#slightly darker green. madness inducing. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

craycraybluejay · 7 months

Text

I purposely put myself in situations that inspire and stoke less than healthy patterns or put myself closer to said situations and then wonder why im feeling all insane. I think I want to convince myself that it's 'all temporary' and that whatever happened before in my head won't happen again. But it will. If only I could go off the deep end in one fell swoop in every way ever. Even that horrible thing you're thinking about, whatever it is. Yes, even that one. Just do everything terrible ever and then end it with suicide which is also Terrible Thing bc God forbid someone has autonomy over a life he not only didn't ask for but was given little reason to stay in. Ruin everyone's opinion of me. Inspire only fear and vitriol. Hatred and hurt and pain pain PAIN. Sure! I am a bad person! What are you going to do about it! By the time you figure out enough to send a mob after me, I'll already be long dead. You'll have to wash the smell of rot out of your fucking walls. Bitch.

Wish I could just. Grow from morbid into truly heinously unforgivable like that corpse flower. Despite what anyone believes, it would be growth. Just in a different, undesirable form. But wouldn't it be rad just to go apeshit? For a final trigger to send me bouncing round the walls intent on seeing blood? Everyone would hate me. That would be ok. I don't mind. People can feel how they feel. I know I unnerve people. It's like they can see the thoughts behind my eyes. Tick-tock, tick-tock; counting down into the next impassioned tirade. Is it about music or hurt? Or both? Breaking or building. Corruption or innocence. Life, death, rainbows and bloodbaths. Madness pulling at the corners. "Why are you staring?" I don't know. Your left forearm has taken a starring role in my next idea. It's not personal. Or maybe I like your smile. Or maybe I actually do just wonder how you look when you bleed. You'll never really know. Might be all of the above.

Sometimes the demon overtakes. I wouldn't say I have a split personality disorder, I don't really fit the criteria. I gave him a name though. Anyway he does that. And then suddenly I am not in a harmonic split of choice and rationale. A correct and healthy balance of right and wrong, good and bad. Suddenly I am tilted, the entire world is tilted, I feel dizzy and I don't know if it's somewhat physical or all mental. Everything shifts. Things mean something different. I'm more alien and darker. And that little voice (not an actual voice, no hallucination) is urging urging urging like it's the end of times, and we only have 24 hours left on Earth and nothing to lose. That whim? Do it. The other one too. You know you want to. What? Too pussy? Coward. Come on. You know me. I'm you. What's stopping you?

And then rationale and logic and all that are on the Defensive. No. Don't do it. Fight it. [More of the demons temptations.] Okay. Maybe do it a little but only in a really roundabout way that doesn't hurt anyone. Okay. Let's maybe go for a smoke. Let's close our eyes and fantasize. Think think think. Fight it. [More More More.] Hey maybe we should talk to someone? [Who is there to talk to? You're a freak. You say any of this shit to anyone they'll try to put a stop to it by treating you worse than farm animals. Worse than garbage. They deserve to die. They think you deserve to die. Doesn't that make you angry?] Okay so that's not an option. Um. Just hit something solid really hard until you're too tired to fixate. I don't know. [Aw. Is it not working? Little tired of rationality, aren't we? Relax. Let go. Don't think. Just do. Shoot first, questions later. Imagine how easy and simple things would be. They already are. Let me take care of you.] Tired tired tired. War.. Bed. Now. Don't look at anyone. Don't touch anything. Don't speak. Don't THINK. Shh quiet quiet quiet. [You can't silence me, idiot. I am you. What's the point of this? Who are you appeasing? There is a hell but there is no God. This isn't a war. There are no sides.] [Indulge.] Indulge. [Give.] Give. [Take.] Take.

#personal vent #delete later #multiple personalities #to be clear i am not claiming to have did or anything like that. you guys can have your system stuff and whatnot thats not me #mental breakdowns #its every day bro B)#its usually not as bad as is written here but thats just an example of a moderate day of it #without getting into specifics #just moderate #but the demon does get specific. he likes to tease and insult but it doesnt make me feel sad. worse. invigorated #actually schizospec #psycho in a way thats only hot to psycho chasers because im being super fucking vague about the possible subject matter #moment i get specific im getting more threats than your average US elementary school #edgy joke #does anyone else have something like this?#in a psychosexual downright toxic psychotic relationship with my demon which is just me but with a weird shift #like putting ur car in reverse. idk bruh. idk how to explain it #him talking to me is one thing. i can still take back control if i snap out of the trance. but when he overtakes literally the whole world #looks different. like actually literally different. like fucking. imagine if everything that was green was suddenly just 1 hex point darker #slightly darker green. madness inducing.#i. dont know what i want. i just want to feel in full harmony. i want to indulge the demon. i dont want to. i do. i dont. i #i think i just need to get in a good slapfight or tussle once in awhile and clear my head good #tell my friends 'hit me' when i feel the world sliding off to the side a bit and hope the momentary shock will fix it #idk does that work?

4 notes · View notes

fandom-puff · 4 years

Text

Remus Lupin Smut Alphabet

Requested by: anon and @doitforthevine67

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Unless it’s after a full moon, remus will spring into action, rubbing away aches, running you a bath, and almost always pressing a chunk of chocolate to your lips

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He doesn’t like much about himself. He’s scarred and greying and looks older than he is. He does like his eyes though. He likes that they’re green, and still glint with laughter even if he doesn’t have much to joke about.

He loves his partner’s hands. How they’re I afraid to touch him. How they can both soothe his nerves and ignight a raging desire within him. He loves holding onto your hands during sex, fingers intertwined as you both meet your climaxes

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He always comes inside you. No exceptions. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t want to dirty you up. Perhaps he’s traditional. Perhaps one day he’d like to see you bursting with his child.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He LOVES seeing you in lingerie. Complicated, strappy, Lacy, flowery, plain... he doesn’t care. He loves the sight of it on you, and will often leave your knickers on, just pushing them to the side

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s not all that experienced. He kept himself to himself for the majority of his life. He knows what he’s doing- partially because of the primal instinct rooted inside of him

F = favourite position

He loves having you on top. He watches you with such an intense, passionate gaze that you often blush and squirm on his cock, causing him to grab your hips and buck up into you

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Remus sometimes has a laugh with you, when you’re not calling out your love for one another or crying out desperately

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He has chest hair which tapers off to lead to the thicket of dense pubic hair. It’s slightly darker than his sandy hair, although not yet flecked with grey. He keeps it well trimmed for you.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He is very romantic. All of his passion, gratitude and love for you pours out of him as he makes love to you. For him, being close physically and emotionally is extremely important- it makes him feel human.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t really need to- you desire him enough that he never feels needy. He does, however, like watching you touch yourself

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Breeding, Dom/sub, roleplaying

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

The bedroom- you can take up as much room as you want on the bed, and it’s good on his back. He also quite likes when you ride him in his armchair

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Your desire for him. Knowing someone wants him despite his condition arouses him to no end.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn’t like to share. Certain exceptions can be made, but even then he has to fight the primal instincts inside that claim you as his mate

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He discovered his love of recieving through you. You suck him off so well, and the coquettish little looks you give him drive him mad.

After a full moon, though, when he’s too tired to move much but still wants to have you, he encourages you to sit on his face as he swirls his tongue, tipping you over the edge at lightning speeds, over and over until he has had his fill of your nectar

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

The moon influences this. He is normally slow and tender, taking long, languid thrusts that caress your inner walls... every month, though, there’s a week when that goes out the window, and he fucks you frantically, like a beast

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He prefers to have you to himself without worrying about running out of time. In the few days before the full moon, however, he will happily back you up against the wall and have his way with you, leaving you panting and full of his seed

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

It’s normally you who introduces something new, and he’s more than happy to go with it. Your pleasure is his pleasure, and he will try anything to give you more

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Despite his lycanthropy induced fatigue, when he’s really in the moment, he can last a very long time, making you come at least twice before he gets close. He can last a fair few rounds as well, leaving you practically incoherent when he’s had his fill

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Remus doesn’t own any. He doesnt much like tying you up, only if it will bring you pleasure. He does like, however, pressing your little bullet vibrator to your clit, trailing it over your nipples and sensitive thighs to get you to whimper for him

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Remus loves to tease you. He does so playfully, rather than sadistically, grinning at your dismay and asking you rather teasingly ‘what’s the matter, darling?’

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He starts quiet, bless him, but gets louder and louder, grunting, groaning, growling as he gets closer to his finish. He also spews profanity, enough to make a sailor blush

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

While he often fucks you in positions that allow him to see your face, he absolutely loves doggy style- gripping your hips as he pounds into you, arching over your as he comes. You make the sweetest noises when he takes you from behind

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He’s fairly long, and rather thick- thicker at the base though. It curves slightly upwards, and will often loll heavily on his thigh or tummy when he is half-hard

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It fluctuates. After a full moon, he’s simply too exhausted to even open his eyes, let alone do the do. Before the moon, he has this primal urge to claim you as his and fill you with his pups. Normally, though, he has a pretty regular sex drive, and will often initiate sex

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Bless him, he’s permanently tired, and sometimes after having sex his body just shuts down and he sleeps. Sometimes for ten minutes, sometimes for the whole night. You don’t mind of course

Tag list: @obsessedwithrandomthings @haphazardhufflepuff @diksy1112 @zodiyack @axriel @hiddensapphic @samnblack @tinylumpiaa @in-slytherin-we-trust @thatoneasrastan @emmaloo21 is

#harry potter #hp #request #smut #remus lupin x reader smut #remus lupin x you #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #smut alphabet

447 notes · View notes

perriewinklenerdie · 4 years

Text

Don’t you leave me right here (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

A/N: Hi guys! ARE WE ALIVE? PB DELIVERED, PERIOD. I haven't felt this on the edge of my motherf'n seat. This fic is a rewrite of the diamond scene in Chapter 11 plus my own spin on it and the aftermath because I have no self control.

Tag list: @paleweasels, @kittykatchoices, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian, @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @awhmilkywey @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @justanotherrookie @mvalentine @starrystarrytrouble @akshara16 @maurine07

Enjoy! <3

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

Ethan’s eyes haven’t left hers since he entered the room. Now, sitting next to her, she could see, clearer than ever, the desperation and panic, etched into them deeply, following him like a shadow. Her words had a clear effect on him, shocking him into silence, drawing the quietness around them out into what seemed to be infinity. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy with emotions, but his eyes were still firmly focused on her, never straying, holding all of his hopes and dreams.

“Since we’re sharing regrets, do you mind if I share one of mine?”

The question took her by surprise. Ethan was never a man to openly express his feelings, or regrets for that matter, and she could almost feel the change in his behavior, in his approach to the situation they were currently in, as though fate gave him a sudden shove into the direction he was eyeing for quite some time now, but was too terrified to pursue.

“Go ahead.” Claire nodded slowly, her movements expressing how tired and sore she felt, toxin draining her faster than any of them anticipated. He took her bare hand into his gloved one, deep regret striking him painfully when he didn’t feel her skin upon contact. The electricity he learned to anticipate, hell, welcome with every time they touched, wasn’t as intense, his brain relying on the memory of her closeness to induce the same sensation.

“I wish I hadn’t asked you to stay away.” he admitted quietly, lowering his head in shame slightly. Her tired face twisted in confusion and surprise, taking in the new information, the one she was waiting for, the words she wanted to hear so many times before.

“You do?”

“We’ve wasted so much time.” Ethan paused, his eyes becoming a shade darker to accommodate his growing shame and pain. Shaking his head, he rephrased. “I’ve wasted so much time.” His hold on her hand tightened, as though he could pass through it all that he was feeling. He was never good with his words when it came to her, only moments of brilliance here and there; she was always better at this than him. But now, he couldn’t run; he didn’t want to run. “I should have held you in my arms every single day and told you how much I-“

His voice broke. Unable to bring himself to say a word, he took a deep breath, searching her green eyes for anything that would tell him that she would make it, that it wouldn’t be the last time they were talking, that he would have the opportunity to do this properly. She deserved to be confessed to properly, not when fear was running through his veins and panic was making him talk like he’s never talked before.

