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is2katiemccard · 3 months

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ᅟᅟᅟ tolerate it | alessia russo x brazilian!reader, duda sampaio x brazilian!reader

Summary: Everyone goes through bad times in life, but some attitudes can end in mistakes and sometimes there is no way back.

[AN: I'm working on some requests but I couldn't stop thinking about this plot, so here it is! This will be a mini series with two other chapters, hope you like it <3]

ᅟ The last few months have been hell for Alessia. The first blow was the crisis that their secret relationship was facing.

ᅟ During the World Cup you, the English striker's girlfriend, were feeling very overwhelmed, after all, that would be the first time that you would play in that tournament for your national team. As if that wasn't already a huge weight on her shoulders, every day her coach made a point of repeating the same words to the team.

ᅟ “Are you really going to allow the queen of football to retire without a world title with the national team? I don't care if you're young, old or what, you need to give everything for her. Marta deserves this and I will not allow you to ruin this experience for her.”

ᅟ Pia Sundhage was an admirable and successful woman, but she definitely crossed some limits and the most serious thing was almost completely taking away the identity of the Brazilian team. It wasn't news to anyone that Brazil was known for its beautiful, passionate style of play, full of tricks and skills, but since the woman arrived as coach shortly after being eliminated in the 2019 World Cup, things have changed drastically.

ᅟ Despite being a young player, you already had your fair share of experiences at an international level as you left the club that formed you very young and followed Geyse, your colleague and best friend, out of Brazil. A few years passed and while the other girl shone in Spanish lands playing for Barcelona, you enjoyed the contrasting experience of living in London and playing for the red team in the north of the city.

ᅟ It was during one of Arsenal's games against United that you met Alessia and it's safe to say that from the first moment you found yourself in love with the girl with blue eyes and blonde hair. To your surprise, she also ended up really liking you and at the end of that match you exchanged t-shirts and a small note came with hers and contained your phone number and an invitation to dinner.

ᅟ The rest was history, and a story worthy of romance books, by the way, but little by little the whole situation began to fall apart and you seemed to be the only one interested in putting together and pasting all the pieces of your love. While you fought for her, Alessia didn't even recognize any gesture and just worried about her own life and career. She kept it a secret and made a point of hiding it in a trunk under lock and key. Not even your family and closest friends knew that you were a couple and that hurt, a lot.

ᅟ You begged the blonde for help not once, much less twice or three times but she just ignored your messages and calls with the excuse of being too busy preparing for the competition, which wasn't completely a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. While all this was happening and your condition was only getting worse, your teammates noticed how miserable you looked, but they couldn't understand why. It was only when Luana ran after you after a training session that they began to understand what you were going through and despite the help that the midfielder and all the other girls provided you, you never managed to fully recover as a huge part of your problems was your secret relationship.

ᅟ The trigger came at the final whistle in the game against Jamaica, making his biggest fear come true. Brazil was out of the World Cup in the group stage and your heart, which already had some cracks in it, broke in half once and for all. Your eyes roamed the stands hoping to find Alessia somewhere since she had promised she would be there for you, but your search for her was in vain. Without even realizing how it happened, you found yourself kneeling on the field with your face in the grass in front of Marta's boots, who was trying to comfort you while you cried profusely. All the cameras were on you and the Queen of football, knowing how sad and meaningful that image was.

ᅟ Tears were still flowing from your eyes like a waterfall when you felt a weight on your back and two strong arms pressed against your fragile body. All the other players, both Brazilian and Jamaican, gathered around you forming a large circle and sympathizing with the difficult time you were going through. It took some time, but you finally recovered enough to lift your head off the ground and face the older woman in front of you who was looking at you with teary eyes and you were about to break down again when Duda's low voice reached your ears and you body turned to face the girl who held you in her arms so carefully.

ᅟ Just like you, Duda was also part of the new generation of players, she currently played for the best team in the country, the same one that had revealed you to the world a few years ago. You had many things in common, but for some reason she seemed to avoid your presence, always choosing not to stay by your side for long and looking away from your direction. At first you thought she didn't like you, but Luana and some other colleagues assured you that it was just her shyness speaking louder, however, despite all that, she was the one by your side at that moment, looking at you with so much affection that your breath caught for a few moments. The brunette offered you a welcoming smile before extending her hand for you to hold and get up, but noticed how your legs shook when trying to do so and decided to take the action of picking you up and carrying you to the changing room.

ᅟ The more time passed, the harder it was to face reality. Little by little, the devastating sadness gave way to anger, and from anger, to revolt. The local atmosphere was hostile and heavy, each player was dealing with it in a different way, but they all had some thoughts in common, you could have done more, you should have done more. Even in the midst of that chaos, all the players' phones were exploding with messages and calls from family, friends and even players from other national teams who showed solidarity in that difficult time. Despite that, it took almost an entire day for Alessia to contact you and when she did, God, it was disastrous.

ᅟ It took some time, but you managed to convince the blonde to meet you in person in the hotel room where your team was staying.

ᅟ "What do you want from me? I have more important things to do than talk to you.” She said as soon as she reached her room, taking off the hood and glasses she wore as a disguise. Her words affected you more than you wanted to admit and after closing the door and making sure no one had seen the blonde enter your room, you walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of it. At that moment it became clear that you should get straight to the point with her, knowing that trying to stall would only make things worse.

ᅟ “Good night to you too, Alessia.” Your voice carried a certain irony and the coldness with which you treated her was unusual. “Since you are a very busy woman, I will get straight to the point. I can no longer stand the way you are treating me and I can't maintain our relationship if you continue like this. I know you're avoiding me and I can't understand why. We’ve always been open with each other and you’ve just signed for Arsenal, which I think should only improve our relationship, but you’re more distant than ever.”

ᅟ The striker seemed surprised by your words since you never liked conflicts or more serious conversations like this, and, despite knowing that you were right, she couldn't help but mock you, maintaining an air of superiority while crossing her arms over the chest.

ᅟ “How many times do I have to tell you that I need to focus on my career and the World Cup, hmm? I thought that by this point in the championship this would have become very clear.” You even tried to interrupt her to better explain your point of view, but she didn't even give a chance. “No, you already had your turn to speak, now it’s mine. And, what do you know, you're right, I really am avoiding you because I can't deal with your neediness anymore. Lately you've been so unbearable that I don't even feel like having a conversation with you. I’m a world-class striker, I don’t have time to deal with your bullshit and your problems.” God, how her words hurt. It was hard to believe that the girl in front of you who was putting on such a narcissistic show was the same one you had fallen in love with and loved madly.

ᅟ “Oh, now I understand. So what you want to tell me is that I have to be emotionally available to you in your worst moments just like I was when the United fans turned on you but you can't return the favor because you are a world class striker?” The temperature of that conversation was increasing quickly, as was your voice, which certainly caught the attention of your friends in the next rooms. “How selfish you are, Alessia. I can't believe you mean all this, what happened to you? When did you become so stupid and snobbish? Did winning the Euros get to your head that much? Because a fucking title doesn’t give you the right to treat me like I’m nothing or nobody.”

ᅟ “If by being a snob you mean I'm a realist, then yes, I'm a complete snob. Don't you notice the difference between us? I was instrumental in winning the Euros while you weren't even able to help your team get past the group stage of the World Cup. And don’t be fooled into thinking that I signed for Arsenal because of you and our relationship, I did it because it was best for my career and because your team needs a real player like me.” The tone of voice Alessia used was completely humiliating and the cruelty of her words was so much that it left you speechless. Your girlfriend knew how insecure you were feeling about this tournament and in addition to not helping you with that, she made sure to destroy you once and for all. The woman you loved did this to you, and you couldn't believe it.

ᅟ The expression on your face was one of pure pain and betrayal, your throat was dry and you didn't even know what to say while the blonde was still in front of you watching you with that air of superiority, but when you got up from the bed she was scared. Your body language screamed wrath and your eyes shone from the tears you refused to let go. It was at that moment that Alessia realized everything she had done to you and how much her attitude affected you. She felt like she had been punched in the stomach and the worst person in the world, but now it was too late.

ᅟ "We are over." Your sentence was said indifferently, as if you and the striker didn't have a history. “Get out of here. I don't want to see you ever again” It was obvious that you were containing your emotions, and, in order not to have to deal with them, you walked to the door of your room, coming face to face with Lelê, Geyse, Duda and Luana in the hallway. They had heard everything and were about to invade the room. You looked at them with panic, not knowing how much they had heard, but Alessia was still standing in the middle of the room, shocked by her own actions. “I TOLD YOU TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.” Your scream was powerful and disturbing like a thunderclap and broke the British woman out of the trance she was in.

ᅟ She had never seen you like that. At the same time that you looked so fragile her body was filled with anger and she knew it was better to do what you said. She left the room slowly, startled by the presence of her teammates who were already there and noticing the arrival of others. Despite this, she had the audacity to try to approach you and say something, but Letícia, Luana and Geyse took a step forward while Duda pulled you away from it. The attacker seemed to want to insist on that, but the goalkeeper blocked her path. Letícia and Alessia were the same height, but the brunette's physical condition made her more threatening and firm like a brick wall. Fortunately her presence was enough for the lioness to give up on her plan and leave in a hurry, like a coward.

ᅟ Only when her silhouette disappeared behind the elevator doors did you allow yourself to give in, running back to the bedroom and, later, to the bathroom, where you barely had time to lift the toilet lid before throwing up. A few seconds later you smelled Duda's perfume around you and her hand on your back, trying to comfort you just like she had done a few days ago. You had no idea what her level of English was and how much she had heard and understood of the conversation, but regardless, she was there, by your side, again.

ᅟ You could hear Luana's voice, imagining that she must be explaining the whole situation to the other girls who arrived after the commotion in the hallway and as you thought about how horrible that situation was, you realized that in a short time you and your ex-girlfriend would play together on the same team. Suddenly the nausea was back and you felt everything spinning around you. Little by little you got better and finally came out of the bathroom, seeing all your teammates crammed into the room and ready to welcome you into their arms.

ᅟ It took a few hours and a lot of explanation on your part, but eventually everyone understood the situation and shared the same anger as you. They were all worried about what would happen in the future since you two are Arsenal players and would see each other every day in a matter of a few weeks, and that worried you too, but it was after a few minutes in silence that Tamires made a suggestion that made your eyes shine.

ᅟ Soon you, the blonde and Duda were in front of the door of Cris Gambaré's room, the director of women's football at Corinthians who was helping the Brazilian coaching staff. When she finally answered, the three of you smiled slightly and the woman took a deep breath, knowing that she had a problem to solve.

BREAKING NEWS: Arsenal midfield star Y/F/N will go on loan to Corinthians, the club that revealed her to the world. The team was surprised by the request, but accepted after some insistence from the player. She must leave for Brazil immediately and will return to Arsenal as soon as the South American season comes to an end in December.

187 notes · View notes

corroded-hellfire · 5 months

Note

I don’t know if this would be of interest to you to write for the AYW universe, but I’m kinda curious about Eddie & Brittany in the early years. Like Eddie’s reaction to becoming a dad for the first time, poor sweet Eddie trying to make things work with Brittany (I’m a sucker for angst, what can I say 🤷‍♀️) just a little insight to how our favourite mechanic was in the beginning

I love the opportunity this gave me to think about Eddie's past, especially in relation to his relationship with Brittany. @munson-blurbs was kind enough to write this with me and she came up with the best possible title for this story: It's Brittany, (The) Bitch

Warnings: childbirth, pre-Reader, Brittany being Brittany

Words: 4.6k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eddie pulls his rusted van into the driveway of the small shoebox that currently serves as the Munson residence. He’s been working overtime to help save up for a bigger house, proving difficult with childcare expenses already beginning to pile up despite the fact that the baby won’t arrive for two more weeks.

He takes a deep breath as he kills the engine, preparing himself for the daily crisis; sure enough, he hears Brittany yelling on the phone before he even sees her. It can only be one of a few people that she’s talking to, and he just hopes she’s at least sitting down in a chair and not pacing back and forth.

Eddie lets out a sigh as he steps into the kitchen to find Brittany basically walking laps around the kitchen as far as the phone cord allows, one hand holding the receiver and the other on her 38 week baby bump.

Careful not to interrupt her conversation—if one could even call it that—he clears his throat with a soft ahem. Brittany raises an eyebrow at him in question, to which he responds by nodding his head to the vacant kitchen chair closest to her.

Brittany looks irritated, but takes the seat nonetheless.

“I have told you,” she shouts into the phone as she lowers herself into the chair, “I don’t give a shit what you think Uncle Julian is entitled to, he’s not getting a goddamn dime of Dyeda Alex’s money.”

Eddie long ago learned that it’s all around better for him to stay out of whatever drama Brittany’s family is currently brawling about—and there always is something. If there isn’t, they’ll create it, as evidenced by the Great Cheesecake Battle of 1990.

Eddie presses a kiss to the top of Brittany’s head, and she gives him a small smile as he walks out of the cramped kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom. He cleans himself up from work, washing motor oil from his palms, and slips back into the kitchen to start preparing dinner. Sometimes Brittany would make it, but Eddie’s been more and more insistent that she stay off her feet lately. Besides, Wednesday evenings mean that Wayne is coming for dinner; there’s something about providing a meal for the man who put his life on hold to raise him that warms Eddie’s heart. He only wishes that his cooking skills improved with practice, but based on the food he makes never tasting any better, they’re not.

He’s in the middle of tediously peeling potatoes when Brittany pushes herself up out of the chair, waddling over in the direction of the phone base on the wall. “If you tell her that, I swear on all that is holy, I will end you.”

Eddie smiles to himself as he goes back to the potatoes. He very well knows his wife means what she says, and her threat should not be taken lightly.

“Whatever. Bye.” Brittany slams the receiver down on the phone base and lets out an irritated groan.

“So,” Eddie starts off smugly, “how’s the Sobachkin family doing?”

“They’re all assholes,” Brittany mumbles as she walks over to get a water bottle from the fridge, chugging it like she’d just run a marathon.

Your sister is the biggest asshole of all, but you seem to love her, Eddie thinks as he washes off his hands, drying them on a nearby dishtowel.

“How was work?” Brittany asks as she plops herself back in her chair, already relieved to be off of her feet again.

“Okay,” Eddie says with a shrug of his shoulders. “Wish they’d fire Mark, though. He’s more trouble than he’s worth with all of us having to fix his mistakes every time.” Eddie glances over his shoulder and sees Brittany staring at her nails, tuning out his side of the conversation. He sighs and goes back to preparing dinner. His fault for thinking she might actually be listening to him, he thinks. “How’re you feeling?”

“Pregnant,” she says flatly, placing a hand on her stomach. “Remind me why I decided to have your kid again?”

Because you allegedly love me, he says to himself, biting back the retort to avoid her wrath. But he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t been thinking the same thing.

After a dinner of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes (neither of which were burnt, to Eddie’s delight), Eddie and Wayne sit on the front porch in identical wicker chairs. It’s a warm summer night, the fireflies occasionally blinking in the dusk, crickets chirping their familiar mating calls.

Brittany is inside resting; Eddie had asked if she wanted to come out with them, but she’d just wrinkled her nose and said it was too hot.

Wayne watches his nephew’s leg bounce up and down and his grip tighten on his can of Budweiser. They remain in silence until the older man can’t ignore it any longer.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on before you crush that full can of beer you got in your hand?”

Embarrassment paints a blush on Eddie’s cheeks, unable to deny the surge of relief flooding his body that Wayne brought it up. “Just…anxious, I guess.”

“‘Bout what?” Wayne asks, taking a swig from his own can.

“Becoming a dad. I mean, I had you raising me, but before that…” he bites his lower lip as he searches for the right words. “I’m worried I’ll be more like my old man than like you.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Eddie, you were meant to be a dad. And that kid is gonna adore you.” He offers a small smile as he recalls, “You’ve always taken care of people. Even back in high school, you were always looking out for the younger kids in that fantasy game club you ran.”

Eddie chuckles, but everything Wayne says is true. If he saw someone looking lost and lonely, he brought them into the fold. Don’t know how to play D&D? We’ll teach you. Welcome to Hellfire.

“I guess so. It’s different when it’s your own child, though.”

“I know you can handle it.” Wayne claps him on the back. “And I’m always here for ya. Whatever you need.”

Eddie smiles at him as Brittany comes outside, wearing the frown that seems to be permanently etched on her face.

“Eddie.” Her tone is clipped and irritated, though Eddie can’t remember doing anything wrong.

He quickly stands up, nearly spilling his drink. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

She rolls her eyes. “You left me inside by myself while you two bullshit out here.”

“Eddie just needed to talk to me,” Wayne tries explaining. “We were about to head back in.”

Brittany crosses her arms on top of her baby bump. “Forget it. Clearly, I’m not a priority for you.” She motions to Eddie. “I’m going to bed, and I want to lock up, so you can come in now or sleep outside tonight.”

Eddie bites back his anger. She’s having your baby; just be patient. “Yeah, let me just toss this…” He shakes the empty can.

Brittany huffs, waddling back into the house without even saying goodbye to Wayne.

Eddie stops and gives his uncle a long hug. “Next time I see you, I might be a dad,” he grins. “Scary to think about, isn’t it?”

Wayne chuckles. “Nah, kid; you’re gonna be great.” He pauses for a moment, contemplating his words, before deciding to say what’s in his heart. “Listen, Ed; about—”

“Eddie! Let’s go!”

Eddie shoves his hands in his pockets. “I, uh, gotta get going. Thanks for coming over.”

Wayne slowly exhales as he watches his nephew shuffle into the house. “God, I hope he realizes he’s worth so much more than how she treats him.” He shakes his head and trudges to his car.

The sound of crying jars Eddie out of a peaceful sleep. His first instinct is that he needs to go check on the baby, only…the baby hasn’t been born yet. The fogginess of sleep clears away just enough for Eddie to realize it’s not the sound of a baby crying, and it’s coming from right next to him.

The moment he recognizes Brittany’s sobs (as he’s heard them many times over the course of this pregnancy), Eddie bolts up in bed and flicks his bedside lamp on.

“Britt? Honey, what’s wrong?” he asks, voice hoarse from disuse.

Brittany’s shoulders shake as she cries into her hands, awkwardly—and probably uncomfortably—leaning back against her pillows. She tries to calm herself enough to speak, but she just keeps sputtering over her words. It makes Eddie even more nervous as he scoots closer to her and gently rubs his hand along her arm.

“T-The nursery isn’t done y-yet,” Brittany weeps before hiding her face back in her hands. She leans forward, bent in half as much as she can get with the swell of her belly so large.

The adrenaline coursing through Eddie’s body starts to calm down now that he realizes the life of his wife and child aren’t in danger. He yawns and reaches one hand over to rub soothing circles into the back of Brittany’s silky pajama top. Slowly, she pulls away from his touch and situates herself so she’s able to face him better.

“It’s not done yet!” she repeats, as if he didn’t hear her the first time. A hint of anger has joined the despair in her voice, the amalgamation of hormones creating another perfect storm.

