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imagine-a-fangirl · 3 years

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A/n: Welcome to my first bridgerton fanfic, which will eventually become an anthony bridgerton x female! reader fanfic. This is a bit of an introduction chapter, so it will get better I promise The ton, the high society of London. If you were someone who mattered you were a part of it. The young ladies that came out into society all had the same goal in mind, marry the one person who can give you the best live, with love only being a small part in those arrangements.

Your family had moved away from London after the passing of your mother. Your father couldn’t cope with the memories London held and decided to move towards the Netherlands. He went back every so often for business and travelled around a lot, giving you and your brothers all the freedom you would never have had in London. You had come out into society a couple years back already, your father needed to handle some business in London and took you with him. That way you could be presented at court and he could take you to the debutant ball before travelling back to the Netherlands. He wanted you to be out in society, just so you could have gotten married if there had been any eligible men. But there you were returning to London, joining society and the ton for real this time.

“It will be alright.” Thomas tried to calm your nerves while he helped you out of the carriage. Your father still had to arrive in London, meaning your brothers escorted you to your first ball of the season. You didn’t really mind, this way you could get used to the pressure of the ton again without your father constantly watching over you.

As the oldest Thomas always felt the urge to support and protect you, and he saw it as his duty to find you someone who suited you perfectly. Nicholas on the other hand was more easy going, he looked out for you as well but he was always open to let you try new things. Both of them were the reason you had been able to do things a lady would never be able to do otherwise.

The three of you walked into the ballroom, heads of many men turning your way. You knew they were mostly just curious, especially the slightly older men who had yet to marry. A new woman your age was rare but here you were. “You remember any of these men?” You asked Thomas

“Some of them, old friends. Not sure if they are the right suitors." He answered honestly

“We will figure out who is for you.” Nicholas

After an hour of introductions, catching up with old friends and even a dance you noticed no other than the Duke of Hastings joining the room. “Will you excuse me for a moment?” You excused yourself from your current company and quickly made your way through the crowd. “Your Grace!” you greeted your old friend before quickly making a small curtesy as was expected of you.

“Lady y/n, have they finally convinced you to join society?” Simon returned the curtesy “Convinced is a big word your Grace, forced me comes closer.” You tried to brush it off with a joke "Well I'm sure there are a lot of eligible gentlemen that are glad you did." He had already noticed multiple men looking your way. "How wonderful." You answered sarcastically. “To what does the ton owe the pleasure of a visit from its newest Duke?” “I was forced to be here as well.” “I didn’t know it was possible for a Duke to be forced into doing anything.” “Tell that to Lady Danbury, she doesn’t take no for answer.” “She can be very convincing.” You agreed. “At least we will be able to suffer together, shall we go for a walk around the room.” He suggested “It would be my pleasure, your Grace.” You said before linking your arm and walking with him. Your walk mostly consisted of him telling what he came to do and the fact that you were forced to search a husband. That was until your conversation was harshly interrupted by a man. “Basset? Basset!”

“Bridgerton!” Simon excitedly greeted his friend as he let go of you.

“Come here old friend, I heard news about your father.” It only then seemed to hit the man what that meant for Simons name “Hastings, for ever more known as the Duke of Hastings.”

You observed the gentleman as they continued their conversation, your mother had been friends with the viscountess when you were little, but your mother often kept you away from the boys. She felt like you were already influenced greatly by your brothers and didn’t want others to do the same. Because of that you couldn’t immediately point out if this was either the Viscount you were looking at or Benedict. The man’s eye fell on you and you made a small curtesy, which he returned with a bow of his head. Before turning back to Simon “I can see you are occupied right now. So we should properly get together, I expect to see you at our club then.”

“Indeed, evening Bridgerton.” Simon bid his goodbyes to his friend and continued his walk with you “Was that Benedict or the Viscount?” You asked Simon “That was The Viscount, Anthony. You know the Bridgertons?” “My mother was friends with the Viscountess, but I didn’t go as often as she or my brothers. To many men to influence me. “That certainly made a difference.” You shook your head “Is your father escorting you this evening?” “No Thomas and Nicholas are, father will arrive in London in three days.” “You don’t seem to excited for that?” Simon noticed your change in mood “It’s not that I’m not excited to see him, but I just hope he doesn’t expect me to be married at the end of the season.” “You know he probably will.” “That is what I am afraid of.” You agreed. “Let’s go the other way.” Simon suddenly said, softly pushing you in a different direction then you were walking.

“Lady y/n, how wonderful to see you finally joining society. Haven’t you grown in a beautiful young woman.” “To late.” Simon whispered, causing you to let a small chuckle escape. “Thank you, Lady Danbury.” You curtsied as you got your act together again “It’s so wonderful to see you, how have you been?" “I’ve been wonderful dear. I see you’ve already met the Duke.” Lady Danbury seemed a bit too happy with herself “The Duke and I have actually known each other for a couple years.” “Have you now?” It wasn’t often Lady Danbury wasn’t aware of everything that happened within society and it seemed she wasn’t too happy about it.

“We have, we met in France actually.” Simon told her.

“Very well, then is there a reason we haven’t seen the two of you on the dance floor yet?”

“Let’s not get to far ahead of ourselves.” Simon insisted. After some small talk you excused yourself to go find your brothers again “I’ll see you around Lady y/n.” Simon told you.

At one point during the evening you were caught in a dull conversation with Lord Berbrooke. Every time Lord Berbrooke came a little closer you took a small step back, keeping your distance until you bumped into the woman behind you. “I am so sorry.”

“That is quite alright, dear.” The woman smiled, she seemed very familiar but you couldn’t quite place her. Lord Berbrooke kept continuing his one sided conversation with you and you kept looking around the room for an escape. When you spotted Simon again in a corner, observing the room and you as well. “Ask me to dance.” You mouthed towards Simon to get him to save you. You were lucky enough he understood you and he paced towards the two of you.

“Lord Berbrooke may I interrupt?

“Your Grace, of course.” Lord Berbrooke seemed caught off guard that the duke wanted to join his conversation and Simon used the moment to turn his attention to you.

“Lady y/n would you care for a dance?

“Of course your Grace.” He held out his hand which you happily accepted “Thank you for saving me.” You whispered once out of hearing distance.

“You owe me one, a big one.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time you are distressed by a mother.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

As the music started the two of you moved across the room as if you had never done anything else. “For someone who doesn’t dance, you are quite skilled your Grace.” y/n grinned

“Do you want me to return you to Lord Berbrooke or will you stop the teasing.”

“I’ll be stopping the teasing at once your Grace.” You laughed

“Thank you.” When the set ended Simon guided you off the floor, the furthest away from Nigel and escorted you back to your brothers.

“I heard of the presence of the Duke of Hastings, I did not expect him to act on my sister so soon.” Thomas joked when he saw the two of you walking over.

“Only saving her from some unwanted suitor.” He held his hands up in defense before greeting Thomas.

“I didn’t expect anything else from her old friend. Was lord Berbrooke bothering you?”

“He was.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him.” Thomas promised you.

“Thank you.”

“Before I forget I ran into Lady Bridgerton, she invited us for dinner with her family.” Thomas informed you “I already accepted her invitation, if that’s alright with you.”

“I’m sure we will have a lot of catching up to do with them.” You agreed The rest of the evening consisted of more dancing, conversations and introductions. Simon stayed close to the three of you most of the evening, as it gave him an easy excuse not to converse with other. And you caught the eye of many more men. You were even re introduced to three members of the Birdgerton family. As soon as Thomas had done that you knew the familiar woman you had bumped into earlier that night, had been Lady Bridgerton herself. You apologized once more for bumping into her earlier, but she played it off with a joke. Your re introduction to the Bridgerton family resulted in a dance with both Benedict and Colin. Where dancing with the other men made you slightly nervous, dancing with them felt familiar. Just as your dance with Simon had, it was as if you never done anything else. It had only been your first evening back into society, everything in you told you this could be an interesting season.

#bridgerton x reader #imagine anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #imagine bridgerton

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corrupt-fvcker · 3 years

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Dating Loki Headcanons…

Dating HCs ( Loki Laufeyson x GN!reader )

Warnings: SFW, gender neutral reader, mentions of loki being gender fluid, fluff, kissing, drinking, marijuana, domesticity, unedited, me lowkey roasting Loki

Word Count: 2.1K

Author’s Note: NO LOKI SPOILERS!! so i just finished the finale and… wow. feel free to send me a message about what you thought about it and/or some requests for loki :) i can also do requests for elaborating on these bullet points. also please correct me if i used improper terminology while writing about loki exploring himself as being gender fluid, i wrote it with my experience in mind though i understand that everyone is different.

Being Loki’s partner is not always easy.

Now, don’t get me wrong, loving Loki is nothing short of a magical experience. When you’re together is when you’re both happiest, it feels as if the stars align and a pleasant sense of peace settles over your conscious like morning fog.

Though, admittedly, loving him can be a bit dangerous. It’s electric. He fills you with energy and passion and power, yet if you’re not careful, you’ll get shocked.

Luckily, Loki is well-aware that he has some work to do when it comes to navigating his thoughts and feelings. While he may be proud and reluctant to admit his issues, he does force himself to do some inner-work for your sake.

He’s incredibly thoughtful when he wants to be. In the beginning of your relationship, it was easy for him to focus on himself. He’s a survivor and a schemer, he weighs his options and picks whichever benefits him the most.

However, as your relationship progresses, he learns to be more selfless. He eventually realizes that he’s happiest when you’re happiest. And over time, he switches his mentality from “how can I benefit from this?” to “how can we benefit from this?” You’re a team, in his mind. One cannot fail without everyone failing, and one cannot succeed without everyone succeeding.

He found that caring for others, specifically you, gets easier the more he does it. The more natural it becomes. He observes. He learns. And he forms habits.

After a particularly cold date involving an unanticipated rainstorm and only one available jacket, he always carries a spare sweater or coat with him, whether it be his or one of yours that he stole borrowed from your closet. And yes, he was a little too proud of himself the first time you needed the emergency sweater (definitely referred to himself as “insightful” and “genius” the rest of the day).

The ocean will dry up before there is a shortage of blankets at your house. He knows that he runs more than slightly cold, and he will not have you suffer from the fact. Heavy blankets for winter, fluffy blankets for autumn, light blankets for summer, knitted blankets for spring— this man could probably open up a blanket shop if he wanted to (he doesn’t, you made that joke already).

He has the smallest tendency to doubt himself. And by that I mean he is filled with self-doubt and insecurity about half the time. Not necessarily with day-to-day things. He knows that he can do chores, drive a car (barely but you’d never tell him that, you’d rather just insist on driving), charm just about anything that breathes, and summon anything he desires in a blink of an eye. But the small yet important things are what get the best of him. He worries you’ll find him to be too much work for what he’s worth. He stays up late at night, sure that one day he’ll step too far over the line. He’s nearly certain that you’ll eventually see through all his bells and whistles, and realize that he’s really not as magnificent as you had originally thought him to be.

Though, much to his fortune, you see through his bullshit. You know that he’s secretly insecure about your relationship and a lot of his qualities. And he’s forever grateful that you’re willing to look past his flaws and still love him. Or, in the very least, tolerate him.

Adjusting to life on Earth does spark a bit of an identity crisis within him. His life of luxury and royal privilege is gone. Though on the bright side, so is his life of torture and misery.

But nevertheless, he does find himself struggling to identify with the parts of himself that he was once so sure of.

He cuts his hair short and then grows it out. Changes his fashion tastes, changes the way he parts his hair, changes the literature he reads.

The changes don’t bother you, in fact you’re glad he’s finding healthy ways to adjust to this major lifestyle change.

At one point, Loki even changed his physical form. For a few weeks, he allowed himself to grow comfortable in his skin as a frost giant. While he didn’t feel entirely himself in this form, he was glad that after a few weeks the anxiety around it faded.

After trying out his form as a frost giant, Loki morphed into female form. While Loki was initially worried to see how you’d react to this change, she was pleased to find that you were happy as long as she was happy. For a few months, Loki remained in female form but ultimately reverted back to male form. Though on occasion he finds himself switching between the two.

He tends to be clingy. He likes to be touching you or have you touching him, though he enjoys when you’re both touching each other at the same time best. He likes it when you lay on top of him with your head on his chest, he likes to feel your heart beating against him. If you play with his hair, he’ll melt. He prefers keeping it long so you’ll braid it— he acts like he doesn’t enjoy you braiding his hair, but you know he does.

Kiss him on the tip of his nose. I dare you. He will turn dark pink before you even pull away.

He will never turn down the opportunity to hold you in his arms. He will kiss the top of your head if he can reach, and if he can’t, he’ll grow a few inches so that he can.

He enjoys cooking for you. There’s just something so simple yet domestic about cooking you something yummy. He’ll attempt to make all your favorite dishes and follow all of your dietary needs. No meat? No problem. No gluten? He’s got you covered. No dairy? He wouldn’t even think about adding some milk or throwing in some cheese as a harmless prank.

Which brings me to an important note: do not prank this man. He will take it personally. And he will not stop until he gets even with you and then some. Petty pranks don’t work on him either. Baby powder in the hair dryer is obvious and he’ll just point the dryer in your direction.

If he’s sick, good luck. You thought a god like him would be above a common cold. You were wrong. He gets super clingy, super whiny, super needy, and kinda turns into a dick. He needs to be spoiled. You need to treat him like he’s dying and these are his last days. If you try to pull “I can’t kiss you, I’ll get sick”— good luck with trying to get him to stop pouting. Don’t say I didn’t warn you (definitely push multivitamins on him for your sake).

He takes the longest in the bathroom when he’s getting ready. Which is ridiculous because he can simply poof! himself into an image of perfection. You’re starting to think he enjoys how irritated you get when he makes you late.

Also, warning! He’s an attention whore, to simply put it. He likes the spotlight, especially when it’s your spotlight. Shower him with affection please, it’s the only way he’ll ever shut his mouth. He’s not scared of causing a scene if it means he gets to spend some more quality time with you. It’s cute but you hate it.

I don’t make the rules, but Loki definitely shaves his legs in the shower because he likes how smooth they are. If you don’t like it, stay mad about it.

While Loki is fancy as fuck, he does love the outdoors. Earth is a beautiful planet, even if he is reluctant to admit it. He loves nature, specifically green forests, sandy beaches, and wild animals.

Side note: never take this man to the zoo. You thought he’d enjoy it because of his love of animals. He ended up freeing about half the animals in the zoo and breaking into about a dozen of the enclosures.

He does not understand the internet at all. Memes? Yeah, not his cup of tea. Though there has been a handful of times you’ve found him smirking over some internet articles, only to find that he enjoys reading insane “Florida man” stories. And he’s also not above arguing with people on Facebook and Twitter. Be careful though because he will throw his iPad across the room and throw a temper tantrum over some “abstract imbeciles.”

He loves dancing. He loves dancing with you even more. He’s got some pretty good ballroom dancing moves but he’s a little clueless when it comes to hip-hop.

Very protective over you. Almost to a dangerous extent. Definitely the type that’s ready to throw down with the first person that looks at you funny. If you get catcalled, hold this motherfucker back because he’s already got a knife in his hand.

Surprisingly, he likes kids. He’s not particularly sure if he wants to have children himself, but it’s definitely a conversation he’s interested in having with you in the future. If you’re against having children, he’s unbothered. If you’re interested in adding members to your family of two in the future, he’s ready whenever you are.

He’s not a huge fan of pets. Though if you already have a pet when you meet or get a pet as a surprise while you’re together, he’s not too bothered by their existence. Definitely gets jealous of the attention your pet receives though. He fits the role of “I did not want this animal but, for some reason, it loves me the most which means I will kill anyone that dares to hurt it.” You tease him when you catch him playing with the pet he didn’t want.

Also, Loki’s a lightweight. Which you find hilarious, because it is funny even if he pouts every time you tease him. He gets incredibly rowdy when he drinks, expect singing, dancing, and broken glasses. He also gets very touchy so don’t be afraid to bop him on the nose if he’s doing too much.

It takes a few years of Loki exploring Earth’s culture before he grows comfortable with the idea of smoking marijuana. But once you explain to him that it’s perfectly safe and that you’ll be by his side the whole time, he’s open to trying it. When Loki is high, expect lots of flirting, lots of touching, and lots of giggling. Don’t even bother playing a stupid comedy movies because he won’t watch it. He wants to spend this high cuddling you and discussing bizarre subjects. Pray this man doesn’t get the munchies because he’ll clear out your whole kitchen. Keep water on hand because he will definitely complain incessantly if he experiences cotton mouth. But if he’s lucky enough to not have an abnormally dry mouth, he would definitely encourage a lazy make out session.

He will definitely come up with a number of super creative terms of endearment for you, but some of his more generic favorites are sweetheart, darling, dear, and love.

Please please please make fun of his Asgardian accent. Mock him, dress up as him and run around the house pretending to be him. Please!!

He also has a thing for you wearing his clothes. I won’t go in depth (unless you want me to) but it does things to him.

You bought him a multi-color beanie with a pom pom sewn to the top of it. You were able to trick him into wearing it once (you told him it was peak Midgard fashion) but Stark ruined it. If you wear this beanie it will still do things to him.

Please let this man style your hair, or at the very least let him wash it when you shower together. But if you let him style it, he’ll get all giddy. You’ve caught him practicing his braiding technique multiple times.

He will want to spoil you. He doesn’t really understand money, and he definitely doesn’t understand what a budget is. But if he sees something that makes him think of you, he’ll buy it. Maybe even buy several of the same item. Please let him shower you with gifts, it’s one of his love languages.

His other love languages? I’m gonna have to go with all. Definitely a sucker for physical affection, but also won’t turn down a genuine act of service or quality time. Also compliment him. Like, a lot.

( masterlist ) ( reblog to show support 💞 )

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki #loki fanfiction #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston #marvel #my writing #corrupt-fvcker #loki HCs #cw drugs #tw drugs #cw alcohol #tw alcohol

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bluestmoons · 3 years

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@myloyalty didn’t know what she was giving me permission for

The first time Leonie saw Jeremiah again was at a rather droll meeting.

Though the voices of her superiors were wickedly boring and unspirited, their message was anything but. They were sharing intel on the platoon that’d recently ravaged the ghettos, and they were all attempting to put together ways to strike back effectively.

( This hardly ever worked. They were barely hanging on as was -- they simply didn’t have the time or resources to dismantle individual platoons. Still, extra information never hurt, did it...? )

Leonie was flipping through the profiles on a device before her, skimming faces, names, sparse bios with a spattering of their accomplishments, when...

Tanned skin. Curled, dark hair. Thin gold eyes that pierced even in a photograph. The words, above his picture: MARGRAVE GOTTWALD, JEREMIAH.

Her throat dropped through the floor.

No one noticed her sink entirely into herself as she met Jeremiah’s eyes for the first time since she’d been a teen. No one else saw the world fade to grays. Only her memories were in stunning color -- his red cheeks under the moonlight, his amber glance caught in a camera flash, his pink lips moving against hers, his pale face at the funeral, the last time she ever--...

No. God, no. No. Please.

It couldn’t really be him, could it?

The meeting ended, eventually, and Leonie sought the first empty room she could find. Her eyes swallowed the words as though she were a fish searching for water. Eldest son of--... In the Britannian army since--... Promoted on--... It was all matching up, too perfectly, and there was no denying that face. It was exactly the same expression he’d scowled at her with ever since their first meeting when she’d kissed his hand in his very own banquet hall.

It was a torrential downpour. A beginning that seemed to’ve already started, somehow, without her knowledge, perhaps many, many years ago. Leonie sobbed, wretchedly, openly like a starving babe, like an abandoned child, nothing at all like the warrior she’d long carved and crafted herself to be. Every memory, thought, feeling of him that was once held inside was suddenly at the forefront.

For the first time since she left him, Leonie let herself truly think of him.

No -- not see something that reminded her of him and immediately barricade the thought away. Not think she heard his voice, or saw his face, but abandon the consideration before her heart could even begin to ache. But think of him. Fully, and truly. Her and him grappling on the floor of the banquet hall, her in laughter. The two of them having a picnic beneath her mother’s window with stale bread in the middle of the night. The long battle at daybreak and him running desperately home. Him sweeping her across ballroom as elegantly as they were a natural pair that’d been training to dance with one another since birth. Her hand in his, and them knee-deep in pond water, and their first hug, with their clothes wet and foul-smelling, and him showing her how to aim a gun, and--

Where are you

Her last text to him. And -- and he was here!

God... God... of all the places in all of the world, why did he have to be here?

There was nothing beautiful or poetic about the way she crumbled that night, the way she screamed for the memory of a friend she’d thought she’d lost. Her face was coated in tears, snot, and she gasped and grappled with breath so long she was certain she’d stop breathing altogether.

They were on opposite sides of a war. A war she was truly committed to. And she recalled his stubborn gaze -- he would not back down from his side so easily. Especially with the handiwork she had just seen of him. God, to compare the young boy she knew with the man who left bodies of innocents strewn around... how could he! She was nauseated with the dissonance, had to bite on her fists to stave the bile.

Maybe she should run away again. For even were he to be wretched now, how could she raise her sword to him? He, who had once meant so much to her? How could she lose him, after...

“Is he okay?”

Her phone was tucked away before she slipped down into the opening, reached forward to link her fingers with the outstretched hand leaning back. “Certainly.”

“Are-- are you confident?”

“Undoubtedly so. He was far too coarse to be in any real danger.”

Alexei’s thin frame sighed in relief, and he looked genuinely soothed. “Thank God...”

How easily that outcome could’ve been different -- a few words from her, and his face would’ve twisted up in pain, eyes would’ve shined terror. But, no, it wasn’t just for memory of Alexei! Leonie could recall the way her own stomach flopped when she recognized the direction the assailants were coming from, when she waited for a return message. She’d felt faint with the thought that something could’ve happened.

She never would’ve considered that she’d be the thing that could--

If she weren’t careful, she would lose her stomach completely. She was far too warm, body ran clean with unbounding feeling.

... ... No. If Leonie ran away, someone else would certainly kill him in her stead. That would be no better than killing him herself. She had to do something. She had to do something--

For the first night, of course, she just cried. Hopeless, and aching, and shards of her soul splayed so open that she didn’t drift off for even a minute.

Her little outburst did not go unnoticed by the others in her company. They whispered of womanly hormones and chuckled to themselves. If Leonie were in any other mood, she’d’ve had a sharp remark and thwack upside the head for them. But -- no. It was better than the truth. Let them think of her as a raving woman until she could prove to herself that she wasn’t.

She worked herself harder than, perhaps, she should’ve in order to suffer through her feelings -- and to punish herself for her slip, of course. She wound her bandages tighter, she hit harder, she ran further. She’d run herself so ragged that emotions were the least of her concerns by the night the broadcast was on.

Jeremiah Gottwald -- because, of course, why wouldn’t it be him, right? -- was leading an honorary Britannian to a public execution and all of Japan and Britannia was watching. That smug expression, that confident stature... a rush of annoyance and a need to protect bubbled up within her, hand-in-hand.

God, she hated him.

And then, with the world as his audience, he did something completely unexpected.

He gave the young Japanese man being sent to his death back to the resistance. Leonie wasn’t the only one to watch in stunned shock, but she was very likely the only one to shed tears at his action. ( This time, she did knock sense into someone who dared to tease her for the display. ) What did this mean? Had he come to his senses? Was this a small act of rebellion, the only spot of himself he could force out?

What would happen to him now that he’d disobeyed Britannia so publicly, so obviously?

For starters, he was stripped of his title, hidden among the masses as a disgrace. As for what would come next -- she didn’t want to wait around to find out.

It took a great deal of convincing her superior, but she’d been a reliable fighter and had worked way through the ranks enough that her opinion held some weight, even though she was a foreigner. Finally he’d assented, sent her off with a small team and a wary gaze.

The world was warm, heady with rainfall that’d begin late in the night and was scheduled to continue well into the next few days. A perfect day for a kidnapping, Leonie mused, sullenly. If she was wrong -- if she’d misread that drastic flip in him -- he’d be furious with her.

Furious and alive, though, which was more than what she could promise with Britannia. Besides -- furious was like a default setting with him. He was always mad, wasn’t he...?

Jeremiah was in his office, in a rather secluded part of a government building, and his shadow was slow, still. Hopefully the concern wouldn’t rouse him too much -- just enough to stand, and exit. Leonie set up some gunmen in perches and had one of them call his last name in a desperate tone.

