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mariamermaid · 4 years

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I put a spell on you

Sherlock Holmes (19th century) x fem dancer Reader

Summary: After his brother´s persuasion, Sherlock agrees to go to the Ballet with him and is mesmerized by the dancer…

Words: 1.9k

A/N: This is more for the movies/ enola holmes movie, since it´ll take place in the late 19th century. I´m not too familiar with the ballet, so let´s ignore the accuracy.

Halloween Masterlist

Théophile Gautier´s ballet “Giselle” was an absolute success. Even years after the ballet was first performed in Paris, the London theater decided to bring the play back. An act that brought Mycroft Holmes into liberating excitement, much to his brother´s concern. The fog these days laid thick in London and Sherlock, who had just solved an exhausting case, that ended with a dangerous pursuit, in which he broke his arm, wasn´t practically excited. But the younger brother wasn´t left with many options. “God, Sherlock, what happened this time?”

Mycroft pointed towards his arm, hanging in a sling to his side, above his shirt. The jacket was loosely thrown on top of his shoulders, Sherlock shrugged not paying much attention to Mycroft´s needless worries. Around him were a few men gathered and Sherlock found himself falling for simple, but plain and boring small talk. Sighing, he followed his brother into the hall and braced himself for boring hours. But then, the classical music started, Sherlock expected it to be the best part, until he saw you entering the stage. It was the first act and you played the Giselle in the village. Giselle was portrayed as a young, innocent but endearing girl. The white long tutu graced your figure perfectly and throughout the act, you danced across the stage with ease. The forester Hilarion and the prince Albrecht are both in love with Giselle, but after Hilarion unmasks Albrecht´s disguise as a farmer, the girl is led into a disaster. Heartbroken after finding out about Albrecht’s true identity, she falls into his sword and dies. In that scene, Sherlock found himself clinging onto the seat and when the light went out to announce the break, he realized how hard he had grabbed the armrests. His tongue slid across his lips, trying to relax his jaw. He then joined his brother and his entourage outside at the bar for a drink, but the picture of you in the white tutu floating across the stage as if it was nothing, didn´t left his mind. “She´s stunning”, he admitted and the men around him nodded.

“Who? Y/n, she´s a natural”, Mycroft added slightly smiling. “You know her?” Sherlock asked interested and the men echoed in laughter. William Grey, a friend of Mycroft and well-known man in London, grinned. “Your brother, Mr. Holmes, is one of the many men running after Miss Y/L/N.”

Mycroft cleared his throat, he hated admitting that he failed. “I never ran after her.” To Sherlock´s despise, the topic was then dropped. He wanted, no he needed more information about you. While the men gathered for a second round of whiskey, Sherlock did what he did best; research and investigate. He unobtrusively glided through the doors leading to the rooms behind the stage. And there you stood, one hand against the wooden bar and practicing your posture. You had changed costumes, after Giselle´s death, you now wore a blood red tutu and your lips were painted in the same color. Sherlock felt goosebumps raising on his skin, in the soft light of the mere headlights behind the stage, the dry dust floating in the air, you did indeed like a ghost. But a stunning ghost, so beautiful, Sherlock just stopped in his tracks to stare at you.

A man, who worked behind the scenes and was just arranging a background piece, bumped against Sherlock. “Man, don´t stand around!” He eyed Sherlock suspiciously. “No spectators behind the stage”, he added and his low went low. “I…” He didn´t know what to answer, his eyes were still glued onto you. A man, as far as Sherlock guessed he was the regisseur, came to talk you and you nodded to whatever he was saying. You then turned to get your hair checked again, but you noticed the unknown man standing around. His tall figure with his neat clothes, his eyes meeting yours. For a second, you stood still, admiring his dark locks and his angular features. But then you remembered the work and disappeared within the crowd of people running around. “Didn´t you hear what I just said?” Sherlock jerked, as the man spoke up again, louder and clearly angry.

“Sorry, I must´ve taken a wrong door somewhere.”

As quick as he appeared behind the stage, he vanished again. Sherlock found his seat next to his brother, who eyed him confused. “Where have you been?” Luckily, the lights went out before he could think of an excuse.

The second act started, the forester Hilarion waits at Giselle´s death bed, until the nature ghosts and their queen Myrtha appear to welcome Giselle in their realm. Sherlock couldn´t tear his eyes of you, you were pale with powder and your once white gown, was now black as the night. Albrecht finds the ghost as well and follows Giselle into the woods. Myrtha and her wilas, dance around Hilarion until he drops with exhaustion and dies. Myrtha shortly after finds Albrecht, but he is protected by Giselle´s love. At dawn, the queen loses her power and Giselle forgives Albrecht, before she vanishes.

The whole act was preposterous, the dance of the dead ghosts and in between them; you. Sherlock saw the light of life in your eyes glistening. You looked magical to him; he couldn’t describe any other way. The hall echoed with applause and Sherlock even joined in the standing ovation, your performance was outstanding. He then waited outside with his brother again; some men with wife´s went home, but Sherlock waited with anticipation. It was almost an hour later, when he finally saw you. The stage make-up was gone and you looked exhausted, but happy. You had a coat thrown over your shoulder and a dark red, rather simple dress. Your hair was loosened, but remained closed. People quickly approached you, congratulating on the success and praising your abilities and talent. But you had spotted Mycroft within the crowd, and with him the man who had caught your attention earlier. You slipped away and made your way to them. “Mycroft.” You smiled as he greeted you, leaning down and placing a delicate kiss on your hand. “Y/N, extraordinary and perfect as always.” A faint blush was on your cheeks, but then your glance wandered to Sherlock.

“Who is your companion, Mycroft?” It was almost awkward, how Sherlock couldn´t do anything but stand around and stare at you, his brother chuckled. The sight was rare, but welcomed for him. “You´ve heard of him, my brother Sherlock!” A grin crept on your rosy lips and you put out your hand to greet him as well. Sherlock could´ve punched himself, a lady like you holding her hand out first; what kind of gentleman he was! He took it softly and did his brother equal, placing a kiss on your hand. “Mr. Holmes, are you working on a case right now?” Sherlock stopped, raising his eyebrow confused.

“It seemed like you nosed around behind the stage in the break, are you looking for a thief?” The assumption you made was perfectly fine, but your tone stated differently. You knew he wasn´t there for a case and Mycroft snickered. “You have to excuse my brother, Y/n. Snooping around runs in his veins.” Sherlock breathed out, a slight annoyance rising. He didn´t like the way his brother was able to interact with you, not unless he was able to do so as well.

Mycroft changed the subject; “My birthday, Y/n, next week, I hoped you would come?” Your eyes left Sherlock and jealousy rose in him, a feeling he wasn´t very familiar with. “I have a performance, but I will try to sneak away afterwards.”

William Grey interrupted your group, saying his goodbye´s for the evening and you cleared your throat. “I´m going home as well, training and rehearsals are getting the better of me.” For once this night, Sherlock was quicker than his brother. “Can I walk you home, Miss Y/L/N?”

You grabbed your bag a little tighter, hanging over your shoulder and he noted how hard to read your expression was. “I don´t need a man to protect me, Mr. Holmes. But I´m willing to let you accompany me in exchange for some details about your solved cases, I´m quite a fan if you will.” Sherlock smiled and tilted his head proudly.

“So, you recognized the murderer due to his shoes?” You asked interested as the two of you walked through the dark streets of London. The light from the lanterns fell softly to the ground, but the air laid silent. It was late, barely any light left in most houses. Sherlock nodded, lurking down to you. “That´s fascinating, Mr. Holmes.” “You can call me Sherlock.”

For the first time, you actually blushed. “Willing to solve some riddles for me, Sherlock?” A shiver ran down his spine as you called him by his name, but he nodded. “When the water comes down, it rains. I go up, what am I?” Sherlock paused for a second, but a grin spread on his lips. “An umbrella.”

“I can fly but I have no wings. I can cry but I have no eyes.” “A cloud.”

"I dance as the night rises and a wooden pole accompanies me; what am I?” He chuckled confident.

“A ballerina.”

You stopped on the street and behind you laid a park, dark and the silhouettes of trees and bushes rose like giants in the night. “A witch, Mr. Holmes. A witch on her broom.”

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, behind you walked a black cat and the coincidence let him shiver. He usually wasn´t a superstitious type, but you were not to be underestimated; he was sure of it. He swallowed realizing how you had been able to distract him from the logical solution. “As far as I´m concerned, I have bewitched your mind, Sherlock.” From your coat you pulled out a notepad, his notepad. All notes on previous cases and current observations were written down. “How-“

“For a detective, you´re not very good at sneaking around, behind the stage.” You fell into his word, before he was able to ask questions. He wondered how on earth you had stolen his notepad, maybe due to his lack of movement with the broken arm? You were absolutely right however; you did drive him insane. Laughing, you held his notepad still up. “Don´t worry, you´ll get your notes back, if you solve my last riddle.”

His tongue glided over his lips. “A party, but the ballerina doesn´t want to dance.”

He anticipated more, but you closed your mouth, grinning. “I´ll see you next week, Sherlock.”

Sherlock hadn´t realized that you had reached your destination and you turned to leave him standing in the middle of the street. “How did you steal my notes?”

You laughed out loud as you hurried into a dark alley, he guessed that the entrance to your apartment laid there.

“I put a spell on you, Sherlock Holmes.”

He hurried after you, but as he entered the alley, a dead end as he realized, you were gone. There was no door and no windows at the wall surrounding him, you had basically vanished into thin air. Sherlock smiled in excitement; the evening turned out so much better than he ever imagined. He lit himself a pipe and strolled to his own home. A party, but the ballerina doesn´t want to dance, your words repeated in his mind. I´ll see you next week. Mycroft´s birthday party and you don´t want to dance. What does a lady do, that gets invited by someone, who she doesn´t want to dance with? She arrives accompanied by a different man.

#sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock imagine #henry cavill #robert downey jr #benedict cumberbatch #mariamermaidimagine #enola holmes

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superheroesofbothuniverses · 3 years

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An Enchanted Evening(Wintershock)

“I hear Pepper and Tony are throwing another Disney bash. You excited?”

Darcy looked up from her laptop as Clint stuck his head in her office to deliver the news. It never failed, if something interesting was happening, he’d be stopping by to discuss it. He was worse than her great aunts when it came to gossip, Darcy thought fondly.

“Yeah, but I’ll have to find a date. I don’t wanna be Giselle without a Robert, unless I can get Jane to go with me. She loves going as the evil queen.”

Clint looked confused.

“I thought you and Barnes were an item. I see you together all the time, looking all cozy.”

“Appearances can be deceiving, Clint,” Darcy sighed. “He doesn’t seem to want anything more than friendship right now. But he is pretty great at the whole friend thing.”

“If he did want more, would you go out with him?” Clint pressed, watching her searchingly.

“Totally,” Darcy admitted, knowing better than to lie to him. “But don’t you dare interfere and ruin this for me. I don’t want to push him away after how long it took me to get him to warm up to me.”

Bucky had been very skittish when he’d first arrived and Darcy tried the technique she’d used when befriending neighborhood feral cats: kept her distance while offering friendly greetings and looking as non-threatening as possible, left plentiful treats around, and cracked ridiculous jokes in his hearing in hopes of earning a smile. It had taken several months, but Darcy succeeded in Operation Befriend Bucky.

“Who are you and Laura going to go as?” Darcy inquired, trying to change the subject.

Clint grinned. “OutlawQueen, of course,” he supplied.

“Oooh. Going with the Once Upon A Time ship. It’s perfect,” Darcy admired. “Can’t wait to see it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a lot of work to do if I’m going to be able to afford the dress I’ve got my eye on.”

“Just so long as you show up,” Clint relented. “See ya, Doc.”

With a wink, Hawkeye made himself scarce and Darcy returned to her work, trying not to picture Bucky dressed as a Disney prince.

Bucky had just finished an intense workout and was trash talking Steve in a way only a best friend could get away with when his long suffering friend decided to turn the tables on him.

“So I hear you’re the only one who hasn’t RSVP’d for the big disney ball,” Steve commented. “Thought you would be going with Darcy.”

“How many times do I have to tell you we’re just friends?” Bucky sighed.

Steve gave him a look of utter disbelief and sighed.

“Still in denial. But you do know you can accompany her as a friend, right?”

“And have to hear you lot gossiping even more? No thanks,” Bucky muttered, even as he really wished he had the guts to ask Darcy. Despite what he’d told Steve, Bucky was very interested in the new astrophysicist in a definite more-than-friends way, but so far, he hadn’t seen any signs that she shared this interest, so he’d stayed quiet rather than ruin one of the best friendships he’d made in his post-Hydra life.

Steve just smiled knowingly at him.

“If you change your mind, Darcy is going as Giselle from Enchanted. Nat told me yesterday. They’re going shopping for dresses tomorrow.”

“Never heard of her,” Bucky muttered, splitting off from Steve to take the stairs to his floor. The next evening, a Blu-ray of Enchanted had appeared on his coffee table. Bucky turned up his nose, but Natasha’s commanding note had him sighing and watching the movie anyway.

Despite the typical Disney cheesiness, Bucky found himself enjoying himself and actually laughing a few times at the antics of the ridiculously over the top Prince Edward. Robert seemed a more realistic hero for once and he found himself sympathizing with the man. Bucky was pretty sure there wasn’t going to be a happily ever after for himself, either.

After the movie ended, he sat and thought for a while, then called Natasha.

Darcy bought her dress, shoes, and jewelry, happily spending way more than she normally would thanks to her long hours and careful saving up for the day. The wine colored fit-and flare dress looked amazing on her and the skirt swirled in a very satisfying manner when she turned around.

“You’re going to be turning heads tonight,” Natasha commented as they hauled their purchases home. “Especially a certain someone.”

She wiggled her eyebrows and Darcy sighed.

“Whatever you say. I have no comment,” she said rather stiffly.

Natasha laughed.

“You say that now,” she said.

In the end, Darcy went by herself to the ball, having chickened out about asking Bucky, which she was already kicking herself for. Oh, well. At least she looked fabulous in her dress that looked just like the one Amy Adams wore for the dance.

She perked up a bit when she got to the fancy ballroom Tony had rented and met the rest of the Avengers in full costume. Sure enough, Clint and Laura were Robin Hood and Regina and looked amazing. Tony and Pepper were Captain Hook and Emma Swan.

“Aren’t you a little grey to be Captain Hook?” Darcy teased him. “But that’s a nice costume.”

“Hook’s a lot older than he looks,” Tony replied, waving his fake hook hand around.

Natasha and Steve were Ariel and Eric, which was an unexpected choice, but Nat looked great in her slinky, iridescent turquoise dress and Steve was a fabulous prince. Sharon and Sam were Rapunzel and Flynn Rider and Wanda was Princess Elsa, complete with a gorgeous icy blue dress and fabulous blonde wig. Thor strode around dressed like Hercules and Darcy hung out with him for a few minutes, exchanging small talk.

“Are you also unaccompanied, Darcy?” Thor asked.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “But I’m hanging out with friends and feeling fabulous, so I’ll be alright,” she assured him.

She completely forgot what she’d planned on saying next because Bucky Barnes arrived and was looking so gorgeous, she found she couldn’t breathe.

Bucky, feeling stiff and awkward in his fancy costume, was keeping his eyes peeled for Darcy, even as he greeted Steve, Nat, and Sam, all of whom seemed very surprised, but pleased to see him.

“She’s over by Thor,” Nat whispered helpfully and Bucky looked where she indicated and felt his heart skip several beats and his mouth go dry.

Darcy was looking incredibly gorgeous in a dress like the one from the movie, which was a simple design, but very flattering on her. She’d left her dark hair down and had simple silvery earrings that sparkled in the light from the massive overhead chandeliers.

In this moment, Bucky knew he was a goner. These were NOT platonic friendly reactions he was experiencing right now. Not at all. She locked eyes with him and her own widened, and she full on smiled at him, which propelled him towards her, now oblivious to everyone else in the room.

Darcy swallowed nervously as Bucky approached, looking stunning in an embroidered dark blue jacket clearly meant to replicate Robert’s costume from Enchanted. He’d pulled his hair back into a small ponytail and it only added to the appeal.

“Hi,” she said softly, giving him a smile.

“Hi,” he answered back, looking at her in a way that made her feel downright giddy.

“Wow. Darcy, you look beautiful,” he told her, sincerity oozing from his voice.

“Why thank you,” she replied, trying to resist the urge to fan herself. “You’re looking pretty fabulous yourself. I’d say what a happy coincidence we picked the same movie, but I know our meddling friends better than that.”

Bucky grinned at her.

“Yep. And I have to tell them they were right later.”

“Right about what?” Darcy asked, knowing what the answer was but wanting to hear him say it.

“That I’ve got it bad for you, doll. I didn’t think you felt the same way, so I’ve been trying to ignore it, but I don’t think that’s possible anymore.”

The way he was looking at her was giving Darcy tingles all over and she took a step close to him.

“We’re a couple of fail boats then, because I’ve been feeling the same way, and was also convinced I was stuck in the friend zone,” Darcy admitted. “All our friends could see it, but we sure were oblivious.”

“We were. As a trained spy, I should be embarrassed, but I’m just happy,” Bucky told her. “Wanna dance?”

“Gladly, handsome,” she told him. “I heard you’re very talented in that department.”

Bucky flushed a bit, but shrugged.

“People exaggerate, but I did enjoy it back in the day. Let’s hope I’m not too rusty.”

If Bucky was rusty, Darcy certainly couldn’t tell because she was enjoying herself too much. She’d never danced with a guy who could lead as well as he could and it was glorious. Looking into his blue eyes, she couldn’t help but flush at the expression in them and wondered if she looked equally smitten.

Bucky was thinking about how perfectly they fit together and how her eyes were downright sparkling. That look she was giving him was downright dangerous and he never wanted this moment to end.

They ended up dancing through three more songs before Darcy pulled him away from the party.

“Tired already?” He asked teasingly.

“Bucky Barnes, you’d better kiss me right now, or so help me, Thor…..” she threatened playfully, pointing her finger at him. She didn’t have to say it twice. Bucky had been wanting to kiss her for a long time and just like with the dancing, proved to be very skilled.

“That good enough for Ya?” He finally asked.

“It’s a great start,” she whispered as she caught her breath.

Across the room, their friends looked on in amusement and approval.

“Nice work,” Steve told his girlfriend, who was looking very pleased with herself. “I thought you’d have to lock them in a closet or something.”

“Don’t think that wasn’t on the table if they kept being oblivious or Barnes refused to show up tonight,” Natasha admitted. “And I used to think YOU were the stubborn one.”

Steve laughed.

“You’re my favorite Disney prince, Bucky Barnes,” Darcy told him as they swayed together to a slow song.

“Just don’t expect me to sing or talk to chipmunks,” he muttered playfully. “Gotta draw the line somewhere.”

#wintershock #fluff #Disney inspired #darcy lewis #Bucky Barnes #I just watched enchanted

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straight-into-the-animus · 3 years

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That’s How You Know (He Loves You) (French Fryes)

Fluff for Christmas coming up, because of this post, and the fact that Enchanted (2007) is getting a sequel so. I’m not excited, you are.

Very general fluff, no warnings applied.

Read on Ao3

“Why the fuck are we still watching this?” Jacob yawned, head on Arno’s shoulder and eyes fixated on the television. Arno hummed and adjusted so Jacob could lie on him a bit more, the blanket slipping down a bit as he stretched an arm around Jacob’s shoulders and gently scratched his scalp.

“You’re the one who wanted to watch James Marsden and Amy Adams, mon amour.”

“Have you seen them?”

“I have. We’ve been watching them for,” Arno craned his neck to look at the clock on the wall, “over an hour and a half.” Jacob half-heartedly slapped Arno’s thigh, but neither really paid attention to it.

They’d been on the couch for much longer than that, enjoying the relative peace of a mutual day off. They didn’t even get out of bed until ten in the morning -- a minor feat considering how much Jacob thrived on his early morning starts -- and had moved to the living room after breakfast to watch random stuff until it was dark out and their eyes were beginning to feel tired from the strain.

And then Jacob saw that there was a Disney movie on, and had picked it before his boyfriend could say anything about it, and now they were watching as the princess and her attorney/true love danced around each other and their feelings.

“You love it, I know you do.”

“I’m more of a Patrick Dempsey fan, personally, but to each his own-” Arno pretended to consider before Jacob swatted his thigh again, earning a grin and little laugh from Arno at the disgruntled look on Jacob’s face. “You’re going to leave a bruise if you keep this up.”

“I’m barely hitting you, stop it.”

“If you want me to stop being your little pillow, all you have to do is ask.”

“Don’t you dare move.”

Things went quiet after that as they finished the last few minutes of the movie -- both of them finding it quite hard to keep sniffles quiet during the “true love’s kiss” scene --, and when it was over they both relaxed into the couch and each other as Arno snuck in one last look at the clock.

“We should head off to the bedroom.”

“I’m still comfortable right here.”

“But the mess-”

“I’ll clean it up first thing in the morning, you don’t have to move your pretty bottom to do anything.”

“It is pretty, isn’t it.” Arno rolled his eyes but reached over and turned off the tableside lamp, the television being shut off right after before they started to recline on the barely big enough couch. “Though, if I wake up to a bunch of vermin running around the house cleaning, you’re staying at your sister’s indefinitely.”

“Fair enough,” Jacob noted with a small yawn as they started to intertwine their bodies, legs being the first pieces to meld together as they lay side by side, Jacob somewhat on top of Arno. It wasn’t completely comfortable, but they were warm with the light blanket thrown on top of them. Jacob nestled in as Arno’s arm wrapped around him and smiled as a thought occurred to him. “Y’know, you might just be a bit like Robert.”

“Excuse me?” Arno tried to look at Jacob with what the man was sure was a disapproving look, but the angle was a bit awkward and Jacob continued on.

“Big old grump, thought he’d given up on love ‘cause of some bad experiences. And then a pretty perfect romantic comes along and gave you enough of a chance to prove you’re actually a big, loving softy.”

Things were quiet for a bit, and Jacob was worried Arno had fallen asleep or somehow was upset by how close Jacob had cut to the bone, however unintentionally cruel it might have sounded, before the Frenchman spoke up, gentle and quiet. “I am not a grump.”

“You are an immense grump, but I love you anyway.” Jacob pulled an arm free to hold onto Arno as much as Arno was trying to hold onto him. Of course, practicality meant neither one wanted to tumble ass over teacup and off the couch in the middle of the night -- been there, not a fan --, but it worked in the living room that now had a somewhat soft atmosphere to it. Jacob felt the slightest brush of Arno’s lips against his hairline, murmuring something in French that Jacob could barely hear before he spoke up.

“Mister fight club, you are the furthest thing from a Giselle that there could possibly be. Though I’d like to see you fit into one of her dresses.” Jacob could hear the smile in Arno’s voice and he joined in.

“Dye my hair and get extensions?”

“Hmm, definitely. I expect nothing else.”

“Cut up the curtains?”

“They’re ugly anyway.”

“We’ll teach choreography everywhere we go,” Jacob said.

“And you need to learn to sing.”

“I already sing.”

“Is that what we’re calling it when you’re pulling out the Pulp albums?”

Jacob let out a fake offended gasp and almost pulled away from Arno. “See if I ever give you a concert again when we’re having a cleaning day.”

Arno chuckled and yawned. “I look forward to the next one, actually. If you ever stop, I’d be upset.”

“Oh, I know you would.” Jacob sniffed, before softening. “Get some rest, love.”

“Hmm. I love you.” Arno mumbled, and only when Jacob responded the same did he start to fall asleep.

Jacob smiled a bit as he felt himself start to fall into the warm embrace of sleep, listening to Arno’s breath and feeling it start to deepen. It was the furthest thing from a fairy tale, but he figured it was as close as anyone could get.

I hope you enjoyed! If you do I have a Masterpost here and more ideas for writings and prompts here, so feel free to request of even just pop in to say hello! If you’d like to support me, I have a ko-fi here! Safety and peace!

#french fryes #arno dorian #jacob frye #arno x jacob #assassin's creed #my writings

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camillemontespan · 4 years

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ten years from now [AU. drake walker x camille montespan] [part seven: lost & found]

Master List if you want to catch up

Warnings: Sort of NSFW. Question: as we are on lockdown and not at work, can we still say ‘not safe for work?’ Hmm.. ‘NSFQ?’ Not safe for quarantine!

@moonlightgem7 @jovialyouthmusic @mskaneko @ibldw-main @katedrakeohd @pug-bitch @gooddaykate @princessleac1 @burnsoslow @loveellamae @pedudley @oofchoices @emichelle @simplymissjulia @dcbbw @sirbeepsalot @rainbowsinthestorm @notoriouscs @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @addictedtodrakefanfic @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @nomadics-stuff @gardeningourmet *******************************************************

Drake rested his face in the crook of Camille's neck. His breath came out heavy and hitched, giving her goosebumps. Drake could smell the coconut of her hair.

He slowly ran his hands along her thighs as he pulled gently away from her. Camille's chest heaved as she tried to regulate her breathing after the exertion of what they had just done.

They didn't speak as they put their clothes back down. When Camille couldn't reach the zip of her dress, she silently turned her back to him and Drake pulled it up slowly, allowing his fingers to graze her spine.

Camille helped him with his cufflinks silently. Drake watched her, his eyebrows furrowed, as if he was trying to memorise every detail about her.

'I'll go out first,' Camille said, breaking the long, heavy silence. 'You come out a minute after.'

Drake nodded and watched her turn on her heel to open the door. He caught at her wrist.

'Camille.'

Camille turned to look at him over her shoulder. She looked terrified. Drake cursed himself. Of course she would regret what they had just done. She was engaged.

Drake sighed and took his hand away. 'Please can we just be normal?' he asked, his voice low. 'We can forget what happened between us and just carry on as normal.'

Camille moved towards him now, her silk dress flowing across the curves and lines of her body. She pressed her hand on his chest, making Drake swallow.

