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theladyofshalott1989 · 3 months

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Ch. 1: "Journeys End in Lovers' Meeting" // Hogwarts: Legacy AU OC x OC

So, I may or may not have written this at 5 AM... LMAO. Thank you to @heyitszev (unreliablenarrator on AO3) for letting me borrow his OC, Charlie Cagney, from his series To be Loved is to be Changed (which you should check out right now!).

Note: Charlie is pre-transition in this chapter.

Damien is my OC from the Like Moths to a Flame series.

Without further ado... ENJOY!

Chapter 1: "Journeys End in Lovers' Meeting"

Early December 1889

London

Damien never expected that by the end of an unusually warm winter day in December, he’d be engaged to be wed. And to a young lady, at that. Brilliant.

Well, to be fair, who else would he be engaged to? A young gentleman? No, that would never do. Not now, not ever. But it was one thing to know that he’d one day have to get married to a woman, and another thing entirely to be shackled to an actual one. It certainly wasn’t ideal.

Speaking of the aforementioned girl…

“I’d rather not be in this scenario either, you know,” she said. Charlene said. Damien should probably start getting used to referring to her by her name.

“Hmmm?” Damien replied, still deep in thought. He fiddled with his wristwatch. Charlene… something felt off about that name, but Damien couldn’t quite place his finger on it. He supposed the young woman standing before him didn’t look like a Charlene. On second thought, who did she look like?

“This engagement,” she spat out the last word like it made a particularly bad taste in her mouth, then flushed. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

“No, no need to apologize,” Damien said with a smirk. “We’re on the same page.” He could appreciate Charlene’s bluntness, at the very least.

She breathed a sigh of relief. After an awkward pause in which a maid alighted at their table carrying a tea tray and setting all the various accouterments before them, Charlene changed the subject: “When did your father tell you about me?”

Damien took a sip of tea before replying. “Mere moments before we stepped out of the carriage.”

“Really?” Charlene asked, her eyes wide. Damien noticed for the first time that they were a rich brown, nearly his shade too, if not for the gold specks in his own eyes. She was also ignoring her tea entirely, which struck Damien as odd.

He nodded in response to her question.

“That is… deeply unfortunate.”

Damien held back a laugh. “How long have you known about me?”

“A few weeks. It seems as if our engagement is all my aunt can talk about.” Charlene tugged at her long, dark braid nervously. Damien could hear her feet shuffling under the table, even through the voluminous folds of her dress. She seemed uncomfortable. That made two of them.

“Oh?” He took another sip of his tea.

She coughed. “The size of your estate speaks for itself.”

Damien couldn’t help himself; he released a hearty laugh. “At least I can bring something to our eventual union.” Oh, he really shouldn’t have said that. Damien just barely managed to hold back a grimace.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Damien responded, setting down his tea cup. He squinted out the window to his immediate left. The rays of sunlight coming through the partially open curtains were blinding. “Nice day we’re having, hmmm?”

Charlene narrowed her eyes. “You can’t just change the subject like that.” Oh, she was a perceptive one…

“I can and I will,” he said with as straight of a face as he could muster.

“Charming,” was all Charlene said in reply. She seemed decidedly unimpressed, but at least she didn’t pry further.

Their conversation stayed light and superficial for the remainder of tea. As the conversation plodded along in the dullest of manners, Damien stole a surreptitious glance at his father at the table across the room. He seemed to be enjoying his conversation with Charlene’s aunt. Lucky him.

“Am I boring you?” Charlene broke through his rumination.

Damien glanced up, caught off guard by the interruption. "Oh, no, not at all," he replied quickly, trying to regain his composure. "Just lost in thought, I suppose."

Charlene's expression softened slightly. She hummed, presumably in contemplation. Who knew though? Damien found her very difficult to read, which was unusual for him.

He offered her a sheepish smile. "My sincerest apologies. It’s been… a day.” He snuck a glance at his watch. “And it’s barely past two o’ clock.”

Charlene shook her head in mock dismay. "The trials and tribulations of the aristocracy."

Despite his better judgment, Damien found himself laughing. Again. Something about Charlene amused him. It was… pleasantly surprising?

Did he find her attractive? It seemed impossible - he had never found a girl pretty before - but there was something in her manner, the way she held herself, that he found captivating. He shook his head and was about to resume the conversation when his father cleared his throat from across the room.

“It is quite refreshing to see you two getting along so well,” Mr. Evans said as he stood up. “And so quickly too,” he added, amidst the sound of his chair scraping against the wood floor.

Charlene’s aunt followed his father’s lead, clapping her hands in an annoyingly gleeful manner. Out of the corner of his eye, Damien observed Charlene tilting her head ever so slightly to hide a grimace.

He tried to lock eyes with her in an unspoken moment of solidarity, but her gaze remained fixed on her lap. Her composure was, frankly, admirable. Not that Damien would ever say it to her face.

As the adults, presumably, prepared to say their farewells, Damien seized the opportunity to have one final conversation with Charlene, alone. "Speaking of getting along," he interjected, "I believe Charlene and I have some details to discuss regarding future arrangements. Privately,” he made sure to tack on at the end.

Charlene’s head shot back up, a curious glint in her eye.

Mr. Evans nodded in approval, completely oblivious to Damien’s deception. Nothing new there. "Excellent, excellent," he exclaimed. "It's wonderful to see such enthusiasm for the wedding."

Damien offered a tight smile. If only everyone in the room knew the truth behind the facade he had built around himself. As intrigued as he was by Charlene, as confused by what entranced him so, he knew that he could never love her. Not in the way that a normal man loved a woman. Would she mind? Would he ever deign to tell her?

Charlene’s eyes were still fixed on his face, searching. Something about the way she was looking at him was worrisome. Damien gulped. This girl was going to be a proverbial thorn in his side, wasn’t she?

#the mcverse #charlie cagney #damien evans #oc x oc #hogwarts legacy fanfic

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helluvaimagination · 2 months

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Shadow Waltz

Ch. 1: Prologue - The Shadow Waltz Begins

CW: Graphic violence, death

Hey folks! This will be a long-form lucifer/alastor fic that isn't compliant with alastor's serial killer past. instead, in this world, alastor is sacrificed as part of a ritual and goes straight to hell. lucifer does his best to help <3

(Lyrics from "Shadow Waltz" by Bing Crosby)

youtube

In the shadows, let me come and sing to you

Let me dream a song that I can bring to you

Take me in your arms and let me cling to you

Let me linger long

Let me live my song

It was another quiet night at the station, and Alastor was, as usual, reclining in his chair and sipping his coffee as Bing Crosby crooned across the airwaves. Peaceful. Calm. Quiet. Just a hint of static in the air. It had to be close to midnight now, and when Alastor flicked his gaze out the window, the pinhole lights of stars winked down at him. There was nothing better.

Of course, that’s when it all went wrong.

In the winter, let me bring the spring to you

Let me feel that I mean everything to you

Love’s old song will be new

In the shadows when I come and sing to you

The door crashed open and hooded figures with shrouded, indistinct faces stormed into the booth. Alastor choked on his tea, dropping his mug and barely hearing it shatter against the ground. In an instant, he was being grabbed by strong arms and dragged out of his chair, dragged across the floor, dragged out the door. He tried to say something—the urge to shout and scream clawed at his throat—but nothing came out. The station was near a wooded area, a fact Alastor had loved ardently up until this very moment, as sharp branches scratched at his cheeks and tore open his skin. He was kicking his feet, desperately trying to resist, but the figures didn’t pay any attention to him.

And then they were in the clearing, a myriad of candles casting a red hue across the horrid scene. In the center was a bloodied altar upon which a deer had been brutalized. Behind it, there were chains and manacles attached to a tree. With a creeping sense of dread, Alastor realized that they were meant for him.

Shadows on the wall

I can see them fall

Here and there

Everywhere

They push him against the tree brutally and he hears rather than feels the crack of his head against the bark. His world darkens and grows hazier. Perhaps it is for the best, Alastor thinks to himself, and his suspicions are confirmed when one of the hooded figures picks up the deer’s antlers with reverence. Alastor’s lungs burn and his head spins and his vision blurs. Everything is happening too fast. He wonders, for a moment, if he’s just having a nightmare, if Bing Crosby’s dulcet tones lulled him into sleep.

Then, pain.

Silhouettes in blue

Dancing in the dew

Here I am

Where are you?

Distantly, as unconsciousness tugs at his mind, he hears chanting. Gibberish, for the most part, but then he picks out a word. A name. Lucifer.

It’s the last thought he has. He falls out of consciousness and then his soul falls out of its body and he is shackled by red light and pure, horrific darkness before being pulled down, down, down, so fast it’s impossible. He falls with a painful thump upon a flat surface. He doesn’t think he has eyes or a mouth or even a body, but he can still sense. He senses a being of pure light, light so impossibly bright and warm and radiant.

“I’m so sorry,” it says, too softly, too kindly. “I’ll do what I can.”

The light grows and grows until it cocoons him. He can feel himself being made anew.

In the winter, let me bring the spring to you

Let me feel that I mean everything to you

Love’s old song will be new

In the shadows when I come and sing to you, dear

In the shadows when I come and sing to you

Read Chapter 2 on Archive of Our Own right now!

#alastor/lucifer #radioapple #appleradio #hazbin hotel #alastor #lucifer #alternate universe #fanfic #ao3 #Youtube

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mariaofdoranelle · 1 year

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Look at Us Now — Ch. 5

Fic Masterlist

Hi! *hides away*

Jokes. This chapter and the next are what made me start writing LAUN, so yes I’m pretty nervous to post 😅

Also thank you @renxzs for coming up with the name Doranelle White Hawks after I spent a whole day thinking of soccer team names HAHAH <33

Warnings: language, incarceration, mentions of drinking, mentions of injuries, Fenrys locked in a bathroom

Words: 5,2k (I’m coming to terms with my big chapters now)

Fenrys had been cackling for the last five minutes. Rowan was just staring at his friend with crossed arms, unamused.

“Dude. "His friend paused to catch his breath, wheezing. “You’re literally in horny jail."

Rowan flexed his jaw. Yeah, he supposed he were.

The worst part was, Rowan saw it coming. The entire time he hooked up with Aelin at his office, he knew it'd end with something like this.

It could've been worse, though. when Colonel Darrow told him, in a carefully controlled tone, that he knew everything and it'd be easier if Rowan assumed what he’d done, he knew he was fucked.

Rowan had to look into the eyes of the man who guided him through his first steps in the Air Force and tell him, in a more polished way, that he’s fucked his niece in every position imaginable the entire time she was his student. Inside base.

He had never felt more raw, unbridled shame.

He could still go to work, even though Rowan couldn’t, under any circumstance, leave his military base. Also, he wasn’t shackled, and he was in the guardhouse that looked like a cheap hotel, not the one that looked like jail. Any form of guardhouse was a huge punishment, but it had different degrees. In some twisted way, Darrow had been generous.

Because, for the first time in his life, Rowan Whitethorn had committed a military crime, and he was currently being locked up for it. Ten days. One for each week he committed improper sexual conduct.

"Dude, did you hit on Lorcan or something? He’d totally lock you up for that kind of shit.”

Fen’s breathing was more steady now. Good for him. Rowan couldn’t have picked a worse person to bring the essentials so he could survive this hell.

“Yes, Fenrys. I was hitting on Lorcan. I don’t know what’s more enticing to me, his wife or the fact that he has a newborn kid.”

“But you did hit on someone.” Fenrys had crossed arms and narrowed eyes.

“Nope.”

He didn’t. He had a very lawful one-night stand with Aelin, then she threw herself at him and he fell for it hook, line and sinker, because that woman is a fucking Venus flytrap.

"You hit on Darrow?"

"I would not, under any circumstance, hit on Colonel Darrow."

Fen snorted. "His niece?”

Rowan flexed his jaw.

Fenrys' eyes widened.

"You totally hit on his niece." His mouth opened to speak, but he didn’t because his jaw completely fell. "No, you fucked his niece. She’s the reason you've been getting home late, isn’t she?"

Rowan’s hands were balled into fists. Thinking about everything he did because of that girl made his limbs twitch.

“Holy Mala.” It took a few seconds for Fenrys to have a proper reaction. “Man, that girl is related to two people. A colonel and the Brigadier. She's the forbidden fruits' forbidden fruit. Not even I am that dumb, and you know I love forbidden fruit."