Eddie lets out a sigh and runs a hand over his face. “Britt, I—”

Brittany doesn’t let him finish; she throws the blankets off of herself and starts pacing back and forth in the space between their bed and the wall. It’s not a large area, so really, she mostly looks as if she’s waddling around in a circle. Under different circumstances, Eddie might laugh.

“The baby could be here at any time and the nursery still isn’t finished!” A wail comes from Brittany’s lips and he knows that, as difficult as Brittany could be sometimes, this is fueled by hormones—not even she would be this worked up in her usual state.

Quickly, Eddie jumps out of the bed and walks around to her. He places his hands on her shoulders and stands in front of her so she can’t continue her walking. When she doesn’t look at him, Eddie ducks his head until their gazes catch.

“The walls are painted. The crib is put together. The shelves are up. Clothes are in the closet. All that’s left to do is put the last pieces of furniture together.” He tries to logic this out with her, hoping it’s the best course of action to get her to calm down.

“The dresser, the changing table, the toy chest…” Brittany rattles off the list.

“Which all can be done after the baby is born if it needs to be,” Eddie assures her. He cups her cheeks in his hands and takes a deep breath, wanting her to copy his actions.

Brittany begrudgingly takes a few deep breaths with Eddie, following his inhales and exhales until her system is a little calmer.

“They should be done before the baby is here,” Brittany says, sounding only slightly less upset than a few moments ago. She rubs at her runny nose and Eddie wipes a few stray tears from her face.

“We’ve got two weeks until your due date, hun. Don’t worry, it will get done.” Eddie truly believes this, but he knows his words probably don’t sound the most convincing since he was just jolted out of sleep.

Brittany nods but the emptiness in her expression leaves Eddie unsure if she actually heard his words or not. He’s too tired to question her on it though, so he gently leads her back to bed and helps her get situated. Or at least, as best as she can be this far along. Eddie knows how hard it’s been for her to get comfortable being this close to the end of the pregnancy, so he does anything he can to help.

Finally, Brittany is settled down in bed and Eddie goes back around to his side. He sits down on the edge of the mattress and flicks the lamp off. Regardless of the dark room, Eddie closes his eyes just to give himself a moment to try and compose himself.

By the sounds of the steady breathing, Brittany is already back asleep. These last two weeks were going to be hell for Eddie, he just knows it. They’re almost at the end of the tunnel when it comes to the pregnancy, but who knows what insanity will come along when the baby is finally here.

Figuring he should try to lighten the load that will be put upon him, he pushes himself off the bed and walks into the bedroom across the hall. Eddie tugs on the longest string connected to the ceiling fan and light floods the room, illuminating the partially completed furniture and the pale yellow walls. Eddie winces at how bright the lights are and tries to avert his gaze until he finds the small pile he put his tools into once he finished putting the crib together.

“Well,” Eddie sighs, “here we go.”

His stiff bones protest as he sits down on the floor. A few plush rugs are rolled up in the corner of the room, but since they’re not yet laid out, Eddie’s bony ass is about to be sitting on a hardwood floor the whole time. Pulling the necessary tools over to him, he gets to work on the remaining pieces of furniture.

By the time he’s done, he only has about an hour until his alarm goes off for work. The tightness and achiness in his body are even worse than they were before as he trudges back to bed, ready to take full advantage of those precious sixty minutes.

When his alarm goes off, Brittany gets up as well—she has to pee, unsurprisingly. Eddie takes a cold shower to try and wake himself up, and the moment he steps out of the bathroom, Brittany is sobbing and wrapping her arms around his neck.

He wasn’t expecting her to be there, let alone, coming at him with a force like that, so he staggers back a few steps as he holds onto her. He’s glad he tied the towel around his waist as securely as he did, or he’d be a lot colder standing there in the hallway.

“Whoa, whoa, what’s going on? What’s wrong?” Eddie asks. Brittany sniffles as she pulls back and looks at her husband through watery eyes.

“You put the rest of the furniture together,” she says through some wetter sniffles.

“Mhmm,” Eddie hums, still half asleep.

Brittany just buries her head in his neck again. Eddie loosely drapes his arms around her waist and lays his head on hers. He’s pretty sure he almost dozed off that way when Brittany pulls back and wipes the tears from her rounded cheeks.

“Thank you, Eddie. I know I overreacted last night.”

Eddie knows it too, but he’s not dumb enough to say that out loud.

“You’re allowed to have emotional reactions to things, babe,” Eddie tells her. He softly trails his fingertips down the swell of her belly. “You’re carrying our baby. Kinda gives you a bit of a hall pass.”

A week later, Eddie’s finishing up a brake job at work when his boss tells him his wife is on the phone. Immediately, Eddie knows it’s about the baby. He could probably count the number of times that Brittany has called his work on one hand in all the years he’s been working here.

“Hello?” Eddie answers the phone, not caring that he’s getting black, greasy fingerprints all over the receiver.

“In labor,” Brittany pants out, clearly in pain. “M-Meet at the hospital.”

“I’m on my way, hun.”

Everything is a blur as Eddie washes his hands, punches out, and climbs into his truck. Brittany’s in labor. Which means the impending arrival of the baby is upon him. Eddie feels a little dizzy at the thought, which is probably not great since he’s going about twenty miles over the speed limit on the way to the hospital.

The truck is barely in park as Eddie hops out of it and jogs over to the hospital doors. He asks the woman at the front desk where the maternity ward is, and he keeps mentally repeating the directions to himself so that he won’t forget them.

A nurse tells Eddie that Brittany is in room 361 and points him in that direction. The only noise filling the sterile, white corridor is the occasional beeping of machinery from the different rooms, and the squeak of Eddie’s work boots on the shiny linoleum tiles.

The first person that catches Eddie’s eye when he walks into room 361 is Sandy, Brittany’s sister. It takes everything inside of him to keep the disgusted noise he wants to make to himself. She’s not really his focus right now though, so Eddie forgoes a greeting to push past and get to his wife. Brittany is lying in the bed, a hospital gown on, and what seems like dozens of wires connected to her.

“Hey,” Eddie says as he approaches the bed. “How are you—”

“Jesus Christ, Eddie,” Brittany gripes, looking him up and down. A nurse steps into the room, walking over to read some of the numbers on the machines Brittany is hooked up to, so his wife leans in and says through clenched teeth, “This is a hospital, and our baby is about to be born. Go home and clean up.”

Eddie’s tired and frazzled. He figured Brittany would want him by her side while she’s dealing with this initial pain. But her face clearly tells a different story. Eddie looks down at his coveralls and sees the oil smudges and grease handprints all over it. He should change, but he can’t bring himself to leave.

“Go home?” Eddie asks, voice small and confused. “By the time I get there, get cleaned up, then back here, it might be too late. Babe, what if I miss the birth?”

Brittany doesn’t seem too concerned with this, simply shrugging her shoulders and eyeing every little speck of dirt on the dark blue jumpsuit he’s wearing.

The nurse who is inspecting the machines looks up at Eddie and gives him a smile. “It’s still going to be some time now before the baby is born,” she assures him. “How far do you live?”

“Uh, about ten minutes away,” if Eddie recalls correctly—which he thinks he does, there’s just a lot flying around his brain right now.

“Oh, you should be fine, sweetheart,” the nurse says, waving a dismissive hand. “She’s still not fully dilated yet.”

As reluctant as he is to leave, the nurse’s words make the hesitancy lessen a little.

“I’ll, uh, be back.” Eddie turns and heads out of the room. He follows the reverse directions that got him to the maternity ward, back to his car in the parking lot. With speed that any NASCAR driver would be jealous of, Eddie gets back to the house and jumps in the shower.

In total, Eddie was probably in the house for ten minutes. But to him it felt like eternity. He’s itching to be in that hospital room with his wife and zooms back down the way from where he just came.

When Eddie gets back up to the room, nothing has changed—except for his clothes and cleanliness. Brittany’s in the same position, same miserable expression on her face. But in what is a pleasant surprise, Sandy vacates the chair next to Britttany’s bed so he can sit at his wife’s side. Eddie gives his sister-in-law a nod of acknowledgment as he takes his seat.

Eddie reaches for Brittany’s hand, and this time, she lets him touch her. He presses a few kisses to her knuckles before he gives her a small smile.

“How ya feeling?”

“Like I’m about to shit a bowling ball,” she responds, flopping her head back against her pillow. She does give Eddie a small smile in return though, which has him questioning how much pain medication they’ve already given her.

“Did your water break?” Eddie asks.

Brittany nods and her eyes dart over to her sister. “Sandy came over to keep me company and went into the kitchen to get us something to drink, but as I went to sit down on the couch, I could just feel this trickle of water going down the leg of my pants.”

“I heard the pop and thought she knocked something over with her pumpkin of a belly again,” Sandy says from behind Eddie.

“I’m glad you weren’t alone,” Eddie says. No matter how much he may dislike Brittany’s family, he does have to give credit to Sandy for always being a good big sister to Brittany.

The nurse from before wasn’t kidding when she said that Eddie would be fine to come home and then come back. The next couple hours just turn into a waiting game. Each time a nurse comes in, the three in the room will perk up and hope there’s some news about when Brittany can start pushing. But so far, no dice.

Eddie tries to talk with Brittany to keep her occupied and her mind off the pain. Anything that seems to come to his mind is deemed stupid by Brittany and she won’t carry a conversation. So, Eddie tries to get her to talk about things that she enjoys.

“Do you still want to see that surfer movie that’s coming out soon? Hmm? The one with Patrick Swayze, who you love so much. Should I be jealous?” Eddie smirks, to show he’s just playing around with her, but Brittany couldn’t care less.

“Do you honestly think I’ll be able to go to a movie theater at all this month, Eddie? Really? I think I’ll be a little busy being up to my eyeballs in dirty diapers,” she snaps.

Her constant putting-down of his attempts at conversations is wearing on Eddie. He clenches and unclenches his fist as he takes a deep breath. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through right now, he thinks to himself. Eddie nods to himself, as if he’s psyching himself up to take all of this in stride.

Finally, one of the nurses’ visits pay off when she brings a doctor in who informs them that Brittany is fully dilated. Now, the staff scrambles to get necessary tools that are needed and set up near the foot of the hospital bed.

“They couldn’t have done this earlier?” Brittany grits out through her teeth, low enough for only Eddie to hear.

“All right, Mrs. Munson,” the doctor says as he slips his hands into a new pair of latex gloves. “Are you ready to try pushing?”

“You’ve got this,” Sandy says. She walks over closer to the bed and Eddie can feel his knuckles turn white from how hard he’s grasping the bed rail. The nurse who told him that he had time to go home earlier is in the room now and must notice Eddie’s obvious distaste for Sandy. The nurse catches Eddie’s attention by walking into his peripheral vision. When he glances up at her, the nurse looks in Sandy’s direction, then back to Eddie. Her eyebrows raise and eyes widen, as if she’s asking, “You want this bitch gone?” Eddie gives a subtle nod of his head, and amongst the flurry to get the room ready, the nurse leans in so that Sandy and Brittany can hear.

“It looks like we’re going to try pushing now,” the nurse says, a sweet professional smile on her face. “Which means we can only have the father in the room.”

Part of Eddie knows he should feel bad. But he’s paying for this room, and he wants it to be just him and his wife welcoming this little bundle of joy to the world for the first time.

Sandy presses a kiss to the top of Brittany’s already sweaty head, and even pats Eddie’s shoulder before heading out the door to find a waiting room to relax in.

Eddie tentatively takes Brittany’s hand, unsure whether or not touching her is the right choice, breathing a sigh of relief when she accepts and squeezes the hell out of it. Maybe it’s to offset the pain—or to punish him for getting her pregnant in the first place—but he chooses to believe it’s because she sees him as a source of strength and support.

“You’ve got this, Britt. You’re strong as hell, you can do this,” he cheers softly, tears already prickling in his eyes in anticipation of meeting his child. “Come on, baby. Just a little bit more to go.”

Thirty minutes and nearly one broken hand later, shrill little cries fill the room. It’s the most beautiful music Eddie’s ever heard.

He cries as the doctor announces that Baby Munson is a healthy little boy, handing Eddie the clamp to cut the umbilical cord. His son—his son!—is still covered in blood and vernix, but he’s still absolutely perfect.

While the nurses take the newborn to clean him up and wrap him in a blanket, Eddie takes the opportunity to give his wife a kiss on her perspiration-soaked forehead. “I’m so proud of you. You did so, so well. And…and now we have a son.”

Brittany is exhausted, making her a bit more mellow, and she hums her approval. She moves her head to kiss Eddie, eyes starting to flutter closed from exhaustion.

Once the baby is all bundled up, the nurse hands him to Brittany, maternal instincts kicking in as she awakens to hold him. Eddie watches in complete awe, unable to comprehend that this baby is his son. A little being that’s half him.

When Brittany hands the baby to Eddie, he holds him close and starts crying again, this time through a beaming smile. The way his tiny body fits perfectly in the crook of his arms sends a surge of overwhelming joy through Eddie’s veins. He instantly knows that being a dad is the best thing that’s ever happened to him and is the best thing that ever will happen to him.

He brushes his forefinger against the baby’s knuckles, comically small compared to his own. “Hi there. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I’m your daddy.”

“Do Mom and Dad have a name picked out for this little guy?” The nurse asks with a grin.

Eddie nods; they had already decided on Ryan for a boy or Riley for a girl.

“Ryan Wayne Munson,” he announces proudly. He’d always planned to honor the man who had raised him, even if it meant arguing with Brittany, who had claimed the name was “too old-fashioned.” Eddie rarely put his foot down with his wife, but this was a matter he’d insisted upon.

Two hours later, between constant check-ins and breastfeeding demonstrations, Brittany is able to sleep. Eddie sits in the corner of the room, just holding Ryan. He stares down incredulously at the baby in his arms, unable to take his eyes off of him.

Softly, Eddie begins to speak to his son. “I promise you that I will be the best dad I can be for you. I won’t be perfect, but I will do my best.” He takes a deep breath before continuing.

“It’s amazing how I’ve loved you since the moment I knew about you. And now you’re here, in my arms. God, I love you so much more than you will ever know. My little Ryan.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #AYW #AYWS

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strwberri-milk · 11 months

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Hello! Can i request diluc and childe (seperate) with a motherly s/o? S/o likes to pamper and praise them after a long day and give massages along with hugs and kisses to destress them c: s/o sometimes treat them like a child for fun and to lightly tease them

pov me

Diluc is used to taking care of people from the shadows. That's his whole shtick with his Darknight Hero persona after all. The only other maternal figure he can imagine in his life is Adelinde, of course. She was the closest thing he's ever had to a mother, and he loves her dearly.

When he met you he found it strange how you insisted on taking care of him. You barely knew him but the bags under his eyes concerned you greatly and now you spend all of your time trying to make sure Diluc is rested and healthy. You're in the kitchen with Adelinde, learning his favourite foods or preparing his bed so he can have a restful sleep. Even if that means threatening him to get him into bed.

He loves the feel of your hands on his body. He never asks for it, but sometimes when you see him wince extra hard you start to herd him over to a couch or bed to start massaging at the kinks in his body. You weren't the best masseuse before this but you quickly learned when you saw how much it relaxed Diluc. That, plus any sort of soft physical touch made him melt into you, eyes closing as he leans in a little closer wordlessly.

You also loved to spoil him in other ways as well. It was always easy for you to just reach over and wipe a bit of mess off his face, or just pet his hair and tell him that he's doing great. He insists he doesn't need that sort of treatment but the way that he practically glows under your attention just makes you do it more.

Diluc learns very quickly that he loves it when you take care of him, becoming much more comfortable in letting you do what you think he needs. He trusts you completely, and to be honest, your attentions are helping him perform better than he ever was before.

Childe has always also been someone who takes care of others. That means when the two of you got together it almost became a competition of who can take care of who better.

The two of you always pamper each other with attention however you can, you especially with how hard he works. You know Childe does his best to be deserving of his title, and always have room in your arms for him to curl up in whenever he comes home from a hard day.

At first, he didn't warm up as fast as you may have wanted him too. There was always something in his eyes that made you feel his reservations, but you were paitient. It only took a bit of time and some homecooked meals for him to warm up to you. When he realised you were genuinely just trying to be nice he started trying to one-up you.

However, he definitely has a bit of a soft spot for being babied. He's spent so much of his time being grown that he never really felt like he was able to be that vulnerable. Having you around and giving him that outlet allowed him to process some of those feelings and become a bit more comfortable in your presence.

Because of how much you care for him, he's willing to fully let down his guard in front of you, routinely falling asleep in your lap when he's in desperate need of relaxation and peace.

The bonus here is you're great with all of his siblings. They love you to pieces and so does he! So of course when you were introduced to the rest of the family they all immediately took you in and decided you were one of them. You helped him chase the youngest ones or gave the older ones advice on whatever was troubling them today. Watching you spend so much time with his family is making him consider trying to start a family of his own, once he's more settled in life.

#diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #ajax x reader

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the5n00k · 3 months

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An observation about TGAMM The End

Big big spoilers ahead, click away if you aren't caught up

This is also my first NEGATIVE TGAMM analysis post! Wowie! So if you don't want to see me bitch, also click off now

The End and how Molly McGee's character was disrespected

The End is. An episode. I have many MANY thoughts about it but it would be far too long to put in one post so I'm going to explore one of my more reoccurring opinions. This episode recontextualized a lot of things but I'm going to talk about how it recontextualized Molly as a character. Most importantly as a MAIN character. A TITLE character. A character with her own past and personality and feelings. All of which this episode completely stomped all over, handed her the check, and said "figure it out"

I want to apologize to my friend who called this so SO much earlier into the series and that he had to listen to me watch this show on lethal amounts of copium. You were right but I knew neither of us wanted you to be.

Now let's get into the meat of it, shall we?

All throughout season 1, Molly's history and relationship with the concept of friends is always treated with complete sincerity and the emotional pause it needs to sink in with the audience that she's been through it. Moving away and leaving friends is why she put so much importance on the "forever home" in the first place because she's had to leave so many people she loved. She had a rocky beginning with Scratch during the early season but quickly became on equal footing with him as they began to understand each other and their boundaries. Because she genuinely cares about him. Similarly, season 2 explores the boundaries of their friendship and shows Scratch more willing to participate in whatever Molly is doing, even begging sometimes to be included. And Molly is very patient and kind with him all throughout trying to help him regain memories of his past. And Scratch actually reciprocated a few times like helping her learn Thai and working with Libby to set her up with Ollie. They're the closest they've ever been and something I can confidently call true best friends, possibly the closest and healthiest friendship I've seen portrayed in media. Season 2 showcases how far either of them are willing to go to help each other.

Then The End happened.

Molly is the same understanding and supportive friend as she had been all season, almost to a fault. She encourages scratch to go back to his life, knowing the risks that come with it. Why did there need to be the risk of forgetting her when his spirit didn't immediately forget his living life? Don't know. Something to do with an unreleased episode although I doubt the rest of season 3 would have sweetened my opinion of this episode. Only she knew he was about to do this, she didn't talk to any of his other friends or family before he went out to Todd's house. They only found out after the fact and the next morning is when he left. None of them had any time to process that they just lost a family member, especially not Molly.

