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starlightrows · 3 years

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1 — The Innkeeper

The Queen of Tatooine Masterlist

Pairing: Boba Fett x reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Mention of sex work, mild sexual harassment

Summary: An innkeeper at the edge of the universe has a chance encounter with an infamous bounty hunter.

AN: Special thank you to my biggest cheerleader @ortizshinkaroff

On a remote planet at the edge of the known galaxy, in a settlement carved out of the tall red barked trees stood an inn. A small building that hosted many traders and travelers as they passed through the settlement. That inn has been in your family for over a century, and you took over the care and keeping of that inn at the age of fourteen when your mother died an untimely death.

Things were different after she passed away. Not just because it was now up to you to manage the money, make the repairs to the inn, cook the evening meal for your patrons, and defend yourself from the prying eyes of townsfolk and strange travelers alike. Beyond your control, your settlement became a hub for bounty hunters and bounties alike… trying to outrun their debts and wrongdoings by disappearing into the dense forests and high mountains. Unfortunately, being that yours is the only inn in the settlement, many townsfolk blame you for the shift patronage that passes through the town.

Whispers and rumors run rampant through the town. Nasty rumors that your inn has become a trading post for illegal dealings or that you are a one woman show… brothel keeper and harlot all in one. Of course, none of it is true, you don’t ask questions about your patrons or their business in your town. The less you know about them the better. And you certainly don’t allow them into your private room.

Of course this doesn’t keep them from trying. Pretty young thing like yourself, living on your own, serving anyone who comes across your threshold. You’ve grown used to putting on a neutral mask, grown a thick skin, and take neither complaint nor compliment from your patrons-- either can provoke dangerous responses from men who have had too much spotchka.

Tonight is no different. The summer air is warm but the breeze that flows through the open windows of the dining space downstairs is better. Most of your patrons are in good spirits, singing songs and drinking to their successes in life. As you pass by to replace the decanter of electric blue libation, one of the patrons swats your ass and begs you to join their table. You make no comment and continue about your tasks.

“Come on now girl, we’ve had a long journey and come into great money, drink to our good fortune and maybe we’ll share it with you” the man calls out. You make no comment and go to return to the kitchen. The man is offended by your lack of acknowledgement to his invitation, as so many who proposition you are.

“I am speaking to you girl” he says pointedly “Don’t you know it’s rude to ignore your guests”

You turn back to face him, “Congratulations on your accomplishments” you say coldly “Surely you must be exhausted after your journey, perhaps a goodnight’s rest will serve you better than another glass of spotchka”

The man licks his lips… drawing attention to their cracked and crusted appearance. He’s ragged and dirty. He stands too close and you can tell he smells of spotchka and sweat. He reaches out and catches your wrist, gripping you with surprising strength for one so skinny.

“Aye, and why don’t you join me? Tender little thing like you, bet you’d help me get get a good night’s rest”

Before you have a chance to make any sort of retort, pull a blaster or a blade to defend yourself, there is a large, scarred hand on his shoulder.

“That’s enough” The man standing behind your harasser is not particularly tall, he wears a black cloak that covers his head and most of his face. Many who wish to keep a low profile in your establishment dress this way, though you can’t say you’ve ever heard a voice quite like his before.

“Oi, find your own piece of ass” the nasty traveler growls, shirking his shoulder away from the hooded man and turning back to you

The hooded man draws a blaster from his cloak and presses it to the travelers spine “I said, that’s enough”

The traveler visibly stiffens and releases his grip on you. You seize the opportunity to leap backwards away from both of them. This is not the first time someone has stepped in to “rescue” you from an offending patron. Usually they become the next offender, expecting some kind of reward in return for their valor.

“A gift” the hooded man says “Your life. Take it and leave this settlement”

The traveler goes to protest, but the hooded man cuts him off before he can get any words out “Refuse my generosity and you will find that journey ends here”

The traveler raises up his hands and backs towards the door, swiping up his own cloak and satchel before disappearing into the summer night without another word. The tavern is silent, all eyes rest on the hooded man, many craning their necks to get a glimpse at his face shielded by this hood.

You’ve retreated back to the bar that keeps people out of the kitchen and away from your private chambers. Slowly the quiet chatter returns to the dining room, as the hooded man approaches you.

He removes his hood revealing a man with a bald head, dark eyes, age lines and deep scars attempting to hide his true handsomeness.

“I apologize Princess,” says the man, his accent is foreign. Foreign for this system and foreign to your ears, a rare occurrence for you.

“Not a princess” you state, studying his face, watching body language in case he met your expectation of having ill intention. He remains calm, keeping an open posture and surprisingly kind smile “Can I get you something?”

“No, thank you” he replies “May I ask you a question?”

Disappointment floods your heart, here it comes, the question of your marital status or if he can share a drink with you…

“You may” you reply trying not to sound bored or saddened

“Do many of your patrons disrespect you that way?” He asks a question you’ve never gotten before. It surprises you.

“Yes” you reply “He is not the first to speak to me that way, he is not the worst, and he certainly won’t be the last”

“That saddens me princess” he says “Why do you stay?”

“Where else would I go?” you shrug wiping down the counter with a damp rag “I was born in this settlement, I grew up in this inn, it’s all I have and all I know how to do”

The hooded man hums, considering your words “So you serve supper to debtors and bounty hunters”

“And mercenaries and tradesmen and whoever else passes through my town” you agree. The hooded man smiles and gives a warm chuckle

“Does that scare you princess? Mercenaries and bounty hunters sleeping under your roof?” He asks

“Not anymore” you reply “So which are you? The hunter or the hunted?”

“I am Boba Fett. Do you know this name princess?” he asks, shifting his weight to lean on the bar

“No,” you admit. “Are you a famous bounty hunter? Or a known outlaw who’s name and face I should forget the moment you’re gone?”

He chuckles again. His laugh is rich and warm, you have met kinder men before, but he is different. But kind is not exactly the word you would use to describe him at this moment.

“I am just a simple man, making my way in the galaxy” he says

“So a bounty hunter then” you smile, seeing through his well practiced line

“Indeed” he chuckles

“Are you sure there is nothing more I can get for you this evening, Boba Fett?” you ask, worrying again he may try to proposition you for more than he is welcome to.

“No, unfortunately I must be on my way” he smiles “But I will come back to you princess, you have my word”

You quirk a brow, and tilt your head at him “I’m not a princess” you point out again as he walks towards the door

“Says who?” He smirks, drawing his hood back up over his head and disappearing into the darkness.

#Boba Fett #Boba Fett x reader #boba fett x female reader #boba fett x f!reader #The Queen of Tatooine #QT

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harveywritings92 · 3 years

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Bnha dad scenarios: Child default names and background stories.

[Tw: mentions of abortion.]

Dabi's kid/Ayane Name meaning: Kanji (Aya) meaning "Color" and (Ne) meaning sound.

Don't need to tell you that his little Firefly wasn't exactly planned, in fact he was completely blindsided when he found his FWB (now common law wife) was pregnant, he ran away! but, not from her... He disappeared for a couple days then showed up a while later in disguise duffle-bag in hand telling her to hurry and start packing up whatever she can carry; cuz they were leaving! Dabi and your mom relocated to a very small town in the countryside where the population is very small.

(like you could fit the whole township into a Boeing 737 small, and your nearest neighbor was 15 minutes away....)