"I knew it then.” He gestured around his cell. "And I clearly know it now.”

"I can't believe I was the proper instructor this entire time.”

Rowan closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath as he tried to not snap at his friend.

"You weren’t, under any circumstance—“

“I totally was. I can even go by Lieutenant Goody Two-Shoes.”

“Fenrys, I know you let the newbies play with the guns while quoting James Bond—”

“You’re just pissed I out-goody-two-shooed you.” Fenrys crossed his arms, but held a glazed look on his face. “God, I didn’t even hit on Galathynius’ boyfriend, trying not to fuck up.”

Rowan glared. “Can we please not talk about her boyfri—“

“Shit, man. Sorry. I didn’t know you liked her.”

“I don’t,” he hissed.

“You sure? I can totally steal her man if it’ll make you feel better.”

Rowan checked the bag Fenrys brought him. Everything he needed was there.

“Thank you, Fenrys,” he hinted while looking him in the eye. A clear dismissal.

It wasn’t his friend’s fault, though. Maybe Rowan would laugh about this with him someday, but not today.

Today, his thoughts were on the fact that Aelin Galathynius was the worst mistake of his fucking life. And wanting to never see her again was definitely the reason she came through the same door Fenrys left seconds before, guided by a sergeant.

He held a finger up before she could seat.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Aelin flinched, but sat anyway. “I need to talk to you.”

“Didn’t you talk enough with your uncles already?”

“About that…” Aelin scratched the back of her neck, cheeks flushing. “I did tell them we had a fling, why would you tell them the details?”

Rowan saw red. She knew damn well the reason that got him such bad punishment was the place it all happened, and there was no way she’d get to pretend she didn’t snitch him.

“Why would I lie to Darrow when he made it clear he knew everything? He’d just double my days here until I confessed.”

She slowly nodded, running both hands through her hair. “He told you he knew everything without telling you what everything means, showed you absolutely no proof of it, then you just confessed without questioning?”

“Yes.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Gods, Rowan, how can you be so stupid? You fell right into Darrow’s trap!”

“I thought you’d told him!”

“I didn’t tell him shit!”

Rowan rubbed his face and took a deep breath. “So how does he know?”

“About that.” Aelin’s face flushed, and she fidgeted with her fingers for a moment before continuing, “I didn’t get to do my exam last Friday, did you hear about that?”

Rowan nodded. “News ran fast. I thought you knew better than to be on drugs and in the military at the same time.”

It was easy to assume, since the tox screen is the main reason newbies don’t pass that stage. It was hard to believe Aelin would be so dumb, but he didn’t know her. After what happened today, Rowan came to the conclusion he didn’t know her at all.

“I don’t do drugs, I-“ she took a deep breath, and her vulnerable blue eyes worked like daggers pointed at him. “They didn’t let me do the physical exam because I’m pregnant.”

Objectively, this was a better reason than drugs. It didn’t feel like it, though.

She got rid of Rowan, got her dream job, and is starting a family while he got his career stained forever by this.

“Congratulations. Your boyfriend must be thrilled.”

Aelin flinched as if he’d slapped her, and that expression alone told him she didn’t know he knows she'd been dating someone while seeing him.

“Actually…” she swallowed. “Dorian has a vasectomy, and he wasn’t in town during the… possible conception days.” She cringed. “Biologically, you’re the father.”

Rowan’s eyes bulged, then his body froze completely.

Father.

He was going to be a father.

Time slowed down, and he couldn’t seem to believe his ears.

It was unexpected, of course, especially because of Aelin’s situation—

Wait a second.

“Did loverboy not want the baby? Is that why you’re here?”

Silence stretched for too long, and Rowan saw her surprised face morph into something else he hadn’t seen before on her.

“You know what, Rowan?” Aelin shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t need you for shit. I have my family’s support. I have money to raise a fuckton of children. If you’re waiting for me to crawl and beg you to do your fucking job, that’s not gonna happen.” She adjusted her purse around her shoulders and got up. “I’m having a baby. It has your genes. You can be as much of a dad you want, or not at all.”

Her words sent a new wave of heat through his body, making him stand as well to stop her.

Rowan would be a father to this kid, she would be sure of that. Even if he lived in an alternative universe where he didn’t want it, he would father the shit out of this kid just to piss Aelin off.

“Seriously? Do I look like some deadbeat dad to you?”

“I. Don’t. Know!” Aelin screamed. “I just got knocked up by a stranger!”

Rowan froze, letting that word sink in and start a riot inside his body.

Stranger? Stranger?

After seeking him out every goddamned evening for more than two months, she has the nerve to call him a stranger?

“What the fuck was this?” Rowan shouted. “Just a courtesy nod? Did you even expect anything from me before you came here?”

She didn’t answer.

Nowadays, it seemed like anything Aelin did made him ache. She had a point, though. They didn’t know each other very well. He still couldn’t believe she thought he’d abandon her in a situation like this.

“I don’t know!” Aelin groaned, pacing around the room and running both hands through her head. “I didn’t get much time to think. I thought maybe you’d want to see the kid every other weekend or—“

“Every other weekend?” He sneered. “Do I look like the every other weekend type to you?”

“Rowan, listen—“

“No, you listen. Don’t you come here telling me I’m becoming a father just to offer me every other weekend!” He crossed his arms, face flat. “I want to see your exams, all of them. I will be to every doctor appointment, I’ll make meal plans because I remember you telling me you survive on chocolate cake—“

“You don’t get to say a word about my chocolate cake!” She screamed, interrupting him. “Neither do you get to talk down to me! You don’t get to order me around, because I’m not a fucking surrogate mother you hired to bear your child!” Aelin paused, catching her breath while she leaned closer to him. “And whatever you decide, you’ll be lucky if I even tell you when the baby is due if you don’t treat me, the mother of your child, with respect. Do you hear me, Lieutenant?”

He did, but didn’t get to tell her so.

Aelin turned around and banged the door closed, leaving him alone to think about whatever the hell had just happened.

˜˜

“SAVE YOURSELF!” Maisie warned her best friend from the top of the playground tower as they played… something.

Like most weekends, Rowan and Lorcan took the kids to the playground in front of both of their houses, since their streets were perpendicular to one another. As much as he liked to pay attention to his daughter’s shenanigans, Rowan’s head was somewhere else today. The kids looked safe, and Lorcan was there watching them too. It would have to be enough for now.

"Am I supposed to give advice? Or just listen?"

Rowan sighed. He had just told Lorcan how he and Aelin were successfully doing that thing where they traumatized their daughter until she becomes an unruly teenager who drinks alcohol at school and smokes weed with a guitarist that pretends to be a feminist to make Rowan’s worst nightmares come true. No. This is stopping now.

Except that last Friday, when they left Maisie at Orlon’s to talk after that meeting, it was a shit show.

Rowan said it was her fault because she never listens to him. Aelin screamed that he is the one who never listens to her. Rowan replied, in a strident tone, that Maisie would be better off if he were only doing things his way like she claimed.

Things went extremely downhill from there. It was one of their most unproductive exchanges.

He dropped Maisie at Lorcan’s the next day to talk again, but she wasn’t home.

Now it was Sunday, and he could only hope Aelin would show up at the game watch party Aedion talked him into hosting.

"Advice.” Rowan was just that desperate.

Lorcan shrugged. "Ellie thinks family therapy would help. I agree with her."

"You always agree with her."

"She's always right, man."

Rowan sighed. Of course Elide would think that. She's a psychiatrist. These people think anything can be cured with a few hours of counseling.

"I think I'll stick to my initial plan."

"Your brilliant plan of not fighting?" Lorcan raised an eyebrow.

Rowan crossed his arms. "My brilliant plan of not provoking or letting myself be provoked. It's pure self-control.“ He shuffled his feet. ”I can do that."

"Your plan is shit."

"I don't need it to be perfect, I need it to work.”

“Okay.” Lorcan ran a hand through his hair. "But you think you'll manage to never have a fight with Aelin again after five years of unresolved shit?"

"Yes," Rowan said through gritted teeth. God, he was tired of explaining his perfectly laid-out plan.

He wasn’t saying it’d be easy. He knew he wouldn’t. But if refusing to fight didn’t work, Rowan had no idea what the fuck he’d do. Because the only other option would be to continue to hurt his little girl, and just the thought of it made his ribs close so tight it left a deep hollow inside him.

Just like clockwork, Aelin showed up at the playground holding a weird white thing. Maisie found her first, running her mother’s way and hugging her legs with a blissful smile on her face.

Aelin crouched to talk to the kids first, sending the adults a small wave from afar.

“Go.” Lorcan elbowed him. “I’ve got ‘em.”

Rowan nodded, rolled his shoulders and went their way. He couldn’t hear it from where he was initially at, but Maisie was telling her mom something.

“Is that right?” Aelin smiled. “Why do you love trees?”

“‘Cause they become toilet paper!” Her little limbs were excitedly waving in the air. “And if we didn’t have toilet paper, everyone would have dirty bums all the time.”

Rowan cleared his throat, and Maisie took a sharp turn his way.

“Daddy! I was teaching trees to mom.”

He clamped his lips together, since trying to look serious to his daughter was a skill he mastered a long time ago. Of course Maisie would learn something new at school and think she’s the only person in the world who knows that information.

“Yeah?” He swallowed, remembering what he needed to say. “Mais, why don’t you tell that to Uncle Lorcan while your mother and I talk for a second?”

Maisie’s limbs went limp by her side. Her little green eyes cautiously darted between the two of them.

Surprisingly enough, it was Lorcan’s kid who spoke on her behalf.

“I want to keep playing,” Charlie insisted, eyes furrowed.

“Yeah!” Maisie immediately backed him up, mirroring her best friend’s body language.

“Oh, but you will.” Aelin smiled at the kids’ protest. “Lorcan will stay here with you now, then you can play here until it’s time for the game.”

Maisie seemed content enough, but Lorcan’s son frowned. It was no secret that Charlie didn’t share his father’s love for sports.

“Dad and I already watched a game this week.”

“We’re watching another one,” Rowan explained.

Charlie huffed. “Who knows the ways of men?”

Rowan snorted, immediately recognizing the quote from Frozen 2.

The walk to his place was slower than it could’ve been if the reminder of what did and was about to happen wasn’t looming like a dark cloud above them.

“What’s that?” Rowan asked while fishing his keys out of his pocket.

“Oh.” Aelin’s eyebrow raised as if she’d just remembered she was carrying this white fabric all along. When she opened it, holding with both opened arms, it made even less sense.

“A table cloth?”

She grimaced. “I don’t have an actual white flag, and the napkin seemed too small for the occasion.”

Rowan felt a brittle patch of warmth underneath the whole turmoil he was feeling inside. This very literal white flag would probably be the closest thing to an apology he was ever getting, so he’d appreciate it.

After leading her to the kitchen, Rowan frowned at his table, considering his options, but handed her the cloth that was there.

“A light green flag?” Her eyebrows went up.

Rowan sighed. “My white cloths are either ruined or so far from Maisie’s reach I’ll need stairs to get them.”

Aelin snorted, a feeble smile on her face while she fumbled with his cloth, eyeing the juice stain in it from this morning.

“I went to your place yesterday.”

“Dorian and I threw a pity party. I would’ve stayed home if I knew you were coming, though.”

“It’s alright.” He bit the inside of his cheek and thinking of a good approach. “I figured out a plan to fix our… situation.”

“Go on.”

“We have to stop fighting.”

“I know.” Aelin gave him a firm nod “What’s your plan?”

“That’s it. We’ll stop fighting.”

“I—“ Aelin’s mouth closed. And opened. And closed again. “Rowan, you do realize how…” she trailed, carefully placing her words. “Flawed this plan is, right?”

“I think it’ll work.”

“Okay…” she ran a hand through her head, and Rowan worked to keep his breathing steady the long seconds she was just examining the walls and biting her lip. “Considering what you told me last Friday—“

“I said a lot of things I don’t mean last Friday.”

*I doubt that*, Aelin seemed to say with one wounded look she quickly concealed.

“You told me I don’t listen to you. I’ll try to get better at that.”

Rowan nodded, his eyes soft.

“We’ll try your plan, even if I don’t fully agree with it” she continued, “But if it doesn’t work, you’ll have to go along with my plan, okay?”

