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somanyratsinthewalls · 3 months

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Burning Hearts Part 7

Pairing: Law x Straw Hat Zoan Type (named) OC

Summary: You were teleported across the globe in an instant, away from your crew. Your body was badly broken and beaten, thrust into the harsh landscape of a Northern island. You are discovered by the Heart Pirates and brought back to health. Startled upon waking up in a foreign place with an unfamiliar crew, you are shocked with the news that you’ll be spending two years there. Trafalgar Law, the captain of the Heart Pirates has made a promise to train you, but will it become something more than a mentor relationship?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

**MINORS DNI, SMALL SCENE OF ADULT CONTENT**

Burning Hearts Chapter 7: Repressing (some) Urges

— —

“You aren’t focusing your energy.”

“I can focus enough to kick your ass!”

Daisy chirps back and forth with Law as they sparred across the clearing in the woods.

“You either harness Haki or awaken your Devil Fruit. Without that, you’ll get hosed in the New World, regardless of how much stronger the rest of your crew gets.” Law barks at her.

There was a sharp sound of swords meeting.

“I thought people were born with Haki, I can’t just get it.” Daisy pushes Law back, finally strong enough to defend herself from his blows.

“How are you going to know that you don’t have it if you don’t even try?” Law disappears and she searches the clearing for a flash of blue to signify his reappearance. Daisy spins around and raises her blades in defense.

*CLANG*

“You think I’m not trying? Sorry I’m not a bright little gifted kid like you were- AH!” Law pushes Daisy across the clearing and her back hits hard against a tree.

“A gifted kid? That’s what you think I was?” Law comes at her with renewed force. He uses his power to throw Daisy’s body into the air and back down again. “You think you’re the only one who experienced horrors beyond comprehension?! You don’t know anything about me or my past.”

Daisy struggles, but she rises to her feet. She spits on the ground.

“You’re right. I don’t know a god damn thing about you.” Daisy breaths heavily. “It’s like it would kill you to open up to someone. Be a human.” She approaches Law slowly, like a wounded lion still set on taking down a wildebeest, a small trickle of blood coming from the crown of her head and turning that grey streak red at the base.

Without warning, Daisy launches herself into the air and lunges into Law. They lock in a sparring match that went on for ages before Law finally pinned her to the ground.

Daisy was bested again. She stared up at the man above her with wild eyes. Law looked down and met her gaze, hands on either side of her face… but shortly after looking in her eyes, Law’s own eyes wandered to the rest of her form. Chest heaving violently and droplets of sweat littering her cleavage and sternum, hair splayed out messily against the dirt floor of the clearing…

It reminded him of his dreams…

Daisy was underneath him, laying there at his mercy…

Law’s eyes glazed over…

*THWACK*

Law was broken out of his daze by being catapulted across the clearing and onto a ragged tree stump.

“Fuck…” Law had let his guard down and he left himself open for assault. “What the hell was that…” He picks himself up and sees Daisy standing across the clearing, wings spread. Law spies something else…

Was that a tail?

A long, black, scaled and spiked tail protruded from her backside and slowly flicked back and forth.

“What? Haki, Devil Fruit? Who said I can’t do both?” Daisy chides with a smirk.

Law coughs, still struggling for breath after having the wind knocked out of him. There was a silence as he walks towards her.

“What changed your mind?” Law asks with a raised eyebrow. “And when the hell did you figure that out?” Law gestures at the new appendage.

“You were being a dickhead. I wanted to beat the shit out of you faster, so I did some training. Turns out, it worked! You just got fucking rocked!” Daisy laughs hard and holds her stomach.

Law saw her brilliant smile and couldn’t help but smirk a bit at her new found confidence.

*bdd bdd bdd bdd*

The transponder snail that Law carried in his jacket began to ring. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the snail and answers it.

“Yeah?” He speaks into the snail.

“Hey Captain… it’s Bepo… can you come back to the base? Something came up and we need to talk to you…”

“Is this an emergency, Bepo? You know this training is important.” Law grips the snail tighter in his fist.

“I-I think so, C-Captain…” Bepo sounded concerned.

“Fine.” Law hangs up the snail and puts it back in his pocket.

“Everything okay?” Daisy sheathes her blades.

“We need to head back.”

— —

You and Law enter the base to find it oddly quiet. Usually the compound was buzzing with chatter and the comings and goings of the rowdy Heart Pirates… but now it was eerily silent. Law leads you to the galley and pushes the doors open. He found every single member of his crew packed into the kitchen around the dining table. Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi were seated at the table while the rest of the crew stood around them.

Every single pair of eyes shot up at the two of you when you entered the room. No words were said. The air was thick with tension.

You were confused. What had happened in your absence? You then spy a News Coo spread out on the dining table. You read the headline from the doorway. Trafalgar Law Named Newest Warlord of the Sea.

Your eyes bug open wide. You rush towards the table and scoop up the paper. You begin reading.

“With the gift of 100 pirate hearts, Surgeon of Death, former member of the Worst Generation, Trafalgar Law joins the ranks of the Seven Warlords…” You read quietly out loud.

You turn to Law. He stares at you, expressionless. You look back at the crew. The same response.

“Well, it’s obviously a mistake. We just write the paper and say there’s been a misconception and it’s not true, right? It’s fine, right? Law?” You question him as you put the paper back on the table.

The silence continues. You demand an answer.

“Law? This obviously isn’t true, right?” You step towards him.

“It is true.” Law finally responds.

The silence becomes even heavier.

“Captain… r-respectfully… w-what the hell is going on?” Penguin speaks up with a shaky voice.

“You hate the government, Captain… now you work for them-?” Ikkaku chimes in.

“We work for them.” Law butts in.

The room is quiet again.

“I have been appointed one of the Seven Warlords. My bounty has been cancelled along with the rest of the crew.” Law turns from his crew to face you this time. “Everyone’s but Daisy’s, that is.”

“What!?” You reply in shock horror.

“After the incident at Marine Ford, the World Government is out for blood with any of the Straw Hat Pirates. Telling the Marines that I was harboring you would only complicate matters. You’ll stay here and you’ll stay hidden. Now that I’ve allied with them, it’s assured that they’ll leave us be.”

“But Captain-“ Bepo starts.

“I have 60 million berries on my fucking head and you work for the government now?!” You raise your voice. “You bailed out your crew and now I’m stuck here like a stowaway again?!”

“There’s a reason for all of this.” Law responds.

“A reason?! PLEASE kindly explain it to us, then!” You shout.

“Yeah, Captain, we deserve an answer. Why did you hide this from us?” Bepo asks.

“I hid it to protect you all. You are my crew and I care about you. You all know that is something I don’t say often, but I mean it. I can’t explain it now, but I promise it will all make sense later. You need to trust me. This is temporary.” Law snatches the News Coo from the table. “You need to trust me, it’s all part of a larger plan. If you don’t trust me, you may leave, I understand… but if you wish to stay, your loyalty will be rewarded.”

Law looks around at his crew once more before retreating down the hall to his office.

“Fucking bullshit…” You storm down the hall and into your room. You slam the door behind you and begin cleaning your room to keep your mind off the current situation.

— —

Law sits at his desk, again pouring over the text about ancient Zoan Devil Fruits, chin resting in his fist. Law was trying to distract himself from the guilt that thrummed in his chest that appeared from keeping such a huge secret from his crew.

He wished he could tell them… His crew he loved and cared so deeply for… and Daisy, who was upset with him once again…

They knew nothing of his plan to murder Doflamingo… and they probably never would until after the plan succeeded or failed… He would die trying to complete his mission or come back to his crew successful and have to pick up the pieces of their shattered trust…

Either way, he had months to plan and build the rapport back up. He was in no shape to take on Doflamingo now, he had much to prepare. Trillions of thoughts whirled around in Law’s head as he mulled over the text at his desk… he couldn’t focus on the words anymore so he resigned and left his office for the showers.

In his sour mood, Law skulks towards the bathroom quickly, not paying attention to where he was going.

*OOF*

“Hey, watch it.” Daisy remarks with the laundry basket that was now half full under her arm, the rest of the contents spilled all over the floor after the collision.

“Sorry, I wasn’t looking-“ Law bends over to help Daisy pick up her clothing that had fallen to the ground and put them back into her bin.

“Uh, thanks.” Daisy awkwardly hikes the laundry bin over her hip again and passes him to head towards the laundry room in the center of the base. Daisy rounds the corner and Law lets go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in.

Law looks down at the floor and sees a black, amorphous blob on the ground in front of him. He picks it up. It was a pair of lace panties.

Law gasps, but doesn’t drop them right away, fascinated by how soft they feel between his tattooed fingers.

D, E, A, T, H.

“Hey, Cap?” Ikkaku’s voice comes from the opposite end of the hallway.

In a panic, Law shoves Daisy’s panties into his hoodie pocket.

“Yes?” Law answers, almost too quickly.

“You know we’re not mad at you, right? We just wish you would have told us. We would support you always, I wish you’d have more faith in us is all.” Ikkaku smiled softly.

“I know. It was…” Law sighs. “A selfish decision. I hope you all can understand.”

“We do. I think you should talk to Bepo, though. He seems pretty beat up.”

“Thanks. I’ll talk to him.”

Law pushes open the door to the bathroom and starts the shower.

— —

Law returns to his office after his shower and looks at the clock.

1:48 AM

“When the hell did it get that late?” Law asks himself.

Law grabs the text from his desk and brings it with him through the archway of the adjoining room to his bed. He throws the textbook onto his bed and strips himself of his jeans before he climbs in after it.

After flipping through some more pages, he instinctively reaches into his pocket to warm his free hand while reading.

The panties.

He still had Daisy’s worn panties in his hoodie pocket.

Law gingerly pulls them out and unfolds them. He feels his cock twitch at the sight of the skimpy black lace. He knew it was wrong to be aroused but he couldn’t help it…

Law stares at the panties in his hands. Every fiber of his being is screaming at him to not listen to his intrusive thoughts but he simply can’t resist anymore, the animalistic urge in him taking over… he pulls the panties to his face and takes a deep inhale.

His eyes roll back in his head. The heady, musky scent of Daisy’s panties fill his senses.

“Fuck…”

Law couldn’t help but imagine the sweet, slightly sour , sweaty taste of her cunt after a hard sparring session in the clearing with him… how she might react if he dipped his tongue in between her sensitive lower lips… would she moan? Would she whimper? Would he know what to do? Would she even like it? He knows what she’s been through, he shouldn’t be thinking of her like this…

“Shit…” Law gasps and unbuckles his belt. He unzips his jeans and frees his suddenly aching cock.

“Room.” Law creates a room around his office and uses it to lock the deadbolt on the door.

With a bit of guilt, Law begins to stroke his cock with the hand the panties were currently being held in. It was so wildly wrong, but he couldn’t help it. He had thought of Daisy writhing on his member so many times that this felt almost natural.

The lacy fabric caused Law to hiss out at the foreign sensation, only having ever felt his hand down there in moments of desperation like this one. Law begin stroking himself slowly with the panties and threw his head back in pleasure. He closed his eyes and thought of her…

He knew he shouldn’t be doing this… but it felt too good to stop…

“Fuck, Daisy…”

He had finally said it out loud. It felt so sinful, slipping off his tongue in a moment of lust, but it also felt so incredibly right. Her name felt so comforting and safe falling from his lips, Law didn’t even notice how close he was coming to his own finale.

“Shit!” Law chokes out as he reaches his climax, ropes of thick cum spurting out all over the filched pair of panties.

As the remnants of his orgasm subside, Law realizes the filth of his actions. He pulls up his underwear and shoves the soiled panties deep inside his laundry basket, thoroughly hoping they will never be discovered in their current state.

Law tosses the book off his bed and climbs into the covers. With a huge sigh, he tries his best to fall asleep.

— —

You smile widely as you pull a fresh apple pie out of the oven, inhaling it’s intoxicating scent as you place it on the counter.

Suddenly, as if by magic, Shachi and Penguin appear in the galley.

“Cake?”

“Pie?”

“For us?” They say in unison.

You laugh.

“Yes, you vultures. Let me cut a slice for your buzzkill captain and then you can have at it. Make sure Clione gets a slice. You know it’s his favorite, okay?” You say as you carve a piece and put it on a plate to bring to the Captain of the Heart Pirates. You grab a fork and bring the plate down the hall to Law’s office.

You knock.

“Yes?”

You enter.

“Hey… brought you some pie.” You smile and walk towards Law’s desk to set down the plate.

“Hmm.. Smells good. Sit. Want to show you something.” Law dismisses your dessert and gestures for you to take a seat in the chair across from him again.

You sigh.

“Law if this is about my Devil Fruit-“

“I found it.” Law interjects.

There was a heavy silence.

“You… what?” You ask

“Come, look at this drawing…” Law stands up from his chair and beckons you to come around and look at the book on his desk.

You roll you eyes and get up to look at the dusty tome. You look down and your stomach drops straight through to the floor.

“That’s… that’s it…” You cover your mouth with one hand. “That’s exactly what it looked like… I remember it…” Your eyes gloss over, being involuntarily brought back to the day you were forced to ingest that Devil Fruit.

“A wyvern.” Law speaks monotonously, as if he were prescribing you an antacids.

“A what?” You whisper, unable to speak louder than that.

“A medieval type dragon. Claws, wings, fire breath, tail… it all makes sense…” Law runs his smooth fingers over the page.

“This is you, Daisy. You have this power.” He turns his head to look at you in the eye.

You stumble backwards and fall on the floor.

“No, I…. I’m not like that.. It’s something else..” You mumble mostly to yourself. “I’m a weird bat or something…”

“Do bats have tails, Daisy?” Law cocks his head and looks at you, sitting on his office floor.

You begin to retort, but Law stops you.

“Do lizards have wings?” You hold eye contact with the doctor.

“I…”

“You showed me that this is the fruit you ate. You can’t argue with this anymore. We will proceed with training using this information. Get some rest. We continue tomorrow.”

You nod and leave Law’s office.

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greenhappyseed · 1 year

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MHA Ch.385 leak reactions:

Mt Lady falls first, and I could swear Horikoshi is trying to troll us all for thinking he’d kill another female pro hero.

AFO takes out Machia with a freakin laser beam (but is it a belly button laser???)

Oh hey, Mineta’s there.

AFO takes out Dark Shadow and flattens poor Tokoyami (he’s alive, but unconscious, and AFO wants his quirk)

AFO is taking damage but rewinding/healing quickly.

AFO TOUCHES HAWKS AS HAWKS STABS HIM IN THE HEART LIKE A VAMPIRE, BUT A PIERCED CHEST DOESN’T STOP AFO (another inneresting AFO-Bakugo parallel!!!)

AFO also chokes the chicken Hawks. He really likes that force choke move — we’ve seen it a few times now from AFO and TomurAFO (MORE parallels….)

Maybe Red Bull gave AFO wiiiings? Nope, AFO stole Hawks’s Fierce Wings quirk. (But that means AFO now has a Hawks vestige inside him, hehehe….)

Hawks says it’s unfair AFO’s number of quirks isn’t decreasing? How would he know? Is Hawks trying to stall and keep AFO talking? Or is his vestige communicating with him?!?!?!

Is Mineta the last one standing to face AFO? OH MY GOD, IT’S AFO vs MINETA AND MINETA WITH THE SACRIFICE PLAY — HE’S YELLING TAKE MY STICKY BALLS AND NOT DARK SHADOW!

AFO uses the moment to escape and head towards Shigaraki when…….

Cut to the evacuees, where Natsuo prepares to protect Rei and Fuyumi (awwwww) because the shelters stopped moving and La Brava doesn’t know why (cue Tsukauchi aging another 5 years). Inside the shelters some people are watching the livestream of the battle, so they know what’s happening. AFO’s spies make their move in the shelters and they’re stopped by the combo of Gunhead, Kendo and Tetsutetsu from 1B, and Death Arms (back on duty for the moment)!

Death Arms talks about how a “thorny path” awaits him…which is exactly what AFO’s hologram message told Izuku after Nagant….and what Iida said to Nezu and Endeavor. Given that Death Arms didn’t move a muscle to rescue Bakugo from the slime villain in Chapter One, it’s good that he got his “my body moved on its own” moment.

WE END WITH STAAAAAIIIIIIINNNNNN IN KAMINOOOOOO!!!!!!!! HE IS WATCHING SHOTO AND IIDA!!!!!!!

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marinas-drafts · 7 months

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but then…Gigi

Part 5

Warnings: the usual for this universe with crass language and descriptions of bodies (flattering and negative) with use of the words fat, etc. some heavy petting and kissing and talk of blow jobs, age gap, mentions of drugs, mentions of and an actual enema described in the most respectful and vague way that I could manage? strictly caretaking in tone and help regarding serious health concerns

Rating18+: Mature for some sexual language, some sexual scenes, subject matter, dark thought processes and health specifics

Word Count: 10k 🤭

Special Thanks: to baby girls @stylespresleyhearted & @eliseinmemphis who’ve breathed this universe into being and for my friends who gave their input and assurances for this chapter. And to all of y’all who said to go full real and raw in this one, incorporate the hard and ugly parts with the soft and lovely -just like life. Thank you, this urging has helped me go ahead and write something I’m very proud of and hope touches y’all, too.

Graceland at night will always remind Gigi of the first time coming, seeing the house all lit up at the end of the drive's curve, window lights twinkling at her and the promise of his presence inside filling her with butterflies.

Tonight Elvis’ hand is heavy on her ankle and its little chain instead, as it lays in his lap as he drives them up and around back himself, the garage opening like witchcraft without Gigi noticing a single employee besides Sam down at the gate. What a change a week makes.

It’s his home, she thinks fondly at the sight of the back kitchen door. Seems ages since this afternoon when he sent her out here to wait in the garage as he took care of business. They must both be thinking the same thing as they loiter in the Stutz for a little while after he turns the engine off, as if scared some remnants of ghoulish Alden’s might remain inside.

She slips her hand into his big paw at last and he seems to startle out of a reverie in order to give her a tight smile. His sweaty skin glitters from the garage light and it’s muted and pretty as a painting. “Thanks for bringing me home, daddy.” she whispers and if a kid ever got the chance to be brought to the North Pole by Santa, Elvis ain’t sure they’d be more grateful than this shimmery eyed girl child in his seat.

Who the fuck didn’t want this sweet little thing? Who made her so desperate she’s coming home with a washed up old man who’s notorious for having a revolving bed? Elvis chuckles mirthlessly at the thought that even he is so beat that right now he is more preoccupied with how to distract her so he can slip away and do a damn enema.

Life is rarely fair, but it definitely ain’t fair to poor Gigi. The least he can do is tell her,

“Stay put, baby girl.” as he gets out on his side and limps over to the passenger door and opens it for her like his mama taught him, hoping he doesn’t look as stiff as he feels.

He must fail at that. No sooner does she duck her head and emerge from the car, one long leg at a time, than she’s by his side with an arm looped around his waist as if she could support him were he to tumble, kicking the passenger door closed with her still shoeless foot.

Nasty habit that, going around barefoot, he’s gonna have to break her of it, this lack of shoes, and she’s gonna have to shower before getting into bed, no way he’s gonna have grimy sooties in his sheets.

Gigi pulls Elvis’ arm over her shoulder like they’re two marines headed up a beachhead and he’s had his leg blown off, her smile is the only thing keeping him from shoving her off to prove just how fine he is. God. Why?

“What’re you doin’?” he asks instead keeping his feet firmly planted, blinking owlishly at her and she gives in to the temptation to swipe the mop of hair off his forehead. She thinks he looks so distinguished with it swept back, each of his striking features lifted by the volume. She spies some gray roots in the glow of the back door light and it makes her smile, she wonders if she can talk him into styling it the old way again, or a version of it. The way it naturally fell when he was licking her.

“I’m helping ya.” she replies with confused cheeriness.

“I don’t need it.” he insists while squeezing her waist in an attempt to make the blow land softer.

She gives him the closest thing to a suspicious look that he’s ever seen out of this guileless creature. “C’mon in honey.” he changes tactics and taps her butt, getting her to move up the few stairs to the kitchen and willing himself not to wince as he bends his knee.

Gigi is watching him like a hawk and it makes him feel very decrepit and he can just hear the ribbing from the guys about coming back hobbling after taking out a young lady a few years too vigorous for him.

That thought makes him pull his arm off her shoulder and he goes back to squeezing her waist. Which now that he thinks of it, she’s very skimpily dressed still. Just the panties and his jacket. Elvis hopes most of them have gone to bed inside or are out.

The house is far more homey when there’s less people in it, Gigi thinks, as they cross the threshold and no booming bass hits their ears or the tinkling den of party guests. Just the gentle clatter of cutlery and quiet hum of low conversation which ends up being Mary at the sink and Lamar still sat where Gigi got the keys from him at the kitchen counter, eating his burger in between sharing it with Dinah. Dinah who’s making chewing ground beef and onions an art form of seduction. It’s a little off putting if Gigi is being honest which she tries to be but Elvis makes an outright noise of disgust at being met with this in his own home.

“Fuck’s sake Lamar,” he grunts and his friend drops his bun in surprise at the sudden apparition of the two runaways, “don’t ya need to polish a windshield or somethin?”

“I’ll help polish your hubcap, baby.” Dinah purrs into Lamar’s ear and Gigi’s eyes bug about as much as the driver’s.

“Out, both of ya.” Elvis snaps his finger towards the door and Lamar lumbers by with a murmured

“Sorry EP- just sorta happened…”

as he goes with Dinah skipping past them with a wink and a tipsy gait that suggests smoking too much grass in one day.

“Jesus.” Elvis mutters, wondering what the hell is up with this group of friends and holds Gigi tighter lest she pick up on bad behavior as they venture into the den and past it to the living room, seeking out humankind.

There are no Alden’s to be found but unfortunately there is a scene unfolding on the couch of two frizzy blondes clawing at each other while unhinging their jaws like mating hippos, the better to lick each other’s tonsils. Dodger sits to the side in her usual spot in the rocker with her pipe, heedlessly crushing her crossword opposition.

“Tammy!” Gigi gasps in glee at her friend’s scandalous public behavior and the way her red acrylics have torn poor Jerry’s shirts to literal shreds, biceps and fuzzy golden pecs on almost-full display. Not that he seems to mind with the way his hips keep pumping up and his hands are wedged in the back pockets of her cutoffs.

“Jerrah,” Elvis thunders after her exclamation and only then does the hippo-love-fest- cease and Dodger raise her head in order to look Gigi up and down from the anklet on her footsie to the crown of her pretty blonde head, “the hell you doin’?” Elvis demands of his friend, “Comin’ into my home, fuckin’ up the place with b-b-barbecue sauce and ruinin’ d-dinner while y-y-yer at it a-and now neckin’ on m’couch? It’s new, man, got it last month!”

His irate voice turns into a whine at the end and Gigi rubs her hand against his chest in soothing commiseration. “Yeah Tammy, it’s new.” she echoes him.

“Who’s this?” Dodger asks, blatantly ignoring Elvis’ plight.

“I-its Gigi, grandma, ya met her earlier?” he prompts with a confused scrunch of his eyebrows that Gigi finds as cute as a little boy and she gives the unimpressed dame a little wave.

“So many girls in here I can’t keep straight.” she huffs around her pipe.

“Speaking of, uh, how’d it go? Ya know with-“ with Ginger, Elvis means, as he runs his hand down from Gigi’s waist to grab her hand and hold it.

“Oh uh,” Jerry rights himself on the couch and clasps his hands like he has some shred of professionalism left to him in that ribboned shirt, “it’s been handled. Wasn’t pretty but -well, the termination was pretty obvious. Ya gotta be a little more than delusional to push it when your ‘fiancé’ has left to go … out to eat.”

Gigi bites her lip to stall her giggle at his phrasing and burrows closer to Elvis while looking up to see his reaction, follow his lead. The man couldn’t look less sympathetic for her Predecessor and some guilty little cloud that has been hanging over Gigi all evening dissipates under the bright light of his justification.

“Good,” he murmurs lowly, “didn’t want it all fussy, jus’ wasn’t meant to be. Was wrong about it all.” and that seems like a very gentle and kind concession for him to make, just as he doesn’t seem to regret the fact it is very much over.

“Well, uh, now that’s been handled…” Jerry trails off in the manner of those waiting for recognition of a job well done. He doesn’t get it. And so he continues after a beat, “Now that’s done I’ll just be uh, on m’way-“

“-No!” Elvis protests urgently and suprises evryone with his vehemence. “I-I mean don’t go, I need ya man. I-I mean, ya just got here, ya know? A-a-and where’s everybody else gotten to?”

There it is, Jerry thinks with a sigh, he’s needed since the house is empty, it’s got nothing to do with being missed. “Well, Hodge and Ricky spent most the afternoon clearing Ginger’s stuff out at her request and tidyin’ up the master for when ya get back. They’re takin’ the last of her shit over now.”

“Oh.” Elvis accepts this with a thoughtful nod, “Thas good.” he declares softly. “Well, don’t go man, not yet. Not till they get back. You just stopped by and I ain’t seen ya and we can play pool?” Elvis tempts him.

Jerry tries to ignore the way Tammy’s hand has crept into the back of his jeans and is wiggling a finger at his crack. “Uh, ok, yeah I mean- ain’t you tired, Boss?”

“Oh jus’ need a lil refresher, then I’ll be back down, right as rain. I’ll smoke ya.” Elvis replies easily and Jerry picks up on the reason for his insistence like a well trained hound.

A refresher. Be right back down.

Jerry glances over at the cute little stage five clinger holding onto Elvis like he’s a teddy bear she won in a striptease carnival and he gets the memo loud and clear.

“A-a-and it ain’t gentlemanly, you leavin’ Tammy after such a display, a girl’s owed more than that.” Elvis gets desperate enough to pull that one out and Jerry hides his laugh with a dry cough.

“Yeah, yeah I wouldn’t wanna miss seein’ you.” Jerry agrees, “Came just to see how ya were.” he admits the truth of it. “I’ll be down here when you’ve freshened up.”

“Alright.” Elvis nods.

“What’d you two get up to anyway?” Jerry starts a conversation and looks to Gigi for an answer, she doesn’t seem inclined to answer, favoring petting Elvis’ chest instead, but when he doesn’t say anything she picks up the social cue and replies for them both since he seems tired,

“We went back to my place.” she admits breezily, “The only place we could think to hide out. I’m not dressed for anything much.” and she pouts in a way that suggests she thinks she is but an executive decision was made to hide her.

“Ya went to the apartment?” Tammy is grinning wildly and she scoots closer to Jerry, patting at the seat next to her for a juicy retelling. Elvis shuffles the Siamese twins that he and Gigi have become over to the couch and gently disentangles her to sit next to her friend, exchanging a vehement look with Schilling.

“Yes we did!” Gigi is glowing with the memory and his heart aches.

“Who’s this again?” Dodger repeats, too distracted by the sight of a panty clad woman on the red couch to go back to her crossword with full mental capacity.

