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thesugarsoiree · 8 months

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Of Winter’s Flame | CHAPTER FOUR

When Y/n arrived back in the King’s quarters she was confused, seeing a small dining table set up near the fireplace. Apparently her first supper was to be exclusively with the King and Queen, slowly easing her into the Targeryen family.

“The King and I have been pondering this subject since you left on your journey from Winterfell,” The Queen began after the second course was served, pleasantries and idle chatter out of the way, “but we have finally settled on it. In the coming days we shall throw a weeks-long festival in honour of your arrival.”

“Are you certain?” Y/n smiled, a bit taken aback by such a gesture.

“A great celebration for a great Lady.” The King said, taking a sip from his goblet. Y/n never knew anyone to be as frivolous as southerners, especially as frivolous as Targaryen’s. Such a large event should be saved for truly important occasions, such as a nameday or wedding, not the arrival of an estranged family member.

“I thank you, uncle, aunt,” Y/n tested the new title on Alicent, the woman doing nothing but offering a humble nod, “your kindness is unexpected given my fathers past actions.” Viserys sighed at that, Alicent’s pleasant expression dropping for a moment at the mention of Y/n’s father.

“My brother has made hideous oversights the past few years, and I hope that we may show that not all of your family is quite the same.” Viserys shook his head, a disappointed frown wrinkling his face.

“Yes, we shall appreciate the greatest gift the north has given us.” Alicent beamed, calling a servant forward. He handed her something he had been holding all dinner while dessert was being served, Alicent giving an ornately decorated box to Y/n.

“For you, my dear.” The Queen said as Y/n opened the box with a snap. She gasped, the case opening to reveal a shimmering necklace, adorned with black and green jewels the colour of which Y/n had never seen before. Her usual jewelry contained white diamonds and deep blue sapphires, perhaps the occasional blood-red ruby to honour her fathers house, but a green such as this was rare to find in the north. She felt the cool stones in her hand, watching the way the firelight reflected off of them in quick bursts.

“A welcoming present, we know that you shall wear it well.” Viserys held his hand to his chest, easing his breath as Y/n placed the necklace back within its case.

“This is the most beautiful shade of green I have ever laid eyes on, your grace.” She almost couldn't contain her girlish giggle.

“I believe that you will come to find that green is the most attractive of colours.” Alicent laughed, and Y/n laughed with her. The rest of supper was spent discussing the celebration which was to be held at a nearby forest, only the royal party joining while the small folk enjoyed an excuse to be drunk in the streets without reprimand from the Citywatch.

That night while she tried to fall asleep Y/n tossed and turned, body too excited to force sleep now. Y/n wrapped a shawl around herself, taking a lantern and going for a short walk. Her guards once again tried to accompany her but Y/n declined, taking Tohrren with her instead. The halls of the Red Keep were surprisingly quiet during the night, its darkness illuminated by the occasional torch. She would have thought the Red Keep was far more busy during the night than Winterfell, but it seemed just the same, with no one up but the guards who stood watch for their Lady’s and Lord’s.

She often found herself on these walks, strolling alone with her thoughts and without duties to attend to for the day. It was a moment of calm; a moment of peace. This time, her peace was interrupted. He was like a shadow against the wall, Y/n didn’t realize he was there at first, looming like a scorned specter. She caught a glimpse of him in the corner of her eye, the current area of the hall darker thanks to its unusually spaced torches. She was left with only her flickering lantern to illuminate the frightening figure, something blue glinting briefly in the light, like a fire of warning.

Y/n gasped, Tohrren standing on guard, and whipped herself to face him. He was leaning against the wall, sharp features aggressively outlined in the dim lighting of her small fire. The shadows moved against his well defined face, and although there was not much light the darkness filled out the rest of him for Y/n to see.

The Queen was right, green was the most attractive of colours, especially on the one-eyed prince, for he wore green like he had never worn another colour in his life. They were nightclothes, light and airy, his white linen shirt halfway tucked into deep green trousers. His hair was pulled back into a loose braid, rouge strands framing his face and the smirk that held firm on his lips.

“My Lady Y/n.” His voice was a smooth timbre, soft in tone as not to echo through the empty halls. He stood from the wall and approached her with confident strides, taking her available hand and putting it to his rosy lips.

“What a pleasure it is to finally meet you.” He leaned down into a bow, gently kissing the skin on the top of her hand. Y/n was at a loss for words, entirely caught up in the sudden meeting and sudden attraction to her estranged cousin. He looked up at her with one eye, the other covered by a soft eye-patch with subtle hand-stitching on it; no doubt his mothers work.

“Prince Aemond,” Y/n curtsied, finding her manners, “I did not expect to run into you so suddenly, I was merely clearing my head before I slept.”

Aemond stood to his full height, a head taller than the girl in front of him, and chuckled, “I find I have the same problem during late hours, perhaps it is a trait we Targaryens share, hm?”

“Perhaps, I have not known my uncle to wander about Winterfell as I have.” She looked away from him, nervous at their proximity to each other with no one else around.

“Then I should hope we can accompany one another on our sleepless nights, would you care to walk with me?” He offered out his arm, cool lavender eye unwavering in its gaze. Y/n looked down at his arm, taking it with hesitance but smiling nonetheless.

“Of course, your highness.” She said as they began walking, silent at first. Tohrren was close by her side, still on edge although trained enough that he did not attack unless instructed.

“So, I hear that you arrived yesterday, correct? I apologize I was not there to greet you, my mother has taken it upon herself to make sure you are settled before you join court.” Aemond commented, taking her down another stretching hallway.

“I am glad that the Queen has such a fondness for me, I would not want to be one in her bad graces.” Y/n breathed out a nervous sigh, holding tighter onto her lantern.

“You’re smart, being one that the Queen likes is always favourable. I have heard that my sister Rhaenyra also holds a certain appreciation for you.” He uttered his sister's name with less love than she expected.

“The Princess did visit me as a young girl, that is true. She will make a fine Queen one day, and I hope that I shall be in her good graces as well.” Aemond tensed up at the mention of Rhaenyra ascending the throne, mouth twitching subtly.

“I’m sure you will be.” There was silence for a moment before he spoke again, “You are more northern than I expected given your parentage.” He hummed, looking down at her.

“So I have been told. I respect my Valyrian blood but I do not respect who gave it to me. I was born into the ways of the north and I shall not forget them simply because I am here.” Y/n said resolutely, furrowing her brows as if to challenge anyone who would suggest otherwise.

“Loyalty; a trait of the Starks.” Aemond grinned in a sort of childish way before speaking again, “It is getting late, my Lady. I do not wish to keep you for long, I can walk you back to your chambers.”

“Of course, my prince.” Y/n agreed switfly, leading him back to her room. Her guards were on edge as soon as they saw her arrive with the prince, stiff and unmoving save for their eyes which trained on him.

“Good night, my Lady.” Aemond bowed, kissing her hand again.

“Good night, my Prince.”

#x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #x fem!reader #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #game of thrones #aemond targaryen smut #aemond one eye #asoif/got #aemond targaryen #ofwintersflame

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phoen1xr0se · 8 months

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Good Omens S2E6 - Aziraphale's perspective

Taken from my fanfic 'Don't Fall Away From Me', on AO3 (link below). Apologies for any broken hearts in advance, but I hope it fixes some too. Most of the dialogue is taken from GOS2E6 but everything else is all me.

Artist credit: @mistysblueboxstuff

Aziraphale

Forty-one days earlier.

"Go on. The day can't get any weirder."

Aziraphale swallowed, turning to exit the bookshop, coffee in hand. The last thing he wanted right now was to leave Crowley's side and the sanctity of their little world - he knew that the significance of what they had just witnessed between Gabriel and Beelzebub would not be lost on the demon, and he desperately wanted to talk about it with him. When Aziraphale had intuitively reached for him, he was sure he had seen Crowley give a small nod, as if to say, "I know, angel."

The thought that he might finally give a voice to what they had been dancing around for years made him feel as though he was in a freefall - Aziraphale took a long swig from the sweet almond coffee to try and ground himself and glanced back at the Metatron.

"Sit, sit, dear boy," said Metatron, gesturing to a small table and chairs.

Aziraphale sat, hands fluttering anxiously. He put them back on the coffee to stop himself and took another sip.

"Now, I shall get right to the point. It seems we are down an Archangel." The Metatron smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Do you have any thoughts on who might be best suited to replace them?"

Aziraphale paused. Why was the Metatron asking him for advice? "Well... Michael?"

"Oh, don't be silly! No, no, no, no, no. There's only one candidate who makes even the slightest bit of sense."

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"And that's you."

Aziraphale blinked. Had he heard that correctly? "Me?"

"Well, yes. You're a leader, you're honest, you don't just tell people what they want to hear. It's why Gabriel came to you in the first place, I imagine."

Aziraphale's mouth dropped open in astonishment, struggling for words. He had always believed that those qualities had contributed to his exile from Heaven, and yet the Metatron was telling him that these were reasons he should be... promoted? In charge? Surely there was no way that this offer could be genuine.

The Metatron continued, before Aziraphale had a chance to pick that thread apart. "There are huge plans afoot, enormous projects, and I will need you to run them."

Aziraphale paused. In a flash, he remembered what Crowley had said four years previously about The Big One. Us against humanity. Left in the hands of Michael, or Uriel, or any of those bad angels, he could only begin to imagine what would befall Earth. Humanity wouldn't stand a chance. The angels didn't understand anything about what it truly meant to be human... or even what it meant to be good.

"You are just the angel for the job." The Metatron smiled, and in spite of himself, Aziraphale thought that he was probably right about that.

But no... he couldn't leave Earth. His bookshop. Crowley. This peaceful, fragile existence. "But I... I don't want to go back to Heaven. W-where would I get my coffee?"

The Metatron's eyes grew steelier and Aziraphale realised that he understood that this wasn't about coffee. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortably. How much did he know?

"You know..." Metatron phrased the words very carefully, "as Supreme Archangel, you would be able to decide who to work with. I've been looking back over a number of your previous exploits..." Aziraphale swallowed nervously, "and I see that in quite a few of them you formed a de facto partnership with the demon, Crowley."

The name hung in the air between them. Aziraphale glanced away. Apparently he knew quite a lot.

"Now, if you wanted to work with him again, that... might be considered irregular, but it would certainly be within your jurisdiction to restore your friend Crowley to full angelic status."

The impact of the statement took a while to register. Aziraphale blinked. In his mind's eye, he flashed back to the first time he had ever interacted with the angel-that-had-been-Crowley. It was at the creation of the universe, and he recalled with a pang the joy on his face, the sheer exuberance and excitement that had left a lasting impression on the more junior angel. Crowley as an angel had been magical, magnificent to behold. And Aziraphale knew better than anyone that Crowley had never deserved to Fall. Crowley had no memories of his time spent as an angel, but Aziraphale remembered. He remembered it all.

He was so lost in thought that he missed the triumphant glint in the Metatron's eyes.

"I... well, I don't quite know what to say," began Aziraphale, but Metatron held up a finger to halt him.

"It's just an option. One of many powers you will have as Supreme Archangel. A word to the wise, though..." Metatron leaned in conspiratorially. "There has been some talk that this partnership is all simply a part of Hell's... how shall we put it... long game."

Aziraphale was lost. "What do you mean?"

"Well there is a rumour that Hell assigned some specific demons to tempt angels away from Heaven..." Metatron paused, choosing his phrasing with care. "I personally didn't believe it myself until the utter disaster with Gabriel. Quite a shock, I can tell you. I never thought Gabriel would be vulnerable to demonic influences, but I suppose you never can tell..."

Aziraphale inhaled sharply. "I can assure you -" he began, but the Metatron interrupted.

"Oh, my dear boy, I am certain that you would never fall prey to a demon's wiles. You are far too intelligent for that." The Metatron looked Aziraphale coolly in the eyes, but there was a question there. A question Aziraphale didn't want to examine too closely. He looked down at the coffee in his hands, and recalled the night he and Crowley had spent in Job's basement.

Are you... trying to tempt me?

Not at all, angels can't be tempted, can you?

The taste of those ox ribs. The way once he'd tasted it, he'd realised he was so hungry, not just hungry, but ravenous. Starved.

Aziraphale pushed the thought away, but as soon as he pushed it away, another thought barrelled in to take its place. The first time Crowley had convinced him to try wine, promising him that a drop wouldn't hurt. The first gift he had ever been given, a book, his first material Earthly possession, gifted to him by Crowley. The way Crowley had convinced him that there was no point in doing Good if they were always cancelling each other out. The way Aziraphale had done so many small, little, bad things because Crowley had assured him it didn't matter. Each memory was like a gut punch.

But no.

No.

He knew Crowley. Yes, he was a demon, but he wasn't bad. At least, not all bad.

"I believe you are quite wrong," stated Aziraphale boldly, sitting up straight. "The demon Crowley has, over the many years we have spent... I mean, over the time we have known one another, done many kind and Good things. He is better than half the angels I know! Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon, they don't have half his compassion, his honesty, his bravery. I believe God was mistaken in..." Aziraphale's brave defence faltered as Metatron's eyebrows raised. "I mean, I think sometimes people deserve a second chance."

Metatron nodded. "Perhaps it is as you say." He stood, and Aziraphale followed suit.

Aziraphale glanced back at the bookshop. All he wanted now was to get back to Crowley. He knew that talking with him would alleviate these fears. Crowley might not want to go to Heaven, but surely he would see that it was the safest place for them to be? Especially if their fears about The Big One were correct? In spite of everything Crowley felt about Heaven, he was certain that Crowley would see it was the only way they could save the world they had both come to cherish. And perhaps he'd see a glimmer of that happy angel he'd known so long ago... before Aziraphale had put thoughts into his head, thoughts that had ultimately led to...

Aziraphale shook the thoughts away.

"Uh, thank you for this... chat... I really had better get back to the bookshop," Aziraphale said delicately.

"Well, you don't have to answer immediately," said the Metatron, "Take all the time you need."

His expression, however, demanded urgency.

"I... I don't know what to say," Aziraphale faltered. He needed Crowley. He couldn't make this decision without him.

"Well then, go and tell your friend the good news," said the Metatron measuredly. Good news.

Would Crowley see it that way?

Aziraphale very much doubted it. As he crossed the street, he resolved that he was going to hard-sell Heaven to Crowley no matter what. Above everything else, he wanted Crowley to be safe. He wanted humanity to be safe. And the only way that was going to happen is if he had a voice. He exhaled, steeling himself for what he knew was going to be a very difficult pitch.

The bell tinkled as he entered, and he saw Maggie and Nina walking toward the exit. "We're just going," smiled Maggie. "I'm sure you two have a lot to say," Nina added, and they exited.

Aziraphale took another deep breath as his eyes fell on Crowley. Crowley was sat in his usual chair, leaning forward with his dark glasses on, his mouth hanging open as if in surprise. He thought, with a sudden rush of feelings, how accustomed he had become to seeing the demon here, and how comfortable Crowley had made himself here. These days he almost always took his glasses off around the shop, a level of vulnerability Crowley had only recently managed in the last year or so.

Crowley, noticing Aziraphale, suddenly stood, removing his glasses. Aziraphale felt his resolve soften as he looked into the demon's wide yellow eyes with their trademark snakelike slits. Yellow really was the most beautiful colour. He was so busy staring that he didn't even realise Crowley had begun to speak.