Aelin didn’t tell him what her plan was, but he agreed because there was no way it wouldn’t work. If neither of them provoked each other, there would be no fight. It was a logical thing, and it had already worked with them in the past.

His plan was foolproof.

“So it’s settled?”

“It’s settled.” Aelin said after a second of hesitancy. “We’ll restrain ourselves so we never have a fight again.”

“For Maisie.” Rowan extended a hand, and she shook it.

“For Maisie.”

They looked each other in the eye, holding each other’s hands for a little too long before she pulled it, reminding him of something.

“There’s this other thing I wanted to ask you.”

“Go on.”

“It’s about the wine thing. I’ve been thinking—”

She held a hand up to stop him. “Look, that meeting made it sound a lot worse than it actually is. It’s not a daily habit or anything. It’s just that…” Aelin pulled a chair and sat holding her head in one hand. She sighed. “Have you ever felt like you keep waiting your whole work day to end so you can be at home, but when you finally get home, you can’t stop thinking about work?”

Rowan frowned. He pulled another chair for himself and turned so he could face Aelin. Well, he used to feel like that. A lifetime ago, when he was working for the Air Force as an engineer. There was a reason he changed jobs, though. This week, the biggest headache he had was Lorcan getting pissed because one of the newbies was seen wearing regular sneakers at base.

“I thought you liked your job.”

“I do. I really do. I studied for almost a decade to be here, but sometimes I get home stressed out.” Aelin crossed her arms, not looking him in the eye. “Sometimes I’m just angry because a nurse did a shit job. Sometimes I have to tell a nineteen-year-old that just enlisted that they lost their leg while working. Sometimes I have to see some officer’s little kid completely fucked up because of some stupid shit and can’t stop thinking that it could’ve been Maisie.” Aelin’s voice broke in the end, so she stopped and looked at the ceiling. Taking deep breaths.

Rowan focused his whole being on every word she said, from the ache he felt to the pulse that seemed to beat on the rhythm of her words. He wanted to grasp every feeling she’d try to hide from him later. He wanted to ask her so many things. If any of this had been recent, why did she never mention any of it to him. He didn’t, though. He knew she wasn’t the type to open up easily, and he was scared to say anything that would shatter this fragile moment they were having.

“It’s never much, though.” Aelin continued, “And I’m never not present for Maisie. She was just extra interested because it’s the one thing in my kitchen she can’t have.”

“I still don’t know how I feel about this.” Rowan sighed. He wanted to at least sound more supportive after she opened up, but this conversation was still about their very little girl.

“That’s understandable.” Aelin slowly nodded, biting her lip and looking at a blank spot on the wall. “I can stop if it’s important to you.”

“Just on the days Maisie is with you,” he conceded. “Elide might have my head if you stop altogether.”

“Well, she already says you ruined her sex life. You can’t ruin Girls’ Night too.”

They let out a bittersweet chuckle, and something on Rowan’s chest eased to see Aelin in a slightly brighter mood. Also, to know they were having an actual conversation instead of screaming nonsense at each other.

“Can I ask you something too?”

“What?” He frowned.

“You asked me to stop drinking around Maisie. Now I want to ask you something too.”

“Oh…” Rowan trailed, scattering his brain for something he might’ve done wrong. “Go on.”

“I want you to take care of yourself,” Aelin’s tone was firm as she adjusted her posture and looked deep into his eyes.

Rowan’s mouth opened and closed before he spoke. “I take care of myself.”

“No, you keep yourself alive and take care of Maisie.” Aelin fidgeted with a beaded bracelet she made with their daughter. “I was hoping we could talk about what happened that other Friday.”

When he went to the hospital. Just mentioning it made his body temperature rise.

“That day was just a false alarm, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring this up again.”

Aelin looked as if he’d slapped her. Rowan would understand this reaction if he was truly denying something after she opened up to him, but that was not the case.

Honestly? He blamed Cortland for implying that Rowan had anxiety in front of Aelin. The doctor was just bitter after things ended with her, and said that to make him look bad. That was the only explanation.

Rowan doesn’t have a disorder. He’s just a concerned father who had an erratic heartbeat after a stressful moment. It’s merely being human.

“Okay…” Aelin nodded. “It’s not just about that day.” She took a deep breath and fully turned to him. “Remember that day when Maisie got sick and you called me asking how to give her the meds? Because you couldn’t read the leaflet?”

It had been three, maybe four months ago. Rowan crossed his arms. “What about it?”

“Did you go to the eye doctor?”

”I’m fine.” He crossed his arms. “That leaflet’s font was just too small.”

“Unlock your phone.”

“What?”

“Do it.”

He did it, letting her quickly examine his screen before she looked back at him with raised eyebrows.

“What?”

“The size of the text on your phone is so big I could read it from across the street. This is not a screen of someone who has good reading vision.”

Rowan gaped, not knowing what to say and wondering how she came up with this. Fuck, maybe Aelin was why Maisie was a smartie, as she liked to say herself.

His eyes widened with the realization of something.

“Do you think that’s why Maisie’s struggling to read? Because she need an eye doctor?”

Aelin’s jaw went slack. “Can you hear yourself?” Rowan blinked, not understanding, and she rolled her eyes. “You can’t focus on yourself for twenty seconds before making it about Maisie, Rowan. No, that’s not the reason she can’t read. The teacher said she can recognize letters, remember?”

“Yeah, she did.” He sighed, shoulders relaxing. “So it’s settled. You’ll stop drinking when Maisie is at your place. I’ll see the eye doctor.”

”Actually, the eye doctor was just an example.”

“Do you want me to go to the eye doctor or not?”

“It’s not about me wanting something, Rowan, you should…” she took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know what? Okay. No fights, no wine, you’ll go to the eye doctor.”

“We got this.” They firmly shook each other’s hands again to seal this new phase.

˜˜

The living room had seven adults, and the only way they could keep an eye on the children and watch the game at the same time was by placing the play mat between the couch and the TV.

He complained at first when Aedion invited the whole crew to watch the game at Rowan’s house, but he didn’t mind now. In fact, he even liked it. Not only it was a good distraction from this hellish weekend, but it was also entertaining to see Fenrys getting pissed because he missed a goal when he went to the kitchen.

Aedion suggested Fenrys brings bad luck to the game, since the only goal has been while he was away. No one disagreed.

While Charlie was there just to play and because his parents made him, Maisie had her attention divided between her friend and the game. As much attention as a four-year-old could have, actually.

Rowan didn’t know if Maisie actually liked soccer or if she just picked up on her family’s excitement every time an important game is on, but he loved it anyway. Today, he even asked Aelin to come earlier so she could braid Maisie’s hair with ribbons on the team’s color. Rowan sighed. Every time he learned a new hairstyle, his daughter came up with something even more elaborate. It took him almost a month to get the french braid right, but now Maisie wanted it with ribbons.

She looked so damn cute with it, though. He’d probably end up on another Youtube tutorial.

Besides, a smile crosses Rowan’s face every time she wears the Doranelle White Hawks jersey he buys whenever she grows out of one.

”NO!” Maisie screamed, dramatically raising her hands and surprising them all. “Keep your eye on the pie!”

“It’s prize, Munchkin,” Fenrys corrected around a smile, but his eyes were still glued to the TV.

“That’s what I said,” the little girl defended herself, eyes narrowed at her uncle.

Unable to restrain himself and respect his preschooler’s drive for independence, Rowan picked his daughter up and smacked a kiss on her cheek. Luckily, she just giggled and nestled in his lap.

“I’ll be right back,” Fenrys announced and left the room.

The second he closed the bathroom door shut, Athril seized the ball and started to run towards the goal.

“OH MY GOD,” Elide exclaimed, and Lorcan rubbed her upper arm without looking away from the TV.

“WHAT?” Fen screamed from the bathroom.

“DON’T LET HIM OUT!” Aedion roared, pointing a finger in the bathroom’s direction.

Rowan wasn’t one for sports superstition, but he wouldn’t object.

Dorian got up and went the bathroom’s way so fast he stumbled and almost fell, but never gave up. He stood there, holding the handle from one side while Fenrys banged on the door from the other.

“LET ME OUT! I WANT TO SEE THE GAME!” Fen screamed, but one one listened.

It was hard to pay attention on anything else than Athril dribbling each and every one of his opponents, showing off his skills until—

“GOOOOAL,” they screamed in unison, getting up from their seats to cheer.

Fenrys came back running, but instead of complaining, he lit up when he saw the goal’s replay. Picking Dorian up, he cheered alongside everyone else.

Maisie was screaming and twirling on the floor, and even little Charlie looked content. Also, Rowan didn’t miss it the way his daughter tugged on her mother’s leg, whispered something in her ear, and then Aelin left for the kitchen.

“What did Mais want?” He asked after following her.

“Just sandwiches for her and Charlie.”

Rowan nodded, pointed at the bread on his counter and opened the fridge to get the other ingredients.

“Why don’t you throw this away?”

Aelin was frowning at the bread pack. Her hand was going over the first slice of the loaf of bread, picking the other ones the kids would accept.

“What?”

“This crusty slice of bread.”

“Are you bothered by it?”

Sighing, she turned to him. “Actually, yes. It’s like this whole barrier I have to go through before getting to the slice of bread Maisie will eat.”

“Maybe I just don’t throw things away as easily as you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You just told me to throw away not one, but the two ends of the bread just because it looks too crusty to you.“ Rowan shrugged. ”I don’t like throwing food away just because.”

“But you won’t eat it!” Aelin’s tone was gradually rising. “You won’t eat the slice, you’ll just break it in crumbs as you go over it to reach for the other slices, and it’ll end up in the trash anyway!”

“Why do you hate the crusty slice so bad?” His jaw was already set by this point, eyes shooting daggers at her.

“Because I don’t like crusty bread!” Aelin screamed. “I like my bread fluffy and comfortable! Why in hell would I settle for crusty bread?”

Rowan felt his blood ringing in his ears. “Well, maybe I don’t want another slice of bread! Maybe I want my crusty bread because it’s mine! Flawed as it is.”

“You’re not even eating that fucking slice! You’re just stringing it along, inside your little bread pack, until it breaks completely and you inevitably throw it away.” Aelin was gesticulating each time more, coming closer to him as well.

Rowan crossed his arms. “I would never throw my slice of bread away. And if you think—“

“Oh, really? Then what did you do to all the other crusty slices from your other packs?”

“THEY’RE IN HIS MAMA’S ASS,” Elide interrupted, voice louder than any of them as she banged the kitchen’s door closed. “Are you two serious right now?”

Rowan’s frenetic heart seemed to sink into his stomach.

Their agreement to never fight ever again had lasted five hours.

He bowed his head, refusing to meet any of the women in the eye. He bit the inside of his cheek, thinking of something to say, even though he knew he should be apologizing.

“I’ll finish the sandwiches, you can—“

Elide crossed her arms. “No, I am making the sandwiches, because you are so busy screaming at each other you forgot to feed the kids.” She shook her head, cursing under her breath. “Now you two will go sit at opposite ends of the living room because I ain’t going anywhere before the White Hawks win, so you’ll have to behave for once. Understood?”

“Sure,” Aelin mumbled. Rowan still wouldn’t look at her.

He nodded.

After they went to the living room, everything seemed normal. Everyone acted like nothing had happened, but Rowan knew better.

No matter what the subject was, he always felt the same after fighting with Aelin. The heated skin, tense muscles, replaying arguments inside his head.

It felt different this time.

After this fight, he felt nothing but shame.

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#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #throne of glass fic #throne of glass #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #look at us now

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bleachification · 1 year

Text

all that glitters is not gold

pairing: dazai osamu x reader (fantasy au)

warnings: none (for now)

summary: an inescapable fate bound by the vows of arranged marriage. a cataclysmic war that paints the plains red. a pair of royals, once friends, now bitter enemies. dazai osamu is the last person you want across from you at the end of the aisle, but the universe has other plans. as war, deception, and conflict rages on, you may find that he is your only hope of making it through this alive... even if it means putting revenge for his betrayal on the backburner.

authors note(s): this is the prologue of a long, multi-chapter fic i am currently working on. i will be uploading chapters periodically <3

fic playlist: ♫

ch. one: dissonance

ch. two: trojan horse

ch. three: in reverence

ch. four: a painting’s ire

ch. five: all men are equal

PROLOGUE

Heavy is the head of the one who wears the crown.