“This is Gigi, Dodger.” Jerry repeats gently but with more volume as if that’ll sink in better.

“Yes, I’m Gigi.” she’s eager to make a good impression, bless her and her full cotton-crotched display. Elvis starts to creep away in a stealthy little meander from the couch now that Gigi is facing away from the stairs.

“You from Memphis?” Dodger asks sourly, and this plays well into his ploy, Dodger has two moods -not giving a rat’s ass about what happens around her or else being a goddamn one-woman inquisition.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Born?”

“In Memphis, ma’am!”

“Your parents?”

“Mama’s French but Daddy is from Hardiman county.”

“French, hmph.” Dodger picks out the one unacceptable nugget and latches on, “I went to France once…”

Elvis can taste the inquisition coming on and it should buy him a good thirty minutes. Thirty minutes should work if he can just relax and not fuck it up with nervous retention. A ticking clock always makes him clamp up. He bites his lip and reminds himself just how awful it would be for Gigi to learn what his regimen requires. He takes the first step soundlessly, then the second. He’s made it to the third by the time he hears a distant-

“Oh Gigi!-“ from Jerry and the feel of a soft hand on his elbow. She looks so at home on his stairs that Elvis feels like marveling, like she was meant to go up to this sanctum-sanctorum that he trusts so few to see. Not for the first time today he feels as if he’s being looked at with eyes as unconditionally loving -and presumptive- as his Yissa’s.

“Are we going up now?” Gigi asks in a giddy little whisper and Elvis wonders if she really just tore out of the living room and Dodger’s chat in order to be with him. Not even housebroke, this one.

“Gigi, it ain’t polite leavin’ Dodger like that.” he rebukes gently and the glee fades into consternation.

“S-she knows I went to help you!” she whimpers in protest and behind her ear he can see Schilling get up and whisper something to Tammy. It better not be any particulars.

“That’s real sweet darlin’ but I’m gonna be right down,” Elvis soothes, his hand cupping her cheek, “be right down, and family’s very important to me, Baby Girl. I’d like ya to get to know my people.”

It’s a thin excuse with one of those people being her best friend and the other his friend. He imagines it’s not the most appealing thing to sit and be grilled on genealogy by Dodger but Gigi is just gonna have to bear it.

“Can ya do that f’me Gigi?” he prods like it’s a great commission and she’s got watery eyes again and he really cannot believe someone is this sensitive, like God sent her out into life half baked with too thin a skin.

“Yeah, daddy.” she agrees softly, glancing up the stairs to where he’s barred her from going after inviting her up just this afternoon -it makes no sense to her.

He’s never seen a more dejected creature than Gigi as she slinks back to the living room, much to Jerry’s relief and encouragement, and takes her seat beside Tammy with crumpled cheerfulness. Elvis sees her wipe her eyes with the back of her wrists, like a kid, before perking up and turning back to Dodger with faux investment in the conversation.

Elvis climbs the stairs and wonders how he’s gonna manage this night after night. Hell, some mornings he needs it, too. Suddenly the irony hits him of wanting a girlfriend to stay only to now find the reality of that much too oppressively clingy for his pride. He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do about it but for now he opens the padded doors to his room and notices with satisfaction the orderly sanitation that Hodge conducted on the place. He leaves his door adjar, no fear of intruders in this house with its well worn habits and spoken and unspoken rules. He calls up Yissa first and foremost, and while she’s in the middle of something she drops her project and they eat up a good bit of his thirty minutes with conversation. Not that he minds or counts. He’d sit on burning coals every night if that’s what had to happen to talk to his little girl. When she has to go he hangs up the receiver and goes about setting up his routine in the bathroom.

Below him, Gigi crosses and recrosses her ankles under Tammy’s smirking scrutiny and tries to listen to Dodger’s questions with due attention even as Tammy whispers filthy questions in her ear about her time with Elvis.

“Haven’t you got any shoes?” This is Dodger’s most recent concern.

“Yes ma’am I do.” Gigi patiently insists.

“Never see you in any shoes.”

“Well I- it was a pool day, you see?”

“If ya got shoes you should wear them.” Dodger moralizes and Gigi can see her point, even if she doesn’t agree.

“Yes ma’am.” she murmurs as her heart wanders upstairs where she’s seemingly not allowed.

“Get my grandson to buy ya some shoes.” Dodger points at her.

Tammy, who’s not even bothering to act like she’s listening to Dodger, starts to crack up in laughter at this berating of the point, she catches Jerry’s eye in her mirth and like lovers often do, they set each other off into a series of giggles that soon lose their context and Gigi is left more alone than ever.

She looks about the place and thinks of a million things she’d like to ask Elvis’ grandma, if he had a normal grandma. One of those cuddley, gingerbread types that the world had led Gigi to believe were ubiqtous. Instead there’s just this aged artifact from another century, smoking her pipe and staring at Gigi like she’s the oddity.

“Is that weed?” Gigi asks hopefully, nodding at the pipe’s smoking bowl.

Upstairs Elvis had slipped into a plush blue robe he uses exclusively for these purposes to keep the chill away, and having ordered his accouterments, had proceeded only a small way into his routine when the damn intercom blared to life and spooked the ever lovin’ crap outta him. He fumbled with his tools and lost his progress, angrily washing his hands so he could buzz back.

“Elvis, come get yer floozy,” Dodger was saying over the loud speaker, “she’s cryin’ in the den.”

Of course she was, he seethed and felt like breaking the glass in his frustration over no one being competent enough to wrangle a single teenage girl from intruding on him for half an hour.

“Gigi, she don’t mean nothin by that!” he could hear Charlie’s voice faintly in the background and the fact that even with reinforcements they couldn’t handle this made Elvis laugh in manic hopelessness.

“Tell her to grow up, Goddamnit, or I’ll send her home.” he roared through the intercom, punching the button with a vicious jab.

It was quiet for a few moments after that. Fed up and miserable with pain, Elvis stepped away from the button and grabbed another enema bulb and poured in the saline, warming it in the sink and slicking up the catheter with a lubricant that used to remind him of happier times -now his mind associates it with this. He released the button before hearing the response - downstairs Gigi’s sobbing whimper and Tammy offering her friend support by calling him an ‘ass.’

Unable to get the angle right he gave up his attempt to do it standing and grabbed his allocated mat for these purposes, fluffing out a black towel over it. This activity was something he did more of the set up for than anything else in his life. In decades. Having his crew carry the cases of supplies around was humiliation enough, he didn’t need anyone around him to get a firm impression of the details, which laying out towels and lubing up tubes inevitably gave. Mystery was important for respect, and there weren’t no mystery here. And little, if any, dignity either.

Elvis got down on the mat with a brutal pop of his left knee. He heard his own whimper and it sounded like a wounded creature, not at all himself. It was cold down here on the tiled floor with just a thin mat between him and the marble but he could lay down at least and reach behind himself and make his tense body relax enough to accept and dispel what it needed.

Getting up and to the toilet from the ground was the hard part. And he’d bite that challenge off when he needed to.

“Daddy?” he heard faintly outside his room, through the barrier of a wall and half closed door, but while his sight suffered and his body failed him, his ears were sharp as ever and for a brief moment his heart leapt at the unexpected joy of his Lisa coming early. Then he heard again, “Daddy?” And that wasn’t Lisa at all, she didn’t call him daddy and she’d never be so tentative upstairs.

Too committed to his procedure and unable to interrupt it, Elvis held his breath like he was playing hide and seek as Gigi repeated his name closer, inside the bedroom, gently but with so much sadness in her tone.

So she’d ventured up here anyway.

He tensed as she drew closer to the bathroom, drawn by the light under the door in the otherwise darkened room. This tenseness was gonna screw up his enema, he was gonna retain at this point.

“Elvis, you in there?” she asked gently on the other side of the wood and he let out a shaky breath at the inability to deny any longer, fearing she’d try the doorknob of he was silent and in his trust of his home’s stable order, he hadn’t bothered to lock it.

Gigi turned everything topsy turvy and he felt like a young kid again, getting overwhelmed when changes came to fast and nothing familiar would remain just so. He felt his breath coming fast and his vision starting to spot. Such silliness for a man in his forty’s.

“Yeah baby girl, I got in the tub for m’head.” He lied, counting on the compassion she had previosuly shown for his ailment to bolster his story. He has no body of water to splash for emphasis so he stayed stock still on his side on the cold floor and waited with baited breath for her to accept this. “And I had’ta call Lisa.”

“Oh good!” she cooed from outside, and he smirked at the confirmation that he still knew how to play ‘em. “You coulda told me, Daddy! I’d be quiet as a church mouse and coulda run the tub for you and washed your hair for you so you didn’t have to strain your shoulders.”

Did she think he needed to wash his hair? He put his hand to his head and felt grease and immediately regretted it as part of that was now lube. “Aww, you sweet thing.” he complimented her kindness vaguely even as he panicked at the thought that his lie would require a wet head. God he was so tired, he came home so he didn’t have to pretend and here he was on his bathroom floor, puttin’ in a Oscar worthy performance with a half quart of saline up the ass.

“You shouldn’t be so silly, Daddy.” she scolded sweetly and he rolled his eyes, thinking ‘if she only knew.’

“Oh?”

“I love to help you.” she insisted and she must’ve had her lips presssed to the door gap, she was so breathy and close, he could picture her smushed face now and he wanted to tear up at the sweetness. “Will you let me wash your hair, Elvis?”

He didn’t know if it was his imagination or not but he thought he saw the door handle wiggle like a hand had put weight on it. “N-n-no, I-I,” he stuttered out urgently, “I-I-I ain’t comfortable w’that.” he begged, “Not tonight i-I-i’m shy, Gigi. Believe it o-o-or not I-im shy.”

And that at least was a God’s honest truth.

“I know.” she murmured back and sounded like she was smiling herself, “I noticed. I didn’t expect that of you, but I really like it. Makes you cuter somehow.”

And being considered cute was a real heartening thing for a fella to hear, tipped on his side as he was, like a beached whale. Elvis grinned into his hand and let himself savor that. The feeling came again that Gigi really liked him as he was, except for his temper, maybe, and he could hardly fault her for not enjoyin’ it. But she liked him. As he was.

“I’m just gonna sit outside here and be with you.” she declared gently and to his alarm he heard the sound of shuffling like someone sitting down in front of the door, “We don’t haveta talk if you wanna be quiet. I understand, with your head hurtin’. I just couldn’t be away from you any longer. Please don’t make me be away from you, Elvis. It’s all I want, to be with ya.”

Elvis stared unblinking at the caulk line at the bottom of his tub. It was right at eye level down here and the varied thickness of it made him irrationally annoyed, he reached out and picked at a gloop of the dried stuff with his bitten fingernail.

“Ok.” he answered, utterly terrified.

How the hell was he gonna get off the floor, hobble to the John and do his buisness without the sound of any convincing bath effects -and her sitting right outside the door. How the hell. He figured it would be better if she were distracted.

“Tell me ‘bout your French mama.” he requests the first distraction that comes to his mind.

Gigi eagerly takes off on a tangent about her mother who was an artist and rarely in one place, how she had been born in Normandy and credited their breasts to good Norman cow milk, how she painted replica Monet’s on commission and was accordingly sued and how Gigi enjoyed being taken overseas to visit her French relations and go apple picking in the orchards and swimming in the sea -and Elvis listened to the narrative, told in her sweet voice, and allowed himself to be lulled, trying to relax before he made the effort to finish this business.

“-the seashells in Normandy are gigantic, some as big as my palm!” she was telling him as he sneakily turned over and raised himself on his knees, “Of course they wouldn’t be so big in your hands, your hands are so big and beautiful and could hold two of mine but -but they’re big. Does hawaii have big seashells?”

Elvis grunted in effort of holding it in until he could get where he was going and he still had concerns about noise with her right there. “Mm, pretty big.” he grunted out and a thought came to him as he gripped the edge of the tub for leverage to stand, “Water’s gettin’ cold, hold on sec I’m gonna top it off with some hot, won’t be able to hear ya.” he fibbed and reached to turn the handle so it gushed out a roar of water.

Satisfied with his cover, Elvis grabbed again at the tub’s edge and anyhting else that might aid his poor knees in getting off the damn floor. This is what trying to cut back on the pain meds got him, such debilitating pain that he could hardly get off the floor when just a few months ago he was able to kneel down for kisses on stage with only veiled discomfort. Not this agonizing ache and strange weakness in his limbs. He clutched at the tub faucet with it’s handled shape and pushed up.

He was a few pounds too much and after some strain and little progress, the faucet snapped out of its fixture with a deafening clatter that sounded like the ceiling had caved in, reverberating around the tiled room like a thunder clap. He fell back on his kneecaps with a searing thud.

“Lord have mercy!” he heard Gigi exclaim clearly over the roar of the empty tub, and that was because she was right beside him, having burst in with all that loving presumption at the first sound of distress. “Oh daddy, what happened? Ya slip comin’ out?”

She couldn’t get a good read on the situation with it so dim and simultaneously shiny in here, besides the confusing aspects of Elvis being dressed in a robe and dry headed as if having been out of the tub for awhile and him crouched beside it as the absent faucet still roared from its pipe against the empty porcelain. His bathroom was mainly gold, with flecks of black in the tile and accents and it disoriented her, so busy and gaudy she didn’t even notice the mat beneath her feet, assuming the spread out towel was another odd addition that went with the solid gold faucet lying wrenched from its place in the tub.

“Elvis, here, my hand!” she turned the tap off so he could hear her better and tried to get him to look up but his face was turned down with his hair hanging into his eyes. “I’ll help ya up, daddy.” she assured again, and stepped closer, crouching to brace her track hardened thighs for the ordeal of hefting such a sturdy man onto his feet.

On her way to him Gigi stepped on a clear little carton, rather like a baby bottle but far more collapsible. It was empty and squished under her foot, she picked it up curiously. “What’s this?” she asked him innocently.

He looked over at her then, up through a fan of golden lashes so thick and stiff you could hang your hat on them and answered in a dejected growl, “It’s a goddman enema, Gigi.”

She squeezed it once more till the empty thing wheezed and realisation dawned on her face. “Oh, duh.” she laughed and chucked it aside without a second thought before offering her forearm as a handle for him to grip, he rather dazedly let his hand curl around her tan flesh, “If you’re in here doin’ those ya really oughta have somebody nearby to help.” she berated him and once again he thought of Lisa and was beyond glad that it wasn’t his little daughter seeing him like this. No, it was just this big tittied sweetheart who he’d remember fondly through a haze of shame once she leaves him tonight. “Ya should have someone near to help ya get up if you’re in trouble,” she went on, “I know you’re shy. But it’s just me! I’m shy too and I let you see my pussy.”

Like that’s remotely the same as helping a man shit. “Girl,” he rebuts solemnly as he staggers to his feet with her help, feeling the liquid slosh in his gut, “some things are best left between a man and his toilet.”

“Yeah ok,” Gigi conceds, then strikes back right away, “but right now there’s nothing but a lotta distance between you and your toilet. Let me help. C’mon. This is a really pretty robe, by the way. You should always wear blue. And red, I suppose. You look so good in red. Well then there’s black, you’ve always looked good in black,” Gigi babbles and before he knows it he’s sat on the porcelain throne as she tugs the aforementioned blue robe away in the back for him, Gigi herself, lost in a world of the photos she’s cut from the papers of him at his concerts as she continues on “-and I like you in oranges, too. Never thought yellow was the best but I’ll have to see it in person. Pink makes you look kissable-“

“-Gigi,” Elvis whispers in a small voice, “could ya turn around, a’least?”

“Oh! Of course!” she spins around and faces the open bathroom door that she walks over to and shuts, confining them both in here. He means to ask her how she got away and made it all the way up here without interference, he has a buncha pussies for bodyguards. He doesn’t know Gigi was personally escorted upstairs by Dodger who was fed up with the girls tears, who pointed out the master bedroom doors and everything.

“You need to wash your feet, been in the garage and walkin’ in the street’n’shit.” he says for lack of anything better and to minimize the utterly irregerous ordeal of having a woman here for this. Bathrooms just don’t get shared for this shit. They just don’t. But here he is, losing control of one more aspect of his life. All he can focus on right now is letting the thing do it’s job so this ain’t a waste.

“Ok.” Gigi answers obediently and starts shucking her clothes without preamble, stripping down to her naked state in front of him for the second time today and she gives him a bashful grin over her shoulder like she should be the shy one before standing next to him again and turning on the shower tap. The tub and it’s damaged faucet is separate and he’s glad of the patter of rainfall that fills the room and after feeling it for temperature, Gigi soon steps in and begins a faithful lather of her body, starting with her feet.

Elvis watches transfixed as she sudses her little pink toes and the well formed shape of her heel and thumbs at her arches. He wishes to God he was in there doing that. As it is, the little show makes him forget his surroundings and he finally relaxes more than he had been able to all night. Suds are dripping off the curve of her titties like a chocolate fountain splashing off strawberries and he reaches behind him to flush without tearing his eyes from the sight, grateful for the distracting sounds of Gigi humming one of his songs and the fizz of the shower.

Whether the noise alerted her or she’s just intuitive, Gigi glances up as he gathers his robe about him and braces to stand up. “Daddy, I said Let.Me.Help.” she punctuates her sentence with aggravation that bounces off the shower wall like she’s in a stage play. She’s stepping out of the still running shower, all shiny and dripping, before he can protest, and she stands in front of him bare and gentle and he could weep at the sweet expression on her face, so devoid of anything but affection and determination to be of help.

He wonders if this is how mama felt, when she got tipsier than she’d ever have the courage to admit, when he helped her up stairs or into bed and ignored the smell of the alcohol and the slur of speech. The staggering ineptitude of a parent whose child has suddenly had to take over caring for. Mama always used to pat his head in the morning, a silent acknowledgment for his kindness but also his silence, covering her nakedness like Noah’s faithful sons.

He wants to cry. He misses mama so much, misses her assurances and her approbation that she sees him trying to do his bestest. He finds his forehead leaned against Gigi’s slick belly before he means to and finds he’s weeping with her hands in his hair before he can stop it.

“Daddy, sweet daddy, you bear up with so much.” she’s murmuring in broken hearted tones and he hears her sniffling too, and maybe it’s her saying it but it’s his mama talking though her, he’s sure of it. Here in this Gethsemane of his pride and dignity, he weeps at being found out and instead of scorn he gets warm flesh melding into his own and soft messages from his mama.

“Gigi -Jesus! -I-I dunno what to say.” he gasps, ragged and hoarse.

“You don’t? I don’t, more like.” she whispers fiercely, “The whole nation would apologize to ya if they knew how bad it’s gotten. And you never breathin’ a word. Lord daddy, you’re stronger than anyone I ever seen.”

He doesn’t feel very strong, staring at the broken faucet lying in the spatter of shower drops.

“Do ya need to do another?” she asks gently, soothing his hair off his sweaty forehead, “I’ll get it ready.” she offers.

“No, m’set.” he mumbles.

“Be honest.” she warns.

“I swear, m’done. Just beat.”

“Maybe the fennel oil helped?” she hopes and maybe she’s got a point, this was easier than some.

“Maybe it did.” he’ll give her that and smiles against the curve of her belly.

“Why aren’t you usin’ coffee in the enemas instead?” she inquires much to his bewilderment, “It’s good for your liver and less abrasive on the gut. Saline just shreds you.”

“Really?” he grunts, this cute girl knows a thing or two after all, “Never heard that.”

“We’ll have to see if they help, get you a bucket and tub too, they’re easier to manage.” she decides and he wants to protest that she doesn’t get a say in such things but the fact she’s talking about a future where she’s here and meddling with enemas makes him a little woozy with hope. Gigi makes a mental note of calling up a friend who’s majoring in nursing and asking for any and all books and tips that could help in a situation like this. “Let’s get you washed and put to bed.” she encourages him, scratching at the base of his head and feeling the steam roll off of him, inflammation and exhaustion pouring out from his skin, “no way you’re up for shooting pool with Jerry.”

“Oh that was just to get him to keep an eye on you.” Elvis laughs as she helps him stand, never once planning on playing pool tonight of all nights.

Gigi rolls her eyes at him and pouts at his deviousness, Elvis is just glad she’s focusing on that and not the surrounding accouterments any longer, “It really hurt me you didn’t want me with you.” she informs him with grave maturity that somehow makes a mockery of her nineteen years, she looks more fragile than ever, even in this attempt at communicating her needs.

“And I don’t want ya seeing me do this.” He replies as gently as he can as the shower roars next to them and fills the room with billows of steam, “Like I said, some things are between a man and his toile-“

“-and his toilet, yeah. But I’m me!” she explains with a wide smile and he’s really got no clear, available arguments against such impregnable, optimistic, self-exalting while at the same time being utterly selfless -logic.

It’s like arguing with a very pretty lunatic, one with ripe tits still shiny from her shower and crooked little front teeth behind full lips and eyes that could convince him of anything at all -and Elvis wonders if this is how folks feel with him. Is he this infuriating? Do they get a thrill of confusion and reward in doing what he asks? Is it some sorta weird ass loop over and over that has them denying then agreeing right after, again and again?

“Let’s get you in the shower daddy.” Gigi is saying with a roll of her eyes at *his* silliness and Elvis watches in a sort of disembodied trance as she undoes the thick tie holding his robe closed.

This is another thing he was gonna take slow. Getting naked, touching and being touched no faster or intensely than what he directed and allowed. And…well, there it goes, his robe and his resolve opened up and pushed off his shoulders as slow as a strip tease while this perfect young thing has her watching face transformed from caring into something so hungry and admiring he actually feels his pulse quicken.

That’s more like it, the natural order of things is somewhat restored when the caregiver shifts from viewing him with solicitude to viewing him with the divine and fathomless want that is feminine arousal.

But still.

Sweet Jesus, it’s been forever since someone reacted to his body that way. The face sure, the man -yes, and the legendary presence is a given. But that’s all outliers of him, of poor little ole Elvis alone in his own room, in his own house, without the trappings. Nobody in a long while has taken the trappings off and moaned like a paid whore at the sight of something so utterly human and a little faulty as his body now is. A body Elvis has fought and lost against for well over a decade now.

The robe puddles around his feet and he expects it’s time to get in the shower if Gigi would pull her eyes up from his protruding gut. She’s already seen it once today when she unzipped his jacket. After an overly long review where he can actually see her crane her head down to try to see his pecker -jokes on her, the gut hides it- and up his treasure trail to his chest and his neck and his chin and his lips-

-Gigi throws her arms around his shoulders and kisses him. The sight of him naked and hairy, manly and huge, with a hanging belly too much for her to hold her desires back any longer.

Elvis is as warm as she remembers and with his body unimpeded by a tracksuit or a robe she can now fully press her body against his, standing toe to toe with their heights not too dissimilar, making it wonderful and easy to kiss him as she presses herself to every inch of his tacky skin, so much muscle and discipline polished beneath the soft and hairy bulk. It makes her feel small, just how wide and broad and large he is in comparison to her, tall and lanky as she is, she’s never been little before, but with this bear of a man she could curl into his barrel chest and pull the hairy curtains closed and be tucked away from it all. Like a fairytale princess in her favorite oak.

“I want you to crush me.” she moans in his ear as she curves her body to align with the pouch of his belly, her ass stuck out for optimal contact and Elvis groans in response, seeing the pair they make in the fogging mirror.

Something in him responds to the rightness of the image presented, fogged by the steam and softened where they’re two pink cherubs caught in an embrace, her soft breast resting on the dome of his furred chest.

Both complimentary but untraditional in their combination, - a sorta Gainsbourg and Birkin vibe where everyone’s left wondering how exactly the gargoyle got the maiden -or the thickening rockstar got this sweet piece of ass- but nobody doubts the sex is blazing hot.

It’s sexy as hell and the temperate side of himself that health and Ginger had been striving to coax into the fore, plummets into a lava filled grave at the primal, loin swelling satisfaction of Gigi and her nakedness pressed to him, writhing against him, reveling in him and trusting in his masculine abilities to satisfy her.

He grips an ass cheek in his hand, spanning from hip to crack, and crushes it to him meanly, pinching her soft skin with hsi rings, his other arm flung about her ribs and pressing her nearer there, too. Gigi lets out the happiest cry of completion at him granting her request. It’s breathless and short from the lack of air left in her lungs.

“This how ya like it?” Gigi hears him rumble darkly in her ear and she feels herself dribble at his voice alone, finding the feeling of all his strength and power pressed to her more overwhelming that any self-brought pleasure.

She can only nod her head frantically in agreement, his grip too hard and tight for anything else, she feels like she’s floating and somehow that’s more grounding for her than anything else she’s ever felt in her life. He must feel her shudder as he responds with one of his own and readjusts his grip on her butt, fingertips grazing the underside of her cheek and teasing the folds that lead to where she’s a wet mess for him.

He teases there for a moment, tiny, ticklish little swipes to the back of her waxed pussy lips and then he curls his fingers again and grips harder than even before, into her plush ass and he lifts her up to her tiptoes by the hold, making them level before slotting his mouth against hers, the closest thing to sloppy in his kisses that she’s yet experienced from him.

It delights her. This gritty, unmeasured side of him that doesn’t take things in measured and calculated amounts. She wants to be mauled and squeezed and have the crescent indentions of his fingernails on her ass. She wants to be irresistible to him, she wants him to appraise and enjoy her like she’s both precious and objectively the only thing he wants to squeeze and fuck for the rest of his life. She’s ready for that life. Gigi mauls him back, careful to be gentle with her pressure but she kneads his soft sides and the thick cording of his neck, so full of strength but also inflammation -and she suddenly recalls the shower.

Having broken their kiss, they both glance over at the pattering water. And it’s better this way, neither having to break up the moment, they both just seem to agree and proceed to amble over in a waddling embrace and step into the lavish shower.

Gigi has already washed but she won’t be the one reminding Elvis of that as he squirts a generous amount of shampoo into his hands and grumbles about her stupid drugstore lemon shit. That wanting to have him paw at her and be a little sleazy in his touches is gratified by the way he spends too long on her boobs, something that is traditionally a rather clean body part. But his boyish little smile and the single minded lostness on his face he suds up their heavy weight and let’s her large pink nipples slide through his knuckles, his pink tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth as he gently jiggles the slippery firmness of them, makes Gigi sigh in dreamy delight that she can bring him joy by standing in the shower and letting him wobble her boobs, clapping them together one minute and jostling them the next to make the soap suds slid and back and forth along the runway to her nipples. They might have stayed at that game all night, both quite invested in never letting one little congregation of bubbles slip off the Cherry red cliff onto the shower floor. But Elvis yawned once and just like that they decided it was time to wash him and go to bed. With a sad kiss goodbye to one of her large nipples, Elvis allows for the roles to be reversed.