'We will never be normal, Drake,' she whispered.

Drake's finger grazed her jaw, tracing a line up her cheek towards her collar bone. He wanted to remember every detail of her face. He wanted to remember how high her cheekbones were and how soft her skin was. He wasn't banking on ever touching her again, not now.

His finger brushed her bottom lip. He let out a breath when Camille kissed his finger.

'See you out there,' she murmured. She turned and opened the door, quickly stepping out to the party outside.

Drake waited one minute before following in her footsteps.

**********************************

Camille joined Liam on the dance floor. He had been dancing with Gisele but his future mother in law kindly let go of him so he could dance with his fiancé.

'Where have you been, my love?' he asked her warmly, kissing her on the forehead.

'I was just outside getting some air,' Camille said easily. 'Are you enjoying yourself?'

Liam grinned. 'I love a Beaumont Bash! Great music, atmosphere, incredible outfits..'

He twirled her in his arms, making her giggle. She wrapped her arms around his neck and focused on his body against hers, his scent of sandalwood, his blue eyes.

But her focus was distracted when she saw Drake appear in the corner of her eye. He was talking to his mom, who was trying to get him to dance with her.

What they had done in the Beaumont study flashed through Camille's mind. His hands on her. His desperate kisses. His fingers tangled in her hair. Urgent, desperate, deep kisses that left her breathless. He didn't treat her like fine china. He made her body feel like it was on fire. He made her feel something.

For the first time in years, Camille felt alive and she wasn't sure what to make of that.

****************************

Drake couldn't sleep that night. His mind was too busy with thoughts of Camille. Everytime he closed his eyes, he relived it.

The way she gasped his name as he drove into her. Her fingers scratching his back that were sure to leave scars. Her lips hot against his neck as she kissed him with abandon.

Knowing he wasn't getting to sleep any time soon, Drake got out of bed and out of the house. He found himself at the jetty, his place, and settled down to look at the darkness. He couldn't see the water but he could see the stars twinkling above him.

'I'm so fucked,' he murmured, resting his head in his hands.

******************************

Liam and Camille had three days left in Texas. The trip had gone by quickly and they had realised that during that time, they hadn't actually sat down to discuss wedding plans.

Today, they set up camp at the kitchen table to do just that.

'Okay, who have we invited from Applewood?' Liam asked, a pen poised in his hand. Camille sipped her coffee as she thought back.

'Bertrand, Maxwell, Penelope..'

Liam wrote their names down.

'Bianca, Savannah, Drake..'

Liam nodded. 'Anyone else?'

'Kiara, though she is still to confirm,' Camille said. 'And I guess I should invite Madeleine but I don't really want to..'

Liam chuckled. 'It's your day, darling. You invite who you want. I want this day to be perfect for you.'

Camille smiled at his kindness. Liam reached out to take her hand, his eye fixed on hers. 'Just think, in three months, you will be my wife,' he said, smiling. 'Our wedding will be beautiful. You will be beautiful.'

Camille's heart began to beat more rapidly. She cleared her throat and took her hand away from Liam's so she could sip her coffee. Liam studied her with a dopey smile on his face.

'Mrs Camille Rhys,' he declared proudly.

The coffee burned Camille's tongue as she downed it.

**********************************

Bianca clapped her hands excitedly as she read the Applewood Gazette. Drake looked up from his phone, unamused.

'What have you read now?' he droned. 'Discount event at the garden store? Coffee morning? Another Beaumont Bash?'

Bianca tutted at her son. 'Actually, no,' she said. 'But the Applefest has been organised for this Friday!'

Drake groaned. 'Oh no, ma..'

Bianca got to her feet and started to dance around, shaking her hips. 'I'm going to make you bob for apples!' she cried, ruffling his hair.

Drake closed his eyes. He hated Applefest. Every year, they went and every year, Drake hated it. It was always busy and it meant he had to mingle with people from school which was not his idea of a fun time. Plus he fucking hated apples.

'I'm going to call Gisele and see if they're going!' Bianca announced, picking up the phone.

'I'm sure Camille will be too busy,' Drake said quickly. 'And I can't see Liam being the type to enjoy Applefest-'

'Heh he can hang out with you then,' Savannah quipped, entering the kitchen. 'Drake and Liam, best friends.'

Drake could hear the sarcasm in her tone but he chose to ignore it.

'Gisele, it's Bee!' Bianca said down the phone. 'How are you, gorgeous? Are you guys going to Applefest?'

Bianca and Gisele talked for thirty minutes, mainly making fun of the idea of Drake bobbing for apples. When Bianca finally hung up, she looked at Drake triumphantly.

'Liam and Camille will be at Applefest!' she cried. 'Time to work on your apple bobbing skills!'

****************************

'I swear we've been to so many events,' Liam said as he got ready for Applefest. ‘Not that I’m complaining, I’m used to parties - you’ve met my brother - it’s just for such a small town, I’m quite surprised.’

Camille shrugged. 'I told you, Applewood is really social. We've always got something going on. I quite like Applefest, it's a bit dorky but it's always fun. I was once crowned Apple Queen!'

Liam raised an eyebrow. 'Apple Queen?'

'Uh huh,' Camille said. 'I've still got my crown. Let me find it!'

She dug around in her closet until she found the plastic tiara set with red apple shaped plastic gems. She placed it on her head and curtseyed to Liam.

He chuckled and moved towards her. 'My Queen,' he murmured, bowing to her grandly. His eyes focused on hers and Camille could see his pupils darken.

'You suit a crown,' Liam said softly. 'Very regal. Elegant.'

'It's made of plastic,' Camille told him. 'Not elegant.'

Liam smiled and took her hands, pulling her in close. 'You will always be elegant to me,' he whispered, leaning down to kiss her.

Camille leaned into the kiss. She was about to break away but was stopped by Liam's hands that kept her in place.

'My Queen,' he repeated, his voice thick. His lips moved to kiss her cheek and peppered little kisses down her neck to her collar bone. He reached up to run his hands under her sweater so he could touch her skin.

'Let me worship you,' he murmured in her ear.

Camille blinked. 'We need to get ready for Applefest -'

'I'm getting you ready to greet your people,' Liam interrupted. Camille tried to make sense of this. Was he role playing? Liam never role played!

Camille's mind flashed to Drake. Swallowing, she pushed the image of his face out of her mind and grabbed Liam's hands, pulling him onto the bed.

'Worship me then, my king,' she whispered, making her voice low and husky.

She needed to forget Drake. She had had a moment of weakness when she was with him in the study but no more. She was engaged. Regardless of how Drake made her feel, she had to focus on Liam. Liam was the one who mattered.

She watched him as he unbuttoned her jeans. He flung the jeans to the floor and got down between her thighs, grazing her skin with his lips.

'My love,' he groaned.

Camille closed her eyes as she felt his tongue begin to work her. Her hands clenched the pillows and she let out a low groan as he twisted and twirled.

Drake's face appeared. Camille gasped. She tried to push him out of her mind but she found that she couldn't. Without meaning to, she imagined his hands, his fingers, his breath against her skin.

As Liam worshipped her, Camille imagined Drake. She imagined him doing what Liam was doing to her. She imagined Drake worshipping his Queen.

****************************

Fireworks were exploding in the twilight sky, welcoming the beginning of Applefest. The event was being held in a fairground, complete with a carousel and a corn maze. Drake could smell candy floss and the sweet scent of apples; it made him want to throw up. He quickly looked around to see if there was an open bar but of course, there wasn’t. This was a family event. Whiskey was not allowed, god forbid.

‘So, shall we bob for apples first?’ Bianca suggested. ‘Oooh or we can fish for plastic apples! Let’s do that. Drake, you’re good at fishing-’

‘Mom, I’m not getting involved,’ Drake interrupted. ‘I’ll just wander around and wait for this shit show to be over.’

Bianca sighed. ‘You’re such a fun sucker..’

‘I am not!’ Drake protested.

‘You kinda are,’ Savannah chimed in. ‘You don’t like to do anything. I swear, sometimes you act just like a moody teenager.’

Drake’s jaw set. He couldn’t think of a retort because he knew his sister was right. Drake was a moody teenager in a 28 year old man’s body. He really should move out of his mom’s place..

‘Hey everyone!’

He closed his eyes. He recognised Liam’s voice now. Oh god. Oh god.

‘Liam, Camille, hiiii!’ Bianca cried, rushing towards them to give them hugs.

Savannah nudged Drake’s foot with her shoe. ‘Going to say hi to your girlfriend?’ she whispered.

‘Fuck you,’ Drake replied. ‘Seriously.’

Liam walked towards Drake with his hand outstretched. ‘Drake! Good to see you! Did you enjoy the Beaumont Bash?’

Drake tried to keep his face from turning red. He saw Camille look down at her feet and quickly looked away from her. ‘Yeah, it was alright,’ Drake said, keeping his voice neutral. He was not going to steal a glance at Camille. To do so would betray his thoughts.

‘Drake hates Bashes,’ Savannah said, joining in the conversation. ‘The dancing, the music.. He likes to be at the bar.’

‘Nothing wrong with that!’ Liam said, grinning. ‘I like a drink myself. Now, what are we going to do first? Bob for apples?’

‘We’re going to fish for apples!’ Bianca crowed, taking Liam by the arm. ‘Let’s win some prizes!’

She dragged Liam away with Savannah following close behind. Drake ran a hand through his hair, becoming acutely aware that he was left with Camille. She cleared her throat.

‘So, shall we fish for apples?’ she suggested, her voice unnaturally high.

‘Why not, Montespan,’ Drake grumbled. ‘I hate this shit.’

Camille giggled despite her nerves. ‘I know you do. But hey, you get to win a prize.’ She winked at him, knowing he couldn’t care less about prizes.

‘If the prize is a bottle of whiskey, then my work here is done,’ Drake said, starting to walk through the fairground. Camille fell into step with him.

They walked on in silence, trying to avoid the crowds of people who were packed together, eager to try the games and have a good time. Someone bumped into Camille, pushing her into Drake.

‘Woah!’ she cried, grabbing hold of Drake’s arm.

‘You alright?’ he asked her. He looked around to try and find the pusher but the person was gone.

Camille nodded. Her hand slid gently down his arm; her fingers brushed his. Without thinking about what he was doing, Drake’s fingers closed around hers.

‘What are we doing?’ she muttered.

Drake bit his lip. ‘Being stupid, I guess.’

He moved to take his hand away from hers but found with surprise that she held on tight. ‘Not yet,’ she whispered. ‘This is.. This is nice.’

Drake swallowed and looked down at their hands that were intertwined. They were hidden away from people’s eyes but Drake could feel the softness of her hands in his, softness against his callouses.

‘We should go fish for apples,’ he said roughly.

Camille took her hand away and exhaled. ‘Let’s show them how it’s done.’

**************************************************

It turned out that Liam was terrible at fishing for apples. As the plastic apples bobbed in the water, Liam tried and failed to get hold of one with his hook; the apples would just flip over and float away from him.

‘I need to win you a prize!’ Liam told Camille, determination set on his face. ‘I’ve got my eye on that stuffed corgi!’

‘It’s okay, I don’t need the corgi!’ Camille said, trying to make him feel better. ‘I don’t need any toys, I’m not a child-’

‘You deserve the corgi!’ Liam interrupted.

Camille stepped back and watched her fiancee try to hook an apple again. Savannah watched in dry amusement, rolling her eyes as Liam cursed under his breath. Drake was standing to the side with his hands in his pockets, desperate for a whiskey.

‘Drake’s really good at fishing!’ Bianca said. ‘Maybe he could try?’

Drake’s eyes widened. ‘Mom, I don’t wanna-’

Liam brandished Drake the fishing rod. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Get Camille that damn corgi.’

‘I don’t need the corgi..’ Camille muttered.

Drake winced. ‘The lady says she doesn’t want it-’

‘Nonsense!’ Bianca cut in. ‘Come on, baby! Get the corgi for Camille!’

Savannah let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, Drake,’ she said. ‘Get the corgi for Camille.’

Camille was bright red. Drake sighed and took the rod from Liam, who looked at him gratefully. Drake was beginning to realise that Liam worshipped the ground Camille walked on. He had to make her smile. He had to make her happy. Even if she didn’t want the corgi, Liam wanted to give her something to make her smile and laugh. If it was anyone else, it would reek of desperation. But Liam made it seem like he wanted to do it out of the goodness of his heart. Drake felt sick as the realisation dawned on him.

He stood and poised the rod. He clocked an apple that looked easy to fish and he focused on that. He was aware that Camille was watching him and he tried to ignore her. He wasn’t doing this for Camille; he was doing this to help Liam be the best fiance he could be. Why? Fuck knows.

Drake hooked the apple and brought it up out of the water, making Liam and Bianca whoop with delight. Camille was beetroot red. Savannah was watching Drake with an eyebrow raised, arms crossed and shaking her head.

The vendor whistled. ‘Okay, you wanted a corgi?’ he asked Camille.

‘Uh..’

The vendor picked up the stuffed corgi and handed it to Drake. ‘Here you go,’ he said. ‘Give it to the lady.’

The corgi was so fucking soft. Drake quickly held it out for Camille like it was a grenade. ‘There you go.’

Camille took it and held it in her arms, holding it tightly. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

Liam grinned. ‘Perfect! Now we have a memento from our trip to Texas! Thank you, Drake!’

Drake wanted the ground to swallow him up.

******************************************************

The group decided to visit the corn maze. It was a feature that had been present at every Applefest for the past forty years, practically an Applewood institution. It was known for being hard to navigate and easy to get lost in.

Liam was excited to try it.

‘Let’s all split up!’ he suggested. ‘Whoever gets to the middle first wins!’

‘Oh jesus..’ Savannah murmured. ‘It’s like we’re children..’

For once, Drake agreed with his sister.

They reached the entrance and Liam placed a kiss on Camille’s hand. ‘See you in the middle, my Apple Queen.’

Savannah dry heaved. Drake elbowed her in the ribs. ‘Quit being a dick..’ he muttered in her ear.

‘I’m sorry but it’s nauseating,’ Savannah hissed. ‘I don’t know how Camille deals with the constant attention and sickening declarations of love. He’s too perfect. He has to have something wrong with him.’

Again, Drake agreed with his sister. Twice in one day was unheard of.

The group split up. Drake took a left, walking through the path of corn. The corn was taller than he was and blocked out the stars above. As his vision adjusted, he made a right then another left. He thought back to previous years getting lost in this maze. He always managed to find his way eventually but he remembered that Camille never could.

****************************************************

Drake aged 9; Camille aged 8

‘DRAKE! DRAKE!’ Camille shouted as loudly as she could. ‘DRAKE!’

Silence.

She had no idea where she was in the maze. Was she near the middle? Near the exit? The entrance? She didn’t know. Her sense of direction was terrible and she couldn’t see in the dark. She walked carefully, making sure she wouldn’t trip up, and tried to calm her rapidly beating heart.

‘DRAKE!’

She needed to find her best friend. He would get her out. He would calm her down.

‘DRAKE!’ she tried again. ‘I’m lost!’

She continued to tread carefully, whimpering as she did so. Tears were beginning to fill her eyes and she couldn’t fight the sheer panic that was building in her heart. What if she would be lost forever? What if she had to live here for the rest of her days? What if she became the Corn Queen?

‘Camille?!’

Her heart leaped. ‘Drake!’ she cried. ‘Where are you? I’m here!’

‘Where is here?’ Drake shouted from somewhere in the near distance.

‘I don’t know!’

Her voice was high now, shaking. She continued to walk but tripped over a root. ‘Ooof!’

‘Okay, I’m going to follow your voice!’ Drake shouted. ‘Just keep talking! I’ll find you!’

‘I’m here! Find me!’ she shouted back. ‘I’m here!’

She heard footsteps. As her vision adjusted, she saw a dark figure approaching her. ‘Drake?’

‘Camille!’

Hands reached out to take her by the arms. In the dark, she could make out Drake’s features. Relief flooded Camille and she threw her arms around him.

‘You found me!’ she cried. ‘Oh I thought I was going to have to stay here forever! You found me!’

Drake held her tight and chuckled. ‘I’m always gonna find you,’ he mumbled, his mouth against her hair. ‘I promise. I won’t let you get lost.’

Camille let out a sigh of relief and hugged him tightly, not willing to let him go. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘My grandma would’ve been so worried if I disappeared.’

Drake squeezed her tight. ‘I wouldn’t have let that happen.’

****************************************************

Drake continued to wander aimlessly. He didn’t really care if he didn’t reach the middle; he had done this maze so many times that he practically memorised the pathways.

He made a right and stopped when he saw Camille who was treading so carefully.

‘I forgot you have terrible vision in the dark,’ he teased.

Camille jumped and whipped around. ‘God, Drake, you scared me!’

Drake chuckled and walked towards her. ‘Sorry, Montespan. So, think we’re near the middle?’

‘Not even close,’ Camille said. ‘I’m lost. I hate this fucking maze.’

‘I know you do,’ Drake said, now standing in front of her. ‘I’ve had to save you countless times.’

Camille rolled her eyes. ‘Please, you have never saved me-’’

‘I have!’ Drake protested. ‘Don’t lie, if I never found you, you’d be the Corn Queen and forced to become one with the corn!’

Camille laughed despite herself. ‘My saviour,’ she said.

‘That’s me.’

They were achingly close to each other. Drake’s eyes looked down at her own before settling on her mouth, darting away before he could be tempted to do something reckless. Camille’s eyes remained on him.

‘Drake..’

‘Fuck it,’ Drake said roughly. Before Camille could react, Drake pulled her into him, his lips colliding with hers. Camille let out a surprised gasp before sinking into the kiss, letting him kiss her desperately without holding back.

He could taste her watermelon lip balm and smell the coconut of her hair. She was like paradise. Camille tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth, eliciting a groan from Drake. He couldn’t help but think that they should have spent their time doing this in the maze years ago. Much better than getting lost.

Camille pulled away from him, her eyes wild. ‘Drake, we need to talk about this.’

Drake exhaled. His arms felt empty without her in them. He cleared his throat. ‘Okay. Let’s talk.’

Camille clenched her fists. ‘I know I said we’re never going to be normal,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘We’re never going to be just friends. That’s not in our nature. We can’t do it. But I’m getting married. I’m with Li-’

‘I know,’ Drake said, wishing she would stop talking. ‘I know, Camille. I’m painfully aware.’

‘So then why are you kissing me in mazes?!’ she burst out. ‘Why are you kissing me in the Beaumont study? What are you doing?!’

Drake’s eyes widened. ‘What am I doing?’ he repeated. ‘Camille, what about you, huh? Why are you kissing me back in mazes and in the Beaumont study? Why are you not pulling away and stopping this?’

‘Don’t put all the blame on me-’

‘I’m not,’ Drake said. ‘I’m just trying to understand what’s going through your mind. What do you want?’

Camille looked down at the ground. ‘I.. I..’

Drake closed his eyes. ‘Camille. Tell me. What do you want?’

Camille let out a breath. ‘I’m so confused..’ she whispered. ‘You just make me remember.. You make me remember how I used to be, how we used to be..’

‘You’re not answering my question,’ Drake said, his voice without emotion. ‘Camille, what do you want?’

Camille closed her eyes. ‘It’s not that simple.’

Drake moved closer to her and placed his finger under her chin, bringing her face up so she could meet his eyes. She looked so anguished. Drake’s heart broke for her.

‘If you want me to step away, I can,’ he murmured, his eyes not leaving hers once. ‘I can let you go. You’re going back to New York in three days anyway. We can just forget about what happened in the study. We can forget about our kiss. If you want us to just act like nothing has happened, we can do that.’

Camille looked up at him, tears glistening in her eyes. ‘I don’t want that,’ she whispered. ‘I know that for sure. I don’t want to forget. I can’t. Right now, that is the only thing I’m sure of.’

‘You’re torturing yourself,’ Drake whispered. ‘Why? Why put yourself through this?’

Camille blinked and her eyes cleared. She let out a breath and reached out to take his hand. ‘Because it’s you,’ she whispered back, her voice cracking. ‘It’s you.’

Their lips brushed again. This time, they were in sync and both knew what they wanted. They wanted this moment, this kiss. The corn stood high, shielding them from view. They kissed softly at first, then urgently. In the maze, time stood still.

They were lost together but unwilling to be found.

#drake walker #trr fanfic #drake walker x mc #the royal romance

49 notes · View notes

akshara16 · 4 years

Text

Liam×Giselle

WARNING:BE ALONE IN A ROOM😹

I finally found some inspiration thanks to some one of my friends in the fandom.So here goes....

If you feel you have a suggestion that can make my writing better please do reach out and let me know.❤

Prologue:This is from one of my favorite series from PB ,and also a fan favorite "THE ROYAL ROMANCE ".This is an actual life that Giselle and Liam start to live which they had discussed during their rendezvous to the Blue Grotto in Italy. This post basically shows their first day as a normal married couple where Giselle is a big lawyer in New York and Liam has taken up the job as a history professor in the famous university.

STARTING....

Narration:After Liam decided to abdicate the throne of Cordonia for a life filled with love with the woman he loves away from the courtly drama and gossips.They finally lead a complete life where they work during the day and have fun nights and shower each other with all the love and attention both of them give each other.

It's a very special morning for both Giselle and Liam as today it's their first day as a normal married couple.Both of them quite exhausted from last night's cardio session😉.Giselle was sound asleep,as Liam looked at her with eyes full of love and adoration for the brave woman who is now sound asleep and who is now his wife. Liam's head was on her chest so it moved with the rise and fall of her chest,as Liam once wrapped his arms tight around her,before getting up. That's when Liam remembered Giselle telling him about her ideal breakfast,so he left the bed and strolled into the kitchen of their penthouse. As Giselle slept on he prepared her favorite medium rare bacon with a side of mashed potatoes with a cup of hot coffee.After preparing the breakfast Liam went on to take a bath .But,when he got out of the shower he saw that Giselle was not in bed anymore ,that's when he exactly knew where his wife would be.He strolled into the kitchen after getting dressed up,he leaned on the wall as soon as he saw her ,still wrapped in the blanket, her hair out of place and still she is the most beautiful woman he has ever set his eyes on. Giselle was so busy eating the breakfast she didn't notice him ,so Liam slowly and very stealthily moved behind her and kissed her neck and shoulder,that's when she realized her beloved husband was standing just behind her. On receiving the kisses,Giselle moaned softly,"Hmmm.....you smell amazing,Mr.Husband".But the sound of her moan was like music to his ears,so he kissed her again and this time around she moaned a bit louder than last time.He got her to let go off the blanket wrapped around her.On seeing her naked ,Liam let out a soft groan,”You know I always thought that you couldn’t get more sexier but you never cease to surprise me.”Liam flicked the tip of her chest slowly,making her writhe under his fingers.And Giselle wasn’t one to submit easily,so she grinded her hips against his front and once again Liam lets out a soft groan.As soon as Giselle heard this she wrangled out of his grip and ran to their bedroom and while she was running she heard Liam’s voice “HEY!!!!NOT FAIR COME BACK HERE,YOU LITTLE MINX” on Giselle giggled as she leaned against the wall close to their bathroom ,breathless and naked.Soon after,Liam came running into the room and saw her still giggling but out of breath. Giselle as soon as she saw Liam he dashed into the bathroom ,thinking he won’t follow her in there since he just took a shower.But there he was stripping and walking into the shower behind her.On entering Liam took both of her arms and pinned them above her head,she was still giggling but then he saw the desire brewing in her brown eyes,and before he knew it her lips were hard against his,as she bit his lower lip and he groaned loudly,”Giss.......” he then slowly moved to shower kisses on Giselle’s weakest spot,that is her neck and then moved lower to kiss the between her chest,then sucking the tips of both her chest and teasing her by taking it between his teeth which gave him the reaction he was expecting,Giselle let out a moan,”Hmmmmmmm.......ohhh,,,Leee”.

Liam took this opportunity to slip his hands between her inner thighs,working his way up and touching her sensitive spot,Giselle took a sharp breath and moaned softly,"Hmmmmm......." Liam then inserted his finger inside her and that's when he realized how wet she was ,so he started moving his finger inside her ever so slowly ,and after a few more thrusts with his finger ,he then rubbed her clit with his thumb and so sending Giselle to the edge and without breaking rythm,Liam lowered himself in front of her and flicked his tongue against her center making her shiver under his touch,as Liam continued is slow torture ,Giselle arched her back and kept her hands in his hair,to anchor herself as her knees became wobbly from the pleasure.

Giselle finally unable to resist anymore brought Liam back up to her lips and kissed him hard,his mouth tasting of her.This time around she pinned Liam against the wall and touched him with her hands ,her hands so soft,Liam moaned as Giselle kissed his neck while moving her hand against his length.Giselle ran her hands lower and then lowering herself ,and licking him from the tip to the end,as Liam drew in a sharp breath. Then finally,on seeing the desire drip from his face,maintaining eye contact she took him in all the way once in her mouth,and now using both her hands and mouth ,heightening the pleasure further for Liam.She occasionally grazed her teeth along his length making him shudder under her touch,Giselle loved that she had such an effect on him.

Within a few moment,Liam lifted Giselle up as she wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him in one fluid motion as she now tasted of him.Liam leaned in,took her earlobe between his teeth and tugged on it and whispered in her ear," You are a Goddess,and you take my breath away everytime I look into your deep brown eyes" ,and catching Giselle by surprise ,he entered her completely all at once.

Giselle's eyes widened at the sudden pleasure,and muffled her moan by biting her lip and threw her head back,"Oooooohhhh!!" .Liam again pinned her against the wall and started thrusting,every single one,awakening parts of her body,she never knew existed,Liam dipped his head down and sucked her nipples hard,and to send her over the edge taking them between his teeth and tugging on them,and using his free hand to flick the other nipple .Giselle started bucking her hips to increase the pace.Giselle moaned loudly,"Lee,I am-......" her sentence cut off as she shuddered with pleasure ,her toes curling as she threw her head back ,Liam followed her soon after a few more thrusts.He then carried her to their bedroom and laid her down on the bed and climbed in after her,putting his head on her chest,his happy place as he says it.Both of them laid there panting after their intense act,both of them silent.