"Look, I suppose, um... I've got something to say. I know we ought to be talking about... uh, it's probably best if I start off doing all the talking, you do all the listening, 'cause if I don't start talking now, I won't ever start talking, right? Yes, so -"

Aziraphale barely heard a word of what the demon was saying. This wasn't uncommon when Crowley was around, Aziraphale did have a tendency to get a little distracted - but this time it was because he was desperately trying to think of the right arrangement of words that would help Crowley adjust to what he was about to hear.

"What's that lovely human expression?" interjected Aziraphale, flailing his arms wildly. He was feeling giddy. "Oh yes, hold that thought!" He pasted on a wide grin. Sell it, sell it, he told himself. "You see, I have some incredibly good news to give you!"

Crowley didn't look particularly pleased so far. "Really?"

"I, um... so, uh, um..." Aziraphale's arms were still doing most of the talking for him whilst he frantically tried to explain. "The Metatron, you know, I don't think he's as bad a fellow... Well, I think I might have misjudged him. You see, I... Well, he said, um..." Aziraphale noticed Crowley's expression darken with mistrust. Oops. Go bigger. "He said that Gabriel, obviously hadn't worked out..." Aziraphale laughed nervously, "as Supreme Archangel and Commander of the Heavenly Host, and he asked who I thought should take over in Heaven now that Gabriel was gone. And I said Michael, to which he laughed, and said there was only one candidate who made the slightest bit of sense. Me."

Crowley's face was frozen. It was hard to assess how he was taking this. "And I said, 'me?' And he said that I was a leader, honest, I didn't tell people what they wanted to hear and that they needed me. Of course I was surprised - I mean, obviously - and of course I said I didn't want to go, because... well... but then..." Aziraphale paused and took a step closer to Crowley, his entire face lighting up. "He said that if I was Archangel, I could restore you to be an angel. Full angelic status."

A beat. "He said what?"

"He said I could appoint you to be an angel." Aziraphale couldn't help beaming. Crowley deserved to be restored, deserved it more than anyone, in spite of everything Metatron had said, he knew that Crowley should never have Fallen. "You could come back to Heaven and... and everything. Like the old times. Only even nicer."

Aziraphale's smile lit up the room as Crowley held his gaze. "Right. And you told him just where he could stick it, then?"

Aziraphale's smile faltered. What had gone wrong? "Not at all..."

Crowley shook his head slowly. "Oh, we're better than that, you're better than that, angel! You don't need them, I certainly don't need them!" Crowley began pacing, avoiding Aziraphale's gaze. "Look, they asked me back to Hell, I said no, I'm not rejoining their team, neither should you!" His yellow eyes met Aziraphale's again and they were awash with confusion.

Aziraphale fumbled. "But.. well, obviously you said no to Hell, you're the bad guys." He saw Crowley's face change. Whoops. He should have said THEY are the bad guys. Crowley was anything but bad, and that was precisely the point he was trying to make. "But Heaven... Well, it's the side of Truth, of Light... of Good." And that's why you belong there.

"When Heaven ends life here on Earth, it'll be just as dead as if Hell ended it," growled Crowley.

Aziraphale was flustered now - this hadn't gone how he thought it would, at all.

"Tell me you said no," Crowley begged. Aziraphale looked away, avoiding the way Crowley's body broke a little as he stepped forward into the silence. His voice when it came out was devoid of all his usual venom. It was almost soft, pleading. "Tell me you said no."

"If... I'm in charge, I can make a difference," Aziraphale said. It sounded so lame and contrite given the weight of the conversation, but he really meant it. The angel had endured so much loss that he had been unable to control, so many of God's choices he had been unable to question or challenge. How many times had he had to sit back and endure human tragedies at the hand of God, wrestling with himself to try and believe that it was for the Greater Good but never understanding why. This was his opportunity to finally understand God's will - and perhaps even try to alter it.

Crowley sighed deeply and began pacing again. "Oh... Oh, God." He gulped. "Right, okay. Right. I didn't get a chance to say what I was going to say, I think I'd better say it now. Right. Okay. Yes. So." Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale noticed that the demon was almost imperceptibly shaking.

The energy in the room shifted instantly. Aziraphale instantly knew that whatever Crowley was about to say was going to change things. Permanently.

"We've known each other a long time."

This was it.

"We've been on this planet a long time. I mean, you and me."

He wasn't ready.

"I could always rely on you. You could always rely on me."

How long had he waited to hear these words? Words he was sure would never come. Crowley never spoke like this, not ever. Aziraphale's eyes flicked to the street where he could see the Metatron standing by Muriel and he shifted uneasily.

"We're a team. A group. A group of the two of us."

Aziraphale's blue eyes widened. This was really happening.

"And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't." Crowley's voice cracked.

Aziraphale's mouth struggled to find words, but no sound came out. Crowley hadn't looked away from him once, but broke their gaze now.

"I mean, the last few years, not really." Crowley looked around the bookshop and Aziraphale knew that they were both thinking of the last four years they had spent together on Earth. No longer having to pretend to be on opposite sides. No longer having to deny their affection for one another. It had still been unspoken, but it had been allowed. They had allowed a life to grow, here.

"And I would like to spend -" Crowley began, but as his eyes met the angel's, he choked on the words. He looked away again, growled, exhaled, then regained his composure, whilst Aziraphale stared at the demon as though he were a freight train coming straight at him. Was Crowley really trying to say what he thought he was trying to say?

"I mean, if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together, then we can." Crowley's voice was desperate, pleading. Aziraphale had never seen Crowley like this before.

It scared him.

Crowley was always the strong one, always the brave one, always coming to his rescue. Despite knowing the demon had a softer side, Aziraphale had come to rely on the demon's hard exterior. You always knew where you stood. Except now, he really didn't.

"Just the two of us. We don't need Heaven, we don't need Hell, they're toxic! We need to get away from them, just be an us."

An us.

In all honesty, they had been an us for quite some time now, and they both knew it. It was just one of those things they didn't say. Except all of a sudden Crowley had changed the rules and Aziraphale didn't know what his part was in this new dynamic. He felt lost. All he knew, all he had ever known, and all he had ever tried to do, was the Right Thing.

"You and me, what do you say?" finished Crowley, his eyes wide. Pleading. Hoping.

An eternity seemed to pass as Aziraphale stared into Crowley's open, hopeful face. He reminded him then of the angel he had been. It reminded Aziraphale again of what they had both lost, and what stood to be lost now. And even though Aziraphale had dreamed of this moment many times, in many ways, over many years - and in no version of his imaginings had he ever rejected the demon's affections - he knew that he could never place his own selfish wants over what was right. He wouldn't be able to live with himself.

"Come with me," he implored, stepping closer to Crowley, his blue eyes begging the demon to see reason. "To Heaven. I'll run it, you can be my second in command. We can make a difference."

Crowley looked stunned. "You can't leave this bookshop."

Aziraphale almost laughed. How could Crowley be thinking about the bookshop at a time like this? Humanity was at stake, for crying out loud! If they remained here on Earth and let Heaven and Hell wage their wars, there wouldn't be much of anything left, let alone a bookshop. The existence Crowley wanted wouldn't even be possible.

"Oh Crowley," Aziraphale said softly. "Nothing lasts forever."

Crowley's entire demeanour changed. He wilted, and with horror Aziraphale saw tears glisten in his beautiful yellow eyes. Crowley's face, that had moments ago been so expressive and open, turned to its usual impassive state. "No," said Crowley quietly, blinking and looking away. "No, I don't suppose it does." He put his dark glasses on, and Aziraphale realised that Crowley had read something into his words that he hadn't meant. "Good luck," he said flatly, and walked past Aziraphale to the exit.

Aziraphale felt the world drop out from beneath his feet. "Good luck? Crowley!"

He watched his demon pause, momentarily, then turn around. He knew he had to say something to convince Crowley to stay. He knew trying to convince Crowley it would be a good idea to go to Heaven would be tricky, but he knew that Crowley was at heart a GOOD person. He had to appeal to that.

"Crowley, come back! To Heaven! Work with me!" He saw Crowley's deadpan face and realised, with some shame, that he hadn't truly responded to any of the wonderful things Crowley had tried to say to him. Crowley had dropped his defences and tried to redefine their relationship and Aziraphale found himself unexpectedly unable to reciprocate. The words just wouldn't come. He gulped, now, examining his own feelings.

Did he care for Crowley?

Yes.

Did he love Crowley?

Yes.

Did he want to spend his existence with Crowley?

Yes.

But did he feel deep shame and guilt for loving him, a demon?

Also, yes.

Aziraphale tried. "We can be together!" he clasped his hands together, as if trying to press together what he wanted and what was right. "Angels! Doing good!"

Crowley wouldn't even look at him.

The feeling of the Earth falling away came back to him. He was really about to lose Crowley. "I - I need you!"

Crowley looked at him then. They were both remembering the many times they had protested quite the opposite over the years. Crowley looked unimpressed.

Aziraphale felt his whole body burn with frustration - he was offering Crowley a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here. Fallen angels never came back to Heaven, not ever. And he knew Crowley deserved to be there. He wanted to undo the mistake he had made all those millennia ago, the guilty truth he had never forgiven himself for. He swallowed back a lump in his throat as he recalled the last moments before Crowley fell, how the angel had sought out Aziraphale's face in the crowds, his eyes wide and wild, hopeful and scared - and how Aziraphale had looked away. This was his chance to put Crowley back where he belonged. "I don't think you understand what I'm offering you."

"I understand," said Crowley flatly. "I think I understand a whole lot better than you do."

And that was the moment Aziraphale knew he'd lost him.

The world fell away, for good. Somehow he stayed standing. "Well... then there's nothing more to say."

Crowley was only two feet away but it felt like miles. And soon the distance would be a lot further.

"Listen," said Crowley, pointing up. "Do you hear that?"

Aziraphale barely heard him over the sound of his own panicked thoughts. "I... I don't hear anything," he said, unable to keep the frustration from his voice.

"That's the point," said Crowley, his words dripping with emotion. "No nightingales."

At the mention of nightingales, something hardened in Aziraphale. More unspoken understandings between them. The song 'A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square' had been playing on the night their life together began, the night they were freed from the confines of pretending they were on opposite sides. Neither of them had ever mentioned it, but Aziraphale knew it was a song that signified their relationship, their partnership, their freedom. No more nightingales meant no more them. Crowley was saying, in his own way, in the cruellest way, that they were over.

He saw something like satisfaction in Crowley's face as he realised the hit had landed. "You idiot," continued Crowley, frustration etched on every line of his face. "We could've been... us."

Aziraphale was the one to turn away now, hiding tears that had betrayed his resolve. Did Crowley think he didn't know what he was giving up? All he had ever wanted... but not at the cost of life on Earth. He couldn't bear to watch his demon leave, to walk away forever, if he looked at him a moment longer he knew he wouldn't be able to go through with it.

He heard footsteps, and closed his eyes, not wanting to see Crowley leaving - but instead felt a rough tug at his lapels, and before he knew it, he felt Crowley's lips on his. The shock reverberated through his entire body and his instinctive reaction was to pull away, no, I can't, I can't he thought desperately... but the warmth of Crowley's lips, the feeling of his body so close, the fact that it had taken six thousand years to finally close the gap between them, it was impossible to resist. It felt so good, to finally be... us. Despite himself, Aziraphale's hands stopped fluttering, and he pulled Crowley closer, giving in to the temptation.

The temptation.

Aziraphale's hands flew off the demon.

Hell assigned some specific demons to tempt angels away from Heaven...

Crowley let go of Aziraphale and Aziraphale gasped, overcome with a torrent of emotions. He hadn't known he'd wanted this until the feel of Crowley's lips pressing into his. It had taken a moment but the craving it had awoken in him raged through his body, a betrayal against all that he tried so hard to be. It felt exactly like that night in Job's basement, all those years ago... He wanted Crowley. His entire being ached to close the space between them again. He wanted so badly to forget all about the Metatron, Heaven, Hell, everything, and just throw himself back into Crowley's arms. But he'd been tempted, hadn't he? The serpent did what he does best, what he does so well, so slyly, what he's done for thousands of years... Aziraphale felt something inside him break, deeply, as he realised that, regardless of whether or not Hell was behind it, he had been tempted, and failed to pass the test yet again.

Aziraphale felt a cold, righteous anger sweep over him.

Crowley was staring at him expectantly. What did he expect? A declaration of love after having completely manipulated the angel's feelings?

I won't let you have the satisfaction of knowing how much you tempted me. How much you hurt me.

"I... I forgive you," Aziraphale said unsteadily, clenching his jaw in resolve. He regretted it the moment he said it.

Crowley sighed, a deep sigh. "Don't bother."

With that, the demon turned and finally left the bookshop.

Crumbling, Aziraphale let the tears come. He lifted his fingers to his lips, allowing himself for just a moment to remember what it felt like. He had never been kissed before, he had always thought it a peculiar human oddity, to press their faces together to show affection - he had not expected it to feel warm, to feel intimate, to feel like they were communicating in ways that could never be put into words. It was... magical.

But then he remembered who he was. Or at least, who he was supposed to be. Not an angel in love with a demon. An angel who did The Right Thing. An angel like that does not get tempted away from doing The Right Thing. If he was going to be Supreme Archangel, he had to be THAT version of himself.

He wiped the kiss away from his lips with vehemence. He would not allow himself to think about it, or Crowley, anymore.

Because if I did, I would run back to you...

As Aziraphale struggled to regain control of his emotions, the bell tinkled, and for a moment, one glorious moment, Aziraphale thought it was Crowley coming back to straighten everything out. Turning, he felt his hope fade as he saw the Metatron striding in. Quickly turning away to wipe the tears that threatened to fall and betray his emotion, he gave himself a quick talking to. This was no time for weakness.

"Well? How did he take it?"

Aziraphale said, truthfully, "Uh... not well." He chuckled nervously. He didn't want the Metatron to interfere with Crowley. He knew he needed to be careful about what he said.

"Ah, well, always did want to go his own way," said the Metatron dismissively.

Aziraphale stole a glance outside the bookshop and saw Crowley standing by the Bentley.

"Always asking damn fool questions, too," said the Metatron. Aziraphale recognised that this comment was a disguised warning to himself - don't ask questions. "Right, ready to start?"

Aziraphale felt his heart lurch. Hadn't the Metatron said he had plenty of time to decide? "I..." He glanced once again at the tall, dark figure standing outside. Crowley was stood completely still, watching Aziraphale from the street. Waiting? "My bookshop!" stammered Aziraphale desperately, trying to think of a way to give himself a little more time.

"Ye-es, well, for now, I've entrusted it to Muriel," said the Metatron matter-of-factly, indicating the young angel who waved exuberantly from the window. "So it should be in good hands."

"But..." Aziraphale stared out at the street. At him.

"Anything you need to take with you?" asked the Metatron.

Him, thought Aziraphale. Just him.

The Metatron's energy was cold, and forceful. Aziraphale could feel it coming off him in waves. He knew, somehow, that he had been backed into a corner. "No... nothing I can think of."

The Metatron made an affirmative noise and made to move towards the door, and it all suddenly hit Aziraphale - if he went with the Metatron now, it would really be over. No more cosy bookshop, no more books. No more sushi, no more sherry. No more music, no more plays. No more nightingales. A flash of what returning to Heaven would actually mean suddenly cut through Aziraphale and he understood, finally, what Crowley had been trying to tell him. There would be no going back.