The scene where he's talking to her on the bench breaks my heart. Knowing your friend is no longer there and is replaced with this stranger. So much of this episode would have been fixed to just let him keep his memories. Considering how hard it was to pull his living memories out of his spirit, it's very likely that even the small fragments of her he remembers will slowly fade away. She had to do the one thing she never wanted to do again and repeat the same pain that's plagued her for the entire series. And it sucks! Why doesn't she get a happy ending? Hell, I'm not even convinced this was a "happy ending" for scratch since he can't remember any of the people he just spent the last two years with.

The biggest slap to the face is when Libby, Geoff, and the McGees come up behind Molly and just act like all of this is fine? They're treating scratch like this wild animal that deserved to be released into the wild because he could never fit in with society when he was PERFECTLY HAPPY with the McGees. He proudly displayed to the entire ghost world that he was an "honorary McGee" and told a ghost hunter to his face that him and Molly would do anything for each other despite their differences. Was all of that completely pointless? Because it sure feels that way. He had this entire new "life" he just completely abandoned because oh I guess I'm not really dead. Guess I better go reconnect with my childhood friend I haven't seen in person or had any meaningful conversations with in decades!!! See ya, chumps, hope you weren't attached to me or anything!

It's so disrespectful to the audience's investment in Molly and Scratch's friendship, the themes of friendship overcoming all odds and lasting forever, and Molly as a character. And to a lesser degree, it's even disrespectful to Scratch since most of the season he spent brooding over the fact that he didn't remember his past! Now he's forgotten a large portion of his "life" all over again. Now he's going to have to live with this nagging itch at the back of his mind that he's forgetting something until he manages to completely repress it too. And to rub salt in the wound, the credits don't have near sight nor mention of Molly McGee outside of a painted portrait of her and (spirit) scratch. All this does is tell me a LONG time has passed and neither of them have managed to successfully contact each other. The dream team is gone, this is a story about a girl and a ghost and none of it meant anything.

"he'll remember when he dies again!" Where does it say that

"he didn't forget, he said Moll! That means something!" The longer he spends away from the McGees and Brighton, the more likely he is to completely forget them altogether. The vague memories will eventually fade away and every "forever memory" will be worthless.

"it doesn't matter, this is Scratch's story" then why isn't it called 'scratch and the human girl'? Or 'the scratch show'? Why is Molly a title character if she's nothing but a plot device for his character development.

"Molly had to learn how to say goodbye." No she didn't. She's been doing that her entire life. She's pretty well aware of how to say goodbye. Making her relive 13 years of trauma from the other side of the vehicle doors is not a useful life skill. Pain is not necessary to grow up.

I don't care what the excuse is. This was a terrible ending for both characters and no amount of "he's happy now!" coping from both the fans and the writers is going to get me to see this any other way. If you enjoy the episode, great! I'm happy for you, there's a lot to love in the music and voice acting and breathtaking animation. But none of that could save me from this abysmal attempt at a series finale. I was so viscerally disgusting by this as a finale that I spent a good two days completely nauseous thinking about it. What a disaster. The sad part is I like the story potential! Him reuniting with Adia is what I've wanted for him all season so he could get closure. Molly and Scratch having to say goodbye is heartbreaking but understandable, a lot of shows nowadays end that way and I half expected it. But him completely forgetting the girl he owes his new lease on life to? My gosh it's just a deal breaker. It is such a cruel end for these characters and I cannot wrap my head around why they thought it was a good idea outside of cheap angst.

I wanted to like this episode and I still do. But they just did so much wrong when one thing could change and it would have completely flipped my opinion on the episode and series in general. But what do I know, I'm just a negative nancy.

Anyway idk how to end this off, justice for Molly McGee, Scratch deserved to be called Scratch McGee, kill Todd Mortenson, peace out

#the ghost and molly mcgee #tgamm #tgamm season 2 #tgamm spoilers #molly mcgee #scratch mcgee #anyway so im rewriting this episode in my image #if anyone's interested i may post it #but i also may not idk it features a few things i may need to add context for #but these characters deserve a better ending #a happy ending #fuck you *refinds your family*#btw this is not an attack at the crew or anyone who likes the episode #these are just my thoughts #signing off

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lanelane04 · 2 years

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Third Piece of the Puzzle

I just wanna see a happy family with the reader, Hank and Connor so I impulsively wrote this up at like 1am and I have no idea where this is going. But let me know what you think! This will be a series but it depends on how well my commitment issues will take it.

TW: this does deal with depression and grieving, alcoholism (from Hank) and suicidal intentions. Most of the story takes place from the game itself but just as a warning, please read with caution if those are a trigger.

Very minimal use of (y/n)!

Word count: 2.1k

1 | 2

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Hank Anderson.

He used to be admirable, a role model to look up to. He was someone people would use as a good example of how to be a cop. He was intimidating at first, but after getting to know him? He was the person with the biggest heart out of anyone you knew. He had trained other members of the police force, watching them become good people of law enforcement and get assigned to new partners. He had the title of the youngest lieutenant in Detroit history for a reason. He earned that promotion.

But, after the unfortunate incident with his son, everything changed for the worse.

Who could blame him though? Getting into a horrific car accident on a cold winter day, waiting around for news while your son is having emergency surgery and only being told by the android, who performed the surgery, comes in with nothing but dreadful news.

He couldn't focus on anything else that damn android was saying. In his head, it was so clearly the androids' fault. It was the one who did the surgery, it was the one who couldn't save his son, it's all the robot's fault.

He became everything but a role model for beginner police officers. He started snapping easily, he started relying on alcohol to cope with his grief, his depression, and the spiralling, loud and intruding thoughts that rang in his head. He started rocking up to work after midday, he even skipped work a couple of times. He used to be this, he wasn't that, he never did this, you'll never hear the end of it and neither will he. He couldn't see a way out of the spiral but the alcohol makes things easier temporarily.

He's lucky enough that Captain Fowler won't fire him, even after countless threats for doing so. He's lucky enough to still have a job regardless.

This is where you come into the picture.

You were a detective, you were in the homicide division and very occasionally, you would get assigned a case dealing with deviant androids.

You were his partner. He helped you write reports and show you how they should be written properly. He trained you, he watched you move up the rank and become a detective. He even treated you out to dinner as a little congratulatory party. You were someone he was proud of.

He would get assigned cases with you often; him protecting you and vice versa. Putting oneself in risky situations which lead to arguments after the case.

"Did you even think about how you could've gotten yourself killed by doing that?!"

"They were about to shoot you and you think I'm going to stand back and watch that happen?!"

None of you would let the day end without making up though. Whatever argument happens between the two of you needs to be resolved before any of you go back home.

The two of you would grab lunch together on your breaks, you would hang out outside of work and just have a couple of drinks and talk about anything and everything. He also made sure that his intentions were nothing but friendly since he did not want you to take things the wrong way. Bitching about work, very certain people even, an incident that happened in one of your personal lives. He would occasionally invite you over to his place to play with his son and his lovable dog, Sumo. Sometimes he would even just invite you over to watch the game, only to be shushed by Cole whenever the two of you were being too loud.

He considered you one of his closest friends, family even.

He felt a little embarrassed to consider someone who was relatively younger than him as one of his closest friends, which earned a laugh out of you when he told you one night.

"Seriously, Hank? You're worrying over that?"

"Hey, I never said I was worried about it. I just find it a bit embarrassing being friends with a kid."

"Oh, come on! You're not that old, you're only... Double my age."

"You make me feel old."

But did he care about what others might think?

Never and that hasn't changed.

He started to decline your offers of going out for lunch runs. He wouldn't come up to your desk every morning and annoy you before starting his work. When the two of you went out drinking, it wasn't the same.

He would drink until he could barely walk while you would try and talk him out of the drinks. You would have to drive him home, force him to drink water, give mandatory pets to Sumo, and force him into bed.

Every time, right before you leave his bedroom, he would always call out to you and you would always reply.

"I'm sorry, please don't leave me."

"I'm always here for you, Hank."

Not matter how kind-hearted and understanding you can be of his situation, you need to look after yourself too. Doing this every single week for months on end? It's not healthy. He's becoming slightly dependent on you. It gets tiring looking after someone who's struggling, but if they're not doing anything to help themselves without relying on you, should you really be putting in all that time and effort in?

You can, but there's always a limit.

As much as you love Hank and his old man ways, you can't keep doing this. You're important too. You need to put yourself first.

So you started distancing yourself from him. It hurts doing so, but god was it painful for him to see you avoid him. Even the awkward small talk was unbearable. What happened to keeping things open between the two of you? You knew he would understand if you told him but would he take it well? Absolutely not. You were all he had after Cole's passing.

He knows it's his fault you haven't been doing well and he knows you're avoiding him for the sake of your well-being, he knows. Not only did he lose his son, but he had also managed to lose someone who was family to him, all because of him. It's another spiral he has fallen into.

Androids have become more and more popular. They're everywhere; running their owners' errands, working at any job and place you'll see, helping their owner with a task or simply keeping them company. They're only doing what they're told to do and what they're programmed for.

Captain Fowler had assigned him to be Hank's partner, even after knowing the hatred for androids the old man has. Connor had been assigned to cases involving deviant androids. As much as Fowler wanted him to start straight away, Hank didn't seem to come into work that day.

There was a lack of people in the station tonight, maybe the people on the night shift haven't started yet. The sound of faded pages flipping, chairs rolling and sluggish footsteps filled the room. He walked over to an officer and began his line of questioning.

"Excuse me, I hope I'm not disturbing you." You looked up at him, fatigue clear as ever on your face. You looked him up and down, taking in his presence before speaking. Why did they make an android look so handsome?

"Not at all, can I help you with something?"

"I was hoping you would know where Lieutenant Anderson is at this time." He saw your tired smile drop immediately. He thought of all the reasons as to why you suddenly seemed saddened by the name. What happened? Were you close? Did he do something to you?

"What's your business with him, if you don't mind me asking."

"Captain Fowler has assigned me to work with him as his partner. We will be working on cases involving deviant androids." His voice was monotone, with little to no emotion, no fluctuations in his tone, nothing like that. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him, patiently waiting for your response.

"Hank isn't going to like the news of that. I can't believe he's on deviant androids as well..." You mumbled to yourself. "He should be at Jimmy's Bar, I can show you the way there if you'd like?" He nodded to your request, stepping back as he watched you turn off your terminal and grab your jacket. He could easily find the bar himself and he should've declined your offer, it would've been quicker to find him, alone. "What's your name? I don't think I ever got it."

"My name is Connor, I've been sent by CyberLife to assist DPD." You introduced yourself, telling him about which division you're in. You brought up the fact that you have been assigned several cases involving deviants, more as a sign for him to know that he can go to you if he's stuck.

Not like he'll ever need the help.

The walk to the bar wasn't awkward, if anything, you were enjoying the interaction with the android. Connor was interesting, he's unique. It felt good within you, finally having a conversation that wasn't work-related or Detective Reed annoying the living shit out of you. You have other officers that interacted with you, but none filled the gap of a true connection. You missed it.

You missed Hank.

"May I ask you a personal question, detective?"

"Of course, you can, Connor. You're free to ask me anything. But please, just call me (Y/N)." You waited at the zebra crossing, waiting for the pedestrian lights to turn green because you know damn well Connor will be on your ass for jaywalking.

"What's your relationship with Lieutenant Anderson?" He looked down at you, observing your reaction. "You seemed upset by me mentioning him earlier. Has something happened between the two of you?" Do you tell him? Have you told anyone about what happened? Have you been bottling this all up this entire time? Was it right for you to just start emotionally spilling everything to him, at this very moment?

Wow, Hank was really your only friend at the station, how sad.

"We... We used to be close." You started hesitantly. How were you supposed to go on about this? Why is it taking so long for the light to go green? "I used to be his partner before I got my promotion. We still worked on cases together though, just not as much." The blaring noise of the pedestrian light going green interrupted. The two walked to the other side and continued their walk.

"I won't go into too much detail but... Something bad happened that turned Hank into the person he is today. I tried to help him but it was starting to have a bad impact on me when trying to look after him." You saw the neon sign of Jimmy's Bar come into view, making you stop in your tracks.

The feeling of anxiety rushed through you. You came here all the time. Was it because you knew that Hank was inside? When was the last time you talked to him? Or even made eye contact with him? You've spent so long avoiding him, even with occasional awkward small talk. When was the last time you sat down with him and had a chat about anything and everything? How long has it been?

"So I stopped talking to him, for my own sake. You can ask him about it but maybe after getting to know him a bit." The android stood in front of you and nodded. His circle LED showed an orange hue before going back to a calm blue. He had been listening intently to every word you spoke, making sure to not miss a single thing.

"I will head in and see if the lieutenant is inside. Thank you for showing me the way, have a good night." He gave you a nod before making his way towards the entrance of the bar.

"Wait, Connor." He felt the warmth of your hand grip around his wrist. He stared down at you, tilting his head in confusion. You looked like you were having an internal argument with yourself. The way you opened your mouth but nothing came out, the way you avoided making eye contact with him, the tight, trembling grip you had on his hand.

"Is something the matter?"

"Hank is a good person, Connor. He didn't use to be the person you're about to meet. Please trust me on that." Once again, his LED flickered an orange amber before returning to blue.

"I will keep that noted." When you finally looked up at him, relief shown on your face. You let go of his wrist but for some reason, he didn't want you to. He stared down at you, confused about the software instability notification popping up on his window. "I should get going now."

"Oh, of course! Sorry, Connor." And with that, you turned around and started making your way back to the station. Should he keep an eye on you until you got out of sight? It's late, anything could happen at this time of night. He's already stalled enough time on his current mission, he should be going now. He can't waste any more time.

Software Instability^

#detroit: become human #detroit rk800 #third piece of the puzzle #dbh #connor x reader #hank anderson dbh #hank anderson #connor x reader dbh #dbh connor x reader #dbh angst #my writing #rk800 x reader #connor rk800 #connor fanfiction #dbh connor scenario #dbh x reader #dbh x you #connor detroit become human #detroit become human x reader

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rocknrollbabe14 · 2 years

Text

Eye For An Eye (Prince Paul x Reader)

Rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

Warnings: Paul’s temper tantrums (throwing things but not at characters), cursing, mentions of adultery, reader and Paul began affair when reader was seventeen and he was eighteen (in this story it is mutual consent and unfortunately things like this happened in this time period), Venus’s honeypot = real euphemism for the female anatomy back then lol (thought it would be fun to add), unprotected sex, slight degrading kink. If you feel I left anything out, let me know.

I plan for this to be a few parts. I'll post as I'm able.

It was another cold winter’s morning in Russia, however, it was just another day for you. Every day you performed the same tasks for the same women. It was never a change of pace. Part of you liked the familiarity, one who didn’t like change. However, sometimes you wished something else would happen to add some excitement for the day. You slicked down your dress, preparing to go help the wife of Prince Paul get ready for the day, a lady in waiting is was your title. It made you sound like a little slut.

You were transitioning into your new role in the royal family. Catherine liked your mom so much that she decided she would let you be Prince Paul’s wife’s lady in waiting. It was a noble position compared to the chambermaid. It would begin full-time after Christmas.

“Get going, ladies. We don’t have all day.”

As if you needed reminding. You began walking quickly down the corridor to her majesty’s chambers. Hers were separate from Prince Paul’s. You had very minimal dealings with him since he married—he was an absolute man child. He envied his mother, craving the throne. You heard whispers and talk about what was going on behind closed doors—conspiracies. You knocked gently at the door before entering.

“Come in.”, his wife, Wilhelmina called out.

You entered, curtsying to her before beginning to help her get ready for the day.

“Purple or blue.”, she pondered, eyeing her closet.

It didn’t matter to you, frankly, you didn’t give a damn but you had to pretend you cared.

“Blue will look ravishing on you, your highness.”, you smiled as you began tightening her corset, causing her to gasp.

“Blue it is, then.”, she smiled up at you.

She wasn’t as rude and condescending as Paul’s mother, Catherine. Nor as demanding as Paul or Catherine. You had learned about this family very well. Catherine was power hungry, that much was clear. It was rumored she had a coup to have her husband killed to seize the throne. You could neither confirm nor deny this conspiracy theory and you wouldn’t comment on the matter to your co-workers or other palace personnel, scared to lose your job.

“I’m sure Prince Paul will love it.”, you commented, trying not to think about him.

“Pshht we’ll see. He’s hard to please.”, she sighed sarcastically.

You didn’t comment back on the matter as you continued to tie and tighten her corset, something you had done time and time again. It was second nature to you. You had helped his mother, Catherine, for years and she broke you in well, critiquing you the entire time you dressed her. Every morning since you were sixteen. However, near the end, she rather preferred you. Your family was far from royalty, your mother worked for the royal family for years when you were a little girl as a chambermaid. You and Paul were very close in age.

You worked in silence with the maids when Wilhelmina’s friends came in, her ignoring you and the rest of the maids as you all worked which you were fine with.

“So, seen Razumovsky today?”, she smirked at Paul’s wife.

None of the other maids appeared to be paying attention to their conversation. You weren’t intentionally trying to listen, but your ears were picking up things.

“No, not today.”, his wife giggled in response.

You tried not to cock an eyebrow or let them know you heard anything. It wasn’t your place or your business to understand. Count Razumovsky was one of Paul’s closest friends. Why was her friend asking if she had seen him today? It was early morning and she should have been asleep all night long.

“You’ll have to read the latest one.”, Wilhelmina smirked as she patted her drawer.

The one she always kept locked under key.

“Tonight after the party.”, her friend smiled.

Wilhelmina agreed.

She eyed herself in the mirror, twirling in her blue dress, admiring and doting on herself. All palace personnel did not attend parties. She had rouge on her cheeks, hair perfectly curled and up. Yours was back in a bun, trying to prevent pieces from falling down. You barely could keep eyes on her. You’d felt this way ever since she and Paul had married just months before.

“Oh Y/N, you’re dismissed.”, she eyed you.

You nodded easily before opening her door and slipping out, closing it quickly behind you. You tried to catch your breath, trying to come to terms with the information you were given. The sun shined through the big windows down the corridor, momentarily distracting you. The sky was a pale blue, snow falling lightly. You were quickly taken aback when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N.”

You shot up to find a familiar but unforgiving face staring you down. Paul. He had that obnoxious wig on along with a red and blue outfit, you were sure to compliment Wilhelmina’s dress. His brown eyes stared into yours, the slight rouge on his cheeks bringing out his eyes.

“Yes, your highness?”

He rolled his eyes incredulously. “Do you know what’s keeping my wife?”

Wife. That word stung you slightly. You did, but you couldn’t tell him so. She was too busy bragging about Razumovsky and the letter you assumed she had written him or received from him. All you could do was stare at him for a moment, his lips almost curving into a frown when you gave him no answer. The shouting and foot stomping was sure to follow.

“I’m not sure, your majesty.”, you shrugged lightly before looking back up at him.

His eyes narrowed. “Is she dressed?”

“Yes, sir.”

He rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh. “So, what is it then?”

“Again, I’m not sure, sir. It’s not really my business to become involved in your personal matters.”