After a few moments,Giselle broke the silence,"Hey,I was thinking maybe we should have our friends over,for a house warming party,don't you think?"

Liam looked up to her and replied,"I don't think that will be a good idea."On hearing his answer Giselle raised her brows in question,Liam continued further to explain himself,"You see today we were supposed to go to work,and instead here we are ,still in our bed,not able to keep our hands off of each other."He interlaced their fingers before continuing,"And I hope I needn't remind you of the time,when they almost walked in on us in the sauna."

On hearing this Giselle chuckled and said, "Well you were the one who couldn't stop himself from moaning."

Liam rolled his eyes and said,"You are the one who intentionally made me moan...but,anyways I suggest that we stay home for another week and invite our friends home later,besides I am not ready to share you yet." The desire was clear on his eyes.

Soon,after a few rounds of this friendly banter, they both agreed and decided to join their work and invite their friends over after a week.And soon,both of them slipped into deep sleep,after their intense act and also since both of them haven't slept enough in almost a week,due to obvious reasons.😜

❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌❌

I would like to thank my friend from the fandom who read this and gave me her opinion.So thank you,and if you want me to add you to the list of tags ,do text me.💓

@kaavyaethanramsey I love you,sis ....forever grateful to have you in my life❤😘

7 notes · View notes

revolutionnaire-farouche · 4 years

Text

All I need

Pairings: Reader (Enjolras younger sister) x OC (Giselle)

Summary: Even the hardened hearts can be melted by love.

Warning: None!

Notes: This is a request made by @onechaoticbitch, I usually don't take request but it was so cute I had to 😭💖 I hope you'll like this. As always, thanks to the lovely @writingsoftheloser for proof reading this, you rock

It was a calm morning. You felt soft hands caressing softly through your curls, at some point trying to comb their wildness. There were a few minutes before Enjolras would start asking where you were, so you tried to enjoy every second of that calm moment.

Calmness wasn't like you at all, you liked noise, movement, doing things and not being still, but with Giselle it was all different: she was soft and gentle; she liked to help people, but in her own calm way, feeding hungry children and people in some of her breaks at the bakery.

You liked that, but you liked to be a little more ‘aggressive’ in your help. "The apples don't fall apart from each other", used to say Grantaire to mock Enjolras and you on meetings where you both were especially passionate, winning an eye roll from you both. But you really liked the idea of being like your brother: he was your role model and inspiration. But that admiration was mutual, as he often remarked. Grantaire would add to all that train of thought that you were the same, except for you being a little more savage than him.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a sweet giggle, that won a smile from you.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt whatever was passing through your head, but your face was adorable" Giselle said between giggles.

"Shut it." You tried to sound bothered but the smile on your face betrayed you, so you just softly kissed her. "I should go, my friends will start wondering where I am, I'm never late"

"Don't worry, mon Ange. I wasn't expecting you to skip a meeting. I have to work too." Her eyes quickly left your face. "Do you think I could meet your friends someday? And your brother?"

Those words made you feel something inside, something you couldn't really put your finger on.

You had spent almost a year and a half with her already, and so far it was your best year. You thought nothing would make you feel like when helping people and doing something, but with her it was different. You wanted to protect her, and even if at first you had avoided those feelings in order ‘not to feel weak’, you soon realized she made you feel stronger.

Seeing her helping helpless kids by giving them food from the bakery she worker at, the smile in her face when she played with your hair, and her laugh. You loved everything about her, and you didn't want to hide that.

But that's where the issue was.

You were afraid of what people would say if they found out; you were afraid to put Giselle in danger. And what would Enjolras say? What will your friends say? Would they be horrified? Would they kick you out? Everytime you thought about it, those questions filled your brain, making you feel uneasy. But you were with her now, so you wanted to be strong, leaving those insecurities aside.

"I hope soon, ma chère. We are just busy these days, but I swear I will find a moment." You got up and grabbed her hand, leaving a kiss on it. "Je t'aime"

"Je t'aime aussi. Now go, you're going to be late" she said in a playful tone, smiling sweetly.

Even if you had tried, you arrived late anyway. The meeting had already started, and everyone was around the table talking about the resources you had at the back of the Musain. When you entered everyone turned around, but no one said anything in that moment, which you were grateful for. But once the meeting was over, that quickly changed.

"What happened, soeur d'Apollon? Got in trouble with the police? Again?" Grantaire said with a wide smile, while sipping his wine. The room was filled with the chatter of your friends, that quickly stopped to hear your answer.

"No, I didn't have that luck today" you said rolling your eyes and then focusing back on the book. Just a second after that, you felt a hand on your shoulder, calling for your attention.

"We need to talk." You quickly recognized that voice and as you turned around, you saw your brother leaving the room to go to the hall. You felt a knot in your throat, but you got up and followed him, not wanting the others to see.

"Listen, Y/N. You know you're important here, and you also know your role is important here. But it's the third time you're late for a gather just this month. Is something wrong? Is there something you want to talk about?" You knew this was your opportunity, your chance and you had to take this. It almost felt like destiny.

"I...Yes, there's actually something I want to talk about." Unlike the rest of the time, you felt your words leaving you, so you wanted to take it easy. "Listen, I..."

"You don't want to be part of the cause anymore?" Enjolras quickly said, frowning.

"No! How can you think that!? It's not that" As soon as you replied, you saw relief all over his face. "I met someone"

"Oh." That's the only thing that he said for a few second - which felt like an eternity. "Do I know him?"

This was the moment. You took a deep breath, you thought about her, about her smile, and that gave you the courage to keep going. Your hands were gripping hard the skirt of the messy dress you were obligated to use.

"No, you don't know her. But she's very sweet, and I would really like you to meet her. If you want to." Before he had the chance to replied, you added: "I met her a while ago now. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything about her, but I was afraid... Afraid about what you might think, about what everyone would think. I was afraid you’d see me with other eyes, but I love her. And I love you, and it would be very important to me if you..."

Before you could even finish your sentence, he hugged you tight. You did your best not to cry, as you hugged him back.

"I would love to met her if she means that much to you!" He separated a little bit to see your face, and he had a smile on his. "There's nothing to be afraid of. It's something normal. And what I see when I look at you it's my sister who I love with all my heart, and nothing could change that."

Those words felt like a ray of sunshine over you after a particularly heavy storm. You hold on to him for a few minutes more.

When the next meeting finished, you brought Giselle to meet Enjolras and the rest of your friends. Everyone was really happy about it, but the ones more excited were Courfeyrac and Grantaire, and they quickly made her feel like part of the group. At one side there was one proud brother watching his sister being happy as herself.

#les miserables imagine #les mis fanfiction #les miz #les mis #les amis imagine #les amis de l abc #les amis de l'abc #les amis #grantaire #enjolras #courfeyrac #reader x oc

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sinsbymanka · 4 years

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5 Questions for Writers

I was tagged by the lovely @theaiobhan, thank you so much! <3 <3

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

Yes! So, for some reason, Varric Tethras always flows right onto the page for me. His internal monologue must match mine pretty well. ALSO he’s hilarious.

Beyond that - Reyna Hawke is a blast to write. As is Maria Cadash. I like my Hawke’s wild, joyful enthusiasm for the smallest things. And I like Maria’s “alright then” attitude about JUST about everything life throws at her.

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

I have two! My first is probably “critically injured but recovering” or “completely traumatized but recovering.” I hurt characters so I can comfort them and I KNOW that’s weird but still. I like romantic interests comforting the person, I like friends comforting the person. I just like comfort, okay.

SECOND: Interrupted kissing/coitus. I feel like I do this so often that it’s a miracle ANYONE is still reading.

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

From the Viscount’s Mistress, Chapter 35: Joy (YES IT IS WHAT YOU THINK IT IS)

She was glad, really, that it wasn’t some huge thing. If they’d have done it properly, in Kirkwall or Skyhold, there’d be hundreds of people. It felt better, walking into the small chapel with Andraste holding her sword standing no taller than Mother Giselle herself. It reminded her of the little chapel in Skyhold, off the garden, the one they’d sat in the night before she sealed the breach the last time.

She told him then she couldn’t see the path and that she was frightened there was only abyss ahead of her. But when she caught sight of Varric, the strong proud line of his back to her, shoulders relaxed and voice cheerful, she finally felt like the path was clear.

Varric turned from Giselle as soon as the door opened, caught in the beams from the windows up above them that turned his hair to sunlight. He was grinning so hard, so brightly, that she wouldn’t be surprised if his face hurt. He reached out his hand immediately and she crossed the small room in steps that made the dress swirl around her, taking his hand with her remaining one. He wore an Inquisition uniform, the red coat with gold trim and the bright blue sash scavenged from somewhere, maybe Josephine had a cache of those hidden in the city too.

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

From Girl with the Arrow Tattoo, Chapter 9. Maria Cadash admits to reading Varric’s smut. The Seeker recognizes a line from her favorite book and NEARLY crashes the car.

He laughed out loud, immediately leaning forward to pierce her with a disbelieving gaze over Cole’s lanky form. “You actually read that shit, Princess?”

“I’m as shocked as you are, honestly.” Maria responded, settling back into the seat cushions with a wry smirk. “Her breasts strained against her leather jerkin like wild stallions? It was awful .”

The wheel to the SUV jerked and Varric looked ahead to see the back of Cassandra’s neck coloring. “What are you two discussing?” She demanded.

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

YES. GwtAT:

Her heartbeat throbbed in her head, her breath too loud, fingers shaking as she pointed the gun down at the ground. Dwkya’s red rimmed eyes stared up at her, blood across his face, hers or his. Didn’t matter. Not anymore. Not now.

“Tell me to stop.” She whispered, her finger caressing the trigger, blood lust in her mouth.

“Cadash...” He croaked on her name and Maria snarled.

“Tell me you’ll give me anything.” Her words from so long ago like fire in her mouth. “Tell me it doesn’t have to be this way. I want to hear you beg this time.”

Am I supposed to tag people too?! Ahhhhh - alright. @kita-lavellan, @fasterpuddytat, @tuffypelly, and anyone else!

#writer questions #fanfic questions #some sneak peaks in here

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angrylizardjacket · 6 years

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And All The Queen’s Men {Roger Taylor}

A/N: 5486 words. Okay wow. Please bare with me, this is a long one and also a bit of a different one. Written in the style of a Rolling Stone article. Finished it at 7am. Prompt & support from the lovely @ginghampearlsnsweettea

[And All The Queen’s Men ‘verse masterpost]

Warning: Minor character death, in both senses, it’s a baby, it’s not graphic it’s just mentioned, but just thought I should let you know.

And All The Queen’s Men: how the lines blurred between Queen and and the Queen of Jazz Rock.

An article almost two years in the making, after their last tour, which I was invited along to in order to write the initial article, the rock sensation Queen split, a decision, I am lead to be believe, was instigated by front man Freddie Mercury, and though Giselle Jones had continued to make music, even before her very public, on-stage breakdown, her lawyers had me keep the article to myself. Now, with the band’s reunion, and Live Aid having been a massive success with both powerhouse musical names coming back into the public eye, I’ve invited them back to my office for one last interview, but mostly to beg them to let me publish this article.

Which, obviously, they allowed.

It’s 1985, and with them all sitting in front of me, I feel a sense of deja vu. There are some changes, of course, Roger Taylor’s hair is shorter, Giselle Jones is wearing jeans and a sweater rather than her well-known cocktail dress, but John Deacon’s still smiling at me, Brian’s looking about the room, perhaps seeing if anything’s changed, and Freddie Mercury’s draped casually on the left of the only non-Queen member of the bunch.

But before I get into the past two years, maybe I should take you back a bit, to when Giselle and Queen began collaborating.

Giselle Jones began in the late sixties as the front-woman of a swing band in a thirties theme pub known as Modern Glamour. Tall, elegant, with a voice like honey, she had a small following of regulars that frequented the pub, but had kept her passion from music from her family, claiming she was merely a waitress at the establishment, since her father was an executive at EMI, and she didn’t want to seem like the subject of nepotism.

However, one fateful day, her father brings music industry giant to the pub for lunch, hoping to catch Giselle at work and introduce her, but as you know, they both got a lot more than they bargained for. Foster sees potential in her, and offers her a contract if she’s willing to modernise her act, and as we all know, she does.

When Giselle releases her first album in 1970, Velvet Roses, which would be the first and only “Jazz” record to hit the Top 40 charts for that year, Queen are still playing pub gigs around London, though they’re looking at recording their first album, which would eventually get EMI’s attention, but that’s still not for a while. At this point, they’re the biggest fish in a very small uni-pub pond, and they need the means to grow. So out goes the band’s van, for one night in a recording studio.

“Like, in retrospect, of course it was the right decision.” Taylor leans against the back of the sofa he’s sitting on in my office in 1982, voice contemplative and fingers locked together as he looks into the past. “But I was twenty-two at the time, selling my van was a big deal.”

“A big enough deal that you wrote a song about it.” Giselle adds, sitting beside him in the middle of the sofa. Deacon hides a smile though May doesn’t hide his snort of laughter.

The smirked remark is at odds with her look. While the boys are all in various states of brightly patterned shirts and jeans, looking casual and comfortable; Giselle wears white, sequinned, off-the-shoulder gown that hugs her figure and hits the floor, a slit in the thigh where her leg crosses, dark skin a stunning contrast to both the white fabric of her dress, and the leather of my sofa. Hands folded in over her knee, there’s not a singular hair out of place where she’s got it slicked back; I can’t look at her directly, she’s so focused and well put-together that it’s like staring at the sun.

The contrast has always been apparent in their various works, though Mercury has, in the past, cited her as an early inspiration for his desire to add a certain classical gravitas to rock and roll, and though she hasn’t publicly stated anything, the amount of covers Giselle has performed lived could fill an album. And now, here they are, about leave for a double-billed tour of the US, which I have been asked to join.

But their connection goes back much further than this, all the way back to 1975, to the release of the smash-hit single Bohemian Rhapsody That very same year, Giselle releases her fifth single, Dinner and a Show, a lyrically dissonant, heart pumping anthem that’s a metaphor for the way any type of review fuelled her, since it meant people were talking about her work.

You serve yourself on a platter; your putrid delights, / yet how can I refrain? / You don’t come to flatter, you don’t want to go / so come on baby, / don’t you know? / You’re treating me to dinner and a show.

Giselle’s usually silky performance is turned into a masterclass of vocal gymnastics as she slides easily from the rough intensity of rock and roll, to the smooth purr of jazz as she sings about eating critics for breakfast.

They say a free mind makes the meat so tender / now you’re on the menu and I’m a big spender

The song itself comes as a response to her former manager about how her “aggressive” move to music that more stylistically rock and roll was alienating older audiences, though Foster, still her producer at the time, was pushing for her to skew to a younger audience, and it seemed as though he had gotten his way.

The real change, however, was the B-Side of the record. After speaking to Jim “Miami” Beach, Queen’s lawyer, regarding potentially covering one of the band’s songs, Giselle reveals that she was eventually told to just ask them directly.

“I gave Miami a letter that basically explained that I’d like to cover one of their songs for my new album,” Giselle gives me a thin smile, and I feel like I’ve done something wrong, even though I’m assured by Brian that her public persona “is just like that sometimes”.

“- and I thought it was a joke! I said ‘yeah, sure, what’s the worst that could happen’.” Mercury laughs, leaning forward elbows on his knees and eyes shinning with amusement. “I did not believe for one second that Giselle, Giselle-” repeating her name for emphasis, his hand comes to quickly rest on hers where she still has them perfectly still on her knee, a moment of solidarity, “wanted anything to do with us. Hand Held Heart had been at the top of the US charts for almost three whole weeks the year before.” Letting out a long, wistful sigh, Mercury sits back, still grinning, though he’s got this far away look on his face now.

“So we’d been stuck on a farm, recording A Night At The Opera for weeks with no outside communications, ” May fills in where Mercury’s faded into his own memories, and Taylor slings arm around Giselle where she’s actually relaxed somewhat, hands now in her lap. Curiously, she doesn’t shrug him off. “And when we get back, it turns out that she’s put a jazz cover of Jesus, yeah, that song from our first album, on the B-Side of her newest single.”

“Freddie practically had a heart attack.” Deacon adds, patting Mercury’s shoulder fondly.

In her own way, she was continuing the trend that Dinner and a Show had started, and that seven-inch single would bestow upon Giselle the title of Queen of Jazz Rock. It hadn’t been the first time she had acknowledged the band publicly, by the time she had released the single, her public persona had gained enough traction that, a few months prior to her recording of the cover, a reporter had asked if Killer Queen, Queen’s biggest hit at the time, had been written about her. The question had been caught on camera by the reporter after one of her tour stops in the Midwest of America; the footage is a favourite of fans, including myself, of the way she doesn’t even turn, simply calls over her shoulder, ‘they should be so lucky’, and she gets into her waiting car.

“I never took offence,” Mercury tells me, both in 1982, and 1985, as I bring it up both times to consolidate the origins of their musical partnership.

“You wouldn’t, you were all starry-eyed for her back then.” Taylor leans back to address Mercury behind Giselle’s head, but only when he says it the first time, in 1982.

“It was a bit of a dig at us,” Deacon agrees with the drummer, nodding before shrugging. “A lot of good came out of it, though.” The others seem to agree, but Giselle herself has stayed quiet. For the first time since the interview started, she looks away from me, gaze dipping as she seems inclined to speak, though she takes her time to weigh up her words before she says them, wondering exactly what will and will not be printed.

“It was a bit of s**t thing to say. I was twenty-four and I panicked, I had to keep up my... this persona.” She gestures now to herself, breaking the entire physicality as she lets herself lean back, and I feel like I can breathe, seeing her act so human. Adjusting, she lets herself rest of the slightest of diagonals, shoulder to shoulder with Taylor’s arm still around her, now with Mercury petting her knee in solidarity.

Once in the tour bus, the difference between Giselle Jones, the woman, and Giselle, the singer and personality, becomes almost jarring to see. As soon as we get into the bus, she strips off the gown she was wearing, I turn away, though the others don’t seem to be bothered by it, May takes the dress to a waiting assistant by the door, and when I turn back, she’s in a pair of sweat pants and Taylor is tossing her shirt several sizes too big for her. For the first time since I’ve learned about her, Giselle looks comfortable, looks approachable and, for lack of a better word, non-robotic, taking a hairbrush from a drawer and flopping onto one of the beds as she brushes out the gel, apparently not bothering with a shower just yet.

“I showered this morning.” She seems to have caught my confused look, and explains herself. With her guard lowered in the familiar situation, her natural voice shines through, a rich, yet feminine alto, reminiscent of her singing voice. It adds to the list of things that add character to her beyond what her “persona” could ever convey. Or perhaps that’s the point.

The bus itself is almost too small for the five performers, and I’m certain it won’t fit me, but Giselle and I watch as they cram a blow up bed onto the kitchen table. It looks stable, and for the opportunity to experience living in such close quarters with such big names, I’d take anything.

“Sorry, darling, Paul takes the only spare bed.” Mercury informs me as I shimmy up onto the bed to test if it would hold. I had thought that the vehicle was at capacity, though it does make sense that the band’s day-to-day manager, Paul Prenter, would be travelling with them. That being said, I hadn’t realised there was even a spare bed, there was only five, perhaps none of them had wanted to be subjected to the blow up bed and decided to share instead.

When we finally get on the road, I get to finally see their true dynamics emerge. We all know the Queen dynamics by now, brotherly yet volatile, at times. I had worried for Giselle at times, the concept of living with four men (five if you count Prenter, who Giselle does not seem to, when I ask her about it, though I don’t think that’s a subject I should pry about, judging by the look on Taylor’s face where I can see him lounging at the back of the bus). However, I should have not have been worried; first of all, despite the youthfulness of their appearances, performances, and spirit, these are all men in their 30s, Giselle herself being 31 at the time of writing (1982), and they all have experience living with women, and with each other.

“First tour was a nightmare.” Deacon’s joined me on the blowup bed, is sipping tea as we travel along. “We learned real quick how disgusting close quarters can be.” He’s a quiet soul, but observant, and honestly I really enjoy his company. Anyone who can weather over a decade of rock and roll and come out as calm as him deserves some sort of recognition. “It’s much better now. Mostly.” He smiles like it’s an inside joke, but won’t elaborate. Giselle and Taylor refuse to clarify what he means by that, May just laughs when I ask him, directing me back to ask Taylor and Giselle, and Mercury calls them all gossips.

It’s something about the tour lifestyle that must bring out the childishness in them all, which comes out strongly during dinner. They shove my blowup bed into the sleeping quarters when dinner is served, and the five of us manage to cram into the tiny booth the bus allows. May, Deacon and Giselle are in charge of cooking dinner, sausages, potatoes, and peas, since apparently Prenter and Mercury have taken lunch duties, and Roger has put himself in charge of getting coffee and tea for everyone in the morning.

“We should really eat breakfast.” Giselle muses through half a mouthful of food.

“I do!” Deacon, next to me, comes back with, pouring some more peas onto his plate.

“You just eat cereal from the box, Deaky, that’s not breakfast.” Taylor counters him, which just causes the rest of the table to devolve into an argument about what counts as breakfast. Prenter, who has joined us for the meal, looks like he’d rather be napping or still driving, and makes quiet work of his meal.

Roger Taylor goes to sleep after me, and wakes up before I do, and I’m not sure how he does it. Or where he sleeps, the other beds seem taken. He wakes me up on the first morning by shoving my bed, which slides a few centimeters, but isn’t about to fall off it’s perch.

“You want coffee?” I’m barely functioning at this point, and his question baffles me. “Tea? Coffee? Deaky’s cereal? We got some left over sausages.” He lists off, probably due to my clear confusion, he seems exasperated, even though he’s definitely wearing pyjamas too. He’s still scowling a little when I tell him how I like my coffee, but he doesn’t complain, and it tastes exactly like I like it when he hands it over. The bus is stationary, so he can put the cups by the bedsides of those they are for, but interestingly enough he joins me on the table/bed.

I know the origin story of Queen, I think everyone does at this point, so I ask him instead about the subject of my article; how Queen got involved with Giselle.

“You wanna know how I met Giselle?” It’s not exactly what I asked, but he’s already thinking about it, looking past me to the sleeping quarters with a frown. He plays absent-mindedly with the chain around his neck, and with the ring attached to it. “I thought everyone knew about that, the whole thing where we hated each other from the start?” When I ask if it was true, he actually laughs, though it’s more a snort of derision, if I’m being honest. “Of course not. Mostly.” They all seem to like that word, I hadn’t taken them all to be vague.

“I told him to take a long walk off a short pier.” Giselle will clarify for me later that day, joining me as I take a smoke break at one of our bathroom stops, not that there isn’t a toilet on the bus, they just try to avoid using it as much as possible. She doesn’t smoke, claims she never has, but enjoys the company, while the boys are buying snacks at the gas station. I ask when it was, she gives me another thin smile, but not like it had been in the office. Here it’s the punctuation to an earlier joke rather than a judgement.

She tells me about how she actually met them all, recording her second album, after her 1972 performance on Top of the Pops, you know the one. It had cemented Giselle’s now iconic aesthetic of an off the shoulder, floor length sequinned gown, silk gloves, and bold red lipstick, dark hair falling victory curls, the whole look reminiscent of an old Hollywood star, though there was red glitter trailing from her lips, and on her gloves in a theatrical fabrication of blood. It had been a look inspired by her musical roots, and the theatricality of the then-popular glam rock, a movement which would inspire many of Mercury’s tour looks also.

She was twenty-one at the time, still “developing her persona”, when she found that the in-house recording equipment at EMI was being used by the then-still quite unknown Queen. Or rather, according to Giselle, just Taylor.

“He was packing up the last of his equipment, and he makes a pass at me, thinks I’m an intern.” We can see the boys leaving the gas station, Taylor himself heading the pack. “So yeah, told him to take a long walk off a short pier.” She laughs, seems to hold the memory quite dear. “That b******d has the gall to look me in the eyes and ask who I am.”

“Did he know who you were?” When I look at her, she’s still smiling, tipping her head to the side as the boys draw close. She seems to be paying attention to me, but not a lot.

“Yeah, told me later he was just pissed I didn’t throw myself at him. That’s why I said that, ‘they should be so lucky’ thing, actually, that motherf****r right there.” The way she says it, raising her finger to point at him, makes me think it’s a story she’s told before, one that he knows about.

“You talking about me?” Taylor yells, and Giselle is quick to answer that she is. “Don’t spill all my secrets.” It sounds like an order, but his smile says it’s not, it’s weirdly playful, a dynamic I didn’t expect from them, especially considering their history. I raise the point. She laughs at me.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Prenter calls for everyone on the bus, and Giselle doesn’t think to clarify once we’re back on board.

The tour, I should have mentioned earlier, is a double feature; Queen is promoting their album Hot Space, while Giselle is promoting her own, The Bend Before the Break. When I ask her about the album itself, she talks happily about a few of the songs, however when I bring up my personal favourites, Ache and Heaven Sent, she turns very quiet.

I will end up watching most of her performances, and to this day, I have never seen something as raw and spiritual as Giselle performing Ache.

The lights dim as the joyful Meant to Be finishes. On the studio recording, a double bass starts the song, long, grieving and angry notes that pick up in tempo as it’s joined by drums and a piano, and finally, her voice, low, bitter and seductive in equal measure. Here, there’s silence, as she gently croons the open lines, face illuminated by only a single gold light, as swirling red and purple lights move about the stage.

While saying you were sorry, / you burned me from the outside, in. / Now I’m calloused all over, / And too tired to feel the sting. / But I feel the ache, / feel the ache / feel the ache. / I’ll still let you back in.