From there they opened and run a roadhouse bar/motel. Dabi didn't marry his Fairy just because she was pregnant, he caught the feelings a long time ago and had been planning to runaway with her way before Ayane was even a distant thought, her impending arrival just pushed his plans forward. Ayane looks like her mother but her [y/hc] hair has little red streaks and she has partial heterochromia in her eyes, they look like someone colored them cerulean, but remembered halfway through that they were supposed to be y/ec, she also has Dabi's cocky smirk.

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Katsuki's kid/Haruka name meaning: Distant blossom: Uses the Kanji "Haru" in the word "Distant" combined with the kanji "Ka" in "blossom".

Having kids was very distant thought in the back of Katsuki's mind not that he didn't want any, He just thought he wouldn't have any, so then his wife told him that they were having a baby. he was over the moon, he didn't care if it was boy or girl just so long as they were happy and healthy, however as soon as it was confirmed that the the baby in his wife's belly was a girl.

Katsuki went scorched-earth on any boys that went near his little girl and Haruka has him wrapped around her little finger. She's his spoiled princess. Haruka looks like a carbon copy of her mom, but has her dad's temperament and potty mouth, she has partial heterochromia both eyes they're half red-half [y/ec].

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Shigaraki's kid/Kururi name meaning: Black Emerald: "Ku" from the kanji "Black" and "Ruri" meaning "Emerald". (Ngl she was also named after Kurogiri)

He was completely blindsided when he found out his queen was having his child, he didn't know what to do with it, he considered having it "taken care of" but his queen threatened to leave him if he ever suggested that again! he was huffy and pouty during the whole pregnancy.

He was also very protective, usually lingering near by or stalking his wife when she was out and about being careful of in case any heroes or lesser NPCs messed with her, then when the baby was finally born... and he held her for the first time, it was like "Holy crap! I made this...!" and suddenly the world wasn't looking so bleak anymore... and now that his wife is gone (rip) Shigaraki's main focus (as aside villainy) was on his daughter and making the future bright for her.

Kururi though not touch starved she is a bit wary of physical affection, and very socially awkward often preferring to read and or play videogames over socializing with other humans, her only friend seems to be Ayane (their friendship is similar to Orin and April from Parks and rec), They hang out mainly because Shigaraki wanted her have some sense of normality that he was deprived as child. however due to her quirk's nature and the guilt she feels over her mother's death, she has a complex over her hands, she doesn't like it when people try holding them or touching them, often seen wearing gloves or keeping them in her pockets.

Kururi looks like her mom but has a little mole under her chin and has heterochromia her left eye is red while her right [y/ec] and her [y/hc] hair has a single blueish-white streak in it.

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Hawks-Keigo's kid/ Griffin or Finny: as in Griffin the mythical creature.

Keigo and his late wife chose that name because of their respective quirks, His wife had some feline traits cat eyes, and cat ears, it was kind of joke between their two names [Cheshire cat and a Hawk] then they first met, Keigo wasn't really interested in his wife at first, but that didn't stop her! so Keigo said if she could get Endeavor to laugh he'll take her on a date!

So she goes up to Endeavor and says "What happens when a hawk mates with a cat?..." The current number 1 looked at her bemused. "The English call it a Griffin, but I call it a cawk!" Hawks winced It was soo cringy, obscene and made no sense!... But it worked! Endeavor's lips twitched and he snorted! before breaking out in low chuckles, the rest is history.

Though his avian traits seemed to have overrode his wife's feline traits, I.e. {Finny has little red wings on her head instead of cat ears, and Keigo eye brows, However everything else is from his wife. the reality slip quirk {y/hc} hair and {y/eye} etc.

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Kirishima's kid/Akara: Name meaning "Red Lightning" {Aka} meaning Red and [Ra] from the word Rai meaning lightning.

Eijirou and his wife thought they were having a boy so Akara's name was originally going to be Akahito "the red warrior" so when the baby that came out was obviously a girl, he and his wife panicked and couldn't figure out or agree on a new name, until Mina suggest a holding raffle everyone wrote a name down and put it in a hat. and the first name they pulled will be their daughter's name, they pulled out Denki's choice and settled on it and considering Akara's quirk: Hard-charge. it fits pretty well.

(She can harden her skin like her dad. however, with every hit she takes, she can absorb kinetic energy from it, the energy turns into electricity which she can use to deliver powerful electric discharge attacks.)

Her mom is Denki's cousin by the way... Her mom's Quirk is called Static pinch, she can store small amounts of static electricity and release tiny zaps from her thumb index and middle finger, if she gets close enough to an enemy she use the stored energy in her body like a taser via "Vulcan nerve pinch".

Akara looks like her mother but has her dad's sharp teeth.

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Shoto's kid/Koyuki name meaning "Little snow" kanji [Ko] meaning little and [Yuki] meaning snow.

Much like Katsuki children were a very touchy and distant subject for him, He was was always scared that he'll end up just like his father, he was adamant on having no kids, so when his wife announced that she was pregnant and keeping it, Shoto had a panic attack and ran off for a couple days, until she calls Dabi who tracked him down and talked some sense into him...

(after punching him in the face for ditching his pregnant wife.) The his older brother pretty much told Shoto he's letting Enji win running off like that, and reminds him that they're both Endeavor's sons, but they are not their father, and will never be their father, they're better than him... and with that Dabi send his younger brother back his worried wife, Shoto apologizes and is working to prove he's not like his father.

He keeps his daughter away from her grandfather who keeps badgering Shoto for another grandchild as he doesn't see Koyuki's quirk (Frost-breath) taking her anywhere in the future, Shoto has more or less politely told his father to go and pound sand.... as it was very difficult for Shoto's wife to conceive children and her pregnancy and birth was very stressful and traumatic for them, Koyuki was born prematurely and his wife had to stay in the hospital with a severe case of the flu.

Koyuki like Shoto has bi-color hair on the left it's red and on the right it's [y/hc] she has her mom [y/ec] eyes she’s very happy and but timid child and often seen clinging to one of her parent's legs when stranger approaches, though she get's a bit more confident with time.

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Izuku's kid/ Hinamori Name meaning: "sunshine forest" combines the kanji [Hina] for sunshine and the kanji [Mori] for Forest.

Not a surprise when he the number 1 hero's wife started showing a baby-bump a year and a half after their wedding, however what came as a surprise was how protective Izuku became when Reporters and his more eccentric fans didn't know how to keep their boundaries, they would not stop staring at his wife's boobs and trying to touch her belly, Izuku would block their view or slap their hands away and repeat. "Your not my mother or her (Relative.) Don't touch my wife..." he'd discharge his quirk a bit showing that he wasn't kidding around...

The attention seem to blow over once Hinamori was born mainly due to Izuku buying a house in a gated community so the press couldn't get in so easily and bother the new family, Hinamori looks like her mom but she her y/hc hair is wild like Izuku's and she has his freckles, she likes reading and is often found in Izuku's study reading his old hero observation books. and has actually been working on some of her own, as Izuku has found her little dinosaur notebook with observations on Haruka, Koyuki and Akara.

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Denki's kid: Raika name meaning: Lightning flower uses the kanji [Rai] for lightning and the kanji [Ka] from flower.

Raika wasn't exactly planned... See Denki and his little lady were on vacation see? there was this music festival in Niagara-falls, and well...He and his wife had few too many and well details are bit blurred, but... Raika may or may not have been conceived in a handicap stall, but if she ever were to ask everyone's been told to say it was after Denki recued his wife from a villain holding her hostage and Raika was the end result of his reward, luckily she doesn't seem really interested in knowing her parents sexual history.

So there's a good chance shell never know! Raika has her dad's quirk, her hair is y/hc with a yellow/black lighting bolt streaked into it and her y/ec eyes flash yellow when using her quirk.