Curiosity appeared to eventually get the better of him, and he stumbled to his door and wandered into the hall. Oh God... his footsteps were dragging, sluggish. The ground didn’t even need to whisper it; she heard it. Drunk.

From a bannister, still, she sunk, dressed darkly and holding no weapon at the ready. Instead -- she stretched forward a hand.

“Jeremiah.” A gentle tone, kind, lulling. Her eyes shine easily -- a color and mischief that seemed to play that she’d had no feelings at all to wrestle through prior to their meeting here.

“I’m here to save you.”

#( the rising of. ) leonie.#( the lively lady. ) leonie.#( v. code geass. ) leonie.#i'm here to save you

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stolen-pen-name23 · 3 years

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Any prompt you want. I just want some Padme and Obi-wan friendship (yes, I’m aware these are angst prompts. I don’t care)

Hello my friend! Here's my final prompt fill from this round! Thanks for the prompt! //prompts now closed

Here ya go!

---

“You cannot possibly go like this.”

“Yes, I can,” Anakin says, panting slightly.

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow at Anakin, standing over his former apprentice as he leans heavily over the toilet bowl. Anakin groans and allows his body to fall back against the wall.

With a concerned “hmm,” Obi-Wan crouches down beside Anakin and places a palm on his forehead. The younger Jedi pulls back but is unable to elude Obi-Wan for long. He is concerned but not surprised by the heat that greets his palm. Sweaty hair tangles in Obi-Wan’s fingers as he tries to smooth it back. His concern deepens when Anakin stops resisting his touch.

“Oh, Padawan,” Obi-Wan says, slipping into the old title like it’s muscle memory. He grabs a damp towel and dabs it at Anakin’s sweaty forehead. “This isn’t good.”

Shivers course through Anakin’s whole body and his cheeks are flushed pink with fever.

“I can still go, M’ster,” Anakin says, though it comes out as more of a whine than an assurance. “Please, Obi-Wan. I can’t disappoint Pa– Senator Amidala.”

“Anakin, you can’t even stand up without keeling over,” Obi-Wan says. “How do you think you’re going to last through a whole senatorial ball?”

“I can stand,” Anakin pouts. As if to demonstrate his point, Anakin climbs to shaky feet. “See? I’m st–”

Anakin sways and his knees buckle. Obi-Wan takes a heavy step forward and grabs a hold of Anakin before he can collapse again.

“You were saying?”

“Shudup.”

Anakin’s face is pressed into Obi-Wan’s chest and he sags into him.

“Come on,” Obi-Wan says. “Let’s get you to bed and out of that suit. You won’t be wearing it tonight I’m afraid.”

“But Padmé…”

“I’m sure Senator Amidala will do just fine for a night,” Obi-Wan reassures, dragging Anakin down the hallway.

“She’s gonna be all ‘lone,” Anakin slurs, and Obi-Wan can feel guilt and disappointment clouding Anakin’s Force presence.

“She’s a very strong woman, Anakin, she’ll manage.”

“But I promised,” Anakin whines.

“She’ll forgive you, she’s very kind,” Obi-Wan says.

“I know,” Anakin says wistfully. “She’s just the best.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. “Come now, Anakin, let’s get you in bed before you say something I’m going to have to pretend to forget.”

“Kay,” Anakin says, too delirious to truly catch Obi-Wan’s meaning.

Like any good Master would, Obi-Wan helps Anakin out of his fancy suit and provides him with fresh, soft tunics to sleep in.

“Get in bed,” Obi-Wan commands, leaving no room for argument. “I’ll be right back.”

Anakin grumbles but slides under his sheets.

Shaking his head, Obi-Wan heads to the kitchen and pours some tea he made shortly before he found Anakin hurling his guts out. It was still warm, but not scalding — perfect for Anakin who has an impatient streak a mile wide.

He returns to Anakin’s room to find him with half-closed eyes and an arm wrapped tightly around his abdomen.

“Drink this,” Obi-Wan says, handing the tea over to Anakin. “It will settle your stomach.”

“What about Padmé?” Anakin says again.

Obi-Wan frowns. He does feel bad that Padmé will be left without a date to the senatorial ball. He glances over to the chair where he draped Anakin’s tie and groans internally. Obi-Wan hates senatorial balls.

But he cares about Anakin and he cares about Padmé.

With a long-suffering sigh, Obi-Wan pulls out his commlink.

“Master Kenobi?” Padmé answers. Her expression is passive, but her voice betrays her confusion. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine, Senator, but I’m afraid there has been a change of plans.”

***

A gentle knock at the door tells Obi-Wan his date for the night has arrived to pick him up.

“Hello, Master Kenobi.”

The young senator is radiant in her evening gown. Fine lace patterns web over the length of her slender arms, but cut off at her shoulders, leaving them bare. The rest of the gown, a solid, navy blue, cascades down her body just as a waterfall might plunge from a mountainside. She is a dazzling sight and Obi-Wan thanks the stars that Anakin is asleep in his bed and not out here attempting to prove his healthiness. If illness didn’t make Anakin fall at her feet, this dress would certainly do the trick.

“Thank you for meeting me here,” Obi-Wan says. “It is not the most chivalrous thing, but I’m afraid I was short on time.”

“What you’re doing is chivalrous enough, Master Kenobi,” Padmé says. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Of course, I did. I could not possibly let you get stood up, especially by a Padawan of mine.”

Padmé giggles. “It’s hardly his fault.”

“Oh, I know, but giving him a hard time is much more fun than giving him my pity,” Obi-Wan says. “Give me one moment, Senator. I just need to find… ah, here it is.” Obi-Wan grabs the tie he had thrown haphazardly on the kitchen counter while he was getting ready.

He had rushed to throw together an outfit that would be acceptable for the ball and was pleased to find that his blue coat coordinated quite well with Padmé’s gown.

The tie is made of a silky material and his fingers fumble with the unfamiliar article of clothing. Qui-Gon taught him how to do this a long time ago. Now if only he could remember which way to pull…

“Let me,” Padmé says gently.

“Pardon?”

“You’re hopeless. Let me do it.” Padmé strides over to him and takes each side of the tie in either hand.

“I assure you, Senator, I am perfectly capable–” Obi-Wan starts as he tries to grab hold of the tie again. Padmé bats his hand away.

“Stop that,” she says. He squirms backward but she grabs hold of his shoulder to pull him back. “Hold still, would you?”

Obi-Wan sighs in defeat and allows Padmé to finish the knot. She carefully tucks the tie under his collar and she brushes her hands over his shoulders. “There. You look dashing.”

He smiles softly at her. “Thank you, Padmé. You look quite beautiful yourself.”

She bows her head graciously.

“Where is Anakin?”

His smile tightens into a grimace. “He’s asleep. I hope he stays that way. I gave him something for the nausea in hopes that it will help him sleep.”

Obi-Wan can sense her conflicting emotions in the Force and he already knows what she is going to ask.

“Are you sure he will be okay by himself?”

“He should be fine for a few hours. If not, he knows I will have my comm on me, though I anticipate we’ll be back before he wakes. Unless, of course, this is not the stuffy senatorial ball I was promised?”

“I’m afraid it is the stuffy senatorial ball you were promised.”

“Very well,” Obi-Wan says, extending an arm for Padmé to link hers around. “Let’s get on with it shall we?”

***

“You’re a good dancer,” Padmé observes.

“You don’t need to sound so surprised,” Obi-Wan says, before twirling her around. Her dress splays out, its flared edges brush his legs.

“I’m not,” she says. “I suppose it’s a Jedi thing?”

Obi-Wan laughs at the mental image of Yoda dancing at a senatorial ball. “It is hardly a Jedi thing.”

“Anakin is a good dancer too,” Padmé argues.

“And pray tell, who do you think taught him?”

“Fair enough,” Padmé concedes and then she laughs.

“Something funny?”

“No, it’s just… I’m picturing you teaching a teenaged Anakin how to dance.”

“Yes, looking back it was probably quite amusing. It was less funny in the moment when he managed to step on all of my toes.”

Padmé laughs even more and the musical cadence of it blends in with the song the band is playing.

“So, Master Kenobi,” Padmé says. “Who taught you to dance. I’m having a hard time picturing Qui-Gon doing it.”

“That would be because he didn’t teach me,” Obi-Wan says.

“Then who did?”

Obi-Wan thinks back to a time long ago — to two kids and a Jedi master on the run. Blonde tresses and the gleam of beskar. Long nights under star-speckled skies.

“An old friend,” he says.

“Your friend did a good job.”

“She was a good teacher — stubborn and willful — but a good teacher nonetheless.”

One song ends and another begins.

Obi-Wan and Padmé continue their dance through the magnificent ballroom, their steps falling perfectly in time with the music and with each other.

“Thank you again for doing this. I know this kind of thing isn’t… well… your thing.”

“All things considered, being in good company certainly makes it more tolerable,” Obi-Wan says.

“Oh, only ‘tolerable’?” Padmé says with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe after another glass of champagne, it will verge into enjoyable.”

Padmé grins brightly as he spins her around again. On beat with the music, she steps back perfectly into place, one hand in his, the other on his shoulder.

“You’re a good friend, Obi-Wan,” Padmé says. “To me and to Anakin.”

“Thank you, Senator. You’re a good friend too.” He pauses, but then adds on, “to me and to Anakin.”

Padmé bites her lip and averts her gaze. “Do you think he’s okay?”

Obi-Wan feels the tension in her body as she asks the question and he can tell she has been wanting to ask it for some time. Her worry clouds the Force, but he parses through it to poke at the bond he shares with Anakin.

“He’s fine,” Obi-Wan reassures. Padmé’s shoulders remain rigid. “I would be able to sense if he were not. He’s fine, Padmé.”

Padmé relaxes at his words and returns to gently swaying with the rhythm. They move together, perfectly in sync with one another.

Only a few heartbeats more, and the song finds its end. Obi-Wan bows to Padmé and she inclines her head in polite acknowledgment.

“Another dance?” he asks.

“Maybe in a little while. Let’s see about getting you that glass of champagne first, shall we?”

“You read my mind, Senator.”

Arm in arm, they walk together laughing and smiling — not as a Jedi and a senator, but as two friends enjoying the simple pleasure of one another’s company.

#my writing #prompts now closed #obi wan kenobi #padme amidala #obi wan and padme rights

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bbrandy2002 · 3 years

Text

Fool’s Rush In -- Chapter 16

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x MC

Warning: Some language, mild sexual talk

Since it’s been awhile since I last posted an update, in the previous chapter Madeleine had confronted Riley with a video after she left the ball.

Thank you @burnsoslow for the preread and beta.

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

Riley sat on a leather bench at the foot of the bed with a television remote held loosely between her hands, folded in her lap.

Somehow her worn-out body managed to walk from the corridor after the encounter with Madeleine, up the many stairs of the quarters she shared with Liam and to their bedroom. The shock of the situation combined with exhaustion and throbbing pain in her lower back was secondary to the fear she felt at possibly giving up the man she loved.

With trembling hands, she had slipped the DVD into the player and watched her nightmare play out on the screen -- It was all true. Madeleine acquired an illicit video of Riley and her ex-husband that the Queen had no clue was recorded of her or existed.

Her thumb grazed over the pause button several times, but she knew pressing it wouldn’t stop the hurt and embarrassment she felt at that moment at watching her former husband violating her trust and privacy. It wouldn’t stop Madeleine from releasing the video of it to the press and public. And it wouldn't stop the love she felt for Liam -- no one was powerful enough to take that feeling away from her.

But it was those words Madeleine threatened her with that got equal consideration with that video in Riley’s mind. She tried to envision how the scenario would carry out if the video was released and for those who would be affected by it: her father, her friends, her former students.

Liam.

“It’s a shame that he’ll lose his reign, all because of you.”

“Would you really do that to Liam?”

“Do you genuinely believe you’re worth all the trouble it will cause him?”

Riley hit the pause button, her hands flying up to cover her tear-laden face as she bent over in sobs, shaking her head. She was wrestling with that inner voice, replaying Madeleine’s words like a broken record while struggling to remember everything Liam told her about trusting him and his love for her.

No matter how hard she tried to let his tender voice speak to that sacred place in her heart, Madeleine’s threats and taunts were getting the best of her. If there was even a slight possibility that the Countess was right, and Liam would get dragged through the mud in all of this, then there was no question what needed to be done.

Those scattered bricks that formed the walls she came to Cordonia with, the ones Liam had broken down, were quickly stacking up again, one on top of the other. If something didn’t happen soon, Riley would be surrounded and suffocated inside that impenetrable cocoon that initially caused herself to doubt her worthiness to him in the first place.

All of those insecurities and fears crept up faster than a flooded riverbank, and she felt powerless to stop it from rising. Even if she could, she’d never allow Liam to suffer the consequences of something she had the power to prevent. To hell with whatever happened to her, but not him. He saved her weeks ago, and as her teary gaze slid from her hands to the wardrobe closet across the room, this would be her way of saving him.

Riley picked up the remote from her lap and tossed it aside. Determined to get out of the palace and Cordonia before anyone could see her, she swallowed her anger and grief and swiped a knuckle under each eye to dry the tears shed.

She rose to her feet faster than she should have, feeling an intense shock of pain that began in her hip and shot down to her feet. There were no doubts that the fall from struggling with Madeleine injured her far worse than she wanted to admit to herself. With a shrieking whimper, she ground her teeth together and doubled over, feeling like she might faint.

Riley grasped her back and gave herself a second to breathe through the pain before straightening up and staggering to her wardrobe to pack whatever she could as quickly as possible.

_____________

Liam stepped off the dance floor with Olivia's arm curled through his and escorted her back to their table. The conclusion of the ball was nearly upon him, and most guests had already stopped on their way out to say their farewells and offer congratulatory well-wishes. When they'd ask about the Queen's whereabouts, he'd tell them she had something come up that needed her attention. No one dared press him on the issue.

Checking the time on his watch, Liam looked up as Maxwell ran over with his phone in hand and dropped into a seat. He looked curiously at the out of breath Beaumont and asked, "What's going on, Maxwell?"

"Sorry," he replied before plucking a flute of champagne from a passing server's tray and gulping it down quickly. Wiping the droplets that dribbled from his mouth to his chin off with the back of his hand, he panted. "I ran here as fast as I could. I just got a text message from Drake. He's heading back soon."

"Did he say what the results of the paternity test were?" Olivia asked.

Maxwell nodded. "Yeah. They're Bastien's for sure. Las Vegas officials are allowing Drake to leave, but they've detained Bas until he pays up the $200,000 he owes to Boom Boom. Drake's return flight is scheduled to leave tomorrow morning, Cordonia time."

Liam pulled out his wallet and tossed $100 at a smug Leo, who promptly counted them out and stuffed the bills into his pocket. "I told you those little dudes weren't mine, bro. Really, your doubt in me hurts."

"I'll admit you were right, Leo. But you do have a track record when it comes to being involved in weird stuff like this."

"Yeah, I've gotten myself into some pretty hairy shit a time or two," he laughed as the memories came to him. "Ahh, good times, good times. But, y'know, it wasn't always just fun and games with me, Liam. During those few occasions when I'd show up to train on being the top dog of this place, Father taught me several valuable lessons. Wanna know what they were?"

"Not really," Liam answered dryly, then tossed back the rest of his scotch to prepare himself. "But I assume you're going to tell me anyway."

"Damn right I am! This is good shit to know, straight from the Big Kahuna himself." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You must never tell anyone what I'm about to share with you all. This is top secret, classified Cordonian shit we're talking about; lives are on the line here. Father would be pissed if --"

"Just spit it out already!" Olivia snapped.

"Alright, first, never jizz in a jacuzzi unless you want to be covered in a thin spiderweb-like amalgamation of your own gravy. Daddio said he learned the hard way on that one ..."

"Oh, God. Leo!" Sickened, Liam dropped his head.

" ... Next, when you kiss a woman's hand, do it on the thumb side. Most people scratch their asses with their fingers, but rarely their thumbs. I might be an exception to the rule on that one." Leo chuckled to himself. "And lastly ... Rys spermies are MEAN sons-of-bitches, and we should dip my balls in a mug of hot water every day to kill them before having sex."

"What the hell?" Olivia grimaced as she lowered her coffee mug away from her lips and pushed it away.

"My dad told me the same thing," Maxwell boasted. "Except he called them Beaumont spermies. I guess he heard the same story from someone different than your dad."

Liam lowered the hands that were covering his face and breathed out heavily, "Leo, did our father ever teach you about anything other than using protection and sex during these meetings? Anything about negotiations, taxes, treaties ..."

Leo considered him for a moment. "Nope. He said you'd do all that stuff."

Liam grumbled. "Of course he did."

Olivia looked between Leo and Maxwell and scowled. "Well, it's too bad neither of your fathers took their own advice." She grabbed her clutch from the table. "At least I'll rest easier knowing the two of you aren't reproducing. Now, if you'll excuse me."

"I'll walk out with you, Liv." Liam rose and left the ballroom, having had more than enough of his fill of Leo for the night. There was also an incredibly sexy woman upstairs he'd been dreaming of pleasing all day, and he was overly eager to make good on his promise to join her shortly.

______________

Liam made his way through the residential wing and down the long hallway to his quarters. While undoing his tie, he stopped midway when he noticed a vase that usually sat on a decorative table along the wall, tipped over on its side with bundles of long-stemmed roses littered on the ground around it.

As he stooped down to pick them up, he found it oddly peculiar -- they didn't just fall over like this on their own. If a member of the staff had knocked them over, they would have picked them up; he felt certain Riley would have, as well.

After rearranging the flowers in the vase and situating them back on the table, Liam removed his key card from his pocket and swiped it through the key fob next to the door.

"Riley! I'm home," he called out in a sensual tone, knowing she was most likely upstairs -- hopefully naked and ready to get her ass spanked -- and wouldn't have heard him.

Taking a moment to check his reflection in the entryway mirror, Liam smoothed back his hair and tested his breath against his palm, satisfied he was good. After a quick stop in the kitchen to grab a can of whipped cream and chocolate sauce, Liam ascended the stairs, two at a time, to his bedroom.

"Daddy's ready for his dessert ..." his exuberant voice trailed off as the sultry smirk he donned quickly faded away when he walked into an empty room. "Riley?"

Glancing around the bedroom, the en suite door was still open, and the light was off, so he knew she wasn't in there. The bed was still in pristine form and didn't look touched. He wasn't at all worried; Riley likely went for a snack, even though that thought seemed rather odd considering how adamant she was about returning to their quarters earlier.

Liam placed the toppings on a side table and slipped out his phone. He plopped down on the bench at the foot of their bed, thinking maybe he'd missed a message or call from her.

There was nothing.

He scratched his head; it wasn't like Riley not to mention to him if she'd gone somewhere, not that she had to. But in this case, she knew he'd be up soon. Thinking about the overturned vase Liam walked upon, something started to not sit well with him.

With the cell still in his hand, he pulled her contact information up. Just as he was about to hit the dial button, he heard "Liam" in a low, raspy voice.

Relief washed over him as he stood and put his phone away. "Love, you worried me. Everything okay?" Her face was ashen, and her eyes red and swollen. Liam's insides immediately clinched.

Riley didn't answer as Liam crossed the room, frantically approaching her, worry engraved on his features. “Riley, love, what’s wrong? What happened?” His eyes were desperately searching for any clue as to what was clearly something wrong with his wife.

She held out her hand, preventing him from coming too close. “Please ... don’t.”

Bewildered, he asked, “What are you doing, sweetheart?”

Riley turned her head away somberly; she couldn't bear to look at him. She had planned to get out of the palace before he returned from the ball; there was no way she would be able to face him. Liam would want an explanation that she couldn't give him. But when she got to the car, Riley noticed there was something important she forgot to give back to him, and there was no way she would take it. Maybe somewhere inside, even if she couldn't admit it, she needed to see him and do this right. “I ... have to go.” Her words were barely audible.

Liam's brows bumped together. “Go? You’re going somewhere this late? But you were tired before --”

“No,” Her head shook faster than she realized before she spat the rest out. “I’m leaving Cordonia. I’m returning to Las Vegas, and I’m not coming back.”

“Riley? What the hell is going on? You were fine and having a good time 30 minutes ago, and now, all of a sudden, you want to go back to Nevada. What am I missing here? Does this have something to do with what happened at dinner? Because I told you --”

“You’re not missing anything. I came here to prevent you from marrying Madeleine, and I did that. That was the agreement, and now ... I’m going home.”

Liam started to laugh and wagged his finger at her. “Leo put you up to pranking me? He's mad about me sending that damn monkey away and is trying to get me back, right? Because if he did, that's just … just heartless. And I don’t find it funny.”

“No, Liam.." She shook her head again. "Leo didn’t put me up to this, and it's not a prank.” Riley carefully pulled off the wedding bands she came back to give him and held them out to him.

He looked at them and gritted his teeth. “Put them back on,” he commanded.

“I can’t do that, Liam. They belonged to your mother, and I’m not taking something so sentimental with me back to Vegas.”

“You’re damn right you're not taking them back to Vegas with you because you’re not going!”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not!”

Riley choked out into a wispy sob, “I’m so sorry, Liam. I'm so sorry!”

He said nothing as he stared at her in disbelief and saw that she was serious. “Why?” He asked as his throat clenched and the first tear slipped down his cheek.

Her body felt leaden, never having seen him this shattered. “Liam, I just want to go home, okay? I mean ... this has been an amazing experience, and I’ll never forget it, but I miss my home, and my job, and my friends ..."

“Fuck your home! I’ll buy you one here that looks just like it. Visit your friends all you want ... hell, bring them here if you want to; I don’t care. That's NOT what's going on! There’s something you’re not telling me. And I want to know, NOW!”

Riley startled at his yell, wanting to hold him and make it better. “Liam, I don’t want to be in Cordonia anymore, or be the Queen, or live in this palace. I want to go home.”

He motioned around the room.“THIS is your home, Riley ... Cordonia. I’m your home! This palace is your home." Liam scrubbed a frustrated hand furiously over his face. "Again, you were fine 30 minutes ago. What changed between you leaving the ball and coming up here? You're not telling the truth for some reason, but I can’t figure out why. Did I do something to upset you? Did someone else do something to upset you?"

"No!" she responded expeditiously.

"I love you, Riley. You know that, right?" She nodded; the glisten in his blue eyes and the desperation in his trembling voice was destroying her willpower. "Do you … still love me?"

Riley slammed her eyes shut. She loved him with every fiber of her being, and to tell him so in this very moment would only serve to prolong this hellacious situation. The only way to protect him from losing everything -- in her mind -- was to let him go. He would fight her on this, and it broke her heart to see the pain and confusion in his eyes, but it had to be done.

“Do. You. Love. Me?” he enunciated his question once more. The struggle and agony on her face were evident to him.

Riley turned away from Liam and faced the door. Did she have it in her to answer that question with a lie?

"... the council will have no choice but to question Liam's decision-making abilities after not only squandering his pick of a queen on some American nobody but now one whose ass will be featured on the desktops of teenage boys across the world. It's a shame he'll lose his reign, all because of you. Would you really do that to Liam? Are you worth the trouble?"

The sadness crushed her. There was no other way to protect him. Riley swiped at her face and answered firmly.

“No.”

With that, the Queen walked out, leaving the King in an empty room with his shock, his confusion, and an unimaginable pain he'd never get over.

-----------

Tags:

@burnsoslow @dcbbw @ao719 @jessiembruno @texaskitten30 @janezillow @merridithsmiscellany-blog @mskaneko @callmeellabella @queenjilian @sirbeepsalot @drakexwillow @jovialyouthmusic @forthebrokenheartedthings @bebepac @kingliam2019 @lovablegranny @cordoniaqueensworld @amandablink @liamxs-world @choiceskatie @iaminlovewithtrr @hopelessromanticmonie @charlotteg234 @annekebbphotography @txemrn @ofpixelsandscribbles @alyssalauren @monsoonblooms12 @mom2000aggie @theroyalheirshadowhunter @princessleac1 @kimmiedoo5 @graceful-leah @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @thegreentwin @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @pink-diamond13 @walker7519 @yourmajesty09 @natureblooms24 @gabesmommie1130 @sweatyrysconnoisseur @kat-tia801 @debramcg1106 @shewillreadyou @choicesstan650 @emkay512 @royalromancer

Liam x MC: @cordonia-gothqueen

Fools Rush In tags: @narrytheworld @queenwalton @cordonianprincess @zaffrenotes @zilch3 @drrookie @sfb123 @secretaryunpaid

#fools rush in #Liam x mc #liam x riley #king liam #the royal romance #trr #choices trr #prince liam #bbrandy2002

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i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend · 3 years

Text

As It Should Be ~ Lucy x Caspian

A/N: Hello lovelies, so this is well out of my wheel house. But thanks to Shadow and Bone I am well and truly back on my Ben Barnes Bullshit. Which included re-watching the Narnia movies and then I had some feels. I'm completely ignoring the books and this is way AU but I couldn't get it out of my head. So if there's any Lucian shippers out there, this ones for you. Spoilers for the movies.