Paul scoffed quickly before laughing sarcastically. “You didn’t mind being involved in my personal matters before I married, Y/N.”

Your eyes closed, feeling a pang in your chest. You knew exactly what he was referring to and you had tried your best to forget it—calling it off as soon as his engagement dinner was thrown. It had caught you by surprise and he gave you no indication he was to be married. It was stupid that you had even got involved with him in the first place because you knew you would not be able to marry him or have it go any further. You were not someone who would be able to be involved with the future emperor of Russia. You both were young when you became involved with one another, seventeen and eighteen. Paul was older than you just by a few months if you remember what your mom said. He was now twenty-one and you were twenty.

“Paul, please.”, you eyed up to him, pleading with your eyes.

He scoffed slightly. “I mean you didn’t mind being in my room every night—legs folded up and screaming my name as I fucked myself into you senselessly.”

You closed your eyes, his words visibly affecting you.

He eyed you, not breaking his stare. His eyes were like daggers, stabbing into you.

“Paul, that was then and this is now. You’re married now. And besides, your mother desperately is pushing you for an heir. I can’t stand in the way of that.”

He laughed again. “So what? I had no intention of breaking things off with you.”

Your heart felt a glimmer of hope, but your mind quickly shot it down.

“I just can’t be the other woman. Your mother would be furious if she found out we were sleeping together. I’d lose my job, my mother would be ashamed.”

Paul rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Ashamed her daughter was beautiful enough to catch the eye of the Prince?”

You didn’t respond, rubbing your arms nervously.

“Besides, my mother has had countless affairs.”

All you could think about was the fallout that would ensue if anyone had found out about your and Paul’s affair. You knew when his marriage was announced it was best for you to break things off. You all had never truly resolved those feelings. You preferred to ignore him, however, he was making that hard to accomplish.

“Can you not just sneak off later tonight after the party?”, he asked, visibly aggravated and clearly wanting to try and talk to you.

“I have to take care of your wife.”, you didn’t meet his glance.

“Are you denying the future emperor of Russia?”, he asked, tauntingly.

Your eyes met his. “No.”

He was joking with you, trying to lighten the mood.

“I’ll call for you.”, he offered as he grabbed your arm, meeting your glance. His touch was so foreign, unexpected.

“Yes, sir.”

He smirked before letting your arm go just in time, his wife’s chamber doors opening, her eyeing both of you.

“Y/N, I thought I dismissed you.”

“I asked her to fix my sash since you were nowhere to be found.”, Paul covered quickly, snapping at Wilhemina, causing her to leave you alone.

With that, you walked quickly away from both of them. Your stomach was doing somersaults, that being the first real encounter you had with Paul since you broke off your affair. Sure, he would steal your glances at the time, causing your stomach to twist. His wife, Wilhelmina caught him, asking him what he was staring at. It had happened several times that you were aware of.

“Tough morning?”, Maria asked, eyeing you.

You nodded. “I had the pleasure of dealing with Prince Paul briefly.”

Maria’s eyes widened, nodding. “I’d say so, then.”

Maria was around your age, two years younger than you. You yawned easily as you leaned up against the wall, making sure no one was around. You’d be reprimanded for acting lazy.

“Didn’t sleep well?”

You shook your head. Most nights you didn’t sleep well. Your mind was too busy thinking about Paul and your little love affair with him. You were sure to him it didn’t mean anything. Just a way for him to get back at his mother. If anything, you were a conquest to him. Just because you were something he couldn’t have. It was foolish of you to think you somehow meant more to him. He was good—excellent with words. Very eloquent. It was shocking Paul didn’t find a wife on his own. You were enamored with him.

How could you be enamored with a man like Paul? He had a rough, outside shell but deep down inside, he was fragile. Paul could have been honest with you about his impending marriage. That’s what made you so frustrated and angry with him. You were hurt, wounded at the time. Part of you had realized you had no future with him. It was impossible. But part of you wanted, craved a future with him, and hoped by some miracle it would pan out. Why didn’t he tell you?

When Paul didn’t get his way, he became very furious and unable to soothe just like a child. You imagined that came from his childhood. He was eight years old when his father died. You remembered the news of Peter III’s death. Paul was too young to succeed this father at the time. So who did? His mother, Catherine, of course. She was too busy governing Russia to raise her son like a normal mother. They were not a normal family.

“Well, we get through today and we will surely rest well tonight.”, Maria smiled, her optimism shining through.

She was very optimistic—almost too much for her own good. You were once like that, however, you were foolish and naïve. After Paul married, your optimism went away for good. Your mother noticed the change in you, asking what was wrong but you denied her each time, never telling her you and Paul had anything going on. She would have been taken aback, telling you that you put your and her jobs in jeopardy.

You didn’t mind jumping in and helping as long as Wilhelmina didn’t need you directly for any personal matters.

“Breakfast service is coming up.”, Maria sighed.

You nodded. “Let’s get to it, then.”

__________________________________________________________

Breakfast went on as usual. Catherine brags about her latest plans, them falling on practically deaf ears. Paul couldn’t have acted as if he cared less. Wilhelmina stirred in her food, seeming completely distracted. Maria eyed you easily. You eyed her back, waiting for something to do. You all could feel the tension in the air. Paul asked for a refill, shaking his glass at you.

If he was pretending to be a dick, he was doing a great job.

You grabbed the pitcher easily, giving Maria a last look before walking over to the table. You smiled easily as you tipped the pitcher over, filling his glass, careful not to make a mess. His brown eyes stared into yours, causing you to gulp easily.

“Anything else I can do for you, your highness?”, you asked.

“No, thank you.”, he took a sip of his drink.

His eyes once again were on you too long for his wife’s liking.

“Paul, why are you staring at her?”, you heard her ask him in a whisper.

His mother’s eyes widened at his wife’s words, her lips curving into a smile. One you had seen quite a few times before. She often liked seeing Paul’s life be full of hardship and frustration.

“Staring at whom?”, he asked, his eyes moving back to her.

You felt your cheeks become red and you walked back to Maria, sitting the pitcher down. You wanted to crawl in a hole and disappear but you couldn’t leave until you were dismissed. You would be reprimanded and considered rude if you did. You watched Wilhelmina and Paul’s expressions. She was furrowing her brow, whispering to him hatefully. He did the same back to her, throwing his hands in the air.

Suddenly, he scooted his chair in.

“I refuse to be embarrassed by my own wife!”, he shouted, slinging his glass and breaking it against the wall behind him, eliciting a gasp from the table.

“You’re all dismissed. Get out of here!”, he shouted, eyeing all of you.

His face was blood red, the rouge disappearing. You had seen this look before. He had acted out the day after you broke off the affair. You knew why he was angry. He would give you looks that could kill, criticizing you on any task you did for him. His mom got onto him for being so rough on you, surprisingly. She asked him what problem he had with you. He just scoffed at her and stomped away after throwing a vase and breaking it, one of his many temper tantrums.

She apologized to you on her son’s behalf, stating she had no idea why he was in such a terrible mood, considering she had found him a beautiful wife. You smiled weakly, hearing the words make you realize it was all that much more real. You accepted her apology before exiting the room, going to cry privately.

You wasted no time gathering yourself and Maria and leaving the room, fleeing to the kitchen with her.

“Does he do this often?”, she asked, visibly shaken by the events at breakfast.

“Yes.”, you admitted as you put away the dishes, opening the cupboards and placing them in their correct place.

You needed a distraction, anything to keep your mind occupied. Your hands were slightly shaking.

You didn’t meet her glance. You continued to sort dishes, putting them away.

“Why?”, she asked.

You looked back at her, stopping in your tracks. “No clue, daddy issues?”, you suggested with a small giggle.

Maria giggled back, before coming closer to you.

“I saw him staring at you. You caused the fight between him and his wife at breakfast.”, she whispered.

You dropped a dish, breaking it. “Shit.”, you cursed.

This completely caught you off guard. You always hoped no one else would notice or even suspect anything Eyes were on you as you grabbed a broom and dustpan, cleaning it up. Maria was still watching you with a smirk.

“I don’t think so.”, you whispered back to her.

Maria smirked. “Really?”

“Really.”, you eyed her seriously as you tossed the broken glass away.

She smirked. “He doesn’t stare at any other woman like that. Not even his wife.”

You shushed her quietly as she continued to giggle. “Maria, don’t say that. It’s not true.”, you insisted.

You prayed you didn’t sound too eager to dismiss her assumption. You were afraid you’d give off an indication you knew it was true. You knew deep down inside her words were true, but it was surreal that someone else noticed it. Part of you had thought it was you being naïve and hopeful that he stared at you that much, that he missed what he once had. It was hard to ignore him, but you had to for the sake of your mental and emotional well-being.

However, tonight that would be all blown to smithereens. You just knew it would.

“Look, Y/N, you can’t help he stares at you like that.”, she smirked as she passed through the double doors of the kitchen, glancing back at you.

You sighed at her words, dreading facing his wife once more before the party.

______________________________________________________

When getting Wilhelmina dressed for the party, she barely spoke to you. You cleared your throat as you finished helping her get dressed, this time she was wearing a wine color. It was the big party right before Christmas. A huge social event for the royals. She dismissed you and you felt relieved as you left her chambers. It was time to help prepare for the party.

The sun went down quickly, and you and the rest of the staff lighting candles to illuminate the ballroom. It was a big ordeal and everything had to go perfectly or the Empress would be infuriated, taking it out on you all. You silently wondered where Paul got it from. The royals began to enter and the band was top volume. You saw Catherine enter with her new flavor of the month, General Potemkin.

He had come back from the war after Catherine wrote him, pleading him to come back or so you’d heard through gossip. You weren’t sure but it sounded fairly accurate. Not far behind were Paul and Wilhelmina as well as Count Razumovsky. You saw her eyes on Razumovsky, sure he said something to stifle a laugh from her. Paul looked displeased with how much attention she was paying to him as they entered the party.

Your heart skipped a beat as he entered the room, the staff bowing to him and his mother. You did the same, his glance meeting yours. He went and talked to others as you served wine and champagne to the guests. He kept glancing at you, making you feel nervous. After the party, you’d help his wife get ready for bed and then you’d be free—until you were called on. Most often, you were left alone through the night even though you weren’t able to sleep, your mind reeling.

“Um some wine please for Count Razumovsky and I?”, his wife called as she shook her empty glass at you.

Paul was busy speaking with his mother, presumably arguing with her.

You wasted no time in grabbing the bottle of wine and going over to her and Razumovsky. You smiled easily and began pouring the wine. His wife eyed you, studying you. You felt like a bug under a microscope, imagining every possible imperfection you could have had—your dress, your hair, minimal make-up. You were going to do your best to not let her see you struggling.

“Thank you. That’s all for now.”, she narrowed her eyes at you.

“Yes, your highness.”, you nodded.

You had time to really get a good look at Razumovsky and he was not at all attractive. No comparison to Paul in your opinion. You cleared your throat returning to your spot in the ballroom. Paul looked frustrated after finishing his conversation with his mother—one you sure he would recount for you later tonight. The thought gave you butterflies. It had been so long since you had spent time with Paul.

The party seemed to go well. It was nearing the end of the evening and the Empress requested a boastful, loud Russian song to be played by the band. It started slow, a true Russian waltz. You eyed the Empress, beginning to dance with Potemkin, encouraging everyone else to join in. Maria came closer to you, feeling confident they weren’t much worried about wine or food now. Potemkin took Catherine by the hand, beginning to waltz with her.

This seemed to displease most of the other men—jealousy you presumed. Your eyes immediately panned to Paul who offered for Wilhelmina’s hand to dance. Part of it infuriated you but you understood—appearances had to be kept. She took it and they began waltzing, the entire room doing it like clockwork.

“Looks fun.”, Maria eyed them.

“Mhmm.”, you agreed.

Paul eyed you each time you came into his view, you just offered him a small smile. In a few hours, you’d be in his room once again. Just like old times. You weren’t sure if you felt prepared, but you’d have to be.

______________________________________________________

The party had winded down, most everyone working together quickly to dissemble what you all had worked so hard to assemble in the first place. Your duty was to go back to Wilhelmina’s chambers and help her prepare for bed. You once again knocked on her door.

“Come in.”, she called.

You opened her door, entering the room. You curtsied to her once more before coming behind her.

“Nice party, wasn’t it?”, she asked you quietly.

You hadn’t expected her to talk to you. Especially after breakfast.

“Yes, very lovely.”, you agreed, beginning to undo her dress.

She sighed, something visibly on her mind. You weren’t going to poke or prod. Once again, it was none of your business when it came to their marriage or their extra-marital affairs—except if you became involved with Paul again. She didn’t say much more to you, just making small talk as you helped her prepare for bed. A knock came on her door. She invited the person in.

It was her same friend from earlier. You were almost done. All you had to do was organize her dresses back before you left and you’d be free for the night.

“I saw Count Razumovsky.”, her friend teased.

You pretended not to hear anything, continuing to organize her dresses and brush the fabric with your hands to make sure there were no rips or imperfections.

“Indeed, something else, isn’t he?”, Wilhelmina laughed.

“Very nice. He compliments you much more than that husband of yours.”, her friend giggled.

Your eyes widened as you organized her shoes back to how they were.

“You think so?”, you heard the smile in her voice.

Your assumption was proved almost at that moment. You finished organizing her dresses and shoes before turning around.

“You’re dismissed for the night, Y/N. Thank you.”, his wife eyed almost as if she dared you to mention this to anyone.

You nodded and bowed. “Thank you, your highness.”

You quickly grabbed the door handle.

“Now, show me the latest letter.”, her friend giggled excitedly.

You closed the door behind you, moving away from her door quickly. You looked over your shoulder, to make sure no one else was around—especially not Paul. Your chest heaved as you walked back down the corridor, dimly lit with candles. Your steps echoed down the long hallway. Snow was falling outside, Russian winters were always most brutal and unforgiving. In a month, you’d be able to visit your mom and dad. You were excited and missed them desperately.

“Miss Y/N?”, the maid’s boss, Larisa eyed you.

“Yes?”, you asked, pushing down a gulp.

“Prince Paul requests your services. He request some wine and his pillows fluffed to his liking.”

You nodded. Could he really not fluff his own damn pillows? Was he that much of a drama queen? This was the moment of truth. Maria eyed you widely and you gave her a glance, telling her not to go there. However, she still wore a smirk. You grabbed the bottle of wine and a glass from the kitchen, and Maria came over to you.

“Prince Paul wants you?”, she asked.

“I’m sure I’m the only one he’s not completely alienated or perhaps the only one not busy.”, you ignored her, gathering a serving tray.

“I’m not busy.”, Maria stated.

“You mostly help the Empress.”, you responded. “They’re breaking you in with her.”

Maria sighed. “I still think he fancies you.”

You came back up, sitting the tray on the counter before placing the bottle of Paul’s favorite wine and the single glass on the tray. “Maria, you’ve got to stop saying that.”, you shushed her.

“Just stating the obvious.”, she sighed.

“I’ll be back. Wish me luck.”, you sighed as you grabbed the tray, balancing it perfectly as you sat off down the same familiar corridor, except you took a right instead of left to go to Paul’s chambers. Your heart began to beat faster as you neared his door. The same familiar feeling coming back to you as if you had just done this yesterday. But in reality, it had been seventeen months. You kept track of such.

You took a deep breath, clearing your throat before removing one hand from underneath the tray, careful to keep the balance. Bringing your hand up to the door, the nerves really began to sit in. Your hand was shaking as you knocked on his door, almost praying there would be no answer.

“Come in.”, his voice was sharp, assertive.

You took the same shaking hand and opened the door knob, him coming into view. He was sitting on his bed, that obnoxious wig was gone and the makeup removed from his face, leaving his natural form.

“Your wine, sir.”, you eyed him as you sat it down on the table near his bed.

He nodded. “Thank you.”

You popped the cork on the wine, before grabbing his glass and pouring the wine, leaving it on the tray for him.

“Anything else, your highness?”, you eyed him.

His eyes looked up at yours as he scoffed at your words. “Did you really think I just called you in here for wine?”

“No.”

“Then why ask me that?”, he stood up, grabbing the glass, taking a swig before inching closer to you.

You shrugged easily, feeling very vulnerable. “I don’t know.”

Paul nodded, taking another drink of his wine. “Do you know how much I’ve thought about you?”

You shook your head, having trouble meeting his eyes now that you were right in front of him.

“I’ve practically driven myself mad thinking about you. I don’t like admitting that stuff you know.”, he eyed you.

You nodded sheepishly.

“Are you not going to speak to me now? Was it my little show at breakfast?”, he asked.

Now that the moment was here, you were having an issue bringing yourself to face him and face the situation. It was the first time you could ask him questions. Part of you feared some of the answers.

“No.”, you stared down at the floor.

“Look at me, then.”, Paul grabbed your chin, tilting it to view him. Your face was just mere inches from his, his touch sending chills down your spine.

The fireplace was warm in his chambers, much warmer than your room. You took a deep sigh, looking into his brown eyes. The fire burning almost just as high as both of your desire for one another. You almost mewled under his touch but refused to be swayed so easily. He had hurt you—done damage to you and part of you wondered if he could undo it. You’d never know until you gave it a try.

“Paul, maybe this was—a mistake.”, you choked out, trying to blink back the impending tears forming in your eyes.

His eyes changed from concern and care to confusion. “A mistake?”

“I’ve just been thinking….”, you trailed off.

“About?”

“What if someone finds out about us? I saw how mad she got when you were staring at breakfast.”, you eyed him.

“Did it appear that I gave a fuck? Who would find out? We can keep a good secret.”

A secret. The word made your heart drop. It was hard loving Paul in secret. You’d done it before. Were you going to do it again? You were so unsure of yourself.

“A secret.”, you smiled, it quickly turning into a frown.

Paul sighed, visibly seeing his response was not one you wanted to hear.

“We were a secret for a long time, Paul. But I was apparently not important enough to be informed of your engagement.”, a hint of venom in your tone.

All of your emotions were finally allowed to come to a head, and you finally being able to express them to someone. You had held everything in up to this point minus the countless nights you cried alone. Paul eyed you, his eyes narrowing. He opened his mouth to speak but quickly shut it, rethinking his words wisely.

“It wasn’t like that.”, he breathed.

“Really? So the first news I received of it was your engagement dinner?”, you asked, crossing your arms, turning away from him.

The tension was thick in the air. You looked out the window from his bedroom, the snow falling thicker now. You could see it beginning to lay on the ground.

“I’m sorry for that. I wasn’t sure how to tell you. It wasn’t like it was my decision to get married!”, he defended, raising his voice.

You turned to view him. “Why did you, then?”

“My mother insisted. You know how she is. In case you don’t, ask your mother.”

“So you just fucked me until you were going to decide when it was the right time to tell me of your engagement?”

Paul curved his fist, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, doing his best not to blow up. Especially at you. His entire life was frustrating and it was growing impossible to continue to deal with it. His own wife was ignoring him. His mother treated him like a child when he was clearly old enough to be on the council. He was visibly frustrated, wanting to burst at the seams.