“How much I care about you.”

A bright smile lit up her face, and to Ethan, she looked as though the whole massacre of the past day didn’t happen. To him, she was as beautiful as ever. Her fingers squeezed his in excitement, dimmed by the lack of energy. “I’ve always thought we should be together.”

“You have?” he chuckled, running his thumb over her knuckles. She nodded, grinning like she always did.

“Kind of thought it was obvious, actually. We were always drawn to each other, from day one.”

“I’d hate to presume anything.” He felt himself relaxing, falling into the comfort of their day to day bickering, feeling like he was coming home. And in a sense, he was. Somewhere between him trying to run from her and now, they built a safe place for one another, without realizing it, always being pulled towards each other in times of need. “Though… that feeling was very definitely mutual.”

Ethan’s hold on her hand became tighter, expressing his excitement. The smile that lit up his face must have been the biggest she’s ever seen to this date; he’s never been happier than in that exact moment. Claire’s face fell in disappointment, longing spelled out all over it. “I wish I could kiss you.”

“Soon. You will soon.” He promised, partly to her, and partly to himself, making himself swear to never let her get away again. Guilt was eating him alive, driving him mad, making him want to kick himself for being a fool for so long. “Claire? What’s wrong?” he immediately asked when he saw her expression change into a pensive one once more.

“It just hit me that Rafael might be the last real human contact I ever get to have, not through plastic.” She took the plastic surrounding his wrist between her two fingers, rubbing the material between them. His head told him to reassure her, but his heart couldn’t stand to be that far away from her, even if the suit was still separating them.

He moved from his chair, sitting down next to her, and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her to him; not as close as he’d like, but it would have to do. “Look at me.” he said, trying to keep his voice level, letting the emotions take control after some time. Their eyes met, same emotions reflected in them. “You can’t think like that. You can’t give up.”

His soft gaze made her feel as though she could almost touch him, through all the layers of thick plastic. Rip apart the barriers that kept them away from each other, hold onto him and never let him go again.

“But I can kiss you… sort of.” her voice was raspy when she said those words, her hand already raising his until she could press her lips to his knuckles, shielded away from her. He cupped her chin, stroking the line of her cheekbone with his thumb tenderly. He muttered her name, softly and quietly, trying to find the words for the impossible situation they’ve found themselves in, but found none.

With his hold on her never wavering, he maneuvered them into the horizontal position, allowing her head to rest, her eyelids drooping against her will slightly. Their gazes were still locked, like they were since the moment he stepped inside her realm of isolation, and they remained that way until she fell deeper into his embrace, nuzzling her face against his chest with a ragged breath.

“I’m glad I at least got to hold you one last time…” she muttered, inhaling the clean scent of the room they were in. His hold on her tightened, expressing how much he wanted to be confident in his own words.

“This isn’t the last time, Claire. I promise you that.”

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

He was right. In the morning, her friends arrived with the cure, and hours later, she was showered and recovering in her very own, new and clean, room, taking every opportunity she had to rest. Her flatmates came by, but couldn’t stay for long, with their shifts starting soon. One person that was by her side every moment he could, was Ethan.

He visited her more times than a boss checking up on his colleague would be deemed appropriate, but he didn’t care. When he asked Sienna, earning himself a teasing grin from her in the process, he learned that none of their coworkers noticed or cared about him and Claire being close, the information being the last push he needed to spend as much time with her as he could or wanted.

The first time he visited, he lingered in the doorframe, watching her with a vulnerable and timid smile. She turned her head at the feeling of a slight heat on the side of her face, her eyes brighter at the sight of him. She beckoned him to sit next to her, neither of them saying anything yet.

His hand was shaking when he took hers gently, unable to believe that they were able to touch each other again, that she made it through and that they still had a chance. After last night, not much was left unsaid and they both knew where their feelings were placed. They still had a long way to go, but Ethan was ready to take the leap, follow her wherever she wanted to take him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, tangling and detangling their fingers nervously. Claire stretched a bit, sitting up in her bed.

“I’m much better now. Headache is letting up too.” He placed his other hand on her forehead, his cool skin meeting her slightly warmer one. A small moan escaped her lips as her eyes fell shut. “Now that is perfect.”

“Yeah?” he laughed, looking at her with utmost adoration. She nodded, breathing in and out deeply. When she gazed at him again, their faces were much closer than she remembered them to be. Her first instinct was to lean away, expecting him to do the same, as they were in the hospital and anyone could walk in on them. Their only ally was the fact that the room didn’t have a window, so one would have to open the door to actually see what was happening inside.

But he didn’t do that. After coming so close to losing her, every moment with her felt precious, and he had every intention of savoring it. The heat of her body, the scent of her shampoo, the comfort of simply talking to her and being by her side. Yesterday’s Ethan Ramsey would keep his distance and maintain a professional front, even if it hurt him. The new Ethan Ramsey simply didn’t care anymore. Or, rather, he cared more than he used to be able to admit. He’s spent past months wallowing in regret and drowning in endless ocean of what-ifs. To say that he was tired of his own rules would be an understatement.

Ethan pressed a soothing kiss to the inside of her wrist, whispering softly, his voice full of pain. “You don’t even know…” he trailed off, his voice breaking for a split second before he composed himself again, taking a deep breath to ground himself.

“I know.”

It became their routine. For the next five days, she would wake up just in time to see him walking through the door, two steaming cups in his hands, one coffee and one tea. Once she was cleared to eat normal food again, he also began bringing meals he’s spent every evening and half of his nights making, both of them talking quietly while eating.

“You’re going to spoil me too much with all this delicious food. How am I supposed to move back to eating instant ramen?” she gasped dramatically, her grin growing even wider when he smirked.

“You could always eat dinner with me. I wouldn’t complain.” He pointed out, words leaving his lips before his mind could filter them. He really wouldn’t mind if she agreed to spend more time with him. His own bold words made a wave of excitement run down his spine, endorphins rushing through his bloodstream. Her eyebrow shot up teasingly, making him sweat for her answer until, eventually, she nodded, so happy she could probably emit light.

“Is that a date, then?” her voice betrayed how nervous but hopeful she was. The same euphoric expression appeared on his face, just like it did a few nights ago; he decided, right then and there, that he’s been longing to feel like this for a long time. Since the moment the thought of them being together became a possibility, in fact. This feeling of fullness, of being exactly where he wanted to be.

“It’s whatever you want it to be, Claire. Though, I won’t lie, I would very much like to take you out on a proper date once you’re fully recovered.” He kissed her cheek, his eyes holding the streak of vulnerability when he leaned away. “And I’d like to be there for you in the meantime.”

They both visibly relaxed, tension leaving their bodies as they fell into their each other’s arms, the embrace warm, as tight as he dared to hold her given the circumstances, carrying the desperation that seemed to still have them in its hold.

“I’d like that very much.” she muttered, her words muffled by the material of his white coat, pressed against her lips.

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

“Dr. Trinh, may I speak to you?” he called out, probably a bit louder than he should, a few interns stopping in their tracks, terrified and feeling sorry for the resident. Sienna, however, kept her face neutral as she followed the attending to his office, observing his face carefully, trying to decipher what could this possibly be about. As soon as the door closed and he got visibly got nervous, she had her answer.

“How are things going with Claire?” she asked lightly, cocking her head to the side when his gaze hardened for a second, coming to his senses immediately after he remembered their conversation a few days back. He cleared his throat before answering.

“I’d like to believe they’re good. Going in the right direction too. That’s actually why I asked you here.” He guided her towards the seat by his desk, twisting his fingers anxiously. “Claire is getting discharged today. We talked about me picking her up, and she suggested staying at my apartment, but I think she’d be more comfortable in her out home, in her own bed. Surrounded by things she knows.”

“No offense, Dr. Ramsey, but I’m pretty sure she knows your apartment pretty well too.” She giggled when a furious blush started creeping up his neck, unable to disagree with what she said. “But besides that, what is it that you’re asking me here?”

“I don’t want to be an inconvenience to you, and I’ll understand if you’re unable to help me, but I thought I’d ask.” He stumbled over his words, the whole premise causing him to lose the ability to think clearly. “Would it be possible for Claire and I to- uh…”

“Watching you stumble over your words is an unusual sight, I must say. Are you asking me if we could spend the night somewhere else so that the two of you could have the freedom to talk?” she made it easier for him, sensing his cry for help in the way he talked.

“Yes.” He blurted out, shocked at his own forwardness. “There are some things we need to discuss. I just want her to be as comfortable as possible.”

“We just so happen to have wanted a sleepover at Bryce’s place. What a coincidence, huh?” she smiled enigmatically, then took her phone and sent the message to the rest of her flatmates excluding Claire. Minutes later they had their answer. “We’ll leave the house at six thirty. Claire has the keys. Good luck, Dr. Ramsey.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, smiling to himself as he fell deeper into his chair. All that was left to do was get through the rest of the day, get her discharged and hope for the best.

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

“Come on, let’s get you home.” He greeted her, waving a stack of papers in his hand. Claire’s eyes widened in excitement, swinging her legs over the side of the bed almost immediately.

“You’re kidding.”

“When do I ever joke, Dr. Herondale.” His features hardened momentarily, only to melt into the teasing smile right after.

“Ooh, so serious and professional.” she joked, walking over to him slowly. Her hand brushed against his, sparks flying up their arms. “I haven’t been to your apartment in a while.”

“Actually, I’m taking you back to your place.” He picked up her bag, turning to look at her. Her mouth opened in surprise and confusion, unsure what he was talking about.

“I thought you wanted to keep an eye on me.” she muttered, her spirit falling as her hopes for the evening began to fall apart.

“I still intend to do that. I just think that you’d be more comfortable in your own space, your own home and bed.” Ethan felt his cheeks reddening, holding his breath while waiting for her answer.

“Are you sure that you want to spend the night with all my flatmates? I wouldn’t mind if it weren’t for the fact that I… kinda hoped to be alone with you.”

“Oh, really?” he smirked, wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing them against each other gently. “Then I guess it’s good that they’re sleeping at Bryce’s place tonight.” He watched how the corners of her lips went up and up, forming a charming smile, a quiet question hanging between them. “I asked Sienna if she could arrange it. I think she wants us to talk.”

“She does, I have no doubt about that.” Claire’s feet moved on their own, bringing her even closer to him, stopping just as they were breathing the same air. Her gaze strayed from his eyes to his lips, staring at them shamelessly. “Take me home, then.”

Ethan offered her his arm, a warm sensation spreading in his chest when he felt her touch, firm and trusting. Gripping the bag in his other hand, they moved towards the exit, making sure to leave her discharge papers at the nurse’s station.

He held her hand throughout the whole way to her apartment, and even when they walked towards the elevator, he still wouldn’t let her get too far away. There was an intense need in every move he made towards her; she noticed it on the very first day after she was cured. His touch was lingering, his hands gripping hers for a moment longer than usual. His gaze swallowed her whole. His kisses that never reached her lips, no matter how much both of them wanted it, were tender but with underlying strength to them, fueling them both for the next couple of hours until they would meet again.

Claire dug up her keys from her purse, opening the door to let them in. Ethan set the bag down on the floor next to the entrance to her room, turning to look at her. She remained by the front door, hands folded behind her back, looking at him with the intensity that made him fall apart. With each step she took towards him, his heartbeat got faster, his senses gained sharpness, tuning into her frequency.

“What’s your plan?” she asked, taking one of the buttons of his sweater into her grasp, rolling it between her fingers. It was a genuine question, but she would be lying if she said that she didn’t mean to tease him. They were like that, always toeing the line, crossing it over and over again.

“You’re in control here, Claire. You tell me.”

“I’d kill for a shower. I would ask you to make yourself comfortable but…” she stepped on her tiptoes, her lips a mere inch away from his ear. “… you can always join me.”