Summary: Lucy had not been ready to leave Narnia. And Caspian had not been ready for her to go. Perhaps fate still had a plan.

Characters/Pairings: Lucy Pevensie/Caspian (everyone is of age, time works funny between the realms); Edmund Pevensie, Aslan

Warnings: Fluff, a little bit of angst, pining, spoilers for the movies.

Word count: 5800 (I don't know how it happened. I just had a lot of feels)

Caspian’s voyage on the Dawn Treader had been a success on all counts. But in spite of his resolve to be a great king of Narnia and to treasure the lands and people he had been chosen to rule, the young king was sorrowful on their return journey. His crew had known better than to question him when he returned alone from Aslan’s country. Drinian put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Caspian clasped it for a moment before giving him a meaningful nod. Drinian got the Dawn Treader sailing for home while Caspian ducked below deck for just a moment to mourn the loss of his friends. When he returned, his smile was not quite so bright as it had been when the king and queen of old had been on the ship.

The crew was happy to be going home, but they also felt the loss of their companions quite acutely. It had taken no time at all for them to love Lucy and Edmund. The younger of the Kings and Queens of old were kind and hardworking and had immediately treated them as old friends. Narnia they supposed was their great love. And while Eustace had taken some extraordinary circumstances to warm up to, he too was missed, and they all found the ship far too silent with Reepicheep’s running commentary.

Their return took nearly six months as they returned all those who had been taken by the mist to their home islands. So, while the crew was joyous to be returning home after nearly two years, everyone was weary when they finally docked on the shores beneath Cair Paravel. Drinian directed the landing team, as more sailors came to help them unload. Caspian gazed up at Cair Paravel in all its glory. It had been mostly restored before he departed, but now, it was back to its true grandure, he wished Lucy and Edmund could have seen this.

He had only a moment before his advisors were upon him, welcoming him back and informing him that a feast was already being prepared for his return. They clamored for his attention, luckily with good news. They each were reporting that peace remained and things had grown even more bountiful in the past six months. Caspian listened carefully making notes on what to discuss with them tomorrow, before finally excusing himself to clean up before the feast.

After what could only be described as the most delicious meal he’d ever had, Caspian took his time reacquainting himself with the halls of his castle. During his time away, the team in charge of the interior restoration had finished all of their projects, which included the portraits of the Pevensies at the height of their rule. He inspected each one closely, trying to find the familiar features of his friends in the older faces.

For the most part he could see it. Although it was odd to see them at that age - all older than his 23 years. Well, all but Lucy. She had been just shy of 21 when they tumbled back through the wardrobe. She was the only one who never mentioned how hard it was to go from being an adult back to being an 8 year old. But he suspected that she struggled more than she let on, though she would never tell her siblings while they suffered their own distress. His thoughts lingered on the youngest of the great kings and queens. He couldn’t help but wonder if his dear friend would look the same when she reached 20 again.

Her portrait hung beside her sister’s and one could easily spot the differences. Susan held a quiet beauty, befitting her title of Gentle. But even the stillness of a portrait could not tame Lucy’s wild beauty and adventurous spirit. He knew well the twinkle of excitement the artist had captured. It was one that never failed to bring a smile to his face.

Caspian had been captivated by Lucy during their time on the Dawn Treader. More than he’d been willing to admit, even to himself. Though he suspected Edmund had seen it. He’d even expected a brotherly talk at one point, since Peter was absent. But he merely smiled, and took every opportunity to let them be together. Drinian had also made more than a few subtle comments, but Caspian had chosen to remain silent.

While the young prince had had eyes only for Susan upon their first meeting in terms of amorous intentions, Lucy’s unwavering faith and goodness had endeared her to him. When she stood across the river with only a dagger in her hand, facing down an army with a smile he could see why she of the four was the Valiant. She was amazing, even at age 11.

Her return 3 years later, had only deepened that opinion. She had matured and Caspian found himself lost in her. He’d been telling the truth when he told her that he hadn’t found a queen as beautiful as Susan, but what he left out was that there had been none as fierce as her either.

The pair had spent every possible moment together – stargazing, checking maps, telling stories. He loved her stories. Queen Lucy the Valiant had truly been a queen of her people. While her siblings had often been on the frontlines of battle, Lucy had always been protecting the people – evacuating them, learning from the healers how to dress wounds that didn’t require her cordial. She was the most beloved of the four, even in the stories Caspian had heard before he met them. Though she would refute that claim a thousand times over.

Other stories were filled with tales of dancing with fauns and dryads. Mr. Tumnus was a frequent character, and Caspian could hear the heartache in her voice when she spoke about him. He would often take the opportunity to squeeze her hand in comfort, which she also responded to with a grateful smile. Edmund would often join in, offering tales of his own or teasing Lucy.

One time in particular, he felt the need to remind her of the time a suitor had come to court and she had been so used to dancing with the fauns during their revelries that she panicked when he had offered his hand for a formal dance.

“All you could hear in the ballroom was Tristan grunting and Lucy apologizing,” Edmund chuckled.

Lucy’s cheeks flamed red and she glared at her brother for a moment, before a smirk slid across her features.

“At least I didn’t end up in a fountain after my first kiss,” she shot back.

Edmund’s cheeks tinged ever so slightly, but his expression was wistful.

“She was lovely. And it was worth it. I hope she had a good life.”

“I’m sure she did. But I’m sure she missed you.”

The siblings shared a look, regrets and memories flowing through their minds. Once again, Caspian was struck by how much life and loss these two “children” had experienced.

Later that night, after confirming their course with Drinian, Caspian was ready to retire to the barracks area for a few hours of sleep. But as he passed his quarters which he had given to Lucy, he heard humming. Moving as quietly as he could, he neared the cabin, noting the slightly ajar door. Caspian couldn’t help the smile that crossed his lips as he watched Lucy dance to her own tune as she looked in the mirror, the steps somewhat disjointed. He slipped inside, leaning against the doorjamb, making sure she couldn’t see his reflection.

“Would you like a partner?” he finally asked.

Lucy jumped at the unexpected voice, whirling as her cheeks filled with color upon realizing she’d been caught.

“Caspian! I was just… Edmund made me remember and I thought I’d practice.”

“In case we have a ball on the Dawn Treader?” he asked, grinning wildly at her.

“Of course. I’ve been to many balls on ships,” she giggled before sobering slightly. “No, but there’s dances back home. And I’ve never been, but I suspect they don’t much care for the type of dancing the fauns and dryads do.”

The mention of home twisted in Caspian’s gut, but he pushed the thought away. He would enjoy what time he had with her. Each moment was a gift.

“Well, I don’t know how they dance in your world, but it always helps to have a partner. May I?”

She nodded, uncharacteristically shy.

He snapped to attention and made a formal bow, which made her laugh but she curtsied anyway before taking his hand. He pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles, before placing her hand on his shoulder. His right hand fell to her waist, he his left clasped hers firmly.

“’Ready?”

“Absolutely?”

He wasn’t positive, but they both sounded breathless.

He began to hum, counting the beats by gently tapping his fingers against her side. He gave it a count of 8 before he began to move. It was rough at first, they were both out of practice… and nervous if he was being honest. But after a few crushed toes, they found their rhythm and soon they seemed to float. Caspian waltzed her around the room, twin smiles adorning their faces. Before they knew it, they were simply swaying in place gazing into each other’s eyes.

“I wonder if Susan is dancing like this with her naval officer,” Lucy wondered aloud, regretting it the moment it slipped past her lips. “Oh, I’m sorry, Caspian. I wasn’t thinking.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Don’t worry, Lucy. I’m not upset. I’m happy that your sister is moving on with her life. No one deserves to be alone.”

“But you’re alone,” Lucy pointed out.

Not cruelly, more confused by his logic.

“I’m not alone right now. I’m with you.”

And I will take that, he thought to himself. Just this moment and whatever else I get.

“Susan and I are worlds apart. In more ways than one,” he added slyly.

Lucy gazed up at him, no longer swaying at all.

“Caspian, I-“

At that moment, the ship lurched sending her crashing into his arms. It lurched again and sent them both to the floor. A storm had reached them and they heard the crew members racing about on deck. They shared one more moment before sprinting into action.

“Your majesty.”

His chief advisor’s voice jostled Caspian from his memories.

“Lord Pallburn. How can I help you?”

“You requested updates on the refugees and the five lords.”

“Of course. We shall speak on the way to my chambers.”

Caspian shot one last look at Lucy’s portrait before leading his advisor away.

Lucy sighed quietly as she watched the happy couple spin around the dance floor.

Years ago, on a ship a world away, Lucy had been held like that. Her thoughts strayed to Caspian and his near obsidian eyes. She had thought of him often in the years since. She wondered how long it had been for him.

Was he married by now?

A father?

Dead?

No.

Her heart couldn’t bear that last one. She had to believe Caspian was alive and well and happy or she wouldn’t be able to carry on.

She shook the thoughts away and returned to the view in front of her.

Susan was absolutely radiant in her wedding dress. Her smile lit up the room as Tom held her in his arms, leaning down for a peck as the song ended. They held hands as they exited the dance floor to chat with their friends.

Peter had his younger daughter, Jane, balanced on the top of his shoes as he moved them about in a decent facsimile of a waltz. Lucy smiled as she remembered her oldest brother doing the same with her when she was much younger.

Edmund was sitting with his girlfriend Margaret and their cousin Eustace laughing quite merrily.

With the exception of her cousin, Narnia had taken on the golden tint of a fond memory. But a memory none the less. Her siblings had been content to leave it at that. Lucy could not find it in her to do the same. Narnia had always felt more like home than this world. A fractured childhood would do that to you she supposed. After all she had grown up in Narnia first.

She still knew their customs and constellations better than England’s. But she knew it wasn’t just that. Her heart lay in Narnia, or rather with the King of Narnia. Caspian had a way of making Lucy feel seen when others didn’t.

“Enjoying the party, Lu?”

She nodded as she looked to Edmund who had slipped into the seat beside her.

“It’s wonderful. Everyone is having so much fun.”

“Everyone?”

“I’m having fun,” she insisted, knowing Edmund could see right through her.

“Talk to me.”

She looked again to the dance floor, eyes flitting from couple to couple.

“Do you think that I could ever find that here?”

“Love?”

Lucy nodded again.

“What makes you think you won’t?” he pressed, avoiding her question.

“I can’t imagine finding anyone to share my life with like that. There’s so much I couldn’t tell them. I don’t know how you all do it.”

Edmund hummed in response.

“Narnia meant everything to me. It made me who I am, but the only one who needs to know about it for it to be real is me. And I’m lucky enough that I got to share it with you, and Peter, Susan, and Eustace. Margaret doesn’t need to know what made me the man I am. Only that that man is someone she wants to be with.”

Lucy regarded her brother carefully for a moment. He’d clearly put a lot of thought into this and she appreciated it.

“I guess that makes sense. I guess I’m not ready to admit that Narnia is my past. Even though I have to.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“Is that the only reason you think you won’t find love here?”

Lucy knew where he was going with this, and finally she sighed – more an exhale after holding one’s breath.

“I think I loved him,” she whispered, not needing to specify who “him” was.

“Loved?” he clarified.

“Love,” Lucy corrected.

“He loves you too for what it’s worth. I could see it. Clear as the Northern Sky.”

“I don’t think it matters much. We’re worlds apart now. He’s probably married by now. I’m not sure how I managed it, but it seems I’ve left my heart in Narnia.”

Edmund wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her into his side. She leaned her head heavily against his shoulder.

“What has been lost, can be found. We just need to have faith about these things. You taught me that.”

Lucy smiled at the reassurance.

“Thank you, Edmund.”

“Anything for you. Would you like to dance? We can even pretend we’re at Tumnus’,” he offered.

Lucy shook her head, but smiled more genuinely than she had all night.

“I think I’m going to take advantage of the gardens, and get some fresh air.”

“It’s not like there isn’t air inside,” he joked making her roll her eyes.

“I’ll be back soon.”

Edmund nodded and squeezed her once more before letting her go.

“Be safe.”

Lucy slipped through the crowd unnoticed, as usual. After a few minutes walking through the gardens she happened upon the entrance to a hedge maze. Looking back at the lights of the reception, she took a deep breath and hurried into the maze, following the turns at random.

It couldn’t possibly be big enough for her to actually get lost.

Caspian perched on the rail of his balcony, one knee up as his back was pressed against the palace wall twirling Lucy’s dagger in his hand. If anyone entered his chambers they wouldn’t be able to see him unless they stepped outside. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the stone enjoying the cool breeze off the Eastern Sea. He had chosen this room specifically for the view of the water. It had always calmed him, and now it held an even more special place in his heart.

In the morning, he would return to his duties as king and this journey would leave the forefront of his mind to make room for diplomacy and logistics. And if his advisors had their way, finding a queen. But for now, as the wind whipped around him, he could imagine that he was back on the Dawn Treader. And if he listened closely enough, he could hear Lucy’s familiar humming. He allowed his mind to run wild with memories.

When the humming only grew louder, even after shaking himself from the sweet memories, Caspian grew concerned. Alert now for possible danger, he scanned the grounds for the source of the sound.

The beach was clear. As were the cliffs to the north. But as he turned his gaze to the south, a flash of auburn hair in the garden maze caught his eyes. She was deep within the heart of the garden without alerting the guards which was no easy feat.

Fastening his sword belt on, he sheathed Lucy’s dagger which she had gifted him on the shores of Aslan’s country.

“I think you’ll need this more than I will.”

“It shall never leave my side.”

You shall never leave my heart had remained unspoken.

Not wishing to alert the guards, Caspian scaled down the side of the castle, jumping from the lowest window and rolling to his feet.

The wind was carrying the humming to his ears quite clearly, as though it was actively helping him find the intruder. At the edge of the maze he took a deep breath before stepping inside. He allowed himself to be led through the turns by the voice, although he was nearly certain it must be a trap. Surely it was a siren or some spell luring him with his heart’s desire. But still he pursued her.

A few times it seemed they were just on the other side of the hedge from each other, but he would round the corner and find only a dead end.

Finally, he caught a flash of lavender fabric whooshing around the corner and he sped up as well as he could while maintaining his stealth. Lucy’s dagger fit comfortably in his hand. Peeking around the corner to ensure she was coming, he waited until she had passed by before leaping out and grabbing her, the dagger pressed against her throat.

“Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

She froze in his arms.

“Caspian?”

The woman squirmed in his grip enough to see his face and in his surprise he let her.

“It is you. How on Earth did you get here?” she asked.

“Lucy?” he mumbled as he released her and she turned to look at him, giving him his first good look at her.

“Yes, it’s me. I know I look a bit different. But goodness, you haven’t aged a day,”

“Lucy,” he repeated before dropping the dagger and pulling her into his arms, burying his face in her neck.

She held him just as fiercely as if he would disappear if she let go for even an instant.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured. “I thought of you every day.”

“As did I. How long has it been for you?” she asked as she lifted her head to look at him, unwilling to break their embrace any further.

“Six months and thirteen days.”

Lucy huffed out a little laugh.

“Is that all?”

Caspian already knew it had been much longer for her. Years, he guessed, given how much she looked like her portrait.

“How long?”

“Six years. Four months. Eleven days.”

She’d been counting. In spite of knowing that Aslan’s plans for Narnia did not include her.

“Oh, Lucy,” Caspian sighed.

Years. She had thought of him every day for years. The knowledge made his heart beat faster.

“It’s okay. You’re here now. How on Earth are you here?” she asked again.

Caspian glanced upward, just to ensure he hadn’t been transported to her world, but sure enough his stars remained, twinkling down at him.

“Lucy, you’re in Narnia.”

Whipping her head around to gain bearings she didn’t know she’d lost, Lucy’s expression clouded with confusion.

“But how? I was at the wedding. I just stepped out for a few minutes –“ She paused and shook her head with a serene smile. “Things never happen the same twice,” she murmured. “Or four times I suppose. I’m not sure how it’s happened, but I am glad to be home.”

Caspian’s heart both clenched and soared at the word home. But he was still stuck on the earlier revelation.

“You were at a wedding?”

His mind raced as he took in her demure dress and artful curls.

Six years, his mind screamed. Even if she had thought of him, of course she would have found someone else in that time.

“Yes,” she affirmed absent-mindedly. “Of Susan will be so cross I’ve left her wedding.”

Elation.

“Susan’s wedding?”

“Yes.” Lucy’s face dropped. “Oh, I’m sorry, Caspian.”

“So you are not married?” he asked, ignoring the apology.

Lucy’s laughter was a balm to his soul.

“Goodness, no. Not even close. The closest I’ve come to marriage was holding hands with Dennis Macmillian when we were 17. And even that was mainly because I was slipping on the ice. I’ve never even gone for a stroll with a boy.”

Caspian smiled, pulling back just enough to offer her his arm.

“Well then, please, allow me. It would be a shame to waste such a lovely Narnian evening.”

“So it would,” she agreed, looping her arms through his. “Tell me everything I’ve missed,” she insisted as they walked deeper into the maze.

“There’s not that much to tell you. We’ve only just arrived back to Cair Paravel this morning. It took us several months to return everyone to their homes before we could return. Beyond that, I’ve just received reports of peace in Narnia.”

“That’s wonderful, Caspian.”

“I’m sure your time has been far more interesting. Tell me everything.”

“Longer doesn’t always mean more interesting.”

Caspian shot her a look of disbelief.

“I’m telling the truth. After the Dawn Treader we stayed with Eustace until the end of the War. After that, once Susan, Peter, and our parents returned, I went back to school. I learned how to become a nurse.”

“Did you now?”

“Mhmm. Top of my class even. It’s been fascinating to learn, although I still think the healers here have a better bedside manner. And goodness have there been days where I wished for my cordial on the job.”

“It sounds intense.”

“It is. But I love it.”

Her smile confirmed it.

“It suits you,” he agreed.

“Besides all that, not much has changed for me. I spend most of my time working or with my family, though that’s been difficult of late.”

“Difficult? Why?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

“They’ve all become convinced I’m doomed to become an old maid. Well, not everyone I suppose. Mainly my parents and Susan. Peter would prefer it that way, over protective as he is. And Edmund, well he just wants me to be happy.”

Despite her comments, the fondness she had for her siblings still shone through.

“I’m sure they all want you to be happy.”

“I know that. I just wish they wouldn’t keep trying to set me up. I think falling in love should happen naturally.”

She glanced up at Caspian who was watching her closely.

“As do I. So it sounds to me that you’re turning suitors down left and right.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “Although I think Susan believes that she’ll have a better chance at marrying me off now that she’s officially taken. They’ll have to settle for the lesser Pevensie sister.”

Caspian narrowed his eyes at the assertion, footsteps coming to a halt as he turned to face her.

“In what way lesser?”

“In every way,” Lucy laughed humorlessly.

“You are Queen Lucy the Valiant. The most beloved Queen Narnia has ever seen,” he reminded her, continuing on before she could argue with him. “You are amazing. You are in no way lesser.”

His words made her smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“That may be who I am here. But in my world, I’m just Peter and Susan’s little sister. An afterthought.”

Caspian hated to hear her talk about herself like that.

“Then everyone in your world must be fools. You are valiant and beautiful in every world.”

Lucy found herself unable to hold his intense gaze.

“I’m not beautiful like Susan.”

He lifted her head up with a finger underneath her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“Perhaps not. But you’re beautiful like you. And brave. And kind. And loving. And a million other wonderful things.”

“No one’s ever seen me the way you do.”

“It’s an honor to know you this way, Lucy.”

He reached up cradling her cheek before sliding his fingers into her hair.

“I love you.”

It was a relief to finally say it out loud, and her smile was well worth it.

“I love you too, Caspian. I have for a long time.”

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. When he pulled away, he leaned his forehead against hers.

“I was so scared I’d never see you again,” she whispered.

“I was too. I was certain that I’d lost my chance. But you’re here now.”

“I am.” She looked around and somehow he knew she was looking for Aslan. “But I still don’t know why.”

“I’m sure Aslan has his reasons.”

“He usually does,” Lucy agreed with a smile. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out in time. For now…”

“For now, I’m just going to be grateful. And enjoy every second of my time with you.”

“I like that plan.”

They walked through the gardens for a time before Caspian escorted her up to the castle.

Sure enough they spent the next few weeks enjoying their time together. In fact the entire kingdom rejoiced at the return of their queen. But with no indication as to why she was there, soon a quiet anxiety crept in.

Neither Lucy nor Caspian were willing to make too many plans when they didn’t know when she would be returning, so instead they focused on ensuring Narnia was well taken care of. Lucy helped Caspian reinstate the High Council so that every type of creature was represented. Caspian watched in awe as the land flourished and now that everyone had a voice they found it even easier to keep peace. In fact, many days it seemed there wasn’t much ruling to do at all. So he spent more time with his people than ever, which he loved.

And he grew to love Lucy more every day. He knew at some point that she would have to leave, to return to her family, but he also knew that he couldn’t bear to be without her. His decision was made, although he was sure that many would consider it selfish.

Which is why a year after she arrived, Caspian led Lucy into the maze he had found her in.

“This is quite lovely. We haven’t done this in a while. What brought this on?” she asked as they walked.

“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. And I have a question for you. And I thought this would be the best place to ask it.”

She tilted her head in question, noting the slight nervousness in his voice.

“What kind of question?”

“An important one.”

They had reached the center of the maze and Caspian led Lucy to sit on the edge of the fountain that contained a stone carving of Aslan. He hoped it would bring them the Great Lion’s blessing.

He took both her hands in his as he sat beside her on the edge of the fountain.

“Lucy, my love, ever since I first met you, you have been a source of strength and someone who I have never failed to believe in. On our first adventure I learned never to overlook you, and I am eternally grateful for learning that lesson. Because it allowed me to see you for who you are on our second adventure. On the Dawn Treader, I fell in love with you. And the day I had to say goodbye to you it felt as if my heart would never be whole again. But by the grace of Aslan, you were returned to me. And I have spent the past year falling more and more in love with you. I’m not sure how long we have left in Narnia, but I don’t want to waste another moment without asking you to be my wife.”

She gasped as Caspian shifted down onto one knee.

“There is no other I would bind myself to. I love you, Lucy Pevensie. And my only wish is to have you by my side for as long as you’ll have me. Will you marry me?”

“Of course.”

She tackled Caspian to the ground in a very unladylike move, and kissed him soundly.

“Of course I’ll marry you.”

Caspian’s smile was brilliant as he reached up to cradle her face before pulling her down for another kiss. They reveled in their new engagement alone for a while longer before deciding to return to the castle.

They were nearly out of the maze when they saw a flash of golden fur.

“Aslan?”

Lucy took off after the lion and Caspian was right on her heels. He couldn’t help but wonder at the timing.

They made it back to the fountain and found the lion himself in front of his stone counterpart.

“Aslan, it is you.”

Lucy launched herself at him, burying her face in his fur.

“Hello, dear one.” It came out in a deep rumbling laugh.

Caspian knelt before Aslan, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“Rise, King Caspian.”

“Aslan, what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to talk to you about your future, dear one.”

Caspian felt unease coil in his stomach.

“My future here or…?”

Lucy took a step back to stand next to Caspian taking his hand in hers.

“That is your decision to make, Lucy. Your heart longed for Narnia when you returned home. You had not been ready to leave it behind. Is that still true?”

She looked to her betrothed and considered her words carefully.

“I could leave Narnia. But I cannot leave my heart. I cannot leave Caspian. Not again.”

Aslan turned his massive head towards the king – looking at him expectantly.

“Caspian?”

The king lifted Lucy’s hand to kiss her knuckles, looking to her as he answered.

“Narnia was the only home I ever knew. But Lucy is the only home I will ever need. I would leave Narnia if she wished me to. If you would allow it,” he added as he finally turned to face Aslan.

“Caspian?” Lucy gasped at him.

Aslan seemed to nod so Caspian continued, looking back to his love.

