to inhale. eliott's eyes glint mischievously, and while lucas's heart is about to rip his chest off, and his legs seem to give up, there's a much larger part of him which refuses to believe that eliott isn't joking.

"did it say something else?"

"yes," eliott nods, moving close, closer. his nose almost touches lucas's, and if he moves just an inch forward, he will be able to meet eliott's -

"something about the things i am feeling seem like i am falling in love with you."

it takes that - just that and a dip in lucas's chest, his stomach contorts painfully - and lucas moves away, landing a hand harshly on eliott's arm. "eliott! for god sake!"

eliott looks surprised for some reason, rubbing the spot lucas hit, "what the fuck lucas!"

lucas huffs a breath, putting more space between eliott and him. fuck. "you can't just joke about something like this, eliott!" his voice has fallen to a whisper. something hurts behind his sternum. his hands feel numb, "you can't."

eliott seems frozen. his eyes are wild, and if lucas didn't know better, he'd say he looked hurt, "you think that i'm joking? what the hell lucas!"

confusion pools inside lucas, preventing him from thinking clearly, "what do you mean? and you can't lie!"

"i wasn't! at least i wasn't lying when i said i love you."

"what?"

eliott diminishes the space between them, stepping forward close enough to lucas so that the tips of their shoes touch. he leans down to lucas's height and gently, with the touch of a feather, takes lucas's face in his hands. lucas knows they're burning, and that they're red, but eliott's eyes provide him a hold fast, a support to lean on.

"you have no idea of the things i did to get you to even look at me, lucas." he starts, and lucas feels like a kid standing at the top of a water slide, excited and scared all at once, "i knew you were going to be a handful when you kept running away, kept hiding from me. and when you finally started talking to me without doing any of those things, i knew i was gone for good. god, i fell for you the minute you looked at me."

lucas doesn't know how it happens, but eliott pulls him in - and lucas says something. he hears his own voice reaching his ears, and he feels eliott's fingers skimming over the skin on his cheeks.

"kiss me," it sounds slow, like a whisper in night. and when eliott places his lips lightly over lucas's, and lucas responds by tilting his head up, eliott's hands thread themselves in lucas's hair - making him sigh, stomach flipping over, heart beating fast, hands wrapped around eliott's waist - and lucas feels it, in his blood, all things at once.

#allthings #penned #elu fic #skam france #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant #elu #eliottxlucas #fluff #friends to lovers

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siarven · 5 years

Text

Fluffcember Day 3 - Humming

Fluffcember Prompt list! :3

WIP: Like Dragons of Old Characters: Timbre, Selandri POV: Selandri 1749 words. Rest and Tags below the cut! :3

In which Selandri and Timbre explore the Observatory, find beautiful books, and Timbre starts humming, which opens up so many new possibilities—

The fourth floor held storybooks.

Selandri’s eyes widened as she saw them—there were more tables in here, more comfy areas to sit, too. Some of the books had pages filled with nothing but beautifully rendered illustrations. Some had more text and less images. Selandri was entranced from the beginning—the pictures seemed to be alive, and they were beautiful.

After she’d stared for lengths at the cover of one of these books she suddenly felt Timbre standing directly behind her, looking over her shoulder, her head so close that Selandri inadvertently held her breath before realizing how stupid that was.

“Can you teach me how to read them?”, Timbre asked quietly.

Selandri hesitated. “I— I could try”, she said uncertainly. “But I’m… not really very good at it. Like. At all?—But I will try!” Her heart was suddenly beating a lot faster than it had before, and she wasn’t entirely sure why, so she tried to distract herself by staring at the book cover in front of them. It was beautiful, made from dark leather and adorned with the finely drawn head of a stag, looking at them with bright, knowing eyes. Underneath it was the title, written in a far more flowing version of the script her parents had tried their best to teach her… except suddenly, none of the symbols seemed familiar in the least. Both the title and the drawing were done in golden ink, and the drawing was so much more appealing than the writing. Except that Timbre wanted to know.