He almost choked on air, his breath kicked out of his lungs at her suggestion. She kissed his cheek, giggling when she leaned away, seeing his face slightly redder than before. Figuring out that, at least to some extent, she was teasing him, he relaxed a bit, running his hand up and down her arm. “You go ahead and do that, and I’ll try to think of something to cook.”

With that, they separated for the next thirty minutes. She left the door slightly open in case something happened, or they needed to talk, their strategy from Miami still working wonders. Ethan managed to get the food cooked and waiting for them in twenty minutes, deciding to wait for her, sitting on the couch and observing the sun that was barely visible over the horizon.

He’s thought in depth about what he wanted to tell her. He knew what he wanted to tell her, so many sleepless nights spent on thinking of her, or rather, trying not to think of her. There always was a part of him that knew that all his desperate attempts at keeping his distance, pushing her away and denying what was so obviously in front of him, would fall short. He refused to believe it at the time, but here he was now.

The sound of the door closing and soft footsteps on the floor pulled him back into reality. Just as he was turning his head to look at her, she sat down, straddling him, her hands on both sides of his face, and the next thing he knew, her lips were touching his in a heated kiss. Surprised only for a moment, he placed his hands just above her hips, kissing her back with as much desperation and fire. She had her many ways of stealing his breath, but this one was one of his favorites.

She lowered herself onto his lap even more, a soft sigh escaping her lips at the contact. Ethan tried to keep his reactions at bay, letting her take over, giving himself over to her just as much as he was taking from her. He could feel her smile, his head leaning back a bit when her fingers pulled on his strands, a helpless moan echoing in the air.

He wasn’t able to tell how much time has passed, losing himself in her completely. Moving his hands to her face, he brushed her hair away, their eyes locked tightly as they stared at each other in utter silence. Water was dripping from the strands of her blonde hair, soaking his sweater and the T-shirt she was wearing. Ethan only now noticed that it was strangely familiar.

“How did you get ahold of my T-shirt?” he laughed, welcoming the sight of her in his clothes with familiarity he didn’t know he longed for. It barely covered her thighs, in their current position the material being bunched up around her hips, exposing a bit of her panties to his touch when his hands were holding her in place.

“A girl’s gotta have her secrets.” She echoed her own words from the very first day they met, his eyes sparking up in recognition. “Besides, we both know I look better in it anyway.”

They enjoyed their dinner, conversing quietly about anything other than the past couple of days or work. Ethan wanted her to relax, not think about her workload (which was already taken care of) or the horrific circumstances that led to her needing her rest in the first place. Once they moved back to the couch, Ethan having changed into more comfortable clothes, the blanket covering their legs, the conversation continuing. The biggest manifest of how comfortable they were with one another was all written in their moves, his arm draped over the back of the couch, his fingers playing with her hair while she inspected the lines of his other hand absentmindedly.

Suddenly, his smile dimmed, his shoulders falling with his heavy breath. Claire caught onto it immediately, squeezing his wrist with an underlying question. He looked into her eyes, blue irises gaining depth as he prepared to tell her the very thing that’s been haunting him for days now.

“I can’t get rid of the panic that takes over my whole body and mind when we separate.” He confessed, searching for more words, trying to come up with a way to explain it better. She listened to him patiently, her touch firm and reassuring. “It sounds crazy now that I think about it, but I’m sure the feeling will only increase when we’re both back to work. Every time I turn the corner or look inside the room, I’m scared that I- that you- ugh, goddamn it.” he let out a frustrated sigh, sliding closer to her and touching her cheek softly. “I’m terrified that I’m going to see you in danger again. I don’t think I can survive it the second time.”

He dove forward, capturing her lips in another kiss they shared his night. Only this time, the tone of it was entirely different. Gone was the fire, the heat and the lust that had driven them both to pull closer, to have, to own. Now, the need was greater, the desperation was more palpable, and the feelings were overflowing. Each time he leaned into her, she leaned back, until she was lying down with him hovering over her, barely keeping himself balanced on his elbows while her legs were wrapped tightly around his hips and her fingers were tangled in his hair once again.

Their faces were wet with tears, cleansing them of all the stress and anger they held within them. Ethan was the first one to lean away, resting his forehead against her collarbone, eyes still closed, breathing heavily. She stroked his back, basking in the warmth of his body, staring at the ceiling.

“I thought I was going to die in there.” she whispered, not trusting her voice to carry out the words. His entire body stiffened, eyes opening at once, his lips pressed to her skin. “Without telling you how much I need you. How much I want you, right here, by my side.” She lifted his head off her chest, making their eyes meet. “How much I care about you.”

“The moment I saw you in there was possibly the worst thing I could imagine. I’ve told you that before, but I’m never going to stop saying it. I’ve wasted so much time, trying to shield you from me; you and your work. I’ve never stopped to look at us.” He stroked her cheek, his smile full of pain but at the same time, hope. “There aren’t enough words in any language that could possibly express the grief I feel, or the sheer panic that froze me in place when I realized what was happening.” He paused, wiping first hers then his own face, just as a new batch of tears replaced the old one. “I want you to stay with me. I need you, Claire. In any and every way I can get you. I finally understand my feelings. And I won’t deny them anymore. The line is so far back that I don’t even remember what it looks like. You have me. You’ve had me for a long time now.”

She didn’t say a word for a long moment, searching for a confirmation. And she got it. In the way his eyes sparkled with utter happiness. In the way his hold on her never wavered, always believing in her. In the way his body relaxed after he finally told her everything.

Claire smiled so widely that her cheeks begun to hurt a bit, then hauled him onto her, kissing him with wild abandonment. “Let’s not wait for a next disaster to see where this leads us.”

#mc x ethan #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #open heart #open heart fanfiction #fic #fanfiction #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #mc x ethan ramsey #choices #choices fanfiction

212 notes · View notes

outoftimewriting · 4 years

Text

Imagine (inspired by the incomplete fanfic Son of Underworld) (1/5) (Son of Hades!Percy AU)

Hey! Check the masterpost after reading this - there's a whole collection after :))

TW: Racism, anxiety, social isolation

Percy is a son of Hades

His mother was charmed by both Hades and Persephone, so he has the goddess' blessing.

Percy has deep black hair, and dark skin that's darker than the night. His eyes are like looking at the abysm - even so, a hint of green appears beyond his irises, the shade of Persephone showing itself slightly.

Every year, they don't go to Montauk: They go to a subterranean little house in the middle of the woods that Percy has no clue how his mother has money to afford renting.

His mother reads him the Hobbit - its a hole in the ground, with a little round door. He is sure he is a Hobbit.

Weird things happen to Percy. His eyes go all black one day and his mom freaks out. He explodes a bus. Once, he makes a mess of the Egyptian section of the museum he is in - he has no clue how.

People don't like touching Percy. Only his mom hugs him, and sometimes, Percy feels so alone he thinks he will someday merge with the shadows around him.

His ADHD gets worse every year, but misteriously, he can read anything if it's related to history. He is the best at history and geography and math.

He does math instinctively. He know earth, he feels the dirt in his fingertips and knows, he just knows.

He feels history being whispered in his ears by people that aren't there.

Percy goes to Yancy Academy. He is not a irredeemable case. No. He gets a scholarship on math. He never got a grade bigger than a E+ in English bc of his dyslexia, and he will never get more than a C- in Science, but he is good in math.

Pre-algebra is easy, and his teacher is kind. It's the first teacher that passes her hand in his head and say "Here, honey" when he misses home.

Professor Brunner is cool, but he feels uneasy at his presence. Like the man is just waiting for Percy to do something, and it doesn't help that, weirdly, Percy is not awful at Latin.

Nancy Bobofit picks on him once. She touches his skin, but it feels like touching something dead. She never looks at him again.

Grover is a good roommate. He is a good guy, a good friend, and they spend lots of time together. He doesn't creep Grover, no. They share a love for flowers.

He doesn't touch Grover. He is afraid that if he does, he won't have a friend anymore. Percy gets used to sweaters and gloves, all blue.

Because Percy may be a child of Hades. But he loves blue and soft tones of pink. He has soft sunset fluffy sweaters and loose washed-out jeans.

Percy is twelve when a guy in his class turns out to have only one eye and a javelin. His algebra teacher saves him with a black sword.

Mrs. Dodds, or Alecto, tells him everything. Or everything she can. She tells him he is in danger. She tells him there are powerful beings in the world. She tells him he is the son of one of them, but more than that and he would be at risk.

He sits through his finals earlier at her urging. Grover does too, and Grover sticks with him.

Grover is, perhaps, his only friend, and Percy is desolated to discover that Grover wasn't really his friend - he was just a guy, a satyr, tasked to protect him. Grover insists that they are truly friends, but his fatal flaw this time is holding grudges, and it takes a part of his heart.

He doesn't turn his back to Grover though. He is bitter, and he wants to punch him. But it still is everything he has.

Apart from his Mom. So they go talk to his Mom and get his things, and she cries at his shoulder and insists on going with them until the borders.

It goes badly. Sally "dies" in a flash that looks like thunder, by the hands of a Minotaur. Grover says Hades is sending his monsters after them - But Percy knows where thunder comes from.

Percy doesn't break one of the monster's horns - he breaks both, and carries Grover through the barrier, doing his best to not touch the satyr.

Nectar tastes like his mom's blue cookies. He cries after Grover leaves the room.

Mr. Brunner is Chiron. Alecto is a Fury. The greek gods are the powerful beings she was talking about.

Mr. D looks at him once, and for a second, pity flashes in his eyes. Most people forget that before he was Dionysus, he was Zagreus.

They play in silence. Percy doesn't make difficult questions. The blonde girl looks at him once, and she opens her mouth to say something, but she just closes it with a conflicted expression.

People look at him weirdly. Some regard the horns he stuck at his belt, some look at his skin with disgust (he heard it all before, the slurs). Some regard his soft appearance, and names are thrown, Demeter and Aphrodite and Persephone and Eros, and Percy want to scream and melt into the shadows.

He has a mother. No one knows his father.

He meets Luke. Luke is everything he aims to be - he shines with warmth, like a beacon. Percy doesn't touch him. He is afraid he'll drain him empty of light.

Annabeth and he are cold towards one another - the girl doesn't like his aura, he doesn't like her snobbish behavior.

He settles at Cabin 11. He doesn't mix up with the Ares children, he steers clear of Clarisse. He spends his time studying greek, listening to whispers in his ears, and trying new things.

Percy isn't very good with a sword - not one of them is well balanced to him. He is good with daggers - but horrible at close contact because he doesn't get very physical. He is okay with a bow, but it still isn't his thing.

He tries the spear - definitely no. The javelin? No. Mace? Too close combat, not enough balance.

Turns out his weapon of choice is a giant Warhammer, and sometimes a fierce-looking ax on the other hand, and everyone starts looking at him again, questioning and questioning.

Canoeing is not for Percy. Two minutes, and he got water sick. They are in a river for gods' sake!

Pegasi hate Percy. He doesn't try again.

He likes running with the dryads, and they like him. He likes the strawberry vines, he can make them look shinier, flowers bloom, even though he can't raise vines or produce anything.

He tries to deal with metal. He is good at it. The metal feels like water under his hands: he can do anything with it. Metal, stone, gems. He ignores the shadows curling at his feet, the flecks of green in the midst of the red fire.

Hephaestus, they say. He is not muscled like some of the other Cabin 9 children, but again, he is probably a legacy of Persephone or Demeter or some minor harvest god. He looks a little like Charles - it's not only the skin.

Everyone is willfully blind. Percy Jackson must be a child of Hephaestus. He deals with metal and fire, he put Clarisse on the floor with his Warhammer last week, and the girl was impressed instead of pissed. What if he likes the shadows a little?

Charles takes him under his wing, almost part of the cabin.

Percy uses a long-sleeved orange shirt under his camp shirt, being the sun, or rain.

He doesn't touch people, and everyone is used with each other's little quirks, so no one questions him.

Some Apollo and Demeter children steer clear of him like the plague, the ones who work in the infirmary, the ones that tend to the gardens and create life.