“No, I wanted to continue things with you.”, he resolved, opening his fist and ungritting his teeth.

You sighed. “I broke it off for the both of us.”

Paul laughed sarcastically, taking another drink of his wine. “For the both of us to be miserable?”

“No, to protect your marriage and protect my parents.”, you responded.

He went over and sat down on his bed. “My marriage is a facade or so my mother tells me.”

You quietly walked over to his bed, taking a seat beside him. “Why do you say that?”

He took the last sip of his wine, sitting the glass back down on the silver tray before looking up at you. “Tell me something and be honest with me.”

You nodded, encouraging him to go on. “Yes?”

“What really kept Wilhelmina this morning? I’m sure it wasn’t because she was innocently gossiping with her friend Anastasia.”, he eyed you.

A sigh escaped you. “If she finds out I’ve told you—”

“She won’t. I promise.”, he took your hand easily.

You looked down, eyeing his hand in yours. Your watery eyes looked back up at Paul’s. You could just imagine what your mother would say about this scandalous act you were committing.

“Um, well your friend, Count Razumovsky was mentioned.”, you were easing him in.

His eyes widened. “Razumovsky?”, he repeated.

You nodded. “And there were mentions of letters….somewhere in a drawer she keeps locked. I’m not sure if she writes him or he writes her. Maybe both.”

Paul appeared to be a little genuinely surprised by the bombshell you had just dropped.

“Mother was right.”

He rubbed his face with his free hand, his jaw ticking with anger. You could just see the rage building inside of him.

“I’m sorry, Paul.”

He looked up at you before laughing hysterically. “Sorry for what? Exposing my whore of a wife, don’t worry. The only horrid thing is I owe my mother an apology.”

You both sat in silence for a moment. His other hand is still in yours.

“I know it still must be hard.”

Paul sneered easily. “No, hard was being deprived of this—of you.”

His words caused butterflies in your stomach. Your brain hardly had time to process his words before he raised your chin without warning, kissing you deeply. You had missed his touch—his kisses more than anything. You melted into the kiss with him, resting an arm back on his bed to keep yourself from falling back onto his bed, feeling weak.

“Paul-”, you interjected through a kiss.

“Hm?”, he hummed in your mouth.

“Should-we-really-do-this—again?”, you asked in-between kisses.

“An eye for an eye seems fair to me.”, he spoke before his lips met yours again.

Your arm finally gave out, Paul noticing and seizing the opportunity. Your kiss was broken, falling back onto his bed—the softest sheets you’d ever felt in your entire life. Paul climbed on top of you, towering over you. You felt his breath on your face as he began placing kisses on your cheeks, trailing down your chin and neck before reaching your chest. You had missed this so badly.

Even though the room was warm and toasty, goosebumps still appeared on your delicate, sensitive skin.

“Let’s get you out of this dress, yes?”, he whispered against your skin before he placed a kiss, sending chills up your spine.

You nodded as you sat back up, Paul beginning to unbutton the back of your dress, revealing your corset. You reached behind your back easily, loosening the ribbon holding it together, keeping eye contact with him, a smirk playing off your lips. He smirked back, realizing you wanted this as much if not more than he did. Your dress and corset fell to the floor, leaving you exposed. You took your hair down easily. Paul’s eyes widened.

“I think your breasts have gotten fuller.”, he commented.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Well, perhaps. It’s only been seventeen months. Maybe you’ve just forgotten them.”

He smirked, coming over to you, cupping one of your breasts in his hands, causing a slight moan out of you. “Believe me, I’ve not forgotten.”

His words caused a smile to spread across your lips. He took his fingers, dragging them across your nipple, and began to twist it, causing you to mewl under his touch with a moan. A smirk spread across his lips. He knew then and there that he still had you under his spell to a degree. You closed your eyes, letting out a soft exhale. He looked down at you, smirking. It made your stomach turn, a hot feeling pooling deep down inside.

“Paul….”, you sighed.

“Tired of being teased? Beg the future Emperor of Russia to fuck you.”

Desire burned in his dark, brown eyes. You swallowed a gulp, looking up at him. He didn’t break his stare. It ignited something in you—you all in this compromising position.

“Your majesty, please fuck me.”

Majesty would be how Paul would be referred to once he ascended to the throne, becoming the Emperor of Russia. You could tell this stroked his ego.

The words rolled off your tongue like honey. Paul smiled, shedding the minimal amount of clothes he was wearing, clearly preparing for bed. You bit your lip as you watched his member spring free. He was fully nude standing in front of you. He smiled smugly as he took his cock in his hands, beginning to stroke it, clearly teasing you. Your had your legs pulled up, waiting for him to do what you were begging him to do.

His eyes rolled back into his head as he stroked himself a few times, letting out a few moans.

“You—know—still—doesn’t feel as good as when I’m inside of you.”, he commented, clearly struggling to maintain his composure.

“Really?”, you asked sheepishly.

He nodded before easily gripping your thighs, parting them, preparing you for him. “Yes.”

You felt him brush his member against your entrance, running it up and down your aching clit.

“Paul.”

“Ask correctly.”, Paul commanded before lifting his hand up before it made a sharp, stinging contact with your hip, causing you to yelp.

“Your majesty, please fuck me.”, you begged, your breathing hitched.

He smirked. “Do you know what an honor it is to have the future Emperor of Russia fuck you?”

You nodded. “Yes, your majesty.”

He hummed in satisfaction as he ran his cock against your clit once more, causing you to mewl under his touch. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“My mother would fall over dead if she heard you say that.”

You smirked easily, holding your breath slightly, waiting for him to give in and fuck you. He teased you two more times before finally granting your wish—what you had been begging him for. He took himself in his hands, giving his cock a final stroke before shoving himself deep inside of you. You moaned loudly in response, missing this feeling of being full with him.

“Did you miss it?”, he smirked.

You nodded. “Yes.”

He began thrusting himself into you, his pace nice and steady. He steadied himself, sinking his fingertips in the skin on your thigh. You wrapped your legs lazily around his waist, him working himself deep inside of you, managing to hit the right places, gaining moans from you with each thrust. Paul could see your face becoming flushed.

“Paul…..”

“Yes?”

“I’m getting—close.”, you moaned, closing your eyes,

You just knew this was stroking his ego. “Cum for me. Cum for the future Emperor of Russia.”, he groaned, continuing to fuck himself into you.

You felt yourself reaching your climax, the feeling pooling in the pit of your stomach. It was an ache you would never forget. Your toes began to curl a tail-tale sign your impending orgasm was near.

“Paul—”

“Cum for me.”, he growled.

That final sentence was all it took to send you over the edge.

“I’m cum-cumming now.”, you hiccuped, gripping his bedsheets.

He smirked as your Venus’s honeypot tightened around him, the walls squeezing his cock. Your legs tightened around him, a final moan escaping your lips. He groaned, closing his eyes but he continued to fuck himself into you.

“My turn.”, he groaned.

You lay on his bed, hair sprawled out on his sheets, feeling your eyes growing heavy. He could see you were already fucked out and he loved it—it gave him a sense of power. His thrusts became faster and deeper, more sensitive than before since you reached your climax. You gave small whimpers with each thrust. His breathing was hitching with each thrust, a sign he was coming close to a release. You both knew each other all too well.

“I’m gonna cum—are you ready?”, he asked, groaning.

You nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”, he groaned.

“Yes, your majesty.”

Those words must have sent him over the edge. His hips stuttered, ceasing his thrusts immediately. His chest was heaving as you felt his cock pump his release into you. He stayed like that until he was satisfied he was finished before pulling out of you, causing a whimper to escape your lips at the loss of contact. He sighed as he fell on the bed beside you.

“Did you enjoy that?”, he asked looking at you.

You nodded. “Yes.”

He smiled as he took you into his arms. The contact shocked you but you allowed him to do it, realizing you were becoming wrapped back into this affair with him. You watched Paul’s expression easily, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Paul, I’ve got to go.”, you sat up easily.

“You can’t stay for a little while? Take a small nap with me?”, he sighed, visibly annoyed at the loss of you in his arms.

“Morning will be here soon. And I absolutely can’t be caught in your chambers.”

He sighed as he watched you stand up, visibly weak in the knees and trying to grab your clothes. You made quick work of it, getting them back on almost as fast as Paul took them off. He pulled his sheets around him before he sat up in the bed, watching you.

“Tomorrow night?”, he asked.

You looked back at him, smirking. “Tomorrow.”

#prince paul #prince paul x reader #catherine the great #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn #stranger things #joseph x reader #joseph quinn character #prince paul x fem reader

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vyl3tpwny · 2 years

Text

ANTONYMPH (and the things that made it)

art by @voreburger

—

It has been one year since I released Antonymph. This song seriously changed my life and, it would seem, the lives of many others. I am grateful for the apparent impact it has had on people and I'm hopeful that the reach of its message will continue to spread.

I wanted to talk about how we got here.

Between the months of November 2020 and July of 2021, I experienced a gauntlet of emotional trauma, hardship, and declining physical & mental health. These things came after being newly out as trans, kicked out of my home by my family, transitioning from being a college student to a totally independent adult within the span of a month or two, moving away from my home of 21 years to somewhere I've never been before, and then trying to balance all this with the onset of COVID around the world. In January of 2021, all of these things adding up and weighing on me led me into this rabbit hole of thoughts about my life in the past, present, and future. Namely, though, I thought about my home in San Francisco, where I was far away now. I thought about the memories and things that made me who I was up until that point, especially the bad stuff. The whole project of CUTIEMARKS was an analysis of my life's mental struggles throughout my childhood and budding adulthood, examined through the characters of MLP:FiM.

And you know, it wasn't all everyone and everything else. Growing up, I had felt inclined to be a lot of negative forces myself. To be honest, I'm not precisely sure where it came from, and though I'm glad I grew from it, I still used to be that way. When considering a lot of the things of my past I encountered two things that would eventually become the hallmark reasons for creating Antonymph:

I was a dick to people. In so many ways, I was just an asshole for a lot of my life. I still kind of am sometimes, but I think everyone is. I really mean I was a cunt. This overinflated ego, this desire to shut people down for what they liked, this idea that I was always right and I know best about everything. I acted on this a lot and hurt a lot of people, even my closest friends (many of whom are still around me today, and I'm endlessly thankful they stuck with me through my worst).

I was also made to feel the same way, both directly and indirectly. I talked a lot about how it felt like there was pressure from the people closest to me to only like certain things and other things are not good enough to be enjoyed. This comes especially in the case of music, where it felt like there was a lot of disdain around me for pop and non-traditional music. This extended to all types of media though. I wouldn't have been caught dead being perceived as enjoying something like My Little Pony for a while.

So conceptually speaking, my desire to write something like Antonymph came as a rebellion against these things; against the ways I treated people and the ways I was treated.

At this point of my life, I had also recognized this sort of perpetual depression and negativity that pervaded me at all times. Any type of positive emotion would either be subdued or otherwise disappear within moments. It felt like I couldn't love things and I was always just clenching my shoulders preparing for things to hurt all the time.

So, back to January 2021. Sophie Xeon, a musician who I looked up to and felt comfort in, has just died. Very few celebrity deaths have ever affected me, but this one was very personal and intense. I remember going to bed shaking and feeling sick. It was an uneasiness I'll always be able to picture vividly in my head. In the spirit of her unabashed creativity and love for everything, I started conceptualizing a project that would be as bold as I felt she was.

The first, and only, title for this project was "CUTIEMARKS (and the things that bind us)".

A deep dive into SOPHIE's work and her peers' work led me to examine the inspirations for PC Music. From there I rediscovered my love for the dancepop of the late 2000's and early 2010's. Carly Rae Jepson, Kesha, Katy Perry, etc. Around the time I started really using the internet, I secretly loved this music even though it felt like I was going against everything I was supposed to stand for at the time. I grew up in a cishet, Christian, potentially elitist music space. Things that evoked anything other than that induced guilt to enjoy. But I very, very, secretly, quietly, loved that stuff.

So I decided to make some synth patches that evoked those feelings

That's what led to this:

Once this demo was made, the path became rather clear for what I wanted to do. Around the time of the songs that inspired it, I was getting really into Tumblr and all the glittery, kitschy parts of the internet. I had been talking a lot with @voreburger (Pico) at the time of this and had a feeling he would be super into the idea. It started out as just wanting to have Fluttershy coming out of her shell with the help of internet culture. It was after pitching this idea to Pico that he sent me back a rough draft:

The idea was really coming together it seemed. What really drove it was his use of the Gir hoodie, really solidifying the internet time period(s) we were after. The Nintendo DS, the browser extension toolbars, and all that; he was onto something incredible.

By the second draft, I still only had "Antonymph (demo1)" made on my end. Taking inspiration from the art he was doing, I started writing lyrics and programming some drums:

After I had these additions to ground the idea, I started getting more ideas for the art direction of the song.

By this point I want people to understand how much Pico was instrumental to the conceptualizing and execution of this whole project. We bounced so many ideas off of each other and worked to string everything together. It wasn't a case of me commissioning him for a few things and calling it a day, it really wouldn't exist the way it does without him.

In order to test chroma key stuff, he sent this icon that he made.

It was here that I realized that Antonymph could be something bigger. There was now a few pieces of "Fluttershy in a gir onesie" that could be used for a semi-animated music video. I said to Pico the words "we'll create an entire culture around one song". That was essentially the manifesto, how deep I wanted this whole thing to go.

So I got to work. (This also appears to be the first mention of "Fluttgirshy" in our DM's)

youtube

I ran the lyrics by Pico in a group chat and we talked about the lyrical direction of the song. After coming up with some stuff together we ended up with demo3:

Between March, 2021 - May, 2021, I took time off from the Antonymph studio sessions for a few reasons:

The visual aspect of the project was now in full effect. I was messaging many of my favourite mutual artists and pitching Antonymph to them and explaining what I needed.

Focusing otherwise on lyrics.

I was working on the other CUTIEMARKS songs, now that the album was no longer a small EP project (which it was originally intended to be, as it always ends up with my music).

It was intimidating to work on Antonymph. It was very clear by this point that it was going to be a big project and a big song, likely to be heard by a lot of people. We all expected this from the start, though it ended up being even more than we imagined. Still, knowing this made it harder to work on the song because the pressure was really on.

Now at this point, many other concepts have been injected into the idea of Antonymph too:

Queerness needed to be a big part of this. Making a song about self acceptance and expression had to entail queerness (like many other aspects of CUTIEMARKS, anyway).

I wanted to help heal my homesickness a little bit, so the music video would start to include video clips that I took in California (most notably, the intro of the music video shows my BART route from San Francisco to Daly City).

I wanted my friends to be a part of it in some way. I couldn't include everyone, but I did a lot to make sure that the people I cared most about would be included in this project, knowing it would be seen by lots of people. I wanted to bring them along for this whole thing. Lots of clips in the music video include videos of my friends, and I took lots of suggestions about the song from friends in servers and group chats.

As a spiritual sequel to "Lesbian Ponies With Weapons", I wanted the song to speak to a lot of the issues our generation is facing around the world especially in the wake of civil rights and economic inequity.

Between May 17, 2021 - May 27, 2021 there were two more Antonymph demos:

After demo4, I asked friends and patreon subscribers if they wanted to be included in the song by way of putting a group of everyone saying "hell yeah" in the second verse. demo5 is where this first is implemented, but all the voices wouldn't be included until the very final version of the song.

art by @sterfler / @uzon

Slowly but surely, everything came together. I worked endlessly on coordinating all the art stuff and doing the video editing and graphic design, until eventually:

It was done. February 24, 2021 - May 28, 2021.

I don't usually talk about finances, but I know for certain that the Antonymph project itself had costed well over $1.5k to make. This is disregarding everything else I had invested into the creation of the CUTIEMARKS album entirely, and is limited purely to Antonymph by itself. And as this project has helped to grow myself as a musician, I should be able to make more projects of this scope in the future.

A few days later, I premiered the trailer for it on June 4, 2021:

youtube

And then of course, what followed was the music video itself.

youtube

And just like that, it felt like I had taken my first breath of fresh air in a long time. I braced for the response to this, and what followed was extraordinary. Across social media, the #antonymph and #fluttgirshy tags were filling with people making fanart of the interpretation of Fluttershy that Pico and I, along with the many other incredible artists, spent many months getting just right. It all went to even inspire the parody project on SiIvaGunner's channel:

youtube

Antonymph was born from the ashes of my trauma and memories, and was forged between me and a dedicated team of incredible visionaries to become this thing that a lot of people connect with now. If I was going to put out a project of this scope and reach, I wanted to make sure it was positive and inspiring, and had the potential to live past its release as something that would continue to influence people for the foreseeable future.

So, Antonymph feels like a HUGE explosion of colours and emotions. And that's because it is. Everything had mounted up to that point. Endless amounts of hardship and mistakes, culminating into something that would be unabashedly beautiful.

I am forever grateful.

Thank you so much. + Thank you so much to Pico for making this project one of the best ever.

Oh, and as an extra special thank you, the stems to ANTONYMPH are now freely available to everyone: https://we.tl/t-j7WJ9dQ6tT

art by @astroeden, made specially for the one year anniversary of Antonymph <3

#vylop #vyletpony #vylet pony #my little pony #mlp #fim #friendship is magic #fluttershy #fluttgirshy #antonymph #cutiemarks #Youtube

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quinloki · 1 month

Note

Rose petal! What traditions do you and your F/O share?

Hmmm… traditions are a hard thing to nail down sometimes because you don’t realize what they are. So we’ll go with some big ones and any small ones that come to mind while I’m working on this.

Thanks to this song:

I imagine 100% that the biggest tradition with Kid and his crew is Christmas - or whatever title/label/alternative you want to use for what’s effectively a massive winter feast.

I think the whole crew gets into it - and it’s loud and full of laughter and cheer and a few fights and a lot of beer and certainly an exchange of “gifts”, be they sincere or severe xD it’s always been a positive holiday for me, so it’s certainly a tradition close to my heart.

With Marco I think a spring festival is more the shared tradition, or a harvest festival - something that rings in the days of plenty or something that pays homage to preparing for the days of lean.

It’s the transitional vibe of it more than anything. Maybe cause he transforms, and what he transforms into is itself an allegory of transition.

But these festivals are usually centered around food and family and less around gifts and giving. Not that I think he’s against gifts in either manner, but the more familial vibe also draws him in. (Also pineapple hams are a big part of both feasts for me growing up xD so there’s that too!)

Sabo I think is good for anything that lets him celebrate with Ace and Luffy xD birthday parties, new years, etc. he’s not big on tradition for the sake of it, but he’ll utilize the foundations of it to build up what brings him and his closest joy.

Alas, for better or worse that’s all I have for this right now , Harley has commandeered my lap

#ask game #self ship #razzledazzleelderberry #quin answers #cat pictures

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writingonleaves · 7 months

Text

like you were my closest friend - tyler seguin

pairing: tyler seguin x original female character

warnings: swearing, some angst, mostly fluff

word count: 4.1k

based on: "maroon" by taylor swift, title from that song as well

author's note: okay this isn't my favorite one because i think it's a bit rushed, but i thought i'd put it out anyways. would very much like to emphasize that this is fictional and i'm rooting for segs and his hot wife!! im a sucker for right person wrong time vibes and shit happening at weddings so here's a combo of that! also maroon is so seggy coded and you can't tell me otherwise

*****

Carmen Valez was 19 and stupid when she first met Tyler Seguin.