Of course washing him was strictly utilitarian. What was she on about, lathing his shins and his thighs and squeezing his ass like he was a nineteen year old girl? And what was it about Gigi rubbing his shoulders as she went and then turning him around into the spray to wash it off as she started to work at his front, giggling to herself as she swooshed his chest hair into certain patterns with the slippery soap. She even hefted his own boob flaps up, something he fuckin’ hated even existed right now, and she did it with heavy lidded eyes and bitten lips like she was getting off on this, on swishing suds around his large belly before squatting to get her first peak at lil Elvis.

He was still soft, or mostly so, but what shocked Gigi was how thick he was even in repose. Laying heavily on his thigh, his length was nothing much, decent but not particularly matching of his long limbs, but his thickness was to a degree that she wished she did have the stupid Lemon Up shampoo to compare it to, it wasn’t too far off. She didn't know dicks came in that size, the sorta size that makes babies heads coming out seem like not much of an escalation. Alright maybe not that big but he was large, very thick and cutely stubby and Gigi wondered if maybe it was swollen like the rest of him, if it changed with age or weight, if his pink and vulnerable little head was always peaking out of its tan sheath and if his stones were always so large and heavy, asking for the same treatment as her boobs got.

She cupped them with a dollop of shampoo in her hand and jostled the heavy sack gently and with joy in her heart. Elvis lurched forward to lean his forearm against the shower wall to steady himself.

“Gigi, honey, be brief.” he begged and if he’d have commanded her, then she might’ve popped the heavy balls into her mouth just to show him what she thought about him always denying himself any fun, but Elvis was begging and above her his belly heaved with his labored breathing and much as she wanted to see him swell to life, she cared more about seeing him rested.

Reluctantly she finished with a swipe and rinse to the back of his sack and between his crack which made him jump like a critter ran up it instead of a diligent hand. Gigi liked it when he was boyish and shy like that. It makes her press a kiss to his floppy little dick, so heavy and promising in its shrunken state and he lets out a scandalized groan at the feel of her nibbling at the tip with her lips.

“No, no honey don’t.” he begs and gives her a hand to pull her up, she remains steadfastly on her knees with a hand on little Elvis like he’s a handle of some sort. “Good girls don’t do such things.” He explains gently but with firmness, “There ain’t no need, that’s not somethin’ I need from a sweet thing like you.”

Gigi is far from relieved. In fact, if the shower spray weren’t so universal he’d think her eyes were welling with tears for the zillionth time tonight.

“What?” he barks in absolute confusion.

“But I wanna suck you!” she begs, hoarse and throaty and -she’s definitely back to crying again, sweet Jesus, he’d gotten himself a huge tittied young woman who cried over not being allowed to have his cock in her mouth.“I practiced just for the odd chance I ever met you!” she pleads in a desperate cry.

“What?” Elvis looks down at her perturbed and has to admit, unsettled as he is by this, she sure does look pretty right at cock level.

“I practiced with a nice guy who was cut so I had to pretend.” she explains mournfully and Elvis hauls her bodily up by her elbows against the tile to understand this riddle.

“Thought you said you were a virgin, baby.” he chides in confusion about the aspect of practicing for him.

“I am!” She swears, “But I practiced for you! See, I can-“ and she sticks her fingers back to her tonsils with only a small gag that makes Elvis’ masculine heart twinge in admiration.

But he’s better than this. He’s beyond appreciating her gag control and needs to know about this so called nice guy. “Darlin’ who’s this feller?” Elvis has a knack for recalling names and he’s gonna shoot this sonuvabitch if he can find him.

“He was a sweet trucker,” she explains with dreamy reminiscence, “about your age or older, and he fixed my flat tire when it popped near Jackson last year. He was real sweet and I wanted to thank him. He shared his Sundrop with me and he had one of your albums on the radio in his cab. So we talked about you and I told him how I loved you -this was a year ago- and how I wished I could meet you and show you how I loved you. And he lived in Meridian, see, and he sounded a little like you and he had dark hair and this gorgeous belly and when I sucked him I listened to your voice singing through the radio and pretended it was you.”

She finishes this saga with a simple head nod, like that’s all real tidy and normal. Elvis just gapes and a million feelings rush through him, horror at the fact she’s this gullible and unprotected, followed by burning pride at the idea of having been a preoccupation of her’s for so long. Some of this smacks of psycho stalker fan and he should probably run for the hills but Gigi pretended to blow him a year or so ago with a flabby truck diver and Elvis has a vision of that happening again if he somehow screws this up and she ends up on her own again.

That just can’t happen. He shuts his mouth and coughs, realizing that just can’t happen. “Do you like fat men, Gigi?” he asks soberly.

She looks a little hurt by this before replying with wounded devotion and a wobble of her wet lip, “I only love you.”

Elvis sighs and shakes head in astonishment and presses a kiss to the top of her wet head before turning off the shower stream. She likes it when he rolls his eyes at her but doesn’t push her away, Doesn't say she’s silly, just kisses her into compliance. She likes that.

She likes it even better when he was wet and large in the shower grinning down at her, wrapping her up in towels they had to waddle to the drawers to get in dripping pairs.

“You’re somethin’ else, baby.” he tells her but never says it’s too much. She’s waited all night for him to tell her she’s too much it she’s too clingy or she’s too effusive and he hasn’t said it yet.

Gigi helped him step into his silk pajamas pants, he was strangely meek and appreciative of this sort of help and it made her sigh with relief, letting her guard down as she did up the buttons of his sleep shirt under his smiling gaze. She had to ignore the chill of the room on her bare skin, gooseflesh pricking beneath chilled droplets, but it was worth it for the way his eyes ravished her with searching adoration, every single part of her.

Elvis offered her pajamas of her own, too, matching his own. She declared she never could sleep in clothes and the shocked little O of his mouth made her giggle, then he looked hurt and tried very hard to persuade her to try it for him.

“C’mon baby, everybody needs ‘jamies.” he sweet talks to her, holding open the waist band.

“I can’t sleep in them! It’s got elastic!” she sounded like a child forced to eat collards.

“Gigi, wear some pajamas,” Elvis tried sternness, “do it for your daddy, now.”

She sobered up at that, while remaining dried eyed much to his relief. With a slowness of movement and a grimace of distaste that showed her dislike, Gigi took the pajama top from him and slid it on.

It hung there unbuttoned with her bare cunt out and her belly and tits and legs and everything nearly, except for her covered arms, and then she smiled at him with self sacrificing serenity in her eyes while murmuring, “Only for you, daddy.”

And that’s how they ended in bed with Gigi in nothing but an open silk pajama shirt, sans bottoms, with an embroidered E of her right yam.

“I can’t believe they expect you to tour like this.” she muttered as his sweet expressions turned to grimaces and groans upon stretching out on the mattress. Tired from just entertaining a girl and her friends. The closest to angry he thinks Gigi is capable of as she scrunches her brows in frustration and he finds he has to hide a smile instead of telling this little girl to mind her own. She’s frustrated for his own benefit.

“I got good days and bad days.” he explains, turned on his side and stroking her face where it lay on their shared pillow, the room dark except for a lamp on, showing them in the mirror above. “Today were tougher than some, not ‘cause of you but jus’-“

“You woke up with a migraine.” She recalled and he is touched by that.

“Yeah, and had to take more pills for it.” he agrees, “and I gotta take s’more before I can sleep.” he warns her but Gigi just hums and keeps on kneading the back of his neck in a way that is liable to make him start drooling.

“When do we leave for the tour?” she asks, setting in and slinging her naked leg over his hip comfortably.

His heart skips a beat at her presumption. Then it plays catch up and bounds so hard he feels winded as he gasps, “September.”

“We’ve gotta get you better by then.” she mutters, “And you’ll have to help me with midterms, it’ll be crazy trying to pass long distance.” To herself Gigi ponders on whether she might have to push back school in order to be with her Daddy, the thought troubles her none because she’d fail it a million times in order to get more time with him. As long as he’ll have her and even then she knows she’d never be able to leave him as compliantly as Ginger had.

Elvis contemplates the fact she’s willing to risk college for him, that she depends on him for midterms and his belly tightens at the thought in anxious hope.

He turns on his other side, hoping for some relief from the belly ache. Without fail she follows and curls around him,seeking to understand he can’t take the heavy pressure of laying on it, and she is jetpacking on his back like a clingy koala, legs and arms woven around him until he’s half laying back on her.

“Baby Girl, I’m gonna smother ya.” he resists a little laugh as she has him in something close to a wrestling pose, legs wrapped around his hips from the back and arms over his belly, his back smashing her boobs.

She lets out a happy moan instead, “I want you to.” Gigi insists and sounds close to climax at the feel of his weight on top of her. She keeps her hold on him tight, content with feeling enveloped by him as droplets of water drip from his hair onto her chest.

Pretty lil weirdo.

“S’like a elephant layin’ on a junebug, we can’t sleep this way.” Elvis finds himself grinning at the comical image reflected in the mirrors above.

“But it’s all I’ve ever wanted.” she begs, “I’ve dreamed about this. Take your pills daddy’s and we’ll go to sleep now.”

Compliant in his bewilderment, Elvis props up and measures out his doses in his palm, swallowing them down dry before lying back, trying to aim for the mattress but Gigi wriggles beneath his bulk again and he prays he doesn’t get another lawsuit on his hands come morning for smothering the life out of a teen girl.

“Do you want a burger?” she asks softly in his ear, right as he starts to relax in her protective hold. He’s got his arms criss crossed across his body to hold her own as they hug him.

“Uh, umm, no -I-I-I’m -I’m sleepy.” he drawls, torn at the lovely idea of a burger after such a long evening but then again, his head is pillowed on boobs and Gigi’s fingers are swirling shapes in the hair on his belly under his shirt. He doesn’t really feel like ever leaving. She makes a better mattress than any amount of money could ever buy.

“Ok, honest?” she whispers in his ear and he smiles into his pillow at her childish earnestness.

He presents a wobbly pinky for her to witness his solemn oath and she happily hooks her littler one with his and they curl round each other, it feels like a promise of more than just midnight burgers. A promise of him helping with midterms and her never having another man in her life.

To his surprise, just as he starts to drift off, Elvis feels Gigi’s hand slither beneath the waistband of his silk pajamas. He thought she’d gotten the message he’s not up for it, the preliminary little snores from the sedatives underscoring his point, but all she does is cup his soft package in her palm, like it’s the most precious wobby in the world for her, and promptly starts snoring little snores herself.

Elvis tries to savor the feeling of her holding him through the night and as he slumbers, her voice manages to break through the fog of dreams talking about midterms to come, about his tour in September — with his surety in their future aided by the promise of their still clinging pinkies, sleep comes easier than it has in years.

———————————-

I hope y’all enjoyed, thank you for reading and thank you for all the prompts that got us here! We are working on a prompt list because after his chapter we open it up to jumping around with prompts. But don’t feel like you’ve got to wait till then, go ahead and send in whatever you’d like and I’ll see what I can cook up! 🌷 xoxo

#repost from main #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis x reader #elvis imagine #elvis #but then Gigi #Gigi #elvis smut #elvis presley x reader #baby elvis #elvis fandom #70’s elvis #70s elvis #big daddy #big daddy elvis

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babydollmarauders · 1 year

Text

MEDIA MANAGEMENT — JACK HUGHES (PART EIGHT)

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 5.5 - 6 - 7 - 8

notes: i feel that this chapter is very underwhelming bc i wrote it at work 🫡 so sorry

y/ndevils00

liked by siegenthaler34, nicohischier, and 32,542 others

y/ndevils00 hi people! thank you for tuning into tonight’s (brief) postgame recap! this is a very sad night for my favorite boys, as we lost 6-1 to the winnipeg jets.

we had a meager three penalties tonight!

starting off with erik, who has banned me from making any more name puns (boring!). erik got a penalty for tripping, bringing him up to an astounding 47 penalty minutes this season!

next, i’d like to bring your attention to jack’s picture. nothing special, i just like it.

and then, of course, we have my boyfriend again; chewing on his glove like a rabid little chihuahua <3

the next penalty was from siegs at the very end of the 1st period for high sticking! i had dawson do my dirty work for me and give him a very stern talking to during intermission!

next up, we have hershey bar looking very displeased, and i can’t say i blame him!

we got a little over halfway through 3rd period before we got the final penalty from the newest swiss, timo for holding! he took a lesson from my very rude boyfriend and hid behind the stanchion. i very much did not like that.

however, our lone goal came with SECONDS left in the game, scored by the captain himself! who still looked very disappointed to say the least.

and lastly, bff number 1 says i should apologize to bff number 2 for dissing him last night 😒 so we have a picture of marinara and i’m supposed to tell him that i’m proud of him (i’m not sure what for though? he didn’t do anything 🤷‍♀️)

tagged ehaula, jackhughes, siegenthaler34, nicohischier, tmeier96 and john.marino97

ehaula i know i asked you to stop but now it feels weird without the name puns

y/ndevils00 so….

ehaula so you can do the puns

y/ndevils00 OH THANK GOD! do you realize how hard it was to withhold from them?! it was torture!

ehaula it’s been one post

user18 i’ve become so used to the “haula” puns that i forgot who erik was for a second

siegenthaler34 i made my y/n post debut!

y/ndevils00 it could’ve been for a better reason…

nicohischier you weren’t even there but you still got 2 horrible photos of me

y/ndevils00 i have spies everywhere

nicohischier what does that even mean?

y/ndevils00 guess you’ll never know

jackhughes why?

y/ndevils00 why what? why do i praise you when you don’t appreciate it? i don’t know, you would think i would’ve learned by now

jackhughes no. why the 2nd picture? why do you like it? why call me a chihuahua?

y/ndevils00 i like it. your eyes are so pretty and blue. because you’re small and scrappy and chew on everything.

jackhughes i’m 5’11

y/ndevils00 sure you are honey

dougieham if you went just based off y/n’s posts and comments, i don’t think anyone would ever guess that her and marino are genuinely best friends

y/ndevils00 it’s called tough love <3

john.marino97 she’s evil

trevorzegras i’m forever grateful that i’m a duck so i’ll never be subjected to the torture you put these guys through

y/ndevils00 there’s always next trade szn 😈

trevorzegras the ducks would never trade me

y/ndevils00 i have friends in high places… watch your back zegras

tmeier96 hughesy told me to sit there before i went into the box. he didn’t tell me why but i guess now i know

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes do you not love me? do you not want to see me happy? this is why luke is my favorite

jackhughes @/y/ndevils00 luke is your WHAT?

lhughes_06 @/y/ndevils00 i feel so special! thank you y/n/n!

john.marino97 i have multiple questions. starting with: why is DAWSON bff number 1? and i didn’t get a penalty so you could be proud of me for that???

y/ndevils00 i like him better. and that’s very true, however you didn’t get a goal or an assist either so….

dawson1417 translation: y/n holds you to a higher standard because she knows how well you play. she knows you can do better but she’s proud of you regardless.

john.marino97 @/dawson1417 well why doesn’t she say it like that? that’s kinda sweet!

y/ndevils00 emotions are for the weak

john.marino97 @/jackhughes i think your girlfriend is broken

jackhughes she just likes to seem tough on the internet. watch this 👀

jackhughes @/y/ndevils00 i love you so much sweet girl ❤️ i can’t wait to get home

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes i love you too, now come home!

jackhughes @/y/ndevils00 aww you miss me?

y/ndevils00 @/jackhughes sure, but also you lost your game which means you lost the bet and you have to give LSH her bath <3

#media management series <3 #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #nj devils #new jersey devils #nhl blurb #nhl fic #john marino #dawson mercer #luke hughes #nico hischier #faithlynn’s insta edits <3 #faithlynn’s writings <3

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queen--of--shadows · 1 year

Text

A Formidable Pair: Part 1

Azriel x Reader

Summary: As spymaster to the Spring Court, the Reader meets her unfriendly match from the Night Court as they work together to train, rebuild and repair Court relations.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 865

Notes: hi friends im back 🥲 first and foremost thank you to the anon who requested this! I love your prompts and had so much fun writing a short intro to this new series! I apologize for the unexpected hiatus—I had already written this chapter once before then lost all of my work when my laptop crashed 🥲🥲 anyways I hope you all enjoy! I aim to get the next chapter out sometime this week 🖤

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

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Sweat gathered and trickled down your neck as the thick, sweltering spring air weighed heavy with the creep of the afternoon sun. Winters in the Spring Court were enjoyable for the average female, a vacation spot even. But as a member of the Autumn Court, and despite your many years of serving the High Lord of Spring, you hated your posting here.

“Does that sound alright, Y/N?” Tamlin asked, his shoulder-length golden hair catching the light with a slight cock of his head.

“Yes, of course,” you replied, tilting your chin down, hands clasped tightly behind your back.

You had been trained for this since you could remember how to walk. Your parents, close friends of the Vanserra family, had recognized your talents from childhood and began lessons under the spymasters of the Autumn Court.

Bred for stealth, obedience, discipline, brutality, lethality.

You were unforgiving. Cold and distant. Like all good spymasters were.

Just like the Night Court spymaster, now standing at your side.

The High Lord of the Night Court’s lapdog.

Lucien had asked you weeks ago to serve as lead spy for a few months as they attempted to repair and rebuild not only physically, but also their relations with the other Courts and High Lords. You accepted, but not without letting Lucien know that he owed you big time. You hated being in the spotlight like this. And the deathly glare you snuck in before averting your gaze back to Tamlin served as a reminder to the handsome redhead, his mouth parted now in a wicked grin.

The past few months, you had been working as Spring Court emissary and spy, traveling to both the mortal lands and across Prythian to the other Courts on behalf of Tamlin to improve relations. Winter, Summer, Autumn, Day and Dawn.

But you hadn’t signed up to work alongside the Shadowsinger, his presence now like an oily stain to your left.

You had been avoiding the Night Court as long as possible. A war-mongering people, their long history of vicious brutality initially intrigued you, but their arrogance and ego, whether a front or not, were repulsive enough that you learned to stay away.

But the Winter Solstice Party was nearing, an invaluable opportunity to show that the People of Spring wanted peace. The trip up north became inevitable.

Rhysand and his spymaster had been visiting over the past week, traveling throughout the Court with Tamlin to learn how he had been rebuilding since Amarantha’s reign tore the entire southernmost lands of Prythian apart. You were praying to the Gods that he wouldn’t rope you into whatever political games he was playing. Still, to your dismay, Tamlin requested that you and the Shadowsinger train the new class of spies in the Spring Court over the next few days before heading north to attend the Solstice Party with Lucien.

If the shadows that nearly enveloped the tall male to your side were any indication of how he felt about being here, this next week would be absolutely miserable.

It wasn’t the bland mask hiding the killer underneath that bothered you. It wasn’t the shadows constantly whispering in his ears, nor was it his deadly, unrelenting gaze as he assessed you like a threat in your own Court. No, it was the haughty, pompous, self-important swagger, the fact that he hadn’t said more than two words to you since his arrival. You knew, just knew he considered himself a better spy than you.

That wouldn’t stand. No, that was going to change. You would shred his Illyrian pride to bits.

You kept your face neutral and didn’t let any emotions shine as you sketched a bow to your High Lord and made your way out to the training rings, sending a silent fuck you to Lucien, who still donned that wicked grin.

You heard the Shadowsinger muttering to Rhysand, likely receiving instructions from his High Lord about what information he wanted over the next week, before the violet-eyed male winnowed away. Then the near-silent footsteps trailing behind you.

He remained wordless as he followed, but his shadows indicated his presence, snaking along the floor lazily—a silent warning. You snorted.

“Is there a problem?”

You stopped in your tracks.

His words caught you off guard. Guttural and deep and dark, like the cold midnight sky given a voice.

You wiped any expression off your face, save for mild amusement, as you turned on your heel to face him.

“I’ve never met a spy that had to rely on anything other than their own wit and training,” you said sweetly. “Your…pets are interesting.” A dark, inky shadow circled you curiously, like a snake assessing its prey.

He pinned you with an icy, lethal stare—the mask of a trained killer, an Illyrian warrior.

A flicker of annoyance shone in his hazel eyes, glowing bright in the sunny rays streaming through the windows lining the halls of the manor.

He stalked quietly past you and out into the courtyard to the spies-in-training, his steps swift and precise.

Ice coated your veins at his dismissal.

You pushed against the rage threatening to lock up your limbs, following the winged asshole outside.

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

taglist: @cute-baby-ducks @brekkershadowsinger @iangelofmusic @j-pendragonx @foggypeanutmongeroaf @luckypersonmentality @eddiesbixch696 @davinaclaire16 @lexie1o9 @thewarriormoon @halfmeltedcandles @cartoonnerdgirl @wrensical003 @abigailrose98 @cafe-inaaa @moonlightazriel @caosfanblr @redbleedingrose @lovebookie123 @sarahstone217 @minetticatinwonderland @jtargs @bookish-dream @blurredlamplight @rellik181 @simplywitchy @his-sweet-nightmare @theravenphoenix26 @icantthinkofanythingplease @sebby-staan @brooke3132 @azriels-angels @mrs-azriel @sparklymiraclecheesecake @cityofidek @dreambeliever13 @atlascorriganlovescookies @fo-cus @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @elenas-safe-spot @dreambeliever13 @mysticalcheescakemiracle @marina468

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cha-melodius · 5 months

Text

2023 Fic Year in Review

I've been doing these for three years now, and they always grow each year as I get tagged in other year-end posts that make the rounds. Feel free you grab it if you want to do your own review! And I’d like to add a hearty thank you to each and every person who’s read my fics over the years, y'all continue to make this a joy!

2020 Review | 2021 Review | 2022 Review

AO3 Username: chamel My Page: Link Active Fandoms: Red, White & Royal Blue: 20 works The Man from UNCLE (2015): 8 works Loki: 5 works New Fandoms: None thank GOD Total Number Of Completed Works/Word Count This Year: 33 works, 278k words All Time: 113 works, 1.27 million words

This year a little movie that came out in August absolutely destroyed these stats lmaoooo. Most Popular One Shot (by kudos): This Year: Always Where I Need To Be (RWRB, Alex/Henry, T, 5.5k) All Time: Class(room) Warfare (RWRB, Alex/Henry, T, 7.8k words)

Most Popular Completed Multi-Chapter (by kudos): This Year & All Time: Please Don't Let Me Be So Understood (RWRB, Alex/Henry, E, 20k words)

Events/Challenges: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Gift Exchange 2023, The Brownstone Anniversary Fic Exchange, Halloween Huh?

More reflections, stats, and planned fics below the cut!

Additional Random AO3 Stats

By number of fics: 85% one shots, 15% multi-chaps

By word count: 52% mult-chaps, 48% one shots

Ratings by number of fics: 48% T-rated, 33% E-rated, 15% M-rated

Musical artists contributing highest number of titles: Jeff Tweedy (Tweedy/Wilco) & The New Pornographers, tied at 3 each

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected? Somehow I topped my word count from last year by 10k, which I was not expecting. That said, this year was right about average.

What’s your own favorite story of the year? God this is a hard question this year because I wrote a lot of fics I really really love. For one single fic I'll go with Nova, Baby, because I love the story and I've got a lot of lovely feelings about it.

Did you complete your writing goals from last year? The Goal: I want to complete a few large multichapter fics, which will probably mean my one-shot production goes down. I completed one long mulitchap, and then a few mid-length (~20k) multichaps. I think I wrote more of those than I have any other year. Surprisingly, my one-shot production wasn't super significantly decreased.

Do you have any writing goals for the New Year? Ok, I gotta come up with something. My goal is to have a similar mix of fics as least year, and also to write my first collaboration with @cricketnationrise, which will be a long multichap.

Did you take any writing risks this year? Wrote on a topic outside my wheelhouse (therapy 😬) and also posted a fic in a fandom where there weren't a lot of fics in similar genres (action/spies). Now that's no longer true, but at the time it was really freaking nerve-wracking.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: Every fic I write in a fandom that's not RWRB? 😅 It's hard to complain too much, especially considering what happened to my numbers this year.

Most fun story to write: All the Old Showstoppers, Will You Brie Mine?, You're the Perfect Gift for Me. Silly RWRB boys being silly, basically.

Biggest disappointment: Again, I feel like it's hard to complain when I have a fic that's closing in on 4k kudos. The goalposts keep moving, don't they, though? I still live in fear of pouring my heart into a multichap and having what will count as "lukewarm" reception, when before this year I didn't have a single fic above 1k kudos.

Biggest surprise: Most definitely Please Don't Let Me Be So Understood. Like I figured it would do pretty well (I hoped, since I put so much into it), but holy shit?? I still can't really believe it's on page 2 of the tag by kudos? And honestly also Always Where I Need To Be, this little one-shot about David stealing glasses.

Coming soon/planned for 2024:

False Dichotomy (RWRB You've Got Mail AU)

Kissed Out (RWRB pro-pool players AU)

RWRB 1940s noir AU

RWRB conductor/piano soloist AU

RWRB hockey AU (with cricket)

A shitload of prompts from my fandom fest

Extremely delinquent MTH fics

TMFU art thief/gallery owner AU

Thank you for the tags on your end-of-the-year fic reviews @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @kiwiana-writes, @rmd-writes, @lizzie-bennetdarcy, @indestructibleheart, and @welcometololaland!

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meowmeow-motherfucker · 6 months

Text

Covenant- Chapter 5

Summary: With the five year anniversary of the attack on New York approaching, Odin and Fury come to the agreement that an arranged marriage between Asgard and Earth would show good faith toward all future interactions. When Odin refuses Jane’s candidacy, Agent Coulson is tasked with finding a suitable wife for the prince of Asgard.

Pairing: Loki x OFC

Warnings: pot smoking, fluff, more fluff, flirting, pining, Asgardian pearl-clutching, more wedding prep and princess lessons, mentions of archaic wedding traditions

Taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @gigglingtiggerv2 @icytrickster17 @mysteriouslyfriedjellyfish @lokislilkitten @justjoanne242 @amlocked @ddmariegirl @mags-04-blog @sharris8 @meepycheep @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @the-fantasy-loving-angel @jaidenhawke @smolvenger

Back at it again after a break. Thanks as always for coming along on the journey!

Two weeks until the wedding

“Good morning, dear!” Frigga chirped as Claire stepped into the sitting room. It was early morning, the suns rays already casting golden beams on the walls. Outside on the balcony, a songbird praised the sun, its harmonious song adding a cheerful melody to the morning.

“Good morning,” Claire replied, remembering too late she was supposed to curtsy. Behind Frigga, Loki snickered as she gave an awkward bob. Claire glared at him over Frigga’s shoulder, and he grinned.

She looked beautiful today. Her official wardrobe had been completed, and today she wore the first of the dresses in her official court color. The lush fabric lapped at her ankles as she walked toward him, the full skirt accentuating the curves of her waist. The high-necked bodice had no sleeves, her bare arms protected from the early morning chill by a matching stole. Loki spied the ever-present silver band around her bicep.