Overcome, he rushed forward. "I think I -" he burst out, but stopped himself.

For once in your soft, silly life, do the Right Thing, angel! Aziraphale told himself sternly. This is about more than you and... him. He took one last look at Crowley. Leaning against the car on the street outside, the demon hadn't moved an inch, his dark-shaded eyes fixated on the inside of the bookshop.

"Nothing at all," said Aziraphale, straightening himself up and exiting the shop, plastering a fake smile on his face.

The street was busy, and Aziraphale could feel a pair of snakelike eyes burning into the back of his head but he wasn't going to look. If he looked, he'd run...

As they approached the entrance to the elevator that would take him to his new job, Metatron smiled at Aziraphale in a way that was intended to be reassuring but sent chills down Aziraphale's spine. "Well, I can't think of a better Angel to wrap things up, and to set into motion the next step in the Great Plan."

Aziraphale started. This was why he'd taken the job. This is why he'd forsaken everything he'd ever wanted. "Um, yes, you mentioned that. Can I know... what it is?"

"Well, it's something we need an angel of your talents to direct. An angel who is familiar with how they do things on Earth."

Aziraphale felt himself relax somewhat. Perhaps he had been mistaken and Heaven really was beginning to consider the merits of humanity. He began to smile.

The Metatron turned as the elevator doors opened. "We call it the second coming."

Aziraphale's face dropped its smile, now stricken with panic and fear. The second coming wasn't a fluffy visit from Jesus as most people believed... the second coming meant Judgement Day, when all of humanity would be judged and those found wanting would be thrown into Hellfire. The world, as they knew it, would be over.

The Metatron turned and looked at Aziraphale with steely eyes. Aziraphale felt as though the being could see into his innermost thoughts and tried to rearrange his expression. He looked away... to his left, the tall, dark figure of Crowley still leaned against the car. Definitely waiting. Aziraphale realised Crowley was holding on to the hope that at the last moment, Aziraphale would change his mind and choose their life on Earth.

But what will that be worth if we end up with no Earth left to live on, my dear?

It took every bit of strength Aziraphale had ever had to tear his eyes, his heart, his everything, away from the life he could have had and walk into that elevator. He sighed, inwardly letting go of it all. As he entered, it almost felt as though every step was being taken by someone else, and the smile on his face was a ghost of himself. He was so focused on appearing normal that he didn't notice the Metatron's sigh of relief and smile of victory as the doors slid closed.

"Going up," said the disembodied voice, and they began to move up towards Heaven. Every second that passed, Aziraphale felt his anxiety rise.

The second coming.

Judgement Day.

What had he done? How on Earth could he possibly circumnavigate this? And on his own? Without...

With another pang, Aziraphale realised that Crowley would be Judged just like everybody else. He knew in his heart that Crowley wasn't completely bad, but he had always been under the impression that Judgement Day was very black-and-white when it came to who was deemed righteous and who was not. He could lose him. He could lose everyone - and this time, it would be all his fault. No chance to shrug and complain that someone else had the power this time.

What could he do? What could he actually do?

As the elevator continued to take them higher and higher, Aziraphale racked his brains, and Crowley's words suddenly sprang into his mind. "Just to be able to ask the questions..."

Slowly, a plan began to form in his mind.

A plan that would begin... with a suggestion box.

Aziraphale smiled.

Please visit me on AO3 and leave feedback! 🤍

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bimoonphases · 2 months

Text

@wolfstarmicrofic March 5 – prompt 5: Wolfsbane Potion – word count 922

Wolfsbane Potion - eases the symptoms of lycanthropy; prevents werewolves from losing their minds post-transformation

The call had come right as Remus was finishing gulping down his Wolfsbane Potion with a grimace, Sirius sitting by his side on the couch, his favourite chocolate ready in hand. The fireplace had suddenly lit up and Mary’s face had appeared.

“What happened?” they chorused.

Even after three whole years of peace, of amends from the Ministry to the both of them, of their quiet, happy life in their cottage, of the frequent visits their godson paid them, of being hailed among the heroes of two wizarding wars, their first instinct was to think something was wrong.

“Nothing bad,” Mary said soothingly. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late but someone just dropped their newborn off before disappearing and you’re first on our adoption list, so…”

Remus looked at his husband for a split second. Sirius nodded.

“We’ll be right there!” he said.

A couple of minutes later, they apparated in front of the main doors of St Mungo’s and walked inside. Remus didn’t really like the place, he had spent way too much time in there after the end of the war, helping the staff both with magical treatments to lycanthropy and the way to deal gently with those who shared his condition. The clink of his cane on the white floor echoed as they walked past the reception and crossed paths with two Elf doctors discussing a patient. Remus felt more than saw Sirius slow down as they passed by the doors leading to the Regulus Arcturus Black Wing for Elves. Since the rehabilitation of his name, and the fact there was now a branch of the Ministry dedicated and run by every non-human creature, many things had changed in the way the wizarding world saw the Elves. Still, it was just another reminder of all the people they had lost in the two wars. Remus took Sirius’s hand in his and they walked on, reaching the newborn wing, where Mary was waiting right by the door.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“We’ve been waiting for a long time, so obviously not,” Sirius laughed, but Remus noticed the slight tremble in his voice.

When they had moved in their cottage at the end of the war they had agreed on giving themselves a year to adapt then check in with each other to see if they still wished to adopt children. They had asked to be put on the waiting list for abandoned children at St Mungo’s three months later.

“We checked, and he’s healthy and strong,” Mary went on.

“It’s a boy?” Sirius said slowly.

“I know you wanted a little girl to spoil, Sirius,” Mary laughed.

“Bold of you to think I wouldn’t spoil a little boy,” Sirius muttered.

“What else do you know?” Remus asked.

“There was no note or objects with him, but he’s a magical kid as well. He’s really perfectly fine, just unwanted.”

“Not anymore,” Sirius said, clasping Remus’s hand.

They followed Mary in a room and watched her take a bundle wrapped in blankets from a crib and turn towards them.

“Here he is,” she said softly. “Would you like to hold him?”

Remus nudged Sirius forward.

“I have to sit down first, I don’t want to drop him,” he said.

Sirius delicately took the bundle from Mary’s hands and sat down by Remus’s side. Only the little face was visible, eyes closed and jet-black hair already curling at the ends.

“He looks like you,” Remus whispered.

“I’ll leave you to get acquainted,” Mary said, quietly walking out of the room.

The baby moved, and managed to get a tiny hand out of the blanket to rub against his cheek.

“He’s so beautiful…” Sirius chocked. “Our son. We have a son, Moony.”

“We do, my love,” Remus answered, kissing Sirius’s cheek.

“Our little nameless son,” Sirius smiled. “What shall we name him?”

Remus took a deep breath.

“We discussed it, remember? About how to use names?” he asked.

“No first names after someone because he deserves to have his own,” Sirius nodded.

“And James as middle name is Harry’s to use if he has a son one day,” Remus added.

They had lost so much in all those years, they had had to write those rules down to not get overwhelmed once the moment came. Even with that, Remus’s first instinct if the baby would have been a girl would have been to name her Lily, and that one too was Harry’s name to use if he wanted.

“The name you said the other day, the one in your book,” Sirius looked at Remus.

“Anwell?”

“You said it meant ‘beloved’ in Welsh. And he’ll be so beloved, won’t he?”

The baby babbled in his sleep.

“I think he likes it,” Sirius chuckled.

“If he gets my surname and a Welsh name, you get to pick the middle one,” Remus said, mesmerised by the way the tiny mouth was moving.

“I’d like…”

Remus looked up at Sirius, noticing tears forming in his eyes. He knew what his husband was about to say, but he waited all the same.

“I’d like it to be Regulus,” Sirius whispered. “To give him the happy life his namesake never got to have. If it’s alright for you, Moony.”

“Of course it is.”

Sirius nodded, tears now streaming on his cheeks.

“Go with Dad, Papa needs to cry a bit,” he said, delicately placing the baby in Remus’s arms.

Remus looked down at the baby, his heart swelling with happiness.

“Welcome to the world, Anwell Regulus Lupin,” he whispered.

#yes Remus is Dad and Sirius is Papa because he's either posh or French your pick #wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #marauders #post war wolfstar #regulus black #just writing (like i'm supposed to live)

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imakemywings · 7 months

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So Maeglin apparently was handsome af, popular, charismatic, and a close confidant of Turgon during his time in Gondolin. In fact, he was a lord and was close to Turgon's ear so he was heard more than Idril. I just wanna know why the fandom loves to portray him as this kid who was hated by everyone (he was not), whom Turgon hated (didn't Turgon love that kid so much?), and whose love for Idril was seen in a good light (when in fact, he was willing to kill earendil just to get Idril). I was honestly shocked when it was such a popular narrative that he was being abused and hated pretty much by everyone in Gondolin and he didn't mean to cause the fall of Gondolin because he was a poor mew mew when the real poor mew mew was Turgon for listening to him in the first place. Lmao I was just genuinely shocked when it was the other way around. I like his character, he's interesting and complex but it kinda takes away the complexity of his character when he is being woobify but that's just me. What do you think?

Anon, idk if you looked at my blog and could tell I would be receptive to these takes, or if you just happen to keep landing on things I agree with XD

But yeah, I have thoughts on Maeglin's reception by the fandom and it's mostly in agreement with what you said.

With Maeglin, he is sympathetic in a lot of ways, which makes you want to root for him. He did have a difficult childhood--Eol was a shithead spouse so it's not hard to imagine he was not a great father either. Maeglin grew up almost totally isolated from anyone but his mom and dad, who did not have a good relationship, thanks to his dad's abuse. When he and Aredhel make a run for it, we want them to succeed! We want good things for them (we've been rooting for Aredhel since the beginning of the chapter)! When Maeglin witnesses his father kill his mother in an effort to kill him, we want him to find peace and security in Gondolin.

The thing is--Maeglin grows well past his difficult childhood. As you noted, Maeglin does very well for himself in Gondolin. At the end of the chapter Of Maeglin, it is described how he "grew great among the Gondolindrim" and there are various indications he was generally trusted and well-liked.

"Thus all seemed well with the fortunes of Maeglin, who had risen to be mighty among the princes of the Noldor..." ("Of Maeglin," The Silmarillion)

At this point, this is we want for him! We like the idea that he's shrugged off his past, that he's doing well, and that he's not like his creepy bride-abducting father.

We don't get much in Silm about what Maeglin's relationship with Turgon is like, but I talked here about why I can't buy that Turgon neglected or abused Maeglin.

"Then the King listened with wonder to all that Aredhel had to tell; and he looked with liking upon Maeglin his sister-son, seeing in him one worthy to be accounted among the princes of the Noldor. 'I rejoice indeed that Ar-Feiniel has returned to Gondolin,' he said, 'and now more fair again shall my city seem than in the days when I deemed her lost. And Maeglin shall have the highest honor in my realm.'" ("Of Maeglin," The Silmarillion)

The only fly in that pudding is that he and Idril get off to a bad start which never improves. He's into her, she's not into him, but he can't let it go. He lets it fester and generate anger, jealousy, and hatred, and in this way, he's like so many creepy guys who can't take rejection.

"But as the years passed, still Maeglin watched Idril, and waited, and his love turned to darkness in his heart. And he sought the more to have his will in other matters, shirking no toil or burden, if he might thereby have power." ("Of Maeglin," The Silmarillion)

But even so, Maeglin is trusted by Turgon! He's popular! He has his own craft and people who admire and follow his ideas! In almost every way, Maeglin should be happy. But he cannot stop obsessing over Idril, and he lets that spoil everything else that he's achieved, to the point where he's wiling to betray the entire city to possess her.

I think there's also a disconnect between those who've read The Fall of Gondolin and those who haven't, because TFOG expands on a lot of things only really hinted at in Silm proper. For instance, the attempted murder of Earendil (who, it should be noted, is seven years old during the sack of Gondolin). In Silm, we get this:

"Tuor sought to rescue Idril from the sack of the city, but Maeglin had laid hands on her, and on Earendil; and Tuor fought with Maeglin on the walls, and cast him far out..." ("Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

In The Fall of Gondolin, we get a much more detailed account:

"Messengers by great stealth he had dispatched to Melko[r] to set a guard about the outer issue of that Way when the assault was made; but he himself thought now to take Earendil and cast him into the fire beneath the walls, and seizing Idril he would constrain her to guide him to the secrets of the passage, that he might win out of this terror of fire and slaughter and drag her withal along with him to the lands of Melko[r]... Now then M[a]eglin had Idril by the hair and sought to drag her to the battlements out of cruelty of heart, that she might see the fall of Earendil to the flames...When M[a]eglin saw [Tuor] he would stab Earendil with a short knife he had...the mail of the small coat turned the blade aside; and thereupon Tuor was upon him and his wrath was terrible to see." ("The Original Tale," The Fall of Gondolin)

In TFOG, Maeglin's malice is even more apparent as we get a blow-by-blow account of his effort to force Idril to watch him kill her child and then drag her to Angband, but even looking exclusively at canon Silm, Maeglin clearly swings into the villain path. I don't like to criticize him too much for caving under Melkor's threats, because being threatened with torture by Melkor would be fucking terrifying and I don't think any of us can say for certain how we would respond in that kind of situation. Tolkien even tells us Maeglin wasn't a coward, but Melkor is Melkor. Not everyone can be Hurin "Noted Badass and Snarkmaster" Thalion. What I am happy to criticize him relentlessly on is that he allows Melkor's plan to move forward.

"But Morgoth sent him [Maeglin] back to Gondolin, lest any should suspect the betrayal, and so that Maeglin should aid the assault from within, when the hour came; and he abode in the halls of the King with smiling face and evil heart..." ("Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

He never warns the Gondolindrim of what's coming, and in fact he encourages Turgon to refuse Ulmo's advice and stay in the city (where Melkor expects them to be). In TFOG, when Melkor does invade, Maeglin and his house fight on Melkor's side.

Maeglin fucked up by selling the city out, no argument. But it's more than that--he could have tried to fix it. But he doesn't. Because? Because he doesn't want his treachery revealed, and because Melkor promised him possession of Idril if he helped.

"Great indeed was the joy of Morgoth, and to Maeglin he promised the lordship of Gondolin as his vassal, and the possession of Idril Celebrindal, when the city should be taken; and indeed desire for Idril and hatred for Tuor led Maeglin the easier to his treachery, most infamous in all the histories of the Elder Days." ( "Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

People resist the narrative of Maeglin the villain I think because they are still in phase 1 where we want good things for Maeglin and for him to overcome his past. And he does...but then he chooses his own shitty path and throws away all the things he gained because he can't be content without everything that he wants, which includes Idril. Making all Maeglin's bad choices someone else's fault--Idril's for rejecting his advances, Aredhel or Eol for parenting him wrong, Turgon for not understanding him, Tuor for who knows--means not having to acknowledge Maeglin chose to become the person who betrayed Gondolin and tried to murder his family.