Working at a tattoo shop to make extra money while trying to put herself through college, she was cleaning up from her boss’s last scheduled appointment of the night when in came a group of rowdy guys. It wasn’t the first time a group of drunk guys came in looking for a tattoo. She had listened as her boss Ken came out and did his spiel and she heard laughter and some agreements so they couldn’t have been that drunk because her boss would’ve put up more of a fight.

When she first saw Tyler, she recognized him immediately. Growing up in Boston in a family of hockey lovers, how could she not recognize the rookie who had just won the Stanley Cup? As she turned the corner even more, she saw Brad Marchand and all she could think about was that she couldn't wait to tell her brothers and dad about this.

Ken introduced her to the guys and asked her if she could set up some things. She waved in greeting and nodded, going in the back to gather the supplies needed. She tried to stifle a yawn as she re-sterilized the needles, but it didn’t work.

“Long night?”

She whipped around to see Tyler peeking in behind a curtain. “Are you looking for something?”

“The bathroom. But I think I found something much better.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes, “Go to the end of the hall and it’s on your right.”

“Thanks,” he tilted his head to the side. “Are you the one who drew those flower designs that are hanging up in the hall?”

“I am. Ken asked me to draw some things so the shop wasn’t only filled with his designs.”

“You tattoo as well?”

“Oh, no way. That’s all Ken.” She shrugged. “I’ve designed some, but never physically tattooed them on someone. My hands are too shaky.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

He hummed and then went on his way to the bathroom as she finished gathering the supplies and went outside with them.

Ken became the guy Tyler kept coming back to for his tattoos so she got to know him and despite his reputation as a partier and womanizer, she found him endearing, often making conversation with him during his longer sessions while Ken was working on him on the table and she was doing schoolwork or doodling in the front.

It was a weird friendship because Tyler was rarely stationary in Boston and Carmen was attending Northeastern University and they really didn’t mix in any of the same circles but they kept coming back to each other. Their friendship developed to the point where he would come by on his nights off to her off-campus apartment with takeout and they would flick on a movie. He told her about his insecurities of having such a fantastic rookie year and then never amounting to anything else and she told him about her confusions of what she actually wanted to do with her communications degree. He talked about how hooking up with girls was easier than seeing if someone was only using him for his image and she talked about her view on relationships and how long distance never works.

He would invite her to games and she’d come along sometimes, dragging her best friend along with her to TD Garden. She knew all about his lifestyle and how he’d hook up with girls left and right but when she was with him, she always only saw a 20 something year old boy who was thrust into stardom really quickly and who was fucking up like anybody else his age but being overly criticized for it because of his job. She didn’t really see him as anything more than a friend, truly. She could admit easily that he was objectively attractive and probably too charming for his own good, but she saw him as one of her dearest friends more than anything.

(Even if she had the slightest feeling that she wanted to be more during those years, heart fluttering when he texted her to make sure she got home safe after late nights or winking at her and throwing her a puck at one of his games, causing her to grin like a middle school girl with a crush, she always pushed it away)

So when she was in the Cape celebrating the Fourth and news broke out that the Bruins had traded him to Dallas, she felt her heart drop. She ventured to a quieter area away from the celebrations and dialed his number. She wasn’t sure if he’d want to talk, but she couldn’t not call him to see if he was okay.

From the sniffling on his end, despite what he said, she knew he wasn’t okay, and told him that when she was back in the city, she’d come around to his place with food, wine and hugs.

The next week, when he opened the door, she dropped everything and just embraced him, holding him for several minutes as she tried to keep her tears in. She pulled away and just apologized for bringing some cheap rose that her roommate left at her apartment a couple of months ago instead of an actual nice bottle and he just laughed. She set up food from their favorite takeout place and they automatically went through all of these motions but with a sad feeling in the air. This night was going to be the last one of these, before he went back home the following weekend to Canada to spend the rest of his off season there and then head to Dallas. His apartment was already bare, having gotten started on moving out as soon as he had gotten the call.

She tried so, so hard not to cry as they put on Great British Bake Off and talked and somehow they started reflecting on numerous random moments and memories they had shared the last three years and they were both laughing as he complained about her almost spilling her wine like usual and she just threw her napkin at him. For the first time, he’s the one who splashed his wine on her t-shirt and he hiccuped and apologized and offered a shirt for her to change into and she waved him off, a blush on her cheeks either from the alcohol or from his proximity or both.

At one point, they ended up on the floor cuddling with his dogs and he asked how they even ended up there and she snorted, referencing the two bottles of rose they had downed and he had snorted and flashed her a stunning smile and her heart cracked a bit more.

They were both dozing off on the couch — his arm thrown over her as she cuddled into his chest because they both had always been touchy when they were drunk — when he said something that would forever plague her memory.

“I should’ve asked you to be mine.”

She blinked and shot up, looking down at him. “What?”

“I-I should’ve just asked you on a date. You could’ve been mine this whole time.”

“Tyler. You can’t say shit like that if you don’t mean it.”

“What makes you think I don’t mean it, Car?” He shot back, sitting up. “I know I’m drunk and I know I’m about to leave this city and maybe never see you again but of course I mean it.”

She squeezed her eyes shut as the tears fell. “Tyler.”

“I don’t regret a single moment of our friendship. I just regret that I never told you how I felt until it was too late.”

“You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Stop trying to discount my words because I’m drunk,” he said sternly. “I love you as a friend, of course, but I-I love you as more too. For awhile now, I think. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same and again, I’m the dumbest guy alive for bringing this up tonight of all nights but I just…I had to tell you before I left.”

She put her head in her heads and started crying softly. “I love you too,” she admitted through her tears. “I-I just never said anything because I didn’t think you were looking for more. Jesus, I literally know two of the girls you’ve hooked up with the past year. Do you know how annoying and gross it is to hear about your performance in bed while I’m trying to cram last minute for an exam?”

He chuckled and she looked at him again and saw that there were tears running down his cheeks as well. “We’re both stupid, aren’t we?”

“We are.”

He looked up at the ceiling with quivering lips. “I’m not going to ask you for more, no matter how much I want to.”

She nodded vehemently and cupped his face with both her hands, wanting so bad to kiss his lips and using every part of her strength not to. “You’re going to be amazing in Dallas.” She brushed a falling tear and tried to give him a reassuring smile as his top lip quivered. “You’re going to become a lover of the heat and look amazing in green and start liking country music and I’m going to make fun of you for all of it.”

“But you’re not gonna be there.”

She swallowed with a small shrug. “Who knows? Maybe a job in Dallas will open up after I graduate.”

“You wouldn’t take it. I wouldn’t let you. Your heart belongs to the Northeast.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” she weakly protested, slapping his arm and making him chuckle.

But he was right. And she hated that he was right.

She watched his eyes flit to her lips and she hoped that he was also fighting the urge as he placed a kiss on her forehead, which somehow was probably worse than if he had just kissed her.

“I’m going to miss you so much.” He said, voice cracking at the edges.

She squeezed her eyes shut, not being able to say it back because she didn’t want to completely break down. “Let’s get some sleep.”

That last night, they fell asleep on the couch like they had done numerous times before and he sent her off in the morning like he had done numerous times before, except this time she held onto him as tight as she could. Maybe if she kept hugging him, he wouldn’t have to go.

But he had to. And he did.

Carmen Valez was 22 when she saw Tyler Seguin again.

After graduation, she had gotten a job in New York, and he was in town playing the Rangers. They had gone out to dinner and then to a bar for drinks and things fell back into place as they leaned in close to each other the whole night and she kissed him, bringing him back to her apartment. She woke up with marks on her collarbone and memories of his lips all over her body and cursed herself as she watched him peacefully sleep next to her because she was still in love with him.

He had woken up with a soft but sad smile. “Has your view on long distance relationships changed?”

She bit her lip, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”

He swallowed. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault you’re the easiest person to fall in love with. Can I ask one thing though?”

“Of course.”

“If your view does change, give me a call?”

“Tyler-”

“I’m serious. Whether it’s 10 days or 10 years from now, call me.”

A tear had slipped out from her eyes when he pulled her into his chest, placing a kiss on her forehead.

Carmen Valez was 27 when she realized her view on long distance changed. And the first person she thought of was Tyler Seguin.

They had kept in touch very sporadically throughout the years over text and had tried to meet up everytime he came to New York to play, but the contact became less and less as the years went on. She tried to pretend it didn’t hurt. She had no right to be hurt. He could live his life however he wanted.

She was going down to Dallas for one of her coworker’s weddings and was tempted to call Tyler to see if he was around — for the first time, she’d be where he was instead of the other way around — but she didn’t bother because it was the off season and she figured he was home in Canada.

As she walked into the venue, she was shocked to see Tyler speaking to the bride’s grandma. She couldn’t help but smile at how gentle he was, soft smile on his face as he tucked the grandma’s hand into the crook of his elbow while leading her to her seat. He looked so handsome in his gray suit.

Gosh, he’s changed since they met in that tattoo parlor in Boston. They both have. But something about his smile makes her realize that almost nothing has changed at all.

When he sees her, she swears he lights up and her stomach flutters. She notices quickly that he’s a groomsman, if his matching suit with a couple of the other ushers indicates anything. He strolls up to her with his signature charming smile and she can’t help but roll her eyes.

“Funny seeing you here.”

She scoffs, before stepping forward and hugging him tightly. “Hey Ty.”

“Hi Car.” He turns to her coworker with a stunning smile. “And hello Car’s friend. I’m Tyler. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Samantha. How do you two know each other?”

She exchanges a look with him, because it’s a long story. But she settles with, “Ran into him when he played in Boston and I went to college there, and he didn’t leave me alone.” The three of them laugh.

“I’m assuming you both are here for the bride?”

“We are.”

He offers an arm to the both of them. “Follow me, ladies.” Carmen can tell Samantha is charmed as she rolls her eyes but grabs the crook of his elbow anyways.

After he escorts them to their seats, he has to bolt and just bids them farewell with a kiss on Carmen’s cheek and a promise to save her a dance later before ducking out of the church, presumably to help out with some behind the scenes stuff.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Samantha gives her a skeptical look. “We’ve been working together for two years and you failed to tell me that you know Tyler Seguin? You know I grew up a Stars fan.”

“It’s never come up.”

“Fair.” She blinks, looking for something in her coworker’s face. “You love him, don’t you?”

“What? No, of course-”

“Nice try. If your heart eyes hadn’t given you away, it was your response just now. You’ve always been a bad liar. What’s the story between you two?”

She sighs, staring at the front of the church at nothing in particular. “We met when I worked at a tattoo parlor in college and he came in and we became really good friends. He got traded to Dallas and then told me loved me on his last night in the city. Knew I didn’t believe in long distance at the time so didn’t ask for more. We slept together around a year later. My stance on long distance hadn’t changed. We’ve seen each other sporadically when I’m free and he’s in New York for a game, but not much recently.”

Samantha whistles. “Sounds like a lot.”

Carmen just snorts. She has no idea.

“So you still love him.”

Carmen just sighs.

“I think he still might love you too.”

Carmen snorts, smoothing down her dress. “How could you possibly know that? You met him for maybe two minutes.”

“Maybe it’s the fact that we’re at a wedding and this could be a scene from a Hallmark movie, but I’m also pretty sure he also had heart eyes when he saw you.”

Carmen just hums, and Samantha drops it, as they shift to other safer topics.

The ceremony is stunning and the bride is gorgeous and the groom is beaming, yet besides when the bride walked down the aisle, she can’t tear her eyes away from Tyler, standing at the front with a constant happy look on his face. As he walked down with an accompanying bridesmaid on his arm, he caught her eye and shot her a sly wink and she knows she blushed and she didn’t even try to hide it.

The next time she caught him was well into the reception, after dinner had been eaten and the dance floor was starting to open up. She had just finished her drink before she felt a tap on her shoulder, looking up to see Tyler with an outstretched hand.

“Dance with me?”

Without giving a verbal answer, she takes his hand and lets him lead her to the dance floor. She wraps her arms around his neck as his hands settle on her waist.

“You didn’t reach out to tell me you were gonna be in town.”

“I figured you’d be in Canada for the off-season.”

He hums, but he doesn’t buy the excuse. To be fair, she doesn’t either. “It’s really good to see you, Car.” He says, and she might be imagining him pulling her closer. “You look beautiful.”

“So do you.”

He smirks and she feels like she’s 19 again. “I look beautiful?”

She rolls her eyes. “You do.” She says softly. “How have you been?”

And then they start catching up, and it’s so damn easy, as the conversation flows from hockey to her advertising job to their memories in Boston to their mutual friends who just got married to their families and it feels like he’s still on the Bruins and she’s still at Northeastern. At some point, they migrate from the dance floor to the empty-ish open bar and they’re still talking and she realizes how much she’s missed having him in his life.

When she voices that out loud, his beaming smile dims the slightest. “God, I’ve missed you so much. Is this what I’ve been missing out on?”

“Don’t even start, Seguin.”

“What?”

“Blaming yourself or whatever you’re about to do. If we’re gonna blame someone, it’s all on me.”

Their first seconds of silence fall between them. “How has that been, by the way? You got a lucky guy back in New York waiting for you?”

She snorts. “Absolutely not. You? I hope I didn’t steal you away from a date or something.”

“Nah. No one for me.”

“Not at all?”

“None who have meant as much to me as you.”

She feels like her heart’s been sucker punched. Typical Tyler Seguin. Always going in for the kill.

She switches topics. “I-I watched your Stanley Cup playoff run. You played really well. I’m sorry it wasn’t the result you guys wanted.”

“You watch my games?”

She swallows. Busted. “I try to whenever I can, even though I still feel like I’m betraying my Bruins when I do.”

He laughs, still a bit shocked. “I’m sure they’d forgive you. I was a Bruin, after all.”

She downs her drink and asks the bartender for a water. “I missed you,” she says quietly once the bartender is out of earshot. “And I always loved watching you play. Figured it was the next best thing.”

“You could’ve called. Or texted. I would’ve answered.”

She shakes her head. “That would’ve been unfair to you, especially with how I left things off.”

He chuckles, albeit sadly. “Carmen. I’m kinda weak when it comes to you. Always have been.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, a tear falling as she feels Tyler place a warm hand on her thigh over her maroon dress. “You give me way too much power.”

“I don’t think I could ever give you what you deserve, no matter how hard I try.”

Carmen wipes the tear away with a small smile. She pokes his chest. “How do you come up with this shit?”

He laughs, taking a sip of his beer, before his face settles into a more serious expression. “Can I ask you two questions, though? No bullshit. Just the truth.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Do you still love me?”

She nods at an embarrassingly fast pace.

He swallows. “Oh.”

She picks at her nails, suddenly unsure. “D-Do you still love me? It’s-it’s totally okay if you don’t. I mean, I wouldn’t expect you to. It’s been years and we don’t really see each other much anymore and-”

“Of course I still love you.” She whips her head up to stare at him in shock. He runs a hand through his hair with a huff.

She puts her hand over his that’s still resting on his thigh and interlaces their fingers together. “What’s your second question?”

“Do you still not believe in long distance?”

“I’ve been thinking…I think I’m open to trying it.”

His eyes flash in surprise as his lips turn up into a hopeful smile. “Really? You’re not fucking with me?”

“Since when have I ever lied to you, Ty?”

“Can I have a third question? And maybe a fourth?”

She rolls her eyes fondly, squealing a bit as he brings her stool even closer to him. “Was that it?”

“Smartass.” She nods at him to ask. “Would you want to try? With me?”

She swallows. “Yes.” She thinks he physically lights up, like a lightbulb with a new battery, but she holds a hand up. “But Tyler, things have changed. We’ve changed. Is this…is this really what you want? Am I really who you want?”

“I left Boston eight years ago in love with you. Here I am, eight years later in Dallas, still in love with you. Probably more in love with you, actually, which I didn’t think was possible.” He grabs her hands and lifts them to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “When do you head back to New York?”

She blinks at the abrupt change of subject. “Um, I’m actually in Dallas for another week for a work conference. So not until next Sunday.”

He grins. “Stay at mine then. Please.”

“Tyler-”

“I’ll have to head back to Canada for a couple weeks for things I can’t reschedule, but then, if you let me, I’d love to come to New York and spend some time with you until I have to come back to Dallas for pre-season.”

“Tyler, that’s…how are you so confident and sure about all of this?”

“Because it’s you,” he says. “And I love you. I’m not wasting this chance that you’ve given me.”

She bites her lip, trying to take it all in. “I’m going to need to grab my stuff from the hotel tonight.”

“Deal. I’ve only had like, two beers in the last three hours anyways. I can drive you.”

“You know that I’m not just going to…drop everything to come to Dallas, right? My job and my life is all in New York.”

“I’d be a dumbass to expect that. Your heart belongs to the Northeast.”

She smiles, momentarily flashing back to the last time he said those exact same words and how similar and different they are now. She leans forward and kisses him sweetly, like he’s coming home from a game, like she’s in the middle of cooking dinner, like they’ve been doing this all their lives. She then pulls him up and drags him back to the dance floor.

“Would you have called me?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers into his chest, immediately knowing what he’s referencing. Eight years later and she still remembers that night like it was yesterday. “What if you were in a relationship or something? That would’ve been unfair to everyone.”

“I wouldn’t have been.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. Because I’ve always loved you. At this point, I’m pretty sure that I always will.”

“Thank you,” she whispers. And as he presses a loving kiss on her forehead, she hopes he understands what she’s trying to thank him for — for coming into that tattoo shop all those years ago, for all the nights and memories in Boston that involved takeout and Netflix and endless fits of laughter, for always believing in her, for waiting for her and being understanding even when she broke his heart.

For loving her.

“By the way,” Tyler says as he twirls her around, hands immediately attaching to her waist once she’s facing him again. “I always loved you in maroon.”

#k writes #hockey fanfiction #hockey fanfic #dallas stars #tyler seguin #tyler seguin fic #tyler seguin blurb #hockey blurb #tyler seguin x oc

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tiaramania · 1 year

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Hello my dear! This can be public or private, don’t mind :) Would you happen to have a list of the “court jewellers”? Like we associate the Russians with Fabergé, Bolin is the Swedish go to etc. Thank you so much!

Hello, I don't have a list but I'll try to make one. There are certain jewelers that I associate with different royal families but not all of them have an official crown jeweler the way the British royal family does. Also lot of times the crown jeweler is the person taking care of the royal regalia but doesn't have anything to do with their personal jewels like tiaras and necklaces. In the UK, Queen Elizabeth II had a personal jeweler and a crown jeweler and sometimes that was the same person but not always.

Belgium - They don't have any regalia to take care of but Wolfers are royal warrant holders and have supplied a lot of their important jewelry like Queen Mathilde's engagement ring and Laurel Wreath Tiara.

