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decepticononline · 1 year

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ROTB! Optimus Primal X Human Female Reader

A/N: Was working on another request and the ROTB trailer dropped and I'm so insanely down bad for this man that I had to make this. I know the movie hasn't come out yet but let's just use context clues and pure horny to work this out. This will take place in the late 80s since the movie does.

Warnings: cunnilingus, hair pulling, overstimulation, vaginal sex, feral behavior, breeding kink, doggystyle, dubious consent, a bit of murder and gore of course.

Summary: Everything is peaceful on the military base until Optimus introduces the Maximals as new allies.

(This chapter is kinda long but completely worth it because I intend for this to be rather nasty and unhinged).

"There we go Cadet!"

You wiped the sweat from your brow before turning around to look at your superior in irritation. This base was staffed with two hundred military personnel but when it came time to do housekeeping work on the base rarely anyone ever volunteered so you and five other cadets got selected for it.

It was currently your job to hang up banners that were written in English accompanied with a cybertronian translation to direct the bots when and where they could use mass displacement, get energon and see a medic.

"Is it even?" You questioned the Cadet below you that happened to be Ellie, literally the only person you trusted on this god-forsaken base.

Ellie gave you a thumbs up which permitted you to come back down from the latter.

"Why are we hanging this shit up again? We already have enough of these signs."

Her red eyebrows were furrowed up in confusion and it was obvious you weren't the only one feeling overworked.

"Sergeant Kay says that Optimus will be bringing new allies this evening. And Mirage accidentally pulled down the other signs trying parkour." It sucked how it was always up to you to clean up someone else's mess.

You immediately took a long sip from your canteen after answering her question. It's October but the base hasn't yet regulated how much heat to put out to combat the cold weather, so outside the base was 50 degrees and inside it was almost 80. This was the only time your base allowed everyone to wear normal clothes instead of their uniforms.

"Okay I'm done here. Going to go hit the showers and then get ready for the event later."

"Watch out for Aiden!" Ellie laughed before taking the tape roll from you.

You visibly cringed when she said that and rolled your eyes. You absolutely loathed Aiden. The guy was a massive weirdo who has been trying to sleep with you since high school. Just last week you reported him for harassment after he blocked you from exiting a hallway to try to take you on a date. Ellie handed you the box cutter and the marker in case you needed it when you completed your inventory shift later. After she playfully saluted you goodbye, you walked off to the shower room before drying off and heading back to your room.

It didn't take you long to find out what you wanted to wear, so you packed your essentials in your purse after doing your makeup, hair and putting on your dress. You debated on wearing heels but wore them anyway because they did go with your outfit. You left out and took your normal route out of the main facility through the halls to the ceremony room.

You joined a group of soldiers who were all wearing formal wear and entered with the crowd. The room looked the same as it always looked every day except for the Autobots lounging on the other side of it. The ceremony room was an old hangar so it gave them all the room they needed to walk around freely without needing to use mass displacement.

You had already missed the highlights of the welcoming of the new military recruits but with how everyone was standing around Optimus you assumed he was going to give a speech. You joined the crowd and noticed Aiden was staring at you from the corner. You simply smiled and shot your middle finger up at him and turned to Optimus.

"Autobots…Humans… We have had such a profound alliance with one another. I have saved lives with many of the people within this room regardless of species-"

You basically tuned him out after that part since it had ideally nothing you do with you, you weren't a soldier, you were simply a cadet. You've never even stepped foot on the battlefield so you weren't going to listen to praises that didn't belong to you. You looked over to your left to see if Aiden was still staring and he definitely was, he always just had this blank empty look on his face.

You sighed once you noticed the Hangar doors were slowly beginning to open and started paying attention.

"-I humbly invite the Maximals to join our alliance and work with us on our journey of equality for all sentient species."

The door slid completely open and your jaw dropped. They were giant cybertronian….animals? You looked over to Optimus to see if this was a joke as did everyone else before the animals actually transformed into full fledged cybertronians too.

"Their designations are Cheetor, Rhinox, Rattrap, TigerHawk, and… Optimus Primal. We both share the same name due to our lineage within leadership."

Your eyes darted between the five mechs before you noticed the one in the middle was practically scanning the room. He had a face similar to Optimus along with his size but he certainly didn't look as friendly as him. The mech was a very faded dull colored silver and had prominent green optics that darted all over the room. It was clear that this one had been the cybertronian version of some kind of feral looking gorilla.

His optics looked around until the lime-green orbs stopped in your direction. You weren't sure if he was actually staring at you or just looking within your general area and it was making you uncomfortable. He had some kind of padded felt or synthetic fur draped around his shoulder plates.

"You may all refer to me as Primal. There is one Optimus already here."

You watched as the entire group of Maximals entered the hangar and the other humans were noticeably uncomfortable. It was clear that none of you were happy to see the addition of new even more dangerous looking cybertronians on base. The next two hours of the ceremony were the most difficult with Aiden being sat at two tables behind you and sneaking glares while you noticed every now and again a pair of green optics would be looking in your direction. You actually kept taking your makeup mirror out of your bag to see if you had something on your face because you were utterly confused.

The worst part is Optimus Primal didn't have any of the warm and inviting energy Optimus Prime had. The occasional growls from him along with the jingle of the chain hanging from his chassis that appeared to be attached to an incredibly sharp spear did nothing to make you feel better about his presence. You were trying not to stare but it looked like he had no interest in socializing with the other maximals, autobots, or humans. He just stood off in the corner analyzing everyone, especially you.

You'd be a liar to say that it wasn't giving you the feeling that you were intruding upon his territory. As if he was some kind of predator in a jungle and everyone else was his unsuspecting prey. You looked around the room to see if anyone else felt weird and immediately sighed when you realized it was only you. He didn't even look like he wanted to be here and it made you think that Optimus Prime had asked him to show up.

You were tired and just wanted to go home at this point so you told your superior that you were feeling ill and wanted to leave early. The indoor route to the main facility housing was closed off for cleaning and you didn't want to wait so you bit the bullet and decided it was best to take the outside route.

You were just thankful you managed to stash a hoodie in your purse before you left your room just in case. It didn't take long for you to begin to hear someone else's footsteps behind you and you became nervous. You stopped in your tracks and turned around to see Aiden's signature unbothered blank expression.

It was hard to ignore the feeling of your stomach sinking when you understood the amount of danger that you were in.

"Need help?" You asked, trying to sound like he didn't scare you.

He dropped his serious look before letting out a laugh.

"No…. Just thought you'd want someone to walk you to your room. Gotta be careful, there's a shit ton of wild animals out here…"

"Aiden, I can handle myself. Just go back to the stupid ceremony." You turned on your heel and began walking just to hear the sound of his footsteps behind you once again. You slowly reached into your bag and grabbed the box cutter that Ellie had given to you earlier and you squeezed it in your hand. You weren't a fighter but you damn sure weren't a victim either.

He put his hand firmly down onto your shoulder and with an instant you turned around and let the box cutter connect with his face. The long slash of red seemed to grow while he winced in pain and grabbed his face with both of his hands. You were going to turn and run before a spear lodged itself directly within the middle of his head. The sharp weapon came from behind him and now sat planted and looking like a divider between both sides of his face.

The popping and gurgling sound he made while thick lines of blood began to pour from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears made you want to drop to your knees. But before you could do that the spear retracted following the long chain it was attached to. With that as it was the only thing holding Aiden's head together, both halves of his face slid apart and his body hit the floor. His entire head had been split into two and you could how clean the cut was right down the middle. There was a loud animalistic roar within the background signaling a victory.

You couldn't even bring yourself to look at the scene before you. Nor did you bother to look up when heavy cybertronian footsteps approached you.

"I guess he did need help."

The voice sounded much closer to your own height than usual and you looked up and had to catch your breath. Mass displacement... Of course they gave him a module for it. His bright green optics were now only just two feet above your head rather than just ten.

"Do you want me to say thank you or something?" Your voice had a hint of annoyance and fear with it. If anything all you wanted to do was leave.

"Actually, I should be surrendering my gratitude to you instead… I was disinterested in the ceremony and I needed something to hunt."

The glint of the blood-stained spearhead caught your attention and you winced. This new Optimus was nothing like the one you've been accustomed to. Your eyes trailed from the spear to the mech's chassis which was certainly much bulkier than the other cybertronians. His broad shoulder plating with the synthetic fur draped over him made him look more like a warrior than a soldier. With him in mass displacement you could see far more details on his frame than before. While further analyzing him you felt a familiar tingle between your legs.

You were paused from your thoughts when you noticed the mech sniffing the air around him. You looked around with confusion trying to smell what he did but to no avail. After he stopped sniffing the air a long drawn out animalistic growl fell from behind his face guard.

"You're in heat."

"I'm in what-"

The motion of you being yanked down by your hair onto the gravel face down was too fast for you to even yelp. You immediately turned your head to the side so you could breathe but that didn't help with the weight of a mass displaced cybertronian pressed against you.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

He seemed not to like the language you used against him because he pressed your face down even harder.

"I can smell your arousal. You're in heat and you wish to breed."

You were confused until it hit you, you were definitely ovulating this week and you'd be lying if you didn't say that you felt something while looking over his frame.

"Hey! Listen big guy you're confu-" You felt the lower half of your dress being torn off and you could feel the chilly wind against your thighs. The straps of your underwear snapped like a thin string under the pressure of his digits.

"You allowed me to terminate the undeserving male so that we may engage."

"YOU killed him for no reas-"

Your brain went fuzzy as you felt the forceful lick of his glossa between your folds. The slickness of his saliva felt like warm thick honey when it came into contact with your core. You couldn't believe how good it felt just to have his cybertronian version of a tongue slowly lap at your cunt. You could tell he was trying to focus most of the pressure around the small bundle of nerves above your entrance. You can only imagine that female cybertronians must have the same anatomy that you did for him to know what to do.

He let out an encouraging growl when you arched your rear end up further into his faceplate to give him more access. This was all moving so fast for you that you no longer cared that your face was being pressed hard on its side into the gravel nor about Aiden's semi-decapitated corpse only a few feet away.

All that mattered to you at the moment was the onslaught of deliberately slow licks you were receiving at your core. You ended up letting a whine escape your lips when you felt his thick glossa slide inside you. His glossa twisted and curled within your tight walls so much you were absolutely sure you were close. After he starts thrusting his glossa into you, your own body catches you by surprise and you feel yourself clenching roughly around him.

He made you ride out your own orgasm with his glossa still in your hole. Even after your little climax had subsided he was still devouring you from behind and pulling moans and whimpers from your lips in the process. He clearly had no intentions on stopping any time soon as he just continued to glossa fuck you into an orgasm over and over at least three more times. You could feel the hot vents of his mouth getting heavier the more he lapped at you.

Every time you came he didn't even bother to move his mouth which gave you the impression that he was just swallowing your slickness down his intake like he was starving. What really set it off was the way the base of his faceplate was rubbing against your clit in a way that made you scream. When his mouth finally parted from between your legs it felt like he had been down there for ages.

Your legs already wobbled and felt like jelly when the mech hadn't even 'bred' you yet. The cold air against your overly sensitive cunt was making you buck your hips in hopes that the warmth of his pelvis against yours would happen soon. You heard a loud click behind you along with a thud which was his interface panel being taken off and thrown to the grown beside you.

You moaned out loudly when you felt the warm and thick head of his spike nudge between your folds. He then let out a threatening hiss as he felt his tip split you wide open. The pain of your walls stretching to accommodate him was a serious one but your cunt was so overstimulated and wet from him swallowing you down that the pain was already fading as fast as it came.

It didn't take long for him to hilt himself totally inside you and it was obvious he was holding himself back from completely destroying you. The grip he had on your hair and how hard he was tugging it, told you that you were going to have a headache for the next couple of days.

"Fuck."

Him saying a curse within human language under his heavy vents took you by surprise. You yelped out when you felt his first brutal thrust that seemed to make your legs sway like thin trees on your knees. Then the second thrust came, along with the third, fourth, fifth, and so on. He did not start easy on you but then again you didn't expect him to.

The sound of his metallic pelvis slapping against your flesh ass made you wince as you could already feel the stinging sensation of bruises forming. His thick member felt like it aimed to do nothing but conquer your spasming walls with the way it was shaped. His spike felt like it was shaped in a way that it was curved upward and towards his tip, it had a pronounced swell that made a delicious popping noise every time he pulled it back out.

On top of his groans, growls, and hisses of pleasure he whispered something to you in cybertronian that you didn't understand so you just ignored it. There was nothing you could do but hold your position in front of him and just take whatever he was giving to you. You weren't even going to complain about it because you were just so drunk on the pleasure that there was no hostility towards him for using you like this.

"Please….please I'm so close." Once again he brought you back to the point that you were whining like a bitch in heat just begging for him to keep fucking you. His servo's grip around your hair tightened and your breaths got hitched into your throat while he began slamming into you. Your eyes rolled back and choked pleas and curses fell from your lips.

The feeling of his thick sex organ just unrelentlessly rutting into you from behind and your hair being pulled hard was just enough to make you tear up. Your next orgasm came so quick while you felt him halt and seize up behind you and he let out a deafening roar. Thick spurts of his hot transfluid painted the insides of your walls and it only made you come harder.