#bnha fanfiction #bnha dad scenarios #dabi #touya todoroki #todoroki shoto #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugou #kirishima eijirou #kaminari denki #shigaraki tomura #hawks #keigo takami #bnha x reader #oc children

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novamirmirsblog · 3 years

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I am not a woman, I'm a God (17+)

If I can't have love I want power pt 2

If I can't have love masterlist

Word Count: 1640

Genre: dark I guess?

Request: no

Warnings: none? (atm anyways)

A/N: I'm not too happy with this chapter so it's subject to change BUT the next couple chapters should pick things up a little :3 OH and the next chapter might contain smut (Idk yet - I'll try to edit this when I've written the next chapter)

1737 - The middle

The revenge was sweet and drawn out. The redhead and her long-time friend had made sure of that. They let you finish the duke off but not before they had their fun. The two women were gorgeous, both with red hair that would make any woman jealous. The green-eyed woman had hair like a wildfire and the blue-eyed woman had hair the colour of a deep red sunset. Liking women was wrong but you weren’t sure these two counted as women – they certainly weren’t human. Wanda, the one with sunset hair, tortured your husband mentally, angry whisps the same colour as Natasha’s hair crawled in through his ears and buried themselves deep within his brain. While this was happening, Natasha was peeling layer after layer of skin off him with her razor-sharp nails. You weren’t sure if you could even call them nails – not when they looked so much more like claws. While Wanda was exploiting your husband’s deepest darkest fears, Natasha was calmly explaining to you which tools to use where so you could cause the most pain. Apparently pain and torture was an aphrodisiac for them because the two demons decided to show you what you had been missing out on due to your husband’s lack of skill.