It sits on a velvet cushion atop a crystal podium, a glittering structure of gems and woven silver bestowed upon the Imperial heir, heralded as some divine artifact despite its classically human origins. The accessory is beyond extravagant. Well suited to the blue-blooded, as your father likes to say.

You beg to differ.

While others may view the crown as a symbol of royalty, prestige, and all the superficial qualities that make up the Imperial bloodline, it is something entirely different to you. It masks itself behind shining diamonds and intricate design when its true nature is nothing more than a pair of iron manacles.

It’s painfully ironic. The “sun of the Empire” shackled by the very thing that is supposed to bring about glory. The reason why is simple enough: the act of bearing the crown means surrendering to the throne and, with it, all freedom.

You swallow, heart pounding, as the glass dome is lifted, and a pair of gloved hands carefully extracts the headpiece from its idle seat.

The world slows to a crawl as a ray of sunlight catches on the crown’s stones and reflects onto you. The crowd, elites and nobles from all over the nation, fades into the background until nothing is left in your sight other than the crown, your father who holds it, and the man standing to his right.

Dazai Osamu. The very cause of your distress and contempt… as well as your future husband.

His eyes meet yours—clever things that betray no hint of emotion other than a clinical curiosity that has him silently surveying you like a scientist dissecting a confounding subject. Dazai Osamu picks you apart piece by piece, down to the very molecules of your being. Any other person would think themselves scrutinized, but you know better. He would have to care to take you under scrutiny—and Dazai genuinely couldn't care any less of you. You would find more affection for a crawling ant underneath his shoe than he could have for you. You are simply an object for him to rest his eyes on while boredom perseveres.

You, on the other hand, choose to face his gaze head-on and convey your feelings by glaring at him with a pure, visceral hatred. He may not feel anything towards you anymore, but your anger runs deep and wide, and it hungers for revenge.

Revenge against the man you are to wed;

the Prince of the enemy kingdom;

the one who betrayed you;

and once upon a time, the boy you had loved more than any other.

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cyantomatos · 1 year

Text

Even Stars Will Fall - Ch 6

Pairing: Eventual Oberyn Martell x fem!Reader x Ellaria Sand Word Count: ~2.5k Warnings: Rylan is a creep, talk of death (in the past) Notes: Uh...surprise? Listen I am just as upset as you guys that it’s taken me this long to update 😅. I really am sorry, I’ve wanted to work on this story, but every time I sat down to write it I just couldn’t. The next chapter is already written, I’ll put that out in a couple weeks, and I’m hopeful that I’m going to be able to keep up with writing now. Crossing my fingers, but I’m not promising anything because I really don’t want to disappoint you guys if I disappear again.

Last Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

The first time Oberyn remembers his elder brother acting as a ruling Prince of Dorne was in his 16th year.

With the rumors swirling of his blade being poisoned in the duel with Lord Edgar Yronwood, his brother had called Oberyn to his office. Doran had only been the ruling prince for a few years by then, and had not as of yet had any reason to call an official meeting with his younger brother.

The two had never been particularly close, Doran being almost 13 by the time Oberyn was born, but they were still family. Doran believed his brother’s protests that the blade was not poisoned - Oberyn would not start to experiment with poisons for another few years yet - but the prince still knew he needed to appease House Yronwood.

And so Oberyn was banished to a temporary exile.

The next visit to his brother’s office was years later, after his exile is finally over and Robert’s Rebellion is quelled. News of the rebellion had reached across the Narrow Sea, and Oberyn had been incensed at the fact that he was unable to fight, relegated to a far off country with only weeks-old news to get him by.

The news of Ellia’s death hit him hard. He was unable to enter that office again for years. The sight of his brother behind the desk their mother had sat behind and her father before that and generations of Martel’s back that suddenly seemed far too large for Doran only brought back memories Oberyn wasn’t ready to face yet.

He blamed his brother for a while - for his inability to keep their sister safe, for banishing Oberyn where Oberyn couldn’t keep their sister safe. Then he blamed himself - if he had fought harder, if he’d snuck back into Dorne like he originally intended, if he had just been better.

Suffice to say, Oberyn hated being called to his brothers office. Nothing good ever came from an official summons from the elder Prince of Dorne in Oberyn’s experience, and he had a feeling today was not about to prove him wrong.

“It seems our cousin has finally settled on a wife.” Doran’s statement was met with a snort from Oberyn as the younger brother came to stand in front of the desk.

“I pity the poor woman that ends up shackled to Rylan. To whom should I send my condolences?” Doran only met him with a level stare, the silence from his brother all Oberyn needed to draw his own conclusions and for a pit of dread to begin forming in his stomach.

What was it about this office and bad news?

“Tell me I am assuming wrong, brother.” A note of pleading that very rarely showed itself entered Oberyn’s voice, and he felt the sinking feeling in his stomach only grow as Doran grimaced.

“I wish I could. He was here while the three of you were visiting Amphise. I must admit, even if I were able to grant his request, I do not think I would be inclined. I have no desire to see the girl tied to Rylan, regardless of his relation to our family.” Oberyn let himself relax slightly at that, although he couldn’t quite shake the urge to hunt his cousin down for even looking in your direction.

He flexed his hand at his side, letting a long breath out his nose before he responded.

“You refused then, I assume?”

Doran inclined his head in confirmation, still looking rather grim. “She is not a citizen of Dorne, regardless of where she might be from. I do not have the power to force her hand, and I am glad of it.” The prince let out a sigh, watching his brother closely. “That does not mean he will not go to her directly, however. With her having no male relatives here he has the option of attempting to persuade her himself, and if she were to agree I would have equally little say in the matter.”

Oberyn’s jaw clenched hard enough for his teeth to grind together, swiftly looking away from Doran out the open window. He knew if he only took a few steps he might see you in the garden below, although you were equally as likely to be working in one of the other gardens today. The urge to go find you immediately, to ensure his cousin had not yet attempted to convince you and make sure you were safe, threatened to overwhelm him for a moment.

It took him a moment to realize what was happening.

When he had first met Ellaria, there was an undeniable attraction. He should have recognized the signs with you, the way he was drawn to both of you with no say in the matter, but he had been under the assumption one could only have a single soulmate. As soon as the bond with Ellaria was confirmed, and more importantly as soon as he recognized it, that pull had snapped into something more tangible. For a while after, any perceived threat to either of them stirred something primal in the other.

It was happening again with you, possessive instincts he prided himself on being able to ignore were rising to the surface in an attempt to protect you, and he could do little to stop it.

Doran’s voice broke through his turbulent thoughts. “Oberyn. What did Amphise say?”

He turned back to his brother, jaw clenching further at the knowing frown on his brother’s face.

“She is a seer, as we assumed. Her powers were likely suppressed by being in her world and so far from ours. Amphise is willing to train her to ensure she does not grow out of control.” Oberyn paused, eyes lowering to stare at Doran’s desk. “And she is mine and Ellaria’s second soulmate.”

A heavy silence filled the room, and when Oberyn looked up he didn’t find as much surprise on his brother’s face as he expected. Doran only leaned back in his chair, hands folded in his lap, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“I am…not overly surprised. You have been just as drawn to her since she arrived as you were to Ellaria, although I assumed it was because of the mystery she presented.”

A beat of silence later, “I assume she does not know?” Oberyn let out a strained laugh at that, crossing his arms and glancing away. “No. We decided we would wait to tell her. Ellaria is worried she would either not understand, or feel pressured to be with us because of the bond. Her world…it is less understanding.”

Doran only nodded, a thoughtful look on his face as he studied his brother. “You will have to tread lightly on this, Oberyn.”

Oberyn nodded, a resigned look on his face.

“I know.”

“You aren’t concentrating, girl.” The sharp words cause you to let out a frustrated sigh, slumping in your seat.

I am, Amphise, but you can’t expect me to figure this out in a week. You said seer’s are trained from childhood, how am I supposed to catch up?” There’s a whine in your voice that you don’t like, but the last several very long days training – or attempting to train – with Amphise have left you tired and irritable.

If you were honest with yourself, it was more than the less-than-satisfactory attempts to gain some kind of control over your new-found powers that was frustrating you. You’d been somewhat avoiding Oberyn and Ellaria since your revelation in the garden, and it was starting to wear on you. Combine that with the frustrating training and Oberyn’s cousin Rylan suddenly appearing around you constantly, you were frazzled to say the least.

A sharp tap to the back of your hand with Amphise’s paper fan brought you back from your internal debate about which slimy creature Oberyn’s cousin reminded you of the most. She was staring at you sternly, disappointment written clearly on her face.

“You are afraid of your powers. That fear is holding you back. I did not tell you the stories about what other seer’s have done with their power to frighten you, child. I told you so that you would know the consequences if you did not control your powers.” The reminder of the stories Amphise had told you last week felt like a pit in your stomach. You were scared of your powers, but you were also well aware that better control over them would help prevent those stories from becoming your reality.

“I know that, Amphise. I can’t help my fear, though. I’m afraid I won’t ever gain control and I’ll end up like those girls.” Your teacher’s face softens just slightly at your words, and she lets out a sigh, leaning forward.

“It is possible I am going about teaching you wrong. I have taught many seers, but all of them were born here and discovered as children. It is much easier to teach children to do something scary, adults have learned fear already.” She sits back, a look of contemplation coming across her face.

Several silent moments pass before she stands, gesturing towards the house. Your classes thus far have taken place in the same outside sitting area you had met her in last week, fragrant breezes blowing through the garden as you learned.

Or attempted to learn.

“We will end early today, child. You need rest, and I need to think.”

Your excitement at being let go early quickly turns sour as you step out of the carriage back at the palace. Rylan is coming out the front entrance, and the way his eyes light up like he’s looking at a prize horse when he sees you sends a disgusted chill down your spin. He changes course from the carriage he had been heading towards to walk towards you, and you take a moment to arrange your face in a less please-get-away-from-me expression.

“Lord Rylan, what a pleasant surprise.” You hope how not pleasant you think this is doesn’t come through in your voice. The last thing you need is a spoiled lord that is obviously jealous of his cousins kicking up a fuss for you being rude.

He chuckles, stopping about one step too close for your comfort. Not that anywhere near you was far enough away as far as you were concerned.

“I do hope one day you will be comfortable dropping my title like you do with my cousin.” You give what you hope comes across as more of a grin and less of a grimace, shrugging one shoulder noncommittally.

“We’ll see, I suppose.”

Rylan’s grin falters for a moment, and he glances over towards his awaiting carriage. “I was just heading out to see a play being put on, something about a tragic love story. Would you like to accompany me?”

You squash your immediate ‘I would rather eat live worms’ response and give a polite smile, shaking your head. “I’m a little tired today, I’m afraid. I was planning to go take a bath and then a nap. I apologize, Lord Rylan.”

Despite the rejection his expression doesn’t falter this time as he shrugs. “Next time then, my dear.”

You wait what you hope is an appropriate time as he walks away to shudder and head inside. Spending time with a deadly viper sounds more appealing to you than spending time with Rylan, alone or not.

Later that evening as the sun is setting you’re out in the main garden, checking on some of the flowers. Solomon had mentioned the day before he was worried about the Jester’s Tassels in the current heat. It had been warmer than normal the last few days, apparently, and he was worried they would wilt.

A shadow falls over the flowers you’re currently checking on, and you look up to see Ellaria smiling down at you. “I think at this rate we may have to hire you as a gardener, love. You seem to live out here lately.”

You smile despite the anxiety at seeing Ellaria, looking back down at the flowers. “I loved gardening back home, too, I just wasn’t very good at it. The plants here seem to like me better.” Yet another thing to add to the list of reasons it seems like you belong here more than anywhere else.

Another reason sits down on the garden wall next to you, gazing down at the vibrant purple and gold blooms. There’s a beat of silence, and despite your recent avoidance of the two of them just being next to Ellaria feels more like home than you remember your world ever feeling like.

“Oberyn’s name day is next week. There will be a large party, and I am afraid I might be under selling it a little just calling it large.” She pauses, folding her hands together in her lap. “Will you attend?”

You glance up, frowning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Ellaria smiles slightly, shrugging a shoulder. “It has felt a little like you are avoiding us lately, dove. Although I suppose that could just be Oberyn’s ego speaking.”

You duck your head to look at the flowers again, guilt filling you as you shake your head. “I’ve just been busy with Amphise is all. I’ll be there.” You look up again, trying to ignore how the lie just makes you feel more guilty. “Do you give presents for name days?”