He stayed buried in you while his overload ran its course and allowed you to milk every drop of transfluid he had in his system to give you. Your body shivered when you could feel his climax spill out and leak down your thighs. He waited until he finished shooting his entire load to pull out of you and let your body slump onto the cold gravel. Your breathing was just as heavy as his venting and you both felt physically overexerted.

You tried to stand up before collapsing back down after your own legs gave out. You were going to yell at him before you looked in the distance and saw that the ceremony was over and everyone was leaving.

"Primal how the fuck am I going to explain this?" You gestured to your lower half.

"Actually, how the fuck are you going to explain that." He remarked before pointing a digit at Aiden's corpse. And once again you were left to clean up someone else's mess.

#optimus primal #optimus prime #transformers rotb #transformers imagine #transformers headcanon #transformers x reader #valveplug #autobots #decepticons

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chou-de-chambers · 1 year

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Playing with Fire

Content Rating: Explicit Tags: Chamber x Reader, Chamber x You, truth or dare, flirty gn!reader, Jett is a lowkey matchmaker, semi-public sex, necktie as mouth gag, quickie (?), no beta we die like cinematic Cypher (RIOT STOP NOW) (This story happened at the same time as Change of Heart, and is the alternate for Chamber simps out there!) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! A/N: This was my first anonymous request! I couldn't find their ask anymore so I can't answer it but I do hope you come across this. I am also sorry if I took so long. Writer's block and university things got in the way :(((

Jett's mischief was at an all time high last night. First, she held Yoru and his ex hostage through 7 Minutes in Heaven, pissing the riftwalker off then forcing Chamber in his place as soon as he decided to end his stay. "Come on, we really need one more for the next game," Jett beckoned. The French gentleman- coincidentally there to ask you all to tone down the music's volume- had never been a fan of rowdy parties the younger agents hosted. He preferred formal gatherings with champagne and jazz music soothing from acoustics and percussion keys. Little did you know that he was only blessed with the patience to tolerate it from the sight of you and the vacant spot on the couch beside you. They all cheered, relieved that for once, the man chose not to be a party pooper. He refused to acknowledge them though as he set his attention towards you.

"I hope I'm not intruding, mon cheri," he mouthed softly so only both of you could hear.

You looked up at him, cheeks flushed from being drunk, as he sat down. You smiled impishly, nudging his arm with your shoulder, "Not at all. In fact, keep doing it."

And there you go again, flawlessly matching his demeanor. Truly a worthy rival to this silly game he had played with every agent in the protocol. Chamber seldom cared for others, unless it was an obligation or a condition in exchange of achieving what he wants. But if he were to name favorites, you were definitely on top of his small list. And because you were his favorite, he permitted you to do things that he didn't allow others to do, like laying your hand on his custom design guns and getting this close to him, shoulders rubbing on each other. For the latter part though, often times it was him trimming the distance to a friendly extent. Almost like you two were buddies. Too bad it paused at "almost", having bonded in Vulture rides during missions, inside the HQ's workshop, and inside the meeting room. Besides those instances, there was nothing. Not even personal messaging to seal the deal- just good work acquaintances. These short interactions were enough to satisfy both of you, until Jett forced everybody to play the Truth or Dare game.

Jett was down to a white sports bra after having been dared by Neon to strip one large article of clothing. She had a habit of messing with others but couldn't handle the same pressure. Quite an ego she possessed, to the point that she'd rather risk social embarassment than exposing her inner desires through a Truth question. She huffed, eager to exact revenge, "My turn. And there will be no mercy, you little shits."

She aggressively pointed right at you, given that the rule of your game was to pass the turn to the person in your front left. There were ooh's in the small crowd, their eyes wide from anticipation. Chamber also let out a light huff, equally excited to see how you're gonna approach the challenge. You appeared tough, crossing your arms and winking at the marksman, "Child's play, if you ask me."

"Oh yeah?" Jett drawled from your overheard comment, arms crossed in an attempt to display superiority over you.

You mimicked the wind Radiant, alcohol raising your confidence to contest her, "Yeah. Dare."

Almost everyone in the circle were on the edges of their seat from Jett's challenge being accepted. They were mumbling to each other, guessing what dare Jett might've thought of, with the exception of Chamber debating on whether to drink the beer Killjoy lended him and Reyna smirking right at you. Your eyes trailed towards the Mexican woman, threatened by her gaze that meant something. Like she knew how things would end up for poor little you.

Jett abruptly stood from the floor, body swaying from being as drunk as the others, then triumphantly puts a hand on her hip, "I dare you to make out with the person to your left."

Chamber, who had just began to take a sip off the disgusting booze, almost spat his drink. The rest were giggling; what a sight it was to see the sentinel finally lose his precious composure. " Ay corazon," you heard Reyna mutter, her eyes glinting in excitement from what's about to go down. Your chest thrummed from the thought of your lips on his. And out in public? Your legs wobbled. The professional relationship you persevered to keep with him was now on the verge of collapsing into debris. This was different from the witty comebacks you've been making towards his flirtatious approach, because making out with him would be like dumping gasoline to an open flame.

"Come on, we don't have all night," Jett complained, shaking you back to your senses, "Unless you're gonna chicken out."

You swiftly downed your beer to the very last drop.

"Monsieur?"

And before Chamber was given a chance to brace himself, your hand already laid on his chest, pushing him to lean on the couch. You straddled him with one leg as your other hand fled to his warm, chiseled jawline. The gentleman always had his ways to play with everyone's heartstrings, but this time you were undeniably tugging his. Your eyes were half-lidded, tearing through his soul, while he decrypted whether those were heated with passion or alcohol.

"Do I have your consent?" you murmured as he inhaled the stench of beer seeping through your lips.

Slowly, his face inched towards yours, so you closed the gap and pressed your lips on his. The audience was impressed. Some of them even had their phones out to take pictures or record videos of this exchange between you and Chamber. The flashes from their phones would've bothered you, but his taste was intoxicating. Who would've thought that the most dubious agent in the protocol would be this delicious? Chamber's eyes slowly closed to relish on this feeling of you on top of him. His hands were itching to grab you by your hips and sit you on his lap if it weren't for the people around you. Your tongue invaded his mouth, which he gladly returned with a dance of his. He was definitely enjoying this.

As soon as you felt his gloved hands on your waist, you pulled away, face flustered as you wiped your lips with your arm. Phoenix whistled, fanning himself with a hand, "Sheesh fam, the room just got hotter. And I swear that wasn't me."

"You sure you guys aren't dating?" Raze joked, making Killjoy giggle.

"Are we?" you acted unfazed, crossing your legs and looking over at Chamber fixing his necktie. He only smirked back. Charmingly though, so your eyes quickly avoided this bait of wanting to kiss him again and looked straight at the embarrassed Jett, "So, my turn now?"

"Ugh," she rolled her eyes.

Change was predestined after that silly game. Neither of you expected the attempt you did to cross the imaginary line separating both of you. It kindled fire as lit as hell, completely burning any sense of focus from your daily tasks to ashes. Sure, your greetings and banters were still exchanged, but the more days passed, the more these little interactions devolved to a chore, inducing fear that a fuse might just explode right then and there. It was as painful to keep yet might be too irresistible once released. There's also this assumption that your feelings for each other might be mutual, but what if it wasn't? What if at the end of the day, it really was just a game? A potential waste of feelings. Potential waste of passion. A risk for a man of commitment- once Chamber started it, backing down is impossible. And you're scared that it might just be a delusion born of temptation. Besides, your flirting was your effective facade to hide your loneliness.

The workshop this evening was more tense than before, what with despair clawing its way out, obvious from the way you stole glances from each other when the other one's not looking. Raze and Killjoy, despite existing in the background, weren't dumb to notice these telltale signs of affection for one another. They knew, of course. They've been there before.

"Oi amigo," Raze called at you. You took off your goggles to better see the duelist. She beckoned with a nod, "Come over here."

Killjoy's peripheral vision was at Chamber's, noting how his head subtly turned to steal yet another sight of you. Too obvious, the German engineer thought.

Raze handed you a screwdriver, one with a black handle and a familiar gold insignia on it, "Can you hand this over to Chamber? Forgot to return it to him."

"Can't do it yourself?"

"Nah," she shook her head, "My shift here's done! Gonna go grab some snacks."

Killjoy abruptly stood, "Can I come?"

Before you were able to object, the two women already bolted out of the room with hands held. You sighed. They're doing this on purpose.

With a hint of hesitation, you stepped towards Chamber's area, his head almost kissing the blueprints laid on his station. A busy man he was, but like usual, he appeared more attractive when he's focused like that. You gently knocked on his desk to catch his attention, not knowing that he was already hyperaware of you, "Hey."

He looked up, straightening his back on his chair then eyeing the screwdriver you were holding.

"Raze told me to give this to you. I'm guessing she borrowed this without asking for your permission?"

He chuckled, "Précisément. You are very familiar with her behavior. Must be used to it."

"She's fine," you half-smiled with a shrug. His hand reached to take the screwdriver from your palm. You felt a tingle from how his fingertips lingered a bit on your skin. You shook it off, acting as casual as you can, "Don't wanna join them?"

"No reason for me to do so," he responded, resting his chin on top of his intertwined fingers as his eyes remained on you, "Besides, your presence here's enough to satisfy me."

"Oh yeah? Am I looking like a snack, monsieur?"

He simply chuckled, bringing his attention back to his blueprints. Deep inside, there was a strong urge to curse. The way you kept calling him monsieur was a threat to his cool. This opportunity, too. He had been wanting to dive beyond the surface of last time's occurence. You had always been the only one who flirted back that provoked something in him. And it was never annoyance nor envy. He loves how you managed to turn on a switch in him, twirling him around your fingers from every response you've reciprocated towards him. To Chamber, you were this appealing distraction against the heavy load of his goals, and at this given moment, he was more than willing to keep this little game running.

You walked back to your station, stretching your arms with a moan, perking up Chamber's ears. God, you really were testing him.

"Loosen yourself a lil' bit. Can't waste all of that good looks in one stressful evening, y'know," you advised with a tease in your voice.

Unfortunately for you, he took this seriously. He set his gloves aside and approached you. Chamber spun your chair to face him, your chin being lifted by his finger and his silhouette taking over you.

"I would give it a try if it wasn't for your teasing, mon cheri."

The ticking bomb had reached its end. His eyes were dimmed by lust and his patience had clearly run dry.

"So the game isn't over yet, huh?" you whispered as your hand traced the colorful swirls on his necktie.

Chamber smirked, marvelling at your lips while his thumb caressed your lower lip. Your breath hitched from his touch yet you refused to back down, now pulling him closer to you through his tie, "What'll it be then? Truth or dare?"

"Dare," the marksman groaned.

"I dare you to be honest with me, monsieur."

A deep chuckle vibrated from his throat as he hauled your chair towards his corner station. Chamber sat on his luxurious furniture, lifting you towards his lap then kicking your chair away, ridding you of escape. Not like you had any intentions to do so- his lap was the far better option. You both relished on each other's breathing, foreheads touching and lips just a few centimetres away from taking over each other. Fuck, he even smelled as handsome as he looks.

Heavy thuds from the corridor caught your attention. You weren't in a private quarter after all. You turned your head towards the door. "Chamber, someone might-"

"Hush," he placed a finger on your lips. His hand braced on your hip- awfully close to the curve of your ass- then his chair hovered towards the door. He hurriedly flicked the lock on and pushed both of you back to his quiet retreat with a boot, "Let us stop pretending, mon amor. No turning back now."

At long last, his soft lips reunited with yours. You could feel yourself instantly melting from this contact- even whimpering from how his hands traveled through the tracks of your spine then his palms spread to the shape of your hips. The marksman was more than eager to kiss you, refusing to let you go and forcing his mouth on yours whenever you attempt to catch a breather. His need for you was no denying, and your mind was empty to even decide on how to equally return what he was giving you. You simply settled by grinding your hips on his as you clutch his shirt's collar.

He gasped a moan from how you rubbed yourself on his hard-on. Chamber did not admit to being a masochist, but this agony was far too pleasing. He'd whip out his erection and rail you right then and there, but he'd endure just a little more to at least get a taste. After flooding you with kisses, his hands departed from your sides to the inside of your top, cupping your chest. His hands felt rough on your soft skin, but the way he fondled your breasts and flicked through your hardened nipples was like handling something delicate. You wanted to moan loudly, but even with the door locked, privacy wasn't guaranteed. The only thing you managed to do was suck onto Chamber's neck, hard enough to leave a hickey. Lucky for you he didn't fight back; his head even leaned to the side so you could better mark the base of his neck.

Sealing it with a sultry kiss, you admired the work of art you left on his skin, a pulsing purple on top of his golden radianite tattoo. Chamber's foggy eyeglasses rested unevenly on the bridge of his nose as he admired the passionate glimmer in your eyes. You responded by cupping his cheeks with your bare hands, staring him down then fixing his specs, "See? It isn't so hard to relax, yeah?"