That was almost 200 years ago. Wanda and Natasha had given you great gifts, allowing you to have a much longer life, giving you cat-like reflexes and godlike powers. Perhaps your favourite was the enhancements they gave to your voice. People were suddenly compelled to do whatever you suggested they do and the rush it gave you was unexplainable. These gifts were not free however and yet the price was one you willingly paid repeatedly. Especially because it meant spending extra time with your two favourite demons. You were there to cause chaos and have fun which was ironic considering Wanda was a chaos demon and Natasha was a succubus but perhaps that’s why you did what you did. Perhaps it was because you were made by them and therefore must serve them in every way imaginable.

~~~~~

You had watched your siblings grow from afar and made sure every single villager who ever even looked at them wrong suffered. When you were with Wanda and Natasha, it felt as if everything just fit into place. It was strange and you felt as if you shouldn’t miss them – they killed and tortured your husband in front of you, gave you gifts that meant you couldn’t live a normal life and coerced you into sex that you weren’t sure you wanted; yet you still wanted them.

Your story was told countless times and the more times it was told, the deeper the truth was twisted into a legend, a tale mothers told their children to keep them away from the forests late at night. You were turned into a martyr, a victim of the horrible cruelties the evil creatures of the world could bestow onto innocent girls.

You were anything but.

If the storytellers could see you now, they would burn all mentions of your story. You were a problem child, a bad example and you had two of the most powerful demons wrapped around your little finger.

A few years ago, you had mentioned to Natasha and Wanda one evening that you were bored. That’s how you found yourself currently being shot at.

“Natty I’m bored.” You whined, throwing yourself dramatically over the bed. History was going through a dry spell; people weren’t doing anything interesting and there weren’t enough opportunities for you to wreak havoc.

“Natty” Wanda mocked “Our princess is bored.”

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” Natasha moved to hover over you, Wanda placed your head in her lap. Natasha’s tail flicked with a cat-like manner before it slithered between your legs.

You grabbed her tail and she let out a moan “Not now Natasha. I’m serious. If I knew living forever was going to be this boring, then I wouldn’t have done it.” That wasn’t quite true, you enjoyed being theirs to use but you were getting restless.

Natasha rolled her eyes, leaning up to kiss Wanda instead. You waited a few moments for the two demons to stop their make-out session, but it didn’t look to be ending any time soon. You rolled out from underneath Natasha and untangled Wanda’s fingers from where she was massaging your scalp.

“Awe come back baby.” Wanda broke the kiss and made grabby arms at you. For a supposed demon, she sure was soft. “I promise we’ll make things more fun.”

Natasha rolled her eyes again “You’ve gone soft Wands.” Although Natasha huffed and puffed about how ‘soft’ Wanda had gotten, she seemed to have a slightly less hardened heart when she looked at you.

You were no longer bored but you were being shot at and while it couldn’t kill you, it sure did sting. Perhaps going after Dick Turpin’s loot was a bad idea but what can you say? You wanted to live a little. All you had wanted was a pretty horse you had seen him steal but nooo – he had to keep them all for himself. You had managed to escape Mr Turpin himself but one of his lackeys just wouldn’t give up. Rather than continuing to run, you decided you may as well get a quick meal.

“Hello darling.” Your voice echoed from all around, you watched as the man trying to kill you frantically whipped his head around.

“Who are you? Come out now!”

You let out a low, predatory chuckle.

“I’m the poor little martyr in all your stories.”

“No. You can’t be- that’s impossible! You should be dead!” You watched as the man continued to spin around and around in circles, watching him trip before revealing yourself.

“I am ancient. I have seen empires rise and fall. I have seen kings and queens and holy men enter the world and I have seen them leave; and yet I am nowhere near as old or as powerful as the women who made me the person I am today. While I watched preestablished civilisations crumble, they were reminiscing the time they created them, all while burning them to the ground. Some call me the end but they are mistaken. They are the end. I am your warning. I am the only kindness they will show you. Trivial things such as death do not concern me.” As you finished your speech, Natasha and Wanda’s comforting aura surrounded you, the dark mist embracing you before forming the two women.

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun now could we dove?” Natasha’s voice rumbled out against your neck, biting it lightly.

“You have to share.” Wanda cooed, lifting your chin up to face her as she captured your lips with hers.

The idiot who you were about to kill and feed on decided now was a good time to make their escape. Luckily, Wanda had other plans as her red magic bought the squirming meal back to you.

“Go away. I want to eat. It’s been so long.” You pouted, making your way back to your meal. It was a little annoying that to continue living in your young body that you had to drain the soul from another person, but it was worth it.

“But if we leave then who’s going to do all the heavy lifting?”

“And who will dig the hole in your garden?”

“Or put the body in the hole?”

“Or-”

“Okay! I get it. Fine. But just hush, okay? I like to eat in peace.” You grabbed the man and kissed him hard, feeling his soul merge with yours before it was consumed by the darkness.

“I don’t know why you always have to kiss them to feed” Natasha bit out, moving away from you with Wanda, voicing her unhappiness at you kissing someone else when only she should be kissing you- her and maybe Wanda.

“Well, it wasn’t me who made her feed that way.” Wanda whispered back

“Are you suggesting this is my fault?” Natasha’s voice got low and dangerous, and you felt the forest drop about 10 degrees.

“Well that’s how you feed isn’t it?” Wanda’s eyes glowed and a wind picked up.

You pulled away from your meal, the faint glow of his soul swirling around your mouth and eyes. “Want to share?” The forest rose back to its original temperature and climate as Natasha kissed you, absorbing small remnants of the soul. Wanda wrapped one arm around your waist while the other snaked up to your neck, her teeth lightly biting and sucking along your shoulders.

“I think you forget dove” Natasha broke the kiss to growl at you

“We’re in charge here. If we wanted to share, then we would share.” Wanda finished off for her.

It dawned on you that perhaps this was about more than just the meal. They were jealous.

“Are you two jealous?” You laughed, not at the situation but at their reactions. Wanda bit you harder and Natasha just glared at you.

“Of course not. Why would we be jealous of some silly insignificant dum-”

“Baby…” You reached up and placed one hand lightly on Wanda’s horn and the other on Natasha’s cheek, effectively stopping Natasha’s rant about how unjealous they are. Wanda moved from where she was standing behind you to stand next to Natasha. “You both know that if I could live off Demon energy then I would, but I can’t.”

Natasha and Wanda shared a look, having a silent conversation in the space of seconds before turning their attention back to you. “That’s not necessarily true love.” Wanda said.

“It will be painful but…well demons aren’t born. They’re made.” Natasha explained.

“And if you wanted to…”

You didn’t even hesitate before giving your answer. “Yes.”

Taglist:

@lucydiibi

#natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanov #natasha x you #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader #wanda marvel #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff #wandanat #wanda x you #wanda x reader #Spotify

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7-wonders · 3 years

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For a little over a month now, you had been dating Duncan Shepherd, and it was...surprisingly low-key considering how high-profile he was. That's not to say that this is a bad thing. In fact, it's been really nice. Dinner dates at the backs of restaurants, movie nights at your place, even just driving aimlessly and talking with each other. Over the past month, you've gotten to really know the man that many magazines refer to as "untouchable," finding out that those assumptions are all lies. In fact, you've never been so comfortable in the beginning stages of a relationship with someone before.

Which is why you're waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You're not used to things going so good for you. Work, personal life, relationships--all manage to end up going in the opposite direction of where you wanted them to go. This is probably the reason that it took three weeks of Duncan chasing after you after meeting at a work conference (you'll never forget watching this 30-something man who had been covered in Forbes walk up to a group of late Millenials/early Gen Zs and look entirely out of his element) before you agreed to go out with him. You're just naturally guarded, and there's nothing wrong with that. But, you'll admit, it is nice to be vulnerable sometimes. Especially when that results in an extremely beautiful man taking out out and showering you with attention.

Said beautiful man is who makes your phone buzz on your desk. It's 3:30 on a Friday, and you're really not doing much work anyways.

"It's a beautiful day out, are you up for ditching work and going for a walk through the park?"

You feel yourself flush, as you always do whenever Duncan texts you. Before you can respond, another text comes in.

"Too late, I'm already outside your office."

Sure enough, you look up and see him chatting to your coworker. His eyes flick towards you, and he grins when he sees that you're shrugging your coat on. "Hi," you say shyly, a little flustered that he's here in your office right now.

"Hi. Hope I didn't interrupt any work."

"You did. I was very busy staring at my blank computer screen."

Duncan chuckles, wrapping his arm around you and leading you out of the office. you turn to wave goodbye to your coworker, who is currently fanning herself with her hand and mouthing "oh my god!"