"Then the heart of Idril was turned towards [Tuor], and his to hear; and Maeglin's secret hatred grew ever greater, for he desired above all things to possess her, the only heir to the King of Gondolin." ("Of Tuor and the Fall of Gondolin," The Silmarillion)

Maeglin's story is a tragedy of someone consumed with their own malcontent, someone who had so much opportunity to be happy but chose to perserverate on the things he couldn't have, who became so obsessed with his own desires that he was willing to hurt everyone around him to get what he wanted. Maeglin's story is of a man who could not handle rejection by a woman he wanted, so he decided to ruin her life and kill her family. Maeglin begins the story as someone we are meant to sympathize with--but he doesn't end it that way.

#asks #anonyous #maeglin #meta

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strawberrylabs · 9 months

Text

Lyney drabbles

ok so...

i know i said id be getting all my other requests out like a month ago and i promise im working on them- just slowly

but i my brain is ROTTING with Lyney headcanons atm because I just finished fontane archon quests and his story quest so yall are gonna have to let my numerous lyney dabbles tide you over until i upload anything else

(also please send me lyney headcanons or prompts i am DYING to write about this man)

ANYWAYS!

reader can be interpreted as any gender! no gendered terms are used

WARNING! this will have spoilers to fontane lore and Lyney's story quest!! I will also be mentioning death, grieving and slight depression! read with caution if you're sensitive to these topics.

spoilers will be under the cut!

I'll be here

synopsis: after the events of Lyney's story quest, his lover comforts him as he finally finds closure after Cesar's death.

After the traveler and Paimon left Lyney and Lynette at the steambird, Lynette turned to look at her brother.

"So, Cesar's honour has been restored."

Lyney smiles to himself

"That it has my dear sister. Now, I do believe a certain someone is at home with Freminet waiting for us." Lyney turns to his sister expectingly.

"Actually, I'm going to the port. I need some time to shut down. And I think you need some time too, Lyney."

Lyney sighed and smiled a melancholy smile. Of course Lynette could see through him.

"You're quite right, as always dear sister. I think I shall take your advice."

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

When Lyney walked through the door to his home expecting to be greeted by his brother and lover, he only found his lover in sight.

"Freminet said he wanted to go diving by the opera house tonight. Something about the tildaga being different at this time of year." (y/n) answered, almost as if hearing Lyney's confusiong.

"Ah I see. Lynette has gone to the port to unwind after the weeks events."

(Y/n) smiled knowingly at the magician.

"And I suspect you'll be needing to unwind too."

Lyney gasped in faux astonishment

"My word! I didn't know you learnt telepathy? I suppose when you spend so much time around such a great magician you do pick up a few things. Maybe you can join Lynette and I and we can form a magical trio?" Lyney emphasised his words with a florish of his hat.

(Y/n) chuckled and moved towards Lyney, grabbing his hand.

"As much as I would love to know exactly what's going on in your mind, I do not have telepathy. I do however, know you well enough to know you need a rest."

Lyney's smile faltered a smidge. Despite knowing he can be vulnerable around (Y/n), he still struggles to let his guard down. Apparently years of working for the house of the Hearth does that to someone.

While in thought, (Y/n) pulls Lyney to their room, and places him on their bed, sitting him down wordlessly, and moving to sit behind him.

Lyney registers the feeling of his hat being taken off, and fingers in his hair taking out his braid.

"Just relax. I'll take care of you. I know everything with Cesar has been tough. You've been preparing yourself for this moment for years-- but I know it's still been heavy."

(Y/n) presses a kisse to his head.

"Cesar would be proud of you. I know you feel guilty about with holding the truth from him, but I just know he'd understand. He would be so, so proud of you and Lynette."

Lyney doesn't remember when the first tear fell down his face, or when his performance clothes were removed and replaced with pjamas, or when he was tucked in against (Y/n)'s chest.

"Cesar can be truly at peace now with his name cleared. You did great Lyney."

Lyney takes a deep breathe, and burries himself in the safety of his lover's embrace.

"..Thank you (Y/n).."

"Of course Lyney. I'll be here for you, always."

this man has me in a chokehold

(thank god I pulled him<3)

-Strawberry

masterlist

Rules

#genshin impact #lyney #lyney x reader #lyney x reader angst #lyney and lynette #genshin x reader #lyney genshin #lyney genshin impact #genshin fontaine

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chiharuhashibira · 4 months

Text

BACK TO YOU PART 12

After N years, this chapter is up hahaha!

Been busy with my life lately huhu but here it is~

Taglist: @unofficialmuilover @ahashiraswife @skeleton-the-gangser @crazycatlddy @obsessily-tm @sofilsword

𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒀𝒐𝒖

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚇𝙸𝙸

𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢 𝐗 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐀𝐔)

<𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫>

Content Warnings: Curse words, Slightly Suggestive, Verbal Abuse, Emotional Trauma, Panic

(Image isn't mine. Credits to the rightful owner)

You found yourself standing beside your boyfriend in front of his place. Once he rings the bell, Genya opens the door. Things will be more official.

It’s not that you don’t want it, but you are quite scared. No one has done this for you before. It’s obvious that Hotaru has hidden you in his world. You never even expected this moment to happen in your life.

But Sanemi came, and he started changing things in a better way. And you’re thankful for him for that.

Sanemi sensed once more your worries and entwined his hand against yours.

“Babe. Everything will be okay. I promise.”

"Babe?"

Genya blinked in confusion as he stared without any clue at the both of you. You bit your lip, feeling anxious as you imagined the worst, which was Sanemi's family not accepting you.

But then Sanemi let go of your hand and patted his little brother's head. "Let's talk inside, shall we?" He said it calmly, which made Genya smile and enter the house.

Sanemi looked back at you and grabbed your hand once again. "Nothing's going to hurt you here, babe. I'm here." He said once again and slowly led you inside their humble abode.

Wondering eyes were fixed on you, and what makes it more nerve-wracking is that a pair of those eyes is from your own student. Perhaps dating his brother secretly made him mad at you? Or...

"I'm happy that you are dating my brother, Y/N-sensei."

Those words kicked you out of your trance and made you look up to meet Genya's wonderful smile. You bit your lip and looked back at Sanemi, who was sending you that same sweet smile as well. "I told you, babe. Everything will be okay," he assured as he rubbed your back in a circling motion, which definitely soothed your trembling nerves.

The day ended with you meeting all of Sanemi's little siblings. They all loved you, especially Genya, who apparently turned out to be your biggest fan in school.

Now, you find yourself walking along the sidewalk, hand in hand, under the dimming sky. You slowly turned to Sanemi and observed him. His eyes were focused, with a small glimmer from the street light. You also watched how his pinkish cheeks moved as he licked his drying lower lip. He looked so beautiful, and if you only could, you would want to immortalise this moment.

You envied the way the last rays of the sun touched his skin and how the wind caressed him, making his silvery white locks dance. The sound of his breath, the rhythm that it makes—Sanemi will never know how much you wanted to be greedy and keep him for yourself. He'll never know how much you care for him, as words and actions won't be enough to say that.

You love this man, and if you could only stop the world for him, you would have done it by now.

But then, perfection seems to never exist in this world.

As you were passing by a convenient store, there, the painfully familiar golden-orange eyes met with your E/C orbs. The sensation you felt was as if it were two boulders striking each other. The pang of pain in your stomach replaced the peace that you were feeling earlier. It suddenly weakened your knees.

You looked towards Sanemi, whose expression changed to hostile. You grasped his hands tighter and spoke up in an uneasy tone. "Let's go somewhere else, babe."

But then, it was too late; Hotaru was already beside you when you tried to pull Sanemi.

With a smirk on Hotaru's lips, he crossed his arms and greeted the both of you. It was as if he didn't care about the awkward situation that he's starting.

"So, it's nice meeting you after a while. How are you and Shinazugawa-sensei? How's school? How's work?"

You were astonished that he knew some background about Sanemi, even if you made sure not to spill anything. Is it Tomioka-san? No, he won't say anything about the two of you.

With anger building up, you rolled your eyes and didn't answer him. Instead, you pulled the seething Sanemi away.

But then, that didn't stop your boyfriend from swatting your hand and walking back to face Hotaru.

Your anxiety grew deeper as you watched him hold Hotaru by the collar and pin him to the wall. "Sanemi!" You tried to stop him, but then Sanemi swatted your hand again and screamed at Hotaru's face.

"Why the fuck are you here?! Why in the fucking world did you decide to come back to Y/N's life? Dammit! Can't you just fucking disappear on your hole?"

Without thinking, Sanemi punched Hotaru by the nose. His action made you too stunned to speak or move. But then, it seems like Hotaru likes what is happening. He tilted his head to the side, chuckled, and finally spoke up.

"Is this how a teacher should act?"

"Don't use my profession against me, you fucker. You're the one who is harassing Y/N! I'm just protecting her."

You watched in fear as Hotaru turned to you with a dark smile on his face. "So, this is the guy that you replaced me with, Y/N? A savage?"

"Sanemi, let's go, please!"

You shouted as you tugged on Sanemi's sleeve. That seemed to bring him back, and there he let go of Hotaru.

Both of you realised that the crowd was starting to form, so you both walked fast away from Hotaru, who was still smirking as he fixed his shirt and watched you saunter.

"What's that, Sanemi?!"

You said, frustrated, as you sat inside his car. Sanemi face-palmed and punched the steering wheel in anger. "What's what? That fucker really gets to my nerves!" He said, grumbling.

You bit your lip and looked away from him. The feeling of fear suddenly surfaced again. "I'm scared when you're mad," you whispered, and that seemed to stun Sanemi.

You felt a touch on your hand and a squeeze on your thigh. "I'm sorry, babe," Sanemi whispered back, pulling you to kiss your forehead. He held you in that position for a moment, until both of you calmed down.

He started the car, and there you drove back to your flat.

Minutes felt like hours, especially with that silence. Sanemi didn't want to add fuel to the fire, so he just shut up. You, on the other hand, didn't have any energy to talk, so you just looked outside and watched the streetlamps.

You reached your flat, and to your surprise, Tomioka-san and Iguro-san were there, standing and waiting for the both of you.

Since when did these two get close?

You went out of the car with Sanemi by your side. You and Sanemi met Iguro's raised eyebrows as he brought out his phone and played something.

"So, this is a thing now, Sanemi?"

He said those words coldly as both of you watched a seemingly brief flash of that traumatic event that happened earlier at the convenience store.

You turned to Sanemi and saw his eyes widen in surprise and fear. "How did you get that?" He asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at you with apologetic eyes.

Tomioka finally spoke up.

"Hotaru sent this to me, and yes, as the devil he is, it's to blackmail you. So now, what we need to do is fix this mess."

"But how can we do that, Tomioka-san?" You spoke, holding Giyu's hand. The man looked at you with sad eyes and sighed.

"I'll talk to Hotaru. I'm—"

"Don't tell me you're going to make a deal with him, Tomioka?" Sanemi said as he looked at Sanemi with worried eyes.

As harsh as he is, Iguro shook his head. "You should have thought about this before you did that to that bastard."

Iguro's words made Sanemi growl at him. But then, before your boyfriend could speak, you had already done so.

"I'll talk to Hotaru. I believe I can convince him."

"NO!"

Sanemi and Tomioka said it in unison, but that didn't change your mind.

"I'm not pulling anyone of you into this mess. I'm going to fix this, and it's final."

𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻-𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽!

I love you all guys 🥹 Really appreciate you reading my fanfics and the sweet sweet messages. I am so grateful for this community 💓

Anyways, see you on the next chapter! I will finish BTY within the year or January 💓

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

~𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓾-𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷🌸

<𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫>

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kimmyluvg · 4 months

Text

So this is what falling in love feels like...

Summary: Meliodas never knew what it means to love someone.. Maybe a goddess can show him how?

A series where you (F!Reader) are Elizabeth's younger sister, falls in love with him. Meliodas' relationship with Elizabeth is very platonic and no romance.

Pt. One, Two, Three, Four, Five (Finale)

A few more battles later, temporary peace was given to all as the two main clans were allied briefly. Which gave Y/N the opportunity to meet the esteemed First Prince of Demons again. She has never been sleeping a lot lately and for some reason she dreamt about the blonde demon every time she fell fast asleep. She doesn't know what could cause this but she might have an idea of what it is. She then sent a magic bird to message the prince about their meeting and head towards the ruins where she told him that she'll be meeting him.

But when she arrived at the ruins, Mael and Elizabeth was guarding it. Apparently Elizabeth told Mael and now he's here with her. Y/N can sense the Prince's mana from the entrance and smiled, "Do not enter these ruins without my permission." Y/N ordered Mael as he nodded. Elizabeth tried to protest but was just shut down by Y/N whom just smiled. Y/n then entered the ruins and there, she saw him again... Standing in the middle of the theater with the magic bird on his hand. His clothing was actually different from what he was used to but nonetheless, he made Y/N's heart flutter.

Meliodas can just stare at the Goddess in front of him. He doesn't know what he is experiencing now but it will eventually grew at some point. "You got my message." Y/N called out as Meliodas stopped staring at her as she flew down in front of him. "It is not like I had a choice." He replied as Y/N giggled. "You make it sound like I forced you to come here." Y/N said as she commanded the Magic Bird to fly towards her and dissolve into magic particles. The letter that was on the bird's beak dropped down on her hand as she opened it. "I don't see anything to indicate that I forced you to come." Y/N teased as Meliodas snatched the letter away and read it again. He blushed in embarrassment. Y/N giggled as Meliodas calm down. "Let's restart again, shall we?" Y/N proposed the idea as Meliodas nodded. "I am the First Prince of the Demon Realm, Commander of the Ten Commandments and possessed the Commandment of Love. THey call me, Meliodas of Love." He said that intrigued the young Goddess. "Ooh.. Meliodas of Love huh... Nice to finally meet you, Meliodas." Y/N started, "I am the Second Daugther of the Supreme Deity. Just call me, Y/N." She said as Meliodas handed out his hand as she shakes on it.

Thus begins of a magical friendship... Maybe something even more?

#meliodas #meliodas x reader #nanatsu no taizai #7 deadly sins #7ds

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demetris-cocksleeve · 8 months

Text

Now, hear me out....

I just can't get this idea out of my head:

It's a mini smut series. Each part is for a different underrated 1A boy, but interconnected. There will be two different endings, each with two different outcomes.

As I was getting ready to post this, I realized that the idea was akin to Aberration by @bakuhoes-dumbass , so to be on the safe side, I reached out and got permission. Aberration is so attention grabbing and (personally) keeps the you on the edge of your seat. It's 10x better than anything I'm gonna write for this, so check it out! Thanks again to @bakuhoes-dumbass for giving me the green light!

**Y/n is the new psychiatrist for the Yuei Institute for Dangerous Individuals (YIDI). But she's also the warden's niece -giving her more loopholes to wiggle through than your average psychotherapist. Cue the jailbird shenanigans when they get a whiff of their new toy.

Warnings: Contains slight passive hybristophillia, various talk of criminal behavior and non consensual/dubiously consented to actions and scenarios, do not read if you are sensitive to said topics!

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Prologue: A deeper introduction to the jailbirds

Let's get to know the inmates, shall we?

Chapter 1: Shoji Mezo- Convicted on multiple counts of gang-related torture; currently serving 3 life sentences with no chance of parole. Time incarcerated: 6 years, 4 months.

In which your first session with the sadist derails an a way you never expected. As it turns out, the jailbirds are missing more than just their freedom.