“Usually, yes, although not always. Especially for princes. Oberyn has everything he could want, and he usually dislikes getting the type of useless and lavish presents people get for a prince.” She grins, leaning down towards you. “For his twenty-first name day one of his mothers cousins gave him a set of sheets spun entirely of pure gold thread. I have never heard him complain for so long about the frivolity of the rich before.”

You grin at the story, imagining a younger Oberyn ranting about rich people for hours to a despairing Ellaria.

Ellaria straightens up, placing a hand on your leg. “You, however, will not be expected to get him a gift. I can help you find something small he would like, if you wish, but Oberyn will not expect anything from you, dove.”

You look back down at the flowers, frowning. It makes sense that Oberyn wouldn’t expect anything from you, since it’s not like you had much to give him anyway, but you still felt like you should get him something. It felt rude to show up to what was essentially a birthday part with no gift, even if it was a massive birthday party for a prince who already had everything he could possibly want.

Soft fingers brushed against your temple, pushing your hair back out of your face. Ellaria’s hand slides down, cupping your jaw to lift your head. She’s smiling softly at you, and the combination of her touch and the open affection on her face dazes you for a moment. “I can practically hear you thinking. I promise, just your presence will make Oberyn happy.”

Later that night, lying in bed, you’re still thinking about the conversation. Partly to replay what Ellaria’s touch felt like in your mind, and partially because you still can’t shake the feeling that you need to find something to get Oberyn.

When you finally manage to calm your mind enough to begin to drift off, you’re pulled out of your almost-sleep with a sudden idea.

You know exactly what to get Oberyn.

Taglist: I know tags are being kinda iffy, but I’m still going to put them in because I don’t have that many so it doesn’t take much time

@sarahjkl82-blog @ecuadorlady @fan-of-encouragement @knivesareout @writeforfandoms @gorgeousgrogu @leto-duke @xoxabs88xox @kirsteng42 @hauntedmama @urofficial-cyberslut @marvelousmermaid @tanzthompson @lowlights @dobbyjen @tanzthompson

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#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x reader x ellaria sand #ellaria sand x reader #oberyn martell x you #ellaria sand x you #ESWF #Even Stars Will Fall

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silens-oro · 1 year

Note

Mish, I don't want to rush you for an update of Spoils of War. SO! in the meantime would you maybe..................give us a crumb of what lays in store? I am frothing at the mouth in anticipation

I feel like I'm feeding seagulls any time someone asks for a snippet lmao. Since it has taken so long to get Ch. 7 out, here is a sneak peek:

Content warning: death, descriptions of decay, aemond.

Spoils of War Masterlist

A putrid smell hit Aemond’s nostrils as he stepped down the staircase leading to the dungeon. It smelled of death and decay, and was absolutely unmistakable. A stone catapulted to the pit of his stomach, the dread that seeped through him was enough to make him sick if the smell alone didn’t.

Aemond had been absent for the last week due to princely duties as his grandsire called them. They were nothing more than to show the might of Vhagar to those who toed the line of support to the Green’s cause and what should befall onto their houses should they sway their support to the Black's cause. Duty was duty, nonetheless, but Aemond could not return to you quick enough.

The first thought he had as he entered the dungeon was that you had perished, by your own hand most likely. His Shadow, as she had done in his absences previous, was supposed to check in on you nightly. By the smell, the decay was days along. His Shadow probably feared what he would do should he find out his beloved had accomplished what he tried to prevent. She was right, of course. No death would be quick enough for her, and he would find her -he promised himself. He’d skin the little wretch alive with his bare hands when he caught her.

Aemond kept his torch in front of himself to illuminate the still darkness. A squelching noise was the first sound to meet his keen ears. It was faint, but present. He brought the sleeve of his coat to his nose to alleviate some of the stench that permeated the air. It was sickly sweet and rancid with a copper tinge to it that turned his stomach. His feet moved quickly over the dusty floor to reach your cell.

Aemond’s eyes saw that the door to the cell was ajar before the rest of the cell came into view. His heart pounded as he stopped at the foot of it. A body, swarmed with rats, was on the floor. Dark, clotting blood surrounded it as the rats munched at what was left of the soft tissue of the person’s legs and innards. The face was covered by your wool blanket, seemingly untouched by the vermin.

As Aemond crouched down with the torch, the rats scurried in all directions, but a rat with a stump for a paw stood in the furthest corner, watching his every move.

Aemond quickly tossed the blanket from the body and relief immediately filled him when he saw dark hair in place of Targaryen silver, but was quickly replaced by rage and anxiety. He stood swiftly, kicking the dirty blanket to the side.

“Idiot girl!” He seethed at the body, breathing heavily.

A hand ran down his face as he glared down at the decaying body of his Shadow with absolute hatred filling his eye. His angular mouth was set in a sneer at the reality that was facing him. So many thoughts and questions swirled through his mind as he tried to piece together what had happened. How did you lure his Shadow into the cell? How did you break free? How did you escape from the dungeon without being seen?

Aemond’s eyes caught sight of your open shackles and the single key that lay discarded on the ground next to them. His eye narrowed and he looked down at the girl once more. He could see bloody slits in the girl’s shirt where the rats hadn’t chewed through yet.

You had a weapon, he thought. You did not escape on your own.

The next thought he had was what would happen if you made it out of King’s Landing. Surely you’d return to Dragonstone -back to your father. Ravens would surely descend up the Red Keep, alerting his mother of what he had done. That the Princess was alive and had been alive this whole time, kept right under his family's noses. Whatever her reaction would be, his grandsire’s would surely be thrice as bad.

The tendrils of madness scratched at the far corners of his mind as he tried to think five steps ahead.

If he had stolen you once, he would assuredly be able to do it again. You were his, after all.

#spoils of war fic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon x reader #x reader #ask

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norabrice1701 · 7 months

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The Duke & The Witch - Ch. 10

Charles Brandon x Fem!OC, A The Tudors Slight-AU fic

Series Main List

Ch. 10 Warnings: Discussion of witchcraft; period-typical attitudes towards everything (women, religion, witchcraft, etc.); fantastical squinty science/alchemy; torture (pleasure as pain)

The door to her cell rattles open, light spilling across the floor. “Come along, you!” The guard’s gruff words match his brusque manner as he crosses the cell to roughly pull her to her feet. With the meager food rations, her strength slowly abandons her, and yet even with the prospect of yet another interrogation looming, she offers no resistance as they lead her out in the corridor.

Her hands remain shackled together and affixed to chains that now wrap around her ankles. They had been in place ever since Charles’ first demonstration of the powders in her gauntlet. But doesn’t that just prove she was only as powerful as the powders that she carries? Has Charles not proved that she is harmless when left to her own devices?

Dark passageways flank the corridor as they steer her through the unnerving shadows. A shiver of fear races down her spine when the guard stops outside a thick, gnarled wood door. He raps twice with a fist before throwing open the heavy bolt and revealing the scene within.

The tall man - the one with narrow dark eyes and curly hair who had greeted Charles in the courtyard when she first arrived here - stands by a small table. His ubiquitous black ledger rests under his arm as he regards her with a disquieting satisfaction before turning towards the guard. “Chain her to the wall.” He says with effortless authority, turning his back with full expectation of having his command carried out.

Another shiver works through her as her back meets the cold, damp stone, and the chain from her wrist shackles is bound to the wall. She tugs experimentally on her bonds, the metal clanking noisily but yielding no movement.

The guard retreats, disappearing through the doorway before closing the heavy door to leave her alone with the man. A nervous swallow sticks in her throat as her breathing quickens. If this is an interrogation, shouldn’t Charles be here? And the King? Again, she pulls at her chains as anxiety pits in her stomach.

“You needn’t struggle.” The man’s voice holds a honeyed calmness. “At least, not yet. Not if you answer my questions satisfactorily.”

She fixes him with a hard stare, swallowing hard. “Shouldn’t… shouldn’t the King or His Grace be present for more questions?”

“They’re far too busy to be bothered with such trivial matters.” He turns towards her with a solemn, even pleading look. “If you and I are able to reach an accord today, then it will only help build your case for His Majesty.”

“My case.” Her chains rattle as she leans forward. “My case to determine if I am indeed a witch.”

“This is more of a sidebar to that official inquiry. What His Grace demonstrated does not qualify by default. If you are proven innocent, then there may yet be a use for you.”

Her brow furrows with indignation as unease creeps down her spine.

His dark gaze searches her face as he continues. “But first - I would like to know about the metal around your wrists.”

She stiffens, unsure just how much she should say. Or how this man could possibly know about that. Charles hadn’t revealed that during the last meeting. Unless… unless something happened while she was asleep?

“Come, come…” he encourages. “You needn’t be so modest. You have no secrets anymore. When you fell unconscious, your sleeves exposed the most curious bits of metal that looked… embedded in your skin somehow…”

She swallows hard. “Yes. It’s steel. A failed experiment of my father’s laboratory.”

“Laboratory?”

“Yes. At his former university.”

The man’s head tilts with interest. “So, you do have a surname.”

“Yes.”

“Well, come – I would have it.” He opens his ledger, balancing it in his hands. “If we can find your father or a record of him, that might help your case.”

“My surname is of no consequence – my father is dead and long disgraced from his university post.”

“I should say so if he burns metal into his daughter’s skin.” He pauses, seeming to reconsider as he blinks up at her. “What was the purpose of the metal? Even if the experiment failed.”

“He was searching for a way to control metal. To – act like a magnet, I think. I was very little and since it didn’t work, he didn’t want to linger on the failed theory.” She hopes it sounds convincing enough to satisfy this man.

But the hum that pitches low in his throat does nothing to set her ease. “Perhaps,” he concedes. “While all of that is intriguing, I would have you tell it again to His Majesty. It’s just curious enough to invite further scrutiny. But for now.” He snaps the ledger shut and walks around the small table, leveling her with a hard stare. “Based on your powders alone, would you ever act against His Majesty?”

Her eyes widen with appalled surprise. “Never.”

“Then if you will not act against him, would you swear yourself to his service? Using your knowledge only for the betterment of the realm?”

“The betterment of the realm?”

“Surely you cannot deny the value of such powders on the battlefield. Or in the service of peacefully advancing the king’s reformations.”

Slowly she shakes her head. “No.”

“No?”

“The implications are far too reaching to swear my service in that capacity.”

“I don’t think you understand. I find myself in a unique situation with your case.” He starts softly, his face masked in dark shadows. “Unlike so many others, my aim is not to send you to the chopping block. I want you to yield, to surrender your services exclusively for use by the king and crown. So, I cannot afford to have you permanently damaged. At least, not initially. But, rest assured, that should your stubbornness continue, the more likely it becomes that your life will be forfeit.”

Her heart hammers as the implications of his words swirl in her mind. She doesn’t dare say anything - unless she accepts his other, everything else just seems to condemn her to further punishment.

He steps closer, eyes hard with determined intent. A gulp works her throat as she stares up at him and he speaks in a low chilling tone. “I ask you again - will you submit yourself to the king’s service, bequeathing and using your knowledge solely for the gain of His Majesty and the betterment of the kingdom?”

She wets her top lip uneasily. “For the betterment of the kingdom? At the expense of others, you mean.”

“Presumptuous of you to spin my words.”

She shakes her head. “The world is all about balance. And you would seek to undo it.”

His face brightens with curiosity. “Now, that is something I should be most interested in. A balance, you say? For surely, your powders are just a matter of finding and proportioning the correct ingredients.”

“Every plant that is plucked, every spider that is crushed,” she clarifies. “It’s all a price to pay.”

He sighs with disgusted boredom. “Spare me your morality. You’re in no position to barter with it.”

“It’s not a barter.”

“Then it’s a refusal.”

She squeezes her eyes shut for the space of a breath as the answer weighs heavily in her heart. “I cannot commit my skills to the power of any one man. And the cost is too high to widely teach.”

“Regrettable. That is truly regrettable.” His words sound genuine, matched by the heavy look in his eyes as he turns around with a sweep of dark clothing in his wake as he sets his ledger down. “But I have to admit, the demonstration by Brandon was rather illuminating and opened up a vast wealth of potential. It did seem, however, that he bestowed mercy a little too quickly – but we can fix that.” He reaches a spindly hand to draw back the sleeve of his doublet. Flickinger torchlight gleams off the familiar metal buckles of her powder gauntlet, and she sighs before her mouth forms a tense line. At least, the effects of those aren’t unknown to her.