"So what are you doing out of your office on a Friday afternoon?"

"Ah, they didn't have much use for me anyways." You laugh, knowing that's an obvious lie. His uncle would make him live at the office if he had the chance. "No, I figured I could take off a couple of hours early. Lord knows I've worked enough lately."

"You sure the world won't stop spinning because you're gone?"

Duncan grabs your hand, swinging it lightly as you cross a crosswalk. "If it does, at least I'm with you." You look up at him in pleased surprise, and he steals a kiss. "There is something I've been wanting to discuss with you, though. Figured this would be a good time to do it."

Oh god. The other shoe. "You're not married or something, are you?"

"No, I'm not married."

"Thank god," you breathe a literal sigh of relief.

"Was that really what you were worried about? That you were an unknowing mistress?"

"That, and that you might be a serial killer." You side-eye him. "Verdict's still out on that one."

He laughs. "I can promise you that neither of those are true."

"So what did you want to tell me? If you're not a married serial killer."

You come to a stop when Duncan does, staring at him as he nervously rubs the back of his neck. "Um, I...I have a child."

"A child?" He nods. "Like, a tiny human that shares your DNA?" Another nod.

"I understand that this might be a shock to you."

"No! No, it's not a shock. I'm just surprised, is all."

"I've never told any of the previous women I've dated about her, because typically the fling ends as just a fling, and her safety is something that I'm very protective of."

"Your daughter?"

"Yes, Elizabeth. She's three."

You smile, the mental image of Duncan as a dad something intensely heartwarming.

"As I was saying, I don't typically tell my dates about her, but you and I are getting fairly serious and I don't want to hide such an important part of my life from you."

"We're getting serious, huh?" Duncan laughs lightly. "Can I call you my boyfriend?"

"As long as I can call you my girlfriend."

"Is your daughter's mother...around?"

"No. She stuck around for two months after Elizabeth was born, and then she left. We weren't dating for very long before she got pregnant. I told her that I wanted the baby, even if she didn't." Duncan shrugs. "I guess she didn't."

"I'm so sorry that you had to deal with that, Duncan."

"I'd rather raise my daughter to know she has one parent that loves her so much instead of one parent that loves her and one parent that doesn't care." Though he hasn't revealed much about his past, you do know that he has a complicated relationship with his family, which is probably where those feelings come from.

"Thank you for telling me. I'm glad that you trust me enough to talk about someone so precious to you."

"I want you in my life, (Y/N), hopefully for a long time, but I need you to know that she'll always come first."

Well, if you didn't think you were head over heels for him before, this solidifies it.

"If you're okay with it, I want you to meet her."

You look up in surprise. "You do?"

"Of course. I'm not going to tell you all of this just for you to not meet her."

"I'd love to!" you say quickly, not wanting him to think you're hesitant. "Would she be okay with it?"

Duncan nods. "I'll talk to her about it, but I don't see why not. Do you want to come over tonight? I can cook dinner, and you can actually see where I live."

You try not to show it, but your eyes widen. Not only would you be meeting his daughter, but now you'd be visiting his place for the first time. "Um, sure!"

"I'll text you, but does five work? That gives me some time after the nanny leaves."

"Five is great."

"You sure?" He smirks. "You look a little nervous."

"I'm sure." Duncan kisses you once more before bidding you farewell, leaving you to walk home and try not to internally freak out.

///

After spending way too much time figuring out what to wear before realizing you're meeting your boyfriend's three-year-old and not the Queen of England, you're at the address Duncan had texted you at approximately 5:05 (not too late, but also not punctual or, even worse, early). You shift from foot to foot nervously after knocking on the door of the townhouse, not quite sure if you should let yourself in.

Before you can make that decision, it's made for you when the door is opened by Duncan. He's grinning, barefoot and casual, with a tiny pair of arms wrapped around his neck and big blue eyes shyly gazing up at you from where a head is hidden against his shoulder. Instantly, your nerves melt away when you see that she's truly Duncan's carbon copy, from the eyes to the brown curls to the way she looks at you as if she's trying to figure you out.

"Hi, come in." Duncan ushers you in, kissing you on the cheek as he takes your coat. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Wine?" you ask before wondering if you can even drink wine when there's a small child around.

"Perfect, I already opened a bottle." Duncan looks at his daughter, brushing her curls back before whispering something in her ear. "(Y/N), this is my daughter, Elizabeth. Lizzie, this is Daddy's special friend, (Y/N), remember?"

"Hi Elizabeth, it's very nice to meet you," you say with a smile.

She looks up at you. "Hi," she says before burying her face in Duncan's shoulder again, making both you and him chuckle.

"The, uh, food's probably almost ready. It's chicken and rice, if you're okay with that."

"Definitely!"

"I wanted chicken nuggets, but Daddy said that's not 'date food,'" Elizabeth pipes up. You laugh as Duncan blushes.

"That's where your dad and I disagree, because I would eat chicken nuggets every night if I could."

She grins, and you feel like you just won the lottery. "Me too."

"Can I set you down, sweetie? I have to check the stove," Duncan explains. He speaks to her so softly, which is such a change from the demanding man you see when he's on work calls, or the romantic who loves to make you flustered. Once she agrees, he puts her on the floor and she immediately runs off, presumably to the living room or her bedroom.

"She's so cute," you gush once she's out of earshot.

"Yeah, she is," he says fondly, moving something off of the stove before kissing you properly. "I think she likes you."

"You can tell?"

He shrugs. "Father's intuition."

"I wasn't sure if I should have brought her a gift, like a toy or something?"

"I'm glad you didn't. My mom spoils her rotten with toys, she has way more than she needs."

"Can I help you with anything?"

"Would you mind setting the table, actually?" He points to a cupboard. "Dishes are up there."

Everywhere you look, there's signs of the little girl that lives here, whether it be crayon artwork on the fridge or the kid plastic plates in the cupboard. You smile at a picture of Duncan pushing Elizabeth on a swing as you set down the plates and cutlery, Duncan putting dishes of food on the middle of the table.

"Elizabeth!" he calls. "Dinner's ready!" You can hear the pattering of her little feet before you see her sprinting into the dining room like she's racing Usain Bolt.

"Daddy, can I sit with (Y/N)?" she asks, making your heart almost explode.

"I don't know, you'd have to ask (Y/N)," he says, hiding a grin as he looks at you.

"(Y/N), can I sit with you?"

"Yeah." Your voice comes out as little more than a whisper due to how choked up you are, so you clear your throat and try again. "Yeah," you say, louder.

You sit down on the chair closest to Duncan, and Elizabeth clambers up onto your lap. Once she's comfy, she makes grabby hands at the plate that Duncan is making for her. Your hands hover awkwardly at your sides, not sure what to do. What if you move too fast and scare her off? No, that's with wild animals, not toddlers. Yet again, the decision of what to do is made for you when she gets her plate and begins to talk to you.

Throughout dinner, Duncan can hardly eat, so wrapped up in watching you interact with his daughter as you listen to every word she says and chat with her about whatever she's deemed more important than her food. He's not sure of the last time that he was ever this happy; maybe the day Elizabeth was born? Listening to you laugh at one of the jokes she learned at nursery school and has told at least a hundred times by now, he's sure that he made the right choice in saying that he wants you around for a while.

IDK who even would want to read this so I'm just tagging a couple of people @sojournmichael @michaellangdon @xavierplympton @blakescoven @mrslangdonn @michaellangdonstanaccount

#duncan shepherd #house of cards #duncan shepherd imagine #duncan shepherd imagines #duncan shepherd x reader

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memeadonna · 3 years

Text

The Kingdom of Roses

You are the princess of Rusika, a kingdom neighbouring Novoselic. When one of your government’s high ranking officials is taken as a political prisoner, your kingdom retaliates by taking some of your own -- and they just might be more than you bargained for.

Hello Everybody! My name is Jess and I’ve been a longtime fan of Danganronpa, from around 2012 or 2013 when I first played the games. I wanted to try my hand at writing a reader insert for one of my favourite characters (and my first ever husbando), one Kazuichi Souda. This beautiful art really inspired me (I scoured high and low for an artist credit, but I couldn’t find one. If you know who drew it please let me know and I will give them the appropriate credit), and I wrote an x reader. I hope you all enjoy! Warnings: This work contains NSFW not suitable for readers under 18. Please do not interact with this post if you are under 18.

Monarchies were a dying form of government. Most countries had established parliaments by now, but the Kingdom of Rusika, where you were born, and a few neighbouring kingdoms held onto their royal families until the very end. Novoselic was one such kingdom, one that until a few days ago had been your ally. Your father – beloved king of Rusika – had sent one of his most trusted advisors to negotiate a trade deal with the Nevermind family, rulers of Novoselic.

That advisor had been captured and held at ransom for some unknown reason. The Novoselic Kingdom really had no idea what they were doing, did they?