Chapter 2: Ojiro Mashirao- Convicted on 1 count of 1st degree murder following a confession refusal; currently serving 20 years with no chance of parole. Time incarcerated: 2 years, 9 months.

You survived your first day. What more could go wrong? A lot, apparently. After the surprisingly saucey session (ooh alliteration) with Shoji, you can confidently say you're better prepared for the type of inmates you're dealing with. Or so you thought...

Chapter 3: Tokoyami Fumikage- Convicted for the attempted murder of his best friend, claiming "the shadows told him to do it"; currently serving 15 years with a chance of parole after 5 years. Time incarcerated: 4 years, 8 months.

Your new deal is firmly in place, and you're prepared to do what you agreed to. You just didn't expect your end of the deal to be enforced again so soon. It's all in the name of helping... Right?

Chapter 4: Koji Koda- Convicted of arson, assault, and non-peaceful protesting of multiple animal testing facilities; currently serving 40 years with a chance of parole for $15,000 bond. Time incarcerated: 3 years, 7 months.

Animal rights activists can't be too scary... can they? You're a little less than a month into your new job, and it's going relatively smooth. The deal is going as planned, and you seem to be making progress. Turns out this activist isn't scary after all... He's downright terrifying.

Chapter 5 : Rikidou Sato- Convicted for drug trafficking and the assault of 5 police officers; currently serving 90 years with a chance of parole after 40 years. Time incarcerated: 1 month, 3 weeks, 2 days.

Marking the last day of your first month is your final first session. After today, you can confidently say that you know what to expect with your assigned inmates. That doesn't mean what you're to expect will be easy. Withdrawal really brings out the worst in people, doesn't it?

Epilogue 1: Every action has consequences... Unfortunately, Y/n engaged in the same action with 5 different people. So, which one is the reason for this consequence?

Mentions pregnancy and abortion, if you are sensitive to either of those topics, I'd advise you to redirect to Epilogue 2 for the second ending. Open ended/up to interpretation of the reader. Can be read for any of the inmates

Epilogue 2: Every action has consequences...Unfortunately, Y/n's bleeding heart is her consequence. But for whom does it bleed?

Contains an individual ending for each inmate. 'Pick your own ending' style

"Jailbirds" Coming Soon

Full Masterlist:

Navigation

#ojiro mashirao x reader #mezo shoji x reader #tokoyami fumikage x reader #koji koda x reader #satou rikidou x reader

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blackcherryvelvet0909 · 6 months

Text

Tomato Basil (Lilia x GN!Reader)

Note: Reader is an adult for obvious reasons

“This looks like a good spot!” Lilia stopped a short several feet from the shoreline, just where you could feel the sea spray whisp across your skin. It was quite refreshing. The sunset backdrop was equally perfect, the stars just starting to peek out over the horizon. With a flourish, Lilia laid out the large, soft blanket he’d been carrying. He tilted his head up to eye you as he asked, “Which side would you like?”

“Any is fine,” you replied with a smile. “I’m not picky.”

“Then let’s sit facing the sunset,” Lilia suggested. “Watching the sun sink below the sea’s edge is always a pretty sight.”

That was, indeed, a nice idea. You sat on the right side of the blanket and Lilia sat on the left. You placed the wicker picnic basket you’d been holding in front of you both and opened the top. Inside were wheat crackers, various types of cheese, multiple sliced veggies, small fruits, two little plates, and a few utensils. Beside the basket now sat a mini cooler, which had been another object Lilia toted out to the beach. Within were two thermoses, one filled with tomato juice and the other filled with [drink of choice]; there was also a small box of popsicles. You and Lilia had quite the spread before you.

“I hate that Silver couldn’t come with us,” you lamented as you helped Lilia unload the plates and utensils from the basket. “Malleus and Sebek, too. They seemed so excited.”

“I know, it is a shame. Malleus was looking forward to doing some mundane activities.” Lilia glanced over and gave you a reassuring smile. “But worry not! We have another week of our school trip - plenty of time to picnic again.” He let out a soft chuckle. “Maybe this will teach Malleus not to eat so much ice cream in one sitting.”

Ah, yes, the thing that prevented Malleus from coming: A stomachache. One of the worst he’d ever experienced, apparently. The last time you saw him, the prince was curled up in his king sized bed, blankets wrapped around him so thoroughly only his horns peeked above the surface. His dead silence was only interrupted by a painful grunt every now and again. According to Lilia, that was the calmest Malleus had ever been about such an ailment. Truly, the prince had grown much since his tantrum-having childhood. Lilia commented to you on your way down to the beach that he was quite relieved about that.

As for Sebek and Silver, the two were also back at the hotel. Sebek was adamant on remaining at Malleus’s side - to be at his beck and call throughout the entire ordeal. Silver, on the other hand, was sound asleep in Lilia’s bed. He’d attempted to stay up along with Sebek; unfortunately for Silver, his narcolepsy won out. It was cute how Lilia tucked him into bed, brushed his hair behind his ear and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, before you both set out. Silver looked so peaceful then��hopefully Sebek would spare him a lecture when he woke.

“But let’s not fret about that now,” Lilia said, knocking you out of your thoughts. “I’m starved! Let’s dig into our snacks, shall we?”

Lilia didn’t seem too worried about the boys. He was the one that raised them (in Sebek’s case, at least in part) - if he thought they would be alright by themselves, you shouldn’t worry either. So, with a smile and a nod, you, too, began to sort through the food. You put your thermos next to you before filling your plate. Of course, you were not surprised when Lilia placed a near whole tomato on his plate. “You really do like tomatoes, huh?” you mused.

“They are quite refreshing,” Lilia concurred. “I could eat an entire bag if I were particularly famished.” He let out a small laugh. “You should have seen the look on Kalim’s face the first time he saw me bite into one, like you would an apple. He was flabbergasted! I don’t think he’s ever seen anyone do that - nor Cater, for that matter.”

“It isn’t a very common thing to do. I would have been just as surprised if I saw you do that.”

“What’s life without a little surprise - a little oddness?” Lilia laid a few red cherries next to his tomato slices. “I find both most entertaining.”

As you began to eat your own food, you examined Lilia’s own spread. You saw almost nothing but red: Red apple slices, red tomato slices, red cherries, little red grapes. Your brows furrowed as you observed this pattern. Lilia noticed and teased you with, “Now, what has you ogling my plate so?” He tittered as he continued with, “Do you think I eat too much for my age?~”

“No, not at all!” you earnestly denied. “It’s just that, well…you seem to eat red foods more than other colored foods.”

“Do I?” Though Lilia feigned innocence, you had a feeling he already knew that. “Well, red is my favorite color. While every shade catches my eye, deeper hues - like crimson and rouge - hold a bit more favoritism.” He shrugged, “I suppose it’s just a subconscious habit of mine, being drawn to foods and other things that are red.”

Yeah, you guessed that made sense. It wasn’t your intention to, your eyes focused in on his fangs as he bit into a cracker, stacked with cheese and tomatoes. They disappeared from view as he closed his mouth to chew; the fae hummed in delight as the many flavors melted on his tongue. A silly little idea came into your mind - you tried your best to stifle your giggle. As Lilia swallowed his bite, the corner of his mouth tugged upwards along with his eyebrow. “Goodness, laughing now? What’s so funny, hm?”

“It’s nothing, really,” you assured as you tried to calm down the laughter bubbling in your throat.

“No no, now you’ve tickled my curiosity.” Lilia scooted a little closer, crimson eyes narrowed and lips quirked into a smirk. “Come on, let’s hear it.”

For a split second, you wondered if it’d be rude to voice your little imagining aloud. Would he be offended by such a thing? No, likely not. This was Lilia Vanrouge you were talking to. If there was anyone who could take a joke, spin a wild thread, it was him. “I was just thinking how you resembled a vampire.”

“Oh really?” Lilia seemed quite interested in your comparison. He set his half-eaten cracker down on his plate and placed it on the blanket. His full attention was now on you. “Go on.”

“Well, I mean, like you said, you like red a lot. To the point you even eat certain foods,” you gestured to his thermos of tomato juice, “drink certain drinks, that are red. You don’t like sunlight because it tires you out - though I’m not sure why that is.”

“The Valley of Thorns is a particularly shaded continent,” Lilia interjected. “Most of its terrain is covered by thick trees with large canopies. The brightest of days are fairly tame compared to those in other countries. Despite spending most of my life in the military, my eyes have always been a little sensitive to bright light. That, and the only place that is really hot in temperature there are the few volcanoes spotted throughout the land. Other than those ghastly places, it's typically a cool place.”

That made sense. You wondered if Silver, Sebek, and Malleus also had some type of heat intolerance. You’d have to ask that later. “I can see why you’d hate the heat then - and the sun.”

“Well, I don’t hate it. A little warmth and sunlight are nice - just not too much, not too bright.”

“Mm-mm,” you nodded. “Still, that is similar to how a vampire is. You also can summon little bats at will, you can hang upside down-”

“Anyone can hang upside down, [y/n],” Lilia chuckled. “Whether by magic or physical capability, it’s an action anyone can partake in.”

“You want to hear the rest of my answer or not?” you scoffed, though a laugh hid beneath your mild scolding.

Lilia held up his hand in a mock defense. “Goodness, such a temper! Feisty thing, aren’t you?” He let out a little laugh of his own. “Alright, alright, my lips are sealed until you finish.”

You almost expected him to tease you further and begin to speak just as you did. When you silently opened your mouth to test that theory, you were proven wrong. Lilia sat there and uttered not a word; he simply looked at you with a smile, blinking every few seconds. Deciding he was through with his jabs (for now), you continued. “You’re hundreds of years old, despite looking like you’re no older than most of our classmates. You have pale skin, red slitted eyes, and,” you pointed to his mouth, “you have fangs.”

“I most certainly do.” Lilia opened his mouth for a brief moment to showcase the sharp canines. “Almost all fae get a pair. They come in such good handy when biting into things.”

“If I didn’t know better, that would sound ominous,” you joked.

Lilia’s eyes narrowed again - those crimson orbs nearly glowed in the dim light. You hadn’t even noticed the sun had nearly disappeared behind the horizon. “Do you though?” he asked.

You were clearly puzzled, brows furrowed and smile disappearing as you tried to gather what he meant. “Do I what?”

He leaned a little closer to you, to where you could just barely feel his breath ghost over your skin - your lips. “Know better?~”

Lilia’s gaze held yours - you were absolutely mesmerized. Though you never really bothered to look, you now couldn’t help but notice how handsome Lilia was. His looks were rather boyish and youthful, yes, but there was a maturity within his features. The way his voice took a small octave downturn as he spoke those two words…there were no sun rays to blame for the heat that spread to your cheeks.

“Father!”

In quick succession, you and Lilia leaned away from each other and turned your heads in the direction of the voice. There was Silver, dressed in an open tropical shirt (Lilia had gifted it to him the weekend before), chestnut brown shorts, and black sandals. His hair was a little messy, a little out of breath as he approached you two. “I’m sorry for being late! I accidentally fell asleep - again. I shouldn’t have-”

“Silver, it’s alright!” Lilia beckoned Silver to come down - the boy followed without hesitation. As Lilia straightened his son’s hair for the second time that day, he reassured him with a chuckle. “You’ve had a long day; I’d expect a boy of your age to fall asleep after such an adventure. That, and we’re on vacation,” he patted Silver on the head and gave him a cheery smile, “it’s okay to be tardy on vacation.”

“Yeah, it’s okay, Silver.” You gave the man a smile of your own. “You’re not too late, either. We’ve only been here for about…” You looked back at the sea, the sun now fully gone, the moon having taken its place in the sky. “Uh…maybe fifteen minutes?”

“Twenty,” Lilia corrected. He patted the space adjacent to him on the blanket, next to the small cooler. “Come, sit! I brought your favorite popsicles~” Lilia brought the box out of the cooler and shook it to entice Silver further.

Silver finally seemed at ease. He sighed and, with a soft smile of his own, sat down on the blanket. “If I’m really not intruding…”

“Intruding on what?” Lilia glanced in your direction. “[Y/n] and I were just having a fun little conversation about how I resembled a vampire!” He turned his attention back to Silver. “What do you think? Should I start sleeping in a coffin to really send the comparison home?~”

“I don’t think that’d be very comfortable, Father.”

The conversation and atmosphere turned fun and lively, paired with the cozy warm of a fire Silver started a little further into your picnic. It was a truly wonderful time! Though you couldn’t keep your mind from wandering back to that moment between you and Lilia just before Silver appeared. How close he’d been, the way you could see those fangs of his peek out from under his upper lip. How a part of you wished he would have given your bottom lip a nibble…would his lips taste like tomato, perhaps paired with the basil from the crackers? Did he notice the blush that crept up on your cheeks?

You suddenly had the urge to bury your head in the sand.

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 1 year

Note

how do all the lackadaisy characters react to getting sick/how do the handle the situation. Thanks!! :3c

Lumping these two asks together as they are the same request. Ask and ye shall receive! (A collaborative effort between multiple of our authors as it does involve the whole cast.)

ROCKY

Sick? What do you mean sick. In his over twenty-two years of living thus far he's never been sick once. He has the immune system of a titan, what are you talking about.

Questions he whilst leaning heavily on the bar counter for support lest he is knocked to the ground in a feverish pile by this sudden earthquake that apparently no one else is noticing like seriously you guys shouldn't we evacuate the place?!

In his defense, he's right about one thing: illness seems to avoid him as prevalently and miraculously as death itself. He could get stuck in the rain, take cold mud baths, sleep outside in winter snow, hug someone with Spanish flu, taste the pavement of a rat-infested alley and drink raw sewage and still come out of it all fit as a fiddle.

(Whether he carries anything is a different question, though with the various microorganisms inside him he seems to live in an overwhelmingly peaceful coexistence.)

But every rule has exceptions. And since he frequently does end up in all those situations, when once a millennium he comes down with something it's hard to tell the cause.

How he handles it can be summed up in a short answer of: he doesn't. He refuses to acknowledge it until he's physically incapacitated. If asked about it he keeps insisting that he's fine, a-okay, dandy as can be, never has existed a more invigorated healthy young man on Earth. At best he may invent a perfectly unconvincing excuse, like allergies acting up. (Inside underground caves. In winter. When he's never been allergic to anything in his entire life.)

Aside from perhaps unsuccessfully forbidding him from causing more grievous disturbances than usual, people usually opt to just leave him to it, because once he's set his mind on being "fine" logical reasoning and sound advice are only breath wasted. Ever well-intentioned, Mitzi still tells him to get some rest every now and then, yet keeps stumbling into the boy as he's fumbling through whatever that unresting intent has currently possessed him to be doing.

This wouldn't be such an issue with, say, a cold, because regardless of his masochistic eagerness for activity it inevitably does pass, but if it's something that necessitates any amount of bedrest... well, good luck.

For one he hasn't really a place to rest. I mean... there's the car. No one but Ivy at the Lackadaisy seems to know he technically lives in there, and he's not too enthusiastic to disclose it himself; besides anywhere else actually suitable, like in Mitzi's apartment, he'd just feel like a capital nuisance.

But let's suppose a scenario with the ideal location and someone who cares enough to stick by and ensure he actually does stay put. Shouldering such a responsibility, they must be prepared for a minimum of two things.