The thudding outside became louder than before, the echoing of footsteps getting closer to the workshop heated with lust. You pulled yourself off of him with your hands on his shoulders, "That was a good time, monsieur. Maybe let's-"

You were abruptly cut off by Chamber capturing your body, locking you between his stretched arms as you were forced to sit on the edge of his desk. Your hands gripped the collars of his vest, anchoring yourself to avoid squashing his blueprints. The noise outside evolved to knocks on the steel door. You heard Neon's thick voice, "Hey KJ, you there? Why's this locked?"

Chamber grabbed your chin and brought your attention back to him, "I won't condone interruptions. The dare isn't done yet." And once again, your lips were laced onto each other. The exchange this time was much more fervid, with his hand raising and squeezing your right thigh so his clothed sex could grind yours. You let out little moans, aware that the agent outside might hear but couldn't help yourself.

The banging on the door persisted, "KJ hellooo? I just need to ask you something about my favor."

"Tsk." Chamber slipped off his vest, discarding it onto his chair's headrest. His hand made quick work to loosen his necktie and remove it, crumpling it into a ball and then stuffing it inside your mouth. "Quiet now. She won't be leaving any sooner."

A muffled hiss slipped out of your gagged mouth as your body was rotated to face his desk, your hands clawing onto its margin. His arms snaked around your waist, one hand digging to the inside of your pants to stroke your wet sex and the other ringing around your neck. Your saliva was staining his velvety silk tie, with a few excess trickling down your chin. Chamber affirmed he was doing a precise job driving you crazy when he felt wetness drip onto his choking hand. Of course, he wasn't left out- the tent of his pants was rubbing onto your ass. The restraint he established over you was making you roll your eyes from ecstasy, along with the thrill of being caught in action.

Once he felt that you were slick enough from the juices that stained his hand, he pulled down your pants, flipping you to lie on his desk with your horny expression visible to his feral eyes. "To damn with these blueprints, mon coeur. I want to fuck you right here."

The only response you managed was the flutter of your lashes while he unbuttoned his pants, exposing his sexy V-line and hard cock. He was long and big, enough to make you question whether he'd fit in your hole or not, but if only you could talk, you'd taunt him to drill it into you without second thoughts.

Chamber grunted as he entered your hungry hole. You felt your soul leave your body when he started moving, pain and pleasure mixing as his length molded your insides. Your body slid up and down the tabletop the more he kept his pace, so his hands buckled your hips for you to stay still and for him to better savor your walls massaging his dick, "You feel so good, I cannot stop."

You violently shook your head to tell him to keep going as you raised your arms to clutch the desk's frame that's at the same level as your head. You wouldn't want him to stop, either; you wanted him to use you to his desire's content. The message was successfully relayed, his hips pounding you more with your skins slapping onto each other. There were another set of knocks on the door, this time with Neon yelling for Killjoy's name. Before your head shifted to the intruder's direction, Chamber swiftly grabbed your cheeks with one strong hand and brought you back to him, "Behave and keep your eyes on me."

Your insides became wetter from his assertion. He never missed in feeding your sexual appetite, so it's only fair to return the favor by making him even weaker to your presence. Your one hand raised your shirt to expose and tease your nipple, showcasing how delectable you were in front of him as your other hand stretched your entrance even more for his cock's better access. Chamber bit his lower lip and loosened his shirt's first two buttons, struggling to maintain his dominance from how you tempted him with your body. Even in the midst of intercourse, you still contested him, and it was turning him on much more.

His desk creaked, like it was close to collapsing from how intense he rocked your body. Your head was falling onto the opposite edge of his desk, and you were getting dizzier from the blood rising. You didn't mind it though since the marksman compensated by smothering your legs that rested on top of his shoulders with the rightful loving they deserve.

Neon had given up from pursuing entry, "I'll come back later, I guess." Her footsteps were fading away from the room, marking this your chance to be free from the gag he forced onto your mouth. Your chest heaved from the sharp inhales you did, but Chamber rid you of a well-deserved break when he let you go and whirled your body once again to lay your stomach on the surface. Without warning, his dick invaded your swollen hole, penetrating you deeper than before. "Fuck, Chamber," you mouthed with a sting as you felt his entirety even better in this position.

"I'm close, so you better keep still and be good," he grunted as his hips smacked yours. You smirked, speaking in between muted moans, "If I weren't good... then you wouldn't even get this close to cumming, monsieur."

"Mon Dieu," was the last comprehensible phrase he uttered before the room was fogged by the unison of your erotic noises. You covered your mouth with both hands as you came, legs quivering and arms shuddering from the pulsating wave of orgasm. Chamber followed, decorating your back with warm strings of his semen. He sighed heavily, admiring the work of art he left on your body that he finally claimed for his own. Kisses peppered your shoulders before you heard the zip of his pants and the clack of his heels as he approached the nearby sink for a clean sheet of tissue. He was sweet for wiping your back with such gentleness and care- even helping you put on your underwear and pants again.

"I'm sorry for your blueprints," you said with a hand on his cheek once you faced towards him.

He leaned to your touch, kissing the base of your palm, "It's fine. Help me fix them, hm? That way, I get to spend more time with you and know you even better."

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─ ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─ ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

#valorant #valorant fanfiction #valorant smut #valorant x reader #valorant chamber #chamber valorant #chamber #chamber x reader #chamber x you #vincent fabron #vincent fabron x you #choudechambers writing #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #sorry im late

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that-ari-blogger · 1 month

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Amity's Fate (Escaping Expulsion)

Found family stories are fun, aren't they? They have become a dime a dozen in recent years, and I think that that's a good thing.

Family comes in varying forms, and The Owl House explores that as a core tenet. Lilith is surrounded by the theme. Belos and The Golden Guard feature it as a secondary characteristic. Luz can't escape the theme. Even Kikimora's arc deals with it.

Odalia is the main antagonist for this idea. It's her entire deal. And the way in which she acts as that familial final boss is fascinating to me.

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD (The Owl House, Rise of the Guardians, One Piece, Critical Role: Campaign 1)

What makes someone "important"?

In fiction, this is rather easy to tell. A character is important if they have a significant effect on the plot, and this is usually rewarded with time in the spotlight. Most often, the most important character in the plot is the one the reader will see the most. Obviously, there are exceptions, but this is a general rule.

But in terms of real life, what exactly is it that makes someone important? And how do you define "important"?

You could argue that inventors hold this title, or entrepreneurs, or politicians, as they define the overarching structure of your world. But I would say that my friends and family have more of an influence on my personal daily life. They are the ones who have made me into who I am today.

Maybe the most important person to you is your significant other, or a teacher, or someone random on a bus who accidentally reshaped your entire worldview six years ago.

Importance of plot and importance in reality are two different things, and my take on Odalia is a weird twist on that. Odalia is important to the plot because she is completely unimportant to Amity.

The arcs surrounding Odalia, those of her children and husband, revolve around them realising that they have better parts of their lives than her. Amity, for example, spends a decent chunk of the series learning that she doesn't need Odalia in her life and that Luz and co. are a much bigger influence on her than her mother's teachings.

Essentially, Odalia is only important because people think she is. Once they realise, she fades from relevance. I think that's a really cool writing decision.

When Odalia and Alastor were introduced, back in Understanding Willow, the choice was made to obscure their character designs to silhouettes because who these people were wasn't important, and the episode focused on what they had done.

But now, the audience is treated to their full appearances, and I'd like to take that apart.

Alastor is a mess. He hasn't been bothered to get into formal attire for a business meeting, either because he doesn't own a suit or because he doesn't care. Judging by the fact he lives in a mansion, I am inclined to believe the latter. He is covered in stains from his research and wears a set of goggles to lean into the professorial atmosphere. Combine that with the unkempt hair and his design is drawing heavy inspiration from Victor Frankenstein, something I will come back to in detail in a later post.

Odalia is Amity's final evolution. Everything about her is Amity taken to the extreme. She has the same nail polish, earrings (although her earrings change between shots), and hair colour, but the hair is more tidy. Her outfit is also more regal and more purple. She is what Amity will become; a path laid out for her. It is almost as if she has sculpted Amity in her image.

Odalia's design also reminds me a lot of Mrs Tweedy from Chicken Run for reasons I cannot articulate.

Upon looking at Amity and her parents, it is obvious that Amity and her mother are related, but Alador seems like the odd one out, right? Except for two things.

Amity's hair is her means of expression in the story. When she dyes it different colours, it is an outward manifestation of her internal development. When it is left to its own devices, she has naturally brownish red hair, similar but not exactly the same as Alador.

Amity is her own person who bears a ton of similarity to her father figure. But someone, most likely herself at the behest of Odalia, has made a concerted effort to cover that up.

The other element of Amity's design that links to her father's is something nobody can cover up. Amity has her father's eyes.

Rise of the Guardians is an egregiously underrated film that I love. It deals purpose and finding joy, but its pivotal scene is relevant to the discussion of Amity and Alador.

"You have big eyes." "Yes! Big eyes, very big, because they are full of wonder That is my centre. It is what I was born with: eyes that have always seen the wonder in everything! Eyes that see lights in the trees, and magic in the air - this wonder is what I put into the world!... It is my centre. What is yours?"

Santa Claus in Rise of The Guardians is a character who relies imagination and creativity, and there is a difference in the film between born gifts and who a person chooses to be. Santa was born seeing the world differently, and he used that to create and preserve that imagination in others.

Amity and Alador both see the world in the same way. They both look at the world and see what could be. They are intelligent, but less in the restrictive, linear ideal of "being a good student", they are more inventors, and Odalia has taken that intelligence and confined it.

That, is where the final element of Odalia and Alador's character designs comes into play, their expressions.

Alador looks tired all of the time. He isn't happy at all in this episode, and he only smiles twice. His entire demeanor tells you that he doesn't want to be wherever he is.

Odalia, however, alternates between arrogant superiority and scheming gremlin, and that reveals her personality as much as her actions. Odalia believes herself superior to others and is having fun with that confidence.

Amity is presented with both of these parental figures as options for her to develop into. The series is offering a good and a bad option, but then it does something clever and takes another rout. Amity becomes her own person, informed by her father, but unique in her own way.

To my point of Odalia's practical irrelevance, it's notable that all of Odalia's influence on her daughter is impermanent. It's her clothing, hairstyle, and expression, all of which Amity drops like a stone when she starts to achieve her autonomy.

Speaking of autonomy, this episode actually has stuff happening in it.

Starting with a side note. Gus barely reacts to the threat of execution and looks more horrified by being expelled. Everyone else in this scene looks and sounds equally upset by both, with the exception of Amity's relief at the second option. But Gus doesn't make a noise and just looks surprised by incoming death, as if it's a class he doesn't particularly want to go to, but has no choice in the matter. Does that concern anyone else?

I want to point out that Amity doesn't ever look afraid of her mother. She reacts to the execution gaff similarly to everyone except Gus, but to everything else, she just looks sad. This isn't a physically abusive relationship, but an emotionally abusive one. Amity spends the entirety of this episode feeling trapped.

"Luz, was it? Please, this isn't personal. I actually appreciate your tenacity. We're just trying to teach our daughter a valuable lesson in business."

Once again, this is the end result that Odalia has set out for Amity, complete uncaring ambition.

Now, I am not skilled in the art of business, I know that one line from A Muppets Christmas Carrol and that's about it. But I think Luz's response to Odalia is pretty neat.

"How does this teach anything? We're still gonna be friends with her. I'm calling applesauce on this business baloney!"

I do have to thank the writers of The Owl House for making Luz's dialect so incomprehensibly Luz, because it makes navigating the transcript (link) so much easier.

Anyway, as Luz points out, Odalia is just petty here. She is seeking revenge against her daughter for messing up her business promotion and is leveraging her unrivaled power to do so. She's not as uncaring as she thinks, and to her credit, she realises this in the moment.

But, Odalia is still cruel and entitled, being self aware doesn't diminish her villainy, and so she offers Amity' position to Luz. She has a mould, and she doesn't particularly care who fills it, just that it is filled. Odalia is another villain in this series who represents that theme of constraint.

Luz's dialect is actually important in this scene, because it positions her as a thematic opposite to Odalia. Luz doesn't care about the rules of "polite conversation" and will say whatever nonsense comes to her head if it gets the point across. Luz is free in her verbal expression, and Odalia restricts that of her family to barely a word.

However, Luz doesn't confront Odalia on a thematic level. The themes of the story are expressed through Luz's sheer presence, but in this situation, she isn't actively trying to prove the superiority of her worldview. Instead, she applies more of a Monkey D. Luffy approach.

For those who haven't read One Piece, Monkey D. Luffy (Third from the left) is a character who wants to be the freest man in the world. His antagonist is the World Government, who is restrictive and oppressive, and Luffy exists to oppose abuse of authority and injustice.

Luffy doesn't actively do this. He doesn't really care about the theming of his own story, it just happens around him. Repeatedly in the series, most notably in Enies Lobby and Arlong Park, Luffy declares comes into conflict with villainous powers who thematically oppose him. But, he doesn't confront them because of that theme, but because they hurt his friends.

Luz does the same thing across The Owl House, taking on Belos and Lilith in season one because she doesn't like how they treat Eda, and taking on Odalia here because she doesn't like how she treats Amity.