“Lucy, in the past year we’ve changed Narnia. It is ruled by its people. As it should be. They don’t need a king. But I need you.”

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, but there was no mistaking her smile.

“Are you sure?”

“I am,” he assured her.

Lucy kissed him for a moment, before turning to Aslan.

“Aslan, is it possible?”

He huffed a laugh and nodded with a shake of his mane.

“Yes, dear one. It is possible. All is as it should be with Narnia thanks to you. But you both must be sure.”

They shared a look before turning back to Aslan.

“We’re sure,” they said in unison.

“But we must not abandon Narnia this time,” Lucy insisted. “I want to say goodbye properly.”

“Of course. You two can stay as long as you like, you have earned that. When you are ready return to this fountain and take the path behind it.”

They both peeked around as the hedge directly behind Aslan’s statue opened up. If she listened closely Lucy could hear the music of the reception.

“You’ll be returned to when you left,” Aslan answered her unspoken question.

Lucy hugged him again and Caspian joined in this time.

“Thank you, Aslan.”

“Thank you, for all you have done for Narnia. It is better for knowing you, dear heart.”

Lucy and Caspian were married after six months on the day before they stepped down and allowed the high council full rule over Narnia. Surprisingly, no one begrudged them their decision. Narnia was happy and they saw that they could rule themselves and be their own heroes.

Two years to the day after Lucy arrived, they said their final goodbyes to the land that had given them so many gifts, the dearest of which was each other.

Hand in hand they entered the maze and followed the turns to the center. With one last look at the great stone lion, they walked through the hedge behind him, coming out into a dark night. Lucy was once again in her lavender bridesmaid dress. Luckily she had had the foresight to have a suit made for Caspian so he would blend in.

“Shall we?” she asked, excited to see her family after so long. Well so long for her. Just moments for them.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t just wait here until after the wedding? How are we going to explain me just turning up?” Caspian asked, daunted by the new world around him.

It was louder than Narnia, and undeniably strange. Lucy cupped his cheek, and kissed him.

“The evening is nearly over. The others will want to see you. You were at the other party and we ran into each other in the garden. You’re an old friend from our time with the professor. And I insisted that you come say hello and congratulate Susan in person.”

“You’ve thought about this,” he teased, considering the plan in his head.

“Of course. It was the first thing I thought when you threatened me with my own dagger,” she reminded him with a mocking look.

“Oh really?” Caspian chuckled, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Yes. Right after ‘he’s here. Maybe I get to be loved after all’.”

“You are so loved, my valiant Lucy. And I shall love you forever. In every world.”

She smiled up at him, blissfully happy.

“And I you, Caspian.”

They shared one more kiss before walking hand in hand back to reception. Everything was as it should be.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this. I've got loads of Ben Barnes feels lately and this is how I'm dealing with it lol. Thanks for reading!

#Caspian x Lucy #Prince Caspian Fic #Lucian Fic #Lucy x Caspian #lucy pevensie #narnia #prince caspian #Lucy Pevensie fic #Narnia fic

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fabricated-misslieness · 3 years

Text

Daniel Le Domas x gender neutral reader

Yo I hate Alex that motherfucker but also I think it’d be easier if Daniel killed Tony in the forest and then ran away with Grace, but I guess it’d be safe to bet that others left for the forest when the car got flipped.

Also for some reason my gifs aren’t workin

Requested: No

Word Count: 2847

Warnings: suggested use of drugs because Emilie exists, mentions of hypothetical violence, some angst i think, mentions of a gun in a world war themed board game

Normal AU where Le Domas are a ‘normal’ rich family, still weird, but no deal with the devil.

Servants, lavish parties, gourmet food, expensive alcohol, this was the life you might be inheriting. You say ‘might’ because you’re not married, nor are you getting married.

Your partner, Daniel Le Domas, was born to a rich family, so he was entitled to all these privileges, not that he seemed quite fond of them. Deep down you knew he was, but he for sure didn’t make it clear.

“Don’t worry,” Speak of the devil. He reassures you, squeezing your hand as you walk down the halls to the music room. A music room, for god’s sake! Not speakers, not a radio, but their butler playing the piano. At least they didn’t have a ballroom, that would just be way extra. “We’re a normal family, I promise.”

“Normal?” You raise an eyebrow, gesturing to a nearby seemingly ancient, though you exaggerated that, portrait of a newlywed couple. “All the portraits I’ve seen so far are newlywed couples.”

“That’s normal for rich families.”

“Haha.” You say sarcastically. “But seriously, you can’t even paint them in normal clothes? Not even family pictures of one of your many vacations?”

“First of all, who said we even had vacations?” You assumed they did, seeing as they were wealthy. Doesn’t the average rich person go on vacation twice a year? Whatever, who were you to assume? Though the thought of it is still a little peculiar, so you decide to question it.

“You don’t? No little tour over Europe? No visiting the seven wonders in the span of a week?” You go on and on, suggesting outlandish places.

Daniel nudges your side playfully to get you to stop. “No, haven’t even toured the US.”

You laugh, nudging him back. “You’re no fun, for a board game family.” You pluck a nearby board game from it’s shelf, Yankee Bayonet. Initially, you’d been attracted because of the gun on the box. It's world war one or two themed. “Well, can’t blame you. Don’t know how this would seem fun. What’s it even about?” You put the box back on display before Daniel can scold you for touching it.

“Honestly, I don’t know. There’s so many games, and I’ve barely played a quarter of them. That one, however,” he points at a box further down the hallway, “that one I play-tested as a kid. It’s somewhat fun.”

“Somewhat.”

As you near the end of the hallway, your eyes land on a portrait of Charity. You stop, which makes Daniel stop too. For a second, he’s confused, until he looks up at the portrait. Immediately, he turns to survey you. Among every emotion dancing in your eyes, he catches disturbance, nervousness, and most importantly, a splash of disgust. “Charity.” You say a little bitterly.

“Charity.” He repeats. “That’s where our painting used to be.” He cups your cheek and pulls you to look at him, putting his other hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You shake your head, putting one hand on his hip and the other on the hand resting on your cheek. “It’s nothing. If I’m going to be with you, I’m going to have to face your family.” Daniel smiles, giving you a quick peck on the nose. He’s glad you’re so willing to get to know them, especially with how much he’s down-talked them, to put it lightly. “The only thing that confuses me is why this is still here. She’s your ex-wife.”

“They took a liking to her.” The both of you grimace. “She was just as crazy as them. Honestly, I don’t see what they see in her. But,” He takes your hand and presses a kiss on it. “I won’t let her bother you. If you want, I’ll even flaunt our relationship more than I would’ve.”

You shake your head, turning towards the next corridor. “No need. I’ll be fine.”

Famous last words, “I’ll be fine.”

You were not fine, in fact, you were a fish out of water. Standing next to the family, you felt severely underdressed, even when you’d gone out your way to wear something fancy. Though that wasn’t the biggest problem. They were all very distinct, but they fit into the family. Of course, they were family, but it made you feel like an outcast.

“(y/n),” Becky greets you with a smile. You offer her a hand, but she gives you a hug instead. You barely manage to reciprocate it. “I’m delighted that you came for a visit."

You give her the best smile you can, hoping she doesn’t notice it’s fake. “I’m glad I’m here with you.” You’d really thought that meeting the family would go smooth, honestly though, how could you? These were rich people, your lifestyle, mannerisms, nothing was even remotely similar to theirs.

“Oh, thank you.” She hands you a glass of champagne which you gingerly take, just to be polite. “I hope you can bring my son back to his old self. He’s never been the same since the divorce!” Before she can take you off towards a couch somewhere, Daniel stops her. He’d excused himself for some whiskey when you made it to the entrance and promised he’d make it quick.

“Mom.” He scolds lightly. He takes the drink from your hands and leaves it on a servant’s tray, knowing you’re not one for fancy champagne.

“Daniel.” Her face lights up. She gives him a quick hug, which you notice Daniel is a bit uncomfortable in. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” She teases.

Daniel nods rather stiffly, moving to your side and taking your hand almost immediately. “Been busy.” The whole family knows that ‘busy’ meant being with you, yet he covers up for it anyway.

“I know, I know. They’re a nice catch, by the way.” Becky pats you on the shoulder, a gesture both you and Daniel seem to dislike. “Well, I better not keep you for any longer. I’m sure the rest of the family is eager to meet you.” For some reason, you highly doubt that.

Becky leaves you for another glass of champagne. Daniel turns to you once she’s gone. “You okay?” He holds your hands in his in the hopes it’ll comfort you.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He can tell you’re lying, you’re not hiding it very well. He gives you a knowing look, pushing you to tell the truth. “Alright, I’m not okay. Charity and your aunt have been eyeing me up since we arrived, your dad looks way older than your mom, Emily and Finch seem too happy to be real, your nephews are creepy, and Alex and Grace both look like they want to leave. That’s not reassuring, now is it?” Your ever rising tone makes Daniel squeeze your hands to stop you.

“Honey, they’re harmless.” He knows that’s an awful way of reassuring someone, but he knows that no matter what he says, you’ll still be doubtful.

You frown, letting out a sigh through your nose. “I know they’re harmless, but..” You bite your lip, trying to find a way to sugar coat your words. “Charity looks like she wants to kill me and your aunt looks like she could skin me alive without even blinking.”

“Look,” He brings his hands to cup your cheeks. “there’s nothing to worry about. From now on, I won’t leave your side. And if I need a refill, I’ll bring you with me. I love you.”

You sigh again, closing your eyes. In the end, you nod, opening them back up to look at him. “I love you too.”

“Good,” He brings you in for a chaste kiss. “Let’s go fuck them, like mom says.”

"She really says that?"

Daniel was right, they were harmless. Well, you hadn’t talked to Charity, but at least you’d talked to the second person giving you a serial killer look, aunt Helene.

Turns out the stink eye was her resting face and that her husband had died tragically. It was the main reason she looked so miserable. She was most likely merely reminiscing about her husband while looking at you two, the newest couple in love. If anything, it made you feel bad for her.

"I'm pretty sure I saw her take a pill like a shot in the hallway." You side glance Emilie as Daniel pulls you off to the side. You were just done talking to her, and somehow, even with all that parental stress, her smile was genuine. She was happy and extremely friendly. Well, so was her husband, but even he had a bit of awkwardness in him. "She's not suffering from anything, is she?"

Daniel shrugs, "Not that I know of."

He sits the both of you down on a loveseat out of earshot from the rest. "Now, we only have to wait until dinner." You nod. "But I have something to tell you. When somebody marries into the family, they have to play a game. It's just tradition. Play the game and you're part of the family, but win it, and you'll gain respect. Might as well get some practice in, right?"

"Did you just propose to me?" You mean it as a joke, but Daniel shrugs and reaches into his pocket. It's a wonder how people aren't looking over right now, well, apart from Charity.

"This is a claddagh ring. It's been sitting in my pocket for ages." He says as he pulls it out of the box. The majority of the ring is normal, but in the middle is a heart with a crown on it. "But, it's up to you how you want to wear it."

"So is this a proposal or..?"

He gives you a quick rundown on the meanings. On the right hand crown pointing towards the fingerprints is single and looking, towards the wrist is taken, on the left ring finger crown pointing towards the fingertips is engaged, and pointing to the wrist is married. Obviously, you're not married or single, so that leaves taken or engaged; and he's giving you that decision.

"You want me to choose?"

Daniel looks like he's regretting his spontaneous and presumably drunken decision. But with a swig of his drink, he smiles again. "Yes. I mean, we've talked about marriage and all but I wasn't sure if you'd be ready. I'm still not sure, but now that you know about it, you might as well wear it."

You admire the ring as you weigh your options. Daniel takes your free hand, absentmindedly playing with your fingers, especially your ring finger.

Engagement is the brightest thing in your heart and mind, despite that, it still finds doubts. Your in-laws, they were weird. But they didn't have anything to hide, they were harmless. On the plus side, you loved Daniel.

That was the final push. You grab Daniel's left hand, sliding the ring down his ring finger with the crown pointing to the fingertips.

Daniel's left hand curls around your right, the metal feels cold against your skin, despite all your fiddling. You look up at him, seeing his brows furrowed with confusion. You speak up before he can, "I might as well be proposing to you, if you're giving me the decision."

Daniel laughs, giving you a kiss followed by an eskimo kiss. He isn't usually one for eskimo kisses, but you figure it's happiness. "Okay, but I'll buy you one."

"Deal." You give him a final kiss before pulling him off the seat. "What should we play?"

"Well, first we have to go to the game room."

"The game room?"

You were hoping the game room was the room with the double doors painted with the name 'Le Domas', seeing as they were a board game family, but apparently not. "It's reserved for family, so technically you're not allowed in. But, we have a game room for parties." Daniel explains on the way. Rich people and their special rooms…

Once inside, Becky plucks a family board game from the shelf, no doubt a Le Baile product. Before you can join them at the couch, however, Charity pulls you off to the side.

Daniel follows, putting his arm around your shoulder protectively. Charity glares at him for a second before turning back to you, it was clear she wanted you alone. "Care for a game of chess?"

"Usually, we play more traditional games, stuff that would be here during my great-great-grandfather's time. He founded the company but the family tradition comes from before most of the games they've created." He whispers quickly into your ear. Due to the quickness, you almost fail to comprehend his words, but luckily you understand them.

"Alright." You agree to the game. Charity leads you over to the chess table, where conveniently, the chess board is already set out.

Daniel pulls a chair from seemingly out of nowhere, setting it down to your side, much to Charity's distaste.

"I got chess when I married in." Somehow she manages to avoid bitterness in her tone. "You should go first."

God, you barely knew the basics.

"So tell me about yourself." Charity speaks up.

You give her a quick rundown, which hopefully doesn't reveal any information that she could use to her advantage. "Interesting." She takes your bishop. "From what I've heard Daniel say, I expected the worst."

Daniel narrows his eyes at her as a warning, though Charity doesn't see. Her eyes are glued to the board.

"I don't know why he'd leave me for you."

"Charity." Daniel warns her.

Charity holds her hands up in mock surrender. "I'm only speaking my mind. But I'll stop now."

She does stop for the remainder of the game, nevertheless there's no doubt in your mind that she has a lot more to say. She beats you quite easily, though she seemed disappointed when the reward was not getting to remarry your new fiancé. It's either that or you'd read her wrong.

"You have much to practice." Becky remarks, taking a sip of her champagne before continuing. "But, you'll get there." She smiles.

You smile back, standing up from your chair. Daniel does so too, almost protectively. He stares ahead towards Charity. The two seem to be having a glaring contest. You decide to ignore them, "I don't know about that."

"Oh, sure you will." Her eyes trail towards your hands when you intertwine them.

"I didn't see that there before. Claddagh ring, left ring finger pointing up." She continues to stare, a little disrespectfully. She notices this before it becomes moderately disrespectful. "You're engaged." Her smile widens.

Her words catch everyone's attention. Almost immediately, Emilie runs over with the brightest smile you'd ever seen.

"Congrats!" She exclaims, reaching out to hold your hand but stopping when she sees it connected to Daniel's. "I can't wait to have you in the family!"

"Thanks."

"They're not normal." You remark as you sit next to Daniel on the bed. The family had insisted that you stay the night, and while that was quite sweet of them, you really wanted to get out of there. They were no longer creepy or ominous, but you want a break. You weren't feeling as social as you did when you came in.

"Can't judge what normal is when they're the only family I've met." Daniel brings the blanket over your legs. "Sorry, anyway."

You shrug, planting a kiss on his forehead. "It's alright. Though that proposal was a little spontaneous."

At the mention of the proposal, Daniel shifts his ring around on his finger. "I was drunk, still am. At least I got it out of my chest. Who knows how long I'd keep it in my pocket otherwise."

"Knowing you, it'd be months, maybe a year."

"Hey!" Daniel whines, nonetheless, it's followed up by a laugh.

You can't help but give him a kiss again, this time on his temple. Daniel moves closer afterwards, pulling you into a proper kiss on the lips.

"Did you like them?" He asks when you pull apart.

You shake your head side to side in a more or less motion. "Mostly. Charity is Charity, you know. Your dad seemed to only focus on the engagement, I think I saw Emilie snort something, I don't know what to feel. Well, your mom is nice, maybe a little too nice. She hopes that I make you behave like you, but I wouldn't know how that is."

"So that's what she was talking to you about." He bites his lip for a second. "Well, don't worry. I believe I behave the way 'I used to' around anybody that isn't them, apart from Alex and Grace."

"Reassuring." You say sarcastically, laying down.

"Seriously? Can't tell the difference?" He lays down, cupping your cheek and allowing you to wrap your arms around him.

"Honestly, yeah. It's a little concerning." You nuzzle into his hand.

"Well, don't be. We'll be back home in no time. After breakfast, though, they're going to insist on that." You groan at the thought. Daniel simply laughs in reply, turning off the lamp.

"Goodnight, sweet dreams. Love ya."

"Love you too."

#daniel le domas x reader #ready or not fanfiction #craving fic #daniel le domas x gender neutral reader #fluff

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murderousginger · 3 years

Text

Cherry Red

Cops & Robbers epilogue???

Warnings: They’re criminals, guys, they do bad things.

Word Count: 2,982

Song inspiration here

Warm rough fingertips danced along your bare back, stopping to trace along the horse tattooed upon your shoulder. The cool rings made you grip your champagne flute tighter as the hand -- which most certainly was not your husband's -- dipped from your shoulders down your exposed back to the indent above your waist.

"Backless dresses suit you much better than men's clothing, pet," his breath tickled your ear as he rounded you, his red beard unruly compared to his sharp black suit. "You lied to me those years ago. You are a Shelby."

"You ever hit me again, Mr. Solomons, and I'll gut you in front of God and Polly," you smiled as you tipped your glass to him, your wedding ring gleaming against the flute. "Keep that in mind tonight."

"I don't remember you being so brave those years ago," he squinted, looking over your dress. As his gaze followed the line of your body you cocked your hip, showing your leg through a slit in the gown. His eyes widened before snapping back to your face. "Pretty creature gained courage with a ring on her finger."

His hand lingered on your waist as his fingers played with the edge of your cherry red dress. You lifted your eyebrow at him but refused to move out of his grasp.

"You looked me in the eye far more when I was dressed as a man," you countered before finishing your glass in a gulp. "Perhaps my witchcraft only works on you when you're reminded of my body. You forget what you told me?"

"Which part, love?" He smirked as his free hand smoothed his beard.

You leaned forward and pressed your hand on his chest as you whispered into his ear.

"Funniest thing about pretty creatures, pet," you drawled, mimicking his accent. "The most colorful are usually the likeliest to kill you dead without warnin'."

You pulled back and looked around the room with bored eyes. You could see Arthur shooting glances your way as he conversed with a man, and John and Esme were at a table across the crowded ballroom. Esme wrangled their youngest and John's glare fixed on Alfie's arm. His fist was tight on the table as Esme drew his attention back to his family. Finn and Isaiah were both talking in a corner with the help, darting glances your way from time to time.

You raised your glass to a maid and nodded for her to bring her tray over. She smiled nervously and hastily cut through the crowd.

"Mrs. Shelby," she said, eyeing Alfie standing so close with his hand on your waist before her eyes snapped to yours.

"I'm bored of champagne," you monotoned. "Get me a whiskey, please, Dolly. Mr. Solomons? Would you rather rum? Gin?"

His eyes flashed and you felt his fingers flex on your side.

"Don't drink the stuff, meself," he said. "I suppose, when in hell, I'll have a whiskey."

"How courteous to fall to our level," you teased as the maid tittered away to fulfill your request.

"I've seen no white knight come to your rescue yet, pet," his cold rings pressed against your bare spine. "Why do I feel glares but no one has dared interrupt us? Where is my good friend Mr. Shelby?"

"I've no need for a good man, let alone a knight, Alfie," you smiled and raised your glass to the ballroom. "This is my dear husband's fundraiser. He's around somewhere talking old men out of their money and into his favor."

"Ay, Birmingham and London wasn't enough, he had to join parliament," he chuckled. "And his wife's scandalous attitude has gained more than one headline in the papers."

Alfie's hand raised to graze along your tattooed shoulder.

"You show you are marked so openly," he murmured. "Like a badge rather than an abomination."

"God never visited Small Heath," you laughed. "No need to gain favor of an absent father."

"Blasphemous with a smile," Alfie shook his head and pressed his lips into a tight line. "Perhaps you should be in men's clothes with the balls on you."

"Says the man with his hands on another's wife at a very public gala," you smiled curtly and squinted at him, as if assessing him and finding him wanting.

"How will the papers headline it?" Alfie said, leaning closer as if to tell a secret. "Another man touching the good politician Shelby's wild wife. Her bare back at that. Scandalous, innit love?"

You laughed loudly and threw your head back, running your fingers along the seam of his suspender inside his jacket. You felt him freeze under your touch as you pressed against him, taking in the spice of his cologne as heads turned to follow your laugh to its source.

"Aren't you a prominent beacon in the Jewish community, Mr. Solomons?" You pushed the words into his ear, velvet draping over him as your grin grew Cheshire-like. "I'm not the only one that can suffer a scandal, and I can promise a pious man will make more headlines than a Shelby."

The maid returned with a stiff 'ma'am' as she handed the whiskey glasses to you both. You murmured your thanks, sipped your drink as you deftly took a step away and turned to face your adversary.

You looked over his shoulder to see you had Polly's full attention, her scowl cutting you as your glance stuttered on her. She nodded once slowly as she glared daggers one more moment before returning to her conversation. The signal was loud and clear: behave.

Your eyes searched the ballroom again, finding John's jaw set as he held a toddler, his eyes squinting at yours in question. You winked at him, a smile curling on your lips that you tried to hide by the rim of the whiskey glass. He was not amused.

"Getting all your orders signed to you, love?" He chuckled. "Did you get in trouble with your family? Not as free as you'd like to think."

Alfie smiled wide, a wolf who realized he found a soft spot, and took a large gulp of his drink. He grimaced, clearing his throat as he frowned at the glass.

"I'll forgive you this once," you said, your attention returning to him. "So it won't interfere with our business."

"Business?" Alfie frowned. "You would never interfere with my business with Tommy."

"No, Alfie," your eyes hardened as Alfie's expression blanked. "I do mean our business."

"Alfie, old friend," a warm voice called from behind you as a familiar hand rested on your back. "I hope you didn't start business without me. Some of my guests require more attention and it becomes difficult to get away. I see you found (Y/N) to entertain you."

Alfie watched as Tommy came up beside you, all ease and familiarity as if it was instinct. His suit was crisp, every corner of his appearance perfect and every bit a politician, down to the fake turn of his lips. His fingers played with the fabric against the small of your back and goosebumps covered your skin as he talked with the increasingly agitated man in front of you.

"What do you mean she's in charge of your shipping business?" Alfie's voice had clipped, his games falling aside as his shock got the better of him.

"Exactly what he said," you smiled. "If you would like a piece of our shipping gin -- and possibly your rum -- to the Americas, you'll need to speak to me."

"Ah," Alfie said, tongue circling an eye tooth as he reassessed you in Tommy's arms. "So the soldier had become a general herself."

"More like a queen," Tommy said, leaning down to kiss your cheek as he pulled you into his side.

"Wouldn't the charity be better business for a woman to run?" Alfie frowned, squinting between you both.

"Lizzie is running the charity," you supplied, your fingers running along Tommy's arm that stretched along your middle. "We're a modern company, Mr. Solomons. Multiple women can run multiple pieces."

"I was hoping to introduce you two, make the transition smoother," Tommy said as his jaw ticked. "But you seem to have shot straight for (Y/N) before I could."

"We've met, we did," Alfie said as he twisted his beard in his hand. "Had a nice little discussion all those years ago, didn't we pet? Thought it only proper to give her a hello while you were busy."

Tommy's face was blank, his eyes half lidded as if bored. If anyone could shut Alfie Solomons' erratic energy down, it was Tommy Shelby and his nature of being completely still. Looking between the men was like looking between fire and ice. Both were dangerous, conniving, and ambitious to a fault.

Alfie was loud, erratic, constantly flipping moods, expressions, energies, to keep everyone around him on their toes. You never knew when he would strike because he constantly tapped on walls for weaknesses. By the time he had done what he wished, no one flinched because it was old hat. You couldn't tell whick way was up or down by the time Alfie was done with you.

Tommy, on the other hand, preferred to be still, watchful, quiet. People often would see his blank face and -- unable to read an expression -- take whatever he said as truth. He would hold himself still until everyone forgot he was there and when he would strike there would be nothing but astonishment and dust in his wake. He was a ghost.