She looked as though she belonged.

~~~~

The marketplace was busy as usual, crowded with throngs of people scurrying about. The crowd parted as they walked, bowing low to the prince and future princess, as well as the queen walking behind them with her attendants.

“This is so surreal,” Claire giggled, wiping a hand over her face. “We just met two weeks ago and here we are, on our way to pick out wedding rings,” she looked up at him with a shy smile. “If this was happening on Earth, we would have been on hundreds of dates by now.”

“Hundreds?” Loki chuckled. “Exactly what does one do on hundreds of dates?”

“All kinds of things,” Claire replied wistfully. “Skip school to go to the mall, arcade dates, spend the day at Santa Monica pier…”

“What is the mall?”

“Remember what I told you about a lot of stores being separate?”

“Of course.”

“A mall is the opposite. It’s a big building with lots of stores inside.”

“This all seems rather...muddled. Some are together, some are separate...what is the purpose of that?” Loki asked. “What is an arcade date? And this Santa Monica pier?”

“The pier is like the ones here, but instead of docking for boats, the Santa Monica pier has shops and restaurants. There’s a really nice Ferris wheel too. I had my first kiss at the top of that Ferris wheel.” Claire smiled fondly at the memory.

“Sounds dreadfully romantic.”

“It was,” Claire sighed. “It was sunset, the ocean was all sparkly...it seems like a lifetime ago.” she chuckled.

“And which of those was your favorite?” Loki asked.

“Honestly, all of them were nice, but the ones I liked the most were the simple ones. My boyfriend and I used to go to the drive-in on the weekends and hold hands. We didn’t have to talk, it was just nice to be together, you know?”

“I can’t say that I do,” Loki replied somberly, dropping his gaze from her lips. The berry shade she’d chosen to wear today was enchanting. “What was his name?”

“Mateo,” Claire said fondly. “God, I haven’t seen him in...twenty years?” she laughed.

“Not much time for romance while working for S.H.I.E.L.D., I imagine.”

“God, no!” Claire laughed loudly. “Not that I was particularly interested, but everyone gets lonely and a girl has needs.”

“Is that so?” Loki asked with interest. Claire’s eyes darted down to his mouth when he licked his lips. “Do tell.”

“A magician never reveals her secrets,” Claire turned away, a secretive smile tugging at her lips. “You’ll find out eventually anyway.”

“I think you’ll find I can be rather persuasive.” a flash of green pulled her attention back to him, drawing her eyes to the flower he’d manifested in his outstretched hand.

“Isn’t it better to learn from a source that hasn’t been persuaded?” Claire asked as they reached the jeweler’s storefront. Loki graced her with a smile, the flower disappearing.

“Indeed,” he opened the door and gestured for her to step inside. “My lady.”

Inside the store, they were guided to plush chairs and the owner presented tray after tray of rings for them to choose from. Loki and Claire sat side by side, Frigga and her attendants sat behind them offering commentary on the selection.

Many of the rings Claire was shown were too feminine for her taste, or were gaudy or just plain ugly. All of the offerings were gold with green stones, of course, to match Loki’s colors.

Claire felt annoyed that her ring had to be yet another reminder she was signing her life away, but pushed it aside and focused on finding a ring she liked. There were several that were beautiful of course, made with actual gold and sizable emeralds in impressive settings, but Claire had never been one for flashy jewelry. She would wear this ring for the rest of her life- it had to be right.

The owner brought out another tray, this time with less flashy offerings.

“Perhaps Her Majesty will like these better?” the owner said as he placed te tray in front of her. Claire felt an odd twinge as she realized he was talking about her- she still wasn’t used to people treating her special and that title-

“These are different,” Claire replied as she gazed at the tray. The stones were still green, but they were not emeralds. Opaque white stones with delicate tendrils of deep green sat in luxurious settings of gold, some clustered with smaller round diamonds, some with delicate looking details that seemed so fragile they would unravel if you touched them. “Is this moss agate?”

“Excellent eye, madam,” the owner smiled proudly. “My apprentice wished to make some offerings as well- he is not yet skilled enough to work with finer gems, but as nothing has caught your eye yet, I thought…” Claire spied a ring with a large oval cut central stone, flanked by crescent moons and smaller, teardrop shaped ingots of moss agate.

“This is beautiful,” she murmured, lifting it from the tray to inspect it more closely. “What do you think?” she asked Loki.

“Your opinion matters more than mine; you’re the one who will wear it,” Loki replied, but he leaned closer to inspect it nonetheless. “It is lovely.”

“There is another band that my apprentice designed to go with it,” the owner held up a second gold band, this one in a sloping shape to accentuate the first band. The band was decorated along the bottom, with a triquetra in the center and triple moons on each side. The center of the triquetra and the full moons were set with small diamonds, crescent moons solid gold, and tiny emeralds sat within the corner loops of the triquetra. Claire pressed the two bands together on her finger, her heart fluttering at the sight of them. They were absolutely gorgeous. “The knot in the center is not as popular in our culture, but the triquetra represents-”

“Past, present, and future,” Claire smiled at the ring on her hand. Claire had long been a believer that the universe would sends signs if one was simply willing to see them- she felt it was no coincidence that she was presented a wedding ring with the trinity knot on it. Whatever her misgivings about how she got here, this felt like a sign that she was in the right place. “I love it.”

“Is this the one?” Loki asked from beside her. Claire nodded, confident in her choice.

“Yep, this is it.”

“Excellent choice, Your Majesty,” the owner bowed respectfully. He whisked the rings away, Claire’s selection set aside for safekeeping. He returned with a tray of rings for Loki to choose from. Loki was not much for jewelry either, but one of them stood out as a clear match for the ring Claire had chosen.

It was a smooth, thick gold band with a thin seam of moss agate running through the center.

“What do you think?” he asked, offering it to Claire for her appraisal.

“It’s beautiful work,” Claire said, inspecting the ring from all angles. “And it would match mine. It suits you.”

“I like it,” Loki agreed, setting the ring aside on the tray. “This one.”

“Excellent choice, Your Majesty,” the owner said. “We shall have both rings ready in two days’ time.”

“Wonderful,” Frigga said from behind them. “I think it is time for some lunch before our afternoon outing.”

Lunch took place two streets away in an elegant restaurant that made Claire feel out of place. She looked the part, sure, but she still felt like Oliver Twist in a room full of rich people.

“Claire?” she felt the feather-light touch Loki’s hand at her lower back and she looked over to see him looking at her with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Sorry, things just got real,” Claire laughed nervously. “I'm feeling really nervous now.”

“Here,” Loki guided her to a seat, taking the space beside her. “What troubles you?”

“I was just thinking about the-” Claire grimaced, shrinking in on herself. “The wedding night.”

“Oh! I would never force myself on you,” Loki swore, pulling away from her. “You have my word.”

“No, no, that's- that’s not what I'm worried about, I don't feel threatened by you,” Claire said hurriedly, keeping him close with a hand on his arm. “I just remembered that the original plan was for us to-”

“Ah, yes,” Loki ducked his head, a frown marring his handsome features. “The lovely tradition of having witnesses for the consummation is both ancient and disturbing.”

“Yeah,” Claire gave a relieved sigh. “I rejected that part of the treaty real quick.”

“As did I,” Loki replied. “Not that I'm particularly shy, but whenever my mother talked about it I could tell it had bothered her to go through it and I didn’t wish to put you through that.” Their conversation was interrupted as their party was directed to their table. Claire and Loki were seated beside each other, with Frigga on Loki’s other side and the crones opposite them. As they were perusing the menus, Claire leaned over to keep talking to Loki.

“You talked to your mom about sex?”

“I was an inquisitive child!” Loki said defensively. “I also had a very negative outlook on marriage and thought it stupid. Still do,” He admitted, shaking his head. “But she was determined that Thor and I both learned the traditions and all of it, as someday we would have to go through it.” They were interrupted again as a server arrived to take their orders.

“Well that's cool. And for what it's worth, I also think marriage is stupid.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Here I am,” Claire replied. “Though I will admit I am feeling more...optimistic about it.” she smiled warmly as their food arrived, and their private conversation ended as they were roped into conversing with the crones.

~~~~

Frigga’s afternoon outing was a play- a retelling of an ancient tale of love and war. Claire read over the playbill with a mix of excitement and dread. She enjoyed theater, she supposed, in a general sense (S.H.I.E.L.D didn’t give much time off for attending plays) but she didn’t know what to expect from this. She’d come to learn that the Asgardians LOVED telling exaggerated tales of war and men occasionally would write poems for women they wanted to court. Claire was just thankful Loki hadn’t accosted her with a shitty poem- it would have been too difficult not to laugh in his face.

She liked his face, but romantic gestures were pushing it- devastating jawline or not. The thought of being surrounded by the vulturous young ladies of the court, all of them gawking at her while Loki botched iambic pentameter made her want to vomit.

She was grateful that she’d been seated next to Loki for the play though. It made it easier to have private conversation with him.

“Hey, thanks for refusing the consummation thing. It would have been difficult to pretend that I'm innocent.” she whispered.

“Are you not a good actress?” Loki whispered back with a hint of disappointment. “What a pity. I'd thought all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s agents were professionals.”

“Oh no, I'm very good,” Claire grinned wolfishly. “Just not that good.”

“If there is anything I can do to perhaps...make things easier for you-” Claire snorted, the sound decidedly unladylike.

“I’m not worried,” she smacked his arm with the back of her hand. “I just didn’t want an audience.”

“I see,” Loki paused before leaning closer. “Circumstances being what they are...we will still need to put on a bit of a show.” the low timbre of his voice gave her goosebumps, and Claire shifted in her seat.

“I know, your mom told me,” she murmured back. “I think it's dumb, but apparently putting a couple drops of blood on bed sheets is easier than accepting I'm a sexually liberated woman.”

“Liberated?” Loki parroted.

“Oh yes,” Claire grinned. “I do what I want, when I want. Or I guess more accurately, who.”

“A trait I can admire,” Loki replied with a smirk. “And does my oafish brother make the list? Were you disappointed-”

“Oh no, Thor is nowhere near the list,” Claire pulled a face, shaking her head in disgust. “You are, though.” she winked at him, meeting his gaze boldly as the lights dimmed. Loki's mind went blank, his brows furrowed as her words sank in. It was an unusual thing, to be desired so openly. He was not a stranger to being desired- as a prince, second or not, he was a desirable bedfellow- but more often that not, it was his status and what it afforded them that people were after, not him. His past trysts had been secluded in shadow, for his admirers never shared their affection once the sun rose. All the same, he’d accepted their suits; after all, he was a hedonist by nature and not one to turn away from pleasure.

There was something novel about this odd woman. The labyrinthine societal rules kept most wrapped in layers of deceit like fabric, suffocating any truth before it could fall from their lips. But not Claire- she had not yet been indoctrinated by the ridiculous rules of court, and not once had he sensed that she was lying to him. It was refreshing indeed, and Loki appreciated it more than he could say.

Loki clasped Claire’s hand in his own in the darkness, unwilling to give voice to such vulnerability. Claire settled her other hand on his arm, leaning into his side as the lush red curtain was raised. Rapt silence fell over the room as the play began, and Loki whiled away the first act tracing his thumb over the empty spot on her hand that her ring would soon occupy.

13 days until the wedding

Loki was lost in thought as he walked around the palace. It was now less than two weeks before he would wed, and although his future wife was an intriguing puzzle he longed to unravel, Loki still felt less than giddy about the event. Servants bowed to him respectfully but gave him a wide berth, afraid and unwilling to anger the dark prince. Loki was used to such treatment even before his incursions on Midgard, but he supposed his dark mood did nothing to dampen their fear of him.

He found himself in his mother’s garden, the tall flowers swaying soothingly in the breeze. Some of the flowers in the center of the garden were moving oddly, wiggling rapidly and disturbing the surrounding flowers. Loki ducked under the thick branches to investigate, picking his way to the center of the flower bed.

He found his future wife sitting on the ground, legs crossed in front of her. She had an array of things spread in the dirt in front of her, and she was smoking.

“Uh…hi,” Claire said, exhaling pungent smoke into the space between them. “What’s up?” Confused by her question, Loki looked overhead only to see the canopy of flowers with specks of bright blue sky peeking through.

“The sky?” he wagered. Claire laughed as he sat down in the dirt opposite her. Her shawl lay on the ground beside her, a soft blue that heralded her as a favorite of his mother. The silver band on her bicep matched the soft gray of her dress, sparkling sporadically as the flowers above them danced in the breeze and the sunlight shone through in minuscule rays.

His future wife was rather beautiful, Loki was man enough to admit it. Today her lips were tinted a dark grey which complimented the soft hue of her gown. She was slender in frame but well built from years of working for S.H.I.E.L.D.. In the short time he had known her, Loki had learned she was fierce with her words and her wit. She was shorter than him, but most everyone was. Her unbound hair hung down to her breasts, the thick chocolatey tresses practically concealing them from his gaze. Her eyes intrigued him- she was so young compared to him, but her eyes had seen much. The rich dark blue shade of them made Loki think of the sea, and sapphires. And she was…she was talking to him.

“What?” he asked stupidly. Like a fool, he’d been caught up in being able to actually look at her. They had spent time together of course, but always, always under supervision.

“I asked if you wanted a hit,” Claire repeated, holding out her cigarette to him. It wasn’t like any he’d seen before- the smell wasn’t as offensive and it was clearly hand-rolled in white paper. “It’s good stuff.”

“Is it tobacco?” Loki asked.

“No way, that stuff is nasty,” Claire replied, her nose scrunching adorably in disgust. “It’s pot.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Loki replied, accepting the cigarette and giving it a sniff. “It’s not as offensive as tobacco.”

“You guys don’t have weed here?” Claire asked in astonishment. “Damn, I’ll have to add it to my list of stuff I want brought here.”

“What is it?” Loki asked.

“It’s a plant. There’s different strains and they have different effects, but this is called Granddaddy Purple. It’s to help you relax.”

“Why are you smoking to relax?” Loki asked, even as he smoked from the cigarette. The smoke had a pleasant burn and a pungent aroma.

“Gee, I don’t know, probably because I signed my entire life away,” Claire replied sarcastically, giving him a judgmental stare when Loki choked on the smoke and started to cough. “Dude, don’t- hold it in for a second- wow, you suck at this.” she snickered.

“Believe it or not, I’ve never done this before.” Loki passed the cigarette back to her.

“You’ve never done drugs? Like, at all?” Claire balked, holding the smoke in her lung before exhaling toward the flower canopy. “But you’re- you’re old! You probably witnessed the big bang!”

“That was before my time, actually,” Loki laughed, his mind starting to feel a little hazy. “You’re upset.”

“You bet your ass I’m upset,” Claire’s nose wrinkled as she exhaled sharply. “No offense. It’s not you, it’s them. The crones.”

“I take it lessons are not going well?”

“I mean…” Claire shrugged. “They’re okay, if you like being corrected constantly. Everything I do is wrong, apparently, and I’m hopeless.”

“I’m sure you’re doing fine.”

“I’m really not. Ask your mom,” Claire sighed. “Honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if they sent me home, the way they were talking.”

“You think they would?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t know whether I want them to send me back or keep me here. There’s a lot of variables.”

“I understand. I have...reservations as well.”

“Are we stupid for doing this?” Claire asked, exhaling slowly into the air between them.

“What?”

“I don’t know, sometimes quitting is the best solution to a problem.”

“You wish to leave?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Claire admitted. “I left everything behind to come here. What exactly am I getting out of this?” Loki began to count on his fingers.

“A considerably longer lifespan, immeasurable wealth and respect-”

“More like loneliness and a gilded cage.” Claire muttered.

“-Stability,” Loki countered. “Can I try that again?”

“Please,” Claire scoffed as she passed him the roach. “I’ve never been stable a day in my life.”

“An auspicious match, then,” Loki chuckled, taking a deep hit from the blunt. “Neither have I. At least, not that I remember,” He took another hit before passing it back to her, relaxing back into the grass beneath them. Loki took stock of himself, and he was starting to feel…something. “It takes a moment, doesn’t it?”

“Isn’t it nice?” Claire gave a dreamy sigh as she laid down beside him. “If you want it to hit faster, hold it in your lungs for a few seconds before you exhale,” she coached, giggling when Loki started coughing again. “Coughing also helps.”

“Does it?” Loki managed weakly.

“Oh yeah, it does,” Claire giggled. “It makes me feel all tingly and disconnected.”

“Doesn’t it make you feel…vulnerable?” He glanced over at her.

“I guess so, yeah,” Claire shrugged. “But it’s nice to escape reality for a while.”

“Do all Midgardians smoke this? What did you call it, grandfather purple?”

“Granddaddy,” Claire corrected with a laugh. “And no, not all of us Earthlings smoke the ganja. But there are lots of uses for it.”

“Like what?” Loki asked.

“Like I said, there are different strains for different things. You can smoke it, cook or bake with it, use the fibers to make clothing…this stuff though- it’s mostly for relaxing, but it also makes colors richer, food taste better…sex feel better,” Claire sighed wistfully. Loki looked surprised by her answer. “What?”

“I have never heard a woman speak so freely about such things.” Loki seemed genuinely scandalized by the idea.

“Dude, you’re cute, but you need to loosen up,” Claire cackled, propping herself up on her elbow to look at him. “It’s the 21st century, lots of women have recreational sex.”

“I am not cute,” Loki scoffed, his face scrunching with disgust as he said the word. “I am a god.”

“Yeah, y’are,” Claire said flirtatiously, short bursts of smoke escaping her nose as she giggled. “Maybe cute isn’t the most accurate word, but I stand by it.” Loki thought she looked enchanting, mirthful and sun-dappled beneath the flowers, and the now-familiar churning in his belly returned with a vengeance.

“I will never mistreat you,” he pledged, his eyes never leaving the golden shimmer the sun revealed in her lip polish. “You have my word.”

“I know.” Claire grinned at him.

“Do you?” Loki laughed.

“I fascinate you,” Claire shrugged, offering him another hit from the roach. Loki took it, enjoying the burn and the fuzzy feeling behind his eyes. “That and you think I’m pretty.” Loki snorted, a puff of smoke escaping his nostrils as he glanced over at her with pinkened cheeks.

“A bit of both.” he admitted.

“I knew it.” Claire said smugly.

“You are so self-assured!” Loki crowed indignantly.

“Well I was right, wasn’t I?”

“You were,” Loki agreed softly, turning on his side to stare at her fondly before seeming to come back to himself. “I should go,” he said suddenly, getting up from the grass. He made a show of brushing dirt off of his leathers to hide the flush taking over his face. He’d become overwhelmed with desire to kiss her, and now he was running like a coward. “We’re not supposed to be alone.”

“Right,” Claire rolled her eyes, inhaling from the roach again. “Propriety and whatnot.”

“Oh, she does have sense,” Loki replied sarcastically. “I��d like to leave our reputations intact, if at all possible.”

“Why do you care so much what people think of you?” Claire asked. “We’re getting married in less than two weeks regardless, so who gives a shit?”

“I do,” Loki dusted off his pants. Claire sat back and watched the show, enjoying the way the fabric clung to the muscle of his thighs. “Unless of course you decide to leave.”

“We’re still good, right?” Claire asked, looking him up and down. “Or did I cross a boundary?”

“We are fine,” Loki said shortly. “What was the percentage you gave us the other day?” Claire grinned, exhaling smoke through her nose.

“I predicted a respectable seventy percent, but it’s up to eighty-five now that we’ve smoked pot together.”

“I barely smoked any,” Loki argued weakly. Claire laughed loudly. “Perhaps another time I can try more.”

“Alright, it’s a date,” Claire smiled. “I’ll put in an intergalactic order for more kinds,” she snickered at her joke, which Loki didn’t understand. “Hey, don’t tell anyone where I am, okay? I honestly can’t handle any more princess lessons today.”

“It will be our secret.”

“Awesome,” Claire sighed, relaxing back into the soothing embrace of the grass. “I like secrets.”

~~~~

When Claire eventually emerged from the garden, she had just enough time to meet Frigga for tea. Claire liked the queen, but she was nervous about meeting with her, especially having cut out of princess lessons early that day. Believe it or not, Claire did not find needlepoint compelling. Her knowledge with ropes and knot-tying didn’t exactly translate, and Claire would rather stab her tutor with the needle than use it to make delicate flowers with thread.

Frigga looked radiant as always when Claire arrived. Claire had a passing hope that she didn’t smell like pot as she sat down to tea with her future mother-in-law.

“Hello dear,” Frigga greeted her with a warm smile. She got to her feet and gathered Claire in a warm hug, which never failed to prick at Claire’s heartstrings. “You look well. How are your lessons going?”

“They’re okay.” Claire offered with a shrug. Frigga picked up the tea pot to begin pouring tea.

“Are you certain?” Frigga asked knowingly as she poured Claire a cup of steaming hot tea. “Your tutors are of a different mind, especially your needlepoint instructor.” Shit.

“I mean...I’m definitely struggling. For all my skills, I can’t seem to do anything right here. It’s frustrating.”

“Every new venture is a challenge,” Frigga replied smoothly as she poured her own tea. “I too felt out of sorts when I first came to Asgard.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” Frigga smiled fondly at the memory. “Odin and I were betrothed from a very young age, and although I spent most of my youth preparing to take my place as his wife, preparing and doing were very different things. It is understandable that you should feel upset or overwhelmed.”

“I definitely feel overwhelmed,” Claire agreed. “There’s so much for me to learn, and just when I think I have a grip on things, something else gets added. And it’s also very frustrating that ever since I came here, I’m basically viewed for nothing more than my reproductive potential. I have so much more to offer than that and I feel like no one cares.”

“Childbearing is an integral part of our society, Lady Claire. All women have talents, this is true, but through our children our people survive. The children you have with Loki will ensure the alliance between Asgard and Midgard will endure for centuries to come.”

“But isn’t that degrading?” Claire asked sharply. “Not every woman wants to have children. Shouldn’t they be allowed to choose for themselves?”

“Perhaps, but that is not the issue at hand. You do not have the luxury of choosing, dear. You made your choice when you agreed to come here.” Frigga said gently.

“Well maybe I’m having second thoughts,” Claire set her cup down with more force than she meant to, the loud clink drawing a pointed look from Frigga. “This is not what I had in mind.”

“Is leaving truly what you wish?” Frigga asked. She could tell the young woman was discouraged, but much was at risk if she backed out of the treaty.

“I don’t know,” Claire spun her empty tea cup in its saucer instead of meeting the queen’s eyes. “I’m not sure I’m the right person for this. It seems like no matter what I do, it’s not enough.”

“I appreciate this is a tremendous undertaking for you,” Frigga replied gently. “What young women learn over the course of years, you must learn in weeks. I can also appreciate that my son is not the easiest young man to get along with.”

“Right,” Claire grimaced. Frigga knew about their spats; practically everyone in the palace did. “Maybe it would be best if I left.”

“Do you know what happens if you do?”

“I know this is to form an alliance, but Asgard and Earth aren’t on bad terms. There’s no threat of war.”

“There is not, that is correct. There is however, significant threat to Loki. Should this alliance fail, he will be returned to his cell in the dungeons.”

“I thought that was only if it failed after we married.”

“I’m afraid not, dear. I have tried to change the king’s mind, but he will not be swayed.” Frigga pursed her lips behind her tea cup.

“But-” That’s not fair. Why does Odin have it out for Loki? “This isn’t right.”

“No, it is not. One of the hardest aspects of being royalty is that we often must swallow knives to make peace.”

“So if I leave- even if Odin himself says I won’t cut it- Loki goes back?”

“Indeed,” Frigga replied, a sour look upon her face. “I’m sure I don’t need to impress upon you how vital it is that you and this marriage succeed,” she grabbed Claire’s hands in her own. “I am sorry to burden you with such responsibility. But I fear you are the only means I have to save my son,” Claire swallowed nervously. “I would beg you to reconsider. Please.”

Twelve days until the wedding

Claire struggled to sleep the night before, still trying to figure out why Odin was so dead-set on Loki going back to jail. Hadn’t he served enough time?

She wasn’t sure if five years equaled eighty deaths, but it definitely was unfair to release someone from prison only to throw them back in. Somehow Claire doubted whether Asgardian law had the concept of double jeopardy on the books.

After tossing and turning for hours, Claire had examined and re-examined the problem from every possible angle. She’d finally come to a solution- the only solution that didn’t leave her in an ethical quagmire and Loki in a jail cell.

She was going to stay.

Somehow, she would successfully finish her princess lessons and shove her success in her tutor’s faces. She would fulfill the obligations of the treaty and become princess royal of Asgard, and Loki’s wife.

Her mind made up, she’d finally fallen asleep for what seemed like five minutes before Ragna was waking her up for the day. She struggled to stay awake as her hair was brushed to perfection, the promise of seeing Loki at breakfast forcing her from her chambers. He was probably worried sick she was going to leave him to his wretched fate. She had to talk to him.

Except he wasn’t at breakfast. Ignoring the nerves upsetting her stomach, Claire forced herself to eat.

After breakfast, Claire set off with Ragna and a guard under the guise of walking off her meal. Loki was somewhere in the palace, and she was determined to find him.

~~~~

The hallways seemed to grow busier on the lower levels they explored, and Claire followed the crowds. People curtsied and bowed to her as she walked the halls, making her feel like a celebrity. She gave polite nods to everyone they passed, keeping her eyes peeled for any sign of Loki.

A flash of green caught her attention and Claire perked up, scanning the clusters of people for Loki.

There!

Loki stood with his back to her, in an animated discussion with two men she didn’t recognize. Without a thought, she dashed toward Loki, leaving Ragna and Gunnar in the dust. People parted like the red sea as she ran, gawking with dismay at the woman who dared to run.

Loki was in a discussion with two fellow council members when Claire raced up to their group.

“Hey,” she said breathlessly as she pulled him aside. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I need to talk to you.” The council members bowed to her respectfully as her hands clasped around his arm. She seemed genuinely upset, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she fought to catch her breath.

“Are you alright, my lady? Where is your escort?”

“Oh, um...somewhere back there,” Claire gestured over her shoulder. “I promise I’m fine.” Loki’s companions shared a concerned look at her boldness.

“A moment, please,” Loki said to the men he was with before steering her a few feet down the opulent hall. “What troubles you?”

“I wanted to clarify what I said yesterday.”

“My lady, we didn’t see each other yesterday.” Loki squinted at her in warning.

“Right, of course,” Claire winked. “But what I said, about feeling indecisive.”

“I see,” Loki nodded. “Then you have decided-”

“I’m staying.” Claire spoke over him.

“But you-” Loki blanched, clearly confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“I was freaking out,” Claire sighed. “I wasn’t kidding when I said lessons were going badly. It’s my fault...I- you know what, no. I’m not taking blame for this-”

“For what?”

“Everything about this just…” Loki looked concerned as she clenched her fists and growled angrily. “Goes completely against my feminist beliefs. Having to sit there and listen to those old bats go on and on and on about how my entire life is supposed to be about you! I’m supposed to let you make all the decisions about everything! Where we live, how many babies we have, you name it! I’m not supposed to have opinions!?” she threw her hands up questioningly between them.