So Selandri took a deep breath and tried to make her thoughts stop spinning around her in circles. “Uhm, do you see this symbol? It—it means…” She couldn’t even remember the name of the stupid thing. “…I’m sorry. I… didn’t really spend much time trying to learn it, you know? It kind of… nah. Just not my type of thing.” She looked off to the side, feeling something she couldn’t even properly name, like a knot in her stomach, only fluttery. And weird. “Now I kind of wish I had, though. Because then I could teach you…”

Timbre smiled. “It’s fine”, she said. Her voice was so gentle! “I… I think I’ll just ask the Observer.”

For a while they just stood there, each lost to their own thoughts. Selandri felt herself staring at the art again and again, and after a while the strange knot left, replaced by something that could only be yearning. One day I will draw like that, she promised herself, and Timbre can write the text. We will make the best team!

And then Timbre started to make a strange sound, and the world… changed.

The air was suddenly alight with colours, shifting, pulsing, dancing around them in the most beautiful patterns, and Selandri inadvertently found herself holding her breath, transfixed.

The words were out before she could really stop herself: “What are you doing?” Timbre stopped. The colours went out.

It felt as if all the weights in the world had been lifted for a moment, only to come crashing down again, converging on her. She realized that she’d tilted her head back, even lifted her hands as if to grab for the colours, only now it felt childish and stupid.

“Uhh, humming?”, she heard Timbre ask, her voice careful, a bit confused, coming as if through a fog. “It’s a song my guardians—my parents—used to sing to me when I was small…” And then Selandri noticed the tears in Timbre’s eyes, and the fog left, and then she was already hugging the other girl, even as Timbre continued to speak, slowly, painfully. “They— they sang it for me when … when everything changed, too…”

After a moment, Timbre finally hugged her back, and when they finally broke apart, they were both a bit flustered, and Timbre eyed her in a curiously skittish way, with an uncertain smile on her lips, looking away when Selandri met her eyes. It should’ve been awkward, but it wasn’t even that. Selandri couldn’t even say what it was, exactly. Through some kind of forbidden magic, though, she did hear herself speak, though, even if everything else about this situation felt both exhilarating and weird at the same time.

“Can you… can you sing it to me? The song? Like… now? I … I don’t think I’ve—” She broke off, feeling strangely off-kilter, weird in her own skin. Uncertain. “I think… I think I’ve never heard music before. And— there were—” She broke off again, but then her eyes found Timbre’s.

“There were?”, Timbre repeated. There was something wild about her eyes, something that made Selandri’s heart race.

“Colours”, she whispered. “Colours, Timbre. I saw colours when you were humming. But how… I must have noticed them before, right? Or maybe they were so diffuse… no-one ever makes music here. No-one ever sings. Can you sing for me?”

Timbre hesitated, looking away. Selandri suddenly felt very self-conscious. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask, if your parents…”

“No, it’s not that… it’s just. The song… it’s not in our language? It’s the Cinnrié… a healing song. To help you calm down, to help you sleep, to heal your fears and nightmares… I— I’m afraid of speaking it here? I don’t know the costs. Or the… what they’d do to me if they heard.” She looked around nervously.

Selandri felt strangely disappointed, and she couldn’t even say why. She really wanted to ask what exactly Timbre was talking about, but at the same time it felt like something private. So she just sighed, wistfully.

“I get it… but maybe you can sing it without lyrics? I just— it was so beautiful…”

Timbre brightened. “I can do that! I think the magic is in the words, not in the song itself.”

And then she sat down on the ground, cross-legged, with Selandri following her, and when Timbre started humming, the colours returned, brighter and more beautiful than the last time, building and building until Timbre was singing, but without words. Her voice was so pure and beautiful that Selandri wanted to start crying, but then she would’ve heard less, so she forced the sobs down and just let the colours and the sounds wash over her.

She didn’t notice when she started describing them out loud, their positions and brightness and beauty.