She plays the piano herself for this song, a skill, I later learn Mercury had taught her many years ago. It’s a song that tugs at your gut, gets you thinking about how you keep people in your life who aren’t the best for you. She ends the last chorus with a long, mournful wail that you feel in your bones.

I’ve never heard a crowd so quiet as when she finishes Ache, the penultimate song of her set list, unless you count encores.

The final song of the night is always Heaven Sent, a bright, headbanging anthem with the musical gravitas of a full jazz band. It was her single from the album, it topped most charts. You know the one. The radio won’t stop playing it.

Divinity with a neon glow / it hung above his head, / promoting his next show. / Didn’t even try to find my light, / just the darkness he’d bestow. / Heaven sent me the Morningstar.

“I was cheated on.” Was all she will say about the songs.

The others steer clear of those songs as well, when talking about the album, as well as the titular song, The Bend Before the Break, though Giselle claims she has moved on from the feelings associated in all three songs.

“I wrote them first on the album, I’ve moved on.”

Each of the boys seems very protective of Giselle at times, though Taylor is by far the worst. If I’m being honest, was weird to me, they’d been at each other’s throats publicly and professionally for almost a full decade after Giselle’s initial comment, however the vitriol had died down in the past few years, so I enquire about that about halfway through the six week tour.

“We set them up.” May is the first to answer, sipping tea with myself, Deacon and Mercury. Since both Giselle and Taylor adjourned to the sleeping quarters. I ask him what he means.

“They tell it better.” Mercury interjects, but May argues that they’re asleep anyways so it’s not like it matters. Deacon agrees with Mercury, but quiet enough that May ignores him.

“So by ‘79, we’ve collaborated together, us and ‘Zelle, I mean,” the nickname is mostly used by May and Taylor, though Deacon uses it on occasion, “a couple of times, and we love her, right boys? We love her-” looking around, both Mercury and Deacon are nodding along, responding to a story they’d both heard before, though it was interesting for my first time hearing it, “but Rog is about ready to stab her with his drumsticks, but that’s just how he is.”

“Threatened to stab me once.” Deacon adds the unnerving information with complete serenity, focused on his cup.

“Me a couple of times.” Mercury shakes his head, as if it were some schoolboy prank rather than a stabbing threat.

“Like I said, just how he is. So we decide to send them to a place where they can bond over complaining about everything else, apart from each other.” I asked how it worked out for them and I watch as their faces fall. This terrible blind date idea must have gone horribly. “They hate the restaurant, which is good, but he goes to leave and bumps the table, spilling beer all over her dress, which is bad,” well, obviously. He pays me no mind, “and she elbows him in the face when she’s putting her jacket on - still don’t know how that one happened - but he still says he’ll take her home because it’s late, except-”

“To preface,” Deacon jumps in here, adding a little more milk to his tea, “she hates I’m In Love With My Car.” The song? Deacon nods. “Rog wrote it.” I can connect the dots, but I’m still confused as to how that lead to them being friends.

“Friends.” Mercury actually laughs into his cup.

“He takes her home anyways, she tells him the song’s s**t bu the sentiment wasn’t far off.” May finishes, shrugging.

“It was a real nice car.” Deacon shrugged, before looking straight at me. “And she still hates the song to this day.” There’s an air of finality to his words that is entirely unwarranted. That isn’t the point of the story; how are they friends now? Did they hook up in his car? Is that what they’re implying, I feel like such a gossip asking these questions.

“Did they ho- ? Yeah, of course.” May laughs, and though it clears some things up, I’m still rather confused. It’s probably reading on my face, because it looks like something else is dawning on him. “You know they’re married, right?”

No. No I did not know. Now I feel like an idiot.

I wonder if The Bend Before the Break is about Taylor? I can sense I’ve touched a nerve when I ask, and Mercury abruptly changes the subject, though the air still doesn’t feel right. When I head back through the sleeping area to get a new pen from my luggage, I catch a glimpse of Giselle napping in her bunk, Taylor too, asleep with his arm around her. She’s even wearing a wedding ring. I’m kicking myself for not noticing sooner. The chain with the ring around Taylor’s neck makes sense now. A lot of things make sense now.

For the next four days I feel like I’m being shunned, I’m the last to be told about dinner and have to eat the leftovers, Giselle barely says two words to me, Taylor just keeps glowering, and someone let the air out of my bed on the second night. It’s childish, but it’s in line with what I expect from them, regarding this sort of issue, I’m just glad Taylor hasn’t poured my coffee on me in my sleep, or spat in it. He just didn’t make it, which I suppose is probably the safest option for me.

The only apology I can think of is to offer to buy them all drinks, but it works well enough, and the next morning I wake to a fresh cup of coffee, and a very hungover Taylor. At least he’s dedicated to his job.

The rest of the tour passes without further incident. I still stand by Ache as one of my favourite musical performances of the decade, though I don’t mention it to Giselle, and now that I know the dynamic between her and Taylor, I can’t stop seeing it. Honestly, readers, they’re all over each other, which is expected from a man of Taylor’s reputation, but it’s still a little jarring to see the two of them so cozy. I must have been blind not to see it before.

When we part ways, Giselle is a little stiff with me.

“You brought up some feelings that I just... hadn’t actually dealt with at the time, which f******d me up.” She tells me in retrospect, sitting in my office with the rest of the boys in 1985. Live Aid was a few weeks ago, and since they all returned to the spotlight, I asked if they wanted to come and reflect on the past few years. The one thing that hasn’t changed is the fact that Giselle still swears like a sailor.

“A lot’s happened in the past few years.” Taylor’s still very protective of her, and after everything that’s conspired, at least from what I know, it’s warranted. We talk about the band splitting, how it had hurt the band as a whole, and even Giselle, who was at the time seeing a counsellor with Taylor. I’m hesitant to broach the topic of their relationship, though they seem like a solid until now, sitting before me, holding hands and leaning against one another.

I ask if Giselle’s breakdown was due to the band splitting, though I’m hesitant if I’ll get a response. Her smile is sad, which is mirrored by the rest of the band. I can guess her response before she says it.

“No.”

You all know the moment I’m talking about, the last concert for her last album, as of this publication, Finally, Sunlight where she had receive pleas from the audience for an encore. When she came back out, part of her makeup had been smudged around her eyes, and you can hear her sniffle over the microphone. (”I’m so sorry, I lost someone close to me, I thought I could keep it together for one night.” Dabbing at her eyes, she sits at the piano and laughs, but there’s no heart in it. “But I’ve got five more minutes left in me, let’s go, Atlanta.”) The song she plays is Somebody to Love, a slow, soulful cover, and the audience is almost unanimous in their raised lighters and slow swaying. As she goes on, she just starts crying harder, missing notes, hands shaking; the extended ‘Looooord’ before the chanting becomes a desperate wail, a plea to the heavens, and she collapses onto the piano, sobbing audibly as the instruments all come to uncertain halt and lighters go down in confusion.

From the crowd, a single voice begins to chant ‘Find me somebody to love. / Find me somebody to love.’ and a single voice turns to a theatre, full to the brim, as they sing when she can’t, still crying against the piano. Lighters go up, and together the audience and the band finishes the song where words have failed her. It was televised locally on the night, and still brings me to tears when I watch it now.

“We lost our daughter.”

For those of you reading this who are shocked, I am too. Sitting there like a fool, not saying anything.

“I was on tour, and Rog was at home with her,” even now, Giselle is getting a little teary-eyed, not that I blame her. Both Taylor and Mercury have an arm around her, and May has a hand on her shoulder, Deacon sitting on the back of the sofa right behind her. A unit. A family. “I wanted to go home, she was getting really sick, and I know he was doing everything he could, but I just- I wanted to be there... but my label threatened to sue me for... millions.” It sounds like it’s hard to say, and she’s wiping a tear from her eyes. I offer her the tissues on my desk. “But I should have gone home. I should have been there by her side, I should have done more.” Taylor whispers something to her and she leans against him, taking comfort in him.

“I had to call her, tell her that... that she’d passed. The day of the show. She’d been so upset for week, ‘Zelle that is, and everything just-” Taylor manages to get a great handle on his emotions, despite his misty eyes and shaking hands. “We’re alright now though, see? Nothing can tear us apart.” Though his voice does drop, so I think he’s saying it more for Giselle’s benefit. I give them all time to collect themselves, stop to get hot drinks for everyone, and everyone finally seems happy enough to answer when I ask what’s next for them.

“Music, of course.” Mercury says, now holding what was Giselle’s free hand. The rest of the gathered musicians agree. I ask if we’ll be hearing any sort of collaboration between Queen and the Queen of Jazz Rock. Taylor snickers, pulling Giselle close.

“Yeah, but not in the way you mean.” He ignores the rest of the men’s shouts of disgust, as well as his wife’s own gagging noise, which I can see on her face she regrets as she covers her mouth with caution, before giving the okay.

“No, we’re okay, we’re good.” She assures everyone, before looking at me. “What he meant to say is that I’m pregnant.” She clarifies. Taylor is still grinning.

“Don’t be gross, Rog.” May calls from the other side of the sofa, and Taylor has the gall to look accosted.

“What’s next for me, after everything that’s happened, is family.” Giselle says over the sounds of her husband’s indignant huffs, though his expression turns soft at her words, and they ignore the ‘boo’s of everyone else as they kiss.

“Could you be less gross around company?” Deacon asks, still mild-mannered as ever. This seems to be the cue for the interview to end, as Taylor of Giselle-

“It’s Giselle Taylor, by the way, I’m sorry I hadn’t corrected you earlier.” She corrects me now, as [Roger] Taylor leads her out of the door. The rest of the band seem mildly exasperated at their antics, but still ready to answer my questions. After everything that’s happened, I’m a little overwhelmed, I’m not sure where to go from here.

Perhaps my next article will be on Live Aid.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x oc #queen #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #queen imagine #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #the angry lizard writes #bohemian rhapsody imagine

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aelixandra · 5 years

Text

Dreaming On Your Feet: Chapter 34

Read on Ao3!

Summary: Aelin Galathynius is one of the newest company members of the Rifthold Ballet Theatre, and she is eager to make all of her dreams a reality. She has the talent, the ambition, the walls no one can get past, and the thick skin that no one can get under. Except for new principal dancer Rowan Whitethorn. He’s arrogant, talented, and infuriating - and they just might have more in common than they think.

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Chapter 34: Honesty

Aelin sat in her dressing room, studying her reflection. She was all set for the after-party, having already changed into her dress and redone her hair. She had pulled half of it up into a bun, leaving the other half down in its golden waves that had been rather painful to brush after all the things that she had done as Juliet.

Things like dancing with Rowan, kissing Rowan, falling in love with Rowan –

Aelin checked her phone again. Still nothing.

What am I expecting? Gods, this is ridiculous.

She stood up and paced a bit, pausing to look at herself in the mirror again.

The dress had been a spontaneous purchase, something she found while shopping around with Lysandra about a month ago. It was a minty, springtime-green color, in a style that hugged her torso before flaring out into a delicate chiffon skirt that ended at her knees. There was a line of silver jewels around the waist, and the neckline consisted of matching silver jewels in an intricate, vine-like pattern that reached her collarbone. The silver wound its way around to just below the nape of her neck and fastened with a button, creating a large opening that exposed her back.

It was a change from the bold colors she usually favored, but the dress had practically screamed Juliet when she had seen it.

I wonder what Rowan will think of it –

Aelin let out a growl of frustration. Since when did she care what anyone else thought of her?

She sat again with a huff, meeting her own gaze in the mirror. Her scowl faded as the answer suddenly came to her.

She sighed and buried her face in her hands. “Since the moment he walked into the studio.”

Ping!

Aelin looked up and grabbed her phone, her heart racing.

It was Lysandra. Aelin sighed and opened the message.

I think you should see this, Lysandra had written.

A few seconds later, an AirDrop request for a video appeared.

Aelin couldn’t make anything out from the thumbnail, so she pressed play.

The video filled the screen, and Aelin realized what it was.

And she proceeded to watch the entire balcony pas de deux that she and Rowan had danced just hours before.

* * *

Aelin watched herself launch into Rowan’s arms, knowing he would catch her.

She saw the joy on her face mirrored in Rowan’s, noticing how he never took his eyes off of her.

She saw the complete trust that flowed between them, the way their bodies breathed together.

And then. . . the kiss.

Watching the video, she felt his lips on hers all over again. She felt the way he held her like he never wanted to let go.

And now she knew: she never wanted to let him go, either.

Wiping a stray tear from her eyes and then checking her makeup, Aelin tossed a scarf around her neck and slid her black track jacket on.

She typed three words into her phone and hit send before she could back out again, and then she was out the door.

----------

Rowan adjusted his sleeves for the tenth time, pacing in front of his mirror to avoid staring at his phone.

After tonight, after everything that had just happened. . .

They needed to talk. And he couldn’t wait any longer.

But where in the hell was he supposed to start?

Dear Aelin, can we talk? I’m in love with you didn’t sound that great to him.

He ran his hands through his hair, clasping them behind his neck.

Then a soft ping interrupted his silence.

His heart raced in response as he slowly glanced down at his phone, seeing an AirDrop video request from Lysandra.

There was another ping as her corresponding text appeared.

Before you do anything, you need to watch this, it said.

Rowan pressed play, and as the video expanded, he realized what it was.

He sat down in his chair and began to relive every single moment of that balcony pas.

From the moment the turquoise eyes of his Juliet looked down at him from her balcony, he was lost forever.

Every time she smiled at him, his heart swelled. And when she danced her little solo, he felt like it was just for him.

The last time he caught her hand, his face was toward the camera. When Aelin turned to face him, his face lit up with what he could only describe as awe.

He was in complete awe of Aelin Galathynius. Both onstage and off.

And gods help him – he wanted to kiss her again.

He had to tell her how he felt. Right now.

Ping!

Rowan’s eyes drifted back down to his phone and to three short words.

Roof in 5?

So she wasn’t waiting, either.

With a deep breath, Rowan pulled his coat on and left his room, heading in the direction of the stairwell.

* * *

Rowan pushed open the door to the roof and was greeted by a gentle gust of a cool, early-spring breeze. He took a moment to take in the view, the lights of Rifthold sparkling quietly below. There were a few vintage lamps on the roof, and they cast a warm, amber glow on the spots where they stood.

And under one of those lamps, looking out at the city, stood his Juliet.

His Fireheart.

The way the light outlined her face – it reminded him of the first time she let her walls down in front of him.

Not like you care, anyway. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.

There was a pang in his chest at the memory – but then he smiled to himself, realizing how much had changed over the course of a few months.

I do understand. And I do care.

At the sound of his footsteps, she turned, her gold hair catching the light. Her gaze softened as she looked at him, and Rowan moved closer until he stood under the lamp with her.

Finally, Aelin broke the silence.

“I. . . I don’t have any idea where to start,” she admitted.

Rowan nodded slowly. “That makes two of us,” he said, hoping he disguised the anxiousness he felt. “Would you like me to. . . to go first?”

She swallowed. “Actually, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

She turned her gaze back out to the city. “Have you ever gotten so deep into a role that you got lost? That for those few hours, you actually lived that story?” She took a breath. “Has a role ever felt. . . real to you?”

Rowan thought for a moment. “My honest answer?”

“I’d never want anything less from you,” she said quietly, fixing her turquoise eyes on his.

“No,” he replied truthfully, not breaking her gaze. “Not until I came here. Not until you.”

Something flickered in her gaze, making his heart pound. “But none of it was real.”

“No,” he agreed, pulling his coat tighter around. “I’m not Romeo. And you’re not Juliet.”

She looked back out over the city, and he could see her mind moving at a mile a minute.

Wait, he asked silently. Please. “But Aelin. . .” He took a breath. “Everything that happened tonight was real,” he began. “I was Romeo. You were my Juliet.”

The tiniest smile danced at the corners of Aelin’s lips. She looked up at him again, waiting.

“I danced with you tonight, and dancing with you is something that brings me more joy than anything else in the world.”

Her throat bobbed.

“And I. . . I kissed you tonight,” he said in a half-whisper, reminding himself that it had all actually happened, that the best night of his life, this performance with her, the woman he loved – it had been real. “But I didn’t kiss you just because Sir Kenneth Macmillan decided decades ago that he wanted his Romeo and Juliet to kiss.”

She spoke again, her voice timid. “So then. . . why did you kiss me?”

----------

A spark of hope flared to life in her chest as he spoke.

Her own voice sounded unusually small to her as she asked, “So then. . . why did you kiss me?”

Her heart pounded against her ribs as he opened his mouth again.

“I kissed you tonight because I should have kissed you months ago,” Rowan said quietly, his green eyes flaring to life. “I kissed you because every time I look at you, I forget to breathe.”

Aelin wasn’t sure she was breathing.

Those beautiful eyes swam with emotion as he gazed down at her, a half-smile playing at the edge of his lips. “Because every time I look at you, I fall in love with you even more.”

Gods.

Oh, gods.

For the first time in her life, Aelin was speechless.

“I was too afraid at Christmas, and that’s why I highlighted those lines. Shakespeare seemed to say everything I couldn’t.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I’m telling you now because I’ve wasted enough time, and I’m not wasting any more.” He closed the distance between them, gently cupping her face in his hands. “I’ve loved you since that night I saw you rehearsing Giselle. Since the moment I felt what it was like to have my arms around you,” he whispered, the raw honesty in his voice sending a tear sliding down her cheek. With a featherlight sweep of his tumb, he brushed it away. “And when I saw you were Juliet tonight, I . . .” His voice grew thick and hoarse with emotion, and Aelin saw the silver lining his eyes. “I realized that it would be impossible for me to ever stop loving you.”

Aelin reached up and put one of her hands over Rowan’s. She closed her eyes, breathing in his faint scent of pine and snow.

He loves me.

Rowan Whitethorn loves me.

“Fireheart,” he whispered.

She opened her eyes, trailing her fingers against the back of his hand where it still held her face. “Did you get my Christmas present?” she asked.

He smiled. “I finally did,” he replied, a twinkle in his eye that made her want to laugh with joy. “So, Aelin Galathynius, what is the last thing I need to know about you?”

She gently laid her hand on his chest, feeling the racing beat of his heart that echoed hers. He dropped a hand from her face to hold the one resting on his chest. She gazed up into his face, at his remarkable green eyes. Eyes that had seen right through her from day one. Eyes that had never once looked at her with pity. And a gaze that had seen every facet, every broken piece of her – and loved her for all of it.

“There’s actually two more things,” she said, an edge of mischief in her voice.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Aelin lifted her other hand to his face, Rowan covering it with his other hand. “I am completely and wholeheartedly in love with you, Rowan Whitethorn,” she said, not bothering to hide the emotion in her voice. “And when I saw you from the balcony looking at me like that, I realized that I’ll never stop.”

“That’s only one thing,” he pointed out with a half-smile, the one that sent her heart tumbling.

“The second thing, you impatient buzzard, is that I. . .” Aelin felt a slight blush creep into her cheeks. “I want you to kiss me again. Not Romeo and Juliet,” she clarified quietly. “You and me.”

The humor left Rowan’s eyes, leaving a gaze of pure, overwhelming love looking down at her. He smiled as he brushed a stray piece of her hair behind her ear, cupping her face once more. Aelin closed her eyes as he closed the remaining distance between them, pressing his lips to hers.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and before she realized it, Rowan’s arms were around her waist, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around.

She smiled against his lips, finally having to break away to laugh as she spun in the air. Rowan laughed with her, and Aelin could hear the joy in his laughter dance with hers. Her lips found his again, and he finally set her down.

When they broke apart, Rowan threaded his fingers with hers, and they began to head back to the stairwell door. “I used to wish that it had all never happened,” he admitted. Aelin didn’t have to ask to know what he meant; she had the same thoughts sometimes.

“But it led me here to Rifthold,” he said. “It all led me to you.”

Aelin gently squeezed his hand. “And I would go through it all again to find you,” she said.

Rowan grinned. “So would I.” And his lips descended on hers once more.

#dreaming on your feet #rowaelin #rowan #aelin #fanfic #sarah j maas #this is what happens when you're a ballet dancer who loves ToG #ballet #alternate universe #au #writer #romeo and juliet #romeo #juliet #love #finally

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forthelulzy · 5 years

Text

Heaven By Violence: Chapter 7

There are secrets that we still have left to find There have been mysteries from the beginning of time — “The Riddle”, Five For Fighting

Dorian and Tacere were both right: Cullen arrives back not half an hour after they set out, shouting orders to clear a tent for the Herald. He is wild-eyed and out of breath — the withdrawals have not been treating him kindly, especially under so much stress. He looks like he might collapse, so Leliana takes over, forcing him to at least take a seat in the command tent. She sends Mother Giselle his way.

She then rounds up Vivienne and Solas, as well as the surgeon. Cassandra comes in shortly, and Irene is swept off to the tent. “We will be a moment, my dear,” the First Enchanter says, closing the flap in Cassandra’s face. Leliana leads the Seeker back toward the command tent. There is nothing more they can do, except…

“Where did the other two run off to?”

“Tacere and Dorian were right behind us,” Cassandra says, eyes narrowing. “I left them behind, I did not think…”

Then she explains what they came across and Leliana frowns. A possessed wolf? Demons are rarely attracted to animals, as they have little of interest to them. This kind of thing usually only happens when mages force demons to use beasts as hosts. And who is this mysterious stranger? How did he find the Herald?

A shout comes from the perimeter. They’ve returned, and Leliana immediately notices three things.

One, the newcomer and Dorian are in a hushed, if heated discussion, heads bent together. Tacere strolls along beside them, whistling. Two, the other Tevinter mage isn’t dressed oddly. His clothes are so nondescript it could only be a conscious choice. Three, his face is both familiar and foreign, like a memory with a few details subtly changed.

“He told you he and Tacere were extended family?” she murmurs to Cassandra, watching the group approach. At the Seeker’s nod, she continues, “I think I know who our new friend is.”

She strides forward to intercept them. “I understand you saved our Herald and sent up that flare,” she says. He’s wary when confronted, eyes darting everywhere, seeing everything. She moves in for the kill. With a gracious smile, she inclines her head and says, “You must be Caius.”

He flinches, stepping back with one foot as if by reflex, but he stops there. “I am,” he says carefully.

“Your sister-in-law told us about you,” Josephine says from outside the command tent, a few paces away. “It is a pleasure to finally meet.” Dear, sweet Josephine, always trying to make people comfortable.

Caius frowns. “And what exactly did she say?”

“Not much. Merely that she came to the Conclave looking for you.” Josephine doesn’t mention the other part, the part with the patricide. But Josephine has the best face for bluffing of all of them.

He lets out a sigh. “Yes. The Conclave. I was supposed to be there.” He closes his eyes, only a flicker of grief passing over his face — but Leliana sees it, and it is enough. Survivor’s guilt. Maker, she knows it too well. “I would rather not tell that story more than once.”

Leliana nods. “When Irene wakes, then.”

“If only—” he cuts off, shaking his head and rubbing his temples. “I fear I would be more hindrance than help in there. By your leave, then.” He does not actually wait for their leave, and stalks off. Tacere has long since wandered over to the haphazard infirmary to settle by Julien’s side again, and Caius joins him. That leaves only Dorian, who coughs awkwardly and remarks, “Such a strange fellow,” before returning to the Chancellor. Somehow he’s taken responsibility for Roderick, though as far as Leliana knows no one asked him to. It is good that he has someone looking out for him.

Mother Giselle emerges from the tent behind Josephine, shaking her head. She waves Leliana and Cassandra over. “He is troubled, and I do not know how much my words helped. I believe an ear from those who have been by his side far longer than I would be best.”

Leliana nods, glancing at Cassandra. Her faith has been shaken, but the Seeker has clung ever more firmly to the Maker in recent months. Perhaps if Cassandra did most of the talking…

Mercifully, the Seeker seems to understand her glance, and leads the way.

They find Cullen with his head in his hands in the corner of the tent. He hears them come in, and when he looks up he’s free of tears. Good; Leliana would hate to see him cry unless she were the one to prompt it. She hates seeing anyone cry unless she’s the cause. Something like a mix of grief and self-hatred lingers in that honey gaze, though. This can’t just be from finding the Herald, can it? No, she remembers, Cullen was in charge of the defense, and so many were lost at Haven.

“This isn’t about what that mage said to you?” Cassandra says, not unkindly but not gently either. The Seeker doesn’t do gentle.

“Not— not entirely,” Cullen admits, voice rough, “though it is yet another way in which I have failed to protect those I’m supposed to.” He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. He didn’t manage to grab his pomade from Haven, and it’s starting to curl again. “I remember now. He was one of a few apostates caught in the months running up to the Kirkwall Annulment. It didn’t seem— Maker’s breath, it didn’t seem important at the time. We’d brought him in, an apostate from the wilds. There was another, but he escaped. Irene’s husband, must have been. In any case, it was obvious Caius had never been to a Circle before. The only reason he wasn’t made Tranquil, at the height of the madness, was that he made no trouble at all. Kept his head down. He must’ve slipped away in the chaos, but we had no way of knowing for sure. So many died…”

And, according to all accounts, every last phylactery had been destroyed in the Annulment, a fact that made it all too easy for mages who escaped the immediate danger to keep running.

“I… I will speak to him, try to make amends.”

“All right,” Cassandra says. “And before you get it in your head, you were not responsible for what happened at Haven. If anything, you saved many lives with your trebuchets. To think of defense when the rest of us had become complacent in victory… Cullen, it was not your fault. Should you need confirmation, Irene will wake soon. We are still going forward with that, correct?”

The others may miss it in the dimly lit tent, but Leliana swears Cullen’s cheeks, already flushed from his story, darken just a little bit more at the Herald’s name.

***

Leliana leaves the tent; Cassandra had seemed to want to talk with Cullen further, and while the whole conversation was intriguing, Leliana makes the calculated risk to let them have their conversation. If their Commander falls apart, her curiosity will have been for naught.