“I suspect that would be like asking you not to breathe.” Loki joked, regret filling him instantly when Claire’s stormy eyes settled on him.

“If you think for one second that I’m going to be trailing after you like a lost puppy-” she jabbed a finger at his chest plate angrily, and Loki’s eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. “You’ve got another thing coming, pal. Either I walk next to you like an equal or not at all.”

“I would not want you to,” Loki replied slowly. “I apologize for your difficulty. I did not realize-”

“How sexist your culture is?”

“Madam-”

“What?!” Claire huffed. “Are you gonna tell me I’m wrong? Is that too strong of an opinion for you; because it sure is for everyone else.”

“I do not wish for any of those things,” Loki replied, a pinched look on his face. He sighed, glancing with concern at the people milling around them. Many of them gave the engaged couple odd looks at they passed. “It is difficult to discuss this openly here.” Neither of them could say what they really wanted to say with so many others around them, but Claire did not seem to care at all.

“Why? I don’t give a shit. You wanna know the truth?” she asked. “When you totally didn’t see me yesterday, I was fully prepared to cut and run. I had my things packed and ready to go. I was on board with stepping up for my people- I still am- but I draw the line at making myself small so other people can be comfortable.”

“I see.”

“But...then your mom told me what would happen to you if this doesn’t work out, and I don’t think you deserve that,” She placed a hand on his vambrace as she spoke, and Loki stared down at her for a beat, making her think she’d overstepped. He swallowed as she stepped slightly closer and if Claire didn’t know any better, she’d think he was nervous. “I’m still not vibing with all of this, but I think there’s more to you than what I’ve seen. I am trying to be as open about this as possible. I just need to know it’s not for nothing.”

“Thank you,” he said finally. “I still think this endeavor foolish, but it is far preferable to the alternative. That said, you are not alone in your concerns, and I would like to discuss them with you at length,” Loki grimaced as his companions summoned him. Claire offered a faint smile when his expression soured. “I’m afraid I must go. I shall see you soon, Lady Claire. I look forward to discussing this further. Do enjoy the rest of your day, my lady.” He drew her hand into his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, keeping his intense eyes focused on hers and setting her heart to racing. His lips were soft and warm, his touch gentle. Something in Claire quivered and turned to a puddle as she fought back a swoon. How could something so innocent make her stomach clench and turn her knees to jelly?