When Timbre finally stopped, she had to use her sleeve to wipe off her tears before being able to see her. Her friend looked pale and shaky and somehow other, but she was smiling, a smile so wide and sad and sweet that it made Selandri’s heart ache.

“That— we have to do that again”, Timbre whispered after a moment, her voice rough with emotions Selandri couldn’t even place.

She nodded. “Yes, we do…”, she said, and her voice was almost as shaky as Timbre’s.

“I— I could feel them”, Timbre said. “I can’t really remember them… but… sort of? We have to find out if the same sound always connects to the same colour, and how the brightness and everything changes. But… I think…”

Selandri grinned, sniffing. Her eyes felt puffy and raw and she’d never been happier in her entire life. “I… if I can somehow help you with this… you sing so beautifully. Everything—so beautiful.” She looked at her in admiration. “How do you do it?”, she asked.

“What? Sing? I… open my mouth, and then sounds come out.” Timbre grinned at her, but there was something fragile about that grin, about her eyes, something Selandri couldn’t place. Still, she laughed. “No”, she said, echoing Timbre’s grin, “I mean, like… how do you make it so the sounds work? I— I bet I could learn to sing, too. But… I don’t know if I could do it that perfectly. That they fit together like a puzzle, with that… precision?”

Timbre looked away. When she finally spoke again she sounded sad, and Selandri wanted to take back every word instantly, only it was too late. “I—I don’t even know how I can remember. Maybe because it’s seared into my mind, because I replayed it over and over again so I would never forget, back in the woods? I was supposed to become Cintu. Like my… my parents. A Singer.”

Oh. Capital S Singer. Suddenly things clicked into place. Magic. Cinnrié… songs. Singing. She’d learned about them before, about the people who could weave magic with their voices by paying a terrible price. Selandri felt herself growing very still. “You— you were… oh…”

“My ancestors… they were very good with sounds. With recreating them perfectly. My family, specifically. It’s been so long but I still remember their tales as if it were yesterday. My guardians, they were a Singer and a Speaker. My, uh, father played the violin to accompany my … mother?—my mother, when she was singing. Her voice was incredible. But— you need a voice like that, to become a Singer. It’s the first thing I ever remember. Their music. Her singing. They… I don’t know if they, uh, healed my body after I’d gotten born so I could do it, too, or if it would have been natural anyways. Cintu are— were chosen at birth.”

Selandri just stared at her, at the back of her head, the soft small leaves, the stitched-together back of her tunic. The wings. Timbre refused to turn, refused to look.

“I—I am sorry”, Selandri finally said. “I’m sorry that this… that we don’t let you use the Cinnrié. That my—that everyone hates it so much.”

Timbre laughed, and finally turned back around. It was a small, sad laugh. “It’s not your fault. And they’re right. Without the Cinnrié, my people would still… but no. They wouldn’t still be alive. They would’ve died anyways. Just differently. But I would be dead, too. With my parents. Without the Aunae, every living thing back there would be dead. The trees and plants, too.”

They stared at each other wordlessly, neither knowing how to break this suddenly heavy silence.

“Let’s go see the other floors”, Selandri finally said, speaking the first thing that came to her mind.

Timbre nodded courtly, and then they left the beautiful book behind. Only now did Selandri notice that Timbre hadn’t even been able to see those colours.

But maybe one day I can sing, too. Then I can sing to her how the colours would look. Then we could sing colours together.

And that thought finally brought her smile back.

@dramaticvoiceover @asttralhell @authordai @thereisnothingwrongwithbeingmad @wilde-writing @madmoonink @prismalicht @romenna @fynniana @sincerestaffect @random-stuff-thrown-into-a-pot @raiswanson @zekethegm @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword @stephrawlingwrites @kittensartswriting @annelaurant-writing @lady-redshield-writes @wolfdancer333 @bmariewinter @thedrowningtsarevna @corishadowfang @dogwrites @pinespittinink

#fluffcember #fluffcember 2019 #ldoo #like dragons of old #ldoo excerpt #i love how this one turned out #even if it takes a tiny turn down towards the end #and I can even just integrate it into the story!!#:')#hope you like it too #my two smol disaster beans

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maknaesdancersrappers · 5 years

Text

drippin’ love

a/n: this is it. this is the dream i had

warning/s: corny title, period sex, mentions of blood, handjob, fellatio, cussing

You’re sure you look stupid: sitting on the side of the bed, hunched over and gripping sheets by your thighs, and stifling your pained sobs.