For one: he's going to be even more unbearably talkative than usual. Because what else is there left for a restless spirit if the flesh is restrained? Nothing but to complain and lament and versify and prattle on incessantly about whatever comes careening hither along a changeful stream of consciousness. Albeit unwittingly, driving others insane with his aimless rambling is how he keeps himself... well, something.

It's like if his mind had to stop running at maximum speed for just a few minutes it would promptly crash for good. Which, for all we know, may really be the case.

(This is just my two cents, but: I think giving him drawing implements and a coloring book or just plain paper might keep him very nicely occupied, as well as relatively quiet. Be sure to provide plenty of paper though, if you don’t want him to start drawing on other things not meant to be drawn on when the supply runs out like an unsupervised kid... unless you welcome the idea of your walls and furniture being covered in doodles.)

The other, possibly more arduous challenge is keeping him inside the room in the first place. Not understanding nor agreeing with his special treatment largely experienced as imprisonment on his end, he seizes each arising opportunity to attempt to weasel away somehow.

And he's a trained escape artist.

Watch him closely but look away for even a second, and you'll find no trace of him left in the room when you look back. Lock him in there, he'll pick the lock in a pinch - or attempt the window, which depending on the floor number may carry various levels of risk. Tie him down (because you're getting desperate by now) and you're likely to stumble into him minutes later by the front door, having already wriggled his way out. Doesn’t matter which knot was used, he knows most of them by heart. (And even if he didn’t happen to, he’s resourceful enough.)

Like I’ve said before, he perseveres in resisting his confinement for as long as he's capable of moving his limbs around and some vague semblance of coherent thought. Even with his brains cooking with delirium one may have to rescue him as he's crawling along on the floor dragging with him the tangle of blankets he was last left swaddled in, not entirely clear on what direction he's headed but by all means dedicated.

He's not above manipulation either, in order to divert his warden’s attention or make them relinquish his firm supervision rooted in concern for his well-being. Because it's not like he's concerned about it; so why should anyone else be? In addition he's unshakably certain that his role in the Lackadaisy's rumrunning force as well as there in general is absolutely vital and requires that he always be available for employment regardless of if he’s even in a proper state for it. (Just look at the latest comic arc, for crying out loud.)

But psst. Here's a little personal tip, for (Y/N) specifically. If reasonable advice hits deaf ears, and cuffing him to a bedpost yields little results other than another mildly baffling escape attraction, there remains one other thing to try with better chances of success... a more hands-on approach, if you catch my drift.

(Cuddling. I'm talking about cuddling. If you've got a good grip on this string bean of a man he is certainly not going anywhere so long as you're vigilant. Doing so, of course, means risking your own health, which he won't fail to coyly point out either; but he'll otherwise put up minimal resistance and ultimately cave in because God knows he’s touch deprived and doesn't get held enough otherwise. Well, by not enough I mean not at all, ever. But that's exactly why it's a good thing you're here, isn't it?)

Overall, as amusing of a story collection to recount as his commonly absurd ailing escapades might provide later down the line, the fact that they very rarely happen is no doubt for the best. He engages in enough troublesome shenanigans as is.

FRECKLE

Surprisingly pragmatic about it. Yep. He's getting symptoms. Looks like he contracted something.

Best be careful about it... mostly because Nina wouldn't allow him running himself ragged anyhow.

Along with other moral virtues he's had honesty drilled into him from kittenhood. And although it's not always an option in... other matters... he's upfront about how he's feeling physically if not much else, and eventually does come to terms with it. (Once he’s confirmed with certainty that it’s not just the general nauseated feeling he gets whenever he thinks too deeply about his “work” nowadays.)

He doesn't want to infect other people, or incur the stern concern of his mother, so at the very least he stays around the house, doing small, mostly undemanding chores. He's aware it's not expected of him nor recommended, but he has a bit of restlessness to him too.

Mostly because, were it bad enough to confine him to bed in a blanketed bundle of suffering incarnate, all he'd be able to think about is that God's wrath finally caught up with him for being a horrible person and this was part of his rightful punishment. Even worse if he got a nasty fever; it's like he's already burning in Hell.

Distractions may be scarce, but if he's been told off from chores for sneezing on the washing-up or exhausting himself with much too overzealous hammering, he opts to read instead. Over the years he's amassed quite the collection of books, renowned classics and youth literature, and most of them still give off the fluttering remnants of a good kind of nostalgia when flipping through the pages.

And besides, immersing himself in someone else's story is far more pleasant than fretting over his own current predicaments.

Some company, from a safe distance of course, will do him wonders as well. Nina is not the most conversational woman around, and aside from checking on him regularly and ensuring his wellbeing they don't make much meaningful contact.

Rocky likely pops in from time to time however, forever enthused to just run his mouth for as long as allowed, and although he may get a bit too bombastic for Calvin's comparative lack of vitality sometimes he appreciates the distraction more than he's able to express it. And, believe it or not, it's not entirely one-sided either. Rocky has developed a keen sense for his quiet cousin's intent to contribute and will more than gladly listen to what he has to say.

He’ll also forward Ivy’s wishes for Calvin to get well soon as she’s just dying to be able to meet with him at the speakeasy again. (Definitely also attaches a teasing remark or two to the message.) Then he’s eventually ushered out by Nina and as soon as his hasty goodbyes are swallowed by the outdoors Calvin finds himself missing the noise already.

The paralyzed stillness of being sick gets to him a lot more than it shows… seeing as it leaves him a little too alone with his own mind. So he sinks into the comfort of old books until he’s incapacitated by a headache and sore eyes, and diligently rakes those seven leaves that had gathered across the back lawn since he last attended to them two hours before, and lingers outside in the garden until warmer hues overtake a sun-painted sky and the evening chill starts to bite, taking in all things green and alive and in motion to remind himself that he’s not a walking corpse. Not yet, anyway.

Due to his mom’s supervision as well as his own eagerness to follow instructions in order to escape his personal limbo as soon as possible, he does tend to recover fairly fast; and he’s a pretty hardy young lad, thank goodness, so it’s all quite uncommon of an ordeal. In short it’s back to the ol’ grindstone in a jiffy; you know, the kind of grindstone that pulverizes mortal lives and churns out dripping blood.

But hey, best not stop and mull over it too long.

IVY

Oh, it's a nightmare for her.

You mean she can't go out in the evenings anymore? Can't go shopping with friends? Can't procure booze with her criminal coworkers? Can't attend dates with her cute new boyfriend? (Well, those last two are one and the same, really.)

These are all vital activities for a young woman like her to pursue! What else is she supposed to do? Rot in her room and steer clear of all fun whilst everyone else keeps going on with their lives?!

Some flimsy cold is nowhere near enough to keep her away from the beloved Lackadaisy. She can still man the café counter with a little sniffle (taking care to sneeze on no one's food) or look absolutely gorgeous on the dancefloor decked in glimmering pearls and feathers with a slightly paler constitution. But if it's bad enough that she simply must stay put...

During classes the still life of an empty dormitory fills with upbeat contemporary tunes from her bedstand radio as she lies upon crumpled bedsheets, clad in her prettiest pajamas, surrounded by an almost ritualistic circle of tissues and magazines whilst flipping through one of the latter with her legs girlishly dangling in the air. This is likely the scene any visitors are greeted by as well.

She looks like she's coping rather well... until verbal contact ensues and she begins her long string of complaints about how she's feeling utterly miserable. Runny nose, sore throat, grating cough, an unshakable sense of fatigue and she can't even go anywhere! Her classmates are off studying or having fun themselves (as well as deliberately avoiding contact with her for obvious reasons), and she's got nothing to look at but patterned wallpaper and pictures of pretty clothes she currently can't even visit the boutiques for.

But once the grievances are shared she promptly guides the spotlight in their direction, upon which they are to share every last bit of information and news about all most recent ongoings in the world of the healthy. It is a requirement (she will not let them go until they oblige), but also an opportunity; they're welcome to spill the beans on how their week has been and any noteworthy things that happened to them and also to just chat with her about whatever else comes up in the process.

Another way she keeps herself involved with the outside world is through the telephone. The local operator can already tell if she's under the weather by the prevalence of hearing her slightly weathered, juvenile voice squeak for connection to mostly one line throughout the day.

Her calls may also be scheduled to a certain hour so that everyone can come up to Mitzi's office and say hi. That "everyone" overwhelmingly ends up being Rocky, who lingers around there a bit more insistently than usual nearing that time frame and never fails to make his presence known by shouting his own greetings and cheerful encouragements of perseverance into the receiver.

She always asks him about Viktor and Calvin since the former disappointingly refuses to engage with her calls, and the latter doesn't visit because boys aren't allowed in the dormitory... and because he's afraid of catching her sickness. (What a chicken.)

You’d better believe they both get a scolding once she’s recovered for not contacting her at all… though you can’t really stay mad at sheepishly apologetic, babyfaced Freckle McMurray, now can you

Supposing the presence of company who’s emotionally close enough, she may also get clingy in the physical sense. Yes, she knows it’s not very courteous to rub your germs all over someone, but oh, her head is just killing her and she’s exhausted and achy and utterly sick of being sick, hence she desperately needs to rest her chin on someone’s shoulder and latch onto their soft warmth. Really, they brought this upon themselves by daring to enter the sniffly lion cub’s den. Now they’re likely not allowed to move for… let’s say the next two hours. Alternatively, until she has to go to the bathroom or ask them to get her something to drink.

Yes, she’s a bit of a princess; and especially when she’s miserable she may occasionally indulge in showering a willing servant with her various requests. Fetch her this, throw away that, bring hot chocolate and snacks, take out the trash, give her attention. But how could you say no to those big, innocent eyes?

If it’s a schoolmate she will absolutely persuade them to skip their classes for the day and spend time with her instead, offering cuddles and gossip. Forgetting, or ignoring rather, that not everyone can afford to be so lax about their education. Though surely, full-time service as a personal maid slash stuffed animal is making a much better use of their time. She promises to do the same when they inevitably catch the illness themselves, if that’s any consolation.

Nightly adventures and consequent loss of sleep aside, she takes decent care of herself overall, so the understimulating agony of quarantined solitude luckily isn’t something she suffers more of than the average person… albeit that little she’s an expert at suffering luxuriously.

VIKTOR

No, he's not sick, you're just lying. The great, the indomitable, the fierce Viktor Vasco never gets sick.

Denial is definitely a big part of it. He will not admit to getting sick until he's too weak to stand, and even then he'll fight anyone who tries to get him to rest.

The boredom is somehow scarier than actual health concerns. Staying at home and being too ill to do anything except think means he'll think. And thinking leads to a whole load of other things that he doesn't want to get into.

Essentially, getting sick is a liability to everything, from his job to his sense of self.

However, good luck on trying to make him better. He will also stubbornly refuse any help that comes his way, will slam his door in the doctor's face and threaten to tear apart anyone who so much as suggests getting him medicine.

His colleagues from Lackadaisy have taken to asking Mrs Bapka, his neighbour, to administer anything they want to give him themselves (he will draw a line at punching an old woman and fellow Slovakian immigrant), or Ivy (no one can successfully dispose of Ivy and her headstrong attitude. No one.)

The last person he had actually listened to when he was sick was a certain Mordecai Heller. Needless to say, that's not the case anymore.

Maybe that's what really makes him so grumpy and reluctant.

ZIB

His immune system is either rock hard or absolute dogshit, there is no in-between. He can go through a crowd of cats with nasty 'bouts of the flu without catching it, but gets bedridden by something as small as a head cold.

Said wonky immune system may be because he tends to drink stuff cut with the most ridiculous ingredients (radiator fluid, coffin varnish, paint, water, mud, you name it he's probably tasted it)

When he gets laid up, he gets laid up hard (innuendo not intended). He has to drag himself out of bed during the worst parts of it and may not even bother, electing to curl up and shiver/cry from the pain/die where he's comfortable. His band members have to literally drag him out of there on those days and force food down his throat so he doesn't wither away

Goddammit you lanky noodle bitch look after your sick ass don't make everyone do it for you

MORDECAI

He hates falling ill with a passion. It's one of many reasons he drinks tea so often: if he does get sick, it won't hit him so hard.

He tends to try and shrug off small stuff (runny nose, mild to moderate headache, aches and pains) to go to work anyway; but he's no fool. If he really feels icky he'll stay at home and look after himself. As much as he hates to do it, he's only got one body and somebody has to look after it.

The Savoys bash/tease him relentlessly whenever he comes in sick. If the mild headache becomes something worth staying at home for, they'll go as far as to try and visit him (or get him to come to them). Is it guilt about ragging him about it, them missing him or just boredom? Hard to tell with those two.

Serafine once teased about playing as his "mama" and looking after him until he's better. Mordecai, in his sickness-muddled mind, flew off the handle at her...Though all the Savoys saw was him almost break a glass in his paws before telling them flatly to get out.

Neither one realized Serafine had hit a nerve until he refused to let them in for a few days after. Whether it was something about his past or Serafine betraying his trust to get him into her group, they let it go and pretended nothing happened once he was back in action (though there was a noticeably thicker wall between him and them)

SERAFINE/NICODEME

Meet the "clingy" duo.

They don't get sick often and have impressive immune systems, what with their past roaming the swamps and other dangerous conditions, but when they do? Oh boy...

They'll either cling to each other in private, or play it up and annoy a hapless colleague.

And by "hapless colleague", I mean Mordecai—because of course it is.

Sickness is less of an actual, preventive ailment, but rather an excuse to show off some dramatic acting skills.

"Oh, cher, I simply cannot move until you bring me some nice warm tea and chocolate!"

"If I die, tell the world I was warm and safe, because of our dear ami, Heller..."

"For crying out loud, you've both got nothing but a cold."

They'll still play it up.

Just because your nose is stuffy doesn't mean the rest of you has to be.

The show must go on, mon cher.

WICK

He gets sick really, really easily. He stays up late at night often, so he doesn't get much rest and his immunity suffers for it.

(Licking rock walls probably doesn't help with that. Muffinhead (affectionate))

He still does work and goes out when he's sick, which results in papers with shitty writing and his friends urging him to go and rest up, "we can go with you another day".

When he's not thinking straight he'll whine to Lacie about how no one wants to see him when he's sick; ignoring the fact that she's either making him food, putting a cold cloth on his head or literally came by just to say hi to him

He's a bit dim sometimes, but he's a loveable dim.

The easiest way to see how sick he is is to mention putting the work on pause or crack a joke at his expense. If he rapidly objects to not working or good-naturedly shrugs off the joke, it's a small thing, nothing to worry about. If all he has to say in response to not working is "I can't" and he tries to defend himself from the joke (or even worse, agrees with it), he's feeling god-awful.

Lacie tends to hide the alcohol away until he's feeling better. During the week or so he's really feeling foggy this actually works, since in his addled state he can't properly look for them.

MITZI (BONUS since she's been getting a fair bit of attention)

Mitzi doesn't get sick. She becomes inconvenienced.

She's also a real bitch when she's sick. It's less of a slipping mask and more of a "I can't be nice when my brain feels too big for my skull"

She'll still grin and bear it for Rocky. He's positively devoted to her, after all; the least she can do is swallow her nasty remarks and come up with something softer for him.

Some cats swear that she never falls ill or has anything happen to her...Usually because once it does happen she locks herself in her office and won't open the door if you're not Horatio or Viktor.