She thought about it for the rest of the day.

~~~~

Long after a respectable princess-to-be should have been asleep, Claire sat awake in her apartment going over her notes. What little intelligence S.H.I.E.L.D. possessed on the god who had laid siege to New York lay in front of her. Claire had read the dossier back to front and at this point could likely recite it in her sleep. It was her personal notes that she scrutinized now, unable to make them fall in line with the printed narrative. The Loki written on the page was calculating, grandiose, and malevolent. The Loki she was coming to know was none of those things. Well, he was still grandiose, but Claire figured that was part and parcel of being raised as royalty. The man was literally a god, worshipped for thousands of years. Still worshipped, Claire corrected herself as she thought of his rapid fans who’d pledged their undying loyalty to him before the debris in New York had been cleared.

Claire had done research of her own before her arrival in Asgard, doing countless deep dives of obscure forums and social media, and had managed to unearth a small collection of personal accounts which had yet to be verified. One such account came from a subreddit, posted by a woman living in New York at the time of the attack. The woman claimed that Loki had pushed her aside as a large piece of debris had fallen, sparing her from certain death. If it true, perhaps her husband-to-be was not the monster that the people of Earth thought him to be.

Most of what Claire found was unhelpful. Comments ranging from the typical ‘I can fix him’, ‘he’s just misunderstood’ to pure filth about what the poster would do to the man if given half a minute with him. Claire had originally dismissed them all with a roll of her eyes- she might be a monster fucker, but having witnessed the carnage of New York firsthand she wasn’t ready to ride the man’s dick at the time. Now that she was getting to know him and riding on his dick was a fast-approaching reality, Claire wasn’t too mad about it. The circumstances, sure, but not the getting-to-fuck-one-of-the-hottest-men-in-the-galaxy part. The man was FINE.

And he wasn’t like S.H.I.E.L.D. had thought he would be. Bruce had described him as ‘bag full of cats’, but Claire felt she was beginning to see behind the curtain. Sure he was mischievous, and kind of a dick, but he was thoughtful, and gentlemanly, and at least willing to listen to her concerns about the rampant sexism. And so fucking tall.

Focus, Claire. She fought not to melt at the memory of him kissing her knuckles earlier. For all the smut she consumed, a kiss on the hand was what made her all gooey inside? What was she, twelve?

She blamed the forced separation. In the limited time they spent together, they were watched like hawks in the name of propriety. Would things change after they married? Claire quite liked the intense stirrings their interactions caused, and hoped the feeling remained after the wedding. Her eyes dropped to the hand Loki had kissed, her skin tingling as she remembered the feeling of his lips. She wanted another. Fuck it, she may as well admit she wanted him to kiss up her arm like Gomez Addams. She deserved to be loved like Morticia.

Claire sighed wistfully before pulling herself out of her rose-tinted thoughts. She could daydream about Gomez and Morticia later. For now, she needed to focus. Shaking her head, Claire pulled the dossier back in front of her, rifling through the small stack of photos inside. She’d already seen them several times, but this time she caught something she hadn’t seen before.

In many of the photos, the photo was blurry- having been pulled from subpar traffic cameras or someone’s shaky cell phone. However there was one, from his time aboard the helicarrier, where the image was crystal clear. In this photo, it was clear how haggard Loki was. Just like the times before, Claire noted the dark shadows beneath his sunken eyes, the grayish tint to his alabaster skin and how pale and chapped his lips were. In the margins of the glossy photo paper, Claire had made notes: -not sleeping? -drugs? Anything she could think of to explain his appearance. Prior to meeting him, Claire had had no way of knowing, but the biggest clue had been staring her in the face the whole time. Loki’s eyes were blue in the photo.

Weren’t his eyes green? Claire dropped the photo, thinking back to the times she’d seen him in the past few days. The marketplace, the garden, the hallway that morning, dinner...his eyes had been green each time. No blue whatsoever.

What the hell?

Just as she was scribbling a new note in the margins, a knock on her chamber doors startled her. Wasn’t it a bit late for social calls? Ever cautious, Claire closed the dossier and hid it beneath the couch cushion before she went to the door.

A handmaiden stood waiting, bearing a heavy looking tray of dishes and a cloche. The guard watched from his post beside the door, looking bored.

“The meal you requested, madam.” The handmaiden said, giving her a curtsy.

Claire hadn’t requested shit. She didn’t recognize the woman, but she was still pretty new to the palace. Just as she was about to close the door, the handmaiden winked at her. Claire paused, thinking for a moment that the wink looked familiar. The fuck?

“Right. Yes. Sorry, I must be more tired than I realized. Come in.” The guard relaxed, allowing the handmaiden to step inside and closing the door behind her.

“Do you allow anyone into your chambers, or am I special?” Loki asked from behind her, grinning when Claire whirled to face him.

“You sneaky little shit,” she hissed quietly, looking at the door in alarm. “You can’t be here! The paw patrol will be pissed!”

“Paw patrol?” Loki’s face scrunched in confusion. God damn it, he was cute. And in fewer layers than usual. His leather armor had been exchanged for soft looking leisure clothes, but his long limbs were still covered by dark fabric. “I am not familiar with this band of enforcers,” he set the tray upon the table in front of the couch. “May I sit?” he gestured to the couch.

“Never mind,” Claire sighed. “Yes, please.” his loose collar gaped to the side as he sat down, and Claire was granted a teasing glimpse of his collar bone. “Why are you here? Why is Gunnar not barging in to haul you back out?”

“Because princess lessons are going poorly, and you clearly need the extra help,” Loki sighed, brushing his hair back from his face and exposing a strip of skin at his waist. “As to your second question, the room is cloaked in my magic. Your guard will not be able to hear us. I’m not risking imprisonment again so you can learn how to properly curtsy.”

“Hey, fuck you.” Claire spat. It was nice of him to offer his help, but he didn’t have to be condescending about it.

“Not yet, darling,” Loki brushed off her words, clasping his hands together. “Now then, let’s get started.” He dragged the heavy table closer to them with ease, the fabric of his sleeves barely containing the muscles in his arm as they flexed.

“Oh goody.” Claire said flatly as she sat beside him. Loki shot her a dark look as he reached to pull the cloche off the gilded charger beneath it. He set it aside, letting her see what he’d brought. A small assortment of little sandwiches and what looked like miniature fruit tarts sat on the charger, waiting to be consumed. In front of the charger, he’d arranged a proper place setting and Claire was actually a little impressed.

“This is how the table settings are arranged for state dinners,” he explained, naming each utensil as he touched it. His thigh pressed against hers as he spoke, and Claire struggled to focus on his words instead of the steely muscle she could feel. This was the closest they had ever been and her body was intensely focused on that fact. “You start from the outside and work your way in with each course.”

“Yeah, I know,” Claire replied, pushing away her desire to ride his thigh. God, how good would that feel? “I’m a commoner, not an idiot.”

“Well how was I to know?” Loki chuckled. “Better to start with the basics and work our way up,” I’ve got something he could work up. “Focus darling, or we’ll never finish.” Claire snorted, drawing another ireful glare from her husband-to-be. He waved his hand and the dishes disappeared from the tray, replaced with a scroll of parchment.

“Aw, snacks.” Loki rolled his eyes, returning the charger with another wave of his hand.

“I swear you’re just like Thor,” he shook his head, taking one of the sandwiches for himself before handing it to her. “Now pay attention. This will help you remember the rank of anyone you may meet. It’s very important that you know how to address members of the court and in what order.”

An hour later, Claire was able to recite the flow chart back to Loki and had satisfactorily answered all of his questions on how to address the various nobles.

“Maybe I’m not such a shit princess after all,” Claire remarked as she rolled the scroll back up. The charger rested beside her on the couch, the snacks long devoured. “I’m definitely making flash cards.” Loki grinned.

“It helps to have study materials. No doubt the crones expected you to memorize it after hearing it once.”

“Pretty much.”

“Do you have any questions before I take my leave?” Claire’s eyes flicked to his as he looked up at her.

They were green. So why were they blue in the surveillance photo?

“Why are you helping me?” Loki licked his lips as he considered the question, his brows bunching as he met her gaze again.

“Because regardless of how we got here, our paths are now intertwined,” he said gently. “I will not let you fail, Claire. Even if it means risking life and limb to teach you.”

“Life and limb, huh?”

“Of course,” Loki nodded. “Should you fail, the alliance would be in ruins and you would be sent back to Midgard. I, however, will either be sent back to prison or to the executioner’s block. Most likely the latter.” Claire paled as the weight of their situation crushed her.

“Your mom didn’t tell me that part,” she murmured. “Fuck, I really am a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

“A what?”

“Remind me to introduce you to Monopoly,” Claire smiled weakly. “Actually, that would be a great way to teach you about capitalism.”

“A lesson for another night, I think. You should get some rest.” he got to his feet, gathering the tray in his hands.

“Probably,” Claire agreed as she yawned. She got to her feet as well, her back popping as she stretched. Loki’s eyes trailed over her body, lingering on the curve of her hips. “Will there be more lessons tomorrow night?”

“But of course,” he replied easily, his eyes darting up to meet hers. “I will be sure to bring snacks, since that seems to motivate you.”

“I was hungry!” Claire cried defensively, both of them giggling. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Loki nodded as he made his way to the door. Suddenly, he wheeled back around to face her. “About what you said earlier-”

“Yes?”

“There are many things I would change, if I could,” Loki pursed his lips. “I may not ever have that power, but I will always treat you as an equal.”

“Wow,” Claire smiled, relief flooding her veins. “Than-”

“An annoying, hot-headed one, but an equal nonetheless.” Loki smirked as she scowled at him with annoyance clear on her face. “A jarl?” he questioned before she could speak.

“My lord.” Claire replied, giving a sarcastic curtsy. A corner of Loki’s mouth curled upward at her cheek.

“The second prince?” he pressed.

“Pain-in-my-ass,” Claire cackled. “Good night.” Loki’s half smile evolved into a full one, and before Claire could blink, the handmaiden from before stood where he’d been.

“Sleep well, my lady.”

#covenant #loki x ofc #loki fic

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captainkirkk · 1 year

Note

I have some nice pjo recs for you (many crossovers bc I'm a sucker for those) :

the ship of theseus by zipadeea - i think one of the best pjo crossovers i've read (dcu/pjo) afaik it readable without having to read HoO. Absolutely heartwrenching.

the ship of theseus (14839 words) by zipadeea Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Batman (Comics), Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), <a href="https://archiveofourown.org

Baby Blofis College Fund also by zipadeea: very funny

Baby Blofis College Fund (2908 words) by zipadeea Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Paul Blofis/Sally Jackson, Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Sally Jackson/Poseidon (Percy Jackson), Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson Characters: Sally Jackson (Percy Jackson), Paul Blofis, Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase (Percy Jackson), Poseidon (Percy Jackson), Estelle Blofis Additional Tags: Humor, Fluff and Smut, Fluff and Humor, Family Feels, Pregnancy Series: Part 3 of how to co-parent your reckless demigod 101 Summary:

Valerie calls her an hour later.

“Sally, what the hell?”

“That bad, huh?”

“Bad? Sally, it’s gold. I went from squirming in my seat to crying genuine tears. And that twist, making him a Greek god, it’s exactly what we’re looking for right now. How soon can you get me the next chapter?”

***

In which Sally Jackson realizes by the time the new baby is eighteen, a semester of college will cost an arm and a leg. And those Fifty Shades of Grey books sure did make a lot of money.

glass figures by ahermioneh: epic marvel/pjo crossover that is partly responsible for me to actually get an ao3 account, deviates from pjo canon a lot but uses a lot of the world building

glass figures (211796 words) by ahermioneh Chapters: 36/36 Fandom: Marvel, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clint Barton & Percy Jackson, Percy Jackson & Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton & Percy Jackson & Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson Characters: Percy Jackson, Clint Barton, Sally Jackson, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Phil Coulson, Annabeth Chase, Jason Grace, Paul Blofis, Steve Rogers, Most of The Ensemble from Both Universes Appear Additional Tags: the timeline is screwed to hell, demigod powers kick in in their twenties, clint is so young, Like, vaguely, Phil Coulson: Ace Recruiter, Nat is honestly so suspicious, Not graphic depictions of violence, but also like possibly, Year by year, POV First Person, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pre-Canon, percy literally shows up to mess with MCU canon, Be Nice to Clint Barton, Canon-Typical Violence, does this count as, Childhood Friends, Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, full disclaimer: we haven't seen agents of shield at all, and we've barely read toa, Complete, just to be clear this is an incredibly self-indulgent crossover, Goode High School (Percy Jackson) Series: Part 1 of closing the cracks Summary:

I lifted my gun, pointing it towards the minefield of shattered fragments, and kicked the small coffee table out of the way.

Only to stare down at an awfully familiar face, which split into a somewhat lopsided grin. The intruder raised his hands in a mocking surrender. “Long time no see, dude.”

I lowered the gun. “What the hell are you doing in South Peru?”

Or in which Clint Barton and Percy Jackson have a long personal history that starts in high school.

The File (series) by denimbeans: Another epic (long) crossover series for marvel/pjo, very spoilery for HoO tho: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2375215

Nothing to make a song about but kings by iwilllpassthis: all the world building, all the politics. Also post-HoO

Nothing to make a song about but kings (201210 words) by iwillpassthis Chapters: 59/59 Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Amphitrite & Percy Jackson, Percy Jackson & Poseidon Characters: Percy Jackson, Amphitrite (Percy Jackson), Poseidon (Percy Jackson) Additional Tags: King!Percy, Undersea politcs, Merpeople, Atlantis, My boy truly has no idea what he's doing, Do I? We shall never know, Powerful Percy Jackson Summary: Percy knelt before Atlantis’ throne, feeling the ancient power of the sea run through his veins in an uncoordinated dance. You are the sea now, it whispered, and the sea is you. A crown of gold and emeralds was placed on his head. Long live the king. Long live the king. . It’s a fortune that Poseidon has a mortal son, because when an ancient curse hits his kingdom and all the sea gods disappear… well, someone must rule.

THANK YOU

#giving links AND summary????#absolutely blessed #ask #fic recs #pjo recs

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il-predestinato · 1 year

Note

I am very curious about "A Modern Fairytale in Five Parts (aka. Once Upon a Time in Monte Carlo)" :))))) <3

Oh yes, the fairytale AU I've been struggling with for 1.5 years. 😅

title: Once Upon a Time in Monte Carlo

summary: A retelling of the very cursed 2021 Monaco Grand Prix. In which there is a prince in distress (Charles), an evil witch (Christian), a poisoned apple banana, a countdown rose in a jar, a bunch of suitors (the entire grid), and a desperate search for True Love's Kiss. 5+1, Charles/Max with a tiny bit of Charles/Everyone.

I shared an excerpt from it before, so you can read that first for a little more context. 😁

Another excerpt (from "Chapter 2: LANDO NORRIS"):

He gets a bloody podium. He’s on the podium with two of his closest friends. Except the podium celebrations have as much cheer as a funeral procession. The bottles of champagne remain untouched; neither Max nor Carlos could muster the enthusiasm to spray their bottles. He spied Max handing off his bottle to Christian Horner, who could not have looked more smug.

Lando wouldn’t put it past the guy to be responsible for Valtteri’s wheel nut failing to come off during the pit stop. (Both Zak and Andreas privately voiced their suspicions about the so-called “Witch King of Red Bull” … all right, maybe the nicknames were a little overboard, but Christian is still a right bastard.) The weekend could not have gone more perfectly for Red Bull.

Not that it seemed to matter to Max, who looked like he was ready to dart away the moment he entered parc fermé. Lando suspects he would have if they didn’t have obligatory post-race interviews. And even with that, there was scarcely a question that didn’t revolve around Charles.

At the end of it all, Lando is frankly exhausted. At this point, he’ll settle for a quiet dinner and getting his ass kicked at FIFA by Carlos.

Lando catches up with Carlos outside the Ferrari garage (and God, this place is depressing… one would think someone died in that garage). The Spaniard is in the middle of a sizeable gathering of F1 drivers - Max is there, along with Pierre, George, Seb, Gio, and Daniel.

“What do you mean that you also tried?” hisses Max, folding his arms at Pierre.

The Frenchman throws his former teammate a withering look that seems to question his intelligence at the same time. “Exactly what I mean, Max. He’s my best friend! I had to try.”

“You mean you kissed him?” adds Daniel helpfully.

Max sputters with a half cough, half choke. Daniel thumps his back vigorously, while Pierre graces both of them with an exaggerated sigh. “Merci, Sherlock, for clarifying.”

“Why would you do that?” Lando blurts out, joining the crowd.

Pierre looks at them like they were all lacking in wits. “His love interests are not exactement limited to women.” A bunch of goldfish expressions stare back at him; Pierre sighs again. “Really, guys, it’s 2021.”

A moment later, they’re all talking at once and talking over each other.

“Well, this really changes the game -”

“A much bigger pool -”

“Do you think he has a secret male lover -”

“Could still be a woman, you know -”

“Holy crap, do we all have to kiss him?”

“Try not to sound so eager, Dan -”

“Fuck, I’d do it without the curse -”

“Jesus, DAN!”

Lando clears his throat loudly. “If Pierre couldn’t wake him up, why would any of you guys succeed? He’s the closest to Charles. If it’s any of us, it would be Pierre.”

Carlos tilts his head thoughtfully. “Charles and Pierre are more like brothers. I think true love’s kiss is meant in - ah, how do you say it - the more biblical sense?”

“Romantic,” corrects Dan. “More face-sucking than air kisses, more naked grinding than soft cuddles, more deep throat -”

“I think we get it,” interrupts Seb, and Lando has never been more grateful to the former Ferrari driver.

Then Max, who had been rather morosely silent amongst all the clamour, speaks up for the first time. “Maybe… maybe it doesn’t hurt to try. It - it couldn’t hurt if there’s a chance of waking him?”

“I agree with Max,” Carlos pipes up, and Lando feels a twist of dread gnawing in his stomach. “He spends so much time on the road, in the paddock, with the team, and with all of us. What if it’s one of us?”

George shrugs. “I don’t suppose it would hurt to try.” He grins at Daniel. “There are worse things than kissing Charles.”

#lestappen #elle.ask #ask game #tag game #my fic #lestappen fairytale au #sorry for the delay! :)#time to run and get back to the rest of you later :D

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tsarisfanfiction · 2 months

Text

#5 (Sing A Song of Seven)

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: Teen Genre: Family, Angst Character: Michael Yew A series of Cabin Seven oneshots. This time: There's a spy in camp. Finally my muses have decided to write something again! This chapter draws a little from mine and @stereden's fic Lie to Me, although reading that fic isn't necessary to understand this one (but I will still encourage people to go listen to Stereden's recording of it!). At some point these ficlets will stop being Michael-centric but for now that's clearly not happening. Reminder that there’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one! If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi! <<#4

The realisations creep up on Michael slowly, as he leaves the meeting.

The revelation of a spy horrifies him while making too much fucking sense, because Beckendorf is dead, because Kronos’ army knew he and Percy were coming and made the whole thing a fucking trap that Beckendorf sprung to make sure they didn’t lose Percy, because losing Percy meant losing the whole war and they all knew that.

Of course there was a fucking spy in their camp, someone that Michael couldn’t trust because they were feeding information to Kronos and getting them – not just them, but certain, lynchpin, demigods – killed off one by one. Of course there was, because why wouldn’t there be? Enough demigods were traitors that why wouldn’t there be more pretending that they weren’t, hiding in plain sight and causing the most damage?

Michael’s angry about it, can feel his temper churning under his skin and making small bids for freedom that he can’t quite stop, has never been able to stop by himself and now Lee’s not here to help him stop it, diffuse it in a way that doesn’t have consequences.

Lee’s not here because he’s dead and the gaping hole torn through his heart hasn’t even started to heal yet, even though Michael has to pretend it has, that the grief isn’t still raw and playing havoc with his self-control, because he’s in charge, now, and that means younger siblings that need someone strong to hold them together are looking to him.

Lee’s not here because he’s dead and this time the thought sparks something else, something else that then ignites the inferno of Michael’s ever-simmering rage because how fucking dare Luke.

There’s a spy in the camp, and spies are liars. They say all the right things at all the right times, but they don’t mean a word of it because they believe the wrong fucking things, that the gods are worse than Kronos, that the gods need to fall for demigods to survive. They don’t mean a word of it and that means they’re liars and if Lee was still here, he’d have noticed.

Lee isn’t here, because he’s fucking dead. Because he was killed, in a fucking battle that happened inside the safety of camp, where it was never supposed to reach, and because Lee’s not here to spot liars, Beckendorf is dead. More of them will die, too, because Michael isn’t naïve and this feels like a start, except maybe it’s not because they lost two head counsellors last summer, lost Lee last summer, so maybe this is a continuation.

Lee’s not here to spot liars and Michael knows that very few people knew what Lee could sense, because Lee was always so careful not to let on, but he also knows that one of the people that did know was fucking Luke. Luke, who works for Kronos, who leads the demigod faction of the titan’s fucking army, who is probably the spy’s handler because they’re a fucking demigod, too.

Lee got killed last summer but that’s not right, because Lee was murdered last summer, before the war kicked up a notch and sabotage missions started and got sabotaged. Before the spy started passing information.

Luke needed Lee out of the way so that he could have a fucking spy.

The list of people that Michael hates is a short one. There are many people that annoy him, and more he dislikes. There are even people he can’t fucking stand. But hate is something different, something visceral, and for most of his life it’s been succinctly headed by the bastard his mom married.

Luke had wriggled his way onto the bottom of the list, somewhere between can’t stand and hate, years ago, when Michael had inexplicably woken up in the middle of the night in a way he never does to hear Lee sobbing into his pillow, broken from Luke’s fucking betrayal.

Michael is well aware that Lee would never have told him about his truth-sensing if it wasn’t for that night, when he’d been torn wide open by Luke demonstrating how much of a piece of shit he was.

Now, with the realisation that Luke must have wanted Lee out of the way so he could get on with killing the rest of them off via sabotage and other ways of Hermes fucking nonsense, he’s catapulted himself straight to the top of the fucking list and Michael’s certain he’ll stay there until he dies, at least.

Michael already wasn’t calm, not after arguing with Clarisse again, but the realisations have made his temper worse and he can’t just turn it off, not without Lee’s help. All he can do is channel it, try to minimise the casualties, because he can’t explode on his siblings. He just can’t.

Clarisse isn’t on his hate list, despite what most people think, but she is on his can’t fucking stand list and right now, with her bullshit over the fucking chariot, that’s close enough. His temper has to go somewhere and with its primary target out of fucking reach, wherever Luke’s hiding like the bastard he is – and his spy sneaking around with lies that Michael can’t see through, because he’s not Lee, could never be Lee – Clarisse makes a good enough secondary target.

He knows she can’t be the spy; Clarisse spying on anyone is laughable, she’s not got a subtle bone in her fucking body. But it doesn’t matter, because Michael is pissed and his rage has to go somewhere.

It’s not like she doesn’t fucking deserve it anyway.

#percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson fanfic #riordanverse #riordanverse fanfic #michael yew #lee fletcher #luke castellan #clarisse la rue #tsari writes fanfiction #sing a song of seven

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all-hail-the-witcher · 11 months

Text

questionable government spies (but better written and 5 years late)

chapter 1: surely the macarena has not been playing for the last 2 minutes without me noticing

words cannot even begin to describe how excited about this i am lets GO :D

___

words: 2800

edited: yes !!

ship: well its either going to be sprace or ralbert and you're all along for the ride

warnings: character death but the death is not real, minor injuries, mentions of the famed walgreens au, deep dish pizza slander, emotionally stubborn race

tags: @jack-kellys @ainti-pretty @boygirlctommy @jack-whatsyourangle @getchapapes @sun-kissed-star (let me know if you want on or off the tag list !!!)

again, big thank yous to katya for bullying me into writing this and my sister for beta-ing and providing chapter titles that have nothing to do with the story

read it on ao3!!

___

Even before Albert crashed his own funeral, Race was having a bad day.

For starters, there had been the paperwork. Always so much paperwork when someone died during a mission. And for what? This was the FBI for fucks sake, there were interns who could be doing this, not him, one of the best field agents in the country.

And there had been the eulogy. What even was a good eulogy these days? A heartfelt poem? A quote from The Fault in Our Stars? A melancholy tiktok dance? Race should have probably known the answer at this point, given that he had written a grand total of seven for Albert, only one and a half of which he had delivered.

Because that was the thing about Albert. He couldn't quite stay dead.

It was the one thing that drove Race absolutely crazy about his best friend. Well, maybe not the one thing. He did have a particularly dreadful habit of chewing all of Race’s pens. But anyway. Race felt bad every time he got the dreaded phone call and shrugged Albert’s death off. For all he knew it could be real this time and he was going to go up in front of his best friend’s casket to renegade while telling everyone what an idiot he had been. But then again. This was his eighth eulogy.

Jack, the newbie field agent that Race and Albert were supposed to be training, did not find Race’s lack of sadness even remotely acceptable. But then again, that was probably Race’s fault for not telling Jack that Albert didn’t like to stay dead.

“I still can’t fucking believe you,” Jack muttered, taking half a glance in Race’s direction as he merged into the exit lane. “Your best friend is fucking dead, you’re going to his fucking funeral, your eulogy is a fucking tiktok dance, and you're playing a fucking fish game.”

In the passenger seat, Race shrugged. “What? I have to feed them or they get sad. And I never actually said I was going to do the renegade.”

“I swear to fucking God Race,” Jack groaned, tears brimming in his eyes. The kid had been crying for the last week, Race was thoroughly impressed that he hadn’t run out of tears by now. “He was basically your brother. At least show some respect.”

Race rolled his eyes. “He’s not my fucking brother. Hell knows I have plenty of those.”

“You know, I’m glad he’s not here to see this,” Jack spat. “If he knew this was what his best friend was really like he wouldn’t want anything to do with you. Fucking sick of you to do this.”

Race continued feeding his fish. They may be silly, but least they weren’t yelling at him.

“I’m going to request a placement change after today, I can’t work with someone who doesn’t even give half of a shit about th-”

Thankfully he was cut off by Race’s phone ringing.

Not so thankfully, it was none other than Race’s arch nemesis on the other end.

“Racetrack Higgins.”

“Davey Jacobs.” Head of the NYC Branch of the FBI, resident asshole and general stick in the mud. He had had it out for Race and Albert since they had been in training and accidentally almost blew up his prized weapons lab.

“I need you and Dasilva to get your asses into my office ASAP.”

“Mmm, see, that might be a bit of a problem.” Race ran his fingers through his hair. “Ain’t nobody tell you that Albert’s dead?”

“Ain’t nobody tell you that I don't care?” Jacobs said, mimicking Race’s accent. “Just because one of you dies doesn’t mean crime stops.”

Race rolled his eyes as Jack pulled up in front of the church. “Ah Davey, good to know despite all your years of work, you still don’t have an ounce of sympathy.”

“You little-”

“And I assume you want me to drive from Chicago to New York cause your ass is too cheap to purchase a plane ticket?”

“If you don’t watch your tongue I’ll have you fired in two minutes flat.”

Race laughed. “My ass will be in your office after my ass goes to my partner's funeral, capishe?” Race threw his phone on the floor and rubbed his temples. He envied Jacobs’s ability to give out headaches like candy. Albert better be fucking alive cause there was no way he was going to New York City by himself.

Jack pulled the key out of the ignition and crossed his arms, staring straight forward. “What was that about?”

“Someone who wanted to talk to me and Albert.”

Jack said nothing.

Race fiddled with the edge of his shirt. Maybe he should say something. But what if Albert was dead? Then he would have gotten Jack’s hopes up too and then Jack would really never forgive him.

“I…I know you’re upset with me,” Race began lamely.

Jack snorted.

“But consider letting me finish your field training?” Race asked. “I know you still got a little ways to go and you got every right to be mad at me but you understand a computer better than I ever will and you’ve been really good backup and-”

“I’ll think about it okay?” Jack interrupted.

Race nodded, staring at his phone on the floor. Boy he sure hoped that Albert was still alive. He did not want this argument to come back and bite him in the ass later.

“Here.” Jack threw a crumpled bow tie at Race. “Put this on.”

“Why?”

“Because even though you may not be acting like it, we are still going to a funeral and you should at least look presentable.”

“Yeah,” Race rolled his eyes but still reluctantly tied the bow tie around his neck. It looked ridiculous with his t-shirt but he didn’t feel like upsetting Jack any more. “Cause this is gonna make all the difference.”

“Just shut up and get out of the car,” Jack muttered. “We’re already almost late.”

•••

The funeral itself was pitiful.

Aside from himself and Jack, the only other people were a handful of elderly women who looked mildly annoyed that their daily rosary praying had been interrupted by the untimely death of a twenty six year old. Race had not held a rosary since he was seventeen, but he was fairly certain one of the ladies was holding it upside down.

And out of all the seven people in the disproportionately massive church, including the priest, Jack was the only one who seemed like he wanted to be there.

Though, the lack of government officials and the fact that it was in a hole in the wall church in the middle of Chicago was a good sign. Perhaps Race wouldn’t have to renegade after all.

Twelve o’clock came and went and no one else entered the church. In fact, a few of the old ladies went as far as to inch further towards the door, hoping that they would be able to sneak out. Race did not blame them.

Whether the priest was waiting for more people to turn up or for the actual casket to make an appearance was hard to say.

“Aren’t there supposed to be government officials here because he died in the line of duty?” Jack whispered. Still, it managed to echo around the church.

Race winced at his lack of discretion. “We forfeited our rights to a fancy funeral when we almost blew up a weapons lab.” It was not the truth, but Jack did not need to know that five years ago Albert had gotten “blown up” and there was a full FBI sponsored funeral done for him, only for him to appear in a tiny hospital in the middle of Arkansas three days later. After that the FBI refused to give Albert a full funeral unless there was a body due to budget cuts. But that was irrelevant.

Jack’s face fell. “Albert always said that he would tell me that story.”

“He was never going to tell you that story.”

“Race,” Jack’s voice was firm. “Would you stop-”

“Thank you for gathering here today in the memory of Albert Dasilva,” the priest began. “Unfortunately the hearse seems to have gotten stuck in traffic and in the interest of making sure our later services start on time, we will just do an abbreviated service with no eulogies when it arrives momentarily. Unless anyone has any objections?”

Jack tries to raise his hand but Race held his arms down. Hearses didn’t just get stuck in traffic. This had Albert’s handiwork written all over it. The priest gave them a mildly amused look but ultimately said nothing.

Jack squirmed out of Race’s grip. “Don’t touch me, Race.”

“Jack I-“

“I said don’t fucking touch me, Antonio.”

Race grit his teeth. He already had to see Jacobs later today and he didn’t want a lecture from him on how you’re not supposed to deck the trainees at fake funeral services. How had Jack even known his name?

Moments later the door of the church slammed open and a ridiculously shiny gold casket was wheeled in. Race barely glanced at it. Maybe he should have told Jack. He liked the kid. This was the first trainee he and Albert had been given and he wanted to do a good job, be to Jack what Blink and Mush had been to him.

Albert would know how to fix this.

Race really hoped that he was outside.

He spent the rest of the hilariously brief service running through every possible outcome of the situation. At worst, Albert was indeed dead and Jack would abandon him. At best, Albert was not dead as Jack would forgive him for the misunderstanding easily. And in between there were seventy three other situations.

Something pointy jabbed Race in the ribs and he looked up to see Jack standing and glaring down at him. Fuck, the processional had already started.

Race wandered out of the church behind Jack in a daze. He fought down nausea as he trudged, absently wrapping and unwrapping his fingers in the chain around his neck.

The sun was blinding. Race squinted through it, trying to scan the parking lot for a familiar blob of red hair, but Jack jumped in front of him.

“Here “ Jack threw the keys to the truck at Race. “I’m done. I’m not getting back in that car with you after whatever just happened in that church. I can’t work with someone who can’t show an ounce of emotion when their best friend dies. You’re a fucking asshole, Race. An absolute, grade A premium-“

“Whoa there cowboy, I don’t condone arguing at my funeral.”

Jack jumped three feet in the air at the sound of Albert’s voice. A weight that Race hadn’t felt before lifted off of his chest at the sight of his best friend.

“Al,” he breathed a sigh of relief and opened his arms to hug Albert.

“Oi! Careful!” Albert warned. “I’m only mostly in one piece.”

“You can never come back to me in perfect working condition can you?” Race felt his stress evaporating as he gently hugged Albert to his chest. He looked like shit and smelled worse “What happened this time?”

“I don't know, I woke up in some fucking Canadian National Park to a moose trying to eat my socks and my shoulder was dislocated. I scared the park ranger shitless then had to hitch hike to the border and almost got stuck there cause they thought my FBI card was fake.”

“...Did the moose dislocate your shoulder?” Race stepped back to examine Albert. Sure enough, he had sloppily tied a shirt around his left shoulder to immobilize it. It didn't look completely correct but Race supposed he should be happy that Albert wasn’t in a hospital. Or even worse, moose food.

Albert half shrugged. “Hell if I know Racer.”

Race tilted his head. “Well then how-”

“Dude what the fuck is wrong with Jack?”

Race turned to see Jack opening and closing his mouth like a fish, eyebrows raised so high they were nearly touching his cornrows.

“Um-”

Albert crossed his arms. “You didn’t tell him, did you.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

Race glued his lips together. He’d known Albert for long enough to know that it was better to just say nothing.

“Fucking christ, Antonio.” Albert half kicked him and walked over towards Jack, shooting Race a We’ll Be Talking About This Later Look.

“Hey Jackie-boy, good to see you buddy,” Albert said in the same voice that people use to talk to small children or scared animals.

“Everyone said you were dead,” Jack muttered, eyes wide.

“Who is everyone?”

“Race,” Jack lifted his eyes from Albert momentarily to glare at Race, “The priest, the guy who called Race, I don’t know.”

“Alright buddy,” Albert said. “Lesson one-” “Lesson one is never leave the house without a weapon,” Jack interrupted.

Albert sighed. “Fine then, lesson two-”

“Is always scan your surroundings.” Jack nearly cracked a smile at Albert’s annoyed facial expression. “You’re up to lesson fifty three.”

“Fine. Lesson fifty three. Never believe anyone is dead until you see a body.”

Jack nodded. “I think that’ll be an easy one to remember.”

“Good.” Albert opened his arm. “Now bring it in buddy.”

Jack flew into Albert’s embrace. A distinct sinking feeling started in Race’s stomach when he saw Jack’s shoulders shaking.

“Everyone always leaves.” Jack’s words were muffled but Race could still hear them. “I’m so glad that you didn’t.”

Albert laughed but Race could see the strain in his eyes. “This is like the fourth-”

“Eighth,” Race whispered.

“Eighth time this has happened. I don’t think that I am going anywhere anytime soon.”

Jack nodded into Albert’s shirt and gave him one more light squeeze, which Albert tried and failed not to wince at before pulling away.