“Baby,” you hear from behind you and the soft steps on the carpeted floor walking towards you. “Here.”

Looking over your shoulder you see Jaehyun handing you your painkillers.

He sits down beside you after you take it from him and proceed to swallow the pill. His hand soothes down your back as you make a sound of disgust while reaching for water.

Like most, if not all, women, you hated your period. Your cramps practically render you useless; paralyzed with pain every time Aunt Flo visits. Along with the crippling pain from your abdomen, your back aches and your breasts are sore; all because you failed to give your uterus a fertilized egg.

It’s not like you and Jaehyun haven’t tried. Since you got married a few months back, both of you have foregone with any sort of birth control you’ve been using since your relationship first started.

“Is there anything else you want?” He squeezes your shoulder and softly kissing the other.

Sometimes you’re convinced that you don’t deserve him. It amazes you that he’s still with you despite all your period induced meltdowns and mood swings.

“I just want to lie down.” You say with a little sniffle.

“Okay, let’s lie down and maybe try to nap. Sound good?”

You nod, wiping at your snot and tears like a child and leaving Jaehyun amused at your actions.

He pulls back the blankets for you to climb under and slip in after you, scooping your shoulders with one arm to cradle you against him. Settling under the warmth of the blanket and molding your bodies together; your head and hand on his chest, a leg draped over his upper thighs, and his hands running through your hair and along your arm.

“I hate being a girl. Why am I a girl?” You grumbled, pressing your cheek more against his chest to savor his body heat.

Jaehyun lets out a quiet chuckle, having heard the same annoyed questions multiple times before.

You angle your head so you could look up at him, “Would you have loved me even if I was a boy?”

Without a second thought, he’s quick to reply: “Of course.”

“Really?”

He hums, “I’ll miss your boobs, though.”

You snort.

“And your sweet lil’ pussy, too.” He adds under his breath, sounding almost regretful of his answer.

“Would you suck my dick?”

Jaehyun doesn’t answer immediately, clearly thinking about it for a few seconds. “Yeah, sure. I’ll show you how you do it to me and feel how good it makes me.”

By this time, you can already feel his cock stirring under his shorts, just above your thigh. “Would you eat my ass?”

He lets out a hearty laugh, “I’d eat it out now, if you weren’t on your period.”

“Oh.” It was only a joke, but now you just want to get your period over with and have him eat you out. “Can I go down on you?”

“Yeah, we can even 69.” He pats your head a couple of times before running his fingers through your hair once more, still thinking you were asking under the thought of being the same sex.

“No, Jae,” You whined, moving your hand over his cock, “I mean right now.”

“Oh. Oh,” He moans at the light pressure you put on him.

Resting your head back on his chest, you continue your ministrations until he’s half hard and you slip your hand under his shorts.

“Where’s your underwear?” You look down to make sure you hadn’t felt wrong; thinking maybe you had slipped your hand into his boxers with his shorts, but you can clearly see the absence of the clothing article.

“I understand why you forego wearing a bra at home.” He breathes out, fingers twitching on your shoulder.

You stretch your arm a little more until your fingers brush over his balls and your palm is rubbing the tip of his cock. “It feels good, right?”

“Amazing—both,” He stutters, doing his best not to grind against your hand. He seems to regain his senses and resume playing with your hair, placing chaste pecks on your head.

You move so you could reciprocate; slotting your lips over his and engaging an open, lazy kiss. His tongue is moving languidly over yours, creating the wet sound that filled in the silence of the room.

When his cock was fully hard and longer in your hold, you part away from him and shift closer to his groin, wincing at the prominent pain still present on your abdomen. Doing your best to ignore it, you take his length into your mouth until it’s barely grazing the back of your throat before pulling away, lingering along the tip.