Some Apollo and Demeter children stick to him like glue, the ones that can sing someone to madness and induce sickness, the ones that destroy and kill.

Some children in his cabin still give him glances. Alabaster, Ethan, Clovis. They feel in him what's inside of them.

Luke is glued to his side. Luke basks on the power.

He burns food. To Hermes, for letting him sleep in the corner of the floor. To Dionysus, he is doing what he can, so far away from his dominion.

He doesn't burn food to his father. He burns it to Hephaestus.

He makes a silent prayer that he won't be an unclaimed child. He wants a family, he wants someone, anyone to come and be and love him because the only family he had is gone now.

In his dreams, he sees a somber man with a crown of bones, skin just like his. He sees a dryad so beautiful, she must be a goddess, with her pale green skin and hair like a thousand vines, flowers sprouting beneath her barefoot feet.

He confides in Luke about Alecto. The boy looks ready to explode of happiness, but Percy doesn't understand.

Percy stays unclaimed a month. Then Capture the Flag happens.

It's not a hellhound - this time? It's a sea serpent. A Cerastes.

They get the flag. Percy gets a helm of darkness over his head, a dark glow around it.

Luke thinks he is the only one who saw the sweet green glow behind it, the soft smell of pomegranates. He is wrong.

'Hades,' said Chiron. 'Earthopener, The Silent One, The Rich One, Lord of the Dead. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Underworld God'

Percy does not have a family. He does not have a cabin. Percy has nothing, and he is alone.

Not much changes. People steer clear of him. The only people he talks to are Annabeth, reluctantly on his part (even though she seems equal parts resignated and scared, like it somehow affects her), Luke, Charles, Alabaster and Ethan.

Some children of Apollo, Demeter and Hermes look at him curiously. Pollux and Castor spend more time in his vicinity.

A lot of gods are connected to the Underworld one way or another. Ares can call upon skeletons. Athena can drawn upon years of forgotten history. Aphrodite has a son in the second coming of Eros, so she knows - she knows - that before he was his son, he was a son of what is under even the Underworld.

Percy is afraid. He doesn't know his powers, what can he even do? Can he make the earth tremble, can he raise the dead, can he kill people with a touch? Or does his powers relies solely in metal?

He doesn't touch anyone. Not even through gloves - he has a jacket now.

Dionysus calls to him and offer to transform him in a pomegranate tree - but his mom is somewhere, and if he is capable of raising the dead, he wants her back.

The prophecy is the same, and their journey is not that different.

He doesn't think his father stole anything. But he might - who is Percy to know? The man has never once spoke with him. He doesn't know who his father is, and no one is giving him good impressions.

Their bus is exploded by hyperboreans, who, in the end, like all creatures who have ice in their hearts, answer to Poseidon.

They kill the Medusa. Percy sends the head to Olympus. They follow a poodle, but this time, the attack of the Echidna is not in an Arch. Is in the Chalk Pyramids in Kansas, and Percy falls off a cliff only for the earth to welcome him with open arms, as he raises an army of skeletons to do his bidding.

They still meet Ares. Percy swarms the aquatic park with skeletons - and it's the first time he tries shadow travelling. It works - but they end up, all three of them, in Wyoming.

At least now they can prove Wyoming is real.

He ignores the televisions. He ignores the stories. He ignores Gabe - because if there is someone he wouldn't mind strangling with his bare hands, it's Gabe.

Ares meet them there - their ride this time is an abusive circus caravan, and Percy sleeps the whole day of the travel, he doesn't even remember Ares or the suspicious backpacks. They free the animals and flee in Las Vegas.

The Lotus Hotel is much harder to resist this time around, seeing Percy sleeps what looks like two hours but feel like two days, but someone touches Percy, he freaks out and gets the three of them out of there (without shadowtravelling this time).

They pass Procrustes. They go to D.O.A. Percy insists - he has to do this alone. It's his father, his home turf.

Grover and Annabeth became loyal friends. They won't let him go alone.

They pass Charon easily. Percy keeps producing money everywhere - and Charon folds. Cerberus wants to play, and Percy plays with him. It's just a doggy. Percy vows to come back. Annabeth doesn't cry alone.

Luke's shoes betray him. He thinks that's the last betrayal of this mission, because it hurts somewhere deep in him.

The confrontation with his father is the worst. Hades has no regard for him. Calls him a liar, a cheater. Says he shouldn't ever have claimed him. That he stole Zeus' bolt for hubris, and his Helm for vengeance.

Alecto looks at him sadly. She knows he didn't do anything.

"You know nothing about me"

Percy shadow travels away with his friends. Its easier, in the underworld.

He fights Ares in the Mojave Desert instead of the beach. The god bleeds gold, and the helm is his.

"Tell my... my father, to expect my visit"

Alecto looks apologetic. He, although, is not.

He makes a sob story for the police. Is difficult, because people look at his skin and see a delinquent. They look at his skin and sneer, but Annabeth is just tanned, and Grover is a ginger.

Percy gives back the Master Bolt. Zeus looks like he would be better as a puddle on the floor - Percy disagrees.

Poseidon looks less - less angry, less probable of smothering him on the floor. He claps a hand on his shoulder, and it sounds like an apology (or the best he is going to get).

He feels tired. He goes back to camp for the last bonfire - but he isn't sure he is coming back next summer. Some people like him - but he hated being looked at and proded. He wants to see the Underworld. He wants to find his place.

He hates the Cabin 11. It's humiliating. It's degrading. Nemesis turns the tides of wars. Hecate controls the Mist. Morpheus can drive someone crazy - they aren't gods, they are feelings, things above nature, sons and daughters of Nyx.

He feels detached. Luke asks him to a walk.

Perseus hate some of the gods. Perseus hates Zeus, who took his mother. Perseus hates his father, who called him a liar and tried to deny Percy's place. Perseus hates that they don't have more cabins. Perseus hates that they have cabins for gods who don't have children.

But Perseus loves Annabeth, and Grover, and Charles. He has dreams - dreams of Persephone that mingle with his dreams about Kronos. He wants to meet her, even if she hates him.

He doesn't go with Luke, no. But he doesn't say no. He teethers the line this time - half his friends at one side and half at the other, and he wants to scream.

Alabaster and Ethan leave, and he doesn't blame them. Luke doesn't poison him, and doesn't blame him for staying. He probably thinks Percy is going to sway Annabeth, and he can't fault him.

He leaves a golden drachma in his hand - for him to call when he makes a decision.

And Percy truly doesn't know what it will be.

Zeus gives back his mother and Gabe is now a statue at Persephone's garden - but he holds a grudge.

Perseus is only twelve, when he discovers he is Percy only to his mother, Annie, Charles, Grover and Luke. To the world, he is Perseus, the one who destroys.

141 notes · View notes

taxicabinmemphis · 4 years

Text

Prince Charming - Chapter 4

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three - chapter four - chapter five - chapter six

Word count - 4,094 Pairing - Intrulogical, Prinxiety (I didn’t plan it, it just kinda happened and I rolled with it), pre Moceit Warnings - some characters are a lil insensitive in spots but I wouldn’t call them unsympathetic, creativitwins angst ig, swearing, food mention, self-deprecation from most sides bc they’re all wrecks, character injury, pining, and then there’s Remus-typical behavior (body horror mentions, sexual innuendo/mentions of sexual stuff, and other stuff heh), if there’s anything else that should be tagged or put in the warnings, tell me!

The six sides and their horses eventually arrived in Azeria. Remus had abandoned his plan that would allow Janus to escape and instead was pondering his best friend’s love life. Logan and Janus were tired of the adventure and wanted to leave, while Patton and Virgil were hoping to finish so they could treat their injuries. The brothers, however, were having fun and expressed no desire to leave.

“Well, we’re here!” Roman stated as they got to the stables. He dismounted.

“Finally,” Virgil muttered under his breath, before dismounting. “Where should I put Sally, Roman?”

“Over there is fine.” He pointed to where Virgil should leave his horse.

All the other sides dismounted and left their horses in the stables. They walked into the castle, entering the tower where they kept the crown jewels.

“Care to do the honors, Patton?” Roman offered, as Patton was currently wearing the backpack which held the jewels.

Patton walked over to the open glass case. He opened the backpack, removed the jewels, and placed them carefully onto a velvet blanket which covered the bottom of the case. Roman closed the case after Patton finished, and Virgil clapped a hand on the fatherly side’s shoulder.

“Good work, Dad,” Virgil praised. “Thanks for carrying the jewels and keeping them safe.”

“Out of our dirty hands, you mean?” Remus teased.

“As a matter of fact, yeah,” Virgil said, malice in his tone.

Janus put an arm around the emo’s shoulders. “Oh come now, Virgil. You’ve beaten us once, we know not to try again.”

“Hmmph,” Virgil huffed, shrugging off Janus’ arm. He glared at him, suspicion evident on his features.

Janus gave a small laugh and turned to Roman. “What happens now, Roman?”

“Does this scenario end?” Logan asked, masking the hopefulness that would otherwise have been clear in his tone.

“There’s so much more we can do in this adventure!” Roman argued.

“We’re already having dinner way later than normal….” Patton objected quietly. “We shouldn’t hold off on it for much longer.”

“Patton is right,” Logan agreed, “we wouldn’t want to eat too late and end up having trouble getting to sleep on time.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “How about we go to the courtyard and clear everything up. You know, finalize what happened and such.”

“That sounds acceptable,” Logan said.

The sides then left the tower, exited the castle, and went to the courtyard, the flowers surrounding it making Patton’s face light up. The pristine white walls of the castle surrounded them fully on one side and partially on two sides, and the grass was a healthy shade of green. The darker, evening sky inhibited a clear look at their surroundings, though the pretty blues and purples above them seemed to make up for it. The sun would set soon, and the six would likely get the pleasure of watching it, depending on how long it took to end the adventure.

“May I sit on that bench?” Virgil asked, pointing to an ivory-colored bench near where they were standing.

“I’d like to as well,” Patton added, raising his arm slightly.

Roman nodded. “Of course. We can talk near the bench.”

Virgil and Patton sat next to each other on the bench. The four others stood in front of it, each of them standing where they could see each other.

“Okay, so we have the crown jewels, Remus and Janus are in custody, Virgil has been released and is now a citizen of Azeria, and us knights are okay. Anything else we should clarify?” Roman said.

“I was given full permission to annoy Logan while in custody.”

Roman rubbed his temples in annoyance. “No. Logan is a valued knight and respected citizen, we wouldn’t subject him to your company.”

Remus laughed. “Logan visits me in prison, then we fuck-”

“Remus!” Patton exclaimed, hitting his arm.

“Sorry, Pat, but yeah.” Remus shrugs. “That’s what happens.”

The sides looked at Logan, whose face was ducked and buried in his hands.

“No, it isn’t,” Roman disagreed firmly. “Anything else?”

“Reptania and Azeria eventually work out their problems and become allies?” Patton suggested.

Roman stared at him for a few moments, blinking a few times before answering. “I mean, sure. We don’t want these crazies in our dungeons for too long. They would get annoying.”

Virgil snorted. “True that.”

Silence surrounded the group.

“Well then,” Janus said, breaking the silence. “It seems that we’re fini-”

“Look,” Patton interrupted with a gasp. “The sunset.”

The five other sides trained their gazes on what Patton was looking at, and their faces all contorted to an expression of surprise and wonder. The sky was painted in a beautiful display of reds, oranges, yellows, pinks, and purples which contrasted with the canvas of dark blue incredibly well.

“Preeeeeeeetty,” Remus commented softly, holding out the ‘e’.

“As pretty as Logan?” Roman mused, glancing at his brother shortly, before returning his eyes to the colorful sky.

Remus’ face pinkened. “As pretty as Virgil?” he shot back with a scowl.

Roman let out a low sound of annoyance, but he left the conversation at that, preferring to appreciate the sunset than argue with his brother.

The sides spent a good five to ten minutes admiring the sunset, Patton making sure to snap pictures.

Janus cleared his throat. “We really should get going, as it seems that we’re finished.”