“We are still going to name Irene Inquisitor, yes?” Josephine says as they walk across to the central firepit. The war table wasn’t saved, and many reports were lost, but what they do have now that wasn’t there an hour ago is hope. Now, Leliana knows, they will have the luxury of arguing again. She almost looks forward to it. That is, if Cullen can muster the will to argue. He is her favorite person to roll her eyes at, after all. His more idiotic moments are almost funny. And his lack of finesse is legendary.

“I hope so,” Leliana says. “I would have hoped for someone less like a charging bull, but she’s shown a surprising amount of adaptability to her role as Herald.”

“She’s smarter than any of us give her credit for, it’s true. I do wonder how she would fare at the Game, given a little training. She won’t like it but— ah?”

At Julien’s bedside, Caius and Tacere have been talking, but then the Tevinter leaps up and storms away toward the edge of camp. Leliana almost follows him, but he stops within sight, staring out into the snow with his arms crossed.

“He asked, but he did not want to hear,” Tacere says softly, and when Leliana looks at him the elf is staring back, amber eyes glowing in the encroaching dark. He tilts his head, so much like a crow that Leliana wonders where her own are now. She sent them away at the first sign of attack, but they have yet to return. “How must it feel to be dead? Could anyone alive survive it?”

She deals in riddles but does not have the patience to figure out what that means right now; it is enough of a challenge with Cole — and just because Leliana has yet to see the spirit after the attack does not mean he isn’t here, too. “Will there be a problem?” she asks instead.

Tacere looks away, stares at Caius’ back for a long moment. His hand is on Julien’s, stroking circles into the templar’s palm. It has been many days since Irene found him at Therinfal, and he still hasn’t woken. “He is afraid, and grieving in his own way,” Tacere says finally. “Hmm. Is not the whole world afraid, in one way or another? But he has never taken uncertainty well. Much like Irene, he is best when there is a problem to solve, and being told the problem is gone… No, Sister. He will make no trouble. Oh, he will posture, but he is ultimately harmless to anyone but himself.”

“Is that so?”

“Blood sacrifice? Demons?” Tacere smiles again, too wide. “Ah, ah. Despair has been hunting him for years now. He has not broken. Too much pride, though that one has yet to notice. Dear Sister, sweet Sister, the hounds are too concerned with racing each other to notice that the fox has his own teeth.”

Leliana pauses, but Tacere does not drop the smile. “You’ll forgive me if I need to ask him myself,” she murmurs.

Tacere dips into an elegant bow fit for court — while still seated — and blows her a kiss.

Something strange is going on here, and it bothers her that all of her efforts into digging up Irene’s past missed this. The murder was the biggest one, but that her brother-in-law was alive the whole time — she would have liked to know that. Irene never asked her to find Caius, apparently believing him dead. She turns away and approaches him, slipping into her old habits as she does so. She makes no sound, of that she is sure, but before she can hail him he sighs and lets his arms drop to his sides. He doesn’t turn, but speaks lowly if clearly into the dusk.

“What do you want now, Tac? I need — why? Why would they do that?” His voice cracks on the question, and he hugs himself against the chill.

“Do what?” Leliana asks, keeping her voice neutral, soft.

Caius still startles, whirling around with lightning crackling in his palms. He recognizes her, though, and the sparks dissipate. “Maker, don’t do that. You sound just like Tac when he’s trying to sneak up on me.”

“I wasn’t aware I sounded like anything.”

He scoffs. “He said the exact same thing the first time I caught him. But with a lot more pouting. Stupid sneaky types…” He continues mumbling under his breath, before cutting off and turning sharp blue eyes to her. “What do you want?”

“A lot of things,” she says easily. “From you, though? I want to know if you’re a threat.”

She’s expecting him to shrug off her query, as many have before — mage or not — but he shakes his head and grumbles, “Of course I am. I’m not intending to be, but the fact is… I am. You know that.”

Leliana cocks her head. “For being a mage?” She’s not about to blame him for that.

“For being—” Caius waves a hand to indicate himself, “—being a person. Particularly a noble one. We do tend to run roughshod over the commoners, but no one’s clamoring to lock up all the bluebloods.” He crosses his arms, twisting his lips like he’s just bitten into rancid meat. “I know exactly what you mean, though. Yes, I could potentially become possessed at any moment. I could go to sleep and wake up with glowing eyes and murderous intent. It’s been that way for a long time. Julien promised to kill me, years ago. I would hope any one of you would do the same.”

“Even Cullen?”

His eyes drop to the snow between them, expression darkening. “Even he. Perhaps I have been unfair, but my grudges are living things that I have fed for so long I have become attached to them. Do not ask me to forgive just yet, not when—” He cuts off, rubs the bridge of his nose in a gesture that reminds her of Cullen at his most aggravated.

She waits. He wants to tell her, she knows it.

Finally he shakes his head violently and grinds out, “The Tranquil are dead. All of them.”

She can’t stop her gasp, the words like a blow to the sternum. “All of them?”

“Every last one. Tac said the Venatori killed them — the ones who made it to Redcliffe, not left to die by the rebel mages when they left the Circles. They’re using their skulls in some kind of ritual.” His voice gets rougher as he continues, “Tac found a house full of them. Rows and rows of skulls on shelves. They’re dead.” He draws in a ragged breath, shakes his head again. “Do not ask me to forgive. Not now.”

She nods, but her mind is already whirling with this new puzzle. What could this ritual be for? She needs to know as soon as possible— but her crows are all gone. They’ll find her soon enough, no matter where she is.

“I wish to stay and help, though,” Caius says slowly. “I don’t like being scrutinized, but I do understand the reasoning behind it.”

“Unfortunately, it is not my decision to make.” Leliana does not say that it will be Irene’s, that all their hopes are pinned on the woman currently fighting for her life in a tent a short distance away. She thinks back on what the Herald said about her husband and brother-in-law. “I would like to know the story surrounding your exile, though.”

Caius huffs. “Oh, is that all?” Bitter sarcasm laces his voice. “Not even Irene knows those details. Colm hates— hated talking about it and so do I.”

She narrows her eyes. “You know I can easily find out the truth myself.”

“Oh, I doubt you’ll find even half the truth. And not easily. The Imperium thrives on lies.” Caius stands his ground, staring her down. “If my inclusion in this… Inquisition depends upon it, then I may share the relevant facts. But then, that’s not your decision to make.”

Her mask almost slips, damn the man. Her faith has been shaken again, this time in herself. She failed to recognize a threat until it was at their door. In any other circumstance she would have a subtle warning or witty retort ready, she thinks, but she is tired, too tired to continue this. Regardless, she will be watching.

Nothing will escape her notice again.

***

Cullen and Cassandra return from their heart-to-heart, the Seeker finally as tired as the rest of them and the Commander looking better than he has since before the attack. It is a temporary boost at best.

They group on the far side of the fire, near the tent where the Herald is still fighting. The faint hum of healing spells, and the glow that flickers through the thin hide walls, tell them that. Vivienne and Solas snipe at each other, but the mere fact that they are speaking at all is a sign Irene is getting better. Leliana sighs, shuffles the precious few reports she managed to save. So much was lost. So many were lost. But they have her.

She sweeps her gaze over the camp. To the left, the open-air cots with Julien and Roderick. They are both there because there is nothing left for the healers to do. Roderick will die soon — it is incredible that he hasn’t yet, perhaps a testament to the man’s stubbornness — and Julien, she is told, just has to wake up. The healers found no traces of red lyrium in him, but there was the infection, and possibly head trauma. It is a waiting game, at this point, to find out.

Straight ahead, a few of the myriad members of their bedraggled Inquisition have gathered around the fire. Varric is sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, listening with half an ear to Sera rant about… something. Whatever it is, she’s animated about it, waving her arms around and occasionally wiping at her runny nose. “Stupid, stupid daft tit, thinking she could just—” is the extent of what drifts over to Leliana, before Sera cuts off and presses the heels of her palms to her eyes, rubbing furiously. Varric nods and rests his chin on his knees, staring into the fire. He says something to the elf, but Leliana can’t catch it.

Mother Giselle crosses from the right, where she has been speaking to a few of the soldiers, to Chancellor Roderick’s bedside, and Leliana knows. Flissa approaches as well, steps shy, and draws Dorian away while Mother Giselle gives the last comforts to Roderick. Leliana had heard the Vint had rescued a citizen, but hadn’t thought to ask who. Dorian rises higher in her esteem.

“The Chancellor is dead,” she murmurs to no one. Cullen sighs and rubs his nose.

Vivienne chooses that moment to sweep aside the flap, stare imperiously at the advisors, and declare, “The Herald is stable.”

“Her injuries…?” Josephine asks.

“She will keep her nose, but the scarring will be extensive. Full range of movement should return within the week. She will fight again.”

Vivienne moves away from the tent, presumably off to find rest, robe-dress swishing around her legs. Cullen starts forward, pauses, glances back. Leliana rolls her eyes and moves ahead of him, ducking into the tent without preamble. Dear Maker, the man is about as subtle as a druffalo.

Within, Irene lies prone on the cot. The surgeon is in the corner, gathering her tools and putting them away. Solas is busy arranging the blankets around and over Irene, careful not to brush over the neatly-stitched gash on her chest. It is maybe a handspan from end to end, and the flesh that is sewn together is pink, new. The elf casts a spell under her when he is done, the marks glowing crimson then fading to barely visible. A warming rune. After how close Irene came to freezing to death…

The jagged patch of scar tissue on the Herald’s cheek has changed color: no longer blue and black on the edges but a dark red that will eventually fade to match the rest of her skin, with time. She is still pale, but not alarmingly so. Her nose, crooked and ill-healed from some injury long before they met, is at least whole. Thank the Maker for victories large and small.

The surgeon leaves quietly, and the others file in, circling Irene. Solas glances at them, tilting his head. “I put her under a spell to keep her from thrashing while we worked on her wounds. I can remove it and wake her. It will have no ill effect on her recovery.”

Leliana nods, and Solas snaps his fingers before leaving as well.

It is a moment before anything happens, but then Irene groans and shifts, tossing her head. She moves to feel her chest, but Josephine grabs her hand and holds it gently while Leliana leans forward and says, “Herald?”

Irene’s eyes snap open and she jolts up, dislodging the furs and nearly headbutting the Spymaster. “Shit, shit!” she gasps, jerking her hand out of Josephine’s grip and running it through her sweat-soaked hair. Then she lifts the other and stares at the mark. Her shoulders tremble.

“It’s not… I thought I was dead,” she whispers, voice cracking and breaking like ice beneath their feet. Twisting her head, she fixes Cassandra with an almost pitying look. “The throne of the gods was empty.”

“Pardon?” Cullen says, even as Leliana shifts around to half-kneel on the cot and grip Irene by her shoulders. She doesn’t shake them, but her touch seems to ground Irene, who closes her mouth and takes a deep breath through her nose. “Herald. Irene. What happened down there? Who is the Elder One?”

Exhaling, Irene begins her tale.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da:i #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #heaven by violence #lulzy writes

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agmapansa3008 · 5 years

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Some WIPs

I was inspired by @ocean-in-my-rebel-soul, I hope they don’t mind!

Posting some of my WIPs, maybe some of you will like them :D

Unnamed Cullrian fic

On one such occasion he was looking for the commander after he failed to show up for their weekly game, stopping at the door to the Throne Room when he heard his voice. Frowning, he listened. Cullen sounded agitated. "-is quite enough, M'am. Lord Pavus has proven himself many a time for this Inquisition. He is an asset and a friend and I shall not tolerate any insult towards him."

Oooh. Another one of those arguments then. Dorian thought Mother Giselle would finally lay off if him after the disaster with his father. The old lady was quite meddlesome for someone who was supposedly there as a soothing presence. Cullen's words however, made him smile softly. The things that man said.

Before he could make his presence known, though, the mother started speaking in a hushed tone. "And can you be quite sure that the Mage isn't helping your emotions and thoughts along?"

Dorian bristled. The nerve on that woman! Surely no one could believe such a vile-

"I can't be sure of that, no I-" The door fell shut as the mage stumbled back. Ice cursed through his veins, quite literally, as his magic jumped with his sudden spike in emotion. It crackled into his fingertips in the form of lighting, only to rush fire back into his chest. He felt his stomach drop as his heart burned.

Well.

Stumbling back, he mad his way through Solas' alcove - thankfully the other mage was nowhere to be seen - and took the opposite way than his quarters, needing to get out. To breathe.

He crossed the commander's office and moved over the battlefront to the little look out section, slipping down into a slump, with his back against the stony railing. Frustrated tears were streaming down Dorian's face, and he forcefully brushed them aside with the back of his hand. How could he... after everything Dorian had told him, about how his father had tried to change him... how could he possibly believe that Dorian would be capable of doing something so horrible. So completely utterly disgusting?

How could he trust him so little, after all this time? It had been months. Long, hard fought months, months in which friendships had been forged and families had been formed. Months.

And yet Cullen still assumed the worst of him. He was still, even to one of his dearest friends, the evil mage from Tevinter. Friends.

More tears flew and a bitter chuckle escaped him, broken on a sob. Not friends. Not more.

Nothing.

---

Amatus (Cullrian)

When he entered the tavern, his mood only heightened as he spotted his dear commander standing in a corner. With a wide grin and a quip ready on his lips, Dorian started to make his way towards him, but stopped, uncertain, when he realised who Cullen was talking to.

Krem, to his credit, realised his mistake quickly, eyes passing from Commander to mage and widening comically. "Oh-" he stammered. "Oh no."

Cullen, on the other hand, slowly turned towards Dorian, an unreadable look on his face, that had the Altus frozen. He cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows, but before he could say what he was preparing himself for, Dorian... bolted.

Childish, sure, but it was a knee jerk reaction to his brain yelling 'Get out get out get out' at him.

Well fuck. He had forgotten about Krem.

How had he forgotten about Krem?

---

WinterIron Tattoo Soulmate Fic

"Right, gimme just a second. I'll just dress real quick."

"Pity." Tony looked up from his phone to see Bucky roll his eyes with a grin and huffed a laugh himself. He couldn't help but let his eyes wander slightly when the taller man turned around to walk into his bedroom. But when his eyes arrived on his back, his mind came to a startling halt when he saw the dark ink right between Bucky's shoulder blades.

It was his symbol. The same dark red triangle, encircled black. His symbol, right there on Bucky's back.

But how?

Confused Tony stared after him, the door closing slightly. Hope and happiness started to blossom in his heart and a smile was slowly making its way onto his lips.

Why hadn't he said anything? Tony had shown him his symbol, why hadn't he-

And just like that, the smile dropped.

Oh.

Of course. How stupid of him.

Chest burning, Tony had to lean against the wall behind him, in fear that his legs would give in. His eyes were slowly fogging over. With a shaky breath he tried to speak. "Hey Barnes?"

"Yeah?" The voice was still as cheerful as always, still as bright.

Tony's chest ached even more as he wondered what was going through Barnes' head whenever they hung out. How much it bothered him to keep the secret. If he even cared by now. Tony had shown him his symbol half a year ago. He swallowed. "Sorry, we will have to push this to some other time. Pepper just called with something SI related." He wondered if the other could hear the slight tremor in his voice. "It's important."

"Oh. Yeah. Yeah no worries, work is work." Bucky's steps came closer again and Tony quickly turned around to leave. "Do you want to- you're leaving already?"

Without turning back, the genius quickly nodded, wanting to be anywhere but here. "Yeah, sorry, gotta run. I'll see you around, stud!"

"Ah- sure!"

---

Unnamed Stanny Fic

Danny is tired. He’s tired and has a headache and he keeps thinking about the fact that his best friend left for Europe without even telling him and his day sucks. So when Stiles - bundle of joy and sarcasm Stiles - jogs up to him with a too wide smile he just... snaps. "So Danny! Question for you. Do you-"

"No, Stiles! For god's sake I do not find you attractive!" And Stiles blinks at him, eyes wide and... hurt. Shit, Danny is already starting to feel guilty and he really doesn’t need that on top of everything else. "Listen..."

But Stiles lets out a little laugh, eyes vacant and a little shiny. "Well, I've figured, you know. You never answered me anyway." He draws a hand through his slightly longer hair, a grin masking the sting. "I was actually just asking if you wanted to sit... to sit with us, you know. So you're not alone or whatever. Lydia is there, too. And you like Allison, so... yeah."

And great, now Danny just feels even more shitty. "Thanks Stiles, I... that's nice of you." He stands up and follows Stiles to the misfit table, Lydia smiling at him genuinely. "Stiles, I..."

A message on the boy's phone interrupts him though, and he watches as Stiles pulls it out and deflates a little. "It's Derek." He says to the group, avoiding anyone's eyes. "I'll just take this and see you in class, Scott. Anyway, good to have you, Danny."

And Danny can only stare after him, sitting down heavily on the bench.

---

Unnamed Spideypool Fic

It's then that he realises that Wade isn't next to him anymore. In fact, the place next to him is cold.

He frowns and sits up, his back aching on the verge of pain. There's no note or something similar, but Deadpool-esque. No lipstick on his mirror. No message on his wall, pinned by a knife. No nothing. Not in the bedroom nor any other room in the flat. He left nothing behind.

Peter's frown deepens, the high of the night making way for a heavy feeling in his chest. He ignores it, as he takes a shower. Ignores it, as he sits on the couch. Tries to ignore it hours later when he's dressing for his night patrol.

His heart sinks and he feels vaguely sick to the stomach. That night, he apprehends four bank robbers and one pick pocket, prevents a gang fight, and rescues a kidnapped victim.

He goes home and takes another shower. This time though, this time he scrubs his skin until it's an angry pink. Scrubs away the feeling of callused hands against his skin. Of lips again his neck, his chest. Of whispers in his ear and lips against his lips.

He scrubs, until it hurts and only then does he leave the shower and collapse onto the couch, the mere thought of even looking at his bed nauseating.

He shivers as he let's the held back feelings wash over him. Shame and anger mix in a cocktail of disgust.

He feels used. And pathetic.

He doesn't sleep. But he doesn't cry either.

---

That’s it for now. I do have a lot more, but those are the ones I felt like sharing for now.

Might do something like this another time!

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whatkindofnameisella · 5 years

Text

more self-indulgent izuocha fic

hola friends, i’m here with more izuocha and this time it’s like 3000% more self-indulgent because I made it a ballet au. adults? check. angsty reunion? check. my favorite girl’s pov? check. ballet terminology? you betcha. Giselle references inspired by Natalia Osipova and Carlos Acosta’s heartbreaking act II pas de deux? uhhh yuuuuuuuupppppp. strap in, folks. if you want something that’s not really 100% mha but has those characters together in a fic with a good amount of sensual yearning then you’ve come to the right place. it’s a bit of a long one (about 4000 words) so ill just put a little bit before the cut! it might not seem too fluffy at the beginning but I promise yall it gets there. please enjoy!

“Thank you, again, so much for coming.” Ochako’s arms were getting heavy with flowers, and she was running out of creative places to put them. One sticking out of her duffel, one in either pocket on the ends of her bag, an extra-large one in her arms – she would never have enough vases for them all, she never did. Sometimes she wished that people would just forget politeness and show up at the stage door with a smile on their face and a twinkle in their eyes. No apology for their horrible manners or forgetfulness, no overwhelming compliments that she didn’t know how to take, no trying to describe things they didn’t understand as if they did. Just an, “I loved it. Thank you so much,” and the hint to move on and let her go home in enough time to soak her feet in an ice bucket. Well, the kids could take their time; the stars in their eyes, their out of breath ramblings and their thousand dollar smiles could give Ochako the power to dance an entire four act ballet all over again. But with the adults? With their praise and expectations seeping through the cracks of their words? It made Ochako want to crumple up into a hole and just hide there for a while. Far, far away from the feeling that she was never actually good enough.

It was a cold February evening and the city lights in the theater district blocked out all of the stars as Ochako greeted people by the stage door of the Opera House. She battled mounting exhaustion, muscle fatigue starting in her feet and climbing up her legs as old friends and family gave her sparkling bouquets full of fragrant flowers and compliments that made her feel like a million dollars. It made her heart beat a bit faster in her ribcage and the tunneling winds feel a little less intense when she heard someone say that she had made their evening. It was hard to believe, but she chose to take what she could get. It made standing a little more bearable, and people a little more happy, so she struggled through one-sided conversations strung with high praise that made blush creep up her neck to her face.

“Oh, we should be the ones thanking you!” A group of friends from elementary school stood in front of her, about to leave. “You’ve grown so much since we were kids. Mie was never large enough for you.”

“You’re too kind,” Ochako touched her hand to her chest, trying her best to convey warmth over the dull, pounding pain in her calves, “Call me again sometime. We need to meet up sooner than every other year.”

A polite laugh rippled through the group of girls in front of her, “Of course, Uraraka!” They pulled back in to one last hug, “Break a leg with the rest of your performances! I’m sure you’ll be just as beautiful as you were tonight.”

“Thanks so much you all – good night!” She waved down the alley as her friends walked the other way, back into the lights and cars of downtown Tokyo.

Ochako sighed, watching the smoke from her breath curl up into the cold night air. She shifted the large bouquet from one arm to the other and stretched from side to side, thinking of a steamy shower and ice bucket waiting for her at home. Giselle was only two acts, but it sucked the life out of her every time she did it. It was her favorite role by far – being happy-go-lucky and bouncing off her feet in act one, being agonizingly slow and ghostly and heartbroken in act two. Playing a role where love won. Ochako never realized she needed to collapse until she got through the wings and to her dressing room, the effects of long petit allegros and pas de deuxs hitting her like a sack of bricks. She blinked a few times as she turned, feeling the dreary-ness of the night pulling down on her like a magnet. She took one last stock of the alley, making sure she finally finished talking to all that were there, wishing that Tsuyu were there to walk home with her as she caught glimpse of curly greenish black hair out of the corner of her eye and –

Wait a minute… curly, greenish-black hair?

She snapped her head back to where she had seen it, blood suddenly rushing through her well-worn arteries, air being sucked in through her hoarse throat. He had said that he might make it but she didn’t believe it, he was always so busy nowadays with his galas and international performances and, and –

Her vision tunneled. Ochako’s heart stopped pumping for a count of two, her stomach taking that time to do a backflip along with all the butterflies that had suddenly appeared there. Her eyes took their time to drink him in; a bit tall and sheepish leaning against the wall next to his mom, a small bouquet of white and pink flowers in his bare hands. A winter jacket zipped up to his chin, a knit hat hiding half of his unruly hair. Perfectly tailored slacks and simple dress-shoes, standing in almost a resting pose, ever the dancer. That warm and good-natured smile pulling at his lips and that familiar spark of innocence in his eyes that made him so handsome. For a second she was sixteen again, looking at her best friend as studio lights bore down from overhead on his smiling face while they warmed up together before morning class. Seventeen and feeling her pulse zing as the popular kid partnered her in front of all the other girls who wanted to feel Izuku Midoryia’s hands on their hips. Eighteen and watching from the wings as the newest prodigy nailed his final UA performance, catching his eye every time he looked into her spot in the darkness behind the lights. Eighteen and drinking in the feel of her best friend’s arms around her as he hugged her at graduation. Eighteen and breathing in his cologne as they danced in a fancy reception hall. Eighteen and trying to burn into her memory the glint in his eyes when he laughed, the way he leaned against the barre when he was tired, the way he fidgeted with his fingers when he got bored in rehearsal or the way he bit his lip when he struggled with a combination. Eighteen and wishing that she wasn’t saying goodbye, anything but goodbye, it wouldn’t really be goodbye, convincing herself that she wouldn’t really bee saying goodbye at all.

All that in an instant. Maybe she hadn’t needed to try so hard to remember all those details after all.

Izuku Midoriya looked at her and fatigue flushed out of her legs so quickly she felt like she was floating. Ochako’s arms almost forgot to hold her bouquet; she felt like the flowers would just faze through her. Seven whole years of traveling, and rarely seeing him, getting used to just the idea of him, seeing pictures on the news, catching up through social media in the gaps between his rare visits, watching as he checked one thing after another off of his bucket list, feeling the gap between the two of them grow further and further… And now he was here. Less than ten feet away, tangible, and smiling expectantly. A knot unraveled within her and her shoulders relaxed from a tension she didn’t know she had been holding in. She felt like she was going to combust just standing there, so she took shaky steps that didn’t make her feel any less likely to clip through the ground.

“Uh… Sorry the bouquet isn’t any bigger,” His voice sounded so different, so much more fitting and grown into than what it had been before. As she looked at him, Ochako looked for the hints of the timid prodigy she had once shared her life with. For a second she panicked. He looked stronger and taller, confidence rooting him to the ground in a way she had never seen in their time at UA. But when she looked deeper, she found bits of familiarity; the way he always hunched slightly in on himself, the tentative way his hands fidgeted when they had nothing else to do, the slight smile that was always genuine, the gleam of burning ambition that was always behind his eyes. He took a hesitant step towards her, biting both of his lips before opening them to speak, clearing his throat like he didn’t trust himself to talk, “I wanted to get something a bit more… you know, deserving, but ah…” He looked down at the flowers, opened his mouth and closed it, sucked in a breath before looking at her again, “I just came off a flight yesterday and there wasn’t really enough time to order a bigger one – oh!”

Ochako tackled him with a hug, having to stand on her highest relevé to place her head over his shoulder. She hugged tight to his chest, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, crushing the bouquet she had been holding against his jacket with one hand and feeling the muscles of his back underneath his coat with the other. She breathed in the scent of his hair and his clothes for the first time in an eternity. After the initial shock wore off she felt his chest rise with an intake of breath and felt his cheeks lift with a small smile against her hug. His arms wrapped around her, warm and gentle and comforting. He was so strong and yet he held her tenderly, like if he grasped her too tight she would break. It was a feeling she felt foreign to; his arms against her like she was made of glass, afraid to constrict any tighter less she would shatter yet just tight enough to admire and wonder at. She felt so secure in those arms. A blizzard could have been raging around the two of them and she wouldn’t have feared the storm one bit. The aching feeling of tears clawed its way up her throat. She fought the battle against them and failed.