Jaehyun exhales, dropping his head against the pillow for a moment as you bob along his erection with a firm grip at the base before looking back at how your lips practically swallowed him whole.

“I should be taking care of you.” He groans, unable to stop his hips rising up. When he feels your tongue prodding the underside of his head, he pushes you away, “Baby, I need to be inside of you.”

You stare at him with disbelief, “I’m bleeding.”

“I honestly don’t fucking care.”

You’ve heard that nothing is really wrong with period sex; it’s just unsanitary. You never thought of doing it because you always assumed Jaehyun would be grossed out by it.

He sits up and kisses you, “Please, baby? I can make you feel good.”

“I know.” You murmur, “I know you do... but the bed—“

“I’ll clean it up. That’s nothing you have to worry about.”

He continues to kiss you, silently coaxing you to agree with his thumb drawing little circles on your cheek.

You pull away, biting down on your lip in contemplation. There’s no harm in trying and this is the man you’re going to be with for the rest of your life, you might as well spend another first in your relationship. “Okay.” You meekly whisper.

“Yeah?”

You nod, “But... let me just take care of something.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Keep that cock hard.”

Jaehyun laughs, replacing your hand with his and already pumping himself as you dash into the bathroom. “Of course.”

As soon as you close the bathroom door and flick the light switch on, you grab two used towels that were going to be tossed in the laundry anyway and a roll of tissue. Setting them on the counter, you shrug off your oversized shirt and pulled down your sweatpants, along with your underwear.

You took care of your tampon next, pulling it out and gauging how heavy your flow was before wrapping it in tissue before tossing it into the bin. It was your third day and it was either hit or miss with how heavy you bleed, but luckily it wasn’t as bad as the first two days.

With one last final internal pep talk with your reflection, you gather the towels and tissue into your arms and walk back into the room.

Jaehyun was also naked now, looking up at you as you came back while grinding his palm against the tip of his cock.

“Last chance to back out and just have you cum in my mouth?”

He helps you lay the towels down over one another before grabbing your waist and pinning you on your back above them. “You’ve been hurting for days because of your cramps. I should be making you feel good and I’m not coming until you do.”

You can’t stop smiling when he kisses you again, his hands travelling up your body to cup your breasts and kneading them.

“Gently—my boobs feel sore.”

“Are they? Aw,” Jaehyun leans down to nuzzle his nose between them before kissing each of your nipple. “My poor baby.”

Paranoia hits you when you feel yourself gush down there and you’re just bleeding out onto the towels.

Jaehyun sits back, parting your legs and eyes trained on your core as he gives himself a few more strokes. If there was blood leaking out, he didn’t seem to care at all as he lines himself to your entrance and pushes in.

Your mouth drops, both in pleasure and in surprise at how easy he enters you. It doesn’t sit well with you at the idea that your period blood is acting as lubricant, but all that worry is pushed aside when Jaehyun starts to thrust.

He has a light grip on your hips, picking up his speed bit by bit. With your boobs being sensitive, you hold them together with an arm draped over your chest. As he continues to thrust, he guides your legs around his waist and tilts closer to you, using his forearms to hold up his weight above you.

Face to face, you feel yourself flush as if you haven’t had sex before. This somehow was more intimate—how your body is making you feel like the absolute worse and gross for almost a week every month yet here he is; not caring that you’re literally bleeding where his own intimate part is entering, putting your well-being and satisfaction first before his, and simply just loving you no matter how demonic your PMS mood swings can become.

“Do you feel good?” He breathes, hips moving in a steady, fast pace.

“Ye—Oh my god, yes!” You cry out when he angles your hips upwards. You brace yourself on his shoulders, gasping at the sudden oncoming orgasm hurling towards you.

Jaehyun brings his mouth down to your neck, sucking harshly on the skin beneath your jaw while keeping a hand rested over your chest and thumbing your pert nipple.