The others nodded, slowly tearing their eyes from the sky. Roman snapped his fingers and his fellow sides returned to their normal clothes.

“We could’ve just done that instead of changing earlier?!” Virgil asked incredulously.

Roman shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe, but I don’t think so. Who knows? But now you don’t have to struggle with removing chainmail.”

Virgil groaned and threw his head against the back of the bench.

“Next time, Roman, you should play the villain!” Remus said teasingly, leaving the castle grounds and walking towards the door out of the Imagination, his fellow sides joining him. “Bet you’ve never done that before!”

Roman shook his head. “I am a prince, not a villain. And why not let the resident villain play the part? Besides, I’m the only side here who knows how to be heroic, romantic, and charming.”

Remus’ footsteps slowed, but he eventually reached the door, his mood having soured immensely. He left the Imagination, leaving the door ajar behind him.

Patton, Janus, and Logan followed him out the door, Roman walking towards it himself. His hand grasped the doorknob, and he opened the wooden door slightly, only for his efforts to meet an opposing force that stopped the door from opening further.

The prince looked behind him to see Virgil standing there, left hand on the door.

“Hey there, Princey,” Virgil greeted quietly.

“Virgil,” Roman replied, showing clear confusion.

The purple-clad side took a deep breath. “I was hoping we could discuss something.”

Roman’s eyes widened in surprise, his grip on the doorknob slipping. He hardly registered Virgil closing the door after his hand fell to his side. Roman quickly concluded that Virgil’s previous statement was a softened and less anxiety-inducing version of the phrase “we need to talk”.

The realization made his stomach drop.

He followed Virgil away from the door and back over to the courtyard. They stopped at its entrance, and Virgil turned to face Roman.

“Roman, I have a few questions about some of today’s events,” Virgil said slowly. “As you know, I’m anxiety. I pay attention to behavioral red flags and abnormal actions and they will bother me until I get answers. So to spare future Virgil insomnia, could I please get clarification on a few things?”

Roman took a moment before answering. “And...none of the other sides’ behavior bothered you? Just mine?”

“Afraid so, Princey,” Virgil replied with a grimace. “At least when it came to the way they acted with me. Everything with Patton and Janus followed, except for one thing I managed to figure out. And no one else talked with me much.”

“Alright then,” Roman said, clearing his throat. “Fire away, I guess.”

Virgil shifted his feet. “I suppose I should start with the most recent source of alarm...back during the ride from Reptania? We were talking, and I rejected the idea of riding faster due to my soreness, and you said you wouldn’t cause me any harm or some cutesy shit like that, and then you ended up speeding up? I’m not mad by it or anything and I was eventually able to get used to the added pain it caused but I’m still confused by your actions.”

Roman felt a pang of guilt in his chest. Virgil’s sarcasm towards his care for the anxious side had angered him and slightly hurt his heart, so he sped up to be petty. He didn’t take Virgil’s injured state into account when committing the action, but now wished he did.

“Was that nice thing you said before you sped up sarcastic or something? I mean it was very dramatic like sarcasm often is, but you’re extremely dramatic so I thought it was you being you...maybe I read you wrong-”

“No, Virgil,” Roman finally spoke, raising a hand to halt his companion’s spiraling speech. His head was ducked down and he refused to meet Virgil’s eyes. “The comment was sincere.”

“Then why…”

“I…” Roman really didn’t want to answer this question, “I’m sorry. Your sarcasm after my comment wounded me when it really shouldn’t have because you’re such a sarcastic person by nature. I then forgot all about your injuries and sped up to be petty. I’m so sorry Virgil, and I am absolutely disgusted by myself for causing you pain. Especially after declaring I wouldn’t. You must be so angry...so rightfully angry.”

Virgil looked at the prince for a few silent seconds, blinking while he contemplated his dramatic and apologetic exposition. “I...I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was flattered and didn’t know what to say so I reverted to my normal sarcasm. I should’ve realized what I said might hurt you. And...I’m not angry, Princey. I was just confused and maybe a little annoyed.” Virgil paused for half a second, pondering whether or not to say his next words. “Don’t be angry at yourself, or...disgusted. Lashing out without care is normal, especially for someone as passionate as you. I’m fine now, the additional pain has faded, and I’m not annoyed anymore.”

Roman slowly lifted his head and let himself make eye contact with Virgil. “I...But you still suffered, Virgil, at my hand.” Roman clenched his fist and closed his eyes.

Virgil let out a tiny laugh. “Seriously, Roman. I’m fine. I didn’t suffer or anything that dramatic. Stop beating yourself up about it.”

Roman stopped, looking back to Virgil. He took a deep breath. “Okay. I acted insensitively out of anger. It was stupid. I apologize. I understand that you were...wait, flattered?” Roman stopped, remembering what Virgil said earlier.

Virgil’s eyes widened. He forgot he’d said that. “Yeah,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand. “‘Your safety is my priority’? ‘I will instigate nothing that will cause you harm’? Those are some pretty sweet words you said there, Roman. I guess it, uh…—” he lowered the volume of his voice, “—made me feel a little special.”

Roman’s face had reddened at Virgil repeating Roman’s declaration from the horseback ride and emphasizing its kindness. But he smiled too. He made Virgil feel special.

“Not to say I’m not aware of how drama and bold declarations of action and emotion are basically your main way of interacting with others,” Virgil started to backtrack, “and maybe it shouldn’t have flattered me the way it did, considering you always act like that, but it did, and I’m sorry it made me say something that hurt you.”

“You needn’t apologize further, Virgil,” Roman said, a fond smile adorning his features. “I am aware of how passionate I am, especially towards you, and I should have considered that before I did what I did. If what I say bothers you, please tell me. I have no desire to hurt you.”

Virgil’s gaze was on the grass from Roman’s offhanded flirtatious comment. “What you say doesn’t hurt me or anything, and I know it’s just you being you. Compliments aren’t something I navigate well either and it’s not like anyone else speaks half as dramatically as you, so if you say something nice, it’s really nice and I don’t know how to respond. That’s all.”

Roman chuckled, the smile staying on his face as he glanced over and internally marveled at Virgil’s lovely facial features. “Hmm, flustered Virgil. Something that seems so alluringly impossible but is existing before my eyes. Truly, a wonderful sight.” Roman’s smile only widened at Virgil blushing, and he got back on topic. “What else did you wish for us to discuss, Virgil? I remember you mentioning that there was more than one worry on your mind.”

“I, uh, yeah,” Virgil said weakly, still bashful from Roman’s words. “Roman...Patton’s hit to my stomach didn’t knock me out. It couldn’t have, to be honest. And I remember everything that happened. Everything that was said.”

Roman frowned. “What are you trying to say here, Virgil?”

“Why were you so angry?” Virgil asked softly, looking into Roman’s eyes. “You were so mad, so incredibly furious at Patton…. No one else was. And you didn’t know the whole story.”

“Virgil…”

“Again, I’m not mad,” Virgil clarified. “Or disappointed, or anything of the sort. I’m just confused. I mean, as soon as you learned Patton was the one who knocked me down, you were so angry! You didn’t even listen to his defense...it took Janus yelling at you and his explanation to shut y-- to stop your anger. Your apology was fine and sincere and Patton understood your actions so, again, I’m not mad. Why were you so angry, though? No one else was. But you were. Why?”

“I…” Roman trailed. “I care about you, Virgil. You know this.”

Virgil’s eyebrows creased. “Is this your way of telling me the others don’t?”

“No!” Roman exclaimed. “I just...didn’t like to see you hurt. My fight with Remus, while it got a bit angry verbally, neither of us were injured. The same happened in Janus and Logan’s sword fight. It was as if there was an unspoken rule that no one should be hurt. I didn’t think that you getting hurt was fair. And so I lashed out at Patton...the person who seemed to break that rule. I know it was wrong to do so as I didn’t have all the information and am very aware of how much he loves and cares for you, but I wasn’t thinking. I was just angry. I apologize. I know how much Patton means to you, and I’m sorry for making him feel bad when he shouldn’t. When he didn’t deserve it.”

Virgil nodded. “I get that, I guess. You don’t need to apologize any more though, you already did. Again, I’m just...shocked that you were the one who got so mad at him….”

“Is that really so hard to believe, emo nightmare?” Roman asked with a smile. “I’m the one in the group who goes after those who I believe have done wrong, I’m the one who doesn’t listen when I should—”

“Roman…”

“—and I’m also the one who tries to valiantly protect people. Not anyone else.”

Virgil chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t need to protect me, Roman. I’m fight or flight, right? I can do the fight part for myself, you know.”

“Aww, but what if I want to protect you from harm?” Roman teased.

Virgil hit Roman’s shoulder lightly. “You don’t need to. Besides, the harm had already been done.”

Roman chuckled, taking a tiny step closer to Virgil. “Don’t try to stop me from protecting you, My Chemically Imbalanced Romance. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

Virgil snorted. “I can try.”

Roman laughed, shaking his head. “Why can’t you let me show my love for you the way I know how to?” The question was light, joking, casual. It meant next to nothing to Roman when it left his lips.

However, it had the opposite effect on Virgil. He looked down towards his feet, noticing how Roman was four feet away from him. The anxious side didn’t know whether to be happy the creative side couldn’t see his blush or sad he wasn’t closer.

“Y-Your love for me?” Virgil asked quietly, still looking at the grass.

“Of course, my raisin oatmeal cookie. You are my fellow side, my friend, my lovely Incredible Sulk! Don’t we all love you?” Roman replied, more nervous than he let on.

“O-Oh, yeah.”

“And even still, how could anyone not love you?” Roman said with a laugh.

Virgil’s face reddened further. “Can’t be too hard. I seemed to do it without trying.” The nervous side chuckled, approaching the worrisome comment casually, trying to impart sarcasm. He figured a joke would divert any possible attention from his blush.

Roman frowned, looking at the ducked head of Anxiety. “Well, that just won’t do.”

“...What?”

“My wonderful Charlie Frown, we can’t have you not loving yourself,” Roman said, dramatic but soft. He then put his hand under Virgil’s chin and delicately lifted it so he could meet his eyes. He gazed into them, admiring the beautiful shades of purple and green.

“Oh, Princey, it wasn’t that serious-” Virgil started to object, glancing away from Roman.

“No no no,” Roman silenced him, moving his hand from Virgil’s chin to in front of his lips, his index finger pointed up as a signal for him to stop talking. “You have to know how amazing you are, or at least learn.”

Virgil shook his head rapidly. “No. No, no. We are not doing this. It’s not that important anyway. Please don’t do this.”

Roman shook his head. “Do what? Tell you how spectacular you are?” His hand dropped from in front of Virgil’s mouth.

“Spectacular is subjective,” Virgil objected. “But yeah. Don’t do that.”

“Hmm…” Roman seemed to be pondering this. “Considering we are supposed to be talking about other topics, I guess I’ll do so another time, my dazzling Doctor Gloom.”

Virgil exhaled lightly. He was free of compliments for the time being. He didn’t dare argue, as that might cause Roman to take back what he said and say nice things about him. Virgil didn’t think he could take all of Roman’s dramatic sweetness, especially considering it was all platonic...right? He did say ‘friend’….

Roman looked at Virgil, his friend, his former enemy, with overwhelming love in his eyes. While it would be wrong of him to compliment him now, he couldn’t just leave that at that. He had to do something to demonstrate that Virgil should love himself. At least, that he was loved by others.

“Oh, Roman, look.” Virgil’s voice was small with wonder. His eyes left Roman’s and rested on the night sky above them. “The sun has set and the stars are out. There’s so many of them!”

Roman turned his head from Virgil to look. “Indeed. It’s quite beautiful.”

“Yeah…”

“Almost as beautiful as you.”

“You corny son of a bitch!” Virgil exclaimed, whacking Roman’s arm. “You said you’d stop complimenting me. And gosh, even if you still did, that was too cliché.”

“What? You walked right into it,” Roman defended with a shrug. “I’m not wrong either.”