He glances at it before tilting his head and letting his gaze wander over to her. “Let’s start with the red one, shall we? Passion powder, I believe he called it. To incite passions.” He steps close and produces a white cloth with his other hand, covering his nose and mouth before he pumps the bellows. Once, twice.

The red powder cloys her senses, and she sputters instinctually against the invasion of dust as it coats her cheeks, the inside of her nose, the back of her throat. She draws a gasping breath and he times the third release of the bellows as she inhales. She can’t spit it out or exhale fast enough, and a searing heat takes root at the base of her spine as she draws more of the powder into her lungs. He withdraws, lowering the cloth as he studies her reaction in the fire’s shadows.

Flames lick into her blood as her heart starts to race. It’s what makes the passion powder so effective - infusing the blood with such vitality to send it surging, thrumming, pooling - often resulting in dizziness from the sudden exposure. But this… this heaving for breath, the burning ache between her legs, the pounding of her heart… is too much. Too concentrated, too much powder for her body to process. She shifts against the liquid heat gathering between her legs, and the fabric of her dress scratches her sensitive skin, pitching a needy whimper high in her throat. The swell of her breasts pull and itch against the fabric, and her shoulders twitch from the pleasurable sensations induced by the scrape of fabric as her head swims.

His lips curl with dark delight in the twisted shadows. “People forget that pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin. And all too easily people assume that pain is the only way. I hope you understand that I intend to take a different approach. For now.”

Her arms jerk against their bonds as her legs squeeze together. It’s not enough to quell the ache, to find relief, to find… something. Her body runs away with her mind under the powder’s effects, burning for relief. The rush of blood thunders in her ears, combining with her ragged breathing, but she can just make out the deep timbre of his voice.

“If I promise the relief you so crave, will you swear yourself to His Majesty’s service?”

Her mind screams out for relief as she bites her tongue. A frustrated whimper makes her lower lip quiver as she forces herself to stay silent, summoning a weak shake of her head. Nothing good will come of his words, there’s nothing that she wants from him - no matter how her hips twitch of their own volition or her shoulders shift for the pleasurable pressure against her breasts. The only relief she wants... Charles. But heaven help her if they bring Charles to her right now. Dear God, she’d swear herself to the devil or any deity that would have her if it meant having his hands on her right now.

The thought terrifies her.

Another sickening burst of bright red powder blooms in front of her face, and… goodness, she hasn’t even heard the man move. She has no defense against it, and a new burning sensation infuses her body, stretching her already overworked nerves. Her body moves against the empty air without conscious thought, chasing whatever sensations it can find. She just needs more… something there, something now.

A groan of angry frustration punches from her chest. Her head needs to be clear to hold her resolve, to not say something condemning. But her body threatens to overpower her, especially when she rolls her shoulder just so to scrape against a hardened nipple or when her thighs squeeze together just right.

Eventually, she realizes that his voice echoes in the chamber.

“... see how long it takes for you to come to your senses. For you to swear yourself a true and loyal servant of the realm. But make no mistake - mercy will only be granted once you offer your true and contrite surrender.”

***

So much. Too much. Not enough.

How long has it been? Hours? Days? Without a window, impossible to say. And the near constant darkness offers nothing to see. Not the rats scrabbling in the corners. Not the metal shackles that hold her to the wall. Not the men who come and go.

She only has feeling. Too much. Far too much. And not near enough. The perpetually cold stone against her fevered flesh. The painful drag of fabric against over-sensitized skin. The deafening roar of arousal pulsing in her blood. And no relief. No respite. No release.

She tugs against her bonds - in exhaustion, in desperation, in misery. A hiss passes her lips as harsh light spills against the cell floor without warning and the heavy door opens with a groan. Again, she futilely pulls at her shackles, trying to hide, trying to curl in on herself. But it never works. It hasn’t worked. Escape is just -

The heavy perfume of passion powder fills the air, and she can’t turn away. Can’t hold her breath. Can’t do anything but breathe it in, groaning as the latest wave of overstimulation tenses every exhausted muscle within her. The door slams shut as suddenly as it opened, and darkness returns. She doesn’t even know if the guards ask her questions anymore or if they just leave… the chaos of her thoughts eludes her.

And it frightens her. For years, her mind has been her only companion. And now? Now it abandons her. Coherent thought reduced to fragments as she fights for clarity through the unraveling of her body.

Maddening. Enraging. Merciless. This must stop. It will stop. She will stop them. Stop them all. There’s so much… too much and yet… not enough. The power is hers. In the ether. But without… down here… is the night sky so much to ask? A window?

All she needs is a storm. A big storm. But how?

When?

Her whimper echoes off the stone as she shifts on the ground, the fabric of her dress almost painful against her twitching thighs. It strengthens her course - she would. She will. And it will be the end. It will destroy.

Only then.

Another beam of blinding light slices through the darkness, and she tenses against the shackles, jerking her head away. It’s too soon, far too soon. But now… torchlight flickers off the walls, and the door closes, but she’s not alone.

“What in God’s name?” Tears burn her eyes as Charles’ heavenly voice sounds above her. “... Avian?”

She sobs audibly, lifting her head to see him standing there. Or is he merely an illusion of her shattered mind? But no - the heartbreak in his eyes is all too real, matching the dark concern that hardens the rest of his face as he strides over with anxious steps. He crouches down, and… oh, God.

His scent invades her nose - how does he smell so divine? How has she never noticed before? Something leather, spicy, and undeniably masculine. She wants to drown in it - in him. Her nerves fray to the breaking point as she gasps for breath and tears wet her lashes.

“Avian…?” His voice holds such tender affection that makes her heart ache.

She sniffles, forcing herself to summon words. “Charles… it – this…”

“What have they done to you?” His eyes mirror the concerned command that laces his gentle words.

“My… the passion powder. Again and again.” She draws a sharp breath, frustration and anger coloring every word. “And again! Every time.”

“To what end?”

She swallows hard, inhaling more of his dizzying scent. Has he always smelled so good?

Cool, strong fingers touch the heated skin under her chin, tilting her head gently up. A tear slides down her cheek at the tenderness in his sky-blue gaze. She wants to give him everything, powerless to hold anything back.

“Avian,” he implores with a low, enticing tone. “To what end? What do they want from you?”

“They -” she breaks off with a sigh, leaning into his touch. “Try to press me to enter the king’s service.”

His brow furrows. “Who? Who is pressing you?”

She shakes her head weakly. “I don’t know his name. Someone from that day…” she licks her lips, fighting for clarity. “The dark-haired one that day you brought me here.”

A dangerous glint flashes in Charles’ eyes. “Cromwell.” The lines of his face visibly tighten with a barely controlled edge of restraint. “If that man has taken undue liberties in the name of the king without official authorization, I will see him gutted at Tyburn.”

“Not if I… if I can’t…” She writhes against her bonds, body strung out and overwrought. “He can’t… this can’t – anymore.” Her words choke off on a gasping breath, groaning from the endless frustration of the itch that crawls under her skin. Eats at her. Consumes her. Drives her mad.

Maybe it already has…

“But he will,” Charles whispers firmly. “And if he does have a secret mandate from the king, then he will not cease until you swear yourself.”

“Like hell.” She snarls, twisting against his hand. “He’ll die first!”

“Die?” Charles’ voice drops to a low, conspiratorial tone. “I don’t want to see you accused of murder.”

She croakes a wicked, dry laugh. “But you… would see this man dead.”

A visible swallow works down his throat. “I need to learn if he is acting on a secret mandate from the king. That will determine everything.” His thumb strokes the underside of her chin with delicate affection as his gaze holds hers.

The simple touch surges waves of heat through her. Her breath catches on a whimper as she stares back at him. She doesn’t want him to leave. She wants to curl up in the strong, fierce protection of his embrace. Needs him to finally give her body peace. Give her so many things. Too many things. Everything.

Her eyes drop closed, focusing on the feel of his fingers against her skin. A striking point of comforting clarity through the mind numbing madness.

Will he help her? Does she only have to ask?

Again his thumb caresses her skin as he speaks. “If Cromwell is acting on his own agenda – you would… would you?” He wets his lips hesitantly, the rest of his question unvoiced.

But yes. Yes, yes, yes. To let go. To see that man pay. To be rid. To be free.

It’s worth every cost. No matter how high.

He searches her gaze, sighing a shaky, resigned sound. “How can I help?”

#charles brandon x ofc #charles brandon #duke of suffolk #henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #the tudors #the tudors fanfic

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yeolsaintlaurent · 7 months

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Nocturnal Reverie ch.3 [PCY]

pairing - chanyeol x fem reader

genre - mature, smut, angst

themes - power imbalance, romance, crime, justice, class divide, politics, sex

synopsis - In the sprawling, dystopian city of Emberhaven, where power and corruption reign supreme, the lives of two unlikely individuals collide in a tale of passion, intrigue, and moral reckoning. Chanyeol, an enigmatic and wealthy scion of the city's elite, finds himself captivated by the elusive Y/N, a cunning and resourceful thief who navigates the treacherous underworld of Emberhaven. Their first encounter, sparked by a chance meeting in a luxurious club called The Velvet Lounge, sets the stage for a whirlwind romance amidst a backdrop of crime, politics, and danger.

warnings - mentions of death, depression

A/N - omg three chapters already?!?! Anyways, this chapter gives you lovely readers glimpses into more of Kyungsoo and especially Minseok. What would their plan on action be? Also also, flirty Loey is here AAAGAHJGBXJSHAJG sorry guys. I am weak...WEAK in my knees for flirty Chanyeol. Hope you guys love this chapter. Let me know your thoughts as always! xx

Chapter three: A dangerous game begins

A week later , sometime towards evening-

The cityscape was cast in a dull gray as Kyungsoo maneuvered through the bustling streets, his jet-black hair neatly combed and his attire sharp as ever. The undercut hairstyle was a testament to his modern sensibilities, a stark contrast to the shadows that loomed over the city.

As a lawyer, Kyungsoo relished his role, particularly when he could use his legal prowess to aid his friend Chanyeol in their shared mission to bring justice to the city. Kyungsoo had made a name for himself, a reputation built on relentless pursuit of truth and justice. Over the years, he had managed to secure convictions against members of the local drug cartel, lower-tier mafia operatives involved in human trafficking, and even some mid-level politicians tainted by corruption.

Yet, there remained a persistent frustration. The high-ranking members of the mafia and untouchable politicians continued to elude the grasp of the law, their connections and influence serving as an impenetrable shield.

With each passing day, Kyungsoo's determination burned brighter. He was driven not only by his duty as a lawyer but also by his unwavering friendship with Chanyeol. Together, they envisioned a city free from the shackles of corruption and criminal influence.

His phone buzzed with a message, and he retrieved it with a sense of anticipation. It was from his trusted informant and ally in the police ranks, Chief Kim Minseok. The police chief shared Kyungsoo's fervent dedication to the cause, and they had formed a formidable partnership.

The message read: "Progress is being made. We've gathered new evidence against the high-ranking mafia members and corrupt politicians. Meet me at our usual spot tonight."

Minseok's sincerity and deep-rooted hatred for corruption fueled Kyungsoo's resolve. He knew that their efforts were starting to bear fruit, that the city's underbelly was beginning to tremble in the face of impending justice.

The police station where Minseok serves as the chief reflects the gritty, urban environment of Emberhaven. The building stands as a bastion of order in a city fraught with chaos and corruption. Its exterior is a stark, imposing structure, constructed from aged stone and steel, with a facade that has seen better days. The sign bearing the words "Emberhaven Police Department" is a faded relic of a bygone era, but its presence is a symbol of law and order in the city.

Upon entering the station, one is immediately struck by the sense of urgency and efficiency that permeates the atmosphere. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile, unforgiving glow on the linoleum floors. The muted color palette of gray and beige, combined with the utilitarian design, creates an environment that is more functional than welcoming.

The sounds of ringing telephones, typewriters, and the hurried footsteps of officers echo throughout the station, creating a cacophony that never truly abates. The constant buzz of activity, the hurried conversations, and the occasional raised voice create a palpable tension in the air.

Offices and cubicles line the walls, and bulletin boards display wanted posters, missing person reports, and other notices. The jail cells are a stark reminder of the city's underbelly, with heavy steel bars and a lingering, unsettling silence.