Tommy licked his lips, letting the air thicken between them before he unwrapped himself from your waist and took your hand. You placed your drink on a nearby table. His eyes instantly warmed as they left Alfie to look you up and down.

"Do you like this dress, Alfie?" Tommy asked as he twirled you slowly in front of the man, letting the long red fabric frame you. "I picked it out myself. I believe it's from Paris, right love?"

Alfie grunted, looking between you and Tommy with suspicion.

"It is," you said evenly, allowing him to spin you in front of the man like he was showing off a jewel in the light.

"Your taste has always been rich, Tom," Alfie squinted. "No doubt about that."

"It's made from a very fine silk, I believe," Tommy went on, ignoring the comment, his eyes dancing between your figure and Alfie's confused face.

"The thing about it is the cut," he went on, leaning toward Alfie as if conspiring. "My beautiful wife can't wear undergarments with it. Low back, that slit up the side, how the dress flows over her more like water than fabric. Very unfortunate, don't you think?"

Alfie's eyes widened as he eyed your body even closer. He reddened slightly as he finally made his way to your face to see your eyebrow cocked at him daringly, the smallest curl of your lips a mix of a snarl and a smile.

"Very unfortunate, indeed," Alfie mumbled. "Why are you telling me this, Tom?"

"Oh no reason at all," Tommy tilted his head and winked as he pulled you closer to him, his hand dropping yours to rest splayed on your hip.

"You're going to dance with my wife, Alfie, while I grab a smoke," Tommy said, the edge to his voice sharper than his locked jaw. "And you'll figure out the conditions for our joint alcohol smuggling effort during that dance."

Tommy's blue eyes burrowed into Alfie as he waited for an answer. Alfie nodded slowly and extended his hand toward you, a grimace on his face as you dipped your head and accepted his hand. His hand extended yours out as his other rested on your waist, flitting over your skin rather than holding. He was nervous like a clumsy child that was told to set the table with fine china tonight.

"Oh, and Alfie," Tommy called before Alfie could pull you too far away. You both looked back at him, but only you had a sparkle of mischief in your eye.

"She might cut you if your hands wander," Tommy said, his eyebrows raised as his chin and voice sank. "I'll shoot you in the fuckin' face."

You exhaled a sharp laugh as Alfie's hand on your waist all but hovered above you, his face white as a sheet as he pulled you away from your husband. Tommy gave a nod and moved within the crowd, finding a place next to Polly for a moment. You looked around the room for a moment before reading your eyes back to the uncomfortable man in front of you.

"I will, you know," you smiled as his mouth quirked. "Cut you."

"With what blade in that dress?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised," you said.

Alfie grunted and looked over your shoulder, no doubt looking for the positions of the Shelbys.

"Stop being grumpy, it's lame," you laughed as you rubbed his shoulder. "We have business to agree upon."

"Easy for you to say, pet," he mumbled. "Didn't realize I would be holding a bomb to me chest tonight over business."

"Isn't that the only way to do business?" You frowned. "I even wore red to alert you. I thought you knew better."

"Fuckin' should've," he breathed. "Alright, now, let's get to it then."

----

As the song ended, you and Alfie had agreed on a preliminary run of a limited amount of his rum going in your next shipment to America. If the numbers and shipment went well, you would ramp up within a fortnight.

"May I have this dance?" Tommy appeared, his hand outstretched and pushing the two of you away from each other.

"I believe we have amenable terms for now," Alfie bowed his head as he kissed your hand, in much better spirits than when the dance began. "I will leave my favorite cutthroats to go forth and ruin someone else's night with their fuckery. I do believe I need to return home and wash the sin from my clothes before it stains."

"Goodnight, Alfie," you said warmly as he easily transferred you to Tommy's side. "Safe travels home."

"Goodnight," Tommy said, all edge of his voice gone as his attention was only on you, his mouth dipped to kiss your shoulder.

Alfie looked between you two and exhaled a soft laugh before he turned away, shaking his head.

"Are we going to dance before you leave me to Polly to be yelled at, or was that just a way to cut short my time with your ally?" You murmured as his hand tickled your back.

"I can dance," he said as he kissed your neck and swept you into his arms.

You giggled as his hot breath tickled your ear and he pulled you across the hall.

"So Polly is unhappy with me," you laughed as you pulled back to look him in the eye.

Tommy sighed.

"You threatened to make a scene, love," he said as his eyes softened. "With Alfie of all people."

"I think she's more upset about the half a glass of whiskey I had than dealing with Alfie," you said, earning a confused look from Tommy. "Alfie was only trying to make me uncomfortable."

"You didn't flinch a bit," Tommy toned.

"Oh! You're jealous," you gasped. "Did Alfie Solomons upset my dear husband, king Tommy?"

"No one's to touch my wife but me," he said, roughly tugging you to the other side of a pillar as he pressed you against it in the shadow.

He lifted your chin with his finger as his knee pressed between your legs and his other hand found its way into the slit of your dress and squeezed your ass.

"Will you take me right here, Mr. Politician," you taunted, grinding a little against his knee as his eyes caught flame. "Need to prove your claim that boldly? Not enough to dangle me in front of your colleagues?"

"You're bored of the parties," he said as his head tilted and his hand wrapped around your throat, holding you against the pillar. "You aren't made for the pleasantries of the light."

"I'd much rather us in the dark," you tipped your chin up, your hands roaming up his chest and neck to pull him close.

"I hear you," he panted as your foreheads touched. You teased, your breath on his lips as you kept just out of reach. "But tonight is about what's best for this family."

"I agree," you smirked. "Our little one deserves a good life."

Tommy's mouth slacked and his hand dropped from your throat as you chuckled.

"S'why Polly's upset," you whispered into his open mouth. "The whiskey. She called it last week. John was in the kitchen. Why do you think your little brother had grown so protective over me again?"

You smiled, taunting as he stood frozen.

"Did you fear he was trying to claim me again?" Your hand traced his jaw before you closed his mouth. "I'm yours, Tommy Shelby, just like this child is."

"Well, Mrs. Shelby," his voice was hoarse as he pushed the words out, shoveling them like gravel. He cleared his throat as he licked his lips. "Perhaps we should retire for the night."

"And leave your fundraiser?" You asked, your brows raised.

It was not like him not to be the last one in the ballroom, talking to every last person as if to stuff his pockets with every cent and favor he could. You bit your lip as you watched the gears turn behind his soft eyes. He had completely melted against you.

"My poor pregnant wife must be exhausted from the stress of the night," he said evenly, his hand tickling your thigh. "And what sort of man would I be if not to take care of her?"

"What sort, indeed," you smiled as you kissed him softly.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #tommy shelby x reader #storytime with murderousginger #promptmurderousginger

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atths--twice · 3 years

Text

Heart of the Desert

After the First World War, Mulder is left with wounds, scars, and PTSD, though it is not diagnosed. He feels lost and unsure, not knowing what life holds for him. Then, the discovery of King Tut leads him to Egypt, and to a woman who is quite lost herself.

This is my contribution for the AU Exchange. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter One

London, England Late December 1922

He sighed as he stood in the ballroom, his leg aching, though he tried not to show it. Music swelled as people began to dance, laughter and conversation filling the room. He cleared his throat and glanced around, trying to find a clear path to avoid anyone as he attempted to go outside for some air.

“Fox!” His mother said as he turned, smiling at him, a glass of deep red wine in her hand. “Why are you standing here all alone?” She handed him her glass, reaching up to adjust his tie. He sighed and allowed her to fuss, even as he wished that she would just let him be.

“There. That’s better.” She patted his chest and he gave her what he hoped was a happy smile, though he knew how forced it felt. She took back her glass of wine, raised her eyebrows, and asked again. “Why are you here on your own?”

“No particular reason. I was uh…” He took a deep breath and shrugged his shoulders.

“Fox.” She shook her head at him and he let out his breath.

“I’m sorry, Mother.” He nodded and she sighed.

“Have you danced with anyone tonight?”

“No.”

“Fox… there are many women waiting for you to simply ask them.”

“I know.” He gave her another strained smile, their conversation not a new one.

Taking his arm, she raised an eyebrow as she waited for him to take a step. He did so, limping a bit as he grimaced. A few steps, and it was somewhat better, the limp less pronounced.

“Hello,” his mother said kindly to people as they passed and he smiled pleasantly, though he had no desire to speak to any of them. She steered them toward a cluster of women and he gritted his teeth.

A pretty woman with short blonde hair, in a dark green dress, smiled at him and he sighed through his nose, smiling as he knew was expected of him. She clasped her hands together as the other women around her stopped their chatter and looked toward him and his mother.

“Good evening, Mrs. Mulder. This is simply a lovely party.”

“Aren’t you just the sweetest,” his mother said. “You know Fox, of course. Fox, you know Ruby Andrews.”

“Yes. Good evening, Miss Andrews.” He bowed slightly, raising his eyes to the blonde woman.

“Mr. Mulder,” she said, the dimple in her cheek showing when she smiled.

“Fox was just telling me he was looking for a dance partner.” He forced a smile and nodded, not looking at his mother, but felt her squeezing his arm tightly.

“Yes, I was. Miss Andrews, would you be so kind as to escort me to the dance floor?”

“It would be my pleasure,” she agreed with a smile and he nodded.

“I will leave you here then, Mother. I’m sure you all will find something to discuss.” He kissed his mother’s cheek and then crooked his arm to Ruby. She slid her hand into it, allowing him to guide her away from the group.

He felt the familiar nervousness that came when he was alone with a woman, especially one of his mothers choosing. It always felt forced and uncomfortable.

“How are you, Mr. Mulder?” Ruby asked and he shook his head.

“Please, not that. Mr. Mulder sounds as though you’re speaking to my father.” Ruby laughed and he smiled, a little less strained than earlier.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you, I wasn’t sure what was proper anymore.”

“Miss Andrews-”

“Ruby, please… Fox.”

“Ruby.” He smiled at her and she smiled back. “I need to inform you, I’m not quite as skilled at dancing as I once was. My injuries-”

“Do they hurt terribly?” She looked at him with her wide green eyes and he wished he could run away. Run quickly and escape.

“Uhh, they come and go. If I stand still for too long, my leg can begin to ache.”

“Well then, let’s not remain still,” she said, turning and smiling as a waltz began.

He held her, his heart racing, knowing he would undoubtedly make a mess of the dance. He only hoped to not embarrass her as he led her around the dance floor, not wanting others to laugh at her or speak of her unpleasantly. His leg stuck once or twice, but she smiled and said nothing, waiting patiently for him to catch up to the music.

When the music stopped and people clapped for the musicians, he breathed a sigh of relief as he felt sweat beading on his forehead. He really needed to get out of the room.

“Thank you for the dance, Ruby. If you’ll kindly excuse me,” he said with another little bow and she smiled, although her eyes seemed sad.

“Of course. Thank you.” He smiled and without a glance around, knowing his mother was most likely watching him, he walked away and out of the room.

He passed people outside, bundled up against the cold, and he nodded but did not stop to speak to anyone. He felt he could not breathe and wanted to be away from people before he made a spectacle of himself.

Down the outside stairs and around the corner, he slipped back inside the house and hurried up the backstairs to his bedroom. Closing the door and locking it, he pulled his tie free and took off his jacket, tossing both onto the bed. He walked to his balcony and opened the door, breathing in the cold night air.

Taking deep lungfuls of air, he unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and closed his eyes. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he shook his head and gritted his teeth.

“God,” he whispered, opening his eyes, feeling off balance as he gripped the railing and took more deep breaths. Shuddering, he stumbled back into the bedroom, crashing into a chair before he sat heavily into it, his heart racing as he closed his eyes.

Calm down. Just breathe.

In through his nose and out his mouth, he concentrated on the feel of the air filling his lungs, the room slowing and then no longer spinning. Opening his eyes, he let out a shaky breath and ran a hand down his face.

It had been four years since the war ended and yet at times it felt like no time had passed at all. Some days he could nearly fool himself that it had not been him, but a character he had read about in a story who had spent days and nights in freezing muddy trenches or war torn buildings. It was not he who had seen and heard men dying, calling out for their mothers with their last breath.

He could sometimes push it away, keep it from surfacing, and at other times it felt as though he were right in the middle of it again. It happened without warning and he was unable to stop it. He could be in a crowded room or on his own and he would begin to sweat, his heart pounding erratically, his breathing hard and labored.

He had been to doctors for his physical injuries- his thigh, where a blade had ripped open his flesh, and his shoulder where a bullet had gone clean through. Describing the pain that continued to linger as the doctor listened intently, making notes in his file, he would then tentatively discuss his feelings of panic and nightmares. The doctor would stop him from speaking as he shook his head, telling him he only needed to hear of physical ailments.

A painkiller was given to him to alleviate his aches and as beneficial as it was, it also made him exceedingly sleepy, unable to function during the day. He took them at night, but not as often as he should have for his pain. His dreams, while medicated, were odd and the heavy feeling persisted throughout the next day.

When he had been taken to the field hospital after he had been stabbed, he had been given morphine for the pain and it kept him blissfully unaware of the extent of his injury. He had been told after he was past the worst of it, that twice they believed they would lose him. His wound had become infected and amputation had been discussed as his fever continued to climb.

But then his fever had broken, the infection plateaued and became manageable. It had been a slow recovery, but one he was thankful for every day.

He had seen men lose a limb in battle, the sight of it causing him to retch. Men in the hospital, their bandages bloody as it covered the missing limb, had once again turned his stomach. To lose an appendage in such a horrid way, and then suffer the future repercussions, it made him shudder at the thought.

After spending weeks in the field hospital, he had traveled home, the injury to his leg deeming him unfit for duty. Within two weeks, he had contracted pneumonia and was in the hospital again for nearly a month.

Weak and thin, once he had been home, his recovery from both his leg and the pneumonia had taken time, his mother fussing over him all the while. Sleeping most of the days away, he woke only to eat and drink.

After that, he fell easily to sickness. A cough or cold quickly became something more severe. He spent a lot of time in and out of hospitals, sometimes wishing he had died, as his body had shaken violently from chills or ached from fever. But then when it would pass and he had been on the mend, he chastised himself for such horrible and selfish thoughts.

Once he had gained his strength, sicknesses no longer a constant plague, his mother began discussing a celebratory dinner party for his return and recovery. He had rejected the idea, telling her it was not necessary, but she had insisted, his fathers opinion of the idea quelled with a look from her.

A dinner party had been planned and executed, one in which he felt incredibly out of place. Discussion had revolved heavily around the war and he listened to those who did not fight, had not seen any battle, give their opinions on how it should have gone. He had to excuse himself, anger rising inside of him, not caring what his mother would say to him later.

Since that dinner party, there had been many more. He had become tolerant of them, but often slipped out before they were officially over, his mothers looks and words the next day a small price to pay over his need to escape the stifling room.

He had never been one who enjoyed parties. Too many people fanning about, all watching one another, looking for tidbits of gossip. He hated the formalities, the stiffness and uncomfortableness of the evenings. The women were always too heavily perfumed, too giggly, and too intent on gaining his attention for him to find any happiness in them.

Though he knew the parties were enjoyed by nearly everyone but him, he knew his mother also had other reasons for them, one which he had suspected and was confirmed when she announced at breakfast one morning that another party was being planned.

“It’s time you settled down and married, Fox. There are many women who have been left behind and there is a surplus of young women from which to choose.”

“Mother,” Fox had scoffed and she raised her eyebrows in question. “They have lost-”

“I am aware of what they have lost. Their betrothed will not be coming home and many would welcome the chance to marry. To not be a burden to their family.”

“You make it sound so romantic,” he had muttered with a shake of his head.

“There is no longer time for romance,” she had stated firmly and he lowered his eyes to the table with a heavy sigh. “There are many women who will gladly welcome your attention and a proposal. A comfort where there may not be another.” He had lifted his eyes to hers and for a second he had seen her falter under his gaze. “I do not want you to be alone.”

She had said the last sentence so quietly, he had been unable to remain angry with her, but nor had he easily acquiesced to her demands.

Parties had continued, dinners and dancing where he had many partners, but no courting or engagement had come of it. He felt no attachment to any of the women, finding them more nerve wracking than anything else, causing him to slip away, trying to catch his breath, his leg throbbing.

He was better off on his own.

Taking a deep breath, he stood up from the chair and began to undress, not calling for Connor, his valet, still needing time to himself. Laying his clothes neatly on the chair, he walked into his bathroom and turned on the water in the bathtub.

When it was full, he removed his underclothes and stepped inside carefully, sinking down into the warm water. Relaxing back, he closed his eyes and tried to block out his thoughts, wanting to calm down, needing to calm down.

He stayed in the bathtub until the water was lukewarm, rising from it slowly, his leg throbbing like a heartbeat. The water drained from the bath with a gurgle as he dried and dressed. He considered ringing Thomas for a cup of tea and some toast, but decided against it, just wishing to sleep.

Tomorrow he must face his mothers words of disapproval and the thought of them left him exhausted.

_________________

Mid January 1923

The theater was not overly crowded as the lights dimmed and the newsreel began. Paying attention, he sat forward as the tomb of King Tutankhamun was shown to have been discovered. Men were grinning as they walked around and the narrator told of how Howard Carter had found steps leading to the tomb, chambers leading to many rooms inside.

Women walked past in a temple and his eyes scanned the screen as others waved and smiled, the news then moving to something else, something that did not hold his interest. He sat open mouthed as he felt his heart rate quicken, and not from nervousness, but excitement.

Sitting back in his seat, the film began, though his mind was not on it. He was in the hot desert of Egypt, standing beside Carter, trying to get a peek into the chambers.

“Wow,” he breathed, shaking his head and bending low as he stood up, not wanting to block the view of anyone. His brain was running rampantly as he left the movie hall, the woman selling tickets staring at him.

“Sir? Did you…”

“Not feeling well. Please excuse me.” He bowed his head at her and she smiled with a slight nod.

He left and walked into the cold winter air, pulling his coat tight around himself. He shook his head again, an old thrill propelling him forward, his limp barely perceptible. Stepping past people, he thought of the days he had spent digging up rocks and shells, imagining himself a great discoverer, one for the history books.

Days on the shore of filling baskets with his spoils, bringing them to his mother as she and his father had sat on chairs under umbrellas, all came washing over him anew. He had squatted with a small trowel and spade, the waves crashing as he dug and found smooth white rocks and shells abandoned by sea creatures.

Every item had been exclaimed over, his mother and father delighted with his findings. She would laugh and hold them up to the sun, smiling as crystals caught in the rays of light. Her eyes alight, he would smile at her before running back to the shoreline, intent on finding more.

“Our little archeologist,” he had heard his mother say and he had beamed with happiness.

He shook his head as he stopped walking, looking around before he crossed the street, laughing softly under his breath. So many questions filled his head and he needed to find the answers.

The house was empty when he arrived, save for the servants. He shook his head at Bonnie as she inquired if he would like any tea, smiling quickly as he made his way to the library. Closing the door and sitting at the desk, he took out a pen and paper and began to write a letter, laughing excitedly, his fingers fairly flying across the page.

15 January 1923

To whom it may concern,

My name is Fox William Mulder.

This morning I was attending my local film hall. A newsreel appeared first and I was on the edge of my seat at what I saw before me: the discovery of the tomb of King Tutankhamun.

Speechless would be the best word to describe my initial feelings. Thrilled and excited would be the next.

I left without watching the film and am at present in my library, writing a letter in hopes of learning more about the recent discovery.

Ancient Egypt has long since been a topic I have found intriguing. I spent days during my youth, poring over books about gods and goddesses, kings and their lives. I would rattle off the names I had learned and why they were worshiped or revered, much to my parents' dismay, I can assure you. I am not embarrassed to admit I was more than slightly obsessed.

I know there will probably be more information shared in newspapers in the coming days and weeks, but I know it will not equal that of news directly from the source. Any and all information that can be shared will be greatly appreciated.

I eagerly await your response.

Fox Mulder

He read the letter through and nodded. Smiling, his heart still racing with excitement, he folded it and placed it in an envelope. Rising from the desk, he left the house, realizing in his hasty arrival, he had not even removed his coat.

With a laugh, he hurried to the post office, intent on seeing the letter posted that day, his mind once again imagining the warm air of the desert as he shivered in the cold wind blowing about his hatless head.

_________________

The Museum of Egyptian Antiquities Cairo, Egypt Late February, 1923

Crowds were already gathering by mid morning, the museum seeing more steady visitors than it had in a very long time. With the news of the discovery of King Tutankhamun, people had become excited to learn more about the past.

Tours were given to groups of men, women, and children, whispering and pointing out items they found interesting.

Letters had begun to arrive. Some were from children sending their pocket money to help explorers find more “losted items,” and others were letters from older children excited to learn more. Then there were some from adults- journalists, scholars, and those who had fancied themselves budding archaeologists. Every letter was written with the excitement of adventure, yearning to be a part of the discovery, no matter the distance they were from it.

A pair of researchers were tasked with reading the letters and sending back a reply. They were to be perfunctory, concise, and sent off with haste to expand on the popularity of the moment.

One letter in particular grabbed the attention of a researcher and additional information was added when the response was written. Something about the letter had sparked an immediate kinship, though it could not be described to anyone including themselves.

The letter was sealed and addressed, but not placed in the pile to be taken the next day to the post office. It was held until it could be dropped off personally on the walk home later that evening, a feeling of unknown and unexplainable excitement felt as the letter was taken to begin its travel to Fox Mulder in London, England.

#The X-Files #XF Fanfic #Alternate Universe #World War One #Historical AU #PTSD #Archaeology #Letters #New Outlook

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ineloqueent · 3 years

Note

Okay so I know you just wrote something for Roger contradicting this topic, but, would you be willing to write something on being married to him? Just like random little domestic scenes? Include kids if you like, or not, it doesn’t matter to me. Let me know if you wouldn’t be willing to write this - thank you.

sorry this took me so long, but of course! i love the domesticity trope!!

(i did not proofread this because my brain is tired :))

⭒

Roger had opposed marriage since the very start. In fact, it’d been one of the first conversations you’d ever had with him.

Back when you’d met him at a party, without an inkling as to who he wasn, and he’d found his anonymity to you refreshing.

And, as the night went on, alluring. He liked getting to know you. You could tell as much, from the way he stared into your eyes.

“Marriage,” he’d mused. “No, I just can’t see myself ever getting married.”

You’d raised your eyebrows, sipped your drink. “What’s got you so cynical?”

Roger sniffed. “You’d think there was a reason, right? Something that’s made me loathe the idea of being bound to another.”

“And is there?” you’d asked.

Roger’s hair fell into his eyes as he dipped his head, for once neglecting your gaze.

“No,” he said softly. “Not really. Other than the fact that I’m terrified of letting my partner down.”

It’d struck a chord with you. Not even the likes of Roger Taylor were immune to fear of failure.

Cautiously, you’d leaned forward, and swept your fingers beneath his chin. He’d raised his head to meet your eyes, and you’d drowned in those baby blues. Over and over, his eyes were a waterfall, the sea, the shore, the sky on a bright summer’s day. He’d looked at you so earnestly.

“I don’t think you would,” you murmured.

He’d kissed you then. Soundly. And there’d been nothing but his mouth on yours, the world dispersing around your very body. There was simply Roger. And you.

And five years down the line, he’d proposed.

Your immediate response had been to ask him if he was sure, because you’d always known how he felt about marriage.

But he’d drawn breath, and with it came tears to his eyes, and he’d cupped your face in his hands, and whispered,

“I understand now. And I want you. With me. Forever.”

You’d said yes, of course.

In the days, months, years that followed, you’d never been happier.

⭒

1985

Roger couldn’t cook for the life of him, but you refused to spend the rest of your life as the only person in the household with the ability to prepare a meal, so you’d been sure to set him right.

Your first lesson to him had been in boiling pasta, and then gradually, you’d progressed to more difficult things.

He’d done quite alright up until now.

Now, you were making stir-fry, and Roger was suffering.

Well, he’d stopped suffering; he’d given up trying.

You were stirring the rice and vegetables, but you didn’t mind, because Roger was, in a rare moment of unabashedness, dancing around the kitchen. There was a Suzi Quatro song on the radio, and he was singing to it. He’d met Quatro on an episode of Pop Quiz, where the two had been on the same team, alongside Cozy Powell. For a moment there, watching from the audience, you’d been jealous, because Suzi leaned quite close to your husband and laughed loudly, but as soon as the taping of the episode was finished, you’d met Suzi. She’d been funny and kind, and confessed that she’d been teasing your husband incessantly about how in love he was with you, in between takes, and Roger had kept shushing her as soon as the cameras veered back over to their side of the room.