“You of all people should know that the flowers don’t matter!” She whined. Against her will it came out as if someone had poked holes in it. A tear stung her cheek in the cold as it ran down her face.

A small chuckle shook him and reverberated through her body, “You’re right, you’re right. I should know that.”

Ochako sniffled and pulled away, immediately feeling a warmth being sucked out of her and barely remaining as she held on to his arms. A new light took its place as he looked slightly down at her, a smile playing on his face and tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He was trying hard not to show it, but it came right through to her. The watery eyed, quick-to-cry teen that she had known throughout all of UA’s upper school would never really go away.

She cleared her throat and smiled, “I mean, I really should be mad, shouldn’t I? You leave me for seven years and all I’m greeted with is a bouquet barely ten flowers strong!” She laughed and wiped away another tear, “But it’s hard to stay angry at you for too long, Deku. Always has been.” She squinted and smothered a smile hearing his nickname come out of her mouth again. She had missed saying it.

Ochako watched his breath quickly catch at the sound of that name. A new gleam popped up in the corner of Deku’s eye as he looked at her, she could have sworn she felt his pulse pumping a bit faster through his fingers. She was sixteen and captivated by the underdog’s smile again, all flustered and floating in the light of those eyes. He suddenly blinked and looked down at his right hand, pulling it away and displaying the small white and pink cone of flowers. The scent wafted up to her; fresh roses and chrysanthemums and a dozen other small varieties packed into a dazzling selection. Not glamorous, not flashy, not expensive. Just simple and beautiful in its own way.

“Well, these are for you,” a nervous sort of humor shook his voice, “If you’ll take them, of course.” Deku met her eye again, a hope hiding within. It melted her.

Laughter bubbled up her throat and out through Ochako’s mouth, hands shaking as she reached out and took the small bouquet from his hands, “They’re beautiful, thank you.” Her fingers brushed against his for a second in the exchange, rough and freezing in the winter air. Goosebumps raced up her arms at the contact.

“Okay okay, you’ve had your chance! My turn now!” Ochako turned to her left and found Deku’s mother smiling at her, tears already running down her face. She waved her son off of Ochako and gathered her into a hug of her own. She wailed over Ochako’s shoulder, “Uraraka, you were so beautiful tonight!” Her contact filled Ochako up with a different kind of warmth from Deku’s; motherly and brimming with pride. Like sitting around a fireplace at home, a sense of family warmer than any blanket that could’ve been tucked around your shoulders. Ochako mumbled a quick thank you into the fuzz of her hood collar. When they pulled away from the hug, Ms. Midoriya started rambling through a shaky voice, gripping a well-used tissue in her gloved fingers, “Simply stunning, Uraraka, simply stunning! You had me crying all act two, with that look on your face the entire time,” Her voice wavered as if the memory of it would make her start crying all over again, and she took a breath to compose herself before continuing, “Such beautiful stage presence, just like I remember from UA!” Ms. Midoriya reached out and cupped her hands around Ochako’s face, making Ochako blush against the cold, “I’ve never seen a more beautiful Giselle, never – Izuku, don’t you agree?”

Ochako turned to find Deku grinning at the interaction between the two of them. He looked her in the eyes again, nodding, twisting her stomach in a knot, “Definitely. I mean, you’re jumps just look like you’re weightless – “

“Oh, Uraraka, you should’ve seen him during the act two pas de deux! Crying a river next to me, I swear – !“

“Mom!” A blush cropped up on Deku’s cheeks as he leaped forward to try and intercept his mother.

Ochako smothered a grin and waved a hand in his face, “No, no, carry on Ms. Midoryia. You said he was crying?”

“But – “

“I looked over to see what this sniffing sound is and I see Izuku sitting there with an ocean’s worth of salt water on his face,” a defeated sigh escaped her son as she continued on, “Completely still. Barely breathing, even! I swear he could’ve been a statue in a museum – “

“Okay, okay,” Deku made a successful interception, placing a hand between Ochako and his mother, “I think that’s enough for now, thank you mother.”

On the outside Ochako laughed, but on the inside she took a minute to imagine it. That pas de deux was her favorite to both watch and perform. She flashed back to her own performance of it earlier that night and imagined what Ms. Midoriya had just described; herself lifting up her leg in the iconic side develope, promenading to an arabesque with a look of sorrow on her face. She had been hot and exhausted but was powering through. Her leg felt dead and she worried that it wouldn’t hold her up for much longer, but adrenaline kept her upright. And then she imagined Deku, still as stone and captivated by her. Crying. Not the loud, easily triggered type that she had grown to find endearing. A quiet, stunned cry of emotions that couldn’t have been expressed through words. Ones that refused to be tucked away and instead boiled over through tears and more tears. The type that made your lungs ache from the lack of air that refused to be taken in. The thought of it made Ochako’s head spin. She wondered how often an international ballet star cried like that at a performance he had the spare time to watch.

As Ochako finished laughing a look of sincerity came across Ms. Midoriya’s face, “But really, Uraraka,” Ms. Midoriya peeled her son’s hand back, “It was so touching. Everyone in the theater was so captivated by you,” tears at the corners of her eyes threatened to flow over, “When you did those beautiful developés, with that stunning skirt…” She grasped her chest, “I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It just wrenched my heart in two – all of our hearts, really.”

Ochako felt her chest filled up with warmth. That wasn’t the kind of compliment you received every day – the kind that really touched your heart. Even if Ms. Midoriya wasn’t an expert in ballet, she had still meant every word she had said. Every syllable had been laden with another sobbing fit waiting to happen. Ochako appreciated that a lot. “Thank you, Ms. Midoriya,” Ochako reached out and placed her hand on the mother’s arm, “I’m so glad you got all that from my performance. I wish you two could see me more often!” Those words left a hollow space in her, knowing that they wouldn’t be coming back for her next performance. It was an inevitability that made her sad. She swept it away to the back corner of her mind just in time for Ms. Midoriya’s next words to knock Ochako off her feet.

“But we will!” Ms. Midoriya lit up with a burst of energy, “There will be so many more opportunities next season with Izuku coming back into town –“

Ochako did a double take and choked on her own spit. She turned away to cough and regain her composure. She had heard the rumors floating around the Corps girls recently but she hadn’t allowed herself to get caught up in them. Rumors were often just rumors, and no one from the main administration had passed it by her yet, so why should she believe them? She was a Prima with UA’s main Company – Japan’s biggest and most well-known ballet. She even toured and guested at other places from time to time. She couldn’t afford to let herself get caught up in maybes and distractions. Her carrier came first, always. It was always that way: carrier first, emotions later. If she wanted to make it, it had to be that way, it could only be that way. When it came to school she made the quick decision to focus on her training. When it came to graduation she took the route that she had always wanted to take without hesitation. When it came to finally being in the company she blended in to the corps, became the perfect copy. When it came to being a soloist, she treated every role like she would never get another. And when it finally, finally, came to being a principal, she only bathed in the sunlight for barely a minute before getting back to work again. It never stopped. She would never be as good as she wanted herself to be, so she settled for constantly working towards it. The past spent all work hours locked far away where she wouldn’t be able to get to it. It only held her back, to dwell on could-have-beens. That was all it seemed it would ever be.

But now, for a second, she forgot to put carrier first. Emotions burst through the dam in her heart and surged outward to her fingertips, the floating feeling returning to her brain. Disbelief held thin but tight against her mind. She had waited seven years and given up hope for just as long. Ochako had only worked with Deku once since graduation, and she knew that was all she would get. Of course it was. He was a star; talented and handsome (god was he handsome) and always grabbing at the fruit out of reach. Everyone wanted a piece of him. He gave everyone a piece of him without hesitation, too. So why in the world would he settle for home? For what he had come from?

Disbelief, however thin, held tight around her and would not let go.

But she wanted to. Oh how she wanted to let go.

The butterflies were dancing around her stomach again.

When Ochako turned back, she stared back at Deku’s mother in shock. A storm of emotions boiled within her that she was trying hard to conceal. “C-coming back to town? For next season?” Ms. Midoriya cocked her head to the side in confusion, “You don’t know? Didn’t Izuku tell you?” She blinked a few times, leaning further in, “Izuku’s signing on with UA for a season or two starting this fall. It’s still a bit under wraps but – “

Ochako snapped her head to her friend, electricity zapping through her veins. She scanned his face furiously for clues – a guilty smile, a gleam in his eye, a reach behind his head and his torso folding in on himself. He looked at her, then the ground, then her again, then the wall, his freckles surrounded by a bright blush that sent her heart racing. She was floating again, so light that she could’ve passed right through the ground. This time she forgot to hold on to her flowers. The two bouquets in her arms crashed to the ground along with her duffel bag as she flung herself back into Deku’s arms. She saw herself at eighteen, alone and with a new sense of fear no matter how many people she had around her. Alone and feeling forever inferior to her best friend who had left her in the dust. Alone and never, ever good enough. Alone. Always alone.

Now, in his arms, sure that Deku would be back, she felt that memory wash away. The air was cold but he was warm and she could, for once, be the selfish one. And nothing else mattered for that moment. She would see him every day. They would warm up and take class together. He would take the empty space next to her at barre and in the center. They would laugh together as they messed up simple combinations and tried to get back on tempo. They would eat rushed granola bars in between rehearsals in the afternoon and go to physio at night.

She would feel his strong hands on her hips and breaths sliding down her neck as he stood behind and partnered her. His shirt would be damp with sweat and his breathing would be heavy, his brows set in concentration as he held her. She’d experience the rush of the crowd next to him, be half of one well-oiled machine. She would hold his hand in the wings before they went on together, feeling the electricity zapping between the two of them, sharing nerves and emotions and anticipation for the lights. She would stand next to him at curtain call, curtsey until her knee was to the floor and hug him in the spotlight.

All of that would happen. It seemed so amazing that she wanted to pinch herself to bring her mind out of a daydream. But it wasn’t a daydream.

It was a cold February evening. The lights blocked out the stars in the Tokyo’s theater district as Uraraka Ochako hugged her best friend for the first time in years by the stage door. His embrace was warm and comforting and she wanted to stay there for as long as he would let her. He had given her a small bouquet of pink and white flowers that she would keep alive for as long as possible in her most beautiful vase she could find. He was signing on to the company that she never thought he would turn back to. Her heart was doing cartwheels around itself in overwhelming excitement.

Ochako couldn’t wait for autumn to begin.

#fanfic #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #izuocha #midoriya izuku #uraraka ochako #mha fanfic #bnha fanfic #writing #mha au #bnha au #izuocha au #izuku x ochako #bnha deku #please no spoilers im not caught up yet #fluff #izuocha fluff

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thegoldenembers · 5 years

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The Concert.

Eanrin dashed into Zui’s room at the Manufactory. He hastily unpacked his performance attire and snatched her, of course, modified steam iron. He quickly smoothed out the wrinkles. Her machines were always phenomenal. Sitting in the quiet, he couldn’t believe he’d actually got his friends to accompany him to Ishgard. And for one of his more important concerts, no less. He finished and dashed to the Lalafell’s little restroom, pleased to note most of the buckets of snow had dried off his hair at least.

Changing into his concert attire, he then carefully placed his travel clothes near the fire to finish drying. He was a little worried, not having seen any sign of the mini mechanic. He’d so hoped she would be able to attend the concert as well. Since it was Rayn and Mallo’s first visit to Ishgard, he’d hoped they would be able to further be welcomed by a friendly face.

As he finished adjusting the last of the lacings, he noted one of her best dresses hanging off her closet door. Oh, thank goodness, he smiled to himself. It looked like she certainly planned to attend. With a last once-over in the mirror, he dashed out the door and locked it. Now he just had to collect his instruments. And his friends!

With harp case and one of his flute cases hung off his back like an absurd dual wielding set, Eanrin held his other flute case and a violin case in either hand. He skidded to a halt at the entrance to the Jeweled Crozier. Mallo had changed into a stunning evening coat. It complimented his fluffy white and gray hair quite well. He was applauding and gushing over a young Miqo’te woman in a beautiful dress.

Eanrin took a few steps only to stop again as his brain finally registered his little sister in all but name and blood. She looked so beautiful and grown up! They both did. It took his breath. Ten years away… it almost hurt to think how much of their lives he had missed. He had no regrets about leaving Limsa. But he did regret just leaving his friends behind like he did.

He slowly advanced, smiling. Had the shop owner managed to put a little blush and makeup on Rayn or was it just her blushing? “You guys look fantastic!” He finally managed, somehow managing to adjust the straps of the shoulder cases with full hands.

He watched Mallo beam and Rayn blush. “You look like you’re ready to attend a dance!” He winked. “Speaking of, we better get going. Follow me!” He motioned for them to follow and headed for the Last Vigil. “This concert is actually kind of a cotillion. But it’s being thrown by the Durendaire High House which means all stops are out, so to speak!” Eanrin explained excitedly. “There will be fancy dresses and suits as far as the eye can see. But! There will also be the best food and drink their money can buy so please feel free to enjoy,” Eanrin winked. As they reached their destination, he waved them over to a side entrance, where four people stood around assorted instrument cases. “We get to use the staff entrance. Much faster than the main.” He grinned at them. He’d noted their awed faces at the incredible bejeweled line that twisted and twined its way outside the manor house.

“There’s so many people.” Rayn gasped. Mallo looked nervous. Eanrin really hoped Zui would arrive soon. He waved back when one of the musicians spied the group. “It’s about time you got here, Eanrin!” A small Miqo’te male grumpily called.

“We still have plenty of time, Kien!” Eanrin laughed. “If we followed your definition of ‘on time,’ we would’ve been here yesterday.” Turning to Rayn and Mallo, his grin only widened. “Rayn and Mallo, these are my friends. We’ll be performing together this evening.”

A tall Elezen woman glanced curiously at the two accompanying Eanrin. “These are your guests this evening? Not the fawning floozie you usually bring?” She grinned teasingly. Rayn stiffened and muttered, “Floozie?” with equal bewilderment and insult in her manner. The Elezen smirked as she achieved her desired effect, while Eanrin poked her with an elbow.

“These are my childhood friends, as a matter of fact.” He laughed, knowing his friend liked to tease. “This enchanting lady is Giselle Valeroyant. She is a wonderful celloist in addition to being a bit of a provocateur.” Eanrin smiled. The woman bowed, and Eanrin gestured to a midlander female who was smiling and waving at the two new arrivals.

“This young lady is Merrin Mercer. A better flautist you will never find. Though some will argue that her voice is as beautiful as her playing.” He motioned to a tall Xaela standing next to a heavily laden cart. “This gentleman is Ardent Kha. I only met him a few years ago. He can pound out amazing rhythms on his drums. His real name isn’t Ardent, but he argues that no one can properly pronounce it, and Ardent adds to his mystique with the ladies. He must not be wrong; he has quite a fan following.” Eanrin leaned towards his friends and said this last out of the corner of his mouth, still grinning. The man raised a hand in greeting.

“Last but not least, we have Kien Lantek. Violinist extraordinaire; he’s a childhood prodigy and I’ve never heard the like when he really sets to fiddling.” The small Keeper bowed, smiling brightly to Rayn and Mallo before scowling back at Eanrin.

“Tiiiiiiiime.” Kien growled. Then he hastily turned back to the two friends. “Welcome! I truly hope you enjoy the concert.” He smiled genuinely. All the musicians began moving over to a tall Elezen with a clip board.

“Coren!” Eanrin called happily as he waved from Mallo and Rayn’s side. “They put you in charge of this shindig?” The Elezen smiled back and waved. Eanrin gestured to both of his friends and Coren nodded, adding a notation. “Go on in.” Eanrin gestured to his friends. “It’ll be a bit as we get set up. More people will mill in. Best thing about arriving with the band is you get to be near the stage if you so desire.” Eanrin winked, and headed off to follow behind Merrin, who paused for a moment, hopping on her toes before jogging over to Rayn and Mallo.

“I’m so glad you came! I’ve heard about you, you see. I was in Eanrin’s old troupe in Gridania, and he used to talk about you all the time!” She gave each of them a quick hug and a peck on the cheek before running back and heading inside.

Mallo and Rayn exchanged glances. “So… shall we?” Rayn managed with a smile. Mallo still looked a bit nervous, but Rayn took his arm in hers and together they walked up to Coren, who waved them through. They entered the door, to find it was only a gate to an amazingly decorated lawn! Eanrin and company were mounting a stage and unpacking instruments. The stage was flanked on all sides by an enormous dance floor. And in a ring around the floor were arranged tables full of delicious smelling delicacies and glasses upon glasses filled with all sorts of beverages, as well as a few seating areas around small fires if a person desired a cozy nook. Several people already milled around the stage with more flowing in with every minute.

Discordant sounds flowed from the stage as Eanrin and Merrin played their flutes, helping Kien and Giselle last minute fine tune their instruments. Eanrin left Merrin to play tones alone so he could hastily tune his own violin. Shortly after this, Lord Durendaire approached the stage, with his daughter and wife in tow. Eanrin bowed deeply to the Lord and Ladies, and with a flourish, seemed to produce a rose in each hand, offering them to the pleased women. The gaze he fixed on them, made them flush and the Lord clear his throat just a little. While the two noble ladies giggled, Rayn frowned. Before her brain could process much, the young Lady hopped over to a group of girls and they began giggling and squealing. “And did you see his hair is white tonight?” The young Lady exclaimed. “That’s a new color, and he wore it to my cotillion first!” She bounced. The girls were bouncing and laughing, and Rayn turned her attention away from the frivolity and back to the stage. Kien and Eanrin were sitting with their feet hanging off the edge, chatting gaily away with the nearest audience members and Lord Durendaire.

After about 20 minutes of this, Rayn flinched as Mallo’s grasp grew tighter and tighter and the floor became more and more full. She turned with concern to her friend, who was looking a little green. It was just at this moment that a haunting note erupted from the stage.

Eanrin stood with his mother’s flute in hands, and the note dwindled and transitioned into what sounded like birdsong. After a few moments, the birdsong became a set of discordant notes that still made a beautiful song. A piece right out of Doma would be recognized by anyone well-traveled. Kien stood slowly and joined in with his violin. A haunting melody that shortly blended into a happy little song with notes and a rhythm people from the west were more comfortable with. Ardent and Giselle joined in. The drums pounding a foot stomping rhythm and Giselle’s lower “voice” gliding across Eanrin and Kien’s notes. At last the brilliant sound of the more traditional flute twisted and twirled around Eanrin’s flute music and just as quickly as the merry romp had formed, it stopped with a flourish and a bow from Eanrin.

The audience erupted in applause as, now that attention was on the stage, Eanrin backed away and bowed to Lord Durendaire, who approached the front and welcomed everyone. His speech carried on as Rayn and Mallo exchanged happy glances. They’d never heard anything like that little bit of sound Eanrin and his friends had played. And they found themselves wishing Lord Durendaire would soon surrender the stage. A sentiment the man seemed to sense from the crowd in general, for he kept his address short and soon Eanrin was again taking center stage.

“Welcome friends!” Eanrin cried genially. “This is Giselle, Merrin, Ardent, and Kien, and I am Eanrin.” He bowed. There were cheers for each musician, but it grew loudest at the end as all the players stood and bowed for the audience. “It is our pleasure to be performing for you tonight. So, without further ado, let’s get these feet pounding. Ardent?” Eanrin pointed at his friend, who smiled and began pounding out a rhythm. Eanrin and Kien stomped their feet for a moment before Eanrin began playing his tribal flute and Kien and Giselle joined him shortly on their strings. Last, Merrin brought her flute to her lips, and the two flautists’ notes twined and twirled around each other, just like the musicians themselves. When they got to the chorus, Ardent would add his deep voice to a couple of the notes, inspiring leads to dip their partners. With shouts of joy and laughter, couples all around Mallo and Rayn began dancing and twirling. It was contagious, and before long, both Rayn and Mallo joined in, laughing along with everyone else.

A couple of songs in, Eanrin brought the tone down to a more formal dance at a look from Lord Durendaire, who wanted a dance with his wife. As older couples happily commenced dancing, some of the younger ones joined in, though a little less willingly. A lot headed off to get refreshments. It was at this moment, that what Rayn thought was a small girl in a simple but elegant dress waded her way to the two friends standing awkwardly, swaying their arms to the music.

“Excuse me. Pardon…” Her voice finally swam to Rayn’s ears before she finally reached them. As the small girl glanced up, Rayn couldn’t help but notice with amusement that there seemed to be some grease smudges around what she could now see was a Lalafell’s nose and ears. Dark, inky tattoos spiraled along her ear lobes and down the sides of her neck to meet at her collar bones. She wore a small silver necklace that the tattoo chain seemed to only embellish. Her dress was a simple red bodice and black skirt over a cream-colored shift trimmed with lavender ribbon. The corset and skirt were delicately embroidered in silver vines and flowers. The Lalafell girl’s hair was a bone colored blonde; the tips were black. A fashion choice? Maybe it was to help with all those grease stains. Her hair was gathered in a loose ponytail with a black ribbon and a silver filigree bird. She raised her lavender eyes and made contact with the two Miqo’te.

“Excuse me, would you be Rayn and Mallo?” The Lalafell inquired, her eyes inquisitive.

“Umm, yes we are.” Rayn answered, shocked. Were they in trouble? She watched as the Lalafell’s eyes brightened in triumph.

“I knew it! It had to be you!” She smiled happily. “My name is Zui, and I’m a friend of Eanrin’s. I had so wanted to meet you. I’m so glad he was able to talk you into coming!” Zui hopped in a small, happy circle.

“It’s nice to meet you, Zui.” Mallo smiled at the happy girl. “I didn’t know Eanrin had any friends in Ishgard that would look for us.”

She laughed, “Well I am, and I am, and I did! And I never miss a chance to hear Eanrin play. Especially not with the other fab four!”

The slow dance ended, and Eanrin grinned at Kien, who picked seemed to prepare himself and his violin. Eanrin reached down and grabbed his, screeching a set of cheeky notes. Kien played a set of quick and complicated notes back. Eanrin screeched, Kien trilled. Eanrin’s answers lost their screeches and became quick little notes. The melody was bright and had a rhythm that Ardent began to slowly pick out. Giselle joined in, and then shortly Merrin. It was a musical argument and at the same time a bright little dance. Zui clapped and cheered, offering her hands to Rayn and Mallo and they danced in a circle for a bit.

After a few more dances, Zui giggled, a little breathless. Some of her hair had fallen out, framing her face. Her stomach rumbled, and she blushed a little bit. “I’m sorry… I had to work late at the manufactory and haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” She grinned ruefully.

“Is that why you still have a little grease here and there?” Rayn asked, laughing.

“Oh no!” Zui moaned. “Did I miss some? I left in such a hurry… I didn’t want to miss meeting you guys.”

“You should use some La Noscean Orange to help with that. It’s what I use. It never fails!” Rayn declared brightly.

“I love La Noscean Orange!” Zui nodded. “I use it all the time too. It’s rare that I meet a girl who knows how to deal with grease! Are you a machinist too?” She asked excitedly.

As Rayn explained that she helped her crafter parents out when she grew up, Mallo wandered over to the refreshment tables. Knowing Zui was famished, and feeling a bit hungry himself, he explored the tables, mouth watering, as he built a couple of plates and returned to the two girls still chattering on about oranges and ore types. He held out one plate for him and Rayn to share, and handed down a plate to Zui, who clapped her hands, exclaiming.

“Oh! Thank you Mallo, you have great taste!” The Lalafell immediately set to devouring the treats. “Soooo yummy!”

Rayn and Mallo shared a plate heaped high; Mallo taking note of the pastries and trying to guess what they used and how they made them. “Apricot.” Mallo would declare.

“I’m thinking peach maybe.” Rayn would reply. They continued on in this manner.

The music stopped and Eanrin began playing on his hand harp. It was a haunting melody, and most of the dancefloor moved to get drinks. Some still danced. “Beyond the final waters falling. The song of spheres recalling. Won’t…. you return to me?” Eanrin sang. As the song continued, Kien and Giselle joined in with quiet singing.

As much as Mallo and Rayn were enjoying the concert, they still felt like they stood out. Zui watched them, quietly. When they finally expressed this, the Lalafell frowned. “Don’t worry about all these partridges and peacocks and whether or not they’re staring. Everyone has a right to be here. And you haven’t just brightened Eanrin’s day by coming, you know.” She gestured to the tables behind her. A few of the vendors looked up, smiling brightly. “Folks appreciate folks that appreciate what they appreciate!” She quipped brightly. “I’m so thirsty!” She made her way to a table and jumped a couple of times before Mallo caught up and handed one down to her. “Thank you so much, Mallo! Ishgard isn’t entirely Lalafell friendly.” Zui giggled.

They made their way back to the stage and Eanrin began another melody. There was instant applause and cheers as the crowd recognized this one and the Bard began to sing a song about a dragon and some farmers.

Rayn quickly realized what Eanrin was singing and she looked urgently at Mallo, who also seemed to be looking around for dragons. “He can’t play that!” Rayn started to panic, and she looked ready to storm the stage. How could he? Why would he play the song that got him cursed? What if he got in trouble?! She had to stop him.

With a hiss, Zui reached out and caught Rayn’s hand, tugging her back imploringly. “No! Stop, oh please do. It’s okay… it’s one of his most popular and demanded songs.” She said hastily. “But I can see you know about what happened afterward. I’m going to have to swat him on the head when I see him next. I’m guessing he didn’t warn you that he’d perform it.” She hissed. “What a butthead. You see, it wasn’t until after he nearly died that he really started gaining popularity. ‘The key to good showbusiness is to make the crowd feel like they’re participating in something dangerous even if they aren’t.’ “She mimicked Eanrin’s voice. “They wanted to hear the song that got him in so much trouble, he broke one table and upset five more (along with all the occupants) as he sailed across the room, hit a wall with quite some force, and still survived.” She rolled her eyes yet had a grim set to her face.