If you look closely, she actually does it twice in this very episode.

"Luz, you don't have to do that." "Yes, I do. Willow and Gus don't deserve this."

Luz gives in and takes up Odalia's offer to protect her friends, not because Odalia is nebulously villainous.

Back to Amity, she doesn't get as many actual lines in this episode as usual, but she is very much present in every scene she shows up in. From the silence, to the expressions, to the frustrated growling at every hinderance. Her worlds are colliding, and she can't keep everything under control.

This hits a breaking point with the confrontation.

"No, you're gonna listen to me for once. Luz, Willow and Gus are my friends! They're nice to each other, they listen to each other. They make me think about the kind of person I really want to be!"

Let's talk about Taryon Darrington.

Critical Role is a D&D live play that is currently in its third campaign. Halfway through the first campaign, the audience and players were introduced to the character of Taryon Darington, an artificer and human disaster in the most positive of ways.

I genuinely love Taryon, and have an entire post in the works dedicated to him and his significance for TTRPG culture as a whole, so I won't dwell too much here. Suffice to say this: Taryon's parental situation is similar to Amity's, in that his father viewed all of the Darington estate as means to an end, without the care and affection necessary to actually raise a family. When Taryon confronted him, he gave a speech remarkably similar to Amity's in Escaping Expulsion.

"In my year of travel, I didn't just dilly-dally around the world having fun. I was learning about the world and about life and about family. I was learning from these fine people what it means to really be a family, and care about each other. I learned from Grog and Vax what it means to be a man, and to be a father. I learned from Pike what it means to be a caring mother. I learned from Keyleth what a real sister is like, one who loves you and cares for you. I learned from Vex what a best friend is like. These are things you never gave us, growing up. I even learned from Percival, the type of man I would want to marry one day."

This is a speech of separation. It says officially that Howaardt (Taryon's father) has no bearing on his actions, and that Taryon will go about his life without a care for the foolishness of his father's actions. It is claiming autonomy, and it is pointing out that Howaardt was only important to Taryon because he told him so, in reality, the connection was minimal.

Amity's little speech is the same. She is proclaiming that she doesn't need Odalia's fake affection and conditional acceptance. She wants to be around her friends, as they make her into a better person. Amity is more influenced by the actions of those she surrounds herself with than her mother.

Most of all, Amity is influenced by Luz and the example she sets. Light, do not faulter.

That's some good found family storytelling, right there.

Final Thoughts

Odalia and Amity's story will continue until the end of the series, but it really ends with season two's penultimate episode, which I will get to.

I wanted to do a whole thing on how purple is associated with wealth because of sea snails (its more complicated than that), but I couldn't figure out a way of putting it in the post and relating it to the abominations and Amity's hair dye later on in the series.

I didn't talk about Eda and Lilith discovering more nuanced glyph magic, and that's because... I don't like the writing in those scenes. This episode is really good overall, but the dialogue in Lilith and Eda's scenes doesn't sit right with me, it feels too simple, like it's trying too hard to be turned into memes. But that's just my opinion.

Next week, I am looking at Echoes of the Past, so stick around if that interests you.

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industria-adastra · 2 months

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[WMMAP] - Magnum Opus: It's sad to be at the bottom of life, right? (4/5)

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Summary: It's amazing, really, how quickly love can turn to hate. Or maybe, it hadn't been love after all.

Note: Recently, I've gotten into Hazbin Hotel again. I ended up adding more stuff to the latter half of the original chapter 3 that I cut. I hope you like it, intended audience of maybe two people.

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There is a man who is always present in these events. A man who always hangs about on the fringes of the ever-increasingly elaborate parties in Jennette’s name, observing within the shadows. Athanasia finds him to look disturbingly similar to her father, even if she brushes off their similarities time and time again. And like her father, as she discovers in an accidental bump, he reeks of the magic that the Obelian royal family seems inexplicably chained to.

She goes searching within the records, and already, his face appears only a generation away. Yet, Anastacius de Alger Obelia had been long dead, hadn’t he? But Athanasia has long learned to not believe in coincidence. Something strange is afoot. Will he become a test of what she’d do for her family?

At another ball, another celebration for Jennette, his dark gaze turns to her, and his eyes flash jewel blue, and, oh, Athanasia understands now.

(She’s never tried spilling blood with her own hands)

Stiffening as he leisurely walks over, Athanasia’s mind rushes through potential actions she could take. On one hand, she could alert everyone within the vicinity, especially Lord Robaine, about her uncle truly living up to his name. On the other hand, remembering the bitter twist of his lips, staring at Father and her sister, Athanasia stalls.

(Perhaps it is a good idea, with the pressure of twisted magic she hadn’t truly noticed the strength of before. Something's wrong.)

Her vision blurs, watching him steadily walk over, the light clicks of his shoes like a war drum against her ears. His clothes don't seem to fit, a strange, ever-changing amalgamation of fluttering robes and crisp formal wear. His hair is neat and carefully tousled, and his hair is shaggy and unkempt.

(There is something deeply wrong about this man)

“It’s annoying, isn’t it, not being the golden child everyone loves?” It’s as if two people are asking this of her, with a strange mix of amusement, cold pity and understanding within his (their?) eyes.

(Something about him is wrong, wrong, wrong)

Athanasia opts not to reply, shifting her gaze elsewhere. It’s a question loaded with enough weight to topple an empire. She’s quite sure that what that man means by ‘annoying’ is not as light as it sounds.

“I see,” his eyes move to catch her gaze.

Before he moves to turn away, they give some last few parting words that render Athanasia stock stiff in her heels.

“I can’t wait to see what happens when you break alongside your ghoul of a mother, my dearest niece.”

"Dearest descendant of mine."

The phrases overlap together, and before she can even blink, before she can let go of a tense breath, a body moves into her field of vision, blocking her view. Athanasia stumbles forward, hand outstretched to politely shift it away. But when it moves, they are already gone.

(It's as if they've vanished into thin air)

After that fateful encounter, Athanasia never sees him appear at another ball ever again.

She wonders if she should have ever told her father about this meeting.

Then again, with his constant state of apathy and ennui during their regularly scheduled tea times with Jennette concerning anything relating to her, Athanasia wonders if it’ll simply pass through his ears like white noise.

Ever since the first one, the tea parties Jennette tries to host for the three of them are always painfully awkward. This one is no exception. Athanasia is eighteen now, and all that’s changed is Jennette’s choice of tea and snacks—this year is chamomile and imported sweets from Siodonna.

The overpowering taste of sugar accompanies the taste of rose. Paired with the chamomile, it verges on being too sweet.

Without a need to contribute to the current conversation (consisting of Jennette rambling and her father barely even looking like he’s paying attention—he looks perpetually drowsy these days), Athanasia finds her attention turning to Bluey’s recovery. He keeps shedding feathers all over the place, and sometimes his muscles lock together involuntarily. Sustaining a life is harder than keeping it in stasis. She can’t push too much magic in, and neither can she give too little. Yet, there is no predefined value to sustain—there’s an unknown sequence yet to be found. She needs to find it soon.

“Just yesterday, I went to see Ijekiel—”

Clank. Athanasia’s teacup strikes its saucer perhaps a bit too harshly, rudely cutting off Jennette’s words. Because of that, she offers an awkward, sheepish smile to her audience of two.

“My apologies for that, but I’ve suddenly realised that I have some rather urgent matters to resolve back in the Ruby Palace.” As she speaks, Athanasia moves out of her seat, ready to leave. “Please, have a wonderful rest of the day.”

(It isn’t as if they’d notice her anyway)

“O-oh! Of course, we will! Right, Father?” At that, Claude only stares at her silently, yet all Athanasia can see from his eyes is apathy—a passive gaze with nothing attached. “I hope it’s nothing too serious…”

By then, Athanasia had already started to walk away.

(She wonders why she thought they’d call after her)

It all happens in a flash. Jennette, chatting with her amiably about the latest fashions and Ijekiel’s latest romantic gesture. And to clear her throat, she takes a sip of tea. But as she opens her mouth to speak again, her blue eyes widen, her mouth forms an “o” in surprise, and Jennette coughs up crimson blood before she collapses to the ground. The sound of breaking porcelain resounds as it crashes onto the ground.

Not even a second passes by and Athanasia has already rushed towards her, heart pounding in her ears. How will she explain this to her father? How had she been so lax in her vigilance? How had she been so blind as not to notice poison? Why Jennette? Why her? Her mana rushes out in an attempt to heal Jennette but she can’t properly do so if she has no idea what has been affected. What had Jennette ingested within the tea? Athanasia’s hands shake in terror as she scoops Jennette into her arms.

“HELP!” She screams, heavy breaths coming out as tears start to flow. “HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE! ANYBODY! THE FIRST PRINCESS HAS BEEN POISONED!” Fearfully, Athanasia's eyes dart around, catching the eyes of a nearby maid, whose mouth is wide open in shock.

"What are you doing?! Go! Go get help now!" Athanasia so rarely ever raised her voice, but right now, she’d scream herself hoarse, scream herself mute if it’d save Jennette.

Luckily for the maid, she quickly runs off toward the royal doctors. But now, there is nothing to do but wait, nothing to do but watch as the blood trickles down from Jennette’s mouth. Sweat is already building on her skin, and all Athanasia can do is hold her close and make sure Jennette doesn’t unconsciously choke on her blood. Jennettee’s eyes are still open, but Athanasia thinks that she cannot bear to close them, even for Jennette’s later comfort. As her heart continues to race, Athanasia finds that the only thing she can do is silently lament to her mother, and pray in her heart that all will be alright.

There is blood on her clothes.

When Jennette is taken away to be treated, Athanasia finally collapses from the stress of it all. Yet when she wakes up, she sees neither the old, yet comforting walls of her room. What she sees are the grey stone walls; what she smells is the rotten stink of excretion and urine; what she hears is the rhythmic clanking of metal armour and the scurrying of rats. It doesn’t take a genius to realise that she’s in the dungeons—as unfamiliar as it should be.

There is still blood on her clothes. There is still blood on her hands. It’s brown and crusted and stinks of iron and Athanasia thinks she hears a woman weeping. Her gaze darts around, trying to see if her mother is here. If she was, Athanasia could get an explanation. If she was, Athanasia could have some comfort in this sudden new insanity.

But her mother is not here, and Athanasia is alone. There’s not much else to do but sit and wait.

And just a few moments later, her answers come in the form of three individuals. Duke Alpheus, Countess Rosalia, and last of all shadowed by the badly lit rooms but still standing out so strongly—the Emperor, her father. The three of them stare down upon her dirtied form with closed expressions (and what she can always recognise as barely hidden disdain).

Athanasia decides to focus on her father. Not that it was hard to.

“Your Majesty?”

No reply.

Athanasia tries again. “Is Jennette alright? Is she safe now?”

Instead of her father’s even monotone, it’s Countess Rosalia’s sharp, nearly squawking, shrieking vocals which answer her. “Jennette is safe from you, Your Highness.” She spits those words out venomously, almost triumphantly.

It doesn’t take a one-in-a-million genius to understand what has happened.

Still, Athanasia tries to keep her calm, “What do you mean, Countess? You, of all people, should know that false accusations towards royalty are tantamount to treason.” Better to be blunt and be done with it.

This time, it is the Duke who speaks, looking down upon her between narrowed eyes, “Your Highness, there is no need for any more pretence. It has been found that you were the one who poisoned Jennette.” Prim and proper in his shiny white clothes and his always meticulously coiffed hair; in the depths of her heart, Athanasia couldn’t understand how a man like Ijekiel could be his son.

“And what evidence do you have to prove your claims?” Athanasia has learnt to smile like how Raven bares his teeth; sharp and quick, a warning to go no further. If there is anything else she’s learnt from Ijekiel’s friendship, it is that a smile grants both mystery and versatility. “Proper procedure states that I have the right to be subject to a fair trial, and a right to know upon what grounds you base such accusations on.”

She watches the countess artfully swing her fan up into a waiting hand, only to snap it open with a violent elegance. “Your Highness, there is no need for such tedious procedures when your guilt is crystal clear for everyone to see.”

Like a part of a two-headed snake, the Duke adds his venomous spit to the mix, “Out of jealousy, you dared to poison your own sister for your own shortcomings.”

“This is more fact than fiction—countless witnesses can prove to you that I had no idea what would happen to Jennette.”

“And countless witnesses can also prove that you’ve always harboured such envious hatred for your own sister. How wicked you are, to take away her fiancé—to take away my son—and now to take away her life.”

Still, Athanasia continues to stay calm. Her father would surely intervene at some point, wouldn’t he? “You must be mistaken, Ijekiel and I are merely friends. He is my future brother-in-law, and it would make no sense to alienate myself from him. And I care dearly for Jennette. I would do no such thing when it would only bring her pain.”

“But your actions speak louder than your words, Your Highness. Such pretty lies may come easily to you, given your blood, but we both know that you purposefully seduced him. Just like that crass, low-class whore you were born from.” The woman sneers, edging threateningly closer.

Athanasia snaps. She rushes to the bars, slamming into them with a strength and speed all too abnormal for a girl her size and age. Taking advantage of their foolish arrogance, she takes the opportunity to grab at their disgustingly extravagant clothes, bringing them eye to eye, and knocking their heads painfully on the steel bars.