Roger, for his part, had swept you into his arms and whirled you around, set you back down and announced that he couldn’t wait to get home. You’d called him a sore loser, and he’d tousled your hair and kissed your cheek, and told you he’d get you back for saying that.

“So you dance, now?” you asked, turning your head over your shoulder to look at Roger skeptically.

“Only for you,” he said, and wrapped his arms around you, pressed his lips to your neck.

You’d squealed as he’d pulled you away from the cooking food to dance with you, twirling you about, the kitchen becoming a ballroom.

“Roger, I need to keep an eye on that!”

He’d pouted, drawn you close. “No, you don’t.”

“It’s going to burn—”

“So then we order takeaway.” He had an arm wound around your waist, and took your other hand in his. “But right now,” he leaned his forehead against yours, “I want to dance with you.”

And so you giggled and relented, and danced with your husband.

⭒

“Roger,” you called, “can you come here a sec?”

The padding of socked feet against hardwood floors announced Roger’s arrival. You assumed, anyway. You couldn’t really afford to turn around, at present.

“Y/N! Get down from there at once!”

You were on a ladder, standing on your tiptoes to change the stupid lightbulb in the hall, the one that had always been a little too high for you to reach, even with the added height of the ladder.

“I’ve almost got it,” you said, reached over your head, as Roger crossed his arms, his brow creasing, “but if you could just hold the ladder— fuck!”

The lightbulb had made it into its place on the ceiling, but you were falling backwards, body flush with adrenaline, time slowing as you watched the ground draw nearer, and waited for the inevitable injury you would face upon hitting the floor.

But then Roger was there, catching you swiftly, and the only distance you fell was into his arms. Unfortunately for the both of you, Roger’s balance was upset in catching you, and so the two of you ended up in a heap on the floor.

Roger groaned. “Fell right on my arse.”

Sitting up, you laughed, taking his face in your hands and kissing him swiftly. “I guess you could say you fell for me.”

Your husband rolled his eyes, and you laughed again, at how his hair was sticking up at the ends, at his nose, pink from the winter cold.

“You love me,” you teased.

He sighed. “I do. And I always will.”

He gathered you into his arms, and the two of you sat huddled on the floor long after the lightbulb above your heads had begun to shine once more.

⭒

Roger was good with children. He’d always been good with children. But this child was yours. His. And your daughter could not have hoped for a better father.

He taught her to ride a bike and went on bike rides with her once she’d learnt to keep her balance, and held her close as the waves crashed when you went to the seaside as a family, and she giggled as she cuddled her dad and he beamed at her, and you watched them from where you reclined on the sand with a book.

He read to her and sang to her, and when your birthday rolled around, he’d helped her to write a card to you, though he claimed she’d done it all herself. He winked at you as your daughter hugged you, and you smiled back at him.

In the evening of your birthday, your daughter sat between the two of you on the sofa, asleep in front of the film that was still playing. Her head rested on your stomach as you combed your fingers through her hair, but her little hand still clutched her father’s.

Roger sighed, and you looked over to find him grinning at you.

You raised your eyebrows. “What?”

He shrugged. “I love this. I love being married to you.”

You felt your chest tighten at his words, at how easily they spilled from his lips, without halting, without hesitation.

“I love you,” you said.

Roger’s smile turned brighter, and his eyes twinkled. Leaning over, he kissed the top of his daughter’s head, then captured your lips with his own.

He kissed you once, twice, and the taste of caramel lingered on your lips from the chocolate you’d shared earlier.

Roger stilled, nudging his nose against yours, his breath fanning over your mouth in soft waves, framing you in warmth the way his hair framed his face, like sunlight on a summer’s day.

“I love you more,” he whispered.

You shook your head, laughter already in your throat. “Not true.”

“Then I love you precisely as much as you love me.”

“That’s a hell of a lot.”

He laughed and you smiled, and the three of you fell asleep atop the sofa cushions as the night dwindled into dawn, and a new day broke upon the best version of life you’d ever lived.

#roger taylor x reader #fic #ask #demo-wise

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Text

A Yandere!Lucifer/Reader commission for the very lovely, very creative @pyrokittyowo, with just a couple hints of Yandere!Diavolo. I really do love writing for him, if only because he’s got all the time and resources in the world to make everyone’s life a living *hell*, and nothing better to do than put his heart into it. What else could you ask for in a man?

Word Count: 3.1k

TW: (Minor) Physical Violence, Manipulation, Abusive Relationships, and Dehumanization.

Diavolo couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy feeling superior.

It was an odd sensation. He was a demon, for all intents and purposes, but it was hard to feel like one, regardless of how often he tried to do so. It was the disorientation that came from being the strongest of your kind but still living so far below the next step, more powerful than those that surrounded you but unable to reach another level, one where he’d certainly be eclipsed by monsters who didn’t carry the same regard demons did for other living, breathing creatures. Diavolo didn’t think of himself as above the average creature, but the idea would arise in his subconscious from time to time, nagging and irritating and refusing to drown until it was acknowledged, even if dismissal always followed his admission. He was strong, and he was powerful and he was capable, but he never let it affect his ego, not when doing so would only push him further away from his subjects, as it had with his father and every ruler before him. Still, he knew the limits of his control, and he was keenly aware of all the many beasts and brutes went about their never-ending lives within those limits.

With this in mind, Diavolo’s annoyance upon seeing one of his most obedient pets start to walk along the edge of that boundary was understandable.

Diavolo had always prided himself on not having to keep Lucifer on a tight leash. The man was loyal to a fault, the reason behind his dedication long-since having become more of an excuse than a binding contract. Lucifer didn’t have to be given orders, anymore, there wasn’t a need for threats of discipline or the poorly veiled warnings that’d dominated the early stages of their relationship, not when he seemed to think of paperwork and politics as a hobby to be enjoyed rather than a responsibility to be dreaded. He was useful, hell, he was one of the few people Diavolo might call an equal, but this wasn’t the time to get sentimental. Not when Lucifer’s attention seemed to wander more and more with each passing day.

Even now, he seemed distracted, his eyes only ever occasionally meeting Diavolo’s. Instead, they darted around the ballroom anxiously, first to the flute of champagne in his hand, then to the tiled floor then a nearby staircase then anything, as long as he didn’t have to linger on it for more than a moment. It wasn’t uncommon for people to be uncomfortable during Diavolo’s parties, his guests and all their many fangs and talons caused more than enough unease for the average visitor, but it was unheard of for Lucifer to fall into a similar discontent. His feathers were beginning to ruffle unconsciously, his secondary wings already curling towards his chest, and his posture was no better, too rigid to mean anything good. If it’d been anyone else, Diavolo might’ve shrugged it off and suffered through a one-sided conversation, but it was Lucifer, his confidante, his willing servant, his friend. If something was bothering him, Diavolo was sure he wanted to know.

So, he glanced in the general direction of Lucifer’s temporary focus, clicked his tongue, and frowned knowingly. “You’d tell me if Mammon got his hands on the key to my vault again, wouldn’t you?” He asked, flatly, aiming to keep his tone as serious as possible. “I’d hate to have to find another of my treasures ‘relocated’ to the House of Lamentation, especially after the fuss it caused.”

Lucifer jumped to alertness, shoulders squaring defensively and his gaze sharpening to a glare as he stuttered out something incomprehensible, stopping to compose himself before giving a coherent response. “We had a talk about that, last time,” Lucifer assured, his fingers flexing around his glass’ neck. “He won’t try anything, this time, I’ve made sure of it. As long as he values having the same number of limbs he had this morning, I mean.”

“And I’m sure your methods were effective, as always.” Diavolo gave Lucifer a minute to flush and fluster, but he pulled his companion out of his stupor with a hearty laugh, Diavolo nudging him gently with his elbow as Lucifer took to sulking. “But something is bothering you,” He confirmed, only pausing for a brief moment to allow Lucifer the courtesy of a nod. “Might as well tell me, Luci’. You know I’m not going to let it go until you do.”

Lucifer let out a long, labored sigh, but didn’t struggle before giving in. Silently, his concentration shifted, turning towards the ballroom’s center, where assorted couples were dancing and talking and doing whatever couples chose to do when music and drinks were in abundance. It took him a second or two to settle, his eyes eventually landing on you, already in the arms of one of Lucifer’s brothers, completely unaware of the agony you were causing him.

Diavolo couldn’t say he saw Lucifer’s reasoning. If he was a pet, you were a bug, something insignificant and defenseless in the grand scheme of things. With all the trouble you got yourself into, you should’ve been caught under someone’s heel and crushed months ago, but Diavolo was never one to refuse entertainment. And yet, if he was to trust the fury suddenly smeared across Lucifer’s expression, he would’ve thought you were the most unignorable pest across the three realms. “The exchange student?” He asked, absentmindedly. “You’re not going to tell me you let a human drive you into such a state, are you?”

“It’s an… unfortunate affliction.” As Lucifer’s eyes followed you, he only seemed to grow more agitated. He twitched when you smiled, flinched when you laughed, and when you pulled away from your partner, curtsying with an unsteady grace, Lucifer’s hold on his glass grew tighter, tighter, tighter, the flute eventually cracking and splintering, shards digging into Lucifer’s gloved hand and the translucent fluid beginning to leak out. If he noticed, though, he didn’t intend to show it, only gritting his teeth and giving an explanation. “It’s… It’s annoying, when she insists on lowering herself to their standards. I love my brothers, I do, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head and scoffing, as if he was still trying to dismiss whatever thoughts were plaguing his mind. “Am I supposed to watch this? It’s disgusting, it’s infuriating, it makes me want to do something unpleasant, My Lord.”

Although Diavolo doubted the sincerity of Lucifer’s declaration, he recognized that tone, that foolish, irrational anger. The awareness of power and the willingness to put it on display, the desire to use it on something smaller and weaker than himself. Diavolo felt his grin broaden, a solution to more than one of his problems arising. He could only chuckle, resting his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder as his open wounds began to drip and bleed.

“I know exactly how you feel, my friend.”

“He’s been acting strange, lately. I was just wondering if you’d noticed.”

You were no more impressive in person. When Diavolo approached you, your reactions had been so pitifully predictable, your demeanor vulnerable and unsuspecting, prey in every sense of the word. You’d been assigned to clean your homeroom after hours, a fortunate coincidence on Diavolo’s part, and he’d sent Lucifer off on some trivial, time-consuming task he wouldn’t be done with any time soon. When he finally addressed his concerns, you were all wide-eyes and parted lips, curling around the broom in your hands whenever he mentioned your companion’s name. But, if you considered Diavolo a threat, you were smart enough not to say it. A wise decision, really. He wanted this to go as smoothly as you did.

“No stranger than usual,” You said, tossing the wooden handle from hand to hand. You didn’t try to hide your anxiety. “I’m probably not the best person to ask. He’s never been normal, to me.”

Diavolo knew what you were talking about. He’d bandaged Lucifer’s hand the night before while being thoroughly educated on just how not normal the relationship between you and Lucifer happened to be. He simply pursed his lips, letting his gaze bore into you as he replied. “What do you mean? You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you, (Y/n)?”

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders dropping in some personal show of complacency. “I know how close you two are, but he scares me,” You admitted, your reluctance only momentary. “He loses control of himself, sometimes, I get it, but it’s not just when he’s in a rage. Ever since we made our pact, he’s been touching me more often, and saying these... these things. I can’t really explain it, but whenever he looks at me-” You stopped without warning, cutting yourself off. As if the only words you were capable of using were those you’d already convinced yourself not to speak aloud. “He’s controlling. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like he gets off on backing me into a corner and making me beg to be left alone.”

You looked towards him when you finished, searching for any traces of sympathy you could get, and Diavolo did his best to indulge you. He was still trying to figure out how he felt about your… dynamic, with Lucifer. He understood the temptation. Even now, alone and standing in front of a man you didn’t trust, you made no effort to protect yourself, exposed to any demonic being that wandered in and helpless, despite how adamantly you insisted you weren’t. With someone as stifling as Lucifer, such negligence must’ve been intolerable. But, he wasn’t Lucifer, and for now, you were more of a distraction than a pastime. Something that needed to be dealt with promptly and played with later on.

“I can take care of that. He goes through a rebellious phase, every now and then, but it’s nothing he can’t be snapped out of.” He smiled, delicately, putting on a grin not unlike the one he’d used with your counterpart.

“But, it’ll be much easier for both of us if you lend me a hand.”

Diavolo was the only one speaking.

The conversation was tense, at first, but existent. In the cramped walls of his office, both you and Lucifer had done your best to give suitable (albeit bland) responses whenever they were called for, more Lucifer than yourself. Your voice had been smothered by Lucifer’s gaze, intense and burning into you until you were rendered quiet, and his own words becoming less and less as more of his focus was dedicated to drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair and biting at his bottom lip and growing more impatient. You’d lied to him, to get here, promised that you were going back to the House of Lamentation and insisted that you’d never think of trying to run around behind his back, which was, evidently, untrue. You weren’t sure which he found more maddening, the violation of his control or your willingness to break out of it. You weren’t sure which he’d you punish you for more violently.

It didn’t matter, honestly.

You’d have scars for both, tomorrow morning.

So consumed by your own demise, you didn’t notice when Diavolo’s voice went quiet, too, leaving the room in a tense, frigid silence, as purposeful as it was terrible. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but it might as well’ve been years with the anxiety suddenly racking over your nerves. Luckily, Diavolo didn’t let it go on for very long, breaking the stillness with a crisp, defined knock to his desk, a familiar grin stretching across his lips. You rose, right on cue, suddenly more uncomfortable in your own skin than you’d ever been before. It didn’t feel any better to take your place on his side, separated from Lucifer by a mahogany desk and a small mountain of paperwork, but you were glad to be standing. It was part of a plan, and plans meant security. They meant you knew what was going to happen next.

You couldn’t bring yourself to be surprised when that security was ripped away, as fast and as carelessly as any time before.

Diavolo was supposed to confront Lucifer about his treatment of a valued exchange student. He was supposed to be professional, and strict, and move you into an empty dorm in Purgatory Hall, just to show that he could distance you from Lucifer, if he deemed it necessary. Lucifer was supposed to pout and argue and agree, and that was supposed to be it, that’s all that was supposed to happen. Still, your shock was muted as a strong arm looped around your waist, pulling you effortlessly into Diavolo’s lap, holding you there when the reflex to push yourself away and struggle took over. You threw your elbow into his chest, taking hold of his bicep and attempting to drag yourself away, but your efforts were made in vain, Diavolo only laughing and bringing his free hand up, letting it come to rest on your shoulder. A nail, a talon, really, sharp and pointed and blood-thirsty, tapped twice against your jugular, and you froze, not wanting to find out how easy it would be for him to drive them through your flesh.

Lucifer’s reaction was instantaneous. His mouth opened, something hushed and vile slipping out, and he clambered out of his chair with a shameless desperation, but haulted as soon as he was on his feet. A mix of instinct and common sense fueled him, his anger, his self-restraint. The overwhelming desire to stop someone else from putting their hands on something he so obviously considered his, but the prevailing knowledge that trying to take you back by force would only lead to hands too broken to do so. You couldn’t imagine how many times he’d been through this, with Diavolo. He certainly seemed experienced, when it came to holding himself back.

“Why?” He spat, the question blunt, but dripping with something venomous. He took a step forward, slowly, moving to edge around the obscuring desk. Diavolo didn’t stop him, his grin only turning towards a smirk as he watched Lucifer make his cautious approach. “I’m not going to let your hurt--”

“I won’t have to hurt her.” Your breath hitched in your lungs as the hand on your shoulder slipped downwards, trailing over the shape of your collarbone before trailing its way to your neck, rubbing an apologetic circle into the edge of your jaw before taking your throat in a vice-grip, not choking but ready to. You were suddenly made aware of just how small you were, compared to both men, Diavolo’s palm pressing against the length of your throat and his fingers struggling to fit without forcing your head back. You didn’t doubt a thoughtless movement or jerk too sudden would be enough to crush anything vital. “I don’t want to hurt her, but you’re not giving me a choice.” He paused, pouting, tilting his head to the side and drawing attention to just how badly you’d started to shake. “It’d be a shame if I had to do something drastic to some poor human because of your actions.”

Lucifer locked his jaw into place, his fists clenching at his sides. “I haven’t taken action, yet. If I’ve done something to offend you, I apologize, but my feelings for (Y/n) aren’t…” He bit his own tongue, running a hand through his hair, searching for a distraction that refused to make itself apparent. “She doesn’t have anything to do with us. You understand that, don’t you? (Y/n) doesn’t have anything to do with any of this.”

“I’d like to believe you.” He let out a ragged exhale, as if the thought had been weighing on him. He wasn’t the one with claws pressed against his skin, though, a thin, red line slowly forming along the side of your neck as Diavolo dragged his thumb lazily over your skin, leaving a muted, stinging pain in its wake. “I worry about you, sometimes, Lucifer. You’re so helpful, and I’d hate to lose you to some uncontrolled obsession. But, I fear you’d come to resent me if I deprived you of your vices completely.” Another squeeze, this one testing, teasing. As if you and him were in on a joke, some parody of a bastardized friendly scheme. “That’s why (Y/n) is going to fall under my protection, from now on. When I’m confident in your loyalty, you can carry on with your little courting ritual. I’ll even give you two a room in my estate, somewhere more private. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Privacy?”

Lucifer only glowered. “And if I don’t agree?”

At this, Diavolo chuckled. He chuckled, then he laughed, then he took you by the throat, lifting you off his lap and letting you sputter and cough and suffocate as he held you in place, ignoring your attempts to loosen his grip. Lucifer moved to lunge forward, to tear you away and take solace in whatever survived, but Diavolo just shook his head, something in your neck cracking as he clenched down. “I don’t take kindly to defiance. You should know that better than anyone, and you should know how little I care for being challenged. Either you get down on your knees and bow, or-” He dropped you, abruptly, but your freedom was short-lived. As soon as you’d gotten a decent breath in, fingers were entangled in your hair, jerking you upward and forcing a meek, pathetic whimper through your lips. You couldn’t tell whether Lucifer was concerned for your wellbeing, or jealous that he hadn’t been the one to elicit such a pitiful sound. “Or, I break your favorite toy and no one gets to play. It’d be a shame to give something so disobedient an easy way out, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, if it means you step into line.”

He released you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look, to move, to do anything but catch your breath and hide, your face soon buried in his coat. You heard rustling, the thud of something solid hitting the wooden floor, but those noises were distant, drowned out by something dark and dominant, as overpowering as it was oppressing.

You wondered if you’d ever be able to hear something other than Diavolo’s laughter again.

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dreaming-in-alicante · 3 years

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First chapter is up!

I have 5 more chapters planned out. It’ll depend on how much work I have with the end of the semester, but I hope to update weekly!

Chapter 1: A research opportunity

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A month ago, Grace had sat shell-shocked in the Institute infirmary in the aftermath of the battle, attempting to process the bloodshed she had witnessed and the fact that Tatiana was dead. Jesse, busy talking to Lucie and her parents, making funeral arrangements, had left Grace alone for a while. It was Christopher Lightwood of all people who had noticed her sitting there frozen, who had walked over and offered an awkward pat on the shoulder. He expressed his sympathies and then, seemingly at a loss for a way to help her feel better, told Grace that she was welcome to come visit the lab at any time if she would like something to do to take her mind off of the circumstances. “You were a great help in figuring the function of the pithos that time,” he’d said before wandering off.

Of course that had been before. Before word of her confession had gotten out. Before her trial by Mortal Sword three weeks ago. The Consul had let Grace off without punishment because she was underage and influenced – manipulated – by her mother. No, not mother, Tatiana. You were never a daughter to her, Grace reminded herself. She bought you, you were only ever a weapon that she wielded.

Now that Tatiana was gone and Jesse was restored to life, Grace found herself adrift. Word spread quickly amongst the Clave about what she’d done: the misery she had inflicted on James and by extension Cordelia; her use of demon-gifted power to influence and seduce numerous men – including the Consul’s own son; her involvement in necromancy. She knew plenty of Shadowhunters would happily see her spend time imprisoned in the Silent City. She had made so many apologies that she had quite lost track, but it was not enough – might never be enough. She was still technically part of the Clave, yet no one seemed to know what to do with her. She was even invited to a party last week where everyone had given her a wide berth; a perfect example of how she remained part of things, but was held at a distance.

Grace had spent weeks alone in the apartment Jesse had found for them, reading like she had always done. Now that Jesse was not a ghost, he was no longer her constant companion. He was alive again, out making friends and experiencing the world anew. He had started training and was visiting all the sights of London with Lucie. It was everything Grace had wished for him for years, except now she found herself even lonelier than before. Jesse had invited her along to everything but it was awkward to be around even Lucie. Despite their shared mission to restore Jesse to life and her newfound relationship with Jesse, Lucie was struggling to forgive Grace for her part in James and Cordelia’s suffering. After all, it was Lucie’s own brother and her future parabatai that Grace had hurt. So Grace continued a nearly isolated existence, most days only seeing Jesse briefly in the morning and evenings.

It was the boredom and loneliness that had finally driven Grace to make a call on the Consul’s house at Grosvenor Square. She had overheard Lucie telling Jesse that Christopher was hard at work on something and spending nearly every weekday in the lab there. Surely Christopher should despise Grace after the way she had hurt his friends. Yet he had offered a small wave and smile at the party several days ago when they passed each other near the refreshments. His small gesture and her desperate state had been enough for her to gather her courage and venture out today.

________________________________________________________

Grace stifled a sneeze as she descended the steps into the laboratory. A smoky haze hung in the air and it smelled like… gunpowder? What on earth had Christopher been doing? She paused uncertainly and nearly turned in retreat before steeling her nerve and continuing down.

Grace reached the bottom of the stairs and peered around the lab. “Christopher?” she called tentatively. “Are you working down here?”

A messy head of brown hair, darkened by – was it gunpowder? – shot up from behind the lab bench on the far side of the room. Christopher pushed rounded goggles up onto his head as he strode over to her. “Grace! How nice to see you again!” he greeted her. His skin and once-white shirt were also covered in a fine layer of dark dust. “I suppose I saw you a few days ago at the party but you weren’t there long were you? Jesse said you weren’t feeling well. I heard there was a cold going around, is that what you had? Are you feeling better now?” he asked kindly.

Grace hadn’t felt well at the party, but it had nothing to do with illness and everything to do with the fact that Jesse was the single truly friendly face in that enormous ballroom. Lucie had awkwardly engaged her in stilted conversation before being whisked off to the dance floor by Jesse. After half an hour hovering on the outskirts of the room Grace could simply not endure the suspicious glances from the other guests, and she fled back home. “No, I wasn’t feeling well, but I feel much better now,” she told him simply.

“That’s good to hear!” Christopher said earnestly. “It’s never fun being sick. I detest the medicine my mother makes me take for coughs. That’s actually a project I’d like to pursue at some point, to see if medicine can be flavored but still retain its potency. I think if one could take some fruit, for example, and isolate the components of the fruit – molecules they’re called – that cause the specific taste and – ” he cut himself off abruptly. “My apologies Grace, you obviously came here for a reason and here I am boring you. Did you need help with something?” he asked, looking at her expectantly.

Grace thought she could cry for the sense of normalcy in the conversation and the kindness in his gaze. It was the complete opposite of the stiff, clipped exchanges and distrustful stares she had received since her trial by the Mortal Sword. Jesse was there for support of course, but he also faced distrust – returning from the dead through necromancy tended to make people wary. So to have Christopher – one of the ‘Merry Thieves’ no less – act like nothing at all was wrong, it was a relief.

She would have told Christopher to keep talking about the cough medicine and molecules – the idea sounded quite fascinating – but he had asked her a question. “I…I came to take you up on your offer to help in the laboratory. That is, if you’re sure you still want my help” she said hesitantly, clasping her hands together. “I know you offered weeks ago and I understand if you would prefer me to stay away now that you’ve heard the full story of everything I’ve done…” she trailed off uncertainly.

Christopher blinked at her for a moment, seemingly in shock, before his face split in a wide grin. “Really? You’d like to work here in the lab? No one besides Henry has ever been interested!” He paused thoughtfully, adjusting his glasses. “Well, Thomas does often help but I believe he feels obligated as my cousin. It’s not that he has any deep fascination with science and invention. Although he did make the cure for the Mandikhor poison! But I don’t think he enjoyed the process.” He frowned. “I suppose solving the puzzle of a complicated antidote is much more stressful when people are about to die,” he concluded.