Despite the austere surroundings, there's an unspoken camaraderie among the officers and staff. They share a common purpose — to bring justice to Emberhaven, to combat the rampant corruption, and to make the city a safer place. The police station may be a far cry from opulence, but it stands as a symbol of resistance in the face of adversity, a beacon of hope in a city that has lost its way.

Minseok's backstory is one rooted in adversity and a fierce determination to uphold justice in a city teetering on the edge of chaos. He hails from a humble, working-class family in Emberhaven, where life was a constant struggle to make ends meet. His father, a dedicated police officer, was the sole breadwinner for the family, working tirelessly to provide for them.

Tragedy struck when Minseok was just a teenager. His father was involved in a dangerous cartel bust that went horribly wrong, resulting in the loss of several lives, including his own. The shock and grief of losing his father shook Minseok and his family to their core. His mother, unable to cope with the loss, spiraled into a deep depression, leaving him with a heavy burden to bear.

In the midst of his sorrow, he found a glimmer of resolve. He was determined not to let his father's memory be tarnished by the tragic events of that fateful day. Instead, he decided to follow in his father's footsteps and become a police officer. His dream was to rise through the ranks and bring the justice that his father had been denied.

Despite receiving job offers from larger, more prosperous cities, Minseok chose to stay in Emberhaven. He was committed to making a difference in the very place that had seen his family's struggles. As a young constable, he bore witness to the rampant corruption within the police force, where even some of his colleagues were willing to compromise their integrity for personal gain.

His appointment as the Chief of Police marked a turning point. On his first day, he took bold action by dismissing a significant portion of his staff, signaling his unwavering commitment to eradicating corruption from within the ranks.

Kim Minseok five years ago :

The newly appointed Chief Kim Minseok stood before his officers, each one watching him with a mix of curiosity and anticipation. He had been entrusted with the duty of leading this police force, and he intended to make his intentions clear from the very start. With the weight of his father's legacy and the burden of a city struggling under the shadow of corruption, he began to speak:

"My fellow officers,, I stand before you today as the Chief of Police, but more importantly, as the son of a dedicated police officer who gave his life in the line of duty. My father was a man of unwavering integrity, and his commitment to justice was his driving force. He believed in the fundamental principles that underlie the law, and he paid the ultimate price for it.

I know that this city, Emberhaven, has seen its share of darkness. Corruption, crime, and despair have taken root here. But it's within this very darkness that we, as law enforcement officers, must find our purpose. We have been entrusted with the duty of protecting this city, of serving as a beacon of hope when all else seems lost.

My vision for this police force is clear. We will be relentless in our pursuit of justice, unwavering in our commitment to the law, and unyielding in the face of corruption. I will not tolerate any officer who tarnishes this badge through misconduct, greed, or deceit. Those who are here to serve this city with honesty and honor will find in me a steadfast ally, but those who would betray that trust will face the full force of the law.

It's not just about upholding the law; it's about protecting the people of this city, particularly those who cannot protect themselves. It's about being the shield that stands between chaos and order. My father's memory fuels my determination to make this city safer and more just for all.

We have a long and arduous journey ahead, but we will take each step together. Let us remember that we are the last line of defense against the tide of darkness that threatens Emberhaven. The choices we make will echo through the lives of the people we serve, and it's our duty to ensure that those echoes are just, fair, and unwavering.

I ask for your unwavering commitment, your dedication to this badge, and your promise to serve with integrity and honor. Let us embark on this mission together and work tirelessly to bring justice to our beloved city, for it is in the pursuit of justice that we honor those who came before us, my father included. Thank you."

With those words, Chief Kim Minseok signaled a new era for the Emberhaven Police Department, one marked by a fervent dedication to justice and an unwavering commitment to the law.

His pursuit of a just and incorruptible police force drew him into the world of law and justice. It was during a chance meeting with Kyungsoo at the courthouse that their paths converged. The two men recognized kindred spirits in each other, united by their shared commitment to root out corruption and crime in Emberhaven. With their unique skills and unwavering determination, they formed an alliance that would prove instrumental in their relentless pursuit of justice.

Present day :

Inside the confines of the police station, Kyungsoo and the Chief gathered to discuss their pursuit of the elusive mafia kingpin, Dominic "Dom" Marchesi. They had amassed a trove of new information, each piece of evidence meticulously gathered in their quest to dismantle the criminal empire that had plagued the city for far too long.

Minseok leaned forward, his expression grave, as he began to outline their plan of action. "We've got enough evidence now, Kyungsoo. Our target is Lucio Ramos, Dom Marchesi's right-hand man. He's been involved in every aspect of the criminal operations. If we can get him to talk, we'll have almsot everything we need to take down Marchesi."

Kyungsoo nodded in agreement, his mind racing with thoughts of the impending operation. "Lucio Ramos is a dangerous man, Chief. We need to be careful when we move in. He's likely to have his guard up."

Kim Minseok exhaled deeply, his dedication to ending corruption evident in his unwavering resolve. "I've already coordinated with our undercover agents. We'll catch him off guard. He won't know what hit him."

Their conversation delved deeper into the specifics of the operation, with Kyungsoo meticulously reviewing each detail. As they strategized, the shadows of the city seemed to close in around them, a stark reminder of the darkness they were determined to dispel.

Kyungsoo leaned back in his chair, his eyes filled with determination. "This is our chance, Chief. Once we have Lucio in custody, we'll have the key to unlock everything. Dom Marchesi won't be able to escape from justice now."

Kim Minseok's gaze held a steely resolve. "We've waited long enough for this moment. Let's make sure we do it right."

Surveillance was their silent companion as Kyungsoo and Chief Kim Minseok, along with their dedicated team of undercover agents, delved deeper into the shadowy world of Lucio Ramos. Their days were consumed by the task of closely monitoring every move and activity of Dominic Marchesi's right-hand man.

In a small, dimly lit room at the police station, the walls adorned with maps and photographs of key players in the criminal network, Kyungsoo and Chief Kim Minseok huddled together. The room buzzed with a hushed sense of urgency as they dissected the evidence they had gathered.

Chief Kim Minseok's voice was a low, steady rumble as he spoke, "We've tracked Lucio's financial transactions, his connections, and his involvement in numerous criminal enterprises. We've got enough to build a solid case against him, Kyungsoo."

Kyungsoo nodded, his eyes glued to the intricate web of evidence on the wall. "We need to ensure every detail is in place. If we make a move too soon, we risk tipping our hand."

Their meticulous planning revolved around a covert operation that would put an end to Lucio Ramos's reign of terror. The details were complex, involving the coordination of multiple law enforcement agencies, including those outside the city. They were determined to keep their plan concealed from the criminal underworld.

As the hours passed, Kyungsoo and Chief Kim Minseok worked through each step of the operation, fine-tuning their strategy. They discussed contingencies and prepared for any unforeseen challenges that might arise during the mission.

Finally, satisfied that their plan was as airtight as it could be, they parted ways within the police station. Kyungsoo stepped out into the cool night air and lit up a cigarette, his mind racing with the weight of the task ahead.

After taking a few puffs, he dialed Chanyeol's number, his voice calm but resolute as he explained the plan in detail. Chanyeol listened intently, his commitment to their cause unwavering. When Kyungsoo mentioned the financial strain on the underfunded police department due to rampant corruption, Chanyeol didn't hesitate.

"You have my full support, bro," Chanyeol replied. "I'll provide the financial backing you need. We can't let these corrupt politicians and criminals hold our city hostage any longer."

Their conversation was a pact forged in the darkness of a city burdened by corruption and crime. Kyungsoo knew that with Chanyeol's support, they had a fighting chance to dismantle the criminal empire that had cast its long shadow over their lives.

As Kyungsoo ended the call, he felt a surge of determination. The stage was set, the players were in position, and their pursuit of justice was about to reach its critical juncture.

As Chanyeol exited the cozy coffee house where he had stopped by to get his caffeine fix, he felt a rush of determination to see their mission through. The night air was brisk, and he took a moment to gather his thoughts.

His eyes scanned the cityscape, but he wasn't looking for anything in particular. It was then that he noticed movement in the building across from the local coffee house. A figure stood on a balcony, the ember of a cigarette briefly illuminating their face.

Recognition hit him like a bolt of lightning, and he couldn't help but smile. It was her. Y/N. The woman who had engulfed most of his thoughts since the previous week. Their eyes locked for an instant, and then she hastily ducked out of sight.

Chanyeol chuckled to himself. He had caught her off guard, and it was evident that she recognized him too. Across the way, Y/N peered cautiously from her hiding spot, her heart racing. She couldn't believe that Chanyeol, the man who she herself found thinking about a few times, was standing there, grinning at her. She raised an eyebrow in mock indifference, not wanting to let on that he had indeed caught her off guard.

He beckoned her with a casual wave, confident that she would eventually succumb to curiosity and join him. He gestured for her to come closer, and she playfully shook her head, feigning nonchalance. A soft laugh escaped her lips as if to say, "Why would I listen to you?"

Their personalities clashed like fire and ice, with Chanyeol exuding confidence and Y/N playing hard to get. Yet, beneath the playful banter, there was an undeniable intrigue. She couldn't help but wonder why he remembered her, and he was determined to find out more about the woman who had stolen a piece of his attention since that night.

Y/N's curiosity got the best of her as she descended from her balcony and approached Chanyeol, her steps cautious but deliberate. She couldn't deny that she was intrigued by the man who had effortlessly charmed her at the Velvet Lounge.

"Why, pray tell, did you call me?" she asked, her tone a mixture of curiosity and playfulness.

Chanyeol flashed his signature grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, I thought a beautiful woman like you deserved to give me an explanation after everything that happened."

She raised an eyebrow, her matter-of-fact attitude unwavering. "Explanation for what? I didn't want to get arrested that night. I’m way too pretty for prison clothes."

Chanyeol chuckled, a low and captivating sound. "Why would you think I'd get you arrested?"

With an obvious shrug, Y/N replied, "Isn't that what people like you do?"

He leaned in closer, his gaze never leaving her. "Ah, but you see, I would never allow someone as gorgeous as you, and as sexy as you," he emphasized the word 'sexy' in a sultry manner, "to be in handcuffs. Unless, of course, it was me who put them there."

Their banter crackled with a palpable tension, a dance of words that left the night air charged with an unspoken challenge. Chanyeol had a way of turning a simple conversation into something far more enticing, and Y/N found herself drawn in despite her best efforts to remain aloof.

Y/N couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Chanyeol's unabashed flirtation. "Are you always this flirty with every woman you talk to?"

Chanyeol leaned in closer, his voice a seductive murmur. "Only the very special ones."

She couldn't suppress a sardonic laugh. "Special, huh? I bet this is what you say to literally every single woman you meet. I literally tried to rob you, remember?"

Chanyeol's gaze never wavered from hers as he replied, his words dripping with innuendo, "Oh, I remember. But I've also been wondering why you've been stuck in my head ever since. That's what makes you special to me."

The night seemed to hum with a charged energy as their conversation danced on the precipice of desire. Y/N, outwardly composed and unflustered, couldn't deny the magnetic pull of Chanyeol's charm. Underneath her faux confidence, an undeniable attraction simmered, threatening to ignite into something more profound. Now that she wasn't speaking to him just as another one of her target, she noticed how fucking hot he was. His black shirt fit him so well revealing the shape of his perfect arms. And his veins, oh fuck his veins. She didn't even realize that she was wondering how amazing it would be when he would wrap his fingers around her ne- wait. "Oh my god, shut up horny side of my brain", she scolded herself internally.

“Sure, whatever you say, big boy.”, she replies back, tilting her head to the side and letting out an airy chuckle.

As their conversation continued to sizzle with tension, Y/N's phone buzzed, and she glanced down at it, her eyes widening at the message that flashed on the screen. Chanyeol, ever the observant one, noticed her reaction and couldn't resist asking, "Is that from a boyfriend?", hoping to himself that shouldn’t be the case.

She shot him a pointed look. "That's not your business," she replied, her tone cool and distant. "If you're done with your flirting, I have other matters to tend to."

Before she could make her exit, Chanyeol gently but firmly took hold of her wrist, turning her back to face him. He slipped a small, elegant invitation into her hand, his voice a silky whisper, "I know you are just as attracted to me as I am to you. Show up at the Velvet Lounge for this event, and you might just find out more about me."