Sonia Nevermind was someone you had grown up with. The two of you had never been friends, per se, but you understood one another. You were Princesses tasked with leading your kingdoms towards prosperity. Your countries were similar enough – they had once been one, but after a civil war in 926, the country had been divided in half. While Novoselic’s exports consisted of luxury goods – wine, chocolate, and cheese – Rusika’s were more practical. Your main exports were related to geothermal energy and associated technologies, or mining precious gems. Your country – the kingdom of roses – was building the future. Hers was stuck in the past, weighed down by stupid traditions.

Your father trusted you more than Sonia’s father trusted her, and so you had grown up with more responsibilities. You had learned early on the burdens of leadership, and eventually began to find her boring. You made sure she never caught on, always giving her your full attention whenever she rambled about her silly life and silly problems.

Both of your countries had hit economic booms, so what need was there to worry? Gah, her philosophy was so stupid.

Today you woke up to find that your father had arranged the kidnapping of two of Sonia’s closest friends. She had just graduated from the prestigious Hope’s Peak Academy, and had apparently invited her entire class to Novoselic to spend their last vacation celebrating.

It was strange of him to make such a decision without consulting you first. You were supposed to be queen of Rusika one day, and he always made sure you had a say in decisions. Today you were instructed to dress the part of a princess and come greet your guests. You were to show them hospitality and make them feel welcome. You might have kidnapped them, but you weren’t monsters. They would literally receive the royal treatment, and you were to be put in charge of them.

As your handmaidens helped you dress (corseting you, doing your hair and makeup, and fixing your jewelry could be a six-person job), you went over what you wanted to say to your prisoners. How the hell were you supposed to make them feel welcome?

You had never seen a person with two different coloured eyes before. You had also never seen a person with pink hair. Based on the way they looked at you, dripping in jewels and looking your part, you doubted they had seen Sonia in all of her glory yet. You smiled as you introduced yourself, trying your hardest not to look like you were studying them. You explained the situation to them, told them they were valuable political prisoners and would not be harmed or imprisoned as long as they behaved, and did not try to leave.

The man with two different coloured eyes called you a fiend, as well as many other dark names as he promised his Princess would come for him. The man with pink hair affirmed “Miss. Sonia will rescue me!” and shook his fist at you, trying his best not to look starstruck.

Eventually, you got their names out of them.

“How long will we be here?” Gundham asked you over dinner that night. “I wish to return home as soon as possible. I have responsibilities.”

Realistically, you knew it wouldn’t be a quick endeavour. You and Sonia had spent three months as prisoners in a neighbouring kingdom as Rusika and Novoselic had laid siege to the capitol. That was when you had learned she was boring. She kept to herself in her room, and almost seemed upset with you whenever you would negotiate with your captors, or walked the palace grounds like a free woman.

“As long as it takes” you answered coolly, glad that Japanese was one of the languages your family had forced you to learn. Members of the royal family having to speak thiry languages was one tradition that Rusika had kept from its time joined with Novoselic. It came in handy when negotiating with foreigners. “I cannot provide a clearer answer than that.”

“Don’t worry, Gundham,” Souda spoke up. “Sonia will come for us!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gundham spent most of his time observing the animals on your palace grounds. Your late mother had loved peacocks, so your father had taken up breeding them. She had loved many different animals when she had been alive, so the grounds weren’t exactly wanting. He enjoyed speaking with the vain birds, whistling and cooing until they would fan their elegant tails. His hamsters seemed to enjoy their accommodations too, with more seeds than they could have ever hoped to have eaten.

Souda, however, wanted to remain as unaffected as possible. He did his best to refuse any luxuries you offered him. It was only after you found out he had taken apart every electronic device in his room did you ask Gundham. The Ultimate Breeder had warmed up to you quickly, especially since you were the reason his hamsters were so well taken care of.

After Gundham cryptically told you about Souda, you gifted the Mechanic with a set of tools and new appliances to play with. Boredom could be so cruel, and the last thing you wanted was undue suffering.

Seeing him slip shyly into your study made your gift worth it. He was so awkward as he stumbled out a thanks, looking everywhere except your face. He was blushing and fiddling with a screwdriver as he spoke. “I still don’t trust you. You’re Miss. Sonia’s enemy,” he pointed his finger at you. “And any enemy of Miss. Sonia is an enemy of mine.”

“Would you like a workshop?” you asked him calmly. “I’m sure your room is a bit cluttered with all of those appliances. I just want to make your stay comfortable, I bear no ill will towards you, Mr. Souda.”

His cheeks flamed up and he stammered out a non-answer, shuffling out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Souda and Gundham had been with you a little over two weeks when the former finally cracked. He once more barged into your study, and looked you up and down. “I want somewhere to work,” he declared. He placed a crumpled piece of paper on your desk. “Here’s the list of everything I need.”

You saved the speech you were writing and logged off of your computer. “Come with me, Mr. Souda,” you stood gracefully, glad you no longer had to wear your ballgowns around him. It had always made you feel overdressed and obnoxious, especially considering he preferred to wear his jumpsuit rather than the clothes your country had provided him with. It had taken a lot to even convince him to let the servants wash the suit, let alone wear another while he waited.

In the end, you had commissioned seven identical jumpsuits for him, to match the one he already wore. At least he no longer reeked.

You paused at the door to the workshop you had set up for him. There was a guard stationed outside, but a nod from you dismissed him. Kazuichi’s eyes lit up as he observed all of the new-age tech he had to play with. He stammered out a bright-eyed thanks, and you gave him your brightest smile. You had done lots of research into what he would enjoy; he was your guest, not your prisoner. Right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After a month, Novoselic struck up a deal with Rusika. A hostage for hostage trade: Gundham Tanaka for your father’s cherished advisor. Kazuichi had not been mentioned in the negotiations at all, something that did not sit right with you.

He tried to pretend that he wasn’t upset he had been forgotten, but it was obvious to anybody with half of a brain he was torn up. You made efforts to spend more time with him. You had him accompany you on walks around the castle’s garden, and even took him out of the palace for a few walks around town for a change of scenery. Nothing you said lifted his spirits. He barely even looked at you now.

You watched him tinkering with his toys, but even that seemed to have lost its shine for him. He looked so sad, so bored that it made you anxious.

“May I ask you something?” you questioned on one such walk. The two of you had been caught in the rain and had sought shelter underneath a quaint gazebo. He looked back at you with a curt nod. “How is your hair pink?”

He blinked at you for a moment before he burst out laughing. It was the first time since he had come to Rusika that he had laughed, and it made your cheeks flame up as he smiled at you.

“I dye it,” he told you after he calmed down. “I first bleach my hair to take the colour out, and then I use a dye to turn it pink.”

“Colour?” You blinked up at him. “What colour is your hair supposed to be?”

Instead of answering, he removed his beanie to reveal about an inch of jet-black hair growing in at his roots. Your eyes widened in wonder. “So, it must be bleached again on the new hair?” you asked.

“Yes,” he smiled at you dopily. “It has to be done every few months or the hair will grow in its natural colour.”

“Does it feel different?” you asked. “The pink and the black?” Instead of replying, he took your hand and placed it onto his hair. Your blush only deepened as you felt how soft it was, and noticed his cheeks were bright red too as you pulled away. “Do you wish to turn your hair pink again? I will send for my stylist.”

He smiled at you, soft but genuine. “I’d really like that. Then I’ll feel a bit more like me,”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you doing?” Souda peeked over your shoulder. You smiled tiredly up at him and you stretched as subtly as you could. You had been taking daily walks with him for several weeks now, and he would always drop by every few hours to see how you were doing, or to show off his latest invention.

“I’m looking at the schematics for a new geothermal energy plant,” you answered. “I’m trying to sort out how we can make our energy extraction more efficient.”

Kazuichi looked over the blueprints on your laptop screen. “I’d have to do the calculations, but if you merged these two pipes here-” he pointed. “-you would cut down significantly on the energy wasted.”

“Pull up a chair,” you told him. ��Let’s take a look together, shall we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kazuichi had been in your care for three months now, and he hardly acted like a prisoner. He called you “Miss” (probably because you called him Mr. Souda), and tended to barge in on you whenever he wanted. He had repaired the castle’s heating system, boosted your internet connection, and even helped you overhaul the design of your new energy plants. These plants would be 46% more efficient than the last schematic, something that amazed you. You told him repeatedly how marvellous he was, if only to see his face light up.

Lately, he had started wearing the jumpsuits your family had initially provided him with – similar to his old one but stamped with your country’s crest on the back – and had been a bit more… touchy than before. He would put a hand on the small of your back while you walked, or gently brush a lock of hair from your face as the two of you had tea.