Denmark - The Danish court jeweler is A. Dragsted which I did not know prior to this. I knew they had made some jewelry for the Danish royal family a long time ago but I didn't even realize that they still existed.

Japan - Mikimoto makes most of their jewelry but I don't think they hold any sort of official title.

Luxembourg - Schroeder Joailliers have held a royal warrant since 1914 so I guess that's the closest thing to a crown jeweler but Luxembourg doesn't have any regalia to look after and I don't know of any major jewelry that was made by them.

Netherlands - Steltman Jewelers is the Purveyor to the Royal Household and does most of the alterations and whatnot for the Dutch collection. I really appreciate how that are able to figure out ways to adapt pieces of jewelry while still being able to return them to their historic settings. Steltman and Queen Maxima are a match made in heaven.

Norway - I don't think Garrard are technically the crown jewelers because it doesn't make sense to send the regalia outside of the country but they are certainly the personal jewelers to the Norwegian royal family. Garrard has been handling their jewelry since Maud (a British princess) became queen in 1905. They are the only ones on this list were the jeweler I most associate with a family is not from their own country. Even after the big jewelry heist in 1995 (which I am working on a post about because there's some new info) they are still very loyal to them and have bought two tiaras from Garrard since.

Spain - Ansorena is the jeweler I most associate with the Spanish royal family but I can't find a list of royal warrant holders and their website doesn't mention anything so I don't know if they hold an official role. Can anyone from Spain find a list of Proveedores de la Real Casa? The Spanish royal family's website is impossible to navigate.

Sweden - Bolin has been the Swedish court jeweler since 1916. It's funny you mentioned them and Russia in your example because I actually associate Bolin more with Russia. They were Swedish family that immigrated to Russia and were the crown jewelers for over a century. Fabergé became their competition towards the end but Bolin was still making most of the major jewelry for the imperial family with Fabergé doing more objets de vertu kind of stuff like the eggs. After the revolution the Bolin family moved back to Sweden and became the Swedish court jeweler.

United Kingdom - The jeweler I most associate with the British royals is Garrard but they stopped being the crown jeweler in 2007. The current one is Mark Appleby from Mappin & Webb but they were clear in saying that is a personal title and that Mappin & Webb are not the crown jewelers. He was the person carrying the crown during the late queen's funeral and he also carries it in during the State Opening of Parliament because he's one of the few people allowed to touch the crown. Garrard still has a royal warrant from King Charles and I have wondered if we might see a return to them in the new reign.

I might make a post of royal warrant holders too because I went down a bit of a rabbit hole looking up crown jewelers.

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vampirecatprince · 5 months

Text

Y'ALL WANT A SPOILER FREE LORE DUMP FOR MY GAME PROJECT?

So, on the surface, the setting is near identical to modern life Earth, but there's little cultural differences so...

It's Time To Infodump about The History of Hell!

(and also how surnames work in Hell bc I'm a nerd)

So in Hell, human inventions have been slowly filtering in over the millennia but historically, it was all the Goetic princes ruling, largely due to the fact they were simply physically strong enough to hold their title, thus all the more powerful Old Guard being so physically massive. For example; Furfur, Lucifer, and Satan are all around 7' tall before horns. Asmodeus and Behemoth are almost 8'. Your average demon is just... human sized. But, The Old Guard is basically as physically large as possible before their bodies just aren't able to support their own weight and mass anymore.

But- due to the slow trickle of human technology coming in over time plus the sudden Western Industrial Revolution creating a lot of very advanced weaponry (and just enough technologically savvy human born demons remembering enough of their past), there was a civil war because a lot of demons suddenly had the strength via technology to even the playing field. And during that period a lot of The Old Guard went missing or were killed, creating a power vacuum that was eventually filled by The New Goetic Lords and their more modern domains, like Mr Belfry and his city sized theme park based off his cartoons, or Callafia and her Manhattan sized Vegas style casino.

Also- over time, it became common or trendy to give your child a powerful name like one of The Old Guard, often times adjusted or shortened in cute ways. That's why Asmo is named Asmo. It's like naming a kid Arthur or Kennedy. (Yes- I knew someone with the first name Kennedy growing up ) Bill also sometimes gets mistaken as Bael because of this. (Nah, he's not William, he's not Will, he's not even Bael. Nope, he's cursed with just... Bill.)

But- all this lead me to thinking about how would last names work in Hell and how surnames call back oftentimes to old alliances or occupations.

So in Hell- you basically have a title.

It started off with which house of which Prince (and thus which sin) you were in alliance with as well as anyone notable that you might be related to and any notable things that you have done. But- with the loss of the feudal structure in hell, over time it's evolved into an identity marker. You still put the sin you feel the closest affiliation with, but you can also put familial associations (chosen or not, it's up to you), accomplishments that you're proud of, history that you feel you need to emphasize, things like that. (It's actually quite suspicious if someone doesn't have some sort of affiliation in their title.)

So- for example, at the start of the game Asmo's full name is Asmo, Domain of Acedia, Guitarist, Heir of the House of Mr. Peltz. (His endgame title has spoilers, so NOPE) Valentine's full demon name is originally Party Valentine, Human Born, Domain of Luxuria, Drummer of The House of Belfry. And it's actually a point of characterization that Bill refuses to put his affiliation with Callafia's casino, The Amazonian, in his name, so he's just Bill, Domain of Ira. Vergil is Vergil, Domain of Invidia, Guide of the House of Behemoth.

#if you look closely... you can really see the smt influence 💀#my ocs #asmo game #my writing

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faintingheroine · 3 months

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How rich/eminent would Adnan's family have been in their society?

I can't recall his work or lineage being mentioned, just the big wealth. I figured if I had to compare it to anything western, they would have the kind of position thst a wealthy industrialist or middle-ranked nobility might have? Influencial and sought-out in finer circles, but not exceedingly rare to be remarked and known by people who are not part of that same wider circle.

Or am I off the mark and his family would be at the very top of the social ladder and would be known by wider society, like say some kind of duke or baron?

This is interesting.

Aşk-ı Memnu is really silent on the subject of the source of Adnan Bey’s wealth which is interesting because Halit Ziya was upfront about these things in other similar novels of this. He even has a novel called “Ferdi and his Company” which is about a rich tradesman whose Nihal-like daughter marries a man who works at his side. So Halit Ziya isn’t uninformed about these things. He is a man who worked at banks and the palace himself. This is not Emily Brontë handwaving away how Heathcliff got rich, Halit Ziya could write about the source of Adnan Bey’s wealth if he wanted, but for some reason in this particular book he didn’t.

Ottoman Empire didn’t have a proper aristocracy in the way European countries did. There were a few prominent families but there weren’t inherited “titles”. Ottomans were trying to be the only important family in the country, so they only had children with slaves and they sometimes killed families that got too prominent.

What Ottoman Empire had were “Pashas”, statesmen who were given the title during their lifetime due to their achievements/prominence. (Until early 19th century, most Ottoman statesmen were actually Devshirmes (converts mostly from the Balkans), with 19th century Turks got more prominent in the state affairs). Pashas owed everything they had to the Sultan’s favor and their title didn’t pass to their children. Yet the wealth they acquired and their respectability did pass onto their children and so slowly these people formed an upper class.

As for a bourgeoisie, Turks didn’t have a proper bourgeoisie in the modern sense since they considered trade a bit beneath them. Non-Muslims like Greeks and Armenians did form the bourgeoisie more. But again with 19th century there formed some Turkish families that we can call “bourgeoisie”. Halit Ziya’s family which got rich through trading Turkish carpets to all over the world is one of the first examples (their home city Uşak is still famous for its carpets). And we saw that another novel of his “Ferdi ve Şürekası” was about a tradesman.

But upper-class Turkish people were rarely independent bourgeoisie. The main characters of the first novels were generally sons or grandsons of Pashas who worked at a small government job but who mostly sustained themselves through already existing inheritance or through renting their properties. Adnan Bey is probably someone like this too. From the little hints in the text we can gather that he is from a very respectable line, which means that he probably has Pasha ancestors (in another Turkish novel, “Three Faces of Istanbul”, the rich girl’s family only permits her to marry the poor boy when they learn that he has a great great-grandfather who was a Pasha). Does Adnan Bey go to work? I don’t know?

1975 miniseries which tried to give a social background to the events made Adnan Bey’s father a Pasha who was a protégé of Mustafa Reshid Pasha who was the architect of Ottoman Westernization, and made Adnan Bey himself work at Düyun-u Umumiye. I think these additions make sense. I myself made Adnan Bey the son of an Ahmet Pasha in my fanfic.

To answer your question, I think Adnan Bey’s family is closest to a middle-ranking nobility. They are not ruling the country and probably have no connection to the Ottoman dynasty, but they are very rich and respectable. Probably have a grandfather who was actually a prominent figure. Yes, “influential and sought-out in finer circles, but not exceedingly rare to be remarked or known by people who are not part of the same wider circle”.

Class in Ottoman Empire is tricky because it is not very well-delineated. I generally have to intuit it while reading these old Turkish novels. And I am no expert. But this was my two cents.

#aşk ı memnu #aşk-ı memnu #adnan bey #asks #aşk ı memnu asks

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half-deadmagicperson · 28 days

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PJO Equinox Solstice Exchange

Hi there @fixation-central I'm your gifter for the @pjo-equinox-solstice-exchange

I went with your prompts: Outsider POV, Percy & Leo Valdez, and Percy & Poseidon

Title: Weekend Plans

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence (Non Descriptive)

I hope you enjoy!

To most people, Percy Jackson was an enigma. Some people thought he was quiet and strange. Others were scared of him. Many of the students at Goode admired him from afar, because they had to admit, he was rather attractive.

They've seen the news articles about his abduction and escape at the age of 12. They whisper about the strange occurrences, like when the band room exploded, and Percy went missing for a while. They notice his intimidating eyes glance around the room taking notice of every possible exit.

The swim team thought he was friendly enough. His classmates were a bit weary. The freshmen were terrified of him, but none of them have seen him as cheery as when he walked into school after winter break.

Percy walked through the halls chatting with a Latino next to him. The two were in their own little world until Mr. Blofis walked over to greet them.

The person with Percy was apparently a transfer student named Leo, from what the people nearby heard. From the looks of it, Leo knew the Jackson-Blofis family well.

The students watched the two of them whenever they were together. Percy, the usually quiet kid, was seen laughing and exchanging inside jokes with Valdez. Other times, the duo would murmur things that others were probably not meant to hear, whispers of ‘celestial bronze’ or ‘Argo’.

Leo was a lot more approachable than Jackson. He was outgoing and charismatic, but his eyes gave out the same ‘seen too many things’ vibes as his friend. When people asked Valdez about why he came to Goode, he would simply state that it was highly recommended to him. It took the students another month or two to figure out he was bunking with the Jackson-Blofis family.

So the students and faculty of Goode watched and observed in silence and left the boys alone. Some classmates, however, were a bit curious.

~~~~~~~~~~~

It was Friday, last period, Jeffery Johnson sat in his usual seat close to the window, next to his buddy, Evan. Directly behind their table was where Jackson and Valdez sat. Jeff remembers the fear at the beginning of the school year when Percy Jackson chose to sit behind him. He had heard all the stories and rumors circulating the school, and he had seen the calculating, green stare in person. Every bit of Jackson unnerved him.

When Valdez joined the school in second semester, Jeff learned that with his current seat, he could hear everything they talked about. A lot of times, it was just idle chatter or comments on whatever the teacher was talking about. Other times, like today, it was conversation that added to the mystery of Percy Jackson.

“So any plans this weekend,” Jackson asked Valdez before class started. As if they don’t live together.

“Not much. I’m gonna continue working on Michael’s new leg and hopefully deliver it to camp by Sunday afternoon.”

Did Jeff hear that correctly? He looked over at Evan who looked equally confused. Jeff shook his head. Leo was probably talking about some robot of his. Then there was the mention of camp.

A few classmates, including Jeff, have heard about some summer camp Jackson attends, sometimes outside of summer. Jeff assumed it was probably one of those camps for troubled children.

Jeff tuned back in to listen to Leo finish his ramble about specs.

“But anyways, how ‘bout you? Got any plans?”

“Yeah, actually, my dad wanted to spend time with me and ‘try mortal beverages’ so we’re going to the closest boba place to the Hudson.”

“Woah, wait, your dad actually wants to spend time with you?”

“I mean, he has wanted to in the past, but usually his brother doesn’t let him. He might even come over for dinner, if he’s not called away, but it’s not very likely. Mom and Paul both said they’d be happy to have him though,” Percy paused before continuing, “As far as the rest of his side of the family goes, he’s not too bad. At least he’s trying.”

The teacher walked in, and the two finished their conversation. The words Jeff heard started stewing in his brain. Percy’s biological dad was rumored to be lost at sea. Also, what did he mean by ‘mortal’? There was so much to unpack here. Jeff needed to get to the bottom of this, and he’ll start by Googling boba shops near the Hudson River.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Jeff got home he devised a plan. He was going to figure out which boba shop Jackson was going to, take Evan with him, and see if he can learn anything. Was this stalking? Maybe, but it could just be pure coincidence that he and Evan were at the shop the same time as Jackson and his dad.

With a plan in place, he headed off to bed, his mind reeling with theories.

~~~~~~~~~

Okay, so maybe he didn’t entirely think this through. Jeff and Evan have been sitting at the same table for the past hour and there has been no sign of Percy Jackson. He didn’t know exactly what time Percy would be at the shop, so they arrived when it opened. The owner of the place already called them out for loitering, which led to Jeff buying them more drinks. The two of them were about to give up when the door opened.

Percy Jackson walked in talking to a man. The pair shared an uncanny resemblance. They both shared the same sea green eyes and chiseled build. Despite his intimidating looks, the man was dressed in Birkenstocks and a Hawaiian shirt, like he was going to the beach and not Manhatten in the middle of winter.

The two strolled up to the counter and ordered, idly chatting while they waited for their drinks. Jeff couldn’t hear them until they walked over to a booth in the corner.

“Yeah, which reminds me, Mom said she was making that casserole that you really like,” Jackson spoke. His father (?) smiled.

“No matter how many feasts with the finest cooks my brother likes to host, it will never compare to Sally’s cooking.”

“Agreed.”

Jackson’s father decided to take a sip of his drink, almost choking on the tapioca pearls. Percy barely covered up the snort he made. Jeff couldn’t see the teen’s face from this angle, but he was sure he was grinning.

“I forgot to warn you that you have to be careful about the pearls.”

“Yes, I believe it would be a tragic fate if I had to reappear in Olympus because I choked on whatever you said these were called.”

“Boba.”

“Yes, that.”

Olympus??? What was that about? Before Jeff could process it further, the window closest to the corner booth was smashed open. Thankfully, neither he nor Evan were hit by it. Jackson and his dad were both standing at this point, and both very alert. Percy pulled out a pen. What does he need that for?

A gleaming, bronze sword replaced the simple ballpoint that was just in his hands. Jeff gasped. He shook Evan’s shoulder.

“Are you seeing this?”

“You mean Percy yelling at those random kids who smashed the window?” Jeff arched a brow before looking back at the scene.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here,” Jackson’s dad said. Jeff could see where Percy gets his intimidation from.

Jeff’s eyes were messing with him. The image of a group of street kids kept shifting into something more sinister. Jackson’s sword had a similar effect, morphing back and forth between a pen and a weapon. It was like trying to see through a dense fog.

Maybe he was going crazy. Evan didn’t see the sword or the monsters, so maybe he was hallucinating. Jeff’s eyes fixated on the mysterious Percy Jackson as he engaged in battle with the street kids, if they even were kids.

Evan slipped out of his seat before tugging on Jeff’s arm.

“We should get out of here before the cops show up.” Jeff gave a silent nod, still watching the fight. He had just caught a glimpse of floating streams of water before they left the shop.

It was from that day that Jeffery Johnson made it his mission to uncover the secrets of New York that no one has ever dreamed of, starting with one Perseus Jackson.

#percy jackson #leo valdez #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #cannon typical violence #outsider pov

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dxncingwithastrxnger · 1 year

Text

1. it’s been a secret for the longest time

A/N: Hey, guys!!! I've been working on this story for about a week or so, I'm so excited to finally be posting it!!! A couple of weeks ago, I became absolutely obsessed with the song inspiration for this and eventually my brain started applying it to Trilance and I'd say the result is absolutely beautiful. This is actually Chapter 1 out of at least 2 (though I might continue with more than that if people really want me to). Originally this was going to be much longer, it was actually going to include a whole smut scene which would've almost doubled the word count at least, maybe even fully doubled it, but my laptop needs to charge and I need to go to sleep, lmao. So you guys get part one now and part two sometime tomorrow!! Imma have to go back through and do some proofreading later on, but for the most part, it should be good to go!!! Happy reading!!!

Pairing(s): Tristan x Lancelot

Summary: For months now, Tristan and Lancelot have played a game of secret flirting, lustful longing, and maybe even something a bit more. But now that a certain date has finally been set, they're running out of time to decide what they want and Tristan decides he's going to finally make a move to advance things forward.

Tags: Aged up characters (somewhere around 21-24), alcohol, sexual tension, slight Guinevere bashing (💀💀), cheating/infidelity sorta (depends on how you look at it, I guess? But people have tried to come at me for not tagging cheating in the past, so, lmao)

Song Inspiration: Shameless By Camila Cabello (Highly recommend, btw)

Word Count: 4,883

Not beta'd, all mistakes are my own.

~*~

[Series Masterlist]

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9]

[Read on AO3]

[Author Masterlist]

~*~

Lancelot holds his breath as he waits. It's time. This is when he always shows up. Well, when they always show up, but he could care less about her. It's only him that he's concerned about. And there he is. Right on time. He watches from across the crowded club as two people come in through the front entrance. The flashing lights of the paparazzi that have followed them here were barely noticeable thanks to the heavy door blocking the club from the outside world quickly closing behind them.

A pinkette and a silverette make their way through the dancefloor slowly, stopping and talking to people, going by the bar to get their first round of drinks. Both of them are the closest thing to royalty you can get in their country, and in this club that means they are royalty as far as anyone is concerned. And they definitely live up to the title. A prince and a soon-to-be princess.

They're both beautiful. Stunning, even. They're shining stars, a picture perfect couple. The ultimate couple goals. Their life is perfect and nothing could be better. Everyone wants someone to love them like those two love each other. All anyone wants in life is to find someone who treats them as well as the prince treats the princess. That's all according to the world-wide media, anyways. But again, Lance doesn't care about anyone but the prince.

Finally, after a few minutes, they make their way over to where Lancelot is. Because of course. If they're the prince and princess, then he's a nobleman, his father being the royal advisor to the King himself, after all, if he were to continue his kingdom metaphors. He could even go so far as to say he was a family friend, though he's personally never spent much time with any of them.

"Lancelot, hello!" The princess addresses him kindly. "How have you been?"

He meets her eyes reluctantly. Not because he's afraid or intimidated by her, quite the opposite, in fact. There's just better places for him to look at right now. "I've been well, and you, your majesties?" He tacks on his little nickname for them with a playful grin.