“Now that we got that settled,” Albert said, turning to Race. “I would love nothing more than to go to Walgreens and get some advil, the good cold medicine because Canada’s fucking freezing and I think it’s going to catch up to me soon and a real sling, some mediocre deep dish pizza and to go back to the safe house and sleep for three days.”

“Yes to the first two but you’re going to have to sleep in the car,” Race said.

Albert dropped his head back and groaned. “Don’t tell me they reassigned us already, I only just came back to life.”

“Mmmm no its far worse.” Race placed his hand on Albert’s good shoulder. “Jacobs wants us in his office.” Albert blinked once, twice, three times before giving in. “FUCK.”

“Yeah,” Race said. There was nothing else to say about that.

“Don’t tell me he wants us there tomorrow.”

“He wanted us there today. “Who the hell is Jacobs?”

“Not now Jack,” Race and Albert said at the same time.

“And we have to drive?” Albert asked. “And we have to drive.” Race confirmed.

“Well fuck me sideways with a fucking spork.” Albert groaned again for good measure. “Doesn’t he think I’m dead?”

“This is Davey Jacobs,” Race said. “Death means nothing to him.”

“Is no one going to tell me who this guy is?” Jack asked again, louder this time.

“Jackie,” Albert said, “When we’re on hour thirteen of this drive you’re going to be regretting asking that question.”

“He can’t be that bad.” “He is,” Race said.

“You owe me at least a whole pizza for this,” Albert said, jabbing Race in the chest with his finger. “With extra meat.”

“I didn’t expect anything less,” Race smiled. Sure he was not happy they had to go deal with whatever crap Jacobs was going to throw at him, but at least he had his best friend back.

“And another one when we get to the city!” He yelled over his shoulder as he followed Jack to the car. “I’ve missed my 99 cent pizza.” Race rolled his eyes. “You can literally get it for free cause Vinny loves you.”

“Wait, we’re going to New York City?” Jack asked

“I thought you wanted a placement change?” Race said, crossing his arms.

“I- Well- I guess I-“

“Look buddy,” Albert said. “Race is shit at communicating. He will never admit it, but he is. But you can’t blame him for not wanting to get your hopes up. This is a hard field to be in, nothing is guaranteed and nothing is ever as it seems. That being said, we would love to have you on whatever Jacobs has planned for us cause I can guarantee you it is going to be one absolute hell of a ride. And even though Race won’t admit it, he likes having you around.”

“I never said I didn’t,” Race muttered.

Jack considered. “I’ll come, but only mostly because my best friend is training in New York. I’m still kinda pissed at Race.”

“Welcome to the club, buddy,” Albert laughed, giving Jack a fist bump.

Race just rolled his eyes. It was pointless to argue at this point.

“This better be a relaxing ride, Race,” Albert said, ignoring Jack. “I want no shenanigans.”

“I make no promises.”

___

AHHH WE ARE SO BACK BABY !!!

stay tuned to see the boys entering the city :O

#saphie scribbles #spies 2.0 #newsies #newsies fic #newsies fanfic #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #spot conlon #sprace #ralbert

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maki-matsurra · 1 year

Text

Emergency Writing Commissions

Hello everyone!

As of recent, things at my house has been pretty rough money wise, so because of how many people love my writing, I am deciding to start up writing commissions!

The commission sheet is down below!

Paypal link: [email protected]

You can contact me either on Tumblr or my email ([email protected]) with details of your commission!

These are EMERGENCY commissions, I have the right to deny any request! I prefer to be paid upfront. I have 5 slots available (this may or may not be subject to change)

EXAMPLES

OneShot #1

Oneshot #2 That's What It Takes To Be Infinite

(Disclaimer: The completion times will vary depending on what you ask of me as well as my personal life) Prompts: $5

One shot: $20-40

Custom fanfic: $60

3-5 chapters: $70

NO REFUNDS!

(Disclaimer: If you have an OC, I need a reference image of said OC so I may describe them properly)

1-3 characters: $5

4-5 characters: $10

6-10 characters- $20

Fluff

Angst

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Hurt/Comfort

Slash/Femslash

Songfic

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Darkfic

Adult x Minor Character

PWP (Porn without plot)

Incest (anything pro-ship related)

Podfics

Crack

Poem

(Disclaimer: If you want to request a fandom I don’t know, you can! Just be patient as I do my best to research it.)

Cuphead

Sonic The Hedgehog (Including Movie-verse)

Spider-Man

Guardians of the Galaxy (Movie-verse & Game-verse)

Uncharted (Including Movie-verse)

Red Dead Redemption

Kingdom Hearts

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Rise of the Guardians

Love Live! (Including Sunshine, Nijigasaki, & Superstar)

Aikatsu Stars

Black Butler

Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid

South Park

Sly Cooper

Spies in Disguise

Gravity Falls

Disney Fairies

Zootopia

Detroit Become Human

Life is Strange (Only first game, Before the Storm & True Colors)

No Straight Roads

Team Fortress 2

Rise of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

Danganronpa

Steven Universe Future

Resident Evil (Only 2 & 4)

Looney Tunes

Animaniacs

Ratchet & Clank

Sam & Max

Five Nights at Freddy’s: Security Breach

Sing (The Movies)

D4DJ

Genshin Impact

Ever After High

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Mario

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#open commissions #writing commissions #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #emergency commissions #matsurrawrites

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hotdsstuff · 1 year

Text

Blood and Ashes

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5: Tourneys and Memories

It was the day of the Tournament. The long-awaited Tournament for the King's Heir. This heir who had not even been born. But that didn't matter. The Prince's birth was just one more reason for more than half the city to gather and watch useless men fight their own kind. If not for the immense insistence of Rhaenyra and Viserys, along with Daemon's participation, Aerin would not even have bothered to come and watch. Aerin had little to no appreciation for tournaments and jousting, I mean, if she couldn't compete herself, what was the fun in just watching?

Aerin wore a black dress with red trim that had been given to her by Daemon years ago. This matched his own armor. Beside her, as the two climbed the stairs to the small platform, Rhaenyra was dressed in a bright red dress and had her hair in a few small braids wound around the nape of her neck. As for Aerin's hairstyle, she just wore her traditional braids. The braids meant a lot to Aerin. She said that for each victory achieved, a braid would be made in her hair and for each defeat suffered, all braids would be cut. Aerin had never cut a single braid before. I think that, just for this information, Otto Hightower should rethink his ideas, no? Back to the point, at the top of her silver waterfall, Aerin had a tiara of pure obsidian, curiously also given by Daemon. Aerin liked to spice things up, and what better way to do that than to challenge the King's power without the King himself noticing?

As the two climbed, Viserys made a short speech.

- Be welcome! I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise, you will not be disappointed.

But, as on any other occasion, his speech was cut short when Aerin emerged. The people, together with some nobles, rose to their feet with shouts and whistles at the appearance of the Princess. The people had a huge adoration for Aerin, not just because she was the Mother of Dragons, no, from the moment when she was born the winter stopped abruptly, the story was passed down from generation to generation, making many think that the birth of Aerin was a sign from the Gods, an answer to their prayers for mercy. The entire city soon adopted Aerin as a source of devotion, they revered her, for she had brought the sun and rain, she had brought the crops and every source of food in the realm. She, was their goddess. Some even screamed.

- LONG LIVE THE MOTHER OF DRAGONS!

- HAIL!

Aerin immediately smiled, raising her arms. Behind her, Rhaenys and Corlys smiled along with Laenor and Laena who loved it when Aerin told them stories about Valerian, Queen of All Dragons. But, not everyone was happy, an example? Well, as usual, Otto Hightower. It was hard to see why he harbored such an ancient hatred for Aerin. But, I think it could be started by saying that he could never get the King to see the evil in Aerin. Let me explain. Aerin and Daemon, as we know, didn't have a relationship, let's say "normal", although their ancestors can't say much about it, but Otto always knew about these meetings and secrecy between the two. His spies, or little birds as he liked to call them, had filled him in on Aerin and Daemon's various customs several times. Otto tried to warn Jaehaerys about the matter, but the Old King never listened to him, there was nothing he could say that would spoil the affection Jaehaerys had for his favorite granddaughter. Now, Otto had tried to warn Viserys of Daemon and Aerin's relationship, but again, the King would have none of it. Aerin was his older sister and nothing was going to destroy Viserys's vision of her, of wisdom, of trust, of courage. Otto even thought that Aerin used some kind of witchcraft to bewitch Jaehaerys and then Viserys. But that theory was never proven, since, if she bewitched her grandfather and her brother, why didn't she put a spell on him so that he would stop bothering her? Furthermore, it was inconceivable to Otto that Viserys would not notice that Aerin wore a tiara. Not even Queen Aemma wore one! It was an outrage, a betrayal of the kingdom and the king himself, but no one seemed to care. Otto would never realize how Aerin always got away with whatever she did, but that's a topic for another time.

Finally, when Aerin sat down, in the front row, everyone else in the arena sat down with her. She turned back, beckoning Viserys to continue. Viserys waved back, silently thanking her. Viserys then continued. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra soon sat down on Aerin's right and Alicent's left.

- When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great day has been made more auspicious by the news that I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labors!

Aerin applauded and along with her the entire arena.

- May the of the Seven shine upon all combatants! - And the arena erupted in applause.

The jousting soon began and the shouting along with it. But Aerin couldn't care less than she already did.

- A mystery knight? - asked Rhaenyra.

- No, a Cole, of the Stormlands. - answered Alicent

- I've never heard of House Cole.

- Neither have I - said Aerin.

Then a knight approached the bench. This one carried the shield of House Baratheon. Distant cousins of House Targaryen, by Princess Rhaenys.

- Princess Rhaenys Targaryen! - he called - I would humbly ask for the favor of "The Queen Who Never Was."

- Good fortune to you, cousin.

- I would gladly take it if I thought I needed it. - he replied, convinced.

Otto Hightower approached the King.

- You could have Baratheon's tongue for that.

- Tongues will not change the succession. Let them wag. - retorted Viserys.

Rhaenyra and Alicent soon returned to their conversation.

- Lord Stokeworth's daughter is promised to that young Tarly squire.

- Lord Massey's son? - asked Alicent.

- They're to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood.

- Best get on with it. I heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress.

The banners were soon changed. These indicated who would be the next combatants. The Baratheon banner was raised on the right and the Cole banner on the left.

The two knights soon crossed, Ser Baratheon being cut down by Cole. Looks like this one needed luck after all.

Rhaenyra, impressed, questioned Ser Harrold.

- What do you know about this Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold?

- I'm told Ser Criston is common-born, son of Lord Dondarrion's steward. But other than that, and the fact that he's just unhorsed both of the Baratheon lads, I really couldn't say.

The drums with the Targaryen crest began to play again. The people started screaming. Soon the reason they were screaming would be explained. The Targaryen banner had also been raised. Daemon was about to fight. Now, Aerin paid attention to the joust.

- Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent! - Aerin looked at the combatants, none as powerful with a sword as Daemon was. This should be easy.

Daemon crossed the arena on his black steed to match his armor.

- For his first challenge, Prince Daemon chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King. - Of course, Daemon wasn't about to pass up an opportunity to humiliate House Hightower and anger the dear Hand.

Rhaenyra took Alicent's Hand. Of course this one was nervous. Daemon was the best knight in King's Landing, after Aerin, of course.

- Five dragons on Daemon - Betting began, the first was Viserys.

- You have so little faith, my brother. - Aerin commented. She looked at Otto as she smiled and said - Twenty dragons on Daemon.

Daemon looked up at the platform and smirked at Otto. He then looked down and saw Aerin. There she was in all her glory while wearing one of the dresses he himself had given her. Daemon, of course, smiled at her.

In the end, as predicted, Daemon won. He approached the platform as Aerin, Rhaenyra, and Alicent rose to their feet.

- Nicely done, Uncle.

- Thank you, Princess. - Daemon replied. Aerin just smiled at him and waved. But before continuing, Aerin turned to Viserys.

- Viserys. - Aerin held out her hand, while smiling. The latter threw him a small bag of coins. Aerin turned to Daemon then.

- You bet on me? - He asked, falsely surprised.

- But of course. Twenty dragons.

- Now, I'm fairly certain I can win these games, Princess Aerin. Having the Mother of Dragons' favor would all but assure it. -Daemon wanted to pull Otto to his limits. He considered asking Alicent's favor but that would be too boring. And what better way to piss off Otto than to publicly show his appreciation for Aerin without it seeming romantic? Better was impossible. Rhaenyra just smiled at Daemon's attempt to piss off Otto. She knew about her uncles romance since she was just a child. She was sworn to secrecy, and secretly, she supported their relationship.

Aerin turned her back and took her favor as she looked into the eyes of Viserys and Otto. Her favor was made of red and black roses, decorated with golden dragons. A complete symbol of House Targaryen. She turned to Daemon and urged her favor as the people cheered and whistled. And then she dropped it onto Daemon's spear.

- Good luck, my Prince.

Aerin soon turned around and was just in time to see a Maester whisper something in Otto's ear and he did the same in Viserys's ear. This soon got up, only stopping to whisper in her ear.

- Take care of Rhaenyra.

- What? Why? What is going on? Viserys? Answer me. - But this one was already gone.

In her heart Aerin knew something was going on. She felt her chest heavy. Not even two seconds had passed when Aerin rose to follow Viserys. Otto tried to stop her. But it was in vain.

- Princess! The King has asked you to look after Princess Rhaenyra. You cannot-

- Do it yourself!

- But- Princess!

- Aunt Aerin? Is there something wrong?

Hearing Rhaenyra's voice, Aerin turned to her. She put her hands around Rhaenyra's face gently and said.

- Nothing is wrong, my dragon. Do not worry. I just need you to stay here and focus on Uncle Daemon so that when I get back you can tell me everything that happened, you understand?

- Okay.

Aerin broke into a run up the stairs of the Red Keep. Soon she heard Aemma's screams and knew something was wrong. The birth should have been over by now. Aerin soon entered and saw Aemma lying on the bed as she screamed with Viserys beside her.

- Aemma!

- Aerin - shouted Aemma and Viserys in unison.

Aerin walked over to Aemma and sat beside her. But Viserys pulled her away.

- What are you doing here?

- I am taking care of my sister! - Aerin returned to sit beside Aemma.

- No no no. Please!

- It's okay Aemma. You will be fine.

While Aerin massaged Aemma's hair and soothed her, Viserys spoke to the Maesters.

- During a difficult birth, it sometimes becomes necessary for the father to make an impossible choice.

- Well, speak it.

- To sacrifice one or to lose them both. There is a chance that we can save the child. A technique is taught at the Citadel, wich involves cutting directly into the womb to free the infant. But the resulting blood loss-

- Seven Hells, Mellos. You can save the child?

- We must either act now or leave it with the gods.

- Viserys - Aemma called weakly.

- Yes? They're going to bring the baby out now.

- What? How? - Aerin asked. But Viserys did not respond.

- I love you.

- What is happening? - asked Aemma, confused.

- No, it's all right.

- Viserys? What are you doing? - Aerin tried to warn.

Aemma was getting more and more scared as was Aerin.

- Viserys!

Viserys nodded to the guards, who then grabbed Aerin by her arms and pulled her away from Aemma.

- Viserys, no! Please. Think again. STOP! VISERYS! - Aerin tried to free herself but had four guards grabbing her at once, she was at a clear disadvantage.

- NO! NO! NO! AERIN!

- AEMMA! VISERYS!

- I'm making the first incision.

- VISERYS! - Aemma and Aerin's screams echoed in unison. - AEMMA! VISERYS STOP THIS MADNESS!

When Aerin saw Aemma stop screaming, she did, scream as she had never done in her life.

Valerian, sensing her rider's pain, roared with all her might. At the tournament, Valerian's roar was adopted as Daemon's victory badge, but that victory would not last long.

When the first cries were heard in the King's chambers, the guards finally released Aerin. She fell to her knees on the floor as tears streamed down her face.

When Daemon looked up at the platform, he finally noticed that Aerin was gone.

Aerin, when finally released, ran to Aemma, in the little hope that she had just lost consciousness. Aerin grabbed her face as she cried, trying to get her to wake up. But in vain. She was dead.

As she approached Aemma's body, Aerin had her dress covered in her blood. But this one didn't care. She was in pure shock. Her sister was dead.

- I hope you're happy. -Aerin said to Viserys, as she looked at Aemma's face. As she ran her hands through her hair one last time.

Meanwhile, at the tourney, Ser Criston had bested Daemon. And now this one claimed his reward, Rhaenyra's favor.

- I was hoping to ask for the Princess's favor.

- I wish you luck, Ser Criston.

- Princess.

Aerin, coming to terms with Aemma's death, remembered the last thing she had asked of her: that she take care of Rhaenyra. Then, Aerin gave Aemma a final kiss on the forehead and left the room. She walked slowly through the corridors of the Red Keep. She was in no hurry to tell Rhaenyra about Aemma's death, but the time would come whether she wanted it or not.

That moment came faster than expected. When Aerin appeared Daemon and Ser Criston were still in the arena, no longer fighting, but still there. When Daemon looked at Aerin,he knew something was up. Something had made her eyes go cold, they no longer had the same sparkle as before. When Daemon saw the blood on Aerin's dress and hands, his eyes widened and he had a small idea of what had happened.

When Rhaenyra saw her uncle so taken aback, she immediately looked back to see Aerin desperately fighting back tears. With blood on her hands and dress and her hair a little out of place.

Aerin approached Rhaenyra and knelt in front of her. Without saying a word, Aerin embraced Rhaenyra, her mother's death sure to haunt her forever.

Rhaenyra, still not knowing what was going on, soon found out when she saw Otto arrive and whisper something in the ears of all the members of the Small Council.

It was the next day. But to Aerin and Rhaenyra it felt like a hundred years had passed. Aemma's presence no longer cheered the Red Keep.

Syrax was above a hill while Valerian circled the skies. Beneath that very hill they all gathered around the funeral pyre of Aemma and Baelon, yes, Viserys had borne a son, just as he wanted, but he had only lived for an hour, suffocating on the very air. To Aerin, that just meant the karma was real, but she would never say that out loud, out of respect for Rhaenyra and Aemma's memory.

They were all silent, none daring to utter a single word.

- They're waiting for you. - Daemon said, behind Rhaenyra, next to Aerin.

- Nyke pendagon lo, isse lī dorolvie jēda ñuha lēkia glaestan, ñuha kepa mōrī jiōraton biarves (I wonder if, during those few hours my brother lived, my father finally found happiness.)

- Aōha kepa jorrāelagon ao, tolī sir than ziry mirre ēza (Your father needs you, more now than he ever has.) - Daemon tried

- Kesan dōrī sagon iā tresy (I will never be a son.)

Aerin just watched the scene. Staring intently at the pyre of Aemma and Baelon. That reminded her of something. A memory from when she was just eight and Daemon was three. Daemon was still a baby in arms when Alyssa, mother of the three, had died, along with their brother Aegon.

Aerin remembered how her childhood faded from that moment on, never to return. Aerin, eight years old at her mother's death, was the woman of the family and soon realized her duty to care for Viserys and Daemon. Aerin was a child who had been forced to grow up and mature quickly. Far too quickly.

Rhaenyra inched closer to the pyre. She looked at Syrax. She was the only one

Rhaenyra inched closer to the pyre. She looked at Syrax. She was the only descendant of the King. The "dracarys" had to come from her. Rhaenyra tried. But Aemma's death weighed heavily on her. She couldn't. She turned to Aerin, who had 'woken up'. Aerin nodded and soon Rhaenyra stepped back and hugged her, tears covering Aerin's dress immediately.

- Dracarys, Syrax. (Dragonfire, Syrax) - Aerin ordered, and soon the dragon descended the hill and burned the pyre.

#daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #game of thrones #got #hotd #house of the dragon #fanfic #wattpad #hi again #hi friends

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whiskey-bumblebee · 1 year

Text

I'm On Fire (Chapter 7)

Pairing: DBF!Aaron Hotchner/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3215

A/N: the final chapter! I hate how this ended but I wrote myself into a corner. Apologies to everyone involved

Warnings: sad ending, brief mention of previous sexual assault, mentions of past murder & serial murder

Taglist: @littlepeanut03 @rosaline-black @moonmark98 @yuly @jazzymariexoxoc @frogoko @morgthemagpie @laisy @whoreforhondo @ssamorganhotchner @lex13cm @mrs-ssa-hotch @violetlilites @fairy-alix @mercurysrhapsody @art-and-thoughts @rousethemouse @kneelforloki @fairy-alix

It takes every ounce of fight in your body not to look across the courtroom at Aaron. He's right there, seated beside his lawyers. You've never been so glad he has a law degree of his own. He made his legal team that much stronger.

You're sitting in the second row. Aaron's female lawyer, Natasha, had run into you in the bathroom just before the court was reconvened.

___

"Sit in the second row," She had murmured, careful to run the tap while she spoke. "The first row looks too eager. But it's your dad, so the second row is okay. Give a brief statement after the verdict is read. Keep it short."

"Thank you," You whispered back.

"He wants to know if you ever heard from Paul."

"I did hear from Paul. I was wondering if Isaiah ever reached out-"

Someone else entered the bathroom, and you forced your face into a scowl.

"Isaiah 54:17, liars and wretches find themselves hated by all, as do murderers and those who would defend them."

"I'm sorry if I upset you," Natasha replied curtly. "I hope you find your peace."

You waited a few minutes, washing your hands thoroughly a second time, before you left the room.

___

Aaron frowned at Natasha's words. It had been a while since he'd read the bible, but that verse sounded distinctly unlike Isaiah.

He whispered something to one of their paralegals, and she nodded and walked briskly from the room. She returned a few minutes later with a bible.

You heard the pages flicking as everyone in the room waited for the judge and jury to return.

Isaiah 54:17. He traced along the page, underlining the verse with his finger.

No weapon forged against you will prevail, and you will refute every tongue that accuses you.

Aaron's lips lifted into the smallest possible smile, undetectable to anyone in the room as he faced forward, his back to the stands.

You remembered the numbers you had memorized, and the feeling of hope that had buoyed you through the last few weeks of the trial when you realized the verse.

1, 4, 2, 5.

honey, first things first, don't try this. it was risky enough as it is. now isn't the time to play spies, but if we did, i'd meet you in corinth. i needed to tell you that i love you. i wish you'd been a rose by any other name. stay safe. stay smart. god, there's so much i want to tell you. i'm okay. stay the course. take care of yourself. i love you, i love you, i love you. don't try and reach me. i know you're smart enough to get away with it. i know you know you're smart enough two. but don't risk it. burn this in a fiveplace

First things first: one.

Corinth.

I love you, four times.

Smart enough two.

Burn this in a fiveplace.

One, Corinth, four, two, five.

1 Corinthians 4:2-5.

Now it is required that those who have been given a trust must prove faithful. I care very little if I am judged by you or by any human court; indeed, I do not even judge myself. My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent. It is the Lord who judges me. Therefore judge nothing before the appointed time; wait until the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of the heart. At that time each will receive their praise from God.

"All rise."

You're startled out of your thoughts, and quickly stand as the judge and jury enter the room. You desperately try to read the jury's facial expressions, but there's no information in their stern expressions. It had taken less than two hours to reach a verdict. A quick verdict could have gone either way.

"Please be seated," the judge replied.

There was a minute or so of creaky chairs, rustling as everyone settled in. The charging of flash bulbs as journalists jostled for the best spot to capture Aaron's reaction. You wondered if any of the zoom lenses were aimed at you. In any case, you'd have to measure your reaction.

"Have you reached a verdict?"

"We have, your Honour."

"What say you?"

"We the jury, in the case of The State of Virginia versus Aaron Hotchner, find the defendant not guilty of the charge of obstruction of justice."

"And of the charge of second degree murder, as per titles 18.2 through 18.32 of the Code of Virginia?"

"We the jury, in the case of The State of Virginia versus Aaron Hotchner, find the defendant not guilty of the charge of second degree murder."

There were dozens of flashes, and the journalists leapt to their feet, frantically taking notes, already asking questions.

"Order! Thank you jury, for your service. Court is adjourned."

Aaron shook the hands of each of his lawyers, and crossed the aisle to shake hands with the prosecution. You left the courtroom, trying to spin a statement.

You stood on the stairs outside the courtroom, collecting yourself.

"Are you the daughter of the dead guy?"

Wow, you thought. So much for tact.

"I am."

"Are you planning to give a statement?"

"Yes, and I'll take a few questions."

The journalist whistled for his cameraman, unfortunately attracting the attention of the other journalists who were coming down the stairs.

"Wait! NBC," A journalist cried as she rushed towards you. "We can pay for an exclusive."

You shook your head. "If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer not to sell my story."

You took a deep breath and ran your hands lightly over your hair.

"Joining us now from the courtroom steps, where the verdict has just been handed down, we meet with the victim's daughter."

"Good afternoon," You started. "I apologize if I misspeak, as you can see, I don't have an attorney, and I'm doing this on my own. I'd like to give a brief statement, and I have a few minutes for questions afterwards, but I'd like to get through this first."

The female journalist nods, extending her microphone in your direction.

"I imagine that many of you will expect me to be disappointed with the verdict reached today. In fact, I'm relieved that I'll be able to close this chapter of my life. My father used to be close with Mr. Hotchner, and whatever may have happened in his final moments, I don't believe he would have wanted his friend to end up in jail. That being said, from this moment onwards, I would very much like not to be associated with my father, as we had been estranged for some time, and it has been made clear to me that he caused significant pain to our community."

"Have you heard that Mrs. Hotchner, who testified against her husband, is expecting a child?"

"I hadn't heard that. I wish her the best."

"You've opted not to attend most of the trial. What changed your mind about today?"

"I'd rather hear if my father was murdered or just killed for myself, rather than having to hear it through the grapevine like everything else."

"Were you in correspondence with the prosecution at any time throughout this trial?"

"No, I wasn't called upon, as I hadn't spoken to my father for some time. I did go in for a number of information-gathering interviews with the police, but that was primarily in connection to the case they're building against my father, which I am unable to speak on."

"Is there any truth to the rumours that yourself and Mr. Hotchner were engaged in an affair?"

"No," You said bluntly. "I believe Mr. Hotchner addressed that question in one of his statements to the jury."

"Did you have any relationship with Agent Hotchner?"

You sighed heavily. "These questions have already been explored over the course of the trial. Does anyone have anything original to ask?"

The journalists cleared out, having exhausted the lines of questioning that would have yielded anything exciting, controversial, or new.

You heard your name, and turned around. One of your friends smiled widely at you.

"It's good to see you out of the house," She smiled.

"It's good to be out of the house," You replied.

"Can you summarize everything? I feel like I'm still wading through all of the rumours and the lawyer jargon. What happened?"

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. "Wait, I just got a text. Can you read it to me? I forgot my glasses."

You looked at her phone screen, where she'd started typing out a message to herself.

I'm wearing a wire. Don't say anything incriminating.

"It just says that your boyfriend will meet you at the deli at five so you can pick up dinner," You replied.

"Thank you," She smiled, and you saw the relief in her eyes.

"I'm not sure, I was reading everything in the newspapers so I have no idea what actually happened in the courtroom. It seems like my dad's a serial killer and it just happened that Mr. Hotchner and his unit were assigned to the case. My dad pulled a gun when they caught him at a crime scene and Mr. Hotchner shot him."

"And all the affair stuff?"

You could tell your friend was asking the questions she'd been told to ask. She would have asked about you by now.

"They printed Mr. Hotchner's whole statement in one of the articles I read. It seems like Mrs. Hotchner made the whole thing up just so she could get a better deal in the divorce settlement."

"So you never.... He's kind of hot. I would do it," She laughed.

"Oh my god, no," You said, feigning disgust. "He's not my type. He drove me home once but that was it."

"Alright, well I have to go, seems like I have a deli date to get to. Love you."

"Love you," You smiled.

She wrapped you in a tight hug. "I'll always be here for you. I'm sorry all of this was so fucked up. And I'm sorry about your dad."

___

"This room is very clean," Hotch said slowly as he ran his finger across the surface of the conference room table.

"It's completely clean, Hotch," Derek said. "We can talk here."

"I may have deleted the reminders for the traffic officers to change the tapes in their speed cameras. So the footage of the two of you driving to Rehoboth Beach may have been accidentally recorded over," Penelope said.

"Fuck may have. I told the police I saw you administering CPR when we both know damn well that you didn't even bother to check his pulse," Derek said.

JJ piped up next. "I might have phoned in an anonymous tip saying that the only reason the case ended up in court was because you're an agent. A cheap he said/she said, domestic drama."

"I'm not good at lying," Spencer said quietly. "I just told them the truth, that you're an honest man, and in all the time I've worked with you, you've never put yourself ahead of others."

Aaron wrapped Reid in a hug, patting the other agent's back with his large hands.

"And I got you a fake passport," Elle joked.

"And I," Gideon poked his head around the doorframe, "Didn't hear any of that."

"I don't know what to do," Aaron said, taking a seat on one of the chairs and resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "But thank you, all of you."

"I talked to Strauss and she said that if a jury finds you not guilty, that's good enough for her," Gideon added.

Penelope looked between the two men. "Excuse me, sir, but I don't think Strauss is the problem."

Aaron nodded. "She's right."

"There are other women, Aaron. You can't throw your career away. She's not worth it."

The rest of the team were eerily quiet. Aaron wasn't sure if they agreed with Gideon, or if they were just too scared to admit that they didn't.

Reid's attention snapped to the TV in the corner of the room, and he turned up the volume.

"-able to catch up with the daughter of the man at the centre of this trial. Here's what she had to say after the verdict was handed down."

Aaron watched as you spoke. You looked calm, composed, as you made your way through your statement. He couldn't imagine handling this situation with the grace you'd handled it with.

As you moved into the question and answer portion, he noticed that you looked less comfortable.

"... I wish her all the best."

"Haley's pregnant?" Derek eyed Aaron. "When did you have time for that?"

Aaron glared at him. "If it's true, she must be a couple of months along. We haven't... She didn't tell me."

"Let's just get back to work," Gideon offered.

"I need to make a phone call," Aaron said sternly.

He left the room in a huff, and the team could hear him frantically dialling, then the first few words of his conversation.

"Is it true?"

Then there was the sound of a slamming door, and the team turned their attention back to the TV.

"He loves her, Gideon," Elle said.

"I can see why," Spencer replied. "She's handling everything very well. In 72% of cases with women in her demographic, the mistress seeks to be represented by an attorney or a public relations representative in order to avoid-"

"She's not just a mistress," Gideon interrupted. "That much is clear."

___

"I went to the doctor because I had been having chest pain," Haley explained. "So they ran some tests, and it turns out that we're expecting a little boy."

"Not we," Aaron fought hard not to yell. "You... you... You poked holes in the condoms. I didn't... I don't want this."

"Oh honey, you know there's always a risk of condoms breaking."

"They didn't break," Aaron said through gritted teeth. "I know you fucked with them."

"Well, it's too late now to schedule an abortion. By the time I'll be able to get an appointment, I'll be in the third trimester."

"I'm not asking you to get an abortion. How did you not realize?"

"I've been busy, in case you hadn't noticed."

"So what? Now I have to pay child support for a child I was trying my best not to have?"

"He's your child too, Aaron. You have to take some responsibility."

"Responsibility? Haley, it's rape if you told me we were using a condom and you lied. Jesus, we've had enough time in court, I don't want to fight you on this."

She was silent.

"Did you sign the divorce papers?"

"I think we should try again. We can still fix this."

Aaron stared at the phone in disbelief, eventually hanging up.

___

There was a 'for sale' sign outside your house. Aaron circled the block, parking at the other end of the block and walking the rest of the way. You opened the door before he could knock, greeting him with a tired smile.

"I'm going to buy a new house. Somewhere far from here," You nodded at the sign on the lawn.

"I liked the Isaiah verse you picked."

"Come in," You said. "You're letting the cold in."

Aaron hesitated. "We should..."

"We should talk," You finished.

"I just wanted to apologize," He said loudly as a dog walker strolled past, walking a little too slowly for your comfort.

"Okay, come in," You replied, mirroring his volume.

As soon as the door closed behind him, you both lit up, smiling.

"I guess your dad isn't home," Aaron said, already walking up to your bedroom.

"That's a fucked up joke," You replied, but laughed quietly.

"Sorry," He said out of habit. You passed him at the top of the stairs, shooting him a flirty smile.

You undressed quickly, lying back on your bed.

"You don't know how long I've waited..."

"18 weeks, 4 days, and..." Aaron checked his watch. "9 hours."

"Okay," You laughed. "I guess you do."

Aaron stripped quickly. "Haley's pregnant."

"I'm not," You replied. "I took a test at the start of the trial just in case."

"Good," He breathed as he sheathed himself in your cunt.

"Aaron," You moaned. "I missed you. I dreamed about this."

He dropped his head into the crook of your neck. "Is this a good enough apology?"

"Apologize harder," You gripped his back.

"Okay," He replied, slamming his hips into yours.

Before long, you were fisting the sheets, tightening your legs around his hips.

"This is weird," You said quietly. "We don't talk for half a year and now we're fucking."

"Do you want to stop?"

"You're not wearing a condom," You said. "I don't know if this is what we should be doing."

He pulled out gently, and quickly wrapped you in a blanket so you wouldn't suddenly feel the cold. You rested your head on his chest as you lay beside each other.

"I could buy a house in Rehoboth Beach. We could live there. You could be a lawyer, and I could... I could find something to do."

He hummed.

"This is it, isn't it?" You said. "We try so hard to protect each other, we're so fucking good at it, and the end is that we've done it so well that nobody thinks we've ever met."

"I'm going to try to fix things with Haley."

"Aaron-"

"Wait, let me finish. She's pregnant, and if we finalize the divorce, she's just going to bleed me dry. I'm worried that she has evidence that I don't know about. I can't walk on eggshells for the rest of my life."

"So... Now I'm just someone in your past? Case closed? You got the bad guy, and this is it?"

"You know that I love you."

"We can work this out. I love you too, there has to be something-"

"Sometimes love isn't enough."

"There's not even an ultimatum? Your plan was just to fuck me one more time, then leave?"

"You said yourself that you wanted to get out of this place, move far away. You knew I wasn't going to chase you. I can't leave my team. I can't leave Haley."

"How do you know I won't turn you in?"

He smiled sadly. "You love me."

"Fuck you," You whispered. "If you hadn't killed my dad, we could have been together."

"He was a serial killer."

You became aware of the space growing between you and Aaron. With every passing remark, he leaned away, and so did you.

"Did you ever love me?" You asked, your voice breaking.

"Is it easier for you if I say no?"

"I can't do this."

Aaron stood up, starting to get dressed. "I need my wedding ring back."

You wrapped the blanket around your shoulders and walked downstairs, retrieving the band from where you'd tucked it away inside the thermos lid. You didn't look him in the eye as you dropped it into his open palm.

___

Aaron knocked on the door, plastering a smile to his face.

It swung open.

"Haley," He said. "I think we should name him Jack."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #my writing #i'm on fire #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner/reader #criminal minds #fanfic #reader insert

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separatist-apologist · 2 years

Text

The Wildest Winter

In the cracks of light, I looked for you