You were not experienced in the slightest with intimacy or wanting to be in a relationship – you were certain you would learn that after you became queen – but now he was all you could think about. You knew the basics, knew what to expect from a man, but your heart was uncharted territory. You had never loved someone before, and some deep-seated fear in your heart was worried he would think you were taking advantage of him.

“I was in love with her, you know,” he told you one day while you were out for a walk. The two of you were once more caught in the rain and taking shelter in the same gazebo. “I loved Sonia.” Sonia. Not Miss. Sonia.

“Did it hurt?” you asked back, and immediately felt stupid for asking. It was none of your business, why did you want to know?

“I guess?” he shrugged. “I don’t – she never treated me like I mattered. She made me feel like I was nothing. Just a pest. Like I was disposable.”

“Sonia is a fool,” you told him. You meant it, of course you did, but at that moment you just wanted him to smile. “Your contributions will certainly leave their marks on this world. You are a remarkable person with a remarkable talent. Anybody who would overlook you is an utter fool.”

Kazuichi reached into his pocket and pulled out a small speaker. He set it on the railing, and it began to play a soft, slow song. “Will you dance with me?” he asked shyly.

“Of course,” you smiled at him, holding out your hand for him to take.

His steps were sloppy and uncoordinated, but the feeling of his warm body in your arms made you feel safe. You wanted him to love you. Love you the way he loved Sonia, and then even more. A legendary love that would eclipse all others.

When he leaned down to kiss you, you automatically tilted you head to the side. It felt like the first time and the thousandth time all at once – something new and exciting, yet undeniably right. He grinned at you like an idiot and kept swaying with you while the song ended.

“It all feels perfect with I’m with you,” he told you. “Like it all makes sense.”

“I understand,” you smiled up at him. “I feel the same way too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He barely left your side now. He would let you work, of course, but wanted to spend his every waking hour with you. He held your hand on your walks, kissed your knuckles like a gentleman whenever he greeted you, and kissed you passionately when you were alone with him. You loved watching him light up at your presence – it was like his world began and ended with you.

His greatest joy was when he got to work with you. To see you listening carefully to his advice, offering insights of your own based on your knowledge. You worked to improve both your geothermal energy plants and plan for new mines. The number of precious stones mined this year was astronomical, and it wasn’t over yet.

Your father was impressed with the improvements he had made to the schematics he had been provided with, so he was gradually given more and more responsibility (along with his freedom, of course). Eventually, he began to receive an “allowance” as payment for the work he was doing. He spent most of it on new gadgets to tinker with or gifts for you. You would often retire to your room to find a vase full of flowers or a box of chocolates, and every time you saw them you would break out into a grin you could not stop.

The two of you would text one another (he made himself a cellphone because he was “bored and wanted to try it”) until you fell asleep, and within those words he bared his soul. He told you about his horrific home life – about the man who had dared to harm him – and about the friends who had betrayed him. He told you how much you mattered to him, all of the things he would do for you. Give up for you.

When he told you about his father hitting him one too many times, you left your room and went to his. You just needed to hold him, make him feel safe the same way he made you feel safe.

You were glad you went when you did, because there was a woman dressed in black trying to drag him out of the window. You raised the security alarm, and she was apprehended. Mukuro Ikusaba – the Ultimate Soldier – was thrown into your actual prison, and you once more had trouble with Novoselic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You answered the door with bleary eyes, but seeing Souda’s tired smile as he mumbled about not sleeping was worth it. You used your new nickname for him – the word in your mother tongue that meant little pink rose – and he melted into your arms. You didn’t care that you were wearing your nightgown, or that it was early in the morning, you had your prince charming and he was safe, and he was yours. Yours.

“I had a nightmare,” he was curled up among your pillows, snuggled up under your blankets. “You forgot about me like she did.”

“I’m not her,” you reminded him, pressing a kiss to his forehead before resting your own against it. You could feel his warm breath ghosting over your lips, and as you let your eyes slip shut your hands found his. “I will never think of you as less than extraordinary, my darling.” You promised.

He kissed your cheek, slowly painting his way over your cheekbones and down to your lips. You responded wonderfully, one hand cupping his cheek as you kissed him slowly. You opened your eyes to see him staring at you with pure adoration. He wasn’t wearing his contacts, and his eyes were a light, rosy brown colour. Stunning.

“I love you,” the words slipped out of your mouth unbidden. You were speaking in your mother tongue now, but based on the smile he gave you and the whisper of “Ai shiteru” you got in return, he had understood. More than understood.

Your lips met his again, a strange kind of hunger filling you. He must have felt the change too, the atmosphere crackling with energy as you traced your fingers over his body. As he traced his fingers over yours.

You both stripped completely and held one another, clumsy and laughing and so in love. “Tell me if it hurts,” he had whispered to you as he stretched you open with his fingers. You had kissed him in response, a smiling sort of kiss that you hope conveyed more than a simple “I love you”.

Your lovemaking didn’t last long, but it didn’t have to to be perfect. It felt like it was right out of a fairy tale, and your prince charming was here to save you from everything bad in the world. You were here to save him, in reality, but you were more than happy to indulge him in his fantasies, so long as you could play a part in them.

When you were done, he wrapped you in his arms and placed a kiss to your temple. He hummed softly and played with your hair, whispering his love over and over again. You smiled up at him, tired but satisfied, and when you fell asleep your smile did not falter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since that night you had shared, Kazuichi had been coming to your bed every night. You would fall asleep together and wake up together and talk until you couldn’t anymore. When you weren’t talking, you were either cuddling or doing something less… innocent. Your mouth had mapped out every inch of his body, and you knew what to do to make him open like a flower. He liked letting you do what you wanted to him – liked giving over the power and control and letting you make him feel good.

He loved it when you spoke to him in your mother tongue – no matter what you said he would squirm and turn bright red.

“Do you like it when I play with your pretty cock?” you asked him lowly, and he let out a sweet moan as his legs fell open. He could tell from the sound of your voice if you were being sweet to him or not, and you could tell based on the noises he made if he wanted you to be sweet or not.

You wondered what fantasies swept him away as you mounted him. When you pinned his wrists and mouthed at his neck, you wondered why he was mewling so much. Did he even know what he was begging you for anymore, or did his mind just go blank every time you began to kiss his scars?

You learned every embarrassing detail about his body, and he learned every detail of yours. He loved to have you on him – worshipping him, taking pleasure from his body – but what he loved most were the quiet moments after.

The moments when you would roll off of him and kiss him slowly and tell him how good he was. When you would worship every scar again, tell him he was beautiful. When he’d lay his head in your lap so you could weave your fingers into his hair and hum him lullabies. He always fell asleep in your bed after you made love. It was one of the most perfect moments you ever shared, and you felt so, so lucky to have shared so many of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today you woke up alone. Novoselic had finally sent an envoy to negotiate Kazuichi’s release. Today was the day.

Last night, he had helped you pick out your gown. He had chosen a white one with ruffles designed to look like flowers – Rusika was the kingdom of roses, after all – and as your handmaidens helped you get ready, you felt powerful.

You went all out – you wore your crown jewels and covered yourself in diamonds. You did not want there to be any doubt that they were dealing with a princess and would negotiate on her terms. Your father had been surprised when you had asked for this responsibility but granted you the negotiation opportunity.

Mukuro Ikusaba was wearing several chains, including a rather nasty-looking pair of handcuffs. She was positioned in a chair facing towards your throne, and she glared at you as you took your seat.

Kazuichi arrived only a few minutes after you, and his jaw just about hit the floor as he took you in. You gave him a smile befitting a queen as your eyes roamed his body – he was wearing a finely tailored suit and a ring with your family’s crest on it. You realized then you wanted to cover him in jewels. He would look so good sparkling.

He bowed deeply before taking his place at your side, breaking you from your train of thought. It was an old Novoselic tradition for the ruler’s consort to kneel on a special stool while the monarch conducted business, but while Kazuichi did kneel on the plush cushion, he tugged it towards you so he could lie across your lap. The action startled you at first, but as he snuggled deeper into your skirts and looked up at you with a smile, your fingers came up to weave into his hair in the way he found comforting, and he closed his eyes.