She flushes slightly, but just shakes her head at him with a roll of her eyes while the prince beside her lets out a deep chuckle that absolutely lights Lance up inside. "We've been very well, isn't that right, my love?" The prince looks from Lance to the woman beside him as he speaks.

"Oh, yes, so much has happened recently. We must catch you up once we've finished making our round of greetings." The princess looked to be positively bursting with excitement. She then looks to the rest of his booth with curiosity and confusion, seeming to just now notice the lack of a brunette beside him. "Both of you. Where's your princess, Lance?" She questions, a mischievous spark in her eyes as she teases him with his own nickname for her.

Oh gods, don't let her hear you call her that. She would never let any of us live it down and then we'd have some real problems. He thinks with a mental sigh of exasperation. "She had a business call to attend to, I'm sure she'll be back by the time you two are." He states politely.

They both nod. "We'll be off then, see you in a few." Is called back at him as they turn and walk away. He shakes his head and turns back to the table, downing the rest of his drink in order to keep himself from staring at the Prince's backside as he walks away. He sets his glass back down and tilts his head back, closing his eyes and sighing as he sags in his seat.

The prince and princess. Tristan Liones and Isolde Connors. Son of Meliodas Taizman and daughter of Chester Connors. Chester is someone who started out as nothing more than average middle-class and managed to work his way up the ladder and into the livelihood of the rich after finding a way to create a new piece of technology that allows people to rediscover long lost memories.

Meliodas is the Mayor of the city of Liones, the capitol of our country and the biggest and most populated place in all of Britannia. He's married to the previous Mayor's daughter, so some like to say that he didn't rightfully earn his place as leader of the people, but the truth is, he had already started making a name for himself before he'd even met his current wife, through his connection with the Sin Committee.

They were a group of activists who came from out of town. They're an interesting mix of people. Each of them have their own individual cause that they wanted to focus on the most, so they'd be in charge of that topic, situation, idea, etc. But whenever there was a protest or a meeting or a vote, all the other members would gather to help out. There was 7 of them, so they each chose one of the seven deadly sins to use as a code name, which is also where their official group name came from. They gathered for all kinds of stuff. Protests, uprisings, voting polls, they made speeches and outed assholes who tried to make themselves look good. And they didn't just do it in Liones, they did it all over Britannia. Danafall, Edinburgh, Benwick. They were changemakers and they were damn good at it.

They were planning on eventually traveling out of Liones and continuing on, but then Meliodas met the mayor's daughter, Elizabeth Liones. And he decided to stay so that he could be with her, settle down and actually grow out some roots somewhere. And the rest of his group followed suit, each one finding some reason or another to stay here and build an official life for themselves. Eventually Meliodas and Elizabeth got married and not long after, Meliodas ran for Mayor as Elizabeth's father stepped down.

So, the prince. Yeah, Lance thinks it's a pretty fitting name, considering the whole damn city is named after his family. That choice of nickname definitely doesn't have anything to do with the fact that if told to, he would immediately fall to the man's feet and do whatever else was asked of him without hesitation. It definitely doesn't have to do with the fact that for months, the only constant thought in his mind is what Tristan's skin might feel like and how his lips might taste. And it definitely doesn't have anything to do with the fact that Lance has never wanted any man, any person, more than he's wanted Tristan Liones. Definitely not.

"What's up with you? Tired already?" A voice breaks him from his thoughts as the brunette slides into the booth next to him, having finished up with her phone call.

The only thing making me tired is you, Lance thinks wryly. "No, just lost in thought, thinking over some stuff." He replies, flashing her a quick half-hearted smile. "Isolde and Tristan stopped by to say hi. Isolde says she wants to tell us about some things. They should be back anytime now." He informs her.

"Oh good, it's been awhile since we've seen them, it'll be good to catch up." She states, smiling as she loops her right arm through Lance's left one and leans her head on his shoulder. Lance suppresses a sigh and places an arm around her shoulders out of obligation more than anything else, the girl under his arm sighing contentedly and snuggling closer. He grimaces, glad she can't currently see his face. Luckily, he's saved from having to linger too much on her, as Tristan and Isolde take that moment to appear once again.

"Oh, Guinevere, you're back! Lance said you would be back before we were, but I was worried when he mentioned it being a business call." Isolde admits to the woman at his side.

"Oh, it was nothing, everything is fine now." Guinevere waves her hand in front of her with an air of nonchalance.

Lance stops focusing on the women's interaction as he finally gives in to his urge that's almost instinct by now to look at Tristan. Tristan, who currently appears to be burning holes into Guinevere's arm with his eyes, glaring directly at where her arm is looped with his. Oh. Jealousy was not something seen often on the prince, but Lance is just now realizing that it is a very good look on him. Especially when it's about Lance himself.

Tristan must've felt Lance's eyes on him because his multi-colored eyes were suddenly meeting bright red. Lance's breath hitched. He was suddenly pinned by the hot spark in those green and blue irises of his. Something had changed, had finally shifted in this long game of theirs. He knew right then that tonight would be different. He didn't know how yet, but he was excited to find out, and he made sure to hold his realization and how he felt about it into his expression, with a hint of questioning. The silver-haired prince shook his head with a quick wink, just the tiniest of movements that no one would notice unless they were specifically looking for it. 'Not right now, you'll see.' Is what he was saying. Lance gave a nod in acknowledgement, another barely there movement, and smirked. Tristan is the only reason he really even continues to come here and he never disappoints, not that Lance has ever expected him to.

"So," Tristan speaks up then, clearly having paid enough attention to the other conversation happening to know when to interrupt. "Shall we head up to the lounge? It's so much easier to talk privately up there." He suggests, looking away from Lance and between the pinkette and brunette.

"Oh, yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea." Guinevere says, already getting up with her drink in hand. Lance follows suit as Isolde chimes her own agreement and the four of them head up the club's spiral stairs, the prince and princess leading the way and Lance swears that Tristan is swaying his hips slightly. Gods, he'll be the absolute death of me, Lance groans inwardly.

They enter one of the VIP lounges, the one they enter completely empty except for the bartender at the bar in the back of the room. Lance orders a second drink as the other three go sit down and he walks over to join them soon ever. When he reaches the table that they chose, he freezes for a moment. The place that was picked to sit at was a round, single booth with two spaces to enter it. On Lance's right, he could easily sit down right next to Guinevere, just like he always does, just like he should. But next to Guinevere is Isolde and next to Isolde is Tristan with an open spot right next to him and for a split second, Lance genuinely considers turning to the left and sitting next to the prince. But he catches himself and dutifully takes the spot to the right.

As he slides into his seat and places an arm across the top of the booth behind Guinevere's head, he looks to Tristan with nothing but a deep longing, finding the same emotion reflected back at him. He swallows and turns away from him, afraid he might do something stupid if he continues looking at him in that moment.

"So, Isolde? What's all this exciting news you guys have to tell us?" Lance asks as he looks at her, an eyebrow raised as he takes a sip of his drink. He notices out of the corner of his eyes that Guinevere also turns to her as she leans into his side again. He forces himself not to shift away from her.

Isolde suddenly gives out a quiet squeal. "Okay! So," She looks at Tristan for a moment before turning back to them, Lance watching as the positions of the prince and princess mirror almost exactly Lance and Guinevere's. But he doesn't think much of it as Isolde continues talking. "Tristan and I have finally gotten a date for the wedding figured out!!" She exclaims happily, positively beaming. Guinevere gasps and shares in Isolde's excitement, the two women taking a moment to ramble together.

Tristan gives out a low chuckle and Lance turns to him again, something off about the sound that escaped him. The prince seems tense, his expression tight, and it becomes clear to the blonde that his chuckle wasn't born out of any kind of amusement, though it could easily appear that way to the two others in their party, as they were barely paying him any attention in this moment. Lance's brows furrow, a slight tilt of his head asking Tristan what his reaction was for. Yeah, so they figured out a date for the wedding already. Not ideal for Tristan, he was sure, but-

"Yes!" The fakest smile he had ever seen to date plasters itself across the prince's face. "August 28th." He states. "Of this year." And right there was the answer to Lance's question. Four months. Tristan and Isolde were getting married in four months. The public had only known them to be engaged for three.

"Ohhh, an end of summer wedding will be beautiful." Guinevere says in awe.

"Oh, won't it?" Isolde coos, her hands clasping in front of her.

"In just four months, huh? That's a lot sooner than I would've expected." Lance pipes up, his eyes not having left Tristan's at all yet.

"Yes, well, Isolde just couldn't wait any longer." Tristan states. "And apparently neither could my parents. August was supposed to be a completely unavailable month. But upon hearing that August was ideal over September or November, he completely canceled all matters of business for the month. That way we could have "the pick of the lot", he said." Tristan spat out, his words getting colder as he continued, and this time it didn't seem to be for a reason that he cared to hide.

Lance's suspicions were confirmed when Isolde spoke up next. "Oh, Tristan, cut your father some slack. I know you were excited for that trip, but your father just wants to help us in any way he can." She tells him, her voice on the verge of scolding. The tone made Lance almost scoff.

Tristan looked down at Isolde with a much softer expression than he had just a moment before and smiles at her. "You're right as always, I'm sorry. Forgive my thoughtlessness." And then the prince lays a soft kiss on the princess' lips, and the young nobleman has to look away quickly at the sight. Lance takes a long drink from his glass as he surveys the rest of the lounge outside of their booth, seeing it still empty as it was before. He's about to excuse himself for a moment, needing some air, when he's stopped from doing so.

"Isolde, do you mind if I talk to Lancelot privately for awhile? Most of the rest of your announcements have to do with the wedding more than anything else and Guinevere seems a lot more interested in those details than Lance does. Plus, I feel like I should finally get to know a bit more about the man. His father is practically my uncle and yet I feel I've barely spent any time with Lancelot himself." Tristan explains to his fiance, looking at her with casual questioning.

Isolde smiles at him, believing his explanation entirely. "Of course!" Suddenly she lights up even more. "Oh! Anne should be here soon, too! Guin, have you met Anne yet? You would absolutely love her!" Isolde gushes as she looks to the brunette.

Guinevere shakes her head. "Oh, I don't think so, but if she's a friend of yours, then I have no doubt that we'll get along." She states warmly. Isolde beams at her as Tristan exits the booth to let Isolde out and Lance follows his lead, letting Guinevere out. Isolde and Tristan share a peck on the lips and Lance turns to Guinevere to do the same, knowing she'll expect it.

"Take your time, don't rush, okay? I want you to have fun with your friends. We are here for that purpose, after all." Tristan points out to Isolde.

Isolde grins and throws her arms around him in a quick hug and for a moment, the smile on Tristan's face is back to being genuine, obvious affection on his face for the woman before him. Just not the kind that it's supposed to be. "Thank you. Have fun with your new friend, Trist." Isolde says before turning and looping her arm with Guinevere's, dragging her away as the brunette waves at Lance as she goes. Once the two of them have left the lounge and headed down the stairs to go meet up with Anne, Lance turns back to the booth, seeing Tristan already sitting once again. Lance sits back down as well, both of them choosing spots that allow them to be exactly across from each other.

They both stay silent for a few minutes, simply staring at each other, both seeming to be in quiet contemplation. Then Tristan breaks the silence first. "So, when are you and your fiancé going to make an announcement? The public doesn't even know that you two are engaged yet." He points out.

Ah, yes. His fiancé. Not by his own choice, of course. He doesn't have a single romantic notion towards her. In fact, he doesn't really have any platonic ones towards her, either. Guinevere is too arrogant for her own good and has way too big an ego, not to mention her whole I-know-everything attitude. It's all just a big turn off for him. But he's stuck with her. For now, at least. She's the person that his parents chose for him. Just like Isolde is the one that Tristan's parents chose for him. Some people have said recently that arranged marriages are way too old school and going out of style, but in reality, they're just as common now as they were 200 years ago.

"I'm not an actor like you, Prince Tristan." Lance tells him with a wry smile. "Guinevere is well aware that I'm not in love with her and she doesn't want to start up the wedding process until I do fall in love with her, because, apparently, she's absolutely certain that I will eventually."

Tristan tilts his head to the side slightly. "And how do you know that I'm acting with Isolde?" He asks, a hint of teasing in his tone.

Lance raises an eyebrow at him and he chuckles softly. "Considering you look at me in ways I've never once seen you even consider looking at her, I'd say you're more likely to be in love with me than with her."

Tristan's eyes widen as soon as the words leave his mouth and Lance's do, too, once his own words register in his mind. That right there was territory neither of had even dared go into before. There's never been any communication of feelings besides lust, passion, and curiosity. There couldn't be any romance between the two, could there? He was frozen, unsure how to recover from his own suggestion.

"Well. You certainly are observant, that's for sure." The silverette seems to have recovered faster than him, though his voice is much softer than it was before.

The topic switch definitely helps. Lance locks eyes with him, pouring every ounce of want he has for the man into his eyes without a single bit of shame or hesitation. "Yes, but you already know that, don't you?" Flashes run through his mind of all the times they've checked each other out or sent silent flirtations towards each other.

From the way Tristan bites his lip, he's thinking of the same thing. But instead of replying, he slides further into the booth, until he's in the middle of the half circle. He pats the spot right beside him. "Come over here." He orders.

Lance hesitates for a moment. Not because he doesn't want to be closer to Tristan. He knows that once he moves closer, it'll be the turning point of whatever this is between them. All of this is completely new. As he noticed before, he makes note of it again. Something is different about tonight. And he has a feeling he's about to find out exactly what it is. But he hangs back a little longer. It's like when a roller coaster reaches the top but then stops for just those extra few seconds, building up the anticipation so that you feel it just that tiniest bit more when the ride finally dips and takes the drop down. And it seems his decision was the right one.

When Lance doesn't immediately come over to him, Tristan bows his head down slightly, then looks back up at Lance through his lashes, an almost shy look on his face. "Please?" The single word comes out as half whisper, half purr and Lance suddenly feels the need to adjust himself. Fuck.

Lance slides across the booth until he's right beside the prince, only about an inch of space between their bodies. He's tense now. He doesn't know what to do with himself, where to put his hands. Eventually he decides to just place them on the table in front of him. He left his drink across the table, so he just lays his hands flat on the dark wood. Then Tristan places his hand on top of Lance's and he startles slightly, sucking in a deep breath at the contact. He can hear Tristan's breath hitch beside him and he knows that he must've felt it, too. The bolt of lightning that struck through to the very core of his being as soon as their skin connected. But Tristan continues despite it.

"Just take a second to relax, okay?" He says casually in a low voice. And then he starts moving his hand across Lance's wrist and over his arm slowly, causing Lance to do the opposite of relax. It felt like electricity was coursing throughout his entire arm, spreading out from where Tristan's hand was. He watches with wide eyes as the silverette's hand reaches the crook of his elbow and starts making it's way up.

"Relax, remember?" Is whispered into his ear as he feels the slight brush of hair against his cheek. He closes his eyes as his whole body shudders.

He tries his best to follow the instruction, urging his body to relax against the seat. Then Tristan changes the position of his hand slightly, pressing the tips of his nails against Lance's shirt and then lightly dragging them against the skin over his collarbone and Lance melts. His head falls back against the top of the cushion behind him and bites his lip as the other man's palm presses flat to the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, sliding up the side of his neck and over his collarbone, until his hand finally stops, resting gently against Lance's cheek. The electricity has followed his hands path, leaving a pleasant burn in it's wake, every part of him that's been touched feeling so warm.

He slowly opens his eyes as he sits back up, looking at Tristan. The prince has a look of pure awe on his face as he stares at him, as if something Lance just did has absolutely amazed him. Lance reaches up and threads his fingers into some of the hair at the top of the prince's head and runs them through it gently. Tristan's eyes flutter closed and he hums, a pleased sound. Once his fingers reach the tips of his long hair, he brings his hand back up and mimics what Tristan did, his hand curved around his cheek. When Tristan opens his eyes again, the blue and green in them is barely visible with how wide his pupils are blown.

"Lance." He whispers, his voice shaking slightly now. "I don't exactly know what it is going on between us. What all these feelings are and what they'll lead to. I know that I want you. I want you more than I've ever wanted anybody or anything in my entire life. But," He brings his free hand up to wrap around the wrist of the hand Lance has on his face, tracing small circles into his skin with his thumb. "I feel like it's something more than that. Like even if I finally have you, I won't be able to let you go." He admits, giving Lance that same shy look as before, but with a hint of fear in it this time. Fear of what, he wasn't sure.

Lance swallows before answering. "I think I know what you mean." Is all he whispers back. He has his own theories of what it all was, but he isn't sure he's ready to confront that just yet. Tristan runs his eyes over Lance's face a few times, like he's searching for something. Then they lock eyes once again and Lance suddenly realizes that it's not Tristan's voice that's shaky. Tristan himself is trembling. Before Lance can question him, he speaks up again.

"I don't know what it is," A fierce determination sparks in his eyes and Lance is both surprised and entranced by it. "But I want to." He says just barely above his breath. "I want to-" He cuts himself off, like he's afraid of what was about to come out of his mouth.

"What is it?" Lance asks him. "What do you want to do?" He brings his other hand up to cup Tristan's other cheek gently, looking at him pleadingly. Somewhere deep down, he knew exactly what the prince wanted, because he wanted it, too, but he needed to hear him say it first.

Tristan leans into his touch and lets out a sound close to a whimper. "I want to find out together. You and I. We could do it, you know. Because you were right. Of course you were. Isolde has never been anything more than a sister to me, a friend. I hate the idea of marrying her and everything that's meant to come with it. Tomorrow, I can break things off with her. Tell my parents that there's someone else. I don't care how mad they get at me. And then you and I, we can take this however far it goes, as long as you do the same. We can make our own choices for once instead of just always doing what everyone else wants us to." His own eyes are pleading now and the fear is even more evident. Lance realizes that the fear is of rejection. That his proposal will be brushed off and turned away from.

"And what would your choice be, Prince Tristan?" He asks, his own voice trembling.

"As of right now, my choice would be you, Sir Lancelot." Tristan says with certainty.

"What if I don't want that?" Lance asks him. Not because he's considering no. Not at all. Only because he's curious as to what the alternative is.

Tristan leans in slightly, taking his hand from Lance's wrist and reaching up to run a thumb down his temple and over his cheekbone before his hand lands on his jaw and stays there. "Then we won't continue this any further. I couldn't handle doing anything more if you don't want the same as me. But it's your choice. Kiss me right now and I'm yours. Walk away from me right now and we'll never be this close again, everything we've been doing will stop."

Lance looks at him. The answer was clear as soon as the idea left Tristan's pretty pink lips. Leave Guinevere and the stupid arranged marriage behind in order to pursue Tristan and see where the feelings between them go? It wasn't even a question. Lance gives him a grin. "Stupid of you to think that I could ever walk away from you." He tells him. And then Lance is crashing his lips against Tristan's.

~*~

A/N: So, how is it so far??? Did you guys like it?? Cause I honestly loved writing this. I love these boys sm and this AU was really fun to come up with. You guys will get the rest tomorrow!!! Please, lemme know all your thoughts on this!!! I hope you enjoyed it!!!! Love y'all 💜💜💜

~*~

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