Rayn shook her head. She didn’t understand. Why would he ever want to sing that song ever again? She looked hopelessly at Mallo, who seemed just as perplexed.

The song soon ended, and after the applause and cheers faded, Earnin and company began playing a song that sounded exactly like the small ditty they had begun the concert with. This time, they didn’t cut it short. It was merry, it was riotous, and Eanrin and Merrin began dancing to the edge and selecting dance partners from the crowd. They would pull the excited audience members onto the stage and twirl and dance for all to see. Rayn frowned as Eanrin seemed to dance a little too close to most of his selected partners. Swinging and twirling these girls so they were a whirl of sequins, lace, and joyous squeals; it was hard to tell where the girl ended and Eanrin began sometimes.

Zui whistled and laughed and clapped her hands to the beat as each dancer was selected. The small girl glanced up at Rayn and Mallo. Mallo was clapping and smiling, Rayn was frowning a bit, like a protective sibling. Zui couldn’t help but smirk. It was adorable after all. And Eanrin played the crowd as well as any violin.

The brightly grinning bard would gently help each breathless “victim” back down to the dance floor and then seemed to greatly relish the cries and waves of the nobles clamoring to get a chance to dance with the two performers. Merrin was twining her way around her leads, somehow managing to make them all look like professionals. Twisting her arm just so or following through with a sweeping step and flowing grace.

All too soon, Giselle, Kien, and Ardent brought the song to a close and there were equal cries of happiness and disappointment. All five performers stood together, hand in hand, and bowed deeply to the audience. The crowd cheered and cried while Zui shouted, “Encore!” with quite a few others. Merrin and Eanrin, trying to catch their breath, looked to the other three. They all nodded, and the crowd cheered as Giselle and Kien took center stage, singing a bright, encouraging love ballad, where the last verse was, “Until we meet again, farewell my dearest star, and shine ever brighter.” Once Eanrin and Merrin could breathe, they joined their voices with the others. As the song came to a close, Ardent added his deep bass to the final notes and they all waved farewell as silence took over, bowing once more.

As everyone finished their last dance, there was laughter, crying, hugging, and even some returned waves as the performers began packing away their instruments. Lord Durendaire resumed center stage and thanked everyone for coming. Welcoming any and all who wished to stay to enjoy the food, company, and some additional music for more dancing.

Zui turned brightly to Mallo and Rayn and hugged them each in turn. Taking them by the hand, she slowly led them to the side and waded through the crowd to where Coren stood near a hedge. He smiled and waved them into a small, secluded garden fire pit where the five exhausted performers mingled with only a few people. Giselle was drinking from one of the provided glasses while cuddled next to a younger Elezen child, who was gesturing wildly and waving a small handcrafted trifle in the air. Mirren, wrapped snugly in a blanket and her hair up in a towel, was hugging a small boy and a taller man. Ardent and Kien were collapsed in chairs laughing about something or other. Eanrin was seated nearby scrubbing at his hair with a towel. He looked up and his eyes brightened as Zui ran up and gave him a great big hug. He laughed and spun her around, the towel hanging around his neck. “Zui, you made it! How’d you like the concert?”

“Amazing as always!” She giggled through the air. “You guys never fail a show. Ever!” He hugged her once more and set her down and she immediately ran over and was embraced warmly by the rest of the musicians in turn. She chattered on happily with them, remarking on everything from the concert to questions about the welfare of loved ones.

Eanrin set his eyes on his friends, they were one big question mark. Well, the dull gray one said nothing, but the gold one may just have held a little bit of fear. “Hey guys, you’re still in one piece.” He smiled happily. “I was hoping Zui would find you. Did you enjoy the dance?”

Mallo nodded excitedly. “You guys play amazing music! I’ve never seen so many people dancing together in one place before. So much glitter, and colors, and laughter! And the food! I have so many ideas!” He continued on. Eanrin caught Rayn’s gaze, and, though she nodded in agreement and clapped a couple of times as she laughed, she still managed to send him a searing gaze that said, “What was that?!” and, “You’ve got some explaining to do!” All at the same time. Or at least, that’s what he guessed it said. Grinning from ear to ear, he just joined in the laughter, dancing, and jesting of his friends and “family” as another set of musicians had taken the stage to provide bright background music for those who lingered.

#The Golden Embers #Rayn Atkascha #Eanrin Farthestshore #Mallo Ra'ri #Zuzui Zui

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suggestionsofthecaribbean · 6 years

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The Pearl: Elizabeth and James

Elizabeth grows tired of punishing her dog; she misses him too much. They reconcile.

CW: There is some discussion of James’ alcoholism, especially towards the beginning of the post.

Featuring: @norringtonsuggestions and @lizzyswann-turnersuggestions.

Shortly after arriving at the mouth of the river, they had been wracked by such an awful heatwave that not a single person on board the ship was able to maintain any physical display of impressiveness that entailed layers, and so Barbossa’s wig and Elizabeth’s hat and jacket vanished. His hair looked the worse for it, and hers rather the better, humidity making it a golden blonde cloud kept in place with a frizzy braid across her forehead. There seemed to be no point in posturing that she was not a female, and so the jumps and the chemise vanished too. Elizabeth had little enough cleavage to need modesty, and if any man held it against her - or wanted to - it was too hot for any of them to care.

If Barbossa, who had leered at her more than once in their past acquaintance and around whom she had never fully grown comfortable, noticed the sight of Elizabeth’s bosom, it must have been in the moments she blinked, which, small thing though it may have seemed, went a long way towards gaining her trust, and once he had said his piece on her boytoy their conversation had come easy. In spite of the last couple of years of her life and the company in which she’d spent them, she had never just had someone tell her pirate stories. He, for his part, disguised the enthusiasm he had for telling such a captive audience - moreso than when she had been his actual captive by far - rather poorly.

One thing was certain - if Barbossa had been careless enough the last time he’d captained this ship to be caught by the Dauntless, it would have hit the ocean floor long before Tripoli. She listened to his tales with all the folded up postures of rapt attention - or, if they were on the deck and she had to compose herself, with expressively wide eyes inside an otherwise carefully guarded face - and thanked the stars that the Interceptor had been, after all, less than the fastest ship on the Caribbean ocean. She doubted James Norrington realized what he had been saved from in Barbossa’s evading him - and earnestly hoped in their time together he never personally had cause to learn it.

Occasionally she stood on deck near enough Captain Norrington to notice the heat had affected his state of dress also, but she could not appreciate it. It seemed that three different crews waited with one held breath to see when she would play with her lapdog again. But mistress and dog greeted each other only once in three days, if it could have been called that. He was unwilling to speak to her without being spoken to; she met his eyes, nodded, and looked clearly away, in front of enough people for her to know she must have humiliated him. To his credit, as she walked away she heard him redouble his efforts to teach the younger of his crew knot-tying, with no aggression or impatience in spite of what he must have been feeling. She loved him better than she ever had for that, and wished she were among them. She recalled a curious mixture of memories - James Norrington at eighteen teaching her a bit of knot-tying upon being pressured to do so, when she was only 13, tolerating her presence remarkably well and earning the affection of both father and daughter; James Norrington of barely two weeks past, arriving to their hotel room in Tortuga, the day Jack Sparrow had died, dressed in pirate finery for the first time and enveloping her comfortingly in his cloak, kissing her on the forehead. Somehow she had gotten swept up in something with James that turned all of her real plans for her life into ashes, and now she couldn’t even be with him.

Long past evening and well into the night of their third day apart, Elizabeth bid adieu to Captain Barbossa and the only Jack among the living and returned to her cabin, which was, after all, only the same cabin she’d been in on her last “little visit”. Sleep did not come to her there, and she knew why not. Though she had entertained the thought of avoiding James until they came ashore at Tia Dalma’s, for his sake nearly as much as her own, the thought of him relapsing - and forcing her to do something about it - if she continued to avoid him was starting to make her feel an uneasiness in her stomach that threatening to turn into vomit.

The moon was an eerie sliver in the sky when she went down into the ship to knock on his cabin door. When it opened she stepped in, shut it behind her and embraced him tightly - quickly, needily, shutting her eyes and not letting go.

“Elizabeth-” It came out in a short gasp, equally surprised and relieved, and more than a little abashed. It was only a little cooler in the cabin, and lit only by a pair of lanterns- one provided, and one clearly moved down from another part of the ship- and what little light came in from his half of the lower windows at the stern, but James was rather more layered than he had been, and not expecting company.

With some confusion, he put his arms around her and gave himself a moment to let it settle in that she was here after all.

“I’m sorry,” she got out, without moving an inch, opening her eyes or relinquishing her hold. “I couldn’t stay away any longer-”

“It’s all right,” he said quickly. “I’m only glad that it’s over-”

“I don’t know if it can be over, but I had to see you -”

“I’m sorry for your timing,” he said awkwardly. “I know this does not speak well of me-”

Elizabeth froze, pulled away from him with a sinking sensation in her stomach, looked anxiously through the rest of the room, and then, surprisingly, kissed him deeply - then just as abruptly pulled out of the kiss.

She had been tasting him, to see that he had not meant drinking.

“- what on earth are you on about?”

James gestured vaguely at the open chest pulled out from under the suspended cot. There were clothes hanging out of it and stacked on the cot- more of the finery Giselle had purloined for his sake. He was wearing some of it, too. Elizabeth had interrupted him in the process of trying to see if some of the more sober items fit him well enough to bring on the next leg of their voyage. Even so, he was all too aware that there was no good excuse for the dark wig he had also decided to try on, even if he had undone the elaborate buckles, so that they fell in wavy clusters before his ears to the sides of his- presently, somewhat unshaven- face.

“I’m sorry- I know this is… shameless, when there are so many working on deck-”

“James, everyone else is asleep,” she said with a trace amount of irritation.

“From what you said I thought you were drinking - this, this is nothing. Jesus! Don’t scare me like that.”

She pulled the wig off his head and threw it bodily at the bed. James looked from where it had landed to her.

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” he said dryly.

“Trying to flatter Captain Barbossa by aping him, were you?”

“Trying to flatter you, by presenting myself more as I had the first round in Tortuga, as it would seem you liked it,” James retorted.

“I didn’t care for that part of it,” she said, resting her hand argumentatively on her hip; then, after a moment of crossness, broke into a smile and hugged him again.

“I was beginning to wonder if you might ever speak to me again,” he said, even as he hugged back.

She was reluctant to release him, or to bring this up - but the longer they held each other, the more it nagged at her, until she gently pulled away to look him in the eye. “James, don’t you know what you did?”

“I know damned well what I did,” he said as he began pulling off his coat. “And frankly, I would rather have been flogged than live with three days of your pointed disdain-”

“First of all, I couldn’t- I couldn’t do that to you. Second of all - it’s clear you have no idea what you did. So the Pirate King jeopardizes her standing with the other Pirate Lords for the sake of some useless pretty boy with a drinking problem, flogs him, and then dotes on him until his wounds are better - that seems like a better plan to you?”

“I never asked you to dote on my wounds! I’ve been flogged before- I can live with that-”

“As if I wouldn’t see you as soon as I could, after doing something like that,” said Elizabeth, with a faint echo of her earlier sneer.

“That,” he said, jabbing an index finger in the air toward her midway through pulling off the weskit, “is your affair, not mine.”

“No, James. This whole thing is my affair. You risked my reputation and your life for a hangover and a bloodshot eye-”

“I know that! Why do you think I’ve watered down my whole supply-”

Something else had occurred to her, and she started speaking as soon as it did, without waiting for him to stop. “My reputation and my life - James! James, listen to me. The last person Captain Barbossa didn’t like serving under was stranded on an island you could traverse in ten minutes, with one shot in his pistol. You’ve held that pistol, you’ve seen that island. But you wouldn’t be coming to get me this time, would you? You would be long since thrown overboard. Or traded to Cutler Beckett for him to have his fun with you before throwing you to your precious firing squad.”

“I know that- do you think I don’t know that? Elizabeth-” He put his hands on her shoulders, an uncharacteristically wild look in his eyes.

“Elizabeth. I was drunk in the hurricane. All right? I know the risks, I know the costs-”

She looked momentarily shocked, even horrified.

“When the boy went overboard- I needed something to make me move again, to end the paralysis and the taunting and the sound of the Admiral’s voice in my head. So I asked for a bottle. All right? I know this.”

“Can you even stop?” she whispered.

“I’m trying,” he said. “I- I don’t know.”

He shook his head, a little helplessly.

“I don’t know. I’m trying, but I don’t know-”

“James! If you continue to be a liability-- Captain Barbossa as much as said I’d be better off--”

She couldn’t get the words out, but she didn’t have to finish for James to get the picture. He nodded, without looking at her.

“Noted,” he muttered.

“I can’t do that,” she said, and her voice broke, startling him. James put his arms around her again and pulled her close.

“I’m trying,” he repeated. “I wish I could promise, but- I’m trying.”

“My fate is tied to yours- because I’m going on the line for you, and I’ll do it again if I have to,” she said numbly.

Elizabeth turned her face into his shoulder and let out a quiet sob. “I can’t lose you too.”

“I’ll… I shall endeavor to do my best,” he said, staring into the distance above her head. “You have my permission to stop me, of course-”

“I don’t need your permission,” she said with a tiny snort - an attempt at humor.

“I’m serious,” he said.

“So am I. I shall kill you if you try.” She turned her head again so that she could press a gentle kiss against the side of his neck.

“Thank God, some sense around here at last.”

“Oh, you should speak with Captain Barbossa, if you call that sense,” she murmured.

“I wasn’t drunk when my men routed his,” he said, with a laugh that died as quickly as it had arrived. The men who had survived that incident, save Gillette and Groves, had long since become food for the sharks off Tripoli.

“He claims not to remember you from that - he says all you naval officers are indistinguishable - though he might genuinely not. He died that night. I suppose it’s gone rather fuzzy and indistinct for him.”

Elizabeth stepped back to wipe at her face, radiating exhaustion, then embraced him again.

“Here- come sit,” he said, gesturing at the rather laden cot. “You need not be the Pirate King in here.”

“Only if you sit with me,” she said, without budging.

He had to move a few things aside and then steady the bed against the wall of the ship in order to sit on it, but his weight held it still for Elizabeth to join him. He put the wig aside rather more carefully to clear room for her and then patted the empty space. She climbed onto it and then onto him, curling up limply. James gave her an affectionate kiss on the forehead, leaning on the rope suspending the cot with one shoulder.

“To tell you the truth, I admire you,” he admitted. “My feelings on your disdain aside, that was remarkably consistent.”

“It only lasted three days,” she said, laughing weakly. “Unless I leave here without witnesses, then I suppose it can go on a little longer.”

James grimaced at this despite himself.

“If you suppose that will help-“

“There was one man I would have gone to for advice on this, but I couldn’t exactly do that, now, could I?” she asked, with a flash of temper.

“You could have messaged me! I know how this works-“

“It wasn’t supposed to be a game! You had to have some punishment - publicly and privately. You still don’t seem to realize how much you risked - You’ve hunted pirates all your life and you still don’t know how this works, do you?”

“I know exactly how this works- I could have advised you without thinking- ugh, never mind.”

“And what would you have said? Oh, just whip me. And then thereafter have Barbossa watching us and privately forming his opinions on how willing I am to forgive and forget.”

“The very fact that he’s on this expedition for Sparrow speaks- I hesitate to say to compliment him, but I will grant him a degree of amenability I will confess I would not have previously attributed to a man of his reputation,” James said, in an even, somewhat pensive tone, as this assessment was taking root in his brain even as he spoke. “There is, perhaps, a greater honor among thieves than I once believed.”

She poked him in the ribs. “You’re here too, James. Shall I say there is honor among traitors, too?”

“Indeed.”

He said this, however, with a dark finality. Every so often, it caught up to James that no matter how he liked to think of himself, he was by now so thoroughly steeped in treachery and criminal activity that there really was no getting out of it this time. Not that there ever had been; Beckett may have readily set him down amidst various young luminaries plucked from the Navy, but the armada’s ranks had been fattened out with desperate men eager to wipe various stains off of their records. James was merely the only one whose sins could be considered infamy rather than petty ignominy.

Sitting here in the dark with Elizabeth, reflecting on the poor account he had given of himself over the past few weeks, he felt ridiculous and unfinished and exposed once again. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It encountered the rough beginning of a beard, and in agitation he moved it to the back of his neck instead, wondering, not for the first time, how quickly hair grew.

“If it’s of even the slightest consolation,” he said, after a long silence, “I have fiercely wanted a drink these past few days. I’ve abstained, of course, even through the tremors and the fever.”

“Would I could have been there to comfort you through those,” she whispered in the dim lighting.

He held up his free hand. It appeared to be flickering in the lantern light.

“It would appear you’ve made it in time.”

She kissed him on the neck again. James made a soft sound of relief as his hand found the back of her own neck instead, and with it her ravaged hair, softened by the humidity.

“I missed you so much,” she sighed.

“Am I in a probationary period at last?” he asked. “Or is this only a small assignation?”

“If you are obsequious enough to persuade Barbossa I actually care about your transgressions…”

“What kind of obsequiousness are you asking of me,” James asked, sounding- frankly- exhausted at the prospect alone.

“I thought you ‘knew how this works’.”

“I know very well how I am to behave in the presence of a superior,” he said, and he tapped the tip of her nose teasingly to make his point. “But to my understanding, Barbossa and I are peers under your command-“

“By my grace only, and if your - indecency topples my command, you will be at his mercy, insofar as he has any.”

“How fortunate,” said James. He was sweating now, more from the still-lingering drink in his system than from the weather or nerves, and he at last released the back of his own neck to wipe at not only his mouth, but his temples. It was just as well that she had pulled the wig from his head, he supposed; the buckles he had let down in imitation of his own hair would be quite damp and losing their wave by now.

“James, this is not a small matter. I’ve risked everything for you. Because I love you. Because I trust you.”

“I know,” he said. “Trust me in that-“

“I need to be able to trust you in more than your understanding, James.”

She sat up and looked at him fiercely. James looked back at her steadily, if blearily. His sclerae had gone back to their usual white, except for the deep red splash still edging up against the dark of his left iris.

“Elizabeth,” he said, “I’m trying.”

“I wish trying were enough-” she said, biting her lip, cutting herself off.

“There have been times I can’t even recall giving in and picking up the bottle,” he muttered. “And this place is as bad for trying to avoid it as Tortuga. These people seem to consider leaning on rum an amusing foible of the profession.”

“James. There’s nothing I can do but entreat you. My life is in your hands, James.”

“And there’s nothing I can say save that I am trying,” he repeated, striking his own thigh in frustration. “For God’s sake, Elizabeth- no one would hesitate to shoot a rabid dog. I’m sure it would scarcely be held against you to shoot a drunken one-“

“Is that what you’re asking me to do?” she asked in a low voice. “Give all hope up, wait for you to drink and then shoot you?”

“I am trying to avoid that,” he said, in a tone of such suppressed, despairing fury that his voice came from between jaws as locked as those of the rabid dog to which he had just compared himself.

“You know there was another solution to this whole thing,” she said. “If you were not so -” She struck him in the chest now in anger, punctuating her remarks - “so stubborn, and so prideful, that you insisted on proving yourself now -”

“And seen another seventy-five men hanged for my actions?” he retorted.

“They could have come too!”

“And how, pray, were we to get to you without a ship, and with this all but undefended-“

James seized Elizabeth’s hand and brought it to his chest. There was something rather large suspended from a strip of leather tied around his neck, disappearing under his untied shirt. Under her palm, it was the size of a large fist, throbbing evenly. Elizabeth shuddered and pulled her hand away.

“We could have found some solution, but in Tortuga you insisted that you be a captain of your own ship, and prove your merits. That’s all your vanity, James. Otherwise you could have been safe aboard the Empress, with me, and whatever inconvenience your sickness might have been in private, it would do me little damage to have a kept man with a drinking problem. Well, you have proven yourself a drunk, how’s that working out for you?”

“No worse than I already knew myself to be,” James said, adjusting the heart beneath his shirt as though it were somehow out of order. “I have very little left but vanity-“

He made an irritated, jerky motion at the clothes half-pulled from the chest and draped over the cot, finishing with a frustrated point at the wig before he crossed one arm over himself to hold the elbow of his other arm. He leaned his forehead into his raised hand, rubbing his temple with his thumb, and then exhaled sharply, throwing that raised arm down against his thigh again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have spoken out of my line.”

Elizabeth debated staying angry at him, at getting up and leaving - at redoubling her efforts to make him feel ostracized and alone until he understood how severely he had shaken her authority and taught her to fear for his life. But she had come here because she missed him, and there was no worse way to miss someone than to lie beside them and still feel as though they were not there.

“What can I do to help you?” she insisted, touching him on the cheek. “For my sake and yours. Let me try, too.”

“You might start by showing the rest of the crew equal censure for their own drunkenness, obvious or not,” he said. He hated the petulance in this request, but the general atmosphere of nigh-constant, joyous rum-sloshing had done his sense of stability no favors since he and the attachès of his crew had joined Barbossa and Elizabeth’s own contingencies.”It’s a nightmare to force oneself dry while one’s companions treat being rum-addled as a personality trait.”

“I cannot order the men of the Pearl to do anything without garnering extreme resentment, but it will be addressed. Though for your part - you know it’s not simply drinking that you were punished for. If you could better limit yourself - I know you can’t, but if you could, we would not be having this conversation.”

“I have never seen Barbossa partake,” he commented. “Perhaps if it could be passed off as the enforcement of his own standards-“

“He won’t like you putting words into his mouth,” she warned.

James closed his eyes. “I know, I know. I meant to suggest we might ask his assistance.”

“I don’t think you understand how unreasonable he is, on some level. He’ll want to be more than asked.”

“Lovely,” James muttered. “God’s teeth, I must look dreadful right now. I apologize.”

“You could not look better,” Elizabeth murmured, and smiled for the first time in several minutes, kissing him.

“Mm- pardon my doubts, but I know how you enjoy flattering me, and I am certain I’ll look better in the morning-“

He was laughing, though, and returned her kiss with one of his own.

“After your long absence,” she said, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Perhaps we should do this again. It has characterized most of our relationship, has it not?”

“Please don’t joke about that,” he sighed. “I already feared I had lost you as a lover, if not as a companion.”

“On the contrary,” she said, brushing her hand over his hair, leaning on his shoulder to look him in the eye. “I wanted you more than ever. I let my frustration with you fuel my contempt on deck.”

“Be that as it may, the whole experience left a rotten taste in my mouth quite separate from the vomit,” James said stiffly.

“You earned it,” she reminded him, a little too firmly.

“That does not mean I’ve any desire to repeat it simply to make the heart grow fonder.”

“Jokes, sir. It’s just jokes.”

He tried very hard to glare her down, but it was useless after that. James covered his mouth and looked away from her, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed, thoroughly worn-out laughter.

“All right, I’m sorry-“

“Thoroughly sorry?” she asked, caressing his cheek with a smirk. “Or shall I bend you over something after all?”

“I think if my head drops below my waist, I shall be sick,” he said, in as dry a tone as he could manage.

“Up against the wall, is it, then?”

“Good lord-“

“Just a quick swat or two,” she kept teasing him. “Be sure you’ve really learned your place.”

“With what-“

“Palm of my hand again, why?” She leaned in and spoke softly against his ear. “Prefer Barbossa’s cat-o’-nine-tails?”

James made a face. “Elizabeth-“

“I mean, we could do other things with you against a wall, James,” she said, settling in against him against, nuzzling his throat. “Though I’d rather not, as a punishment.”

“Elizabeth- Elizabeth, be careful, I could scratch you-“

“What, with this? I rather like it,” she said, voice low. She punctuated that with a kiss, and then another.

“Perhaps when I’ve enough hair to not look as though I’ve had a bout of fever-“

“Sickness becomes you. The appearance of it, anyway.”

“Is it the blood in my eye or the remnant of my hair that pleases you?” he said, though not so harshly as to accuse her of anything indecent.

“Let me have a closer look at your eye-“

There was no way to position himself for this that wasn’t extremely awkward, but he tried anyway.

“Mm. It’s both.” She burst into laughter.

“Elizabeth,” he sighed, exasperated.

She kissed him on his face very near the eyes, enough to bid him close them so that she could kiss him on the eyelids, as she had the night she’d blindfolded him in order to let him enjoy her.

“I love how you make me laugh,” she whispered, when the room had grown quite silent, but for the creaking of the bed and the boat itself.

“That’s a surprise. I never thought of that as one of my stronger qualities,” he said, without opening his eyes.

“Neither did I,” she whispered with unkind glee, her nose touching his.

“It’s good to know I can please you on multiple levels,” he said softly, opening his eyes again to look at her.

“Good Lord, James-” she exclaimed, then burst into laughter again. Elizabeth was not so loud as to wake anyone, but anyone who was awake and near enough might have gleaned her presence - and her mood - in snatches of sound. Still, within James’ small cabin she endeavored to keep her voice down. It lended a sultriness to things which were not intended to be sultry. “I did not come here for that, you know.”

“For what?” he said, lifting his eyebrows.

“Pleasure- at least on that level-”

“The level you assume I was speaking of, you mean.”

“I assume you alluded to it,” she laughed. “And have a very low opinion of my capacity for other satisfaction-”

“I meant only that I am gratified to be reminded that you are not put off by my… increasing inclinations toward slovenliness, shall we say.”

“You have a strange notion of slovenliness,” she said fondly.

“Elizabeth,” he said, a little more firmly, “if this is how you want me, you need only to say so. It would be less troublesome for me to think on if so-”

“Very well,” she said, rubbing his newly rough chin. “I think you should keep it.”

He smiled, as though waiting for her to clarify or add some kind of qualification. When none came, he laughed, a little startled but pleased all the same.

“I shall keep that in mind,” he said. “And on that note- excuse me- “

He cleared his throat, already preemptively embarrassed by the question he was going to ask.