Your back arches off the bed, hands flying to cradle his head against your shoulder as he manages to pound into you faster than he already was, tipping you over the edge and pure ecstasy floods into your system.

He gathers you into his arms in one fast motion and sits both of you upright, sitting you on his lap as he chases his high with slow, hard upward thrusts; hands gripping your ass. “Fuck, you’re so amazing.”

“Babe—“ You gasped for air, resting your forehead against his. “Y-you are—too.”

He grunts with one particularly hard thrust that finally made him come undone. You can feel him twitching inside of you and the warmth of his seed spreading up your stomach.

His arms wrap around you, burying his face on your neck as he catches his breath.

“I can’t believe we just did that.” You sigh, kissing the side of his head and threading your fingers through his hair.

“Did you enjoy?”

You hum in approval. “I most definitely did.”

Jaehyun kisses the closest patch of your skin he could reach. He pulls away, looking down to where you’re connected but you stop him.

“Ugh, are you really going to look?”

“How else am I going to clean up? We should have done it in the shower.”

You cling onto him, “We should.”

It takes a second for him to understand what you meant after you refused to let go of him.

“Oh— are you okay, though? Are your cramps gone?”

“They are. My back doesn’t hurt as much either.”

He cups your breasts, weighing each one with his hands. “And the twins?”

You snort at the nickname, “They still feel heavy.”

“Are you sure you want another round in the shower?” He runs his hands up and down your back.

After reassuring that you definitely want to go again, he rises up the bed with you in tow like you didn’t weigh a single pound. He carries you to the bathroom, nipping at your neck and cheeks that left you giggling like a schoolgirl.

a/n: that’s where the dream ends—the good part at least. i woke up bc a package came and when i tried to go back to sleep for round two, all i dreamt of was that handsome nct manager scolding us for having sex with curtains open bc a sasaeng taped the whole ordeal and release screenshots to the public 💀

#to be edited when i wake up in 12 hours #nct smut #jaehyun smut

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absynthe--minded · 5 years

Text

Blessed Hands Will Break Me: Interlude in Mithrim

(for Nolofinwëan Week day 2 [Fingon], sort of - by the end of the week I hope to have this whole fic in something resembling good shape because they’re all in it, but until then, have another teaser. Warning: semi-graphic Russingon NSFW below the cut.)

Before he could stop it, a faint cry escaped his lips, and the tears that had risen up in anger spilled over in disbelief and astonishment.

“I -” he began, and choked, and swallowed, and tried again, “I thought - you are -”

“I am what?” Findekáno asked.

“It does not matter,” Maitimo murmured, still scanning his husband’s face and drinking in all he found as though the great lights that hung in the sky had arisen for a second time and revealed yet more beauty. His left hand stole up from its place by his side, rendered bold by shock, and it found its way to Findekáno’s face. The skin beneath his fingers was warm, and broken by thin scratches that had scabbed over.

“You are real,” he said at last, and pulled his husband close and kissed him back.

“Of course I am real,” Findekáno said, and there were tears in his eyes when Maitimo had to stop to breathe. “Of course I am.”

“You - you found me,” Maitimo said, breathless and shrill. “You found me, you freed me, you - !”

He kissed Findekáno again, drawing the other nér closer still, until their arms and legs were intertwined and they were face to face and chest to chest. He could feel the beating of his husband’s heart against his own, and his hand stole up to twine itself in a few dark curls that had escaped their tie. I wonder, he thought, borne up on overwhelming joy, are we still bound as we once were? I know it is a risk, but… but if it is him, I… I do not want to be alone.

I suppose there is only one way to find out, Maitimo decided, and took a deep breath, and in one sharp moment he pierced through the walls of fire that banded his heart and kept all out save himself. Findekáno flinched in his arms, mouth falling open and eyes widening, and then in an instant the blue-and-silver-and-brown spark that was his husband had poured itself into a gaping wound in his mind. He had not even realized he was empty before, but now, now -

- they kissed again, and again, fierce and desperate and starving for one another.