If another cat somehow gets through her door, can put up with her attitude swings and goes out of their way to help her through her illness, she may very well open up a little and talk to them easier. Something as small as a cup of tea during a ravenous headache will convince the then-bitchy queen that you're not all bad-and later that since you put up with her ravenous insults and still helped her, maybe you're worth swallowing her pride for and confiding in.

#{ahah!! hello!! Rory here!! so you may notice the slightly uneven distribution of (Y/N) here}#{even in my own parts I left Calvin out of it. the poor boy}#{and Rocky's easily goes over 1k because I got a bit excited. as you may guess he's my favorite}#{but reminder that (granted that requests are open at the time) we're more than happy to provide further servings of any of our concepts}#{more specialized or in-depth or what-have-you}#{although this IS a brew of headcanons. which are usually brief. I just got a tad eager with my first contribution here I suppose}#{hello to our lovely readers by the way!! :3}#{💌 mod rory 💌}#🦉mod iphiko #🖋 mod ille #Headcanon Home Brew #Rocky Rickaby #Calvin “Freckle” McMurray #Ivy Pepper #Viktor Vasko #Dorian “Zib” Zibowski #Mordecai Heller #Serafine Savoy #Nicodeme Savoy #Sedgewick “Wick” Sable #Mitzi May #headcanon #lackadaisy

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esther-dot · 3 months

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"I had bad dreams," Shireen told him. "About the dragons. They were coming to eat me."-ACOK(Prologue).

"Teora gave a tiny nod, chin trembling. "They were dancing. In my dream. And everywhere the dragons danced the people died."- TWOW.

Both Shireen and Teora had bad dreams about dragons. Apparently Dany having dragon dreams means they are heroes.

Dreaming of dragons always seems to be a bad thing! We not only have the little girls' nightmares, we have all the Targs who dreamed of them because they wanted them:

"I see them in my dreams, Sam. I see a red star bleeding in the sky. I still remember red. I see their shadows on the snow, hear the crack of leathern wings, feel their hot breath. My brothers dreamed of dragons too, and the dreams killed them, every one. Sam, we tremble on the cusp of half-remembered prophecies, of wonders and terrors that no man now living could hope to comprehend . . . or . . ." (AFFC, Samwell III)

And in both versions of dragon dreams, it's negative/ominous. Knowing what will befall Shireen, your quotes hit even harder.

I was trying to guess as to why the fandom doesn't worry about the warnings in quotes like this, and I suppose, initially, when Dany had her dragon dreams, we're entirely sympathetic to the desire because of Viserys' abuse. That makes it easy to miss the transition from the idea that dragons would protect a little girl (Dany) to being an object of fear for little girls and eventually killing one (Hazzea). It lulls fans into viewing them as one thing before revealing them for what they truly are:

"Are you deaf, fool?" Reznak mo Reznak demanded of the man. "Did you not hear my pronouncement? See my factors on the morrow, and you shall be paid for your sheep." "Reznak," Ser Barristan said quietly, "hold your tongue and open your eyes. Those are no sheepbones." No, Dany thought, those are the bones of a child. (ADWD, Daenerys I)

And of course, that evolution of Dany from a little girl needing protection into the one with the dragon who kills little girls, from the mother of people to the mother of dragons, that tells us that her dragon dreams will lead to devastation for countless others:

Her name had been Hazzea. She was four years old. (ADWD, Daenerys II)

and

No queen has clean hands, Dany told herself. She thought of Doreah, of Quaro, of Eroeh … of a little girl she had never met, whose name had been Hazzea. Better a few should die in the pit than thousands at the gates. This is the price of peace, I pay it willingly. If I look back, I am lost. (ADWD, Daenerys, VIII)

and

"Drogon killed a little girl. Her name was … her name …" Dany could not recall the child's name. That made her so sad that she would have cried if all her tears had not been burned away. "I will never have a little girl. I was the Mother of Dragons." (ADWD, Daenerys X)

And I suspect, the idea is that the dragons (fire and blood) will lead to her own demise as well.

#dot chat #anti daenerys

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montrealmadison · 2 months

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I'd love to read a happy snuggly fic about Bitty & Jack.

Number #15 (for Bitty 😉)

thank you for this delightful prompt! whenever i get stuck on where to start with jack and bitty, i always revert to them snuggling. this was a really nice excuse to polish a scene that i've had kicking around my WIP folder forever. hope it's okay that the boys took it in a, shall we say, steamy direction. ❤️

15. zimbits + happy snuggly vibes + I Love You Always Forever by Betty Who for @jadedmandarin81

You’ve got the most unbelievable blue eyes I’ve ever seen You’ve got me almost melting away

Hot morning sun on his shoulders, a big, hot hand on the small of his back, and Bitty has no clue where he is.

He blinks, and—right. His childhood bedroom, sometime after sunrise: lemon-yellow walls, a mess of posters, crisp white curtains hanging limp from the humidity. It can’t be very late, because Coach’s morning shower isn’t whining through the walls yet. July fifth dawns the same every blessed year: Mama having a lie-in, Coach firing up the truck, long lazy days of few words and a blue sky and a beer that Bitty's too young to be drinking. Lord, what he wouldn’t give to be fifteen and at the lake right now, cold water closing over his head.

He brings himself slowly back to earth by wishing really hard that the Olympic-sized rink behind Michelle Kwan’s paper smile would just sort of… replace the air conditioner they haven’t been able to afford to fix for years. As it stands, he’s fucking hot.

Jack, for all that he’s peaceful in sleep, is not helping. Bitty’s cheek is stuck to his bare chest, his massive thighs are trapping Bitty’s calves, and every inch of bare skin in between is tacky and gross. The Jack of his dreams is so tangled up with the call of the ice that he feels like he should be cold by default. Jack should be white and gray and blue; frosted winter mornings, distant sun, minty breath. The Jack of reality is—well, he’s beautiful, dark sweeping lashes and all that, but he’s just as sweaty as Bitty is and his breath definitely does not smell like mint.

Bitty doesn’t mind.

read more below or on ao3 | request a fic here

He’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop. From the moment they’d locked eyes at baggage claim, this weekend has been the weirdest song and dance: Bitty letting Jack into his life inch by inch, arranging the pieces of his soul for approval. Here’s where I went to high school. Here’s our family dinner table. Here’s my truck bed. Let’s make out. In return, apparently, he gets to have this now: his college hockey captain, on his back in Bitty’s bed, breathing slow and deep and measured with his hand skimming Bitty’s ass.

That’s my best friend. The thought makes Bitty feel floaty and weird. He knows Jack’s gym schedule and the slant of his real smile and what he eats for breakfast, but he’s only seen him sleep once: the morning of graduation, when they’d climbed up to the roof of Faber and Bitty had woken up on Jack’s shoulder, in the folds of a jacket that smelled like him.

He hadn’t let himself believe, even then, that they might be more. After all, the thing about Jack is that sooner or later he’s always stopped being Jack and turned back into Jack Zimmermann, a living legend in the shape of a teammate. Bitty had pretended it was easy, once, not to lean into the intimacy of knowing just a little more than everyone else. It feels new and exhilarating and dangerous for him to get to see Jack like this now, all pretenses abandoned, one of his wildest fantasies come to life.

Jack chooses that moment to stir, like he can hear Bitty’s thoughts shouting his name. Bitty feels the flush rising in his cheeks, embarrassed that Jack’s caught him staring—but Jack doesn’t seem to mind, just lets out a long satisfied breath through his nose and murmurs, morning-low, “Bittle.”

Lord, but that makes something pop in Bitty’s gut and then fizzle into butterflies. Before last night he’d never even really been kissed before, and now—and now. His senses are overloaded, filled with the flash-fire knowledge that at long last someone else wants this as badly as he does.

“Jack,” he says, sure that his morning voice must sound squeaky and childish in comparison.

But Jack’s eyes on his face are sleepy dark blue, weighty with something that looks a hell of a lot like approval. Bitty follows the slow roll of Jack’s Adam’s apple so he won’t do something really embarrassing, like explode and die.

“Bitty,” Jack sighs again. Jesus Christ. There go Bitty’s chances of getting out of this bed alive. “‘S’hot.”

“Yes,” Bitty grumps, but neither of them make a move to separate. That self-satisfied thing flashes through him again. Jack is, apparently, so into this, into him; the bruises to prove it are probably already darkening low on his belly and hips. Being watched this way makes Bitty feel slightly insane, drunk with power.

“I like this,” Jack says. His voice rumbles, far-off thunder. Bitty thinks about flash floods, dams breaking, the crackshot sound of shattering ice.

“What?”

“Waking up with you.”

There’s the sincerity that’s been driving Bitty wild all weekend. He’s long since mastered the art of lying smoothly through his teeth, but Jack’s graceless honesty punches holes through every pretense he can muster. It’s how Jack got him on his back in the truck bed last night, why they apparently can’t stop talking unless they find other ways to occupy their mouths. Just like that, Bitty's cheeks are in full flame.

“Me too,” he says, too quickly. Jack doesn’t seem to notice. His arms are huge, and Bitty is welcome in them. He feels positively unhinged. He has zero desire to move.

“Do we have to get up?”

“Probably,” Bitty groans, seizing the change of topic with both hands. He thunks his forehead into Jack’s shoulder for emphasis. “Coach’ll be up soon.”

“‘Kay,” says Jack, not moving one blessed inch.

Bitty squirms a little, thrilled. They keep ending up on the same page, wanting the same things. Feeling bold, Bitty mouths over the hot expanse of skin between Jack's shoulder and his neck, loving the way Jack immediately makes that pleased sound deep in his throat.

"Sorry."

“For—ah."

Jack honest-to-god moans when Bitty reaches the spot beneath his ear, and that's it: Bitty's deceased. He's gone. He's gonna die right here in his childhood bedroom, and he'll be damn well pleased about it. "Don't be—sorry for what?”

“That it’s not private,” Bitty murmurs. He waves his free hand toward the door, beyond which his parents hopefully believe that Bitty and his good friend Jack are passed out in separate rooms after the (completely tame, very platonic) excitement of last night's festivities. It seems like a tall order even in his head. He's gonna have to spend the next month before he goes back to school being very careful about the thoughts he lets show on his face.

When Bitty flexes his toes against Jack's bare leg under the sheets to prompt an answer, Jack hums a little, turns and drags his nose lightly across Bitty's forehead. "Don’t be sorry,” he says. “Actually, I was thinking about that last night."

"You were? Huh," Bitty says. "Sounds like I didn't do a very good job, then."

Jack gives him a gentle, one-handed shove. "After... uh, well. After that." He blushes so pretty, right over his nose and hot up his cheeks. Bitty kind of wants to eat him whole. "What would you say about coming to visit me?"

Forget what he’d say; Bitty can barely even think about it without going insane. Just the two of them, alone, four soundproof walls and a chance to figure this out for real. "In Providence?"

"Yes,” Jack says. “And we can do, um. More. Of what we did last night.”

Bitty is acutely aware of Jack’s hand, which is now rubbing little circles into his back, and all the other places it was last night, and how much he’d like for it to be in those places again.

“Yes, okay,” he says, too quickly to be polite; Jack is grinning, though, so. Right answer.

"Deal."

Bitty smiles back, megawatt. "Deal."

"First I have to make it home, though," Jack says. "Got a whole kitchen to get ready for you, eh?"

He says get ready like it has multiple meanings, and Bitty gets to pick the one he wants. Despite the heat, he finds himself shivering in anticipation.

"Sounds amazing," Bitty says, definitely not just talking about the kitchen. He shoves Jack back, teasing. This is his best friend and so much more. "Then you better get packin', mister, you got a flight to catch."

When the alarm clock goes off down the hall, Jack rolls out of bed and goes for his bag, sleepy chirps in full effect. Bitty stays put, though, watching. The sun catches just right on the hard planes of Jack’s shoulders, melting winter into spring, and Bitty is okay with losing control.

#omgcp #omgcheckplease #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #zimbits #my writing #efickegster 2024 #thank you thank you this was so much fun ❤️ i hope you enjoy!

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brainsofseaweed · 3 months

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HELPPP I JUST FINISHED THE HOUSE OF HADES HOW DO I FUNCTION NOW?????

LIKE BRO WHAT

also i seem to have made a scientific discovery

apparently humans can fall in love with books

BECAUSE I AM IN LOVE WITH THESE BOOKS

THEY'RE SO GOOD DUDE I HAVE SCHOOLWORK TO DO BUT I JUST CANT PUT THEM DOWN YK

YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA HOW HAPPY I AM THAT PERCY AND ANNABETH ARE OKAY LIKE BRO I WAS SERIOUSLY WORRIED FOR THEM FOR A SEC and for many other times throughout the book but that's besides my point

I WAS SO SAD WHEN EVERYONE HAD SOMONE BUT LEO WAS ALL ALONE BUT THEN HE MET CALYPSOOO and i have to say i am REALLY JEALOUS

THAT SHOULD BE ME HOLDING YOUR HAND

THAT SHOULD BE ME MAKIN YOU LAUGHHHH

(yes i'm a lesbian but again thats besides the point)

BUT YEAH

OH AND obviously knowing who the author is YOU KNOW I HAD TO VIOLENTLY SOB AT THE BOB AN DAMASEN SACRIFICE

LIKE WDYM "tell the sun and stars i say hello"?????

WDYM AT THE END WHEN PERCY IS LOOKING AT THE STARS HE SAYS AND I QUOTE "bob says hello"

OH THAT WAS JUST PURE EVIL I TELL YOU

(add it to the list of things i'll never recover from ig)

i feel almost ALMOST as traumatised as percy and annabeth (i'm very much exaggerating and we all know it)

soooo anyways

i know i say this at the end of every single one of these but thank you for coming to my ted talk. truly.

yeah that's about it

imma start the blood of olympus now (i know i say this at the end too just ignore it)

also it's such a bizarre thought that just a month and a little bit ago i was just reading the lost hero?? why has time changed into a liquid i shall never know

BUT ANYWAYS I GOTTA GO NOW

peace out yall

till next time :)

#heroes of olympus #HoO #house of hades #pjo hoo #percy jackson #annabeth chase #leo valdez #percabeth #i also heard ther were no percabeth povs in BoO and i'm trying hard not to cry about that #it's okay tho i also heard we get reyna and nico povs #and you know how much i love reyna #and nico

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modern-day-bard · 3 months

Text

Worth The Feeling

Content Warning: 18+ This series contains explicit smut, intimidation, and an age gap relationship (26 x 40s). Minors, do not interact.

"Ava."

"Mmrph."

"Ava," I feel something soft on the top of my head, "We're here."

My eyes shoot open, remembering where I was, bracing for landing.

"Shh, shh. We've already landed." Javi's hand is stroking my hair, and I realize that his arm has been around me, and I had been asleep on his shoulder. My cheeks warm, and I hope immediately that no one else from the crew is sitting in our vicinity.

"I'm sorry," I say sitting up. I straighten my t-shirt and start to finger-comb my hair.

"For what?"

"Um...that." I gesture one of my hands toward his muscular chest, and where his arm is still resting on the back of my seat. Is it possible that his lips look even fuller in the morning?

He just shrugs, "I slept like a baby."

Everyone around us is already deboarding, and I realize that we must've landed more than ten minutes ago. Javi steps over me before reaching down and grabbing my backpack.