Virgil took a deep breath, repressing his annoyance and a blush that wanted to crawl across his cheeks. “No more, Princey.”

Roman laughed, glancing at Virgil. His eyes lingered on the anxious side and the unique way the stars lit up the face Roman already adored so much.

Virgil glanced at Roman, doing a double take when he noticed the creative side’s eyes already on him. “What is it, Roman?”

Roman chuckled, placing his hand and laying his gaze on Virgil’s jaw, finger grazing over the white foundation that covered the emo’s face. He flicked his eyes up to meet the purple and green ones of his companion. “Oh, Virgil. Sweet Virgil.” Roman could see the red even through the makeup. He took a few steps closer to him. “May I kiss you?”

Virgil’s eyes widened. This was one of, no, the last thing he ever expected to leave Roman’s mouth. He stared at Roman—looking so absolutely majestic in the moonlight, so unbelievably attractive. His prince, his creativity, his talented, charming Roman was asking if he could kiss him.

“Please,” Virgil whispered, the one word laced with clear desire.

Roman smiled widely, looking down at his emo and placing his lips against his. They both closed their eyes, Roman’s hand not leaving Virgil’s jaw and his other arm encircling the purple side’s waist. Virgil wrapped his left arm around Roman’s neck and rested his right hand on the prince’s chest.

The kiss was delicate and so incredibly loving. It was purposeful, but soft. There was no lust but oh so much romance, no need for more but also quite desperate. The kiss wasn’t short—and it seemed just long enough—but it still had the two treat every second of it like precious gold as they savored the other like rich chocolate consumed on a warm evening. It left the two addicted to the other in a way that made sure what had just occurred would happen many more times in the future.

The two pulled away at the same time, letting their lips part so terribly slowly it was as if they were trying to make the most out of the last couple of seconds. Their eyes stayed closed, their arms not moving from where they were positioned on the other, and their faces flushed from the kiss.

Roman opened his eyes first: slowly, and with reluctance. He swept his thumb under Virgil’s closed right eye lightly, across his eyeshadow, and smiled at the beauty that was his emo. A part of him wanted him to lean down and kiss him more but another wanted to watch his radiant romance process what happened.

Roman watched as his purple prince opened his eyes slightly and smiled at him. Roman, already smiling, just looked at Virgil with fond wonder, always thinking the side couldn’t get more attractive and then constantly being proved wrong.

“Was it nice?” Roman asked after a comfortable silence, voice low and quiet. He moved his hand from Virgil’s jaw to brush hair out of his face.

“Nice? No,” Virgil replied at the same volume, sliding his right hand up Roman’s chest and around his neck. “Wonderful beyond words? Definitely.”

Roman put his forehead against Virgil’s, humming as he placed the hand formerly resting on his love’s face around his waist. “It is my sworn duty to make you happy.”

Virgil chuckled. “I suppose I shall have to take that ‘sworn duty’ upon myself in reference to you now, hmm?”

“Oh, my darling, you don’t have to do anything for me except exist happy and healthy in my arms.”

Virgil snorted. “You’re such a sap, you know that?”

“Yes, I do.”

The two stayed where they were in comfortable silence. Admiring the other, admiring the stars in their peripheral vision, relishing the magnificent feeling that came from being in each other’s arms.

“I had another question, you know.”

Roman hummed in acknowledgment.

“Why did you cast me as the cursed prisoner?”

“You were being annoying. Endearingly so, yes, but the fact still stands.”

“I’m always interrupting you with sarcasm,” Virgil said, shaking his head. “You wanted to save me, didn’t you? The prince, rescuing the prisoner. Very ‘damsel in distress’-esque, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, give me a break. Who can blame me for wanting to save you, and what did you expect when I was given the opportunity?”

“It’s fine, Princey,” Virgil stated with a laugh. “It’s cute. Adorable, really. Very romantic.”

Roman groaned and gave his Virgil a kiss on the jawline. “Take it as a way to tell you that I will protect and save you from harm, especially throughout...whatever we have going on here.”

Virgil chuckled. “I can’t wait.”

The two heard the door to the Imagination open, but they didn’t move away from each other.

“Aww, you two,” Patton cooed. “I finished making dinner. Come now, kiddos, we’re already eating way too late.”

Virgil and Roman gave Patton a nod of acknowledgement and gave each other a short and final kiss before heading out of the Imagination.

Prince Charming Taglist - @the-sympathetic-villain @justanotherhumanstuff @thistledown15

Hope you liked the next installment of this fic! Feel free to ask to be on the taglist, if you want.

39 notes · View notes

diceyfall · 5 years

Text

[fic; love endures]

m!de sardet x vasco, soulmate au with spoilers for vasco’s and petrus’ questlines, 2162 words, chapter 1 💘

The name first emerged on the inner side of his wrist when he was twelve years old.

He remembers running to his mother’s bedroom in the middle of the night, all aflutter with excitement as he leaped onto her bed, shaking her awake to show her the black lines that had appeared right atop his veins.

“Léandre d’Arcy?” Princess De Sardet read out loud, her brows furrowing as she looked at her son with bewilderment.

The d’Arcy family that she knew of, she told him, had only one son. His name was not Léandre, but Bastien.

“Don’t fret, Tristan,” she shushed him as his face fell, caressing the black curls of his hair soothingly. “We’ll find your Léandre, I promise.”

But, as it turned out, Léandre could not be found.

His family had given him away to the Nauts.

Were Tristan not the nephew of a merchant prince, these circumstances might have been overlooked, but as it was his uncle told him in no uncertain terms that under no circumstances was he to seek out his soulmate.

It would be a scandal; the son of a noble house, bonded to a mere sailor’s boy? Admitting this would be no different than to personally hand the Nauts leverage over one of the most powerful families on the continent, and so Tristan and his mother were both sworn to secrecy.

“I’m so sorry, my darling.” His mother held him in her embrace that same night, trying to gather up the pieces of his broken heart as he cried against her shoulder. “Have faith. No matter what your uncle tells you, I’m certain you will find him some day.”

Tristan did not believe her then, doesn’t think he believes her now, thirteen years later as he walks the port of Sérène to meet the captain of the ship meant to carry him to Teer Fradee, yet fate has a strange way of working itself out.

“Lively there, lads and lasses!”

The voice pierces through him like an arrow lodged through his chest, pinning him in place as he stands and stares at the captain’s back, pulse pounding in his wrist right above where the name burns in his skin as if set aflame.

“Green blood?” Kurt, standing right by his side, somehow sounds distant and far away, as if speaking to him through a wall of glass. “What’s the matter?”

Tristan takes an unsteady step forward, toward the silhouette of the man barking orders at his subordinates.

“You, man! Carry that properly!”

His name… what was his name?

Someone drops their cargo and the sound of porcelain shattering startles Tristan from his trance.

Vasco. Captain Vasco, not Léandre. But if he happened to be seagiven, the Nauts would’ve changed his name. Then, perhaps—

Tristan breathes in deep, trying to calm his heart hammering against his ribs as if to break through the bone, his hands shaking slightly at his sides as he clears his throat and calls out.

“Captain Vasco?”

The man freezes and Tristan knows at once that he feels it, too. Tristan can see it in his shoulders, in his back as he is like a statue among the bustle of the other Nauts around him, hurrying along to make the last preparations for the voyage while their captain is motionless.

Seconds seem to stretch into hours before he finally moves, turning around ever so slowly, and the moment their eyes meet hope blossoms in Tristan’s chest for the first time in years.

The captain’s lips are parted slightly and his amber eyes are wide when they meet Tristan’s darker ones, gazing at him in mute astonishment and something inside Tristan sings, like everything has finally been put right in the world.

His face, Tristan thinks, is perfect. He’s perfect.

“Okay, what am I missing, here?” Kurt startles both him and the captain as he glances between the two of them with a confused frown. “Do you two know each other?”

Tristan almost laughs, but when he looks back at the captain his expression is shuttered as he eyes Tristan up and down, a hard line in his mouth as he shakes his head as if to shake something off of him.

“No,” he answers curtly, averting his gaze from Tristan to look at Kurt. “We’ve never met.”

What? But…

Tristan takes another step forward with urgency. “Tristan! My name- it’s Tristan De Sardet.”

Captain Vasco nods in acknowledgment, but there’s nothing in his expression that speaks of recognition. Tristan’s name has no effect on him whatsoever. “The prince’s nephew, I presume?”

The warmth of hope that filled Tristan before hollows out, his shoulders sagging as a familiar bitterness fouls the taste in his mouth. He was mistaken, of course. It was his own fault for being naïve enough to believe his soulmate would appear before him so suddenly, after all this time.

He should’ve given up on the idea a long time ago, thought he had let it go when his uncle told him to, yet apparently the desire within him is still there.

A dying ember, perhaps, that refuses to blow out.

With how the captain reacted when Tristan called his name, he almost thought… but no matter. He won’t make that mistake twice.

“Yes,” Tristan says, forcing a smile onto his face. “The prince’s nephew.”

Neither of them speak of it to each other once they embark on their long voyage to Teer Fradee, but Tristan does confide in Constantin afterwards.

“Have you asked him?” Constantin suggests, sighing with his elbows hanging over the ship’s railing when Tristan answers that he hasn’t. “Why ever not? If there is even the slightest chance that he’s your soulmate—”

“He didn’t recognize my name,” Tristan replies, lower back leaning against the wooden edge and his arms crossed over his chest as he watches a few cabin boys scrub the deck. He recognizes Jonas, remembers what happened with his parents back in Sérène, but dismisses the thought as soon as it arises.

“There may be a reason for that,” Constantin argues, pushing off from the railing and turning to face him. “You know how secretive the Nauts are; it’s rare for them to be bonded to someone who’s not one of them. Perhaps he’s struggling with the revelation? Or something else is going on? My point is that you won’t know until you ask!”

Tristan thinks about his cousin’s words in the days that follow, but whenever he finds a chance to speak to Vasco privately the captain always seems to find some new chore to do, orders to give or subordinates to supervise and it is torture.

Every time Tristan looks at Vasco he feels a sense of belonging he’s never experienced before, yet Vasco seems to have no problem shutting him out. Their conversations are cordial at best and frosty at worst, which doesn’t give Tristan much in the way of confidence when he finally works up the courage to ask.

He finds Vasco alone in his captain’s quarters for a rare moment, seated at his desk and writing something down in a journal, and takes advantage of the opportunity as he steps inside with a knock against the open door. “Captain?”

Vasco freezes again--an effect Tristan seems to have on him often--his pen motionless on the page before he carefully puts it down beside the journal and looks up at Tristan.

His tone is neutral and businesslike, giving nothing away. “Can I help you?”

“I was wondering,” Tristan starts, eyes tracing the tattoos lining Vasco’s brows, fully visible now that he has his hat off. “Have you per chance ever heard of… of a man named Léandre d’Arcy?”

Nothing. Vasco simply stares at him in thought, reclining back into his chair. “Can’t say that I have. Why?”

Tristan smiles wanly, a preferable alternative to pulling his hair out like he truly wants to do. “No reason. Forget I said anything.”

He feels Vasco’s gaze on his back as he turns around to leave the room, heavy between his shoulder blades.

“Is he your soulmate?”

Tristan halts, hand clutching at the side of the doorway to steady himself. He inhales a quiet breath, composure shaky at best when he eventually finds the strength to face Vasco once more. He finds the captain staring at him with an inscrutable expression, elbows on the table and hands folded in front of his face, hiding his mouth.

Going against his better judgment, Tristan approaches the desk and rolls up the sleeve of his right arm, revealing the bare skin of his wrist and the black name marked upon it in sharp and rough letters, right below his hand.

Vasco goes very still when he sees it, saying nothing for a while and betraying none of his emotions in his blank expression. He reaches out and lightly grips Tristan’s wrist with his fingers, eyes fixated on the name as Tristan’s breath hitches in his throat at the touch.

It is feather-light, inducing a shiver down his spine when Vasco’s thumb brushes over the name and Tristan doesn’t understand, could cry out in sheer frustration.