(They tell her to not let go, to keep moving, to keep shaking. Until they are but bloodied flesh and broken bones and as filthy as their tongues are. Better off as fodder, better off to be used for something grander than they could ever be.)

“Keep my mother out of your mouth! How can you be so sure that such a miscarriage of justice will—!”

“Be silent.” Finally, he speaks. His mana collapses onto her like that of a dying star, forcing her to let go, forcing her back onto the ground. But while it is painful, it is more bearable than the knowledge that her father simply did not care.

Ignoring the bodies quickly scrambling behind his protection, the Emperor simply comments, “Have you finished your petty tantrum?”

For the first time in her life, she gawks at him, at his apathy and unchanged expression. From the look on his face, Athanasia knows that he will never change his mind. He will never change his mind for her because he does not care.

She’s known this for so long, and yet, and yet it still hurts.

And just like that, her verdict—her guilt—is decided just like that. She has blood on her hands because it is the word of the Emperor—Sun of the Empire, a ruler before he is her father (as it should; as it shouldn’t be so). Athanasia bites down harshly on her lips, casting her gaze on the stone floors, and nary a sound is allowed to escape. She wants to rage, wants to scream, wants to reach beyond the steel bars and tear at the cloth near her father’s feet—to beg for an explanation, to defend herself, to harshly refute her claims.

Who had she loved dearly all this time? Who had she worked for to the bone to gain just the slightest bit of approval and notice? Who had she idolised as perfection even as it was so clear that he was nothing but a statue carved out of ice? Her father—

(The child will die. He will kill her, like he slaughtered them, watching them breathe their last. She is her child my child our only child. She must live.)

Her mother’s cold hands tether her to reality, and Athanasia does none of that.

“Breathe,” Diana says, right on time, pressing atop her, enclosing Athanasia within her arms. “Not in front of the Duke and the Countess, Dear. Later, when it’s safer, Mama will be here. You know Mama will always be here for you.”

Right.

She has always had her mother. Always had Lily and Raven. And now she has Jennette and Ijekiel.

It is enough. (It must be; She wants a father.)

Athanasia forces herself to hold it in, to stare straight into her father’s eyes and say, “Your Majesty is as efficient as always. Will there be a further investigation into this incident? After all, Your Majesty, efficiency without accuracy is just another way to describe sloppy work.” She smiles, ignoring the subtle shock and outrage—the lovely confusion—on the Duke and Countess.

“...You are the primary suspect. It will be enough to make an example of you.” Always putting in the most minimal of effort when it came to her.

“I see. Then may I know if you have settled on a date for the execution?” Even now, she couldn’t let herself look any less insanely perfect in front of him. Even now, she still loves him—but perhaps no longer like that of a follower and their god. After all, gods cannot be flawed.

Unreadable as always, her father so graciously lets her know when she’ll die by his hand. “The dawn of the 8th day.” Cold, clipped—he doesn’t even seem to register that it’ll be her birthday. By the sun, moon, and stars—what a joke. This is the most attention he’s ever truly given to her.

After that, he’s already turning his back on her, moving towards the exit. The Duke and the Countess cast her cold, calculating looks before they scurry after him (like the rats they were).

When they finally leave, out of sight, out of mind, Athanasia finally allows herself to collapse into her mother’s ready arms. She shakes, she sobs, and she cries—but Athanasia still does not let a single sound escape. How unfair it is, to mourn something she never had from the start.

There is blood on her hands, but it is because of someone else.

(Athanasia doesn’t want to die.

“You won’t,” her mother promises with a whisper. “We’ll make sure of it.”)

“How far will you go for Diana’s—my child?”

“Anything for Athanasia,” the nanny’s sea blue eyes look straight ahead, resolute.

“Even your life?”

“If it must be so.”

On the second day of her imprisonment, Raven brings him a thick, tattered book. It is hard to hide large secrets, but having grown up as an Alpheus, hiding them is but second nature to him.

Drunk off his victory, his father grows sloppy—perhaps even mad, judging from the strange one-man dialogue he occasionally hears coming from his office. (Before…everything, they had conversed about noise-cancelling magic before.) His father’s lack of care is a boon when Ijekiel knows his actions will tear into the tapestry of success his father had so carefully woven.

He remembers being told that to love is to wish for someone’s success and happiness—to do all you could to ensure their dreams would come true.

Ijekiel thinks that to love is also to do all you can to stop someone from going past that line in the sand, the precarious precipice of no return.

Then again, he muses on the seventh night, sorting through all the information about guard rotations, patrol routes, floor plans and the like—it’s not even the most damning action of his right now. Ijekiel raises a hand to press lightly against his sternum, feeling the heavy weight of the key, the rough texture of the iron, even though it’s buried underneath all the layers of his clothing.

A haunting birdsong trickles in the open window, and Ijekiel stops to turn and gaze at the moonlight.

He thinks that, perhaps, also, to love is to be willfully ignorant.

Ever since her verdict had been so kindly handed down to her by her father, Athanasia’s days are now spent in the dungeon, rather than in the comfort of the library or her room. There are no books to read, so she spends time talking to her mother, practising the spells stitched into her memories. However, without Raven, they’re weaker, barely sparks yet still clearly noticeable. Strangely, no guard ever seems to be able to perceive any such practice; eyes glazed over every time. Nor are there shackles on her limbs, binding her down like an animal. She won’t question it, instead preparing for a hypothetical scenario in which she’s free.

(Mother had promised her.)

She’s sure that the guards all think she’s mad from shock. They look at her with disgusted pity and gossip about her as if she can’t hear at all. But their loose tongues help her hold onto the outside world.

Jennette is in a coma. For all their talk of family, she surmises that the most precious child of both the Countess and the Duke is power. Her father spends most of his time working. Athanasia supposes that there’s much to do when you’re executing a direct member of the royal family. Morbidly, she wonders if the Black Tower magicians would want her body for their research. Lily is that “crazy palace maid” who begs to be heard every day (no news on how her father reacted to it—but such a case is one where Athanasia sincerely prays that her father’s apathy will outweigh any annoyance, that Lily’s noble family will take her out of harm’s way before the worst can come to pass).

Raven and Bluey are both missing (something’s coming). And Ijekiel… Last she heard, he’d been the picture-perfect fiancé, periodically visiting Jennette like clockwork every day.

At the same time, Athanasia gets a single stem of flowers each day. She wonders if Duke Alpheus knows about them.

Goldenrod, purple heliotrope, blue verbena, pink gladiolus, blue periwinkle, an iris suspiciously dusted with fur and downy feathers.

When will it be the hour of their flight?

“Wait and see, it’ll be like a fairytale,” her mother says, dancing all the while. “In the meantime, show me how you weave your magic again, Athy.”

It is cold within the dungeons. Athanasia will surely die tomorrow if nothing short of a miracle occurs. And yet, there is no worry in either her heart or her soul. Her mother had promised her, and to love, for Athanasia, was to devote and believe—to have utmost faith.

(She wonders what her father’s idea of love is—indulgence? A passive acceptance not too far from apathy? At least she knows that her mother’s love is undying, from beyond the grave. Lily’s love is steadfast and loyal, always trying to make the best of things. Ijekiel’s is inherent in every action, every move. Jennette’s is puppy-like, endearing.)

Athanasia hums as she finishes the final touches on her flowery bracelet, sliding it over her wrist with a sense of pride. The flowers are ill-suited to be bound this way, but such perversions of reality and logic are what magic is for. From behind, her mother gently combs out the knots in her hair with deft fingers, plaiting and pinning until all of Athanasia’s golden hair is safely pinned up.

“The midnight hour comes soon, Dear—Eumiellia’s always said that it’s the perfect hour for some…mischief.” Her mother says in a sing-song tone, drawing her up on her feet and guiding her to watch the way the light on the dungeon corridors starts to change and grow. In the depths of the Empire’s bowels, the echo of the nearing footsteps rings louder and louder in her mind.

Someone is coming.

“Is it time to go now?” Athanasia asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I already said it’s the perfect hour, Athy.” So they wait. It doesn’t take long for Athanasia to realise that alongside the light footsteps, another pair of feet pad forth as well. Excitement bubbles in her chest—she’s heard those footsteps before.

Athanasia sees Bluey first, the stitched bluebird squeezing between the bars to nuzzle into her awaiting hands, before leaping into flight once more.

Raven is next, her book grasped firmly in her mouth. Already, Athanasia can feel the electric rush of mana, from a steady trickle to rushing rapids. Were it not for the anti-teleportation wards, she probably could be free already.

“I hope you don’t mind the lack of white horses, Your Highness.”

All of a sudden, she feels lightheaded, warm. “Ijekiel?” She breathes out, staring disbelievingly at his hooded figure, the glint of his golden eyes. He smiles back at her, taking out a key from underneath his collar.

“The one and only, Athanasia.” Her door unlocks, and he reaches out to tug her forward into a tight hug, holding her so tightly and so closely that Athanasia can feel the skin of his neck, and smell the scent of his skin. “Did you like my message? I learnt it from the book about Obelia’s flower language we read together every February.”

“I didn’t expect—”

“That I’d be doing this in person? I don’t trust anyone else with your safety. After all, you’re my…friend.”

Athanasia finally hugs back, squeezing her arms around Ijekiel tightly. Her eyes squeeze shut with unshed tears. “I’m glad you’re my friend too. But what I meant was that I didn’t expect you to mean you were going to conduct a jailbreak.”

“Well, a nobleman should always have many skills.”

“Jennette is lucky to have you.” She feels Ijekiel tense momentarily in her arms, The break in conversation appears to drag on, long and uncomfortable, before she hears him let out a sigh.

“She’s lucky to have you as well,” he says in return, before seemingly tacking on as an afterthought, “as a sister.” At those words, he releases her from his grasp, pulling away, only to come close once more to wrap a dark cloak around her shoulders. His hands rest on her shoulders, and Athanasia isn’t sure if he realises how tightly he’s gripping her.

“We should get going now. The guards won’t stay out for long.”

“Are you coming with me?” They both know it’s a stupid question; both know what the answer will be; both know that she will never truly mean it.

Ijekiel doesn’t reply, but his wistful gaze is enough.

Athanasia smiles, and it is small, almost sad, as she makes a request of him, “Take care of her for me, and for her own sake, alright?” Gripping the front of the cloak, she looks off into the dark distance, the unknown of her impending freedom. “Politics was never her strong suit.”

“Of course, as Her Highness asks.” Ijekiel chokes out the words, and he lets go of her shoulders, turning away and towards the dungeon’s exit. “I’ll escort you to that place—as long as you can get out of here, you’ll be able to leave the palace, right?”

“Yes.”

And so out they go, past the numerous cells and past the unconscious guards, from the darkness, to the moonlight. The night air tastes of freedom; walking on the stone paths, past the patrolling guards, feels like a kind of liberation. Her magic wraps around them like a shield as they make their way to the place where they’d both realised they’d fallen in love with the sun.

As they stand below the tree, Athanasia finds herself reluctant to truly say goodbye to him.

So she doesn’t.

“Tell Lily I said goodbye, please?” The magic swirls around her feet, building, building to a crescendo, changing the colour of her hair, the colour of her eyes—held high in the air by a single thread of hesitation.

Ijekiel cannot tear his eyes away from her. It’s only through sheer strength of will that he holds back from reaching out once more. “If it’s you, there’s no need to ask.”

Athanasia smiles, bright and true, and she turns away. “I’m glad I met you, Ijekiel.” Her magic swallows her up, leaving not a trace, not even a spark.

It’s as if she were never there in the first place.

He speaks to the empty air, hand outstretched. “I’m glad I met you too, Athy.”

Athanasia jumps from inn to inn, hiding in plain sight, making sure to cycle through a number of features wherever she goes, obfuscating the Imperial guards’ search for her. Above all, she likes it best when her eyes are either pink or blue; when her hair is blonde or brown. Through it all, her heart crashes about in her chest, thrashing about in her ribcage even as she refuses to think about how she’s being hunted down like a criminal by her own father. Money (golden and shining and reliable in a way her father never truly was) is never tight due to her magic. Still, Athanasia is starved of genuine interaction with anyone but her mother. Yet it’s all too risky even to fathom making an acquaintance when she knows they’ll all bind her in chains if they ever know who she is.

Her mother helps as best as she can, whispering in her ear about the innkeeper was starting to become suspicious, or what rumours were being circulated here and there—helping her avoid areas where people are most keen to turn in the abominable villainess who’d harmed their beloved Princess (never her, never Athanasia, it was always, always Jennette who’d be so loved and accepted by all). Athanasia is oh-so careful, living as if she were dead, waiting, waiting, waiting as she always did.

Until she sees the body strung from a rope in the town square.

Horrifically injured, it is covered in a damaged maid’s dress, and matted brown hair covers its eyes. But Athanasia recognises the bend of those limp hands, the careful embroidery lining the apron and the skirt, the unseen tie so horribly torn and broken like her heart. Her breath feels uneven, all too loud for her ears in an environment that seems to press down on her. Mother’s ghostly arms pull at her as gently firm as can be, but Athanasia cannot bring herself to move. There is a scream stuck in her throat, and it claws with an animalistic ferocity to be let out.