"You don't have to do that." I say, but he ignores me as he reaches for the overhead compartment. I was such a wreck yesterday that I didn't even know he stored something up there. He reaches up, exposing a line of skin in between the bottom of his crewneck and his jeans. I stare for a little too long, but manage to peel my eyes away before he turns back to me.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, and carrying my backpack in his left hand, he extends his right hand to me.

"Shall we?"

After customs and baggage claim, the smell of the Milan air hits me like a soft, warm pillow. Not that L.A. air isn't warm, but it certainly isn't as fresh as this. I stand outside the automatic sliding doors, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Then, as if the gods can sense my moment of peace, my phone rings.

"Hey, Dwayne." I try to sound chipper as Javi exits out of the door behind me.

"Ava, you landed?"

"Yep, just leaving the airport now. We're off today, right?" Maybe it would help if I physically crossed my fingers.

"Technically, yes. But we're shooting at sunrise tomorrow. You're one floor down from Wyatt and Gutierrez. I need you to get them at around one thirty."

"One thirty...a.m.?"

"Yes. The call sheet should already be in your room with their room numbers. Can you make sure they're up and on set by 2:30 tomorrow? Lake Como is about an hour away."

You mean tonight. "Absolutely. See you then."

I check the time after Dwayne hangs up. Apparently I was behind on sleep, because I had slept nearly the entire thirteen hours it took to get here. Was Javi seriously asleep that whole time? I hope I didn't force him to sit there in silence with the possibility of me drooling on his shoulder. I push that thought away for now. It's already almost five. We essentially need to go to the hotel now if we want time to eat and get enough sleep before waking up at one in the morning for a 2:30 call time. I know that making sure the talent is there by 2:30 means getting up early enough to find them coffee or breakfast before dropping them off. I sigh, wishing I could bring back the feeling of the Milan air before it had the weight of work on top of it.

"Not that I was eavesdropping," Javi comes up behind me. I'd almost forgotten he was there. Almost. "But did I hear you say one thirty?"

"Dwyane wants you and Jack on set by 2:30 tomorrow. It's about an hour away. So, unfortunately, I will be the one waking you up this time."

Javi lowers his voice, "I don't think that's unfortunate."

I look up at him expectantly, taking an unconscious step forward. He bends his neck down, his arm extending out to meet me. But whatever could have transpired between us is cut off by the doors sliding open again, and at least ten cast and crew members piling out onto the sidewalk.

In a flurry, Barb and Sophie come over. Sophie starts trying to hail a taxi, and Barb is telling me all about how first class changes you as a person. I cast a look at Javi, who glances at me smugly before Emma bounds over to him. She looks completely airbrushed, even after such a long flight. I see her grab his arm and say something about how excited she is for the reunion scene at the lake. I decide to stop listening at that point.

Before I know it, I'm in a cab with Sophie and Barb, and Javi climbs into one with Emma and Jack. And in a strange twist of events, I actually started to wish I was back on that plane.

- - -

Apparently, Milan hotel showers are quite small. At least the rooms where the crew are staying. Nevertheless, the water feels heavenly in my tired, jetlagged state. If we're lucky, sometimes the production will spring for our own individual rooms. But with Lake Como being a decently pricey location, Norwick Productions has us bunking together. They allowed us to request a roommate, so obviously I'm with Lana, but she isn't here yet. Which means I get to shower and decompress in peace, pretending I'm a fancy socialite traveling around Europe.

I take my time in the shower, doing all the extra things I don't usually have the time or energy to do at home. By the time I'm done, I feel placid and like I could actually fall asleep again. I even take the time to wrap myself up in the hotel robe and open the curtains to look out at the city lights. The sun has already set, and the ancient streets below me are sparkling. It's actually hitting me that I'm in Italy for the first time. I have to find time to visit the Cathedral at least, even if I need to sneak in after dark. The architecture is incredible. I walk over to the tiny desk by the window that has the call sheet on it. I want to figure out if there actually is a day off here somewhere. That's when I see my phone light up.

Javi: Did you eat?

I stare at the text for a moment. If it weren't for him texting me the restaurant details of our first date several weeks ago, I would probably assume it was a mistake. But no, it was actually him.

I hadn't eaten, and my stomach growls at the thought. Maybe he needs me to pick something up and doesn't want to ask explicitly given our history? However brief.

Ava: No, I haven't. Would you like me to pick something up for you?

I feel like a professional response is the safest. I know we're slightly more than coworkers at this point, but saying anything else feels presumptuous. I stare back at our conversation for a minute, and then two, but he doesn't even start typing. I put my phone down and flop on one of the nearby beds. I close my eyes, hoping I'll be lucid enough to hear my ringtone if he responds.

A light tapping sound. Three taps, to be exact.

I open my eyes, not sure how long I'd been laying there. I wasn't asleep, just resting and basking in the ability to fully stretch out my legs.

There's the sound again.

Sitting up, I realize that someone is knocking at my door. I look down. I'm still wearing the hotel robe, and my hair is still wet. As I walk toward the door, I hope more than anything it's not Dwayne with some last minute request. I suppose he probably would have called first, but you never know in film.

I step on my tippy toes, looking through the peephole.

It's Javi.

My hand flies to my chest. I hastily tie the knot on my robe a little tighter, and try to smooth back my damp hair. He's already knocked twice, and if I want to answer before he leaves, I need to open the door now. I take a deep breath, and unlatch the lock.

Javi smiles warmly at me, holding up a plastic bag.

"What's this?" I ask.

"Minibar provisions."

My mouth falls open, glancing back at my small double bed room. "You have a mini bar?"

"That face makes me think my predictions were correct. I assumed they only gave me, Jack and Emma rooms with food."

"You may be right, but you can't beat my view," I open my door wider, pointing behind me to the lights outside.

Javi smirks, and I get the feeling that I'm missing out on a private joke. There's a pause, I forgot how people would normally act in these situations.

"Would you like to come in?" I smile.

"I don't want to impose. I just wanted to drop the stuff off..." he glances inside the plastic bag, obviously not sure what to do either. That calms me slightly.

"Come in, enjoy the view." I wink before silently cursing myself yet again. Does everything have to sound so suggestive in his presence?

He walks over to the window, placing the plastic bag on the desk. He starts to take out the contents and display them for me.

"Everything is in Italian, obviously. But the pictures make it look good. We've got some pastries, chips, and I brought some wine...though on second thought maybe we won't do that seeing as we have to be up in a few hours." He finishes placing everything on the desk and makes a show out of it, splaying his hands like a QVC sales rep.

I giggle at his display, making his face brighten. I grab one of the pastries, opening the package and savoring the smell.

"I figured you'd be hungry."

"You know," I say with a mouthful of my first bite, "l'm really supposed to be doing this for you."

He shakes his head, "This is only fair, after everything you had to put up with when the photos leaked..."

I swallowed a little harder than necessary. "It really wasn't that bad." My voice betrayed me, making it sound like I was lying. And I wasn't, honestly. The photos weren't bad, my name wasn't tarnished. What was bad was our conversation and our decision. And what was worse was I can't tell what he wants anymore. We're avoiding each other as much as possible on set but then he's comforting me on the flight and bringing me room service? I keep thinking of how he said we could come up with an arrangement, and the word makes my skin crawl.

I'm distracted from my thoughts when Javi turns and closes the curtains, cutting off my view.

"Um, excuse me. I liked it better with those open."

"Mmm," he turns back with his arms crossed, "And I liked it better knowing that random Italians can't see you in that robe."

I choke a little on my food. "I'm on the third floor."

"With the lights on, you can see everything from the street," he leans his hand against the top of the desk chair, his expression so serious I almost laugh.

"You're seeing me in the robe."

His grip tightens on top of the chair, "I know."

I put the last of my pastry down on the desk before crossing my arms in front of myself, mirroring his serious face. Though I was joking at first, part of me is actually irritated at this point. So what if Italian men saw me right now? He was going to be kissing Emma multiple times in the next few weeks, and the thought of someone glancing up and seeing me in a robe is too much?

I push him aside, ripping the curtains back open. He sighs, bringing his fingers up to his temples. I lean my back against the window, raising an eyebrow.

"I appreciate the food, and what you did for me on the plane. But if you want me to be some secret arrangement behind closed doors–"

"Absolutely not," his eyes flare, "I wouldn't do that to you."

"Right. Just no one else can look at me."

Javi shakes his head slowly, crossing his arms again. His eyes slowly trail up from the floor to my eyes, and he just holds them there. We stare off at each other for several moments, both of us clearly irritated. It feels like we're each waiting for the other to break. Break on what, I'm not sure. But it won't be me.

I slip off one of the shoulders on my robe, his eyes going wide, instinctively uncrossing his arms. My gaze is still just as harsh as I rip off the other shoulder, pushing the fabric down dangerously low, stopping just above my nipples.

"Ava," his voice is gravelly and filled with warning.

"What? You won't touch me and no one else can? They can't even look at me?"

I'm surprised by how I sound. It's not coming out challenging, or seductive, or angry, like I want it to be. I sound hurt. My words are tired and bruised.

Javi moves, gently placing his calloused hands on my bare shoulders. I inhale a shaky breath. I can tell he's looking for ques of my discomfort, as usual. But there are none. His touch feels as though I've felt him for years. As angry as I feel, nothing about him ever makes me uncomfortable. And he must be able to sense it, because he tightens his grip on me.

"I want to. You have to know that I want to." His brown eyes are filled with heat and sincerity, and it makes mine prick with tears. He catches the emotion in my eyes, slowly pulling the sides of my robe up to cover my shoulders again. "I'm sorry. I know I'm being selfish...and truthfully that's why I came here. All of it was selfish."

He pulls away from me, pacing in front of the two beds.

"Selfish how? Why did you come?" I ask, my voice softer than before.

"I, uh...saw a photo of you. Out with Lana. A man was kissing you," he looks back to me, letting out a humorless chuckle, "I was jealous. I saw the picture before the plane ride but that didn't feel like a good time to ask about it, obviously. So I came here out of jealousy. Completely selfish intentions." He looks mad, but I can tell by his demeanor that it's not directed at me.

For the second time this month, I'm realizing that I should probably have an Instagram. An anonymous one at least. Then I could prepare for these things.

"Javi...Lana just took that picture to get me out of the conversation with that guy. I didn't even know she posted it," I allow myself to smile just a little, "And as much as I would like to make you suffer, I left right after that. I was kind of pissed he kissed me, actually."

"You shouldn't have to explain yourself." He says even though he looks visibly relieved.

"No, I shouldn't," I sigh, "But I want to...I haven't liked anyone since John. Lana has tried to set me up but they never stuck. And then here you are," I flail my arm up and down, gesturing to his magnificent form, "And I can't even have you?" I look down at my feet, "I'm just angry at the whole situation."

Javi nods, taking a long breath.

"I am too. I called Jonah and my publicist as soon as the photos were released. I wanted to talk to you, to see how you were. They advised me against it but I shouldn't have listened, that was my fault. Come to think of it, they won't be pleased to hear about the plane ride either."

"I'm telling you, the pictures weren't that bad. They didn't show my face, and I don't have social media. Lana said they didn't even get much traction. I guess they couldn't tell if there was anything...romantic between us from that one picture."

I think I meant it as a joke, but even I could hear the added question in my words.

"Did you want there to be?" He asks softly.

My head snaps up, "Was that not obvious?"

"Not to me. Ava, I wanted to keep talking to you. Again, I'm the selfish one here. You left my trailer that day, you called it off. You have no idea how many times I wanted to say fuck it all and come over to you on set anyway, but I was trying to respect your wishes. It seemed like it wasn't really affecting you, and then I saw you out with that guy..."

"Wasn't affecting me? Javi, I hid in the wardrobe trailer every day for a week just so I didn't have to see you. It was too painful."

His eyes light up and he walks a few steps closer to me. But then they grow serious.

"I won't have this affect your career."

I reach out, grabbing his hand and pulling him the remaining couple of feet toward me. "I don't want to jeopardize yours either...but for now, can we at least admit that we don't want it to be over?"

"I don't want it to be. But your future–"

I place my hand on the back of his neck, pulling just a little. "I thought I told you I didn't want a gentleman."

He looks from my eyes down to my lips. He slowly bends his head, his lips centimeters from mine. "You might have to get used to it, baby," he whispers.

I wrap a second hand around his neck, crashing my lips into his. I can feel his mustache against my skin, and the mixture of its prickles with his soft lips drives me crazy. His hands find my butt through my robe, and I gasp as he squeezes roughly. Instinctively, I hoist my left leg up and around him, pulling him in closer. One of his hands leaves my backside to cup my thigh that's now holding him in place.

Javi suddenly pulls back, only to then attach himself to my neck, kissing hot, open-mouthed affections from my collarbone up to my ear. As I toss my head back to give him more access, I remember that I'm still pressed against the open window. Running my hand through his hair, I decide to tease him a little.

"You do realize that all those Italians you were worried about can probably see what you're doing to me, right?"

Javi tugs on my earlobe with his teeth before answering, sending a shiver through me. "I haven't forgotten. But if I don't keep you right here," another kiss on my neck, "then I'm going to move you to one of those beds and fuck you until the sun comes up. And I can't have that tonight."

My heart pounds at his words, and my hands tug further on his hair.

"W-why not?" I gasp as he pulls down the robe just enough to kiss my shoulder.

Begrudgingly to us both, he pulls back. Placing his forehead on mine, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace.

"Not like this," he shakes his head, "I want your head to be clear. I want you to be sure about this. And what it means for your future."

"Believe me," I pull him closer with my leg, "I'm sure."

He half-chuckles, half-groans, pulling away from me. "You're sure you want to come, Ava. I want you to be sure about us ."

My face flushes at his words.

"I... can't it be both?" I try.

He fully chuckles now. "You are going to kill me." He turns around, walking to my suitcase on the floor. He takes out a t-shirt and some sleep shorts, handing them to me with a kiss on the cheek. "For me, please? You're tempting enough as is, without the robe and the—" he gestures to my leg that had been wrapped around him moments before.

I purse my lips, mulling it over.

"Fine. You won this round, Gutierrez." I debate changing in front of the window, but I can see the confusion and frustration written all over his face, and I don't want to make this any worse for him. I push past him gently to get into the bathroom.

"Believe me," I hear him mutter, "No I didn't."

After I change, I return to see Javi sitting on the end of one of the beds. He's facing the window, curtains still pulled back. He didn't hear me leave the bathroom, so I take a moment to admire the view. His back, a few muscles peeking out from beneath his crisp white shirt. His neck, slightly rigid, focused on gazing out of the window. His hair, tousled from the way I was tugging it just a moment ago. That thought fills me with an almost possessive warmth.

I gently climb onto the bed, not wanting to disturb him. I slowly pad across it on my knees, before gingerly wrapping my arms around him from behind. I feel one of his large hands come up to caress my arm, and it makes me smile to myself.

"Five hours," he says softly.

"Hmm?" I close my eyes, trying to savor how good it feels to have my arms around him.

"We have to be up in only five hours."

"Well, I have to. You don't." I smirk.

"That doesn't seem fair..." he continues to caress my arms as we both look out the window at the sparkling lights.

His hand stills for a moment.

"It would save time if you only had to wake up Jack tomorrow," he muses. "If I stay here...with you, you might not have to get up as early." I feel his breathing pause as he waits for my reaction, and it makes my heart want to burst.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

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