I missed you, Findekáno said, and he realized with a start that it had been silent. He had never bothered with ósanwe-kenta before, but in this moment, he wondered if he would ever speak aloud again.

And I missed you, he replied, and when his husband laughed he felt it in his own throat.

Kiss me again? Findekáno asked him. I want to try something.

“You never have to ask me to do that,” Maitimo replied aloud, a rumble of almost-laughter in the words, and when their lips met once more, Findekáno’s hand cupped his face.

Let me in, his husband thought, and when Maitimo frowned and began to murmur a low “what?” Findekáno’s tongue pushed past his teeth and into his mouth. He moaned, and before he realized it he had rolled onto his back with the other nér on top of him. His hand was still wound in dark hair, and as they moved the leather thong that held it back came undone and loose curls fell over the both of them.

“You are going to be awful for my hair care regimen,” Findekáno chuckled. “I suppose it is well for you that I am not particularly vain.”

“Shut up,” Maitimo said, and kissed him once more.

They were entangled in one another, shoulders and thighs and hips pressed together somehow despite how much taller he was than Findekáno, and despite his weakness he found he could easily keep pace with his husband’s desperate need for him, drawing on the coppergold and silverblue that bound them together and letting their mingling fires sustain him.

And then he shuddered, and moaned into yet another kiss, and suddenly there was a fierce hot pressure at his hips, pushing upward into the blankets. His husband frowned, and broke off the kiss, and pushed himself up onto his hands. Maitimo raised an eyebrow as Findekáno glanced down between them, and then with a jolt of fierce embarrassment he realized that somehow, despite all odds and all tortures, his cock still seemed to function.

Maitimo blushed. Findekáno looked down at his hips once more, and then back up at his husband.

“You almost died of blood loss,” he said, and he was trying not to laugh. “How do you have enough for - for that?”

“I am rather light-headed,” Maitimo admitted, shoulders trembling with a near-chuckle.

“Do you want to stop?” Findekáno asked.

“Ercamando, no!” he said, and the ferocity of his response startled him. “I - I have not…” He shivered again, and swallowed hard, and blinked back yet more cursed tears. “I have not felt so like myself in sixty years, enda-nînya. I am exhausted, and my heart is pounding, and if I do not feel your hands on me I think I shall burst from frustration.” He sighed, and shook his head. “And I have enough nightmares of the two of us tangled up together, of Þauron wearing your face, of his lips and teeth and tongue - !” He stopped when he saw the horrified look on Findekáno’s face, and blushed even more deeply.

“I… I wish to think of you, melindo,” he said at last. “You. Not… not the darkness and the pain, not - !”

Findekáno kissed him yet again, and one hand wrapped around Maitimo’s shoulders while the other went to his hips.

“Are you sure, Russandol?” he asked softly, and his eyes were warm and gentle. “Truly?”

Maitimo nodded, and swallowed hard. “Truly,” he said. “I… I want this.”

Findekáno smiled. “Good,” he said, and pulled him close against his chest and kissed his neck. The hand that had been at his hips slid inward, and Maitimo whimpered at the touch of skin on skin.

“Are you all right?” his husband asked, and he nodded against Findekáno’s shoulder.

Yes, he thought. You will know if I am not.

All right, Findekáno answered, and slowly wrapped his fingers around Maitimo’s cock.

The other nér whimpered, his left hand shifting and sliding down to grasp at his husband’s shoulder, and his head slammed back against the pillows as his back arched up. Ai, muk, he thought, and it was only when Findekáno responded by pressing lips to the hollow of his collarbone that he realized his mind was still open. He moaned, and turned his head to bare his neck, and let himself come undone in the midst of kisses and caresses. The hand on his shaft shifted, fingertips sliding over skin, caressing and ghosting over him, tweaking gently at the head of his cock.

“Ercalyën,” he murmured, breathless and needy, and Findekáno kissed him at the edge of his mouth and caught his lip in white teeth. They twined together, blue and silver and copper and gold in the darkness of his thoughts, and Maitimo would have drifted off into dim dream if not for the suddenly steady up and down, up and down of his husband’s hand on him.