Faintly, she thinks that Ijekiel would’ve labelled this as the protagonist’s tipping point.

Lily is dead.

Mama confirms it too, with all the coldness and stiffness of flash-frozen water, the absence of spirit, her soul.

Not even days after she’s started running away, does she see the still corpse swaying in the air in front of her eyes. It’s already started the process of decay, the white pallor that marks her as gone having already overtaken her skin. Not to mention the unmistakable hole in her chest, the browning stains of blood on her always impeccably clean uniform, the doll-like stiffness of her body, and Lily cannot be dead because her Father hates her so but he is not a madman bereft of morals (as long as it does not involve her) he is a cold but stiff, still just ruler (as long as it does not involve her) because because because—

It had been fine as long as it was only her who bore the weight of such cruel apathy.

Claude de Alger Obelia, emperor of Obelia, tyrant of Obelia has, had, killed Lily.

Her mama lays her hands upon her shoulders, ice-cold and sub-zero degrees burning Athanasia’s skin like a hot iron brand. Memories gleaned rush into her mind

And he would pay.

He would pay for it. He had to pay for it. There were consequences to every action, everything you took from the world. Whether it was forcing the creation of your imagination into life, speeding up natural processes of growth, or ripping away a life unfinished. There was always, always, a price to pay. Equivalent exchange. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. A life for a life.

And Athanasia would become his debt dealer. His Thanatos, pounding, clawing at his door.

She could fix this. Athanasia was a fool and a horribly, terribly blind idiot with a brain rotted with desire but she could fix this because if her Mama could come back to her so could Lily, and then she could apologise for being such a stupid stupid child. Everything would be back to normal. Back to the imperfect (no, they were perfect and unblemished) days of simply lazing around as a true family.

Lily wasn’t gone yet.

And Athanasia would make sure that she stayed, for good. Forever.

All she needs to do is prepare the stage, erase a few eyesores and tidy up this mess.

(The light of the torches cast long shadows as she took one step and another forward)

For that, her first order of business is to take back Lily’s body.

Early morning comes with the herald of the confusion of the masses.

(Poor, ignorant souls who have yet to realise what will be wrought upon their world)

The body of the example, the unremarkable maid of an unloved princess no longer hung from the noose. Only a snapped rope, roughly cut off from the rest of it, lay hanging from the wood.

Someone had taken the body, but who? Who would dare defy the order of the Sun of Obelia, Emperor Claude de Alger Obelia?

And within the shadows, a girl began crafting. Smoothing over blemishes, re-building foundations, and making once wrongs become rights. She fixes and repairs and improves because it is all for Lily’s sake. Lily must not come back in pain. She must come back to a body that knows no pain and will never know pain ever again.

But because it must be perfect (it must be, it had to be because she had to make up for it somehow and she knows it’s not enough but—), because she will accept no flaw, Athanasia needs practice. More practice than little animals and plants in various states of decay. Better practice than that. She needs people.

(People who will surely, surely join her, who will always live up to her expectations. Because they will be reborn and reshaped to fit them.)

Athanasia always works hard for those she loves. Will always work hard for them and those she has yet to love. Because she is a starving child, and she will devour everything even if she’s full. So in return, she’ll do anything.

She gently thumbs the closed eyelids of a most remarkable maid, knowing that beyond them are dull blue eyes. It isn’t right for them to be such a colour. Her hand goes to her face to trace soft lines just below her jewel-blue eyes. That colour is a physical connection of “family”, an invisible thread tying them together.

He didn’t deserve to have such a colour. Its beauty—wasted on him.

It’s a colour that Lily deserves so much more than him.

And Athanasia knows she can fix it.

She has to.

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rafent · 2 months

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♡ what if we were both dragons and we

High Priest / Dragon ♀ ♂

An exemplary child of dragons that can transform, create Corrupted, earth puppets, awaken emblems, and even rouse them. In short terms: a prodigy. Identifies more as a Divine Dragon due to their Lythos upbringing but has no qualms with their Fell Dragon blood

In true avatar kid fashion, gender is dependent on the player. If the chosen avatar is male, then this child is female. If the chosen avatar is female, then they are male. Looks the same as both genders. In this case, they are female!

Feels the closeness of her bonds and sees no need for formalities. Blunt, innocently unguarded, and refers to everyone by first name including her own father, which irks Rafal to no end. Alear remains the sole and mysterious exception

Both parents, Alear and Rafal, are miraculously present in her life. Like the former she is a kind soul and feels responsibility to protect others. Supposedly does not resemble the latter much, a fact that Rafal is relieved for...

She is exceedingly confident in her prospects of victory and does not entertain the possibility that either she or her allies will lose. "We'll win no matter what. On my power as a Divine Dragon, that's a promise"—a favorite saying of hers. She is also fond of sweets. Perhaps resembling one particular father in these respects

Character Arc: One distant millennia in the future, a day will come where Elyos is upturned. Emptied of peace and its usual protectors. With both Alear and Rafal the most powerful dragons lost to the sands of time, a new Divine One must inherit the world they sought to protect. She will rise to the occasion

Grew up speaking to 'the nice spirits in the rings' that no-one else can see. It is a secret kept to herself in the manner of imaginary friends. Though born twinless, she is not alone; they are in a sense her many kind older brothers and sisters

Army Superlative(s): Struggles the hardest to wake up on time, worst split ends in the army, likes to be alone the least

#◜ ₊ — 𝓡 ˚ ₊ 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 ╱ meme.#alyration #“why does the divine one call you babygirl” i too would care to know this #rafal needs at least one kid he loves but that gets on his nerves and ofc it's the one he has with alear #also one of the few rafal babies who actually has him as a stable presence in her life courtesy of his paired ending #she comes out pretty normal considering she IS a rafalkid

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viric-dreams · 2 months

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I wrote out some quick notes on character design for eventual profiles and spotted some interesting similarities:

-both Ockham and The Rubbery Barber Surgeon have visually presented male for professional reasons (the former past, the latter present). Ockham continues to do so out of force of habit, but this may change since heshethey no longer has anything to do with said original context (sailing/zailing). In the Neath, where people are less concerned with gender presentation than in early 19th century Europe, Ockham is equally unconcerned with how heshethey is read. Clothing is a matter of convenience (or formally, whatever looks nicest). The Rubbery Barber Surgeon, on the other hand, enjoys masculine presentation (though is often annoyed that he feels pidgeonholed into presenting and behaving like a human Victorian man to make his customers feel "better"). Even without his professional life, he would probably do so anyway.

-Tamara likes to present femininely, except according to Varchaasi social norms. The clothing she wears in London often has feminine styles and fabrics, but follows Varchaasi silhouettes (closely-tailored, and bifurcated garments, to not cast shadows), adapted to London's climate. If she wears skirts, they will exclusively be tied up and tucked into her waistband/belted (though only if the weather allows/with warm stockings... though it's sometimes not worth the scandal it draws).

-Roberts and Nite dress in menswear and have no GNC tendencies. Nite's experimented on principle, then promptly checked cross-dressing off of his list as not for him.

So basically, there are very few skirts or dresses in the collective closets of my OCs, all for very different reasons. I didn't mean for this to happen, but here we are.

#ockahm #tamara #roberts/nite #the rubbery barber surgeon #why am i not surprised that the image results for 'tied up dress' were all bondage-related #and not the thing i KNOW people did when they needed the fabric temporarily out of the way

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thestalwartheart · 1 year

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Ahhhh. 21 or 27 for the domestic prompt! Thank you! :)

Hi @theexistencegame! Both of these prompts were wonderful, but I went with 27: fixing their hair/clothes just before they rush out the door.

You can read it below or on AO3.

Enjoy! 💖

tie.

Q looks at himself in the mirror and sighs. It doesn’t matter that he’s verging on running late; he can’t go out looking like this.

Has his hair always…and were those bags under his eyes new, or…and oh, Christ, why on earth had he gone with a red tie? It’s a bit much, surely. Too eccentric for the evening planned. Or is it? Perhaps it might—no. Definitely too eccentric.

With a flick of his wrist and a tut at his watch, where the minute hand of time is flying by far too fast, Q tugs his tie off and frantically searches his already unkempt drawers for an alternative. He’s got an aubergine one somewhere that will pair nicely with his navy suit. It’s a basketweave tie, so not quite as formal as the sleek silk of his red one, but it’s a better colour. Red. For dinner. Honestly, what had he been thinking?

He retrieves the new tie and its accompanying pocket square, nearly shutting his fingers in the drawer in haste to move things along. Those same fingers tremble as he fumbles his way through a four-in-hand knot. He’s got neither the time nor the patience for a Windsor this evening, having spent too much time choosing his shirt and fixing his hair. The latter is utterly unsalvageable. He can only hope it looks deliberate. A ‘bedhead’ look, as Eve might say. He’s tempted to send her a selfie to check, but that would be utter madness.

For heaven’s sake, he thinks. Stop this. You’re going ‘round the bend. It’s not like you’ve never met the man.

But he hasn’t, really. Met him, that is. Not this side of him, the side that sits down for dinner rather than picking at it in Q Branch over paperwork or a mission. Not the Saturday night side that picks Q up at the front door of his house. Not the suave, indulgent side that he usually keeps out of Q’s office; the side that promises pleasure before, during and after dinner.

Q has seen it before, of course, but it’s never been directed at him. He hadn’t even known it could be directed at a man at all, not until Tuesday’s proposition which was as careful and bafflingly self-conscious as it was charming in all the usual ways. It was so irresistible that Q had felt compelled to say yes if only to get to know another facet of the man he wanted to know above all others.

Q fixes his pocket square and takes another good look in the mirror. The overall picture seems much better now, and he hums in satisfaction. Still, it’s not all perfect. There’s simply nothing to be done about the bags under his eyes. Even if he owned concealer, which he doesn’t, he’d probably end up with it all over the place like this, and—

The doorbell rings. Q straightens his tie knot for a final time and brushes at his suit like he still owns cats with hair, then marches to meet his fate.

Bond looks exceptional in his steel grey suit. It’s no surprise that he’d dress himself to the nines for a dinner date, and yet it is still vastly overwhelming to take in. Q is no stranger to good-looking men, but this is…

Well. He’s a very lucky man, isn’t he? Even if his luck might only last an evening.

“James.” The first name slips out more easily than Q thought it might.

“Q.”

“Come in, I’m just—” just nothing, actually. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s on about. “I’ll just be a moment.”

Bond smiles as he enters and clicks the door shut behind him. He looks Q up and down appreciatively before a lopsided smile forms.

“Lovely socks.”

Q looks down, mortified, to see he’s still wearing the pair he’s been wearing all day. They’re all black, save for the pink, yellow-eyed cat face that peeks out from the toes.

“Oh, shit. I’ll—”

His oncoming ramble is silenced by Bond’s warm hand tilting Q’s chin up. They’re of a height, and Q has never been more thankful for that than now. It puts him back on even footing, even as the up-close view of Bond’s eyes threatens to undo him all over again.

“Relax,” murmurs Bond. His hand moves to cup Q’s cheek. “You look incredible. Perfect.”

“Right.” Q is momentarily stunned into speechlessness. He’s never been any good at taking a compliment, least of all one as expertly delivered as that. “As do you. You look…” He lets out a long breath, still unsure that this isn’t a hallucination. “I suppose I don’t need to tell you how you look.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Very sharp,” rasps Q. Bond huffs an amused little laugh in response.

They seem to stand like that for an age, not that it matters. Q forgets about his watch entirely, happily ignoring the idea of dinner plans for the new thought that he might drag Bond upstairs immediately and strip him of that fine suit. It would mean hours longer in bed tonight. They could go fast, then slow. Then, perhaps, fast again if they can both summon enough zeal to work against their bodies’ limits. At the sight of the man in front of him, Q thinks he might easily go all night.

“Shall we?” Bond asks.

He has a strange look in his eye. Feeling slightly contrite, Q comes back down to earth and reminds himself of the stakes here, and of that cautiousness with which Bond has approached this whole evening. Q likes to think he knows his agents. He certainly knows Bond well enough to know if all he wanted was sex, Q would be sprawled out naked on his own bed already.

Besides, does he really want to miss the opportunity to watch Bond eat and drink in pleasure over candlelight? To tease him? To talk at length in all the small and deep ways one does on a date? To feel the weight of Bond’s eyes fixed solely on Q in a room full of beautiful people?

No, Q doesn’t want to miss any of it.

He smiles and takes Bond’s hand in his own. “Yes, let’s.”

#00q #00q fic #my fic

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phandomtaleweaver · 3 months

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“Chien de Garde”

No parings, fluff, humor, 700+ words

New to the team, Finka always get the feeling she’s being watched when she talks to Doc, Monty might be able to tell her why

(Please don’t come at me for my French or Russian, I used google translate)

Only a week after the team had returned from Truth and Consequences, Finka visited Doc in the med bay for the first time. The conversation had been innocuous, some follow up about the Chimera Virus. The doctor had been working in the main area of the med bay, rather than his office. After leaving Lera couldn’t shake the feeling that she and the doctor were being watched. Nothing terribly sinister, just the simple feeling of being observed. Thinking back, Finka didn’t remember seeing anyone else in there, as Jäger, the only patient, had moved back to his own room, where he was far more comfortable.