“So, you’re sure you would still like having me around?” Grace asked, tense. “After the pain I caused your friends, I understand if you don’t want my assistance.”

“Of course I’d like you to help!” Christopher replied excitedly. “Having another pair of hands is always useful, and you actually want to be here! As for everything with James and such,” he said seriously, “you apologized didn’t you? And I’m sure you won’t do it again if you feel so badly about it now.”

Grace was astounded. “I did apologize and no, I don’t plan to manipulate anyone in that way again,” she managed to say. “I couldn’t even if I wished to,” she added, “the Silent Brothers found a way to remove my power.” That ritual, performed two weeks by Broth Enoch, had made her ill. She spent the better part of a day asleep, and still felt exhausted the day afterward.

“Then it’s all settled!” Christopher proclaimed brightly. “Let’s see, there’s a space on the benchtop over here where you can work, I have some of my notes there now but I can clean those up, put them over with…” He scurried over to a bench on the left of the room and began tidying it, muttering to himself.

Grace followed slowly after him, still in some disbelief. Yes, she had traveled all the way over to the lab and hoped his offer to join him in the lab still stood. However, she had prepared herself to be brushed off. Had expected Christopher to distrust her now that he knew all of her questionable actions, the ways she had hurt his friends and cousins. Technically she also was, or had been, his cousin by adoption; for some reason she brushed the thought of it away. They weren’t actually related. Especially now that she had reclaimed the Cartwright surname, distancing herself from Tatiana.

“There!” Christopher announced, pulling Grace out of her thoughts. He had cleared the bench of papers and bottles and beakers, and brushed off a layer of dust. “This can be your work station,” he told her. “I’ll find you a notebook to record your findings in, and you can work with me on some projects! Or do you have any ideas or projects of your own you’d like to pursue?” he inquired.

“I read many books growing up, many containing scientific information, so I know some basic principles,” Grace said. “However, I fear that much of the information is decades out of , and I'm sure there are many advancements I have not learned of,” she confessed. “Perhaps you can tell me what you’re working on? Were you doing some experiment involving gun powder just now?”

“Indeed I was!” Christopher replied with a gleam in his eye. “For a years now I’ve been trying to adapt incendiary weapons for use against demons. Angelic runes prevent the gunpowder from igniting somehow, and unless runes are involved the demons can’t be harmed.” He gestured her over to the far side of the room where a couple of guns laid on the table, one partly disassembled, as well as a small grenade.

“You made the runed revolver for James, didn’t you?” she asked, trailing a finger over the rune inscribed on the barrel of the rifle laid out on the bench.

“I did,” Christopher replied. “The problem is, James is the only one who can use it. Something to do with his shadow powers. Even Lucie can’t make it work. Quite confounding.” He held up a very familiar object – the pithos that Belial had used to steal marks. “I’ve been testing different rune placements with this,” he said, “because I thought perhaps an indirect application would make a difference. I’ve tried inscribing inside and outside on different parts. I also have a collection of gunpowder that I put in this runed box.” He gestured with the pithos to a small cubic container, every side plastered with a variety of runes. “The gun still fires – that’s what I was testing before you came in. No telling whether it will have any effect on a demon though,” he said, “It depends on how the runes transfer energy, which is an area no one fully understands yet.” He paused uncertainly, and set the pithos back on the benchtop. “I know you said you’d like to learn, Grace, but I’m not boring you am I?” he asked, sounding troubled.

“No, not at all,” she said quickly, turning her attention away from the disassembled handgun she’d been inspecting to his face. “Truly, it’s fascinating. I enjoy learning and you do a wonderful job of explaining things.”

“Oh,” said Christopher, turning faintly pink at the compliment. “Well, jolly good then. Besides Henry, people never really want to hear details,” he confided.

Grace thought briefly that perhaps Tatiana had been right when she called the Clave a pack of fools. Was there genuinely no one besides Henry Fairchild who appreciated the extent of Christopher’s scientific work? Not even his friends? “How about this?” she said, turning fully to face him. “I promise that if I ever want you to stop talking I’ll tell you directly, but otherwise, I wish to hear every detail. Here, we can shake on it.” She extended her hand between them and asked, “Deal?”

Christopher looked bewildered for a moment, blinked, then took her hand and shook it. His strange violet eyes shone as they met hers and he said, “Deal.”

#gracetopher #grace blackthorn x christopher lightwood #tlh #tlh fic #my fic

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stillness-in-green · 3 years

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Idk if anyone told you but the MVA OST leaked, with themes for both the League and the MLA. If you haven't listened to it yet, please do! And if you have, what are your thoughts? I think Mine Woman and RE-DESTRO slap for 2 characters that got shafted hard by canon so I appreciate them a lot.

I have listened to them, and I like several of them! I feel like I need to lead with that, because I'm about to add some criticism about my previous responses to BNHA's score for context, so it's important to know that I genuinely do enjoy quite a few of these.

So, I haven't listened to a lot of Yuki Hayashi's scores, but he's definitely done work I've liked! He composed the music for several of the more recent PreCure shows, including their movies; I particularly loved his finale for the 15th anniversary film, which prominently featured a truly delightful medley of every team's opening theme. I'm also very fond of some of his pieces for Kiznaiver and Welcome to the Ballroom.

His BNHA work, though, I feel like suffers from two main problems: the tracks are too short to work up a good head, and yet, despite that short length, they sometimes feel exhaustingly over the top. (Did Shigaraki's theme really need crying children to get across the point that he's bad news?) I've long felt that the BNHA anime wants me to feel like everything is way more Epic and Stirring and Dramatic than I actually find the material to be, so curiously, the music winds up having a distancing effect rather than drawing me in. This is frequently compounded by placement choices that feel so staggeringly poor that I'm often left wondering whether the staff chose the music out of a hat! (Seriously, why does a fairly rote test of character in Nighteye's office warrant doom choirs?)

As to the MVA tracks specifically, I wish there could have been tracks that sounded a bit more fun or heroic, given that the League in MVA really are the heroes for the arc, complete with Shigaraki suddenly having access to Shonen Nakama Tropes and getting all these little comedic reaction takes. It'd be nice if the music could cue in and let the League have some aural triumph without being all doom all the time ("Oh, no! The villains are winning!" Yes, they are; let them have this for one arc, would you?)

But that said, I do rather like most of these! There are some that I do suspect will fall prey to the This Is Too Much Drama, Would You Please Ratchet Back? problem, but there are also some that I can imagine playing better in the context of the show than they do in isolation, and some that feel like they could even be exactly what I was dreaming about, if they go where I hope they will. For some individual thoughts, see below:

The Mission of the Stealth Hawks: A reasonable enough little tense atmospheric piece. Doesn't jump out at me.

Different Ability Liberation Army: I always approach the MLA as styling themselves as an army, but in reality being more of a sect--far more cult than militia-- I appreciate that if they can't have a good dramatic march despite having Army, like, right there in the title, I'm glad I could get church bells instead. On the whole, though, this is a good example of the first problem I mentioned having with Hayashi's work for BNHA--his pieces tend to be pretty short, and it takes them so long to land on a melody that by the time they find one, there's hardly any time to develop it before the song ends. Even a lot of the hero pieces are like that, and the villain songs, even more so. That said, I do like the horror strings that creep in around the 1.25 mark, blossom at 1.45, and float on through 2.10. I just wish they went on longer. Admittedly, "erratic church bells and horror strings" is still not the choice I would have made for the MLA's main theme. I really would have preferred something with a more militant air; as it is, this sort of feels like it scores a creepy prologue that plays before the opening credits kick in and then the episode proper starts. Which isn't a bad description for the way the dinner scene played in the manga, but thanks to the anime's decision to reshuffle everything, I don't think that dinner scene's going to maintain that feeling of "prologue" when we finally get to it.

My Villain Academia: Better on the melodic front; I enjoy the drama at .43, the dancing tension at 1.05, and particularly the minor strings from 1.25 that just keep climbing until everything else drops out around 2.10. I do wish it found a better place to end rather than noodling on for a further thirty seconds, but the melody will get a more central, and more bombastic, treatment in the final track, so it's probably okay for it to trail off here. (It's also apparently a reprise of a villain theme from the very first season's OST, which is rad. More on that in the Track 11 blurb.)

Second Coming: This is a bizarre one because, while I complained that Hayashi's BNHA tracks are usually short, this one is a full six and a half minutes--except that it falls clearly into movements of about a minute each, with clear lulls in between. I wish it was twelve minutes and everything was twice as long! As it is, I'm highly doubtful that we're going to hear this one played in its entirety anywhere, since I can't imagine what scenes would require this specific sequence of musical passages at this length. 0.00 - 1.01: I love that the song kicks in comparatively quickly; the first minute's passage has a great, thrumming drive that very nearly hits major key towards the end. 1.02 - 1.53: The drive picks up pace in the second minute before the chorus arrives, and for once, I am very prepared to love a BNHA choir piece. I hope this is what plays when Deika's going up in ash. 1.54 - 3.01: I love the melodic line being carried by the intentionally hard to distinguish violin and whatever brass instrument the violin's trading off with in the third minute. It's bit out of place with the rest of the track, but I like it quite a bit on its own, and it does have a similar sound as some of the "dirty" brass in RE-DESTRO and Mine Woman. It's probably too long for RD's childhood flashback, but I wonder if it'll play for an MLA character somewhere? 3.02 - 4.07: The fourth minute has some very fun drums, but otherwise doesn't jump out at me as much of the rest of the track. I'm very curious to know when this will play, though. 4.08 - 5.32: The fifth minute, god bless, has some proper march drums--I like this passage a lot, particularly when it come back in the sixth minute accompanied by the choir. I like this because the key is minor but it's not "oooo scaaaary" minor; it's more dramatic, a bit tragic, but triumphant too--pretty much perfect for Re-Destro, Spinner and Machia's moment of revelation in the crater. I wish it were longer. 5.33 - 6.36: And here for the end we're back to the driving guitar and some fun low-thrum strings and percussive chain sounds. Like the fourth passage, it's fun, but jumps out at me less, particularly as the song's finale.

Gigantomachia: This is an extremely boss kaiju song. Seriously, that brass in the opening could come right out of a Toho flick. Extremely good walking calamity number, love that distorted synth stuff towards the end. It's going to sound great when (if) it plays over Machia leaving the villa, the hand rising up through the floor behind Toga, Momo and the other students surveying the desolation left in his wake, and so on. (I know that's all Season Six material, shhhh. I hope they use this piece there.)

Mine Woman: This is so fun. And so extremely superior that that awful Christmas insert song! I'm glad Curious got this at least, and I love the moment the beat drops at the one-minute mark, and that interwoven sax. So good. It's hard to imagine the fight between Toga and Curious being paced to this song, mind, but it's real good, anyway.

TOGA's Nature: This one showcases the other problem I have with Hayashi's BNHA work, especially his stuff for the villains: it feels very on the nose in a way that tips over into being Too Much. The birdsong, I think, is on the nose but in an effective, playful way, with the natural beauty of the birds undercut by the lovely but ominous piano/synth melody. I am considerably less kindly disposed to the creepy child laughter, which just feels on the nose in a thuddingly obvious way--though I do like the way it slides in when the birdsong fades. I like, too, the sort of cloudy roaring reprise of the melodic line that kicks in around the 1.10 mark. It feels like an effective echo of Toga--cute but creepy as a young girl, and then, after she snaps, creepy in the same way but now you can't ignore it.

Symbol of Fear: The beginning doesn't do much for me, but I enjoy the howl that gives way to the organs at 1.15; while it's too action-heavy to be Tenko, the transition does still put me in mind of Tenko wandering the streets, internally crying for anyone to help him, and the person who finally does is--well. I like that the organ nurtures that howl into something considerably more dire, though you still get a return to that guttural cry periodically. While it is, again, difficult to imagine this scoring the scenes between AFO and Tenko's first meeting and Tenko being formally named Tomura--it's much too bombastic--it does still feel like an excellent representation of AFO sculpting Tomura's formless, aimless rage into something that really could tear down the world.

I Don't Kill My Friends: It would have been really nice if they'd let the most significant, unadulterated personal triumph of the arc sound actually fun. Why does the Sad Man's Parade song sound so upset?? @aysall predicts that it'll play over Twice's confrontation with Hawks and death scene, and I can see it working extremely well there, but it's a pretty weird call for the Dead Man's Parade bit, if that is indeed what this is intended to evoke. Quibbling about the title aside, I do like the way this pulses and throbs, something like an exposed wound, which is not a bad description of poor Jin's mentality. I still hope this isn't what scores his breakthrough, though. As I said previously, the villains are the heroes for just this one arc, and it'd be nice if the score could reflect that at least a little.

RE-DESTRO: I like this one a lot. I love the interwoven layers of that dirty sax and the Big and Dramatic orchestral strings + brass, but both of them undercut with that regular, machine beeping that could almost be a heart monitor, but mostly isn't--right up until the long beep at 1.52/1.53. It feels like a strong illustration of the titular character's different personas--his attempts at casual, friendly villainy (like menacing Giran or chatting with Shigaraki on the phone), him when he's thundering full-volume about the weight of his legacy at people (THE BLOOD OF DESTRO FLOWS THROUGH THESE VEINS I AM RE-DESTRO), and, beneath it all, the constant little thread of stress that Rikiya can never escape (right up until Shigaraki). I probably wouldn't love it so much in isolation, but I'm easy to win over with the right character association. XD

Paranormal Liberation Front: Very fun grubby guitar intro. It also has much the clearest melodic throughline, which inclines me towards it. What inclines me to it even more is the knowledge (per @aysall again) that it's the same main melody as the track Villains Theme from the very first season's OST. That track already having used its allotted Doom Choir quotient, this track makes do with less synth and a lot more orchestra and chunky bass backing, which is much to its benefit, I feel. I do wish it had any of the MLA's theme in it, to represent the merger, but admittedly, it'd be hard to make that very audible when the MLA theme has…next to no central melody, percussive rhythm, etc. Still, as an evolution of the League to something bigger, classier, and far more dangerous, it's real good--just long enough to develop into itself and explore its central leitmotif. Probably my favorite track simply on its own merits.

Thanks for the ask, anon! I'd listened to the tracks once driving around for work, but sitting down with them properly gave me a greater appreciation for them, and now I'll definitely have an ear out for them when we get to this material in the anime…

….whenever that winds up being. *sob*

#bnha #music #stillness answers #my villain academia #reviews?#league of villains #meta liberation army #shigaraki tomura #yotsubashi rikiya

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edendaphne · 4 years

Text

“Discordant Sonata”- Ch. 15

Have some quarantine reading material!!

>>Read it here on Ao3<< >>Read it here on Wattpad<<

CHAPTER 15: BRAVURA

Music glossary: Bravura - (from Italian “bravery/spirit”) Style of music in which the performer plays boldly, requiring exceptional agility and technical skill in execution.

(Mood music: “For the Love of a Princess” - James Horner )

Sunday Evening

Marinette knocked on the guest bedroom door, or rather, on Chat Noir’s bedroom door, as it had now officially become.

“Come in! It’s open,” she heard from the other side.

Marinette’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Odd, she thought. For someone who was supposed to be guarding a secret identity at all costs, one would think that Chat would always keep the door locked. First the “bathroom incident” and now this? She wondered what his aversion to locked doors was all about.

Marinette peeked her head into the room and saw him at his desk, writing in a notebook.

“Hey Kitt–uhh, Chat Noir, dinner will be ready in a minute. Would you care to join us?”

Chat’s cat ears perked up. “I’d love to! Thanks! I’ll help set the table in a sec.”

“What are you up to?” she asked, sitting at the edge of his bed.

Chat swiveled his chair around to face her. “Oh, it’s...” he grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the stiffness there. “I was doing some calculations, figuring out a monthly budget and that kind of thing. Trying to figure out how much all my bills will cost.”

“Me-owch,” Marinette cringed. “Sounds suuuuper fun.”

“Yeah, definitely,” he replied with matching sarcasm. “It’s actually been more complicated than I thought.”

“How so?” she asked.

He let out a long sigh. “Well… this is gonna sound weird, but my father as a civilian is, uh… pretty well-known. There’s a lot of people who would recognize me. Any potential employers would be getting in contact with him, asking him questions, or even give him an idea of where to find me. So I can’t apply to jobs as my normal self.” He ran his gloved hand through his hair in exasperation. “But where could I possibly get a job as ‘Chat Noir’?? ‘He’ can’t start a bank account, has no birth certificate, driver’s license, address, phone number. I’d have to get hired under the table, but I might run into some shady people. They might take advantage of the situation, and there’d be nothing I could do to contest them. Or they might try to use me to get free advertisement, and then my father would know where to find me anyway. Ugh, it’s all just a mess,” he groaned. “Anyway, thanks for letting me vent. I’m sure I’ll figure something out, so don’t worry.”

Marinette hummed, thinking. “Well, actually…” she said, tapping her chin. “Since the school year’s starting up again, a couple of our full-timers are switching to part-time to accommodate their university schedules; so the bakery will need some extra help. Obviously you wouldn’t be able to work at the front of the store, attending to customers and whatnot. But there’s still cleaning, washing, and heavy lifting that needs to be done behind the scenes. So if that sounds alright with you, we can talk to my parents about it. I’m sure they’d be happy to have you aboard.”

“Really??” Chat’s head shot up and he chirped excitedly, accidentally dropping his pen in the process. “Th-that would be great! I’ll work really hard, promise! Are you sure it would be okay?”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll say yes! My mom’s already taken quite a liking to you; she’s always talking about how polite and sweet you are.” Chat’s ears perked up and his cheeks reddened upon hearing this, which she found much too adorable. “And I’m sure my dad’s slowly coming around; I can tell, even though he’s stubborn.” She reached over and squeezed his hands. “I’ll put in a good word for you,” she said with a wink.

“You will?!” he replied with a laugh. “Best job reference ever!!” He hopped out of his chair, then bent over and wrapped her up into a tight hug. “You’re the best, Marinette. Seriously.”

She shook off her initial surprise and squeezed back, smiling wide.

“Anything for a friend.”

Dinnertime went over even better than Marinette had hoped. When the subject of a job was broached, Marinette’s mother took to the idea immediately and, citing the need for some extra muscle, eventually managed to win over her father.

Thus, they hired Chat Noir on the spot for part-time work, adding a few extra household chores in lieu of charging him rent. Marinette could hardly contain herself when she saw Chat’s face as he heard that; he looked like he’d won the lottery. And if anyone else had noticed how his eyes got misty and his voice began to quiver as he thanked them, nobody had mentioned it.

After dinner, Marinette invited Chat Noir upstairs to her bedroom, saying she needed help picking out the perfect outfit for her first day back to school. Truth be told, she really did need to choose an outfit; but it was mostly an excuse to hang out with him and serve as a distraction from his stressful circumstances.

Behind his cheerful smile and never ending stream of jokes, he always carried such a lonesome air about him. She’d never noticed it until that first night; the night they danced during the ballroom akuma attack. Or rather, she’d never allowed herself to open up to the possibility that he might be suffering. It would have made fighting him much more difficult had she known.

But as they swayed to the music that night, she could feel the melancholy in his voice, how it seemed to be yearning for more, and she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

It was shocking to her; mind-blowing, even. Not the same shock as one might get from a slap in the face, but rather like she’d woken up from a deep sleep. And yet, even then, she never could have anticipated how things would’ve unraveled from that day forward. They had come a long way, and there was still much more ahead of them.

In any case, he was sure to appreciate an evening goofing around with his new roommate, to get his mind off of both his superhero problems and his civilian worries.

“So, what do you think?” she asked as she peered into her closet. “Classy? Trendy? Girly? Vintage? Boho chic?”

Chat furrowed his brows, cocking his head in uncertainty. “I dunno… You’d look great in anything! Just close your eyes and grab something, and voila!”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “What if I grab my fuzzy, pink bathrobe?”

“You’d look great in that too! ‘Comfy chic’, the newest trend on all the cat- walks!” he grinned cheekily.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, you dork, be serious! I wanna look good!”

“But you already look good!” he said, lifting his arms and motioning up and down her entire length for emphasis. “You’d even look good in a burlap sack. I mean it! You’re really cute, Marinette! Besides, it’s not like you need to impress anybody. Everyone already loves you.”

She felt her cheeks warm up at the praise he gave so freely. “I-I… th-that’s sweet of you to say. B-but I wasn’t trying to fish for compliments or anything. I just… want to look a little extra nice. Maybe even stand out a little bit, that’s all,” she added more quietly, fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

Chat paused and forward on the chaise. “Hang on,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. “Marinette... ARE you trying to impress someone? Someone special, maybe?”

Marinette made a startled noise that would best be described as a squawk and whipped back around to face the inside of her closet. “Uhh, NOPE! Nope, nope. Not at all! What makes you say that?!”

Wow, Marinette, very convincing, she groaned inwardly.

Despite her stammering and weak attempts at protesting, Chat exclaimed with a gasp, “So there IS someone!”

He hopped off the chaise towards her, trying to get a peek at her reddened face. “So who is it?? Would I know them? Are you in the same grade, or just the same school? Do they already know you like them? How did you two meet?”

Marinette let out a long screech, rushing away from the closet towards her vanity desk and plopped down on the chair, dropping her head onto the table with a small thunk.

Chat practically glided across to where she’d sat and put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. “Our little Marinette has a crush on someone~!” he crooned in a sing-song voice. “That’s so romantic! You’ll invite me to your wedding, won’t you?”

Marinette let out another long, muffled groan, which only spurred him on, becoming giddy like a small child who’d been given a pile of candy.

He’s never going to stop now that he knows, is he? she bemoaned, cursing her inept, awkward self.

Foregoing any further attempts at denial, she decided to just be honest with him. After all, Alya knew about her crush, and so did her other gal friends. She could confide in Chat too; especially since they were going to be living with each other from now on. Surely there was no harm in him knowing. It’s not like he’d go around blabbing it to anyone. She knew him better than that.

She sighed heavily, not bothering to hoist up her head, which felt like it weighed as much as a boulder at the moment. “He’s a classmate,” she replied in deadpan.

“A classmate, huh?” Chat repeated, voice full of wonder. “That’s so adorable! What else can you tell me about him? Is he cute?”

“Gorgeous,” she replied, with perhaps more emphasis than she intended. “And thoughtful and gentle and kind. A little awkward and nerdy, but friendly and optimistic to a fault. He’s practically perfect. At least, perfect in all the ways that matter to me, anyhow. I’ve known him for a few years, and I’ve been in lov– I MEAN… I’ve had a crush on him pretty much since we first met.”

Sensing her shift in tone, Chat dropped all the playfulness in his voice and asked in earnest, “W-wait… D-did you say… in love?”

Marinette let out a long, pitiful whine, grabbing the hair by the sides of her head and covering her face with it like a tent, trying to hide her eternal shame.

“I can’t believe I just said that…” she moaned wretchedly, very much wishing she could shrink to the size of a mouse right now. “Can you just cataclysm me and pretend you didn’t hear that, please?”

“Wait, so that means…” Chat interrupted, his brows scrunched. “He doesn’t know how you feel about him?”

She shook her head, or rather, kind of shuffled it back and forth on the table’s surface. “I’ve always been too afraid to say anything to him. I never wanted things to become weird between us, so I’ve always just… not taken the risk. He always just kinda… seemed to need a friend more than he needed a relationship, y’know? And I didn’t want to take that away from him. From us.”

Chat paused for a moment, pondering her words. “But what if he feels the same way?” he countered. “Wouldn’t you rather get it off your chest and find out for sure?”

Marinette hesitated, turning her head sideways. “Have you ever liked someone you were too afraid to lose?” she replied quietly.

She could hear Chat’s breath hitch, but he didn’t respond. She wondered if that was something he’d been worrying about as well. He’d never confessed to Ladybug about his own crush; but was that merely due to shyness, or from not wanting to complicate their relationship and their duties as superheroes? Would he jeopardize it?

Chat was a romantic at heart; of that she was certain, judging from his taste in media and books, from their late night conversations, and especially from what Plagg had told her a few days ago.

However, despite his playful flirtatiousness towards her as Ladybug, he’d never verbally expressed any serious interest in a romantic relationship. She could only assume he wanted to keep things as friendly and professional as possible, in order to work on strengthening their relationship as a team, instead of risking a fallout.