If Vasco is not his soulmate, then why does his body react like this? Why is his heart pounding, why is his skin burning, why does he feel so utterly and perfectly whole when he’s around him?

“He was given to the Nauts a short while after he was born,” Tristan explains weakly, which seems to snap Vasco out of wherever his mind drifted off to while caressing Tristan’s skin, yanking his hand back as if he’d been burned. “I thought… perhaps—"

“Sorry,” Vasco interrupts him abruptly as he leans back into his chair again and folds his arms in front of him, not meeting Tristan’s eyes. “Wish I could help.”

Tristan’s heart drops. “Right. Of course.” No reason to embarrass himself any further than he already has.

Although, just as he makes to turn around and head out the room, he pauses.

“Forgive me, this may be a personal question,” he starts, thinking that if he doesn’t find out it’ll drive him mad until the end of time. “But, do you have a soulmate, Captain Vasco?”

Vasco picks up his pen again, returning to his writing. “I do.”

“What’s their name?”

He’s silent for a moment, the tip of his pen hovering over the page before he lets out a deep sigh.

“Drust,” he answers, looking up at Tristan with his gaze aloof and cold. “A male name native to Teer Fradee, I’ve been told.”

“I see.” Tristan swallows thickly, and something must be lodged into his throat as he suddenly finds it hard to breathe. “Well, I hope you find him.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

Vasco watches De Sardet leave, and as soon as the door closes shut behind him all the tension drains out of Vasco at once as he sags back against his chair with a weary breath.

His hand instinctively reaches down to his hipbone where the name is written in a graceful hand, contradictory and nonsensical if his soulmate is a native like he was lead to believe. He thumbs at it through his trousers, always feeling it burn whenever De Sardet is near, and his thoughts linger on the mark on De Sardet’s cheek, but it all seems so absurd.

Everything inside him is telling him that he already found his soulmate weeks ago when he first met him in the port of Sérène, standing there and staring at him in awe and wonder, a rapture that had overtaken them both.

Yet his name is not Drust, just as Vasco’s name is not Léandre.

He has no idea what to think. The handwriting on De Sardet’s wrist was so eerily similar to his own--could Léandre be the name given to him by his parents, before he became a Naut? But even if that’s true, De Sardet’s name is clearly not Drust and, by his own accounts, he has never stepped foot on Teer Fradee before.

Even if Vasco were to suppose that De Sardet is in truth a native who somehow ended up the nephew of a merchant prince, the timeline makes no sense. If De Sardet was stolen as a child young enough to have no memories of the island, considering his age he would’ve had to be taken… what, twenty, twenty-five years ago? No one from the continent knew about the island back then. Hikmet, its oldest city, is only fifteen years old.

It’s impossible for him and Sardet to be bonded to each other, no matter how he looks at it. In the end, Vasco's soulmate must be a native on the island, while De Sardet’s soulmate is probably another Naut.

Vasco closes his eyes and resolves to think of it no more.

His name is not, and never will be, Léandre.

[ read the rest on ao3 ]

#greedfall #captain vasco #vasco x de sardet #de sardet x vasco #de sardet #vasco #greedfall fanfiction #dice's fics #damn i wrote this in record time lmao #anyways reblogs are appreciated <3

36 notes · View notes

seraph-novak · 5 years

Note

Are you taking prompts for Tyrus? If so, could you do one where TJ helps Cyrus to rehearse for a play? thanks, have a lovely day.

All feedback is very much appreciated, but comments and reblogs really make all the difference. Thank you!

Also available on AO3 ♥

~~~~~

Cyrus is quickly losing his patience. On the opposite end of the Kippens’ couch, Amber is grinning down at her phone, a strand of golden hair twisted around her finger as she giggles at something on the screen – no doubt another text from her ‘mystery’ admirer. Cyrus simply sits there and waits, passively fiddling with the corner of his script as he waits for his friend to snap out of her crush-induced daze.

Without thinking, he lets his eyes drift to the corner of the room, settling on the older boy sitting quietly in a well-worn chair, his nose buried in a book. His hair is a shade darker than Amber’s, but his eyes are the same sea-foam green, with a touch of grey softening the bright hue. He’s never really spoken to Amber’s brother before, apart from a few pleasantries exchanged in passing, but there’s something about TJ Kippen that has always intrigued him…

Just then, the other boy lifts his head, as if sensing Cyrus’ curious eyes. A blush warms Cyrus’ cheeks as he quickly returns his attention to the script in his hands, but not quick enough to miss the hint of a smirk playing on TJ’s lips.

“Are you almost done?” he asks Amber, his words sounding sharper than intended. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees TJ go back to reading his book, and his shoulders slump in relief. “Sorry, I just… I’ve only got a few more days to rehearse, remember? The nerves are starting to kick in.”

Amber glances up from her phone, a sliver of guilt fracturing her lovesick smile. “Sorry, Cy. Just gimme a sec.”

It takes closer to a minute than a second for Amber to finally put her phone down, but Cyrus lets it slide. At least he now has a distraction from the indecipherable looks TJ keeps sneaking him, scorching his skin and quickening his heartbeat.

As they return to the play, Cyrus can’t ignore the longing glances Amber keeps flicking at her phone. With every new text, her concentration wanes even more, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she visibly fights the urge to throw the script across the room and pick up her phone instead. She’s practically vibrating with the effort to focus, her face pinching tighter and tighter as the incoming texts start to slow down.

“Amber,” Cyrus says, nudging her leg with his foot. “It’s your line.”

She tears her eyes away from the phone, now blessedly silent, and shakes her head. “Sorry… Where are we?”

“Page 14. Line 38.”

“Oh, right.” She slides a finger down the script, her brow furrowed as she searches for the right line. A few seconds later, she clears her throat and falls back into character. “Thomas,” she says, her voice slightly higher than usual. “I thought you’d never –”

“Nope,” Cyrus cuts her off. “Wrong line.”

“Are you sure?”

Cyrus smooths his face and lifts an eyebrow, his breath catching on the edge of a sigh. “Unless we skipped ahead to the final scene without me realising, I’m pretty sure it’s the wrong line.”

Across the room, TJ snorts, an amused smile nicking the corner of his mouth as he meets Cyrus’ eyes. For a brief moment, something warm and sweet blossoms in his chest, but it’s quickly cooled by the sudden ringing of Amber’s phone. He shoots a glare at his friend, silently warning her not to pick it up, but it’s no use.

“I’m so sorry,” Amber says, shrugging helplessly. “It’s Andi. I have to answer!” Before Cyrus can protest, she throws her script at TJ and picks up her phone, already halfway up the stairs. “Run lines with Cyrus until I’m back, okay?”

TJ frowns. “But –”

“Thank you!”

A flirtatious giggle floats down the stairs in her wake, followed by the sound of her bedroom door closing. Once she’s gone, an awkward silence settles over the room. Cyrus looks over at TJ, his stomach churning as the older boy studies the script now lying in his lap, and forces a smile.

“You don’t really have to run lines with me,” he says, twisting his hands together. “I’ll just wait until she’s back.”

TJ scoffs. “That could be a while.”

“Yeah.” He huffs a laugh, then sighs. “Maybe I should just go…”

“I thought you said you only had a few days to rehearse?”

“I do,” Cyrus says, his heart skipping at the notion of TJ paying attention to what he was saying. “But I can do that by myself. Or I’ll ask my mom to help.” He winces, realising too late how lame that must sound. “Or one of my many friends.”

TJ chuckles, and the sound sends a pleasant shiver down his spine, soothing the aching burn of his cheeks.

“Let me help.”

“I… You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“But –”

“Scooch over,” TJ says, gently slapping Cyrus’ outstretched legs with his script as he sits down on the couch. When he’s comfortable, he licks his finger and flips through the pages. “Page 14, right?”

Cyrus swallows thickly. “Um… Yeah.”

“You’re Thomas?”

“Yeah.”

“So, I guess I’m… Alice?”

A nervous laugh bubbles in his chest. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t mind,” TJ insists.

“Are you sure?”

“100%.”

Cyrus hesitates, then breathes a sigh as he settles down and reopens his script. “Okay then… I’ll start from the top.” He coughs to clear his throat, flicking an anxious glance at TJ, and starts to read. “I think we need to talk, Alice.”

“About what?” TJ says, a feminine twinge to his voice.

Cyrus fights back a smile and keeps reading.

They run through the scene fluidly, only stopping to turn pages and share secret smiles over the tops of their scripts. As Thomas confesses his undying love for Alice, and the tone of the play takes a turn into sappy territory, Cyrus feels himself flushing darkly, his voice turning tight and raspy as the two characters begin tossing flirtatious comments at each other.

“Who wrote this play?” TJ asks on the cusp of a laugh, his own cheeks turning pink. “It’s very, uh…”

“Terrible?”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna say it that bluntly, but yeah.”

Cyrus snorts. “A few of the girls in my group are Jane Austen wannabes.”

“Yikes.”

“Yep.” Cyrus scratches the back of his head, the smile slowly dying on his lips as he skims through the upcoming pages of groan-worthy dialogue. “We can stop if you want.”

TJ snaps his head up. “What? No! It’s just starting to get juicy.”

“I thought you said it was terrible?”

“It is, but…”

Across the room, the discarded book lying on the chair TJ was previously sitting in catches his eye, and a teasing grin spreads across his face. There’s a cheesy stock photo of two women in old-fashioned dresses strolling through a park on the cover, with tiny umbrellas held above their bonneted heads.

“Oh,” he says, folding his arms with a quirk of an eyebrow. “I see… You’re a Jane Austen wannabe, too.”

TJ blushes. “It’s my mom’s!”

“Sure.”

“Shut up…”

“Hey, I’m not judging!”

When TJ sees him smirking, he breaks into a smile of his own, playfully kicking Cyrus in the shin as readjusts himself on the couch. “Let’s get back to it.”

“Eager, aren’t we?”

“Ha-ha.”

Cyrus wipes the grin off his face, despite the butterflies still fluttering in his stomach, and tries to focus on the poorly-written script in his hands. They dive back into flirty banter – Austen style – all the while stealing glances at each other, their lips twitching with barely supressed laughter. It’s only when the scene shifts from light to serious that Cyrus feels his palms beginning to sweat.

“You look beautiful in the moonlight,” he says, his voice trembling. Even though the words aren’t directed at TJ, he can still hear his heart pounding against his ribcage as he risks a glance at the other boy, trying to gauge his reaction. “You look beautiful in all lights, of course, but this is different.”

TJ licks his lips. “Different how?”

“Your hair shines,” Cyrus says, his voice a whisper. “Your eyes twinkle like starlight. Your skin glows.” He lifts his head, eyes drifting to TJ’s face once again. His gaze is fixed resolutely on his script, but Cyrus can see the blush creeping up his neck, the ripple of his throat as he swallows, the slight furrow between his brows, the silent murmur of his lips as he follows Cyrus’ lines on the page… “You’re absolutely gorgeous.”

TJ freezes, his mouth falling open, and Cyrus realises his mistake: that line isn’t in the script.

“I…” The words die in his throat. He gulps back his embarrassment and tries again, his face starting to burn. “I’m sorry, I just… I-I don’t know where that came from.”

“It’s okay –”

“I got a little carried away, you know?” Cyrus closes his script and gets to his feet, desperately searching for his bag beneath the coffee table. “I think I should go now. Thanks for helping me and everything… I really appreciate it.”

TJ reaches for his arm, but Cyrus shakes him off.

“I’m sorry for making things weird,” he says, tears of humiliation stinging the backs of his eyes. “I don’t know if Amber told you, but I’m gay. Not that you care.” He laughs, completely mortified. “Wow. I just came out to a guy I barely know. This is just getting better and better, isn’t it?”

When TJ reaches for him a second time, he doesn’t miss. His fingers are gentle, but his grip is firm, and he doesn’t take his eyes off Cyrus’ face as he slowly lowers him back onto the couch.

“Calm down,” he says, giving his arm a quick squeeze before letting go. A blinding smile breaks across his face when Cyrus finally meets his eyes. “If you think I’m mad at you for calling me gorgeous, then I must be worse at this than I thought.”

Cyrus frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been flirting with you for the past half an hour, you idiot.”

“What?”

“Okay… I guess I really am bad at this.”

Cyrus shakes his head, trying to steady his racing thoughts. “Are you saying you like me?”

“I have for a while,” TJ admits, shrugging bashfully. “I know we’ve never really talked, but… I’ve seen you around. And you hang out with my sister a lot.” He huffs, one side of his mouth lifting in a crooked smile. “Why do you think I always stay downstairs when you come over? I like being around you.”

“Oh,” Cyrus says, a touch breathless.

The tension in TJ’s shoulders melts away as Cyrus returns a tentative smile of his own. For a moment, they just sit there, smiling shyly at each on the middle of the couch, their knees deliberately brushing against each other.

“So,” TJ says after a while, his fingers nervously drumming the cool leather between them. “I was thinking… Maybe we could –”

“I’m back!” Amber announces as she bounces down the stairs, her cheeks rosy from her conversation with Andi. When she notices TJ and Cyrus sitting so close, she stalls on the bottom step, her smile morphing into a scowl as she narrows her eyes. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing!” Cyrus squeaks, accidentally throwing his script in the air and hitting TJ on the head. He cringes, hiding his face in his hands, and splutters an apology. “Oh no! I’m so sorry, TJ! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

TJ rubs the back of his head and chuckles. “I think I’ll live.”

“Maybe you should go upstairs now,” Amber says, glaring pointedly at her brother. “We have work to do.”

“Right.” TJ rolls his eyes and gets to his feet, shoving his script into Amber’s hands. He picks up his cheesy Victorian novel and heads towards the stairs, only stopping to cast a gentle smile over his shoulder at Cyrus. “Good luck with the play,” he says, ignoring the daggers Amber is shooting at the side of his head. “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

Cyrus chews his lip and shrugs. “You could come, you know? The tickets are all sold out, but I could sneak you in.” He blushes, immediately doubting himself. “Only if you want to, of course. I mean, the script is pretty terrible, and I’m not exactly the greatest actor in the world, so you really don’t have to –”

“I’m there,” TJ cuts in with another smile, offering him a wink before turning around and disappearing up the stairs.

As soon as he’s gone, Amber throws herself onto the couch and punches Cyrus in the arm. “You’re not allowed to have a crush on my brother, okay? That goes against the rules of friendship!”

“You have way too many rules,” Cyrus says. “And, besides… You’ve been flirting with my best friend all afternoon, so I’d say we’re even.”

Amber opens her mouth to protest, then freezes, a groan escaping her lips. “Okay, that’s fair.”

“Thank you.”

“But you do admit you have a crush on him?”

Cyrus glances at the staircase, the frantic beating of his heart still echoing in his ears as a nervous grin tugs at his lips. “Yeah… I think I do.”

The End.