Over the next couple of weeks Lera noticed the same feeling, but only when she was talking to Doctor Kateb. She thought about asking him about it, or Oliver, except the latter might start a fight. Finally, after three weeks, Lera had had enough, so she approached the next closest person to Gustave to see if he knew anything: Gilles “Montagne” Toures.

She approached him one quiet evening in the common room. Most other operators were doing their own things elsewhere or had gone out to the pub for a pint and Lera and Gilles were virtually alone in the common area. Gilles sat on a couch reading a book titled Le Comte de Monte-Cristo. She sat on a chair catty corner to him and he looked up.

“Um, hello, Toures, I hope I’m not interrupting your reading.”

The older man chuckled, a rich, warm sound and shook his head. He then inclined his head for her to continue.

“I have an odd question, but one I don’t know who else to ask,” she watched his face for any adverse reaction, but none came. He merely maintained his previous warm expression, waiting patiently for her to continue. “Do you ever feel like you're being watched when you talk to Doctor Kateb?”

The Frenchman looked incredulous then seemed to think for a moment. “Non,” he finally responded. “But I may know what you are-” he paused searching for the word “-signifier, oh, what you mean.” He stopped speaking, realizing his faulty English was probably hard to understand. “I know, what the feeling you have, I understand it. You are aware of Gustave’s “Chien de Garde”. His, uh, guard dog.”

“His guard dog?”

“Oui, I can introduce you.”

“Why not?” Lera chuckled, still slightly confused.

Gilles stood and beckoned for her to follow him, “Viens.”

The two walked to the med bay together in companionable silence, and a bit of anticipation on Lera’s part. Upon arriving Lera saw the med bay looked empty, aside from the doctor organizing something. The minute they were fully in the room, the CBRN specialist felt like she was being watched.

“Bonsoir, Docteur,” Gilles greeted.

“Salut, vieil ami. добрый вечер, Lera. What brings the two of you here so late? Not an injury I hope.”

“Non,” Gilles smiled, with just the slightest hint of mischief in his eyes. “Lera wanted to meet your Chien de Garde.”

The Doctor rolled his eyes and shook his head. “He is in my office if you wish to speak with him.” He turned back to what he was doing.

“Not any more,” a voice said from the doorway of the aforementioned office. Lera looked and there stood Dominic Brunsmeir. Lera had never met the man formally, but he had been waiting for the team when they had returned from T&C, only to remain at Jager’s side till he was released back to his own room. She had heard jokes and whispers about him possibly being a drug dealer, though she doubted that. She realized in that moment that his intense blue eyes observing her was the feeling she had felt all those times talking with the doctor.

“I don’t see why you find it necessary to terrorize everyone, Dom,” Gustave sighed, breaking the silence.

“I'm not terrorizing anyone, artz, just keeping you company,” the German smiled, attempting to look innocent and failing.

“You are as good at keeping me company as Tania would be, you just like to lurk,” the doctor shot him a faux glare. Then turning to Lera he continued. “He hangs around me to make sure no one bullies me, though I don't need it. I think he just likes to scare people, hence the nickname Gilles and Julien have given him: Chien de Garde.”

#r6s #rainbow six siege #video games #doc r6 #r6s doc #r6s finka #monty r6 #r6 bandit #gustave kateb #lera melnikova #Gilles toures #Dominic brunsmier #r6 fanfiction #video game fanfic #fanfic

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aimwigs · 2 months

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i love ur dadwig writings sm 🤧

THANK YOU!!!! you sent this a while ago but here's a little more ft middle aged lud dealing with teenagers

“Mr. Ahgren, we’re calling because your daughter has been suspended and we need you to come to the school to meet with the dean regarding her behavior.”

He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Shit.

“I’ll be right there,” he says before asking for any details. Unfortunately, he doesn’t need them.

During the drive over, he ponders what the fuck Lucy could have done to get suspended. She’s always been pretty spirited and combined with ADHD that they’re struggling to get formally diagnosed due to this stupid notion that girls don’t get it as much, the school hasn't let them forget how much of a distraction she is in the classroom, with afternoon and Saturday detentions for shit as simple as repeated tardies and cracking jokes that aren’t quite appropriate for school. He blames himself for the latter, honestly, because it’s something he would do.

Still, he has no fucking clue what she would do to warrant getting suspended. You have to do some serious shit to get suspended, and nothing Lucy has done has ever warranted even a warning about that.

Except, when he meets QT at the school and they find Ryan’s best friend, Marie, sitting outside the office with her parents with an ice pack on her face and tissues shoved up her nose, they seem to realize in unison that this is not what either of them fucking expected at all.

“They should have told us the specifics,” QT hisses as she knocks on the door to the office, a look of panic in her eyes. “I’m not fucking prepared for this shit!”

The door opens, revealing the dean standing there with a grim look on his face and Ryan sitting in one of the chairs behind him, arms crossed over her chest and gaze firmly fixed toward the window.

“Thank you for coming so quickly.”

He shakes each of their hands and they do introductions before sitting down with Ryan between them. Since Ludwig is sitting closer to the window, he can see now that her eyes are rimmed in red. He knocks their knees together and gives her a half-hearted smile in an attempt to cheer her up, earning a glare from QT. Right. She punched another girl in the face.

The story they’re told is very one-sided. Apparently, Ryan came up to Marie during the passing period and decked her so hard that she broke her nose. Lucky for Marie, the nurse was able to realign it and she probably won’t need surgery. Lucky for Ryan, Marie and her parents aren’t pressing charges.

The dean doesn’t explain any reason for why the fight might have happened, which makes sense because Ryan hasn’t opened her mouth once since she got here. He has a feeling that she wasn’t feeling particularly talkative before and if Marie did do something to warrant getting punched, it’s not like she’d going to speak up and tell people she deserved it.

The dean tells them that she’s lucky she didn’t get expelled and that if it weren’t for her impeccable record, there would be more than a two-week suspension on the table. He also reminds them that while UC Berkeley probably won’t rescind her admission, another offense like this one may make them reconsider. At that last part, Ryan does bristle a bit.

The dean offers to reduce her suspension to a week if she apologizes to Marie but she tilts her chin defiantly and keeps her mouth shut. Ludwig wishes that she would at least have it in her to lie for her own good.

When they leave the office, QT is fucking fuming. Rightfully so, honestly. She tells her that she she needs to control her temper and try to maintain some level of peace, and reminds her that neither of them can help her if she doesn’t tell them anything. She reaches out for her car keys and says that she and Slime will pick it up tonight and that she’ll be going home with Ludwig today since she has meetings this afternoon. Then she kisses the top of her head and tells her that she loves her for good measure.

They walk toward the car in silence and he ponders what approach to take with this. He’s been a parent for more than 18 years now and he still has no fucking clue what he’s doing. His instinct is always to be nice but it’s definitely not fair to make QT the bad guy when this is a serious fucking situation that probably necessitates a firm hand.

“You’re lucky they didn’t press charges,” he finally says as he pulls his car out of the school parking lot. “You’re an adult, Ryan. You could go to jail.”

Just like that, the levee breaks and she starts sobbing, face falling into her hands as she tries to turn away from him.

He winces a little as he glances over at her, reaching out to pat her arm lightly. He can’t be firm about this if she’s crying. To be fair, he thinks that QT would probably soften up if she was here too.

“Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

“No.”

He sighs. “Ryan, your mom is right. There’s nothing we can do for you if you don’t tell us what happened.”

She wipes at her face with her arm but still doesn’t meet his eyes. “There’s nothing you can do for me anyway.”

Even though she’s probably right, he could at least provide some comfort. “Let me try?”

Ryan lets out a bitter laugh. “If you can go back in time and stop Marie from kissing Damian behind my back then sure, I guess you can help.”

He frowns. Damian is Ryan’s boyfriend of three months whom every single adult in her life has been pretending not to hate the entire time. He’s rude, ditches her constantly, and in Slime’s words is “a serious fucking rat but not in a based way.” Even Aiden can’t stand him, and he’s Aiden. So him cheating isn’t exactly surprising. It being with Ryan’s best friend since kindergarten is.

“Did she kiss him or did he kiss her?”

The glare she gives him is enough to tell him that the distinction isn’t something that matters.

He nods. “Well, that’s a shitty thing to do but the reaction isn’t appropriate. You two have been tight since you were five. You should have tried to talk it out, even if she fucking sucks for doing that to you. I hope you dumped Damian, by the way.”

“Obviously, I fucking dumped him,” she crosses her arms and turns toward the window. “I don’t regret punching her, though. She’s a fucking bitch.”

Considering that she knowingly kissed his daughter’s boyfriend, he isn’t totally inclined to disagree even though she’s previously been a pretty nice girl.

“That doesn’t mean you resort to violence.” This he firmly believes. Sue him, he’s always been a lover and a forgiver, even if that makes him naïve.

“I knew you wouldn’t get it, considering you used to fuck around on Mom.”

He’s so taken aback that he nearly slams on the brakes in the middle of the highway. That’s out of fucking nowhere and not strictly true, though not strictly false either. Shit was complicated in his twenties, and he never slept with anyone but her then.

“Did she tell you that?” Her saying that about him would be completely out of character. Weirdly enough, he feels like he has a better relationship with QT now than he did when they were dating.

Ryan scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Your life is public record, Dad. Everyone knows that you were kissing your current husband when you were still with Mom because you said it.”

“That was different,” he tells her even though he knows that isn’t the complete truth. He knew he liked kissing Aiden and he knew QT didn’t like it, he was just convincing himself it was fine because it didn’t really mean anything even though it clearly did, based on the gold band wrapped around his finger.

“I’m sure.”

He pauses for a moment, taking in her line of logic. “Do you think it would have helped anything if your mom punched Aiden in the face for kissing me instead of having a conversation with me about it?”

She shrugs. “Maybe it would have saved her a few years.”

“You and your sister literally would not be alive,” he reminds her, knowing that she can’t argue otherwise. “And considering that your mom seems to love you guys a lot, I doubt she thinks of our time together as a total waste.”

Ryan slumps down in her seat and doesn’t reply.

“Look, kid, I’m not exactly proud of how that went down. Your mom and I had a massive fight over it and I was inadvertently leading Aiden on when I wasn’t ready to be with him yet. I fucked up. But all three of us get along pretty damn well today, and I guarantee you that a violent altercation would probably mean that our lives look very different now for a lot of reasons. You’re right when you say your mom would probably be easier to talk about this shit because I know she keyed some girl’s car for the same reason but I also know she regrets it. Using your words is always the best option to sort out this kind of thing and if that’s not working, you get the fuck out of there.”

She inhales sharply. “I just don’t get why she’d fucking kiss him.”

“I don’t either. But maybe you should ask her. Fuck, if she doesn’t regret it already, she will. You guys are best fucking friends. Don’t let some fucking loser boy ruin that for you.”

“But what if I love him?”

Ludwig grips the steering wheel a bit tighter. “Well, you could try talking things out with him too.” He can’t keep his tone from becoming stilted despite being pretty damn practiced at controlling his reactions in front of an audience.

Ryan smiles slightly. “I’m messing with you, Dad. I was gonna dump him after prom anyway. He only ever talks about himself. Guess I’ll just have to find a new date now. Honestly, I was more pissed at Marie for the principle of it than caring about Damian himself. Is that dumb?”

“That’s not dumb. She betrayed your trust.” He meets her eyes through the mirror. “But that doesn’t mean that you punch her in the face.”

She snorts. “Got it, Dad.”

“You’ll talk to her?”

“I’ll talk to her,” she promises. “But I’m not fucking apologizing until she does.”

He laughs. “That sounds fair enough.”

And maybe parenting teenagers is about twice as hard as parenting younger kids but he thinks that he handled this pretty well, especially a few weeks later, when he has the privilege of taking pictures of her and Marie side by side at prom, whatever beef between them squashed.

#wrote this on my phone in a haze today waiting for my PI to be available for a meeting all day #dadwig #ludwig #my fic #answered #anxietyriddenblue

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good-wine-and-cheese · 11 months

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first of all, in typing I just realized they all have one (except tenma technically but he does have closure with eva) but you think if Grimmer/Lunge ever ran into their ex-wife again they'd speak to them?

Oh, that's a fun question! I'm going to run with the assumption here that they are aware of the presence of their ex-wife but have not actually made contact yet and the ex-wife has not seen them, since I think if the question was "would they talk to them if they actually ran into each other" it would be an easy yes. But under these conditions...

I would say definitely yes for Lunge. While things ended very badly between himself and his ex-wife, and even his daughter, we do see closure with the latter wherein he's started to communicate with her via email. I think that it's meant to hint at him wanting to repair things with her and, if not have what he once did, at least be a part of her life. As far as his ex-wife goes, I think Lunge knows that wasn't working out and would not want to pursue mending things in the same way, but rather if he saw her, he would want at the very least to know how things are going in her life, and for her to know how his life is going. For him, it's a sort of formality in their separation. After that, though, I don't know that he would want to communicate with her. It would feel improper to him when they've finally put to rest the fact that things are over and their chapters together have finished. Lunge has always seemed to be the sort of person who, if someone is "out" of his life, can easily let go of them.