Y/N's gaze bore into his, a mixture of defiance and intrigue. "Why should I go? What makes you so confident I would show up?"

Chanyeol's confidence never wavered as he replied, his voice laced with self-assuredness, "Because even though your mouth is saying one thing, your body language is giving away way more than what you’d like me to know.”

He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against her ear as he added in a matter-of-fact tone, "And let's not kid ourselves, darling. I know just how hot and irresistible I am." Fuck there was that sexy grin again.

Y/N couldn't resist a wry smile as she retorted, "Don't hold your breath on it."

Chanyeol's grin remained undiminished, his voice a sultry promise as he replied, "See you there then, darling."

With that parting remark, they went their separate ways, leaving behind an electric undercurrent of anticipation. The secret event at the Velvet Lounge loomed on the horizon, promising to unravel more secrets and bring them closer together. Their paths converged once more, as the city's pulse quickened in anticipation of what lay ahead.

#--yeolsaintlaurent #nocturnal reverie #exo #exo imagines #exo scenarios #exo x reader #exo x you #exo smut #chanyeol x you #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol imagine #chanyeol smut #chanyeol #chanyeol x reader #exo chanyeol #park chanyeol #chanyeol fic

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psychewritesbs · 6 months

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Hello there!

I've been giving a little stalk through your blog and I love your posts and insights, thank you for sharing them!

Now for what I came here to say - I've read @littleholmes post on RCT and reincarnation on ch 239 and your addition to it and I wanted to give some input (albeit a bit of in a different direction) as well since I've been thinking about that topic too, if that's alright!

I was like, 100% sure Gege had disposed of Gojo for real up until he deliberately chose to make reference again to the fact that to kill a RCT user you have to go for the head. Honestly, Gege has shown us so many time that we cannot dismiss any small dialogue line in his manga because the story will always make a way to circle all the way back to it that I believe he did not just randomly drop that line there.

SO, assuming Gege did not drop that line randomly nor is baiting us into thinking that, I got myself thinking about possible ways Gojo could make a comeback and the way I see it, I think the most likely way for him to manage to survive would be through RCT usage and eventually later with Shoko and/or Yuta's intervention to fully heal; what I think is something that we must consider as littleholmes said in the original post, is that Gojo's brain is most likely as good as fried after shinjuku showdown, so i think the chances are 1) Gojo isn't able to use RCT at all anymore and is effectively dead, or 2) he still manages to use RCT but has taken so much damage to his brain that he can't use his technique anymore.

Now for character development - I think Gojo's personal identity remains in close contact with his identity as "the strongest". I think Geto underlined that when they broke up at KFC parted ways with each other, and even though I don't think Gojo truly felt like that up until that moment since he still had Geto by his side and to him, they were the strongest, I do think it ended up becoming such a "dominant" self-perception of his that probably blinded everything else about his person and made him almost involuntarily isolate from everyone.

So to say, Gojo's identity as the strongest was what shackled him.

I wonder if it would be possible for Gojo, 29, fed a self-image of something close to godhood ever since a child, to ever part ways with that perception (and what comes with it) while mantaining his technique and remaining... well, the strongest..

I'm beating around the bush but where I wanted to reach was: I think it would be curious to see Gojo as a jujutsu-less leader. For someone like him to whose self-identity was always blurred with status, wouldn't it be freeing to "go north" as a new person, as someone who has more to offer than brute power, who can guide his students from a place of understanding, and be influencial despite lack of jujutsu (which ig would be possible since HQ was masacred)?

Okay, that's it, sorry for the english, for the messy thoughts and for barging in; I just wanted to read your thoughts on this perspective! Have a nice week :)

You: sorry for my English Also you: eloquently speaks in English better than many native English speakers, including myself 🤡😂

Omg anon, you're getting bumped up on the ask queue because this is relevant to this last chapter. Thanks so much for sharing the thoughts! This is good stuff.

I'm not going to lie, I am on camp "he's ded 💀", but all of these arguments in favor of him being alive are good stuff. Gege is so unpredictable that he might just bring him back from the dead all JC style SCREAMING IN SYMBOLISM NERD.

The thing is that ego death is metaphorical, right? And ego death is a prerequisite for the kind of growth you describe for a character that created a metaphorical barrier around himself with a self-ascribed identity as the strongest.

I've gone on the record ok like who's keeping the record lol that Gojo needed to die because I truly believe that, as the pinnacle of the very thing he sought to bring down, he simply needed to die. But after this conversation and littleholme's post, I like the more nuanced approach that, yeah, that attitude he held needed to die AND be reborn into something else.

Whether he can come back from said "death" or not is still up in the air. Everything is fair game at this point with jjk!

Thanks for reaching out, the comments, but above all, sharing your thoughts!

#ask the mental gymnastics anime girl #god i love jujutsu kaisen

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queenofdragons12 · 11 months

Text

Babydoll — J.JK, B.C, H.HJ

WARNINGS : slight seductive, flirting, soft fluff

PARINGS : idol! hyrbid! J.JK + B.C + H.HJ X fem! dragon! reader + stray kids and BTS

a/n: there's a new series I'll do hope you'll like it!

Prev Chap: Ch.1

Ch. 2

"I... hello, I am Y/N," you uttered, your voice trembling with a delicate blend of anticipation and trepidation. With a quivering hand, you extended it towards him, an act of reaching out not only physically but emotionally as well. The man blinked, slowly emerging from his daze, and graciously accepted your hand, engaging in a formal exchange.

"It is with utmost pleasure that I make your acquaintance, Y/N. I am Bang Chan, although I implore you to refer to me as Chan," he replied, his voice resonating with sincerity and a touch of noble grace. With an elegant gesture, he beckoned you to enter the room, where an ethereal ambiance awaited. The walls, adorned with brushstrokes of white paint, reminiscent of blossoms intertwining through an abyss of ebony, bestowed upon the space a surreal beauty.

The room, tastefully adorned and meticulously arranged, exuded an air of refined elegance, transforming the mundane interview setting into an enclave of artistic marvels. Yet, amidst the alluring environment, an inexplicable disquietude clung to your spirit, stubbornly lingering even in the presence of your intended companion.

Seated across from each other, Chan initiated the conversation, his hands gracefully clasping together, an embodiment of composed sophistication. "Pray tell, Y/N," he began, his voice a melodic serenade, laced with genuine curiosity, "what compelled you to seek this remarkable opportunity?" His question hung in the air, filled with a genuine thirst for understanding, awaiting your heartfelt response.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, laden with the weight of emotions you had meticulously gathered within. With eloquence and fervor, you poured your essence into each word, conveying your aspirations, dreams, and an unwavering determination to leave an indelible mark. The interview unfolded like a perfectly choreographed dance, a symphony of shared purpose and profound resonance, until an unexpected turn.

Just when you believed the conversation was nearing its conclusion, Chan interjected, his voice cutting through the air like a refined maestro. "I beg your pardon," he interposed, captivating your attention once more. You turned towards him, your eyes widening in anticipation, eager to receive his words. And then, a genuine smile graced Chan's countenance, brimming with sincerity and profound honor, as he gently embraced your hands with his own, an act drenched in reverence and admiration.

"To have the privilege of collaborating with you, my dearest," he murmured, his words reverberating with an undercurrent of profound affection. Your heart soared, an intoxicating mélange of emotions coursing through your veins, threatening to consume you entirely. A fleeting smile graced your lips, a mere glimpse of the euphoria and elation surging within. Without a moment's hesitation, you hastily departed the room, your footsteps echoing with the stately rhythm of a fervent heartbeat.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

"Ah, a tale woven with intrigue," your bosom companion Belle mused, her laughter chiming like silver bells as you playfully swatted her hand away.

"Belle, heed my plea!" you chided, your voice tinged with a blend of affection and exasperation. Yet, she continued to dance with mirth, her laughter rippling through the air like a playful zephyr. "For love, my dear, pays no heed to boundaries, nor does it bend to the shackles of societal expectations," she intoned, her eyes shimmering with an ancient wisdom. "Let your heart be the compass that guides you through this labyrinthine realm. Fate has intertwined your destinies, and Chan's heart, I suspect, has already surrendered to the tempestuous throes of ardor," she advised, her words dripping with honeyed eloquence.

A weary sigh escaped your lips, surrendering to the weight of her words, and you nodded, acknowledging the truth in her counsel. Tenderly bidding adieu to your faithful confidante, whose gaze mirrored the depths of a caramel sunset, you embarked on your journey, your footsteps tracing the path of uncertain love. The world outside, vibrant and resplendent, beckoned with the allure of a sonnet waiting to be written.

As you traversed the winding streets, your heart danced with anticipation, entwined in a rhapsody of emotions. Your pulse quickened, like a hummingbird's wings, as you neared the threshold of your humble abode, a sanctuary for passions yet untamed. The tendrils of your thoughts, like delicate ivy, embraced the visions of a shared future, while the whispers of affection tugged at the strings of your soul.

Stepping into the comforting embrace of your dwelling, you shed the confines of a sapphire-hued gown, revealing the soft lace of an ethereal blouse. The fabric, like the tenderest caress, graced your skin, unveiling the vulnerability within. Yearning for solace amidst the tumultuous storm of emotions, you ventured beyond the threshold, into a world that mirrored the sonnets of yore.

Atop the rolling hills, where the sun bathed the verdant canvas in its golden hues, you reclined upon nature's embrace. Each breath you drew mirrored a lover's sigh, mingling with the fragrant symphony of blossoms. The blades of grass, like delicate brushes, painted a tapestry beneath you, while the serenade of birdsong whispered secrets carried on the breeze.

Enveloped in this ethereal sanctuary, your eyelids grew heavy, the weight of passion and longing lulling you into a slumber so profound that it seemed to merge realms of dreams and reality. In this twilight realm, time became a mere illusion, and your soul surrendered to a realm where true love reigned supreme, where the boundaries of mortal existence faded into the ether.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

As the first rays of morning painted the sky in hues of rose and gold, you rose with a renewed vigor, ready to embrace the possibilities of a brand-new day. This time, you adorned yourself in a simple pink skirt that swirled delicately with every step, accompanied by a pristine white button-up shirt that exuded an air of elegance. A few golden jewels graced your neck and wrists, their radiant glow perfectly complementing the subtle shimmer of your azure-gilded scales, which had gently faded overnight, cautious not to reveal their true nature under the sun's watchful gaze.

With grace and purpose, you made your way to your place of work, offering nods of acknowledgment to familiar faces along the way. Finally, you arrived at your designated station, only to find the presence of an unfamiliar figure. His jet-black hair cascaded in luxurious waves, an emblem of refined allure that mirrored the wealthy elite you had encountered before. As your eyes met, a shared recognition flashed between you, a profound connection that transcended time and space.

Pupils dilated, hearts resounding like thunderous drums, you found yourself face-to-face with your third soulmate. The shock reverberated through your being, leaving you breathless and disoriented. How could this be? Your mind spun with bewilderment, yet the man before you mirrored your astonishment, his head shaking in disbelief. Rising from his seat, he extended his hand towards you, his voice filled with warmth. "You must be Y/N. My friends have spoken of you," he said, his words laden with a curious mix of familiarity and intrigue.

Nodding in awe, you accepted his outstretched hand, the touch serving as an electric current that coursed through your veins. "I am," you managed to utter, your voice a mere whisper.

A smile curved his lips as he bowed before you, a gesture of respect infused with a touch of undeniable magnetism. "I am Jeon Jungkook, though you may call me Jungkook," he introduced himself, the weight of destiny hanging in the air. With that, the day unfolded, the enchanting dance of camaraderie and laughter guiding your every step. Jungkook proved to be a captivating presence, his humor infectious and his desire to see you smile unwavering. In the blink of an eye, the two of you forged an unbreakable bond, a connection that defied logic and expectations.

It was an extraordinary occurrence, for Jungkook was known to be guarded and reserved, particularly around strangers, especially women. Yet, you, dear Y/N, were an exception. From the depths of his soul, his wolf beckoned, recognizing you as his mate, their incessant whispers echoing through his thoughts, day and night.

In this grand tapestry of existence, where the hands of fate intricately weave the threads of destiny, what choice does one truly have when confronted with the profound and unequivocal declaration of one's soulmate?

#romance #love #xreader #dragons #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #bang chan x reader #jungkook x reader #hyrbids

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