Summary: Viviane had not been Under the Mountain. As her childhood friend, Kallias had been protective of her to a fault over the years- had placed the sharp-minded female on border duty to avoid the scheming of his court. He didn't let her near Amarantha, either. Didn't let anyone get a whiff of what he felt for his white-haired friend, who had no clue- not one- that he had loved her his entire life.

[50 years before Feyre]

Kallias stood before the army that had defended Winter for centuries. Amarantha, too, surveyed them with gleaming interest.

“Yours isn’t half as large as Autumns,” she crooned, her eyes sliding up his clothed chest. Beside her, Rhysand from Night grinned, as if every filthy remark she made was the height of comedy.

Kallias could have forgiven Rhysand if he’d done what Beron Vanserra was attempting to do—seem mildly pleased with Amarantha’s cruelty, without outright joining her. But Rhysand had sold them all out and for what? Kallias heard half his court had been wiped out the morning after Amarantha’s coup. Perhaps he truly did thrive in darkness, and it didn’t matter who wielded it, so long as he got to have his fun.

Kallias also didn’t bother to mention that this was merely three fourths of his army. The rest were with Viviane at the border. Not enough to challenge Hybern and still better than nothing at all. He knew what Amarantha meant to do the moment she raised her hands. Rhysand stepped forward, her little puppet given Amarantha couldn’t actually utilize their magic. She was merely a rather ugly box, holding it until someone managed to steal it all back.

Kallias didn’t dare close his eyes. Standing beneath a bright morning sun in snow that came to his knees, he watched that entire army collapse to the ground row by row like falling dominoes. It was all a miserable waste of life. Kallias meant to send a letter to every family, to offer them a warrior's burial even if Amarantha mangled their corpses, too. As if that offered their families any peace.

“Anything else?” Amarantha asked, eyes sliding to Rhysand. Kallias refused to speak, furious when that claw slid itself over his own mind. It was a warning of what Rhys could do to him should he choose, a violation of everything Kallias was.

“Just his hatred.”

Amarantha mockingly pouted. “You hate me? Perhaps some time at court will fix that.”

Her cursed court in their sacred mountain. Kallias waited for Amarantha to turn her back before he spat at Rhysand’s boots. Rhys merely smiled, rolling his eyes. As if it was all some hilarious joke. He was too busy obeying Amarantha’s every whim to truly look into Kallias’s mind, which was a blessing.

Kallias knew what he’d find. Viviane and Wegen and everything he loved and held dear, laid out for a mad woman to wreck and ruin. He had no doubt she wouldn’t torture Viviane just to see Kallias submit.

He pushed all thoughts of Viviane from his mind until Amarantha and Rhys departed. Off to harass another court–Spring, if he had to guess. He still had his spies, just like everyone else. Only Tamlin refused to submit. Kallias wondered if he’d choose the same fate had Amarantha wanted him to be her consort.

Kira came out of the palace, dressed like a courtier and not a warrior. She’d wanted to join and Kallias had told her no. He needed someone. Nikolai was gone—all that was left was Kira. It was odd to see her dressed in a pine green, fur lined gown and yet it was better than staring down at her dead body.

“Want help?” she whispered.

Kallias swallowed. He wanted to fall to the ground and scream at the gods. There were so many bodies that the only true way to dispose of them all was to burn them. It was still a warrior's death and yet Kallias thought the snow would never fall white again. The stain of Amarantha’s cruelty, the ash of the dead, would linger for centuries after her inevitable death.

It wasn’t just him and Kira. Anyone who could, came to help stack pyres and bodies. To lay coins and offer prayers and light torches. It was utter misery, writing the names in the journal Viviane had sent for his birthday. He’d meant to use it to write her love letters, not remember the seemingly endless dead.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her. There had been no response from Viviane, though his fox had returned. She’d read his letter, had taken the ring, and done exactly what he wanted. To send a response risked everyone now in her care—and yet, Kallias was so deeply, unearthly afraid of what she made of it.

He needed to get Viviane out of his mind or he’d never survive. Regardless of her personal feelings, Viviane would never abandon Winter—or him, for that matter. Swallowing a deluge of tears, Kallias scanned the horizon. Not out of love—he willed himself to be made of ice. To pretend he felt nothing at all.

He knew he wasn’t the only High Lord with a culled army. With a populace now suffering for Hybern’s continued success. Everything Winter was capable of producing had now been doubled, only to route all of it to Hybern. If he wanted to ensure his people didn’t starve, Kallias had to demand a triple output.

While acrid smoke curled towards an icy sky, Kallias turned his back to all of it. He was a leashed High Lord, worse than the male before him. He’d get everyone killed through simple inaction. It was a choice to do nothing and Kallias couldn't abide by it. Wouldn’t. He’d rather die than see his home reduced to an enslaved territory.

“What are you thinking?” Kira whispered, eyes scanning his face. Telling her was a death sentence.

The whole damn thing was a death sentence. She’d been spared because she was a member of his court before she was his captain. She could have fled—he’d given tacit permission the very night he’d lost his powers. Some of his court already had, packed up for the continent before the dust had even settled.

If they ever managed to get free, Kallias would be executing traitors.

“I’m thinking she can’t rule us all unless we’re complacent,” he all but whispered, yanking Kira into his bed-chamber—away from prying ears.

“They won’t all fight back,” Kira whispered, her voice so, so soft. And Kallias knew that. Beron would wait it out to see if they had a shot before he ever entertained the thought. Rhysand was an obvious no—he’d been so quick to align himself with Amarantha that Kallias couldn’t fathom his motivations. Thesan, too, was unlikely to join unless he knew they had a clear path to victory and Tamlin was too busy trying to break the curse (at least, he hoped) to consider war.

That left Summer and Day. Atticus and Phoebus. He didn’t know them at all.

Nothing forbade Kallias from reaching out. From writing twin letters asking the High Lords if they’d like to have a meal and discussing how they might redesign long established trade and taxes in an effort to keep their collective people from starving.

“Kallias,” Kira all but pleaded, reading over his shoulder. “Kallias, she will kill you.”

“She’s going to anyway. Once she’s gotten whatever she’s after, she’ll kill us all,” he replied, well aware his words were only angering Kira further. He knew it, though. Knew in his bones that none of them would be allowed to live. Even Rhysand, for all his calculated treachery, would die in the end. He wouldn’t go groveling—wouldn’t leave the world a coward on his knees.

“Viviane will kill you, Kal,” Kira hissed, grabbing him by the arm when he tried to walk past her. It was enough to stop him, to force him to think about her again. What was she doing?

Did she miss him?

“Viviane would understand,” Kallias decided, turning to look at Kira. He felt resigned to this fate, to always wondering without ever knowing. “She would never love me if I rolled over like a traitor.”

“She would want you to survive.”

Kallias held out a hand, unable to draw up even the barest frost. Everything he had, he’d given to Viv. Surely she understood the implications. He was wholly leashed–he had nothing to defend himself with. The once endless river that flowed through him wasn’t even a drip. It was a poisoned sludge he couldn’t touch, lest he betray Viviane and the rest of his home.

“If I’m successful, we will survive,” he said, careful with his framing. “She’ll survive, and so will I.”She had his heart, after all. Kallias didn’t want it back—she could keep it even when he died. Kira only shook her head, as pale as Kallias so often was.

“You’re stupid,” she whispered.

“The alternative is doing nothing. I would rather…” Kallias took a gulping breath, swallowing his anger. It wasn’t right, directing it at Kira. She should have been with Viviane and they both knew it. It should have been Nikolai with him. Nikolai would have understood what was necessary, that duty always came first. Kallias was half glad Viviane had him—Nikolai would temper some of her impulsivity.

“The alternative is Rhysand,” he finally told her. “Doing nothing is still a choice—it helps her. I can’t…how could I ever look Viviane in the eye and ask her to love me when I sat aside and let a foreign despot destroy our home?”

Kira wrapped her arms around the blue coat she wore. “This is why you’re High Lord, Kal. I don’t think you’ll succeed, but I’m with you until the end.”

He took a breath. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Kallias needed hope.

He had nothing else.

VIVIANE:

[40 years before Feyre]

Refugees had been trickling into Wegen over the last decade from more than just Winter. Whatever was happening in Autumn sent people scrambling for the mountains, hoping for safety in Winter. A border Viviane had once been tasked with defending was now wide open. She and Nikolai had decided if someone survived, they deserved to be let in.

No one was allowed to leave. No letters could be sent out, warded impossibly tight by the remainder of Kallias’s magic. It was the only way she could justify letting people in at all—once they knew, even if they hadn’t realized or meant to come, they were not allowed to leave. Viviane and Nikolai locked the city down at sunset, patrolling heavily at every exit. She had bears and wolves trained in the woods and though no one had ever tried to escape, Viviane could imagine a scenario some fifty years in the future where someone got desperate.

You could argue with soldiers, at least. Plead for mercy.

The bears would merely shred someone to pieces.

Most days, Viviane could pretend nothing had changed. Kallias was High Lord, which meant he was too busy to visit. She had that ring hidden in one of her drawers, his letter stuffed between the pages of a book. Viviane could go a full week without digging either of them out for her inspection. It had taken her a decade to manage.

And though she had his last letter committed to memory, Viviane was still no closer to a decision regarding her own feelings. Of course she loved him. Kallias had been her best friend for the duration of her life. He always would be. He’d never given her even an inkling that he loved her, and she’d never once considered it.

Considered him. Kallias was off-limits, and why want something you knew wasn’t for you? She could be practical. Rational, even.

And if Viviane was honest, she was so, so angry with him. He’d made yet another decision without consulting her. He’d been in love with her since he was ten years old and never, in the centuries they’d been alive, had he ever thought to involve her in that. To tell her. He’d instead sent her far, far away from him and part of Viviane wondered if he hadn’t done that to keep anyone else from taking her from him.

If he hadn’t done it to keep her from distracting him.

Fingers snapped in front of her face. Viviane looked up from the dining table and her rapidly cooling porridge. Nikolai was the only thing keeping her from saying fuck it, and going back to the palace to demand he answer for himself.

“Are you going to eat today?” he asked. She needed to. She couldn’t fall apart, not when so many people were counting on her. It was another spartan meal. Everything in Wegen was self-contained. They could no longer count on the support of the rest of the realm, and Viviane wasn’t going to be the reason someone went hungry. She took a bite, and then another, silently scarfing down the food in response to Nikolai’s watchful gaze.

“Sentries think there are refugees from the capitol coming.”

Viviane knew what that meant. Kallias had personally sent her someone. She nodded, mentally calculating all the things she needed to do. They’d been drafting anyone willing to serve into the only standing military left in Winter. It had once been open only to High Fae—Viviane had very quickly abolished that, which saw a surge in membership, and had created what she thought was a rather vibrant, almost terrifying army in all of Prythian, assuming the rumors about the winged monsters Rhysand supposedly commanded wasn’t true.

“Let's go check,” she agreed with a heavy sigh.

They were quick to button themselves into warm coats and fur-lined boots before heading out into the cold. Viviane jammed her hands into her pockets, her thoughts were more restless than usual. Dawn had broken a brilliant pink over the city, throwing blinding light over freshly fallen snow. In some ways, everything seemed normal—she could hear the sounds of the bustling market and children screaming. A calendar of the week's events was tacked to a light pole. Now that travel was banned and no one could leave, a group of upbeat citizens worked each week to create activities that brought everyone together. Viviane noted cooking classes, quilting circles, and combat lessons in regular intervals.

She’d gone on ice skating excursions on more than one occasion if only to continue the charade that everything was normal. Kallias was just busy.

Kallias was coming back.

She and Nikolai made their way to the now gated entrance of the city. A group of ten lesser fae sentries waited, shifting nervously as they always did. Winter, like all of Prythian, was divided among the High and Lesser—Viviane couldn’t undo millennia of injustice over the course of a decade.

“Riyan,” she said with a smile instead, looking up at the ice-coated male. He was the perfect supervisor of the guard, given he stood nearly nine feet tall and his face had never once broken anything but a frown.

Today, he offered her a grim smile. Viviane’s heart stuttered in her chest as fear coated her tongue. Nikolai, scenting it on the icy wind, took half a step forward to peer around the males.

“Oh,” he whispered, pushing open the opalescent gate quickly. Viviane half hoped it would be the High Lord waiting on the other end, come to tell her the ordeal was over.

It was her mother. Only her mother, bundled in warm furs. Her hands laid protectively over a sling on her chest, and as Viviane came closer, she realized it was a child sleeping, tucked away from the cold.

“Where is dad?” she asked, her stomach splattering at her feet.

Her mother blinked her jewel-bright eyes. “There was—” she stopped herself, her voice cracking. No one moved as they waited, the first news they’d head of the rest of Prythian in over a decade.

“Rebellion,” her mother finally whispered. “Your father is dead.”

Nikolai joined Viviane on the edge of their border, dark eyes searching her mother’s face as if there was some clue he might uncover.. “What do you mean there was rebellion?”

She swallowed hard, rubbing the white, fur-lined fabric that held the child. Viviane’s only sibling.

“The High Lord allied with Day and Summer,” she all but whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. Viviane rubbed a hand rough against her face, drinking in her mother's elegant silver hair pulled off her lovely face. She hadn’t seen her in so long, had forgotten just how much she missed her family. “They tried to bring an end to her rule.”

“What happened?” Nikolai demanded. Viviane came forward, reaching into the sling to pull out the baby. A little pink and silver bow was pinned against pretty, snow-white hair. The child flung out chubby little arms, her mouth pulling in a tiny frown but ultimately she settled against Viviane’s body. As if she knew she was safe.

“The High Lords are dead,” her mother said. Viviane was grateful she held the baby—she might have winnowed to the capitol on the spot. “Day and Summer lost their High Lords.”

“And us? Did we lose ours?” Nikolai pressed, his olive skin ashen with fear. She shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Viviane turned plaintive eyes to Nikolai.

Please, she silently begged, holding her sister so tightly she threatened to wake her. Her legs shook with fear, the wound in her chest opening until she was certain she must be bleeding all over the dark cobblestone.

“I left because the High Lord told me to go. And I heard—” her mother's voice broke a second time, eyes shifting to the child Viviane held. “I heard she punished us by killing the children at court.”

Nikolai shook his head back and forth. Behind him, every sentry turned their faces away, struck by the sheer cruelty of such an act.

“She wouldn’t dare,” Nikolai breathed.

“Please,” Viviane whispered.

“I’ll go,” Nikolai agreed. “Because my High Lady is ordering me to, and I obey.”

She ignored the way her mother’s eyes widened, or how the wind carried his silent words to the city behind them. It was well-known, to Wegen, at any rate, that Viviane was the seat of power.

Nikolai stepped away from her, inclining his head respectfully. She watched him start down the road, certain that he would wait until he was far from the city to winnow. She knew Nikolai would die to protect their secrets.

She knew he’d come back.

“Come on, mama,” Viviane whispered, her chest aching. Father was dead.

Kallias was too.

“Let's get out of the cold.”

KALLIAS:

[40 years before Feyre]

He was being summoned beneath the mountain. He, Helion and Tarquin would not be allowed to return to their homes. Kallias had sent away anyone he could reasonably spare that was willing to go. Many of his courtiers had opted to remain in a show of silent support he didn’t deserve.

Twenty dead younglings. Every child in his court had been slaughtered in the cruelest way imaginable. Rhysand’s power, though the High Lord had been too cowardly to show his face, had ripped through the children in the night. Waking them from the pain, forcing frantic parents out of bed while their children endured a slow, painful death.

Kallias had been spared. He couldn’t fathom why.

No one had presented him with the option. Amarantha had merely delighted that he remained alive and Kallias privately wondered if she held the older High Lords of Day and Summer more accountable than him.

Or, perhaps she had grown bored with the killing, with the not knowing which new High Lord’s would arise after slaughtering the families of Summer and Day. Helion had been merely a scholar, and Tarquin the prince of Adriata, so far removed from the High Lord’s family by marriage and birth that, had they not all been murdered, he never would have been more than a prince.

He had no family to kill. No parents left alive, no wife, no children. Only his court, now left in crumbling ruins. He’d been given a week to bury his dead, but his palace was in shambles, wrecked and crumbling. Five sets of parents had chosen to follow after their children, and Kallias couldn’t bring himself to look at the rest of them.

So he sat on that throne of ice, alone in his throne room. Immovable, drowning in his guilt. Trapped under the sacred mountain was a fitting punishment for the High Lord who had sent twenty children to their death. He couldn’t contain his grief, couldn’t squash his misery.

Footsteps echoed on marble. Somewhere in that dim room, Kira stood as she always did. She’d send the interloper away.

“Nik,” her voice breathed. Kallias looked up, stunned to see his friend striding through the cracked columns of the once magnificent throne room. Kira, his mirror image ever since the atrocity, seemed to crumble at the sight of him. Nikolai looked well. His cheeks were pink from the cold, but his brown eyes were bright, his hair neat, his spine straight. He looked as if he’d been eating well—like he slept at night.

He adjusted his blue jacket, catching Kira against his chest mere seconds before she might have slid to the ground at his feet. He held her, pressing his face into her dark hair. Kallias felt new fear sweep over him, forcing him to his feet.

“Viviane is–”

“Alive,” Nikolai assured him, not releasing Kira. “And I can’t stay long. I swore I’d come and see if you survived.”

Alive. Kallias descended those steps numbly. She’d sent Nikolai to check on him? Kallias blinked away the urge to fall to his knees, to give in to the sobs he’d been suppressing. He had no right to cry. No right to do anything but accept his punishment silently. Gratefully.

No right to Viviane’s concern. No right to her at all. “How is she?” he whispered, needing to know despite everything.

Nikolai pressed his lips together. “You should have told her before you did. She’s trying to pretend she doesn’t miss you.”

His heart jumped in his chest. “Is it working?”

A smile tugged at Nikolai’s lips. He released Kira with the softest kiss to her scalp, the only admission he felt anything for Kallias’s Captain. Kira didn’t react at all, though her brown eyes were glassy. Nikolai crossed the marble, clapping Kallias on the shoulder.

“It’s not.” His smile faded and Kallias knew what was coming. Felt utter dread knowing Nikolai would take back his answer to Viviane. Would she still miss him then? “The children–”

“Gone,” Kallias said, turning back for his throne. “Their minds were shattered, they—” They suffered.

Oppressive silence rang around them. “A…another High Lord slaughtered children?” Nikolai asked, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yes,” Kira answered, the word dripping with condemnation. “He’s a traitor. He could have allied with us, could have spared us and instead he stands beside her and delights in the cruelty he inflicts in her name. Not even Hellas herself would have him and I hope he rots.”

“How…” Nikolai shook his head, pressing his hand to his mouth. “Even Beron Vanserra wouldn’t…”

“We’re being sent to her court,” Kira told Nikolai, reaching for his arm. “You and Viviane will be all that’s left of us.”

“There’s no more fight,” Kallias added, squashing the hatred he felt. Not at Amarantha—he couldn’t sustain his anger for her any longer. He’d merely turned inwards, had directed it fully to himself. Trying again was unthinkable. What else could he risk losing?

“For you, maybe,” Nikolai disagreed. “Not for us.”

Kallias didn’t respond, didn’t dare ask what he and Viviane were up to. “The only thing that matters to me is her life,” he told his friend, holding Nikolai’s gaze. Nikolai understood what Kallias couldn’t say well enough—she was to be protected at all costs.

“Don’t.”

Nikolai’s jaw set in a hard line. “You made her High Lord in your stead. I obey her.”

Kallias shivered without meaning to. The thought of a whole city bowing to Viviane’s rule made his body tight and hot all at once. For a moment, Kallias indulged himself in a daydream—one where Viviane amassed an army strong enough to challenge Amarantha. Where she liberated him. Came for him.

Wanted him.

And Kallias swallowed it, because he knew how it ended. It wasn’t just Amarantha, but Rhysand and whatever armies he was hiding, too. Rhysand, who had more power left at his disposal than any of them. Amarantha, who could draw on the full might of Hybern to crush them.

He’d watch her torture Viviane.

Kill her.

“Don’t,” he whispered, unable to force anyone to do his bidding anymore. He had no authority other than the useless crown atop his head. Nikolai shook his head back and forth.

“You would do it for us.”“Look what it cost me,” Kallias replied, his anguish coloring his words. “What are you willing to lose?”

The unspoken hung between the three of them.

“I can’t—I won’t—risk her.”

Nikolai inclined his head. He took a step back, his regret plain. “I will see you again.”

Even Kira winced at his words. To have their hope, their belief they could do something to save their home. Each other. Kira and Kallias no longer believed there was anything left to do. Any hope left to them was centered on Tamlin and the loophole Amarantha had offered. Kallias would do nothing else to draw Amarantha’s attention to Winter or what he’d hidden high in the mountains.

Nikolai turned, leaving Kallias and Kira alone in that emptied throne room,

Surrounded by nothing but their grief.

VIVIANE:

[an endless eternity]

Viviane stepped from the palace just as she always did. Dressed in well-fitted, fur trimmed white pants and a blue coat dress, she’d come to appreciate an unfussy wardrobe. It was practically a uniform, both practical and a sign of the unchanging times. Dyes were hard to create and blue was one of the few still available with what they could get from the landscape around them.

The color was lovely, warm and somehow icy all at the same time. They were still in the brutal season still, though spring wasn’t far off. Viviane was looking forward to seeing the ice melt and children back in the street.

Beside her, Nikolai crunched into the snow. Hands crossed over the white military jacket on his chest, she knew he intended to go to the barracks first thing. He’d run drills until the sun set, leaving him exhausted and wrung out enough to sleep.

She knew that feeling all too well. Most nights they ended up in the same bed, backs facing the other, pretending they weren’t wallowing in their combined misery. That after nearly half a century, they were used to this. Used to life as it was. No High Lord—Kallias had been banished beneath the mountain decades ago. No one had heard from him and rumors swirled that he was dead.

Viviane couldn’t prove they weren’t true. A new High Lord might not even realize Kallias had bound the remaining magic to her. A new High Lord might have decided not to say anything and take his chances. She’d never know.

Viviane had nothing but her regrets and that fucking ring she half hated, half worshipped. She’d never been able to put it on.

He could do it himself. Could tell her properly.

In her imagination, she pictured telling him she loved him, too. She imagined what it would be like to press her mouth against his own, to feel him hold her as he whispered everything in that letter against her cheek.

And sometimes she imagined hitting him across the face so hard it left a mark. She imagined what it would be like to see him sink to his knees while she told him she hated him and would never forgive him for what he’d done. For sacrificing himself.

For leaving her.

Fifty years, and Viviane had no more clarity than she had when she’d gotten that letter. She’d always loved him.

She didn’t know if she was in love with him. Viviane could barely take care of the remainder of Winter's people, let alone herself and her own feelings. At night she tortured herself with it, tossing and turning until she went looking for Nikolai—assuming he hadn’t found her first.

Viviane was their General. Their Lady.

Hilarious.

“The air smells different today,” Nikolai noted. Viviane inhaled sharply, letting the icy air flood her lungs. Ice and pine invaded her senses–just like always.

“If you say so,” she replied with a shrug. Still, her stomach tumbled at the thought that maybe the world had shifted. Good or bad, at least it was something. She didn’t dare hope, not after so much time, but she did let herself imagine his face when she’d last seen him.

Happy.

Alive.

Brutally handsome in a way that made her ache.

Gods, she wanted to see him smile at her. Wanted to see his pale blue eyes crinkle at the corners in amusement. She wanted him sprawled over a chair, his lips tugged upwards as he tried—and failed—to pretend he wasn’t interested in every word coming out of her mouth.

While Nikolai went to run himself ragged, Viviane threw herself into the mindless activities that came with running a city. Mostly, Viviane worked on settling petty disputes and maintaining their existing infrastructure. She collected no taxes in an attempt to alleviate everyone's burden given they were all struggling together. It didn’t stop people from the endless bickering over property and goods and sometimes just each other.

And sometimes when things erupted unforgivably, the very structures Viviane was trying to preserve were damaged. She wouldn’t pretend that there was no tension. People were restless and exhausted and angry. They vented their rage on everyone around them—the lesser fae, people who disagreed with them, and most often, her.

A decade earlier, a group had decided to leave and Viviane had slaughtered them all without mercy or regret. It wouldn’t be all for nothing. She vowed that if nothing else. Alive or dead, Kallias’s sacrifice would not be wasted on the restless and the weak.

She wondered if people would forgive her when it was all over. A good third of the city still resented her for that choice. She’d warned them, and everyone else, what would happen if they tried to cross the border. Maybe it would have been better to leave the slaughter to the sentries.

It was an impossible situation.

Not just the decisions she had to make, but all of it. Every choice felt weighty, like something terrible would happen no matter what she chose. Fixing a roof or barring people from leaving provoked the same panicked reaction. If she lived a thousand years, Viviane didn’t think it would ever truly leave her.

She met Nikolai in the city square. They dined there every night now, just like everyone else. He had two bowls in his hand and when he saw her, he offered up the stew. His face was battered and bloodied and she wondered if he let the recruits vent their rage on him because he couldn’t do it himself.

“Anything interesting happen?” he asked with a wet cough. Viviane could smell the blood in the air.

She buried her face in the stew, inhaling the meat.

“The mountain pass is snowed in again,” she told him, sighing heavily. “And there’s a crack in the schoolhouse.”

“Could be worse,” Nikolai told her, just like he always did. Viviane titled her head upwards towards the dark sky overhead. Twinkling stars peered back against, bright in the violet night. Her breath clung just ahead of her face, creating delicate clouds all around her. She’d once found such a thing fascinating.

Now she found it tiring. Viviane plowed forward until they reached the arching doors of the mountainside palace. Her chest ached more than usual that night, and when her feet clipped on the floor, she turned to face Nikolai so quickly her stew sloshed over her dress.

“I miss him.”

Nikolai nodded his head with glazed over eyes, his jaw tight with emotion.

“I’m afraid he’s dead.”

Viviane hadn’t dared to ever actually say it. “I’m afraid he’s dead and I didn’t…”

Gods, but she couldn’t even admit it to herself. It was too painful to acknowledge the truth. Furious, angry, burning with hatred—and she still loved him, too. Loved him so much. And if he was dead, it didn’t matter. She felt doomed to miss him until she faded into ice.

“I know,” was all he said. She knew he did. He’d lost people to that cursed mountain. Had people he was afraid were dead. That he loved. In the scheme of things, Viviane had so much. Her sister was an adult, her mother was alive, and she was bound to Winter as its Lady and Steward as long as there was a High Lord to sit on the throne.

“Come eat.”

One day, Nikolai would stop speaking entirely. Viviane wasn’t sure what would happen to her then. They ate in almost near silence and when it came time to part ways, she looped her arm through his.

“Why pretend tonight?”

“Your room,” Nikolai agreed, his voice gentle. “Your room is nicer.”

He vanished just long enough to change, giving Viviane a moment to pull out that letter and reread it.

I love you. Did I tell you that? Well, just in case.

I love you.

She could hear the words with that rich, deep voice. How his lips would be tugged into a playful smile but his eyes would be tight with worry. Kallias never did like not knowing how things might turn out.

Pulling out that amethyst ring, Viviane slid it on her finger despite swearing she never would. Nikolai stepped in, dressed in his night clothes, and offered an appreciative chuckle. “Feeling optimistic?”

“Maybe it's good luck,” she replied, immediately embarrassed she’d been caught.

“It looks good on you,” Nikolai offered, taking her hand to admire and silver on her hand. “You should keep it.”

She twisted the band, intending to take it off. “I think—”

Her knees slammed to the floor before she could finish her sentence. Palm stinging against the hard floor, Viviane took a gasping breath. Something in her chest ripped, unwinding decades of magic. Viviane was going to be sick. Distantly, she could hear Nikolai calling her name, his hands gripping her shoulders.

How foolish, to think Kallias had ever died without her noticing. She pushed Nikolai off her, stumbling for the window. The shimmering wards that had long shielded the city were gone.

“Vivi–”

“He’s dead,” she whispered. “Kallias is dead.”

KALLIAS:

[an eternity and a day]

I’ve come to claim the one I love.

Three months. That was how long the filthy, underfed human named Feyre had managed to last. Kallias was still as breathless at the sight of her as he had been the first day she’d said those words.

I’ve come to claim the one I love.

He’d stopped dreaming about the sky. Of fresh fallen snow blanketing bright green pine. Of the smell of the cold, the sound of cracking ice.

Of blue eyes set beneath a cascade of silver hair. Kallias had stopped thinking about Viviane long before Feyre ever arrived, though she had a starring role in all his dreams. He indulged because he had no other reprieve from the endless horror of forty years beneath a mountain.

All Feyre had to do was kill three of them. The crowd shifted anxiously, awash with a mixture of anticipation and hope. She was too pale, blue eyes wide with horror. No one held it against her. No one from his court, a small mercy given how few were even left to pick through. He saw another Summer court denizen, stolen with eyes squeezed shut tight. Across the room, Tarquin’s lips moved silently in prayer.

The next was from Day. Helion set his jaw grimly, looking at the female with unguarded pride. Her life for everyone. For her home, her High Lord. She murmured encouragement to the trembling human. If anyone breathed, Kallias couldn’t tell. His own heart was still in his chest, his hand numb from how tight Kira squeezed it.

Feyre hesitated.

Please, he prayed. His first since Amarantha had stolen everything from him. Please do this.

A second ash dagger stole a second life. All was left was one, was—

Kira dropped Kallias’s hand at the reveal. Of Tamlin, still in the horrible golden mask, staring back with such open defiance. Kallia turned his head, blood rushing in his ears. He’d been too hopeful. Had forgotten the little tricks of their kind. With knee wobbling fear, he forced himself to suffer through Amarantha’s taunting, of the shaking hands of the human who loved one of them. Love them enough to risk the almost certain death Kallias was certain Amarantha would foist upon her.

Feyre might survive this, but she’d never survive the humiliation of besting Amarantha. He didn’t care if it meant he could leave. It wasn’t the love of his life up there, after all. She was safe. Protected and secure.

Happy, he hoped.

Feyre raised the dagger, blinking away rushing tears. Kallias knew what Tamlin did—what every High Lord in the room knew. Their hearts were stone, held by Amarantha and her unusual magic. Tamlin would survive, but the attempt would satisfy the deal.

Please let her succeed, he prayed, unable to take his eyes off her.

The ash tip pierced Tamlin’s chest. Blood sprayed against Feyre’s too place face, throwing the scent of metal in the air. Across the room, the Vanserra siblings all shifted anxiously, eyes darting toward the door. She’d done it. Spring was free. Kallias didn’t know what he expected at that moment. Tamlin, perhaps, to shed the immortal skin for the famed claws and fur. Kallias wanted to see blood dripping from the High Lord's fangs. Wanted to see Amarantha ripped to pieces and eaten, so there was nothing left of her.

Not even her awful, ugly hair.

“Oh, Mother save us,” Kira whispered when Amarantha barked out one of her awful laughs. He turned to Helion, to Tarquin when the human began screaming. What did it matter, his eyes silently pleaded. She’d free them on her deathbed ten thousand years from then.

What did it matter?

“Kal–”

Rhysand rushed forward, a knife in hand. Kallias couldn’t make sense of any of it. Bracketed between Helion and Tarquin, open mouthed like the other two, he merely stared in open mouthed horror.

Rhysand bleeding against the wall.

Tamlin pleading on the floor.

“Love,” Feyre choked out wetly. The room went utterly still again. Horror and revulsion sharpened into unmistakable blood lust. “The answer is love.”

Her spine snapped loudly, but the words had been said. Beron Vanserra barred his teeth in a cruel, hungry grin. Thesan angled his body closer to that dais, eyes narrowed with unmistakable want. Kallias, too, wanted to paint himself in Amarantha’s blood. Anticipation flooded the room as Tamlin stood. His mask clattered to the floor along with the rest of his court, though it didn’t seemed to have registered for the High Lord.

Sharpened fangs erupted from Tamlin's gums, his fingers elongating into razor-sharp talons. The evisceration that followed was art, was every fantasy Kallias had harbored come to life. He delighted in Amaranthas terror, that her final moments were consumed knowing she lost to a human. That everyone she’d harmed clamored for more, would have stood there for a month to watch it drawn out.

Though, it was smart to finish her quickly. Her last breath wooshed into the room, slamming into Kallias so hard that he, along with Helion, both nearly tumbled to the floor. Helion and Tarquin had never felt the full breadth of magic but for Kallias, it was like waking up again. He felt the soft snapping of that little pulse he’d sent to Viviane, cracking like fragile ice beneath the weight of his might. She’d feel it too.

He’d need to go to her before she panicked.

Bring her back, a voice whispered in his mind. For her sacrifice, give her immortality.

Whether it was his own thought or not, Kallias was too numb, too shocked and keyed up to do anything but step forward. Tarquin and Helion came with him, joining the remaining four. Kallias added his own wisp of magic to the bleeding, broken body cradled against Tamlin’s chest.

He would have given far more than one immortal existence if it meant he could see Viviane again. It was all he could think about, even as he stood witness to the most remarkable thing he’d likely ever see in his life. Color flooded Feyre’s once hollow cheeks as life wormed its way back into her ravaged body. The bloodied wounds knitted themselves, her bones cracking and snapping back to where they belonged.

She took a breath, and then another. It was enough to send Kallias scattering. He wasn’t the only one. The Vanserras were practically running from beneath the mountain, while both Helion and

Tarquin were gesturing for their new court, scrambling with their new power. Kallias needed to do the same.

But they wouldn’t remain. He was following just behind the Vanserra’s just as soon as he got the words from his mouth.

“We meet in Wegen,” he said, looking over the brutalized remains of his court. Amarantha had destroyed the capitol, and after forty years lying in ruins, Kallias wasn’t inclined to rebuild. Viviane was there.

And Viviane was home.

“Collect whatever it is you need from this place. Leave everything else.”

A sea of faces stared back with disbelief, a feeling well echoed in Kallias’s chest. Decades of despair had taken their toll. The thought of going outside filled him with anxiety.

“I’ll meet you there,” he told them. Kallias didn’t want anything. Not his clothes, his crowns, his jewels. Just her. Gods, Kallias wanted to see her so badly that he, too, almost ran out of the room. He wasn’t the only one. Kira, as she had been since everything went to shit, grabbed his elbow. She squeezed when they climbed the steps to the tunnel leading out—leading to Autumn.

There wasn’t one directly into Winter, an impractical undertaking given all doors tended to freeze.

“Can you winnow?” Kira whispered, glancing over her shoulder. Kallias was tempted to look back, too. He kept waiting for Amarantha to pop back up, to drag them all back by their throats. His whole body trembled when he stepped into Spring, his lungs filling with the first free breath he’d taken in five decades.

“Yes,” he replied, swallowing the knot in his throat.

“What are you going to do first?” she asked, lacing her fingers with his own.

It was pure hubris that responded. “I’m getting married.”

#daddy winter #viviane x kallias #winter court #never say i dont do anything for this fandom #are they good things?#debatable #but they ARE things

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