For Grimmer, it's a little complicated. I actually see him as a sort of strange inversion of how Lunge would act, in that it would be more difficult to get him to actually reach out to her, but if he did, he would be more inclined to hold onto her as someone in his life - maybe not through prolonged communication, but as someone he thinks about. I think with Grimmer, what would hold him back from ever communicating with her is the fact that he feels he ruined her life. He married her because it was the "right" thing to do for his job as a spy - something that hurt her terribly because she could never get the love that she wanted. I honestly think that Grimmer might feel she would be better off never seeing him again. Trying to come back from that, even with his newfound access to his emotions, would only hurt her - and he wouldn't want to drag that back to the surface for her. Even more so if she's remarried and seems to be happy. Now, if he saw her and she looks miserable, I do think he would readily approach her. He doesn't want to be liked by her at all, but as a more empathetic person than he was at the time, I think he would want to try to help her feel better, if possible. And if she wants nothing to do with him and continues to hold a grudge, well...she's allowed, and he won't ever bother her again.

In the end I think they both want closure with their exes - it's just that for Lunge that closure would be very much final, and allow him to no longer think on her in the future, whereas for Grimmer she would become yet another lens through whom he can contextualize his personhood. And if she responds positively to him, then the potential of becoming a friend is something he would entertain.

#naoki urasawa's monster #wolfgang grimmer #heinrich lunge #asks #dernarrleid #monster meta #this was a very fun one to think about especially in the context of the types of people lunge and grimmer respectively are #both are kind of avoidant in their own way but Grimmer I think is more innately sentimental than Lunge #and is driven to heal harms when he sees them #to Lunge his ex wife made it clear she wants nothing to do with him so while his time with her is an important part of his life #that is over now and its best for both to move on #mmmmm tasty grimmer and lunge analysis

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theladyofdeath · 2 years

Text

I Burn for You {Two}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfiction. Elriel. Period AU. 19th Century. Written alongside @snelbz .

Click here to read the summary and for more chapters!

A/N: It's about to get real. We're almost done writing all 10 chapters and I cannot wait to share the rest of this story with you all. Enjoy! T/W: None

Dear Azriel,

I’ll be returning from the Autumn Court later this week and find myself in need of your company. I’ve missed you in these months apart. Perhaps we can have lunch in the park? Or, we can meet at the academy and paint something new? It would be nice to see you.

Considering I have not heard from you since we parted, I assume you are in Velaris and anxiously awaiting my return. I shall stop by your home in a few days and we can make a plan unless I hear from you beforehand.

Sincerely,

Gwyn

Her penmanship was horrible but Azriel could decipher it nonetheless. He could tell that she had no formal education but he was surprised by her grammar. The letter, which had come out of nowhere, made him smile.

He supposed that was significant these days.

His favorite thing about Gwyn was that she was a good listener. She was a pusher, too, in the most obnoxious of ways, but he liked it. She always made him share more than he wanted to, but it usually benefited him. He always felt a little lighter after his long, heartfelt talks with Gwyn.

It was why he’d initially felt so great after returning from their travels. He’d been able to talk through some of his feelings for Elain with Gwyn. She’d been the first person to know he was in love with Elain, had actively pushed him to tell her, to pursue her even.

But towards the end, he’d begun to notice that her eyes lingered on him more and more. Had their time together changed something for her, something she hadn’t revealed before he left her in Autumn, after stopping to visit with her family? She’d promised him she could find travel accommodations back and wasn’t yet ready to leave her sister behind.

If he’d delayed another day with her, he wouldn’t have been here to meet Nyx the day he did. This whole mess with Elain wouldn’t have started, though he was fairly sure that it started at Rhysand’s wedding, but still.

Bottom line was that he missed Gwyn. He was glad to hear she was back in Velaris, glad to have his friend and confidant back.

Even if he’d begun to consider what a life with her would be like.

Perhaps that was how he found himself standing in front of a canvas full of oranges and browns and yellows and reds. The color of the leaves of her home.

He had never seen Gwyn as an outsider, someone who didn’t fit in. She had plenty of friends at the academy, but in Velaris, she was just another pretty face on the street that you could walk by without knowing.

In Autumn, she was staggering. It seemed everything there complimented her. The leaves and expansive forests, the rough stone buildings, even the crystal clear lakes and rivers she’d shown him.

His favorite had been the exact color of her eyes. Azriel had enjoyed their time in Autumn, even though it had been more brief than any of the other courts they visited.

Except for Spring. They skipped Spring entirely, the perennially stagnant smell of flowers and constant humming of insects appealing to neither of them.

Gwyn had shown her all of her favorite haunts growing up.

He had found it charming.

Graciously interrupting his alone time once again, Rhysand and Cassian burst into Azriel’s bedroom. The former cringed while the latter pretended to fall into a coughing fit.

“Please tell me that stench is not you,” Rhysand drawled.

Azriel frowned, looking around his room. He hadn’t even realized that something smelled. He’d taken multiple baths since they had last come to disrupt his peace.

Then it hit him. “I was burning incense. I thought it smelled nice.”

“It smells like a gypsy wagon,” Rhysand noted, walking further into the space.

“You would know,” Azriel said, dropping his paintbrush on the base of his easel and wiping his hands on his smock. “You spent enough time in them before you met the Viscountess.”

Despite himself, Rhysand grinned. There had been a summer, the summer of their twenty-first year, when the three of them met a few gypsies in Winter and spent a month traveling with them. Rhysand had found a gypsy woman near thirty that he had become enamored with and spent the entirety of that month in her caravan. Azriel and Cassian had just made their rounds with the single women that remained.

That was such a different lifetime ago, when they had been young and foolish.

“I like it,” Azriel went on, but pushed open a window nonetheless. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Supper tonight,” Rhysand said, simply. “It’s about time you came to see your nephew. He and Feyre miss your company and request your presence.”

The thought of going to a formal supper on such short notice made Azriel uneasy, even if it was just at Rhysand’s.

“Nesta wishes to see you, too,” Cassian added. “She needs to talk to someone about her books and you are the only one that seems to listen.”

Azriel lifted a brow. “You do not listen? As her husband, it seems you should.”

Cassian grinned. “We have far better things to do, I assure you.”

With a shake of his head, Azriel sat on the edge of his bed. “What time is supper?”

“We’ll have tea in an hour. Get dressed and presentable, we’ll wait for you.” That way you can make sure that I’ll go, Azriel thought, but he didn’t blame them. If the roles were reversed, Azriel would be hovering, too. He loved Rhysand and Cassian more than anyone. They were his family. He knew the feeling was mutual between them all.

The love that they had for Azriel was why they were here, annoying him relentlessly. “Fine, but I’m only doing this for Nyx and your wives.”

Cassian clapped him on the back so hard that he nearly toppled forward. “Good. Hurry.”

Azriel bathed, shaved, and dressed in some of his finest clothes. When he was deemed appropriate by his brothers, he was joining them in Rhysand’s carriage and riding across town to the manor that ran along the Sidra.

It wasn’t that Azriel did not like joining his brothers for supper, he truly did, but being outside of his house and socializing felt strange after his months of solitude.

Feyre and Nyx stood in front of the manor as they pulled up, smiling brightly. Feyre had Nyx’s hand in hers, making it look like he was waving as they came to a stop. Rhysand was watching them with so much adoration that it made Azriel shift in his seat.

To no one’s surprise, Rhys was out of the carriage before the doorman was even able to reach for the door, up the manor stairs, and taking his giggling son out of Feyre’s arms. Cassian was out a moment later, holding his hand out for Azriel to take as he exited. He swatted his brother’s hand aside as his boots landed on the ground, looking up to find Feyre’s eyes wide in surprise. Azriel looked around. “Where’s Nesta?”

Feyre, who was looking more confused by the second, took Nyx back from Rhysand. “She’s inside with—”

“With the tea, which must be growing cold,” Cassian interrupted, clapping Azriel on the shoulder as he led him up the stairs, “so let’s head in.”

He could hear Feyre and Rhysand murmuring quietly behind them as they headed for the drawing room where they’d be taking their tea. Nyx thought he was a part of the conversation as well, his excited babbles echoing off the marble tiles. Cassian was talking idly about what ladies he’d heard would be debuting this season and who would be returning to the ton, as if Azriel actually cared what any of the women of society were doing. Save for one.

As they approached the open drawing room doors, a laugh carried out to them. Azriel’s steps slowed and then stopped.

Feyre stepped around him, refusing to make eye contact as she disappeared into the room with her son. Rhysand and Cassian both stopped behind him, and when Azriel slowly turned to face them, they were already waiting for whatever would be coming out of his mouth.

After staring at each other in silence for an ungodly amount of time, Azriel announced, “I’m leaving.”

“Az—”

“Good day.” He was already moving around his brothers, but although Rhysand was the same size and stature as Azriel, Cassian was just a little bit bigger. It was that little bit that made it possible for Cassian to reach out and grab Azriel when Rhysand couldn’t. Azriel came to a stop, his body rigid as Cassian gripped the back of his collar.

“You’re not leaving,” Cassian said, his voice low. “You’re going to man up and sit through this family dinner, because we miss you and you are a part of this family. And, so is she.”

Her laughter floated into the hall once again and Azriel’s eyes closed.

Months. It had been months since he had heard that laugh.

It had been nearly a year since he had been the reason she laughed like that.

When he opened his eyes, he shoved Cassian off of him but didn’t move. He brushed down his jacket, even though there were no wrinkles or dust. “You should not have lured me here under false pretenses. That was unfair.”

“If we told you Elain was present, you would not have joined us,” Rhysand said, shrugging. “We will not let you stay holed up, alone, forever. Cass is right, we miss you. If nothing else, you’re missing watching Nyx grow. Call me selfish, but I do not want you missing that.”

Azriel didn’t want to miss it, either. He loved his nephew and wanted to be a part of his life. He had only seen him once since he was two weeks old, when he first met Nyx, when Rhysand had brought him to visit.

“Does she know I’m here?” Azriel asked, quietly.

“Feyre is letting her know,” Rhysand said, eyes flickering to the sitting room behind him. “We should probably go inside, don’t you think? We do not want to seem like we’re talking about her out here.”

Azriel scoffed, shaking his head. He hated his brothers. He hated them, and he loved them, and he wanted to challenge them both to a duel and watch as he beat their asses.

“I require a drink,” Azriel said, looking down at the tile beneath his polished boots.

“I’ll fill it to the brim,” Rhysand promised and gestured to the sitting room. “Shall we?”

As his shoulders deflated, Azriel took a deep breath and nodded.

He followed his brothers into the sitting room and as soon as he caught sight of her, he couldn’t breathe.

Elain sat across from her sisters on the settee, her yellow dress a stark contrast to her long golden brown hair and caramel eyes. As soon as the gentlemen entered, the three sisters stood and curtsied. Azriel could not take his eyes off of her, and when she rose from her curtsy and met his gaze, her cheeks were flushed.

An awkward tension filled the air that the others quickly tried to cover.

“Finally, someone to listen to me talk about the novel I just finished,” Nesta said, walking to Azriel and taking his face into her hands so that it was her eyes he met.

With a smile, Azriel said, “I cannot wait to hear about your most recent literary adventure.”

After planting a kiss on his cheek, Nesta strode to her husband and Azriel could hear the quiet scolding she was giving him.

Unable to help himself, his eyes drifted back to Elain. Her feet were planted in place as if she was unable to move, so it seemed he would be the one to make the first move. There was only ten feet between them or so, but the walk to her felt like miles. Keeping a healthy distance away, Azriel nodded in greeting. “Good evening, Miss Elain. You look well.”

“As do you, my lord,” she answered, and the use of his title from her mouth was still painful. “It is nice to see you again.”

“When did you return from Spring?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation light, even though it was nothing that he wanted to say. The questions he had for her, however, were not under the sanction of small talk.

“Just last week,” she replied, her voice quieting.

Azriel nodded and he felt foolish for not knowing. Rhysand had told him that she would be returning soon, but he hadn’t known when, just that she would be returning before the season began. He supposed the season would begin in a week’s time. It was only a matter of time before she returned. “And did you enjoy your time there?”

Elain looked away from him, towards the table where a vase of roses sat. “Very much so. Thank you for asking, my lord.”

It was too painful. Speaking with her so formally was too painful. Thankfully, Nyx soon became a distraction to all and he no longer had to try and have more of that painful conversation with the woman he had once been in love with.

Was still in love with.

Complicated. It was so complicated.

As he sat down in a chair opposite of Elain, Azriel tried not to look her way and failed as Rhysand handed him a full glass of whiskey. He wouldn’t drink it too fast. He wouldn’t want to get sloppy, not in front of his family, not in front of Nyx, not in front of Elain. No, he would pace himself. After all, the night was just beginning.

#elriel #pro elriel #fanfic #fanfiction #rhysand #feyre #feysand #nessian #nesta #cassian #azriel #elain #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #sjm #period au #regency au #historical au #romance au

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