Or, at least, that’s what she’d started to tell herself. Everything in her brain was a terrible jumble. Especially after hearing about Chat’s family situation the night before, after the akuma attack. Ladybug had finally learned about Chat’s mother, Hawkmoth’s wife, and things were way more complicated than she could have ever imagined.

Chat Noir had introduced a variable of unpredictability in her life, and she was still trying to sort out her own growing feelings towards him. Were these merely feelings of protectiveness, or was it something else? Had she been projecting her desire for Adrien onto Chat? She didn’t think so, and yet, she’d never experienced anything like this before. How could she know for sure?

Unrequited love felt awful, but at least it was fairly straightforward. Trying to figure out her thoughts and feelings when adding another person into the jumble was frustratingly confusing.

In addition, Hawkmoth’s cruel words from the akuma attack echoed in her head despite trying to dispel them countless times. They resonated within her, trying to worm their way into her brain to plant undeserving guilt and shame. Accusations of taking advantage of Chat; of blind infatuation; of festering doubts and lack of trust.

Not to mention the elephant in the room: the giant, seemingly impenetrable wall of having to hide their identities from each other, which prevented them from being able to grow closer.

Pursuing a romantic path with him right now would not be prudent.

Especially since she was still in love with Adrien.

UGH. She was in love with Adrien. Why had she allowed herself to fall for him?!? Why did he have to be so darn wonderful, so awfully talented, so ridiculously considerate?!

The uncomfortable feeling of embarrassment slithered down her spine once again, traveling all the way from her head to her toes. How could she possibly face Chat Noir now that he knew what a coward she was?

Moments passed and neither of them had broken the ice. She supposed she should be the one to do it, since she was the one that had made things awkward in the first place.

Before she could say anything, however, she felt Chat’s hands settle on her shoulders, and he gently pulled her up into a sitting position. He gazed at her reflection in the mirror, a kind smile painted on his handsome face that she couldn’t help but feel her face flush. His emerald green eyes were so piercing, so sincere, which caused a multitude of butterflies to swarm in her chest despite her having banned them.

Bringing his arms in front of her, he draped a colorful garment across her collarbones so it would cascade all the way down to her lap. Apparently she’d been too busy internally freaking out that she hadn’t even heard him rummaging around in her closet.

“How about this top?” he asked softly. “The cut of the neck will draw attention to your jawline, especially if you wear your hair down, so the sides can frame your facial features. And if you wear this necklace here-” he said as he lifted the accessory from her vanity table, “-it will emphasize your blue eyes very nicely. For bottoms, I’d either go with some dark-wash skinny jeans paired with low heels, or a skirt with a bright pattern and some close-toed flats. Keeping it simple is best, in my opinion. Clean and sophisticated.”

Wait… what?? How did he–

Marinette hadn’t even noticed her jaw had dropped until Chat closed it gently with his index finger, her teeth coming back together with a soft clink.

“You should ask him out. This mystery person,” he added. “You never know what’ll happen. He’ll either like you back, or he won’t. But at least you’ll know, and whatever happens afterwards, it’ll mean you can move on.”

She held the shirt in place with her own hands, but never broke eye contact with him through the mirror. “Would you do the same?” she asked quietly.

Chat looked away, cheeks darkening. He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed deeply. “Someday, perhaps. But… I’m not ready yet. Maybe once I become a better person. Somebody worthwhile.”

She turned around to face him, studying his expression. A weight settled uncomfortably in her gut, urging her to fix it, FIX IT!!

But fix what?! Fix it how?? She didn’t know; but she had to try regardless.

She stood up, setting the garment down on the chair, then practically stomped over to him. Chat looked a bit taken aback at how close she’d gotten, his eyes widening in confusion. She threw her arms around his torso, pulling him as close as physically possible without literally merging together. She laid her head on his chest, relishing the sound of his heart thumping in his chest.

“You dumdum. You’re already amazing. Anybody would consider themselves lucky to be loved by you.”

She felt him freeze up, unsure of what to make of this sudden and almost aggressive display of affection. But a beat later he relaxed, practically melting into her embrace and hugged back just as tightly.

He laid his own head on top of hers, a motion that still felt so comforting and so familiar; and yet she couldn’t figure it out. Whenever she would come close to making a discovery, the thought would slip away, as if by magic.

Or, come to think of it, most likely because of magic. His mannerisms and speech were so familiar, and yet she couldn’t place where she knew them from, or whom they matched up with. Chat had said that they knew each other outside of the costume, so surely that was why they felt so familiar. But the glamour of his miraculous was quite efficient in protecting his identity; therefore, despite teetering at the edge of her recognition, she still could not identify him. She supposed that was for the best, even if it was maddening.

“I wish I could believe that. I really do,” he murmured sadly, interrupting her train of thought.

She nuzzled her head into him. “Stop being so hard on yourself. Life doesn’t revolve around achievements or some arbitrary measurement of greatness. Being you is enough.”

“I... don’t really know how to stop thinking that way, to be honest,” he said with a shrug.

Marinette let go of him and took a small step back, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, it’s too bad you don’t have a choice, then. ‘Cause from now on, you’re officially enrolled in the Dupain-Cheng self-esteem boot camp, where you learn to be nice to yourself… or else, I’ll kick your ass!” she said, poking him lightly on the chest.

His eyes popped open for a moment, then he threw his head back and laughed. “I believe it!” he said, squeezing his arms around her once again. “I’ll do my best to meet your expectations and avoid all the ass-kicking, sensei! Bring on Du PAIN!”

She let out a snort and giggled, looking up at him from her lower height.

Her gaze softened once again, then added, “By the way... thanks for your help, and for your advice, Minou.”

Chat chuckled at the term of endearment, and Marinette’s brain froze.

How could she forget?? Again. She wasn’t Ladybug right now. Marinette didn’t have nicknames for Chat.

Before she could backpedal, Chat leaned down to kiss her forehead, then replied, “Anytime, Mari.”

She relaxed again and gave him one last squeeze, unable to contain a giant, satisfied grin.

She released him so she could return to the task of getting ready for school tomorrow. She asked, “Will it really be okay for you to go to school? Won’t it be risky, since your father will know where you are?”

Chat let out a thoughtful hum. “He’s a pretty powerful person, but even he can’t walk into the school and drag me out of there in front of everyone. I should be okay, as long as I’m always around other people.”

“Well… if you say so,” she said, crinkling her eyebrows. “You’ve got my cell phone number, so call me if anything ever pops up and I’ll be there in a jiffy, no matter where you are.”

Chat smiled at her fondly. “Thank you.”

She smiled back. “Come on. Let’s go watch a movie downstairs. It’s our last day to be certified couch potatoes and I’m not gonna pass it up.”

Chat winked. “Aye aye, Captain Spud! Lead the way!”

(Mood music: “The Chairman’s Waltz” - John Williams (Memoirs of a Geisha OST)

Monday Morning

Chat Noir landed on the roof of the school without a sound, eyes darting around the perimeter to verify that no one was present at this hour. Upon seeing that the coast was clear, he slinked towards the door that led inside the building.

He tried the doorknob. Locked, as expected. He detransformed, and without a word, Plagg phased through the door. It clicked, then Adrien slipped inside.

Heart thumping, he shifted his backpack and continued down the rooftop stairwell until he reached a hallway. It was empty, although that didn’t do much for his nerves. Getting caught on campus before the school opened would mean getting asked questions he would rather not have to answer.

Adrien wasn’t a rule-breaker. He was courteous, mild-mannered, and above all, obedient. He did things by the book. Or, at least... he did as Adrien . Chat Noir was another story altogether.

Trying to shake off his jitters, Adrien took a deep breath and tried to summon the playful part of him that enjoyed more mischievous types of activities.

There wasn’t much for him to do for the next couple of hours but to wait until people slowly trickled into the school. He decided to occupy himself by organizing his locker, so he stepped out into the common area from the dark hallway and carefully crept to the locker rooms downstairs.

As it turned out, it was a good thing he checked it before anyone was around, for the loud gasp he let out as he discovered its contents would have surely attracted the attention of the entire room.

Inside the locker was a duffel bag full of belongings– his belongings: his passport and birth certificate, his wallet, some clothes, his favorite blue scarf, a photograph of his mother; school supplies and stationary, a brand new laptop, and an indistinct burner phone.

There was no written note, no card, no name left behind. The only identifier provided was a picture of an black and red butterfly on it.

A butterfly? Surely this couldn’t be a gift from Gabriel Agreste. He’d never be this thoughtful, not in a million years.

He studied the picture, flipping it over for more clues, and found some small text on the back.

“Scarlet Peacock Butterfly”, the caption said. “A vivid red and black butterfly that ostensibly poses as another toxic species in order to deceive predators.”

Adrien gasped.

A fake.

Could it be…?

Adrien’s fingers trembled as he picked up the phone. It was an older model flip phone. He opened it.

It had a single phone number saved in its contacts.

He selected the number, fingertip hovering over the “call” button. With a shaky breath, he pressed it. And waited.

A few agonizingly long seconds passed. Then the ringing stopped; someone had picked up.

Adrien’s breath hitched and he gulped. He couldn’t help the crack in his voice as he whispered hesitantly into the phone.

“...Nathalie?”

(Mood Music: “L’Indifference” - Café Accordion Orchestra)

For once, Marinette Dupain-Cheng managed to make it to school on time, having set her alarm for an earlier time just to make sure. Tardiness always seemed to be her calling card, but she was determined to not let this happen today; not after all her preparations from the night before.

And so she walked into her first class, happy to see a room full of (mostly) friendly faces. Alya smiled at her from her desk across the room, waving her over enthusiastically. Marinette returned the smile and headed towards her.

She gave a wide berth to Lila and their teacher, who stood by the door. The new teacher listened, enraptured, about the stylish Italian girl’s most recent trip to the Malagasy islands and how she single-handedly founded a lemur rescue organization. Marinette fought the urge to roll her eyes and quietly passed them by, without challenging the validity of her claims.

Not today, she told herself. Not on the first day of school.

On her way towards her best friend, Marinette also walked past Chloe Bourgeois, her former bully. They made eye contact and gave each other a brief nod.

“Chloe,” Marinette greeted her plainly.

“Dupain-Cheng,” Chloe acknowledged in return, then turned her full attention back to her phone, vigorously texting someone with a dragon profile picture.

Marinette couldn’t quite call Chloe her friend, though they were definitely more than just acquaintances. They’d come to a sort of unspoken truce a couple of years back. They’d both done some growing up these past few years, and for that, Marinette was grateful. Especially since this arrangement made it possible for them to remain mutual friends with Adrien.

Marinette went up the steps to where her best friend sat, and they greeted each other with a hug.

“Hey, Alya! No Nino?”

“Nah, looks like we only have three classes together this year, bummer.” Alya shrugged. “But that means I get to sit next to my Mari-bean!”

Marinette noticed a markedly cheery-looking Adrien entering the classroom, only to be stopped by Lila at the door, who flipped her hair theatrically and batted her exaggeratedly long (and most likely false, hmmph!) eyelashes at him.

She decided to ignore it and turned around to fully face her wavy-haired friend. “So, how was your weekend? Did you and your aforementioned husbando do anything fun?” she asked with a knowing smile.

Alya’s cheeks darkened, but she tried to cover up her blushing by pretending to adjust her hair. “Well, we did get ahold of the new Super Pinguino III. You’ll have to play it sometime and try to beat our high score.”

Marinette giggled. “I dunno, that might be the one game where I’ll never be able to beat you.”

“Well, we’ll just have to see about that,” she gave her a wide smile in return. She exclaimed (rather loudly even by her standards), “By the way, Marinette! Your outfit looks AMAZING! Don’t you think so too, Adrien?”

Marinette’s eyes widened and she whipped around to realize Adrien was headed their way. Her face felt like she was sticking it inside a furnace, and suddenly she felt quite naked, wanting nothing more than to hide in a dark corner somewhere rather than display the outfit she’d meticulously chosen the night before. What if it was too much? What if she was overdressed? What if everyone could tell she was trying too hard? What if it was way too last-season and not avant-garde enough? Or what if it was too avant-garde and she should have dressed more conservatively?! What if–

Adrien’s eyes met hers and he gave her the brightest, broadest, most radiant smile, so stunning it should be illegal, so resplendent that it caused her brain to suddenly fizzle.

“Absolutely! You look beautiful, Marinette,” he said, his voice so earnest and sincere that Marinette felt she might combust on the spot.

Marinette wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there, mouth agape, feeling like her feet were no longer touching the ground, when Alya nudged her with her elbow, coaxing her to reply.

And reply she did. Or at least, she tried; for only for a brief noise somewhere between a croak and a squeak managed to emerge from her throat.

“Uhh, I think Marinette means ‘Thank you,” Alya replied helpfully.

Marinette nodded enthusiastically. “Y-YES!! That’s right!! Th-thank you, Adrien!” she stammered, forcing the air out of her lungs.

Adrien beamed at her. “It’s great to see you guys again. I’m really glad we have our first class together this year. It’ll be a great way to start off the day.”

He waved goodbye to them, then walked to sit at the empty seat next to Chloe, who greeted him with a loud, happy squeal and friendly cheek kisses, then proceeded to talk rapidly about a subject way too complex for Marinette’s current brain-dead state of gleeful stupefaction.

And most definitely too dumbstruck to notice the daggers Lila was glaring at her from across the room.

(Mood Music: “Closer Than Sisters” - Abel Korzeniowski )

Marinette’s mind managed to rejoin her body sometime around halfway through their first period, and the remainder of her classes went by without a hitch. There was a lot of chatter and gossiping about Ladybug and Chat Noir, and whether they were actually working together or if it was some sort of elaborate publicity stunt. Conspiracy theories abounded, but for the most part it was merely curious conjecture. Ladybug had always worked alone, so what would this mean for the city? Would she finally defeat Hawkmoth now that she was no longer outnumbered?

Alya, of course, was utterly buzzing with excitement about these recent developments. Marinette wasn’t quite sure she’d be able to stand all her wild speculations and hypothetical questions; so it was both a shame and a relief that they only had two classes together this school year.

Despite the mental toll that hearing all these conjectures took on her, Marinette was still in high spirits by her last class of the day.

Or so she’d thought, until her absolute favorite classmate made her way over to her desk, giving her a sickly saccharine smile that would put high fructose corn syrup to shame.

“Hi, Marinette,” she lilted in a hollow sing-song voice.

Marinette brought out her phone and pretended to look busy. “Hello, Lila.”

“Did you have a nice summer?” Lila asked.

As if you care, she thought. “It was peachy,” Marinette replied curtly.

Lila pouted. “You don’t sound too happy. I don’t suppose you’ve already heard?”

Marinette sighed. Might as well play along. “Heard what, Lila?”

Lila leaned into her personal space, which made unpleasant goosebumps rise on the back of Marinette’s neck. “Well, I don't suppose you and Adrien are close enough friends that he’s told you all about his secret girlfriend, right?” she said more quietly.

Marinette’s brain screeched to a halt, but she forced herself to keep typing into her phone. “And I suppose he's told you?”

Lila giggled coyly. “Oh, well, I’m not one to blab secrets around, but the poor dear’s just not very good at hiding those hickeys. A scarf and concealer can only do so much, you know.”

Marinette felt sick to her stomach, but she refused to indulge Lila into thinking that she actually believed her.

“Go away, Lila,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“Don’t believe me? I can prove it-” she replied, with that false cheerfulness that always carried a secret smugness to it. “-as soon as he walks through the door. He’s told me his schedule, you know… We really are very good friends, he and I.” She lifted her head to look around. “Ah, there he is.”

Adrien walked into the classroom with Kim, joking and laughing together.

Lila waved them over, and Adrien smiled as they both walked towards them.

“Adrien, I was just talking to Marinette about our plans for the school year. What does your modeling schedule look like?” she asked, as she thumbed the fabric of his scarf. “This is the year before we graduate. Is your father going to ease up on the photo shoots? I do so remember how very busy you were last year,” she lamented with another fake pout.

Adrien replied, his voice harboring a tinge of nervousness as she ran her hands up and down the length of his scarf, “Uh, actually, I won’t be- uh, modeling. This year. To… prepare for university exams and whatnot.”

“No modeling gigs, you say? That’s awfully kind of him,” she replied sweetly, as she slowly pulled back and forth on the two sides of the scarf like a seesaw. “Letting you focus on your studies and whatnot.”

Before he could reply, Lila tripped sideways with a dainty yelp, yanking the scarf along with her, and she fell towards him. Adrien caught her and she wrapped her arms around his neck securely, the scarf falling onto the ground, forgotten by all.

All except for Marinette, of course.

“Lila, are you alright?” Kim cried, and Adrien weakly echoed the question.

“Oh… clumsy me… I’m still getting used to these new shoes. I haven’t quite broken them in yet, you see,” she remarked as he helped her up. “I mostly wore combat boots over the summer while helping build schools in Bali for impoverished children, so I guess you could say I’ve gotten out of the habit of wearing heels.”

Marinette got out of her seat to retrieve the fallen blue scarf. The scarf that she had made for him almost four years ago for his birthday. Lila’s tugging had rubbed the fabric against Adrien’s neck, and the center was stained with make-up the same tone as his skin. She gulped heavily, then looked up at him.

And there they were, peppered all over his neck: various small bruises below the sides of his jawline, barely noticeable, but still visible if you looked closely.

“Umm, here,” Marinette said numbly as she handed him back the scarf. His hesitant eyes met hers, and he looked guilty, as if all his secrets had been laid bare for her to see.

“Thank you,” he said, almost too soft for her to hear.

“Why, Adrien!” Lila said, feigning secrecy but still speaking louder than she should have been, had that been the case. “I know you said you didn’t have to model anymore, but you really ought to tell your girlfriend to take it easy when you guys make out.”

Adrien sounded genuinely puzzled. “Wait… Girlfriend? What are you talking about?”

Kim’s features scrunched up in confusion. His eyes traveled towards where Lila was looking, then his face lit up with excitement. “Dude, you got a girlfriend?? That’s amazing, congrats! When were you gonna tell us??”

“Huh? I don’t have–” Adrien tried to interject.

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry Adrien,” Lila pretended to realize she’d said too much. “I didn’t know you wanted to keep it a secret. How silly of me! Surely your father would take away your extra free time if he knew you were spending it with a girl instead of studying.”

Kim pumped his arms excitedly. “Don’t worry, bro! We can totally keep a secret! Right, Marinette?”

Marinette smiled weakly, trying her best to look cooperative, and nodded.

“So, tell us about her, Adrien! Tell us about this girl you love so much,” Lila prodded.

Adrien’s cheeks turned bright red. “W-well, she’s not actually my girlfriend, b-but–”

Kim waggled his eyebrows. “But does she want to be?” he asked playfully.

Adrien laughed, voice high and skittish, “Uhh, I-I don’t know… Umm– w-we’ll see what happens. I-I want to take things slow.”

“Do you like her?”

Adrien’s head whipped around. It was Marinette who’d asked the question, her voice soft and curious.

Her eyes searched his, sincerely seeking the knowledge she both yearned and dreaded to hear. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest, knowing that his answer could change everything.

And yet, she needed to know.

Adrien’s face softened, the corners of his mouth crinkling with the ghost of a smile, and his cheeks gained a more subdued shade of pink, which contrasted with the embarrassed shade of red he’d worn earlier.

“A lot,” he replied breathily, like a wistful sigh, like he’d rather be with his loved one than anywhere else in the world.

Marinette swallowed heavily, and she forced herself to smile. “I’m happy for you,” she said as earnestly as she could manage.

After all, Adrien’s happiness was always paramount. No matter the source.

Their conversation was cut short by the sound of the bell, and the group scattered into the surrounding seats. Lila gave Marinette one last self-satisfied smile before walking away; not that Marinette even noticed. Her body felt too numb, too limp, too weary to see or care. All she could see in her mind’s eye was the way Adrien’s eyes lit up when he talked about the person he cared for. It had been brief, but it had been enough. She’d seen it. She knew now.

Adrien Agreste was in love.

(Mood Music: “No One Knows Who I Am” - (Jekyll & Hyde, the musical) Frank Wildhorn)

The last period of the day went by more sluggishly than any other she’d ever experienced in her life. Marinette’s mind replayed that conversation a seemingly infinite amount of times by the time the bell rang and it was time to go home. She lethargically packed up her belongings and left the classroom.

Before she reached the locker room, however, a hand gently tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned around.

It was Adrien. Of course. It just had to be him.

He meekly asked if he could talk to her in private. She agreed. They stepped into an emptied room, and he looked around to make sure no one else was present.

“I’m… sorry about the awkwardness from before, Mari,” he muttered uneasily.

“It’s okay, I’m just sorry you got put on the spot,” she replied, twisting her hands together, her shoulders tense with discomfort.

He seemed to squirm a bit himself as he continued, “D-did… Did you see…?” He gestured towards his scarf.

Marinette froze and her gaze dropped to the ground. She couldn’t get herself to speak, so she nodded.

Adrien took a deep breath. “W-would it be too much trouble if I asked you to not tell anyone? Things could get really difficult for me if- if people were to find out.”

Marinette’s head bobbed up and down quickly. “I-it’s okay! I won’t say anything! I-I don’t want to get you into trouble. Anytime you need help, I’ll be here.”

Before she knew it, she was being pulled into a brief hug. She willed her arms to hug him back, although she couldn’t really feel her body right now.

Adrien let go of her and put his hands on her shoulders in reassurance. “I promise everything is going to be okay. Everything is fine now. Trust me. Thank you, Marinette.”

Marinette’s mouth smiled back, and she heard her own voice say, “Anytime.”

Adrien thanked her again, and opened the door to leave. “See ya tomorrow.”

“S-see you,” she called back.

The door closed behind him, and Marinette was left alone. Everything felt like it was steeped in a thick haze. As if she was stranded in a vast fog with no discernable way to go. She felt hollow, yet heavy, which didn’t make a single bit of sense. A gaping, empty hole where her chest was, ripped away suddenly and without warning.

Is this... is this what heartbreak feels like?

Chat landed on Marinette’s balcony and knocked on the hatch five times, as they’d previously agreed. He listened for any of the code phrases or sounds that they’d gone over and practiced. There was no answer, which could only mean that she wasn’t home yet. However, since the latch was always unlocked for him now that they were roommates, he had permission to enter.

He felt pretty silly wearing a backpack as Chat Noir, so he didn’t dally in her bedroom, and instead went to drop it off in his own room.

Chat wondered what could be going through Marinette’s head after she saw his bruising. Had she figured out that Gabriel was abusive? She’d agreed to trust him, so maybe she believed he’d been able to work out his home situation. Did she think he still lived back at the mansion?

He plopped face down on the sofa. UGH, this all sucked. He didn’t want to lie to her, but he couldn’t tell her the truth, either. She was the nicest girl, and all he’d been doing lately was be dishonest with her. Not without reason, but still. He felt horrible about it.

And she’d looked so out of it at the end of school. He wondered what might have happened to her, since she’d seemed in such high spirits at the beginning of the school day. And what was that weirdness with Lila all about?

He didn’t have to wonder long, because a few moments later, his cat ears perked up as he heard footsteps that led to the front door. He sat up and turned around, excitedly awaiting her arrival.

Marinette opened the door and entered the living area. She closed the door and silently set her backpack down. He got up to greet her, but something was wrong. Her whole aura was different. Even in the dim late afternoon light, Chat could see the weariness in her expression, the sadness in her posture.

“Mari…?”

Several long strides later and he was there, in front of her, holding her by the arms.

“Mari, what happened?!” he asked more urgently. “Are you okay??”

She looked up at him, her glassy blue eyes becoming damp. Then she crashed into him, gripping him like he was the only thing keeping her from sinking into a sea of quicksand.

She cried, and he held her. He was desperate to know what had happened, but he waited, stroking her hair, running his fingers through it soothingly, not pushing her, but always willing to listen.

Finally, after a few moments, she spoke. “There’s someone else,” she whispered simply.

Then he understood.

Chat held her, and she sobbed quietly, and together they slumped to the ground. She didn’t need words of comfort, or any reassurance that she didn’t need this guy, or to be told that she was too good for him, or that there were other fish in the sea. She didn’t need to be told any of those things. All they needed at this moment was each other. And that was enough.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Enemies AU #Marinette Dupain Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Chat Noir #Ladybug #Discordant Sonata #fanfiction #Eden writes #Marichat #Adrienette #Ladynoir

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