“What of my hair? I know you said you find it suitable, but even so- I find it easier to consider spoken plainly, as foolish as that may sound. Spending most of one’s life in uniform gives one a rather skewed perception of these matters, and I am beginning to fear I’ve no taste at all.”

“I did prefer it a bit longer,” she admitted, “insofar as I can say I have any preference now that the accursed Navy wig is gone. But I don’t mind it like this,” she said, fluffing it and running her fingers through its short length with determined gentleness. “Besides, I suspect I am going to pull on it when it grows out.”

Her own hair was spilling over her shoulder and falling onto his chest as she leaned over him. He leaned back on one hand to give her more room as he kissed her.

“Pulling on it,” he repeated. “Well. We’ll see.”

“You’d take a lot of punishment from me, I expect,” she said, leaning in to kiss him, and then not doing it. She smiled, lips brushing his. “Mm. Wouldn’t you, James? Haven’t you done so already?”

“I never agreed to having my hair pulled on,” he teased, just before claiming a kiss in spite of her. She gave it to him willingly, pushing him backward - slowly, very surely backward. Within a precious few seconds, he was on his back, with her on his chest and her hair spilling toward his beaming face. Elizabeth slid fully into his lap, setting his bed to swaying a little. She held onto him and suppressed more laughter as well as she could, waiting for it to settle.

“This is why they make one wait until post-captain to bring a wife to sea,” he commented. “And why those given to out and out sodomy seemed to prefer it standing-”

“You’re still invited to do that, if you like -”

“Mm- I think not.”

“Might enjoy that more than simply kissing on a hammock-” she joked, brushing noses again.

“First of all,” he began, “doubtful. Second of all, you haven’t got the necessary equipage-”

“Mmmmm, poking holes in all of my fun,” she sighed, kissing him once more. “When I ought to be poking yours-”

“Elizabeth-”

“I know how much you love wordplay,” she said shamelessly, kissing him quiet.

He made a small sound of unoffended protest, but no more than that. It was enough to have her here again, and he showed her his gratitude through the warmth of his kiss.

She kissed him back a long time, as unendingly as possible. Eventually, she broke apart from him only to complain of something. “....these hammocks are very inconvenient for two.”

“It’s a cot,” he pointed out, “and it’s not exactly designed for two to begin with.”

“If you weren’t a drunk, we could be in my bed now,” she said, grumpily.

“That, madam, is entirely up to your discretion-”

“There are things in which Captain Barbossa does not need to be right. His assumption that you are most probably useless but for that thing between your legs is chief among them. I don’t think we should risk giving him a particularly unflattering view of our relationship until you’ve been dry a while. Or done something very brave, either way.”

James rolled his eyes.

“I see.”

“Unflattering to me, I mean.”

“Oh, but of course. Certainly no great reflection on a useless pretty boy with a drinking problem.”

She snorted in spite of herself. “You’re my mistress, James.”

He opened his mouth to object, and then abruptly shut it and looked away.

“It’s good enough a title for a great many women. I don’t think it should grieve you to own it yourself.”

“There has got to be a masculine counterpart with which one may work.”

“You know what the masculine form of ‘mistress’ is, James?” she said flatly.

He lifted his eyebrows, daring her.

“Let us just have it that I am your mistress - and you are mine.”

“Very well,” he sighed, laughing as he pulled her down for another kiss. She accepted this happily, rocking cot or no.

The cot swung and knocked against the wall. James startled and looked toward the hull, but on realizing what had happened, he let out another quiet half-laugh.

“We would wake up the ship if we tried anything.”

Elizabeth was quiet for a moment - quiet and sly. “...do you want to see if we can make it to my room without being seen?”

“Do you think that’s wise?” James asked dubiously.

“No, but where’s the joy in life without a little risk?”

“We’re not staring down an enemy fleet, Elizabeth- I’m not sure now’s the time to get overconfident-”

“James,” she said, quietly, urgently. “I’ve been here three days without you. I don’t think I can stand another.”

“I still don’t have a quondam-”

“You let me touch you without one before-”

“I know, but if you’re heard-”

“So we’ll find another strip of fabric and tie it around your mouth this time-”

“Oh, my God.”

She touched his lips with her fingertip, contemplating the sight of it.

“Elizabeth- I’d rather not-”

“Suit yourself,” she said, in a manner of disappointment.

“Not gagged about the mouth, at any rate,” he clarified.

“Well, with what I intended, you are the one who would need it,” she said smugly, rubbing his waist and then bursting into laughter, smothering it in his shoulder as quickly as she could.

“Greedy,” he chided her. “I was thinking I might make good use of my mouth, if allowed.”

Elizabeth stiffened in surprise, stretching out beside him and making a friendly attempt at nonchalance.

“O-oh? How’s that?”

James hesitated as he tried to figure out the least vulgar way to explain this and found himself short on ideas.

“Well, you know. Parting… you… with my…”

Vulgarity won. James brought his hand near his mouth. While looking straight at her, he just barely parted his index and middle fingers and licked between them. It was easier than saying it.

Elizabeth took a full moment of silence to process that before she burst into laughter, smothering it with both hands over her face.

“So… there you have it. That’s assuming, of course, the beard doesn’t give you any trouble-“

“Ooh, my God, James,” she said, still slightly muffled, before hitting him in the arm and laying back against him boisterously enough to set the cot swinging again. “That’s - that’s filthy -”

“No moreso than you sucking on mine would be!” he protested, with genuine offense.

“Which I haven’t done!” Elizabeth gasped. “Is that - is that the meaning of Giselle’s - mouth-tongue-eggplant emojis-”

“Yes-“ said James, rather desperately.

“Do you - is that done often?”

“I mean- I suppose? Relatively?”

(His voice has risen in pitch again.)

“Is it enjoyed?”

“It’s… not unpleasant-” James began cautiously.

“Do you want me to?”

“Let me have at you first, if you’d like,” he said, pressing his hand over hers. “The approaches are… different, but it’s less pressure for myself.”

“Pressure how? Surely as the virgin between us, the pressure is greater for me-”

“Less pressure for me to... perform it, shall we say,” James said, with a little ‘and there you have it’ sort of hand gesture.

Elizabeth lay stunned and silent beside him for a while longer, rubbing her thumb along his as she thought.

“Do you… do you want to go back to my cabin? I’m sure there is some way to frame this as the natural progression of your being punished-”

“As long as you’re not planning on flogging me now,” he said dryly.

“Not what you’re into, eh, James?” she asked with an audible smirk, leaning in to press her face against his throat again.

“It would be rather difficult to be, after the Navy,” he said, burying his hand- and the lower part of his face- in her hair. “I suppose some gentlemen probably develop a taste for it, but I don’t see the appeal.”

“What if I used for my whip something that barely even tickles,” asked Elizabeth, now out of plain curiosity. “I don’t care for the idea,” said James, with declarative formality.

“Pity.” Elizabeth let that hang in the air before she continued. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of you making it up to me. You cannot prove yourself in battle, but you can... ingratiate yourself…”

“I see,” said James, mostly because it seemed vastly more confident than telling her to go on.

“You open the door and tell me if anyone is there, and I leave when no one is there, and return to my cabin,” she said, as though declaring a battle plan. “Then, after a bit… you… follow me up…”

“...I see,” he said again.

He lifted his head enough to look at her, brow furrowed with concern.

“If you would like- if it’s- if I’m worth the risk,” he said, taking her hand in his and clasping it between both of them.

“Well, I don’t mind defending our cautiously renewed congeniality by saying you made a strenuous effort to assure me of the sincerity of your apology,” she said delicately. “If you are comfortable with that description, of course.”

“Right.” Of course there was a catch. James laughed wearily.

“Does it bother you?” she asked, in real concern.

“No,” he said. “I’m merely growing accustomed.”

He smiled at her to assure her of his sincerity.

“James, if it does bother you…”

“It’s a matter of accustomization,” James said carefully. “I don’t mind granting you your enjoyment, but this is still a rather solemn reminder of everything I have walked away from. I carry no regret for having chosen the side I did, but it often feels as though I am still looking on my old life through a windowpane. I can see it, I can hear it, but I cannot touch it.”

Elizabeth did not know what to say, leaning up on his shoulder again to look down at him nonetheless. She laid her hand over his cheek again and rubbed her thumb along his cheekbone. “You can touch me,” she said softly. “If that is any consolation.”

James closed his eyes.

“I know,” he said. “But you have become so magnificent, Elizabeth, that I hardly know what I am to do in your shadow.”

“Let’s focus on getting you sober before we plan on making you great,” she said with a sincere smile.

“I wanted you to find me great tomorrow,” he said, with a loose gesture around at the half-sorted clothing Giselle had scrounged up, including the wig.

“Greatness is not about appearance, James,” she said, snorting, “no matter what your time in the Navy may have taught you. And to be frank, I will like you better half-dressed than I like you dressed up for the rest of my life, so stop bothering.”

“It’s an easy way to make one’s mind ready to take it on,” James retorted. Elizabeth shrugged.

“True enough.”

“I thought you might agree with that point.”

“I do.” She smiled crookedly. “I love to look great.”

“It comes to you very easily, after all,” James said, his tone a tired drawl but his hand stroking along the edge of her jaw admiringly.

“And by that you mean that on the whole women look better and have more to work with than men,” she laughed, kissing the palm of his hand.

“That doesn’t hurt the assessment,” he agreed, his mood lifted at least a little by her kiss. “To be fair, most women seem to be better at knowing where to leave off their cosmetics as well-”

“We just need fewer of them,” she said amiably. “I think on the whole women are naturally more pleasing to look at. Only a very small number of men have naturally handsome faces - you are one of them, fortunately.”

“I try,” he said, in the flattest voice he could manage while still smiling as much as he was.

“Nothing on Jane Redding, of course,” she mused.

“Be that as it may, that woman is worse around a bottle than I am-”

“I noticed,” said Elizabeth in a sultry tone of voice, meeting his eyes meaningfully.

James’s eyes widened, and then scrunched in a frown.

“...ah, yes,” he said. “I’d forgotten about that.”

He sat up a little, sending the cot swinging again.

“What was it that you two did, given the… ah. Lessons I’ve been needing to impart-”

Elizabeth flushed. “We didn’t - not like that, anyway. We did… hmm. It was….”

She wasn’t sure how to say it, and on this cot she certainly couldn’t show him.

“She asked me what I do with you, and I - I said -” She attempted to meet his eyes, then quickly looked down. “Well, I told her what I was going to do with her. And I couldn’t take it back after. I mean. You know this King thing, I have to be consistent, right? I can’t suddenly behave like I’m in over my head. It’s all got to seem on purpose. But most of the swagger is just me bluffing. I am in over my head.” Elizabeth brought her hand to her face, moderately shielding herself from his gaze. “We…. kissed.” She squeezed her eyes shut, now thoroughly embarrassed. “We kissed a lot. And I… I touched her a bit -”

James was undergoing a bit of a face journey. By the end of it, he was frowning- not angrily, but thoughtfully, a little distantly.

“I see.”

“Here,” she gestured - on herself, not on him. It was a slow gesture - she brought her hands from her face down to her neck without opening her eyes, cupped her bosom, and finally guided them down over her hips. James stared at her, following the movements of her hands with rapt, nearly scientific attention.

“...I didn’t know women did that,” he said softly.

“My friendships have run towards flirtation, and... other things,” she confessed, finally opening her eyes to lay herself alongside him, more gingerly than before, still blushing from head to toe; “but until I did it, I did not know it either.”

“Well- it’s to be expected in... close quarters,” he said, and he cleared his throat.

Elizabeth glanced upward at him with a sharp look. “James, I take little pride in it. I’m not ashamed it was another woman, only of how poorly I handled it.”

“It’s- forgive me. I meant only quite literally that I did not know… women… did that,” he said, a little more emphatically.

“You can just say ‘same’ or something. You’ve already told me.”

“I know,” he said. “I just… had convinced myself it was less of a common experience, and certainly not one shared by a woman of your situation.”

He cleared his throat again.

“...I imagine it must happen quite often with nuns, though-”

“....it happens with far less provocation than that,” said Elizabeth delicately, avoiding looking at him again. “You know, just…. Playing out courtship and things of that - that nature. And sometimes girls share beds, you know-”

“-because no one thinks it will happen,” said James, with the distant look of a man who has made a sudden and unexpected discovery.

“Honestly? We’re told all our lives to prepare ourselves for marriage,” said Elizabeth, at last able to peek at him, relieved to see he was not looking at her. “But we are given very little idea of what that will entail. We’re bound to think about it quite a lot.”

“Did you and Amelia ever…”

His voice trailed off. This was not a conversation he expected to be having, least of all with Elizabeth.

Elizabeth flushed again. She had not thought about any of it that way before now, not even after everything with Jenny. “It came up-”

“Right,” he said, nodding.

James was silent for a long moment.

“Theo asked me,” he said.

He smiled tightly, and then looked toward the floor again.

“Then you know it doesn’t mean anything-”

“I know,” he said, “though I turned him down all the same. It was Theo, after all.”

“What do you mean? Doesn’t that make it easier?”

“Not if you’ve got to look at him on the same posts every day for the next several months!”

“That doesn’t…. Nevermind!” Elizabeth tried to resettle against him, but this conversation was mortifying to her, as well as physically and emotionally confusing. And she did not like it when the cot began swinging, so she wanted to minimize its doing so as much as she possibly could.

James steadied the cot with his hand against the wall.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry, Elizabeth.”

“You didn’t,” she said, stretching out carefully, laying her head on him as if he were a pillow, as a truce. “It’s just…. It’s just confusing.”

He stroked her hair in silence for a while.

“It was never so elaborate as that,” James began. “Compared to what you describe, I mean to say-“

“Elaborate!” she began in protest, but found she did not want to defend her position almost immediately. “I- oh, nevermind. What was it like, then?”

Despite having brought it up himself, it took James a moment to pull himself together enough to even try to explain.

“It… well, you had to be careful. Never a man of your own post, if you could help it- or at least that’s how I saw it. I suppose some of the others found it a more... emotional necessity. There was a timeline of legality in place, after all-“

“Did you do this a lot?” she asked, curious and frank - and frankly, somewhat surprised. He had given her enough of an impression of stoicism that his dealings with her were still something of a shock to experience.

“I would not say regularly,” he said, after a moment of consideration. “Here and there. Never all the way.”

He paused.

“Not until Tortuga, if you count that-“

“Only if you do.” She paused, then colored and pressed her face very gently against his neck, tucking her head beneath his chin. “James, I’ve never - the things you’ve done with me. I didn’t even know that was done.”

“Well,” he said, “I meant to make a proper investment in whatever marriage I eventually achieved-“

“I mean I did not go that far with Amelia,” said Elizabeth, her voice higher than usual. “If you think less of my - purity, I suppose-”

“I don’t,” said James, “and even if I did, it would be monstrous to do so after months of submitting oneself to being fucked for rum money in Tortuga-“

“It’s different for men.”

“Not with what I’ve done,” James muttered.

It would have been very easy, at that moment, for James to slide straight back into the slope of self-pity that usually ended with a bottle, but Elizabeth’s presence was enough of a grounding force that he put his arms around her and kissed her hair.

“Yes, I suppose that would be rather different, to polite society, than Miss Bolger,” she acceded, nuzzling him.

“I know a certain degree of… laxity is practically expected in His Majesty’s Navy, but as an admiral’s son-“

“You could not have better distinguished yourself,” she said softly, kissing him on the jaw. “You’re all self-punishment, James. I know that you have made mistakes, but - you did not derail your life with mistakes. You’ve just had a lot of bad luck, really.”

James took a moment to take this in.

“All right, but the drinking-“

“-worsened situations that were already out of your control. James, there’s no saying a sober man would have saved the Dauntless, and you were scared,” she said, pushing herself up to cup his cheek and look down at him. “You can’t change what’s been done already. It’s like you wake up every day thinking you can, if you brood on it long enough.”

“I know,” he said. “I know-“

She kissed him gently.

“I know I will not always be this way,” he began. “At least, I hope I will not. It is… difficult, at times, to know what I will do with myself.”

“Good heavens, James, what do you think everybody else does?” she asked, laughing incredulously.

“Everybody else does not have their life laid out by twenty-“

“I did,” she said, looking slightly abashed, considering marriage to him was all but assured at that point in her life.

“...most men do not,” he conceded apologetically.

“You’re still young. Captain Barbossa said to me he didn’t set out to live at sea until he was ten years older than you are now.”

“I know,” he said again. “There are times I have to remind myself that I am.”

She snorted. “So this is what comes of telling an eight-year-old he’s got to be a grown man now.”

“A three-year-old,” he said softly.

He turned to look at her, with an even more apologetic half-smile, and she instantly kissed him, quickly and intensely enough that the cot swayed again.

“Oh - James - I am sorry, I am so sorry-” she said between hasty kisses. “I wish I could fix it-”

“Plenty of men manage it,” he said, “though I suppose they haven’t the admiral for a father-“

“I’ve decided,” she murmured. “I’m going to my room, and you are to follow me. I want you there tonight. All night,” she said significantly.

“Elizabeth-“

“I’ll sleep better,” she said nonchalantly. “I always sleep better with you breathing next to me.”

James pushed himself up, but only to get a better angle from which to look at her.

“...is that true?”

“How many times have I said so?” she asked, amused.

“I’m still sorting out what is and what is not flirtation,” he said, a little breathlessly.

“You poor Navy man. No mermaids to give you a reasonable estimate of the unreasonable behaviors of the fairer sex,” she teased him, rubbing his shoulder.

“Yes,” he said, “given their considerable preoccupation with eating Navy men,” James said, in an attempt at sounding dry. Unfortunately for him, he hadn’t yet lost that vague sound of being touched.

“And Mrs. Fenton too proper to flirt with you, you could glean nothing from her,” she baited.

“Too old to find it suitable, probably, if she ever noticed at all-“

“That was right around when we met, wasn’t it, James?”

He had to stop and think about it.

“Er, yes, technically,” he admitted. “I believe I very briefly saw you as an impatient child in your mother’s arms when I was perhaps nine, but I can’t say the moment left any significant impression on me.”

“That was a long time ago indeed,” she said quietly, before changing the subject. “I am sorry the attentions of a bratty twelve-year-old were less instructive than those of Mrs. Fenton would have been, but you bore them handsomely-”

“Did you carry feelings of your own so early?” he asked. “If you did, I was oblivious.”

“No,” she laughed shortly. “And we met at the same time as I met Will, though he was hardly talkative at that point in time.”

“Ah,” he said. “That’s a relief; I would have most likely been rather annoyed- or worse, flattered.”

He gave Elizabeth an unnecessarily severe look that swiftly turned to an abashed smile. He sighed and sat up enough to start trying to move the clothes back into the trunk so that he could follow her into her larger cabin.

“Thinking of myself at that age makes me feel a great deal less ridiculous now,” he admitted, “so I will take that much with gratitude.”

Elizabeth draped herself out on his cot while watching him pack, noting he was doing it as quickly as he could and enjoying his impatience.

“No, the period in which you had my…. Affections was more when I was 15 or thereabouts. In fact I think I harbored affections for you until I was nearly seventeen.”

“I never noticed. I suppose I was too busy strutting about and enjoying the way my career was spoken of when I was on leave. I thought it was a compliment to be left in Jamaica, you know.”

“Good Lord, James, you make it sound as though it’s a sin to have fun.”

“I never said I wish I’d been in the war,” he retorted. “I enjoy fun plenty, thank you-”

“That’s how you came off - for a little while, anyway.” Elizabeth paused, then smiled down at the blanket she was fidgeting with, with a little bit of mist-eyed pain. “That’s why my father encouraged you so much later; because I was a fool and I prattled on at him about it. Until I started to renew something with Will. Well; I say renew, I suppose I mean ‘create’, unless you really can have something with someone after one look, when you are twelve.”

“Ah,” said James, for the sake of having a reaction that wasn’t kicking himself.

“By the time I realized he was not just teasing me anymore it seemed there was nothing I could do to dissuade either one of you. I’m sorry I was such a coward about it.”

“It’s not a matter of blame,” said James, who was by now very occupied with his task.

“It’s true I don’t know what I could have said within the bounds of propriety to dissuade you when you had not actually made me an offer, but I could have done something, instead of pretending it would go away if I did not notice it.”

“Elizabeth,” he said, pausing with a deep purple shirt in hand, “do you really believe that matters now?”

“I feel that I used you very poorly,” she said, finally meeting his eyes. “And who knows what I might have spared either one of us, if I had been willing to acknowledge your feelings, and mine.”

“You wouldn’t be Pirate King,” he reminded her.

She challenged that with one affronted look.

“My story has only ever been part of yours,” he said as he finished putting the shirt in the trunk.

“I’m glad it still is,” she said with a small smile. “I thought I would never see you again, when you did not leave the Dutchman with me. When you cut the line, I thought for certain you would be killed.”

“...so did I,” he admitted.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, getting to her feet, though the cot made this less impressive a gesture than she wanted it to. She knelt beside him, shutting the trunk even though he wasn’t done yet. “Go on over to the door and tell me if it’s safe for me to leave.”

James nodded quickly and went to the door, peering out cautiously.

“All right,” he said in a low voice. “Take one of the lanterns. Mind that you don’t singe your hair.”

She did it, lingering in the doorway before she left. “Three years too late, but will you still have me, James?” she whispered - quick and furtive, eyes intense in the remaining firelight.

“Always,” he said, and he kissed her. “I’ll be up in a moment.”

“Good. I’ll be holding my breath.”

She vanished.

***

It was another twenty minutes or so before James returned the favor of lightly rapping on her door, lantern in hand. He had wanted above all else to be cautious, and give anyone who might have overheard Elizabeth moving about the ship time to roll over and go back to sleep.

The door opened less than immediately, as the cabin’s occupant was sulking in bed with a book, but when it did, Elizabeth pulled him in and kissed him deeply, only barely mindful of the lantern, which she released him to take and set down. Then he was hers again, and she didn’t have time for words.

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” he said, in a louder tone than he had been using earlier, in his cabin, before adding in a whisper, “I didn’t want to invite suspicion.”

Elizabeth’s chemise had fallen off her shoulder. “If I had really been holding my breath I would be dead,” she said in a flat whisper. There was a rush of color in her cheeks from the activity of kissing him.

“Are you sure it’s wise, wearing anything this delicate?” he asked, dubiously touching the fallen shoulder of her chemise. “If we’re found out-”

“I may sleep however I like, yes? And who is going to mind the sight, do you think?” she said a little too boldly.

“It’s not about minding the sight,” he said, glancing down at where her breast was just barely visible at the edge of her arm and following the curve down into her chemise, “but it’s not especially… imperious…”

He blinked. “Right-”

“I expect everyone is going to know in the morning,” said Elizabeth, pulling him backwards with her, “how you pleaded your case on your knees…”

“Elizabeth-”

He didn’t stumble past her, but only with effort. He had, rather counter-intuitively, put his coat and hat back on for the trip to the deck on which she was staying; it made him an undefined shadowy figure where the light didn’t hit him. Now, though, they were simply burdens for Elizabeth to deal with, though she did so with considerable patience. It was possible she saw him as a parcel to be unwrapped.

“I shall give no details but that you were very persuasive,” she said, divesting him of the outer layers, at least, before leaning back on the bed. It was not as large as the one from Tortuga had been, but she was sure they would think of something. “No one needs to know how I begged …”

“Do you intend to beg, Elizabeth?” he asked lightly, as he knelt one-legged at the end of the bed, silhouetted from behind by the lamplight.

“I will if I must, Captain Norrington,” said Elizabeth, reaching down to tenderly cup his cheek. “I feel as though it’s been a lifetime without you.”

He almost apologized for the feeling of his unshaven face on her palm, until he remembered she liked it. He leaned into her hand with cautious curiosity instead.

“I am at your command, Your Majesty. You know that.”

“But we are all someone else’s subjects, too,” she said wistfully, without elaborating. “Come up here and kiss me -”

Now felt like an ideal opportunity to really make it count. James practically leapt beside her, pushing her down against the bed with the force of his open-mouthed kiss; her gasp vanished into his mouth. He clasped each of her hands in his and held them down as well, with a brief enough pause in the kiss and a smug lift of the eyebrow to indicate that he knew exactly what he was doing. Hands unavailable to her, Elizabeth nudged him closer with her knees, situated over his hips.

“Don’t stop-”

“Do you like this, Your Majesty?” he asked, his tone was just short of mocking, teeth gleaming dimly in the lantern light. Elizabeth’s expression was torn between shock and delight, though she was trying to be affronted.

“Are you - are you challenging me -” she asked, making a very poor attempt at disguising her intrigue.

“If you permit it,” he said, though the way he straddled her then gave a very good impression of controlled force.

“I - I might-” she said, struggling to catch her breath. “Somehow this is very different from actually being held as someone’s captive- let’s not, ah. Let’s not tell Jack you can do this, when we’ve brought him back-”

James paused, looking into space. “Noted.”

He immediately set about kissing Elizabeth about the neck so as to not have to think of that too much. She responded with unchecked enthusiasm. She had been rather deprived of her dog as of late.

“In fact- the less Jack Sparrow knows of anything of which I’ve spoken tonight, the better-”

“Noted,” Elizabeth moaned. She was surprised by how much she was enjoying his new beard.

“Is this all right for you, then?”

“Oh, yes, James-”

“All right,” he said. “Tell me to slow down, if I must. All right?”

He released her wrists and slid his hands along the length of her arms, toward her body and downward, until he had found her waist, without easing up on the kissing. She buried her hands in his hair in the meantime, then guided his mouth up to hers; she wanted to taste him.

“Would you like to be ‘my king’ tonight, or only Elizabeth?” he asked, leaning his forehead on hers.

“Elizabeth,” she answered instantly; “--your Elizabeth.”

“My Elizabeth,” he repeated fondly, just before claiming her mouth.

#potcsuggestions #long post #ch: her majesty if you're nasty #ch: firing squad #pl: the black pearl

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