~~~~~

You can find the rest of my Tyrus fics on Tumblr or AO3! Thanks for reading ♥

#tyrus #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #andi mack #tyrus fics

227 notes · View notes

dammit-stark · 5 years

Note

Thorbruce soulmate au?

thorbruce soulmate au - - 1.7k words

When Bruce wakes up from another hulk-induced haze, he doesn’t know where he is. He also doesn’t recognize the weird-looking spot on his chest.

“Huh, that’s new,” He says, then pulls on a shirt and a probably-not-dirty pair of pants, Thor kindly makes sure he’s all in one piece, pats him on the back, and they move on with their lives.

“You are alright, sir Banner?” Thor asks, straightening Bruce’s back-up tee shirt. They’ve spent a lot of time together since the whole blowing-up-of-Asgard thing, “I would hate if something had happened to you.”

Bruce shakes his head, “I’m fine,” He says, “As always. Thanks, Thor.”

“Anything for you, my valiant, green, punching friend!” Thor tells him, and Bruce can’t remember when he became lucky enough to have genuinely good people in his chaotic, messy life.

Bruce smiles, tight lipped and shy, but doesn’t say anything else. There’s a weird burn where the new mark resides, and the doctor dutifully ignores it in the meantime.

Bruce doesn’t think anything of the oddly shaped blemish until one day the hulk is thrown into a freeway by a megalomaniacal genetically modified crocodile man, and he wakes up an hour and a half later to Thor’s big hands shaking him awake as he is surrounded by the legs of half a dozen Avengers. As his eyes blink open, Thor sighs in relief and eagerly helps him up as Nat hands him a cotton blanket.

Thor walks with Bruce until he regains his balance, a strong hand on his arm as he animatedly details the Hulk’s part in the battle. They walk in an aimless Circle, and Bruce just lets it all wash over him, a weird and unfamiliar feeling settling in his stomach. He hypothesizes that it’s probably concussion-related, though the Hulk has never been known to have the ability to become concussed. Thor tells him about the dog he’d met the day before. For all intents and purposes, it’s nice.

“Hey, doc?” Tony asks as the whole group walks back to the helicarrier, “Do we need you to talk to medical? What’s that on your chest?”

Bruce looks down and sure enough poking out of the emergency blanket is the same oblong mark that had appeared a few weeks earlier, only darker and maybe a little greener too.

“I don’t know,” Bruce says, and he pulls the blanket tighter around himself, his shoulder muscles their typical tense mess as he thinks about how great it’d be to just get home, “It’s been there a bit. I don’t worry about it.”

Bruce flees from Tony’s custody as soon as he’s on the ship and he goes to find some clothes and move on with his life. His life’s been filled with one too many biological mysteries to dwell on a little slightly green spot on his chest. Even if said slightly green spot seemed to correspond with a certain weird, fluttery feeling in his chest.

The third time the mark shows up, it has nothing to do with the Hulk and that’s when Bruce starts to get worried.

The Avengers has spent the day training, but Bruce hadn’t felt up to bringing the Hulk out, so he sat in a corner and meditated with his teammates when they took a step out of the ring. When they decide they’re done for the day, sweaty and just shy of overworked, Thor demands ice cream for the whole group of them.

They traipse into Coldstone Creamery and nearly bring the building down with them. The look on Thor’s face is worth the shock of the other customers.

“Banner!” Thor turns to Bruce, an elated smile spread across his face and a ginormous waffle cone held in his hands, “This delicious treat is like mafic! I wish for you to feel this same euphoria as I do! Please, taste it!”

For some reason, Bruce doesn’t resist.

He takes a big ol’ lick of Thor’s ice cream. He’s never been crazy about chocolate chip cookie dough, but it certainly tastes like magic.

Bruce smiles, and for once everything feels deceptively normal… okay even, edging onto alarmingly happy.

Then Nat pushes Clint off his chair and straight into Mjolnir and Captain America is scolding a couple of notorious international spies for acting like children as Tony Stark poses dramatically for a coupe ofpoorlyhidden paparazzi, and Bruce is reminded of how absolutely absurd his life is.

Thor wraps his arm around the back of Bruce’s chair and he finds himself melting into it anyway. It’s weird.

He doesn’t notice that the mark has come back, darker than ever, until he gets home and into his bed and he looks down.

“Well, shit,” Bruce says aloud to himself, because no harm had been done to his body in at least a week and he honestly has no other explanations for it.

He decides then an there that maybe it’d be appropriate to consult a professional.

He calls Helen Cho up the very next day, and though the mark had certainly dimmed since the previous night, it’s undeniably still there, and she promises over the phone to come by and check it out by noon.

Brice is used to not knowing what the hell is going on inside of his own body, but this feels different.

Thor comes by, once or twice actually, because for some reason he can tell something’s off with Bruce’s mood, but Bruce just shakes his head and sends him on his way. No use getting other people in a tizzy about things too.

Helen comes by at noon on the dot, and while Bruce is busy thanking her profusely for taking the time to come by, she ushers him into a chair and tsks at him.

“You’re a friend, Bruce,” She tells him, “I’d think even you’d be able to tell that by now. So you gotta tell me, what’s up?”

He very shyly unbuttons his shirt and shows her the strange spot on his chest. She makes an offhand comment about how it’d be about where his heart is. Bruce doesn’t see why that particularly matters unless it means he has some advanced skin/heart cancer hybrid that has yet to exist. With Bruce’s luck, he wouldn’t be surprised.

She pokes and prods and hums quixotically, all without betraying any clue as to what the blemish might be in actuality.

Thor comes by for a third time a little bit later while Helen’s taking Bruce’s blood pressure for good measure, and his eyes grow wide in concern.

“Fair Bruce!” He exclaims, as dramatic as ever as Helen peels the contraption off of Bruce’s arm. Thor hovers anxiously at his side, rests a big hand on Bruce’s bare shoulder, “Are you all right?”

Bruce can’t get any words out. It’s all too much to be shirtless and insecure and honestly a little scared and then have Thor’s insanely comforting presence somehow manage to mellow everything out. He just sits there and nods like a mad bobble head until Thor leaves, that increasingly familiar feeling residing in his chest.

Thor smiles in the doorway, one fit out and the other in, a large grip around the frame, “Feel better, dear friend!” He exclaims, then bounds away like the wind.

The door shuts loudly behind him, and suddenly Helen’s giggling.

“You really don’t know, do you? Look down.”

The mark’s definitely darker now than before, by a lot too.

“What’s wrong with me, Helen? Is it- What’s this mean for the hulk?”

“Doctor Banner,” She says, unspooling her stethoscope and taking a seat across from him, “I say this with all due respect, but you’re a moron.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a soulmark, Bruce,” She says and sits back, waits for it to soak in.

“No way, there’s- that’s never been proven.”

“The green shape on your chest suggests otherwise.”

“But I don’t have a soulmate, Helen.”

“Again, look down at the mark on your chest please.”

“Well- who then?”

“You’re an idiot. Think.”

Brice has always been pretty good at thinking. In fact, overthinking is his specialty. So he thinks back. He thinks back to when it first appeared, a strong hand helping him up. To when he woke up, a smiling face before him. To that feeling in his stomach. To the softness in the room. It must show on his face when everything clicks because Helen clicks her tongue, satisfied, “Ah, there it is. I believe I’ve helped you as much as I can here, Bruce. The rest is up to you. Good luck.”

And just like that she leaves having dropped the biggest bombshell of Bruce’s life on him (since the last actual bombshell had been thrown at him at least). He didn’t know what do with himself.

This didn’t just mean he had feelings, deniable, repressible feelings. No, the mere presence of a mark meant that there was somebody out there who’s soul marched his own, a time-tested other half. It’s a strange thought for Bruce, but the longer he dwells on it the more it makes sense.

He thinks of the touches, the lingering eyes, the fluttering stomach. And the face that’s built up opposite him in his mind every time is… Thor. Thor with his huge hands and warm smile, the way he somehow makes any place with him feel like home to Bruce.

Thor comes in later that evening because that’s what he does. He’s kind and caring and blindly pokes himself in his friends’ business. Bruce realizes startlingly that he loved this behemoth of a man.

“Young Bruce!” Thor cheers as he enters Bruce’s private living room, “How is my dear companion’s health? I hope he is well!”

“Uh huh, yeah great,” Bruce mumbles and strides toward the god, hands outstretched and fingers questing. Before Thor can react, he’s wrapping his hands around his wrists, pulling him close, “Learned a lot about myself actually. Important stuff. Good stuff.”

Thor looks curious, content.

Then Bruce grabs onto Thor’s collar and pulls him into a kiss.

The contact of lips on lips tells everything Bruce needed. Soulmates. Huh.

When they split apart, panting, Thor grins, “This is a feeling we can continue to consider?”

“Yeah,” Bruce chuckled, “I think the universe’d certainly like that.”

If anybody knew about signs from the universe, it’d be a god, or a partner. Bruce doesn’t care which. All he knows is that the mark on his chest glows stronger than ever and the feeling in his stomach is like a million birds migrating away from home. His hands wrapped around Thor, Bruce knows, suddenly, that he’s already home.

40 notes · View notes