“You’re weeping nómilt for me, vanimelda,” Findekáno breathed in his ear, and he gasped and moaned and whimpered into another kiss, and his tongue slid into the hungry mouth that met his own, and he was not quite sure where he ended and his husband began. He could feel himself being touched with a right hand that was not there, he could feel his left hand digging into his own shoulder, he could feel, he could feel -

“Grinding Ice,” Findekáno swore, and began to stroke him in earnest. “I am hard enough to cut glass.”

Maitimo could feel that too, both against his thigh and in his own groin. His husband’s desire had been dormant, but now that it was sparked...

“Lay me down on the bed,” he rasped. “Stop trying to hold me up.”

“What?” Findekáno asked, drawn up out of the knot of shared sensation by the question. Maitimo inclined his head, indicating the mattress again. “Oh,” he said, a little sheepish, and obeyed the request.

“Come closer,” Maitimo said aloud once he was flat on his back. The other nér bent over him, palming his cock; he let go of the shoulder he had been clinging to and his hand slid into Findekáno’s breeches.

“Ai, Vána’s tits - !” his husband swore, and stifled a cry by burying his face in Maitimo’s shoulder. Something bright and fierce and joyful surged between them, and then, then -

- they were shuddering and shivering against one another, draining back into themselves, and they were kissing, and they were kissing, and laughter rose up in Findekáno’s throat, egged on by the sudden pooling heat at both their hips. Whatever strength had been binding them both together was gone, faded into memory and leaving them curled up on the bed in a tangle of limbs and bright eyes.

“I…” Maitimo began, still more than a little breathless, “I can safely say that I do not remember our first time as being quite so…”

“I know,” Findekáno replied. “I think I like this, though.” He looked down at his hand, still holding his husband’s cock, and made a face. “Unfortunately, it seems we’ve made quite the mess.”

Maitimo laughed softly. “I ruined your breeches,” he said. “And I cannot give you any surefire remedy.”

“You ruined your own breeches,” Findekáno answered, and kissed him again. “Remember? I was left with yours to cross the Ice with.”

“Those are mine?” Maitimo asked. “You great ass.”

“The problem remains,” Findekáno said.

“That problem being?”

“What are we going to do about the bedsheets? I can simply burn these - we have spare clothing now, all of us - but the sheets are another matter.”

“Surely the launderers have some method of getting milt out of linen?” Maitimo asked.

“I would assume so,” Findekáno answered, “but the trouble is that these are your sheets, and you are - well, you are supposed to be injured and recovering - !”

“I am injured and recovering.”

“But - you know what I mean! You are not… well…”

“Not meant to be making love to my husband?”

“Exactly,” Findekáno said with a low chuckle, and sat up. He lifted the sheet and blanket and glanced down at Maitimo’s hips, and raised an eyebrow. “Well. You did not spill too much? It is mostly on my hand. We may survive without a clandestine trip to the laundry.”

Maitimo made a face. “I am sorry,” he said as Findekáno lifted his hand free of the bedclothes.

“No, think nothing of it,” his husband said. “It is easy enough to wash myself.”

“Still. You would think it would be slightly less… that… when you are like us and totally uninterested in having children.”

“Are you complaining about your own release?” Findekáno asked, sitting up and making his way unsteadily around the bed.

“No!” Maitimo said, and the forceful denial bled out through their bond and made both of them laugh. “I am only - what are you doing?”

“I need something with which to rinse my hand,” Findekáno said, limping over to the window on Maitimo’s right, “and I am not risking leaving the room with that plainly visible, and the only water is here.” He reached the window, took the autumn leaves from their vase, and then took the vase and emptied it over his hand. Satisfied, he wiped his hand on his tunic and carefully hobbled back to his side of the bed. Maitimo watched him, growing quiet and solemn, their sudden burst of shared joy fading into memory.

#RUSSINGON #blessed hands #absynthe's fanfiction #nolofinwëan week #silmarillion fanfiction

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