That lasted for a blissful minute before the throne room’s doors burst open and Princess Sonia Nevermind was announced. Her entourage filed in with her, and Souda tilted his head to get a better view of them. You recognized Gundham, and vaguely recalled hearing about a few of the others from Kazuichi. Classmates, if you remembered correctly.

Sonia had brought the Yakuza boy and the Ultimate Swordswoman as backup. She had also brought a hulking man with matching scars over both of his eyes. This man was someone you had never heard of, yet he was flanked by the usual Novoselic military honour guard. You greeted her in your shared tongue before switching to Japanese. “Welcome. What brings you all to Rusika?” you asked.

The princess of Novoselic cleared her throat and began once more in your mother tongue. “Apologies for interrupting, Princess Nevermind, but not everybody here speaks our language. I would like to include our guests in the matters we will be discussing,” Souda shifted in your lap, and you continued playing with his hair, sitting with the elegance of a queen.

Sonia began again, in Japanese this time. “I demand you release your prisoners at once,” she pointed at you. “Keeping a soldier hired by my country to retrieve a prisoner does not reflect well on the alliance between our peoples. I would hate for a war to break out.”

You sighed. “As a show of good faith, I will release the prisoner Mukuro Ikusaba to you,” you made a gesture and a pair of guards removed her shackles. You could feel Souda playing with your ruffles. “Was that all?”

“We are here for the prisoner Kazuichi Souda,” she answered. “I demand you release him.”

“Kazuichi is not a prisoner,” you corrected. “He has full autonomy and can choose to leave anytime he would like.”

“You kidnapped him as a political prisoner!” Sonia snapped, eyes locked on him. “Do not tell me that he is doing… that of his own free will!”

You gave his shoulder a pat with the hand that had been in his hair and he blinked over at Sonia. “I have done nothing malicious towards him,” you answered. “I have not-”

“Liar!” Sonia cut in. “You must have brainwashed him with Stockholm. You truly are a woman with flexible legs!”

Kazuichi raised his head a bit. “Don’t talk to my Princess like that!” there was a certain bite to his words. You ran your fingers soothingly through his hair as he glared at Sonia. “Gundham knows as well as I do that we were never mistreated here. We were given free reign, and I just so happened to be appreciated. I’m not a second choice here. I’m not forgotten.”

Sonia looked visibly upset at his words. “We did not forget you!” she assured him.

“You rescued Gundham after a month? A few weeks?” Kazuichi was bristling. “I’ve been here for eight. Eight months and you didn’t even bother to see if I was okay.” Sonia watched Kazuichi lie back down. “Excuse me for being happy. I forgot you don’t like it when I’m too overbearing with my affection.” He shifted around for comfort, burying his face in the crook of his elbow before tilting it out to the crowd.

“Is he truly able to leave anytime he wants?” Gundham asked.

“I am,” Kazuichi bristled once again. “I’ve got a job and everything.”

Sonia said your name. No title, just your name. “I would like to speak with you in private, future monarch to future monarch,” she was clenching her hands into fists.

“I’ll allow it,” you gave Kazuichi a gentle pat on the shoulder and he reluctantly pulled away. You stood, and he stood with you. He followed you down from your throne, and as you escorted Sonia towards your study you noticed Kazuichi was making a beeline for Gundham.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you were alone again, the first thing Kazuichi did was help you out of your dress. He was careful as he unlaced your corset, and as he helped you step out of it. He even hung it up properly so it wouldn’t get damaged. Then he was kissing you like he was about to lose you, pulling your body close and pulling you into his arms. He carried you over to the bed and tossed you into it, discarding his own clothes haphazardly as he followed.

“I love you,” he told you assuredly. “And nothing is ever going to change that. Not a single thing they say will convince me otherwise.”

You smiled at his words. “And I love you too, my little pink rose,” you gave him a deep, longing kiss.

It didn’t matter what the others thought or said. It didn’t matter what they did. All that mattered was what you and Souda thought. Souda was here with you. Souda loved you.

And no matter who decided to challenge that, they couldn’t take him away from you.

#danganronpa #super danganronpa 2 #kazuichi souda #kazuichi soda #kazuichi souda x reader #kazuichi soda x reader #kazuichi x reader #sonia nevermind #gundham tanaka #reader insert #princess reader #memeadonna

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kingreywrites · 3 years

Text

So Pardon The Dust

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 2493

Summary: When they arrive in the Dark Kingdom, the king has been dead for years.

Note: this is bittersweet, but the idea couldn’t leave me alone, and i had to write it out! so yeah, edmund’s death is heavily talked about, be careful if that’s not your thing! I just love Destinies Collide, and love what-ifs, so this story was born from there asghdh

Read on ao3

When they arrive in the Dark Kingdom, the king has been dead for years.

They don't know that. What they do know is that once their travel in a shaky gondola over an immense rift ends, everything seems too easy. The kingdom is dark, cold, smells of dust and rust permeating the air, and it makes it hard to imagine that anyone has ever lived in such a place. But Rapunzel's hair pushes her forward, and they don't spend any more time thinking about it.

They enter the equally dark and cold castle, searching for the moonstone.

Desperate for a flicker of warmth, Lance lights a fire in a lifeless living room with no windows. Eugene's gaze is drawn to a painting, throning above the fireplace and depicting a man and a woman he presumes to be the king and queen.

He cannot explain the deep uneasiness he feels at the sight, or even why he can hardly tear his eyes away from the picture. His heart is racing, and he explains it by blaming it on his concern for Rapunzel.

The queen's smile remains etched in his mind as he moves forward.

The king has been dead for years. They don't know it, but Eugene finds a room filled with overhanging statues and, sitting in front of a gigantic door, is a tiny skeleton covered in too big clothes and dust. A dark crown still hangs grotesquely on its head, but the first thing Eugene sees is the purple gem necklace between the fingers of its single hand. The same as the queen's in the painting.

Eugene has a bitter taste in his mouth. Rapunzel holds his hand, also upset, and he remembers that they are here for her, and for her destiny. He holds her fingers tighter between his, and they move toward the door.

The ghosts are… certainly a surprise.

Death is not something new to Eugene, yet he can't help but feel nauseous when the king's ghost appears so close to his own skeleton, eyes full of a melancholy and anger that only he understands.

He doesn't seem to be capable of speech. He just groans and attacks, mindlessly guarding the stone that cost him his life. When Adira arrives to help them, she calls him Edmund, a soft grief in her voice, and Eugene keeps the name in a corner of his head. Edmund. Not a ghost, not a skeleton, but Edmund, who protected his kingdom until he died trapped within it.

Finally, Eugene is the one who destroys his statue. He cuts off its head, and tries to forget how a few seconds before, it was his own that could have been lost, if the king's axe had not struck beside it. Luck saved his life this time.

Adira asks Rapunzel to enter the moonstone chamber by herself. She says that it's her destiny, and hers alone. Eugene wants to protest, worry burning in his heart, but he doesn't even have the time - Rapunzel looks at Cassandra, and announces that the three of them will go inside. He should be relieved, but he can't help but take another look at the king's- Edmund's body. Many people have died for this stone, and the more time passes, the more terrified he is of what awaits them on the other side. He knows death, more than any other member of this group probably; he's been around it personally. He promised himself when he came back to life, that he would never let Rapunzel die the way he did, slowly and violently, when she has so much to live for.

He doesn't know where this promise will lead him.

When they arrive in the Dark Kingdom, the king is dead. They enter easily, and though the ghosts of past rulers stand in their way, the path to the moonstone is far from the most difficult adventure he has ever experienced. Eugene is worried, of course he is - he's afraid of the conclusion of their journey, afraid of what he cannot predict. Rapunzel tells him she loves him, and he almost wants to throw up, because they're in the middle of a kingdom murdered by that exact stone Rapunzel intends to grab. I love you too, he thinks, but can't manage to say, because the words sound like a goodbye, and he's not ready for that. He'd die one thousand times for her, if she asked him to. He'd die for her against her will too, if necessary, but he knows he can't get in the way today. As desperate as he is to protect her, he knows how much she values being able to draw her own path.

He wants to grab the moonstone first because he loves her, and because he loves her, he stays back.

That's not the case for everyone. He notices too late Cass running for it, and Demanitus' warning echoes once again in his ears, mocking now that the only thing he can do is try to pull Rapunzel to safety as the world explodes in colours. The king is dead, and their friendship with Cassandra is too, the shadow of Gothel haunting Rapunzel once again despite how much she deserves to be free from it. Cassandra flees, Eugene hurts his arm when she pushes him away, and Rapunzel runs after her, desperate to salvage what can be.

It doesn't amount to much, in the end.

Things settle down, as much as they can while Rapunzel still sits listlessly near the broken bridge Cassandra left behind, and Eugene goes in the castle again, in search of bandages this time. His left arm hurts.

He doesn't expect to find Adira, standing silently in front of... Edmund. Her back is rigid, her mouth in a straight line, but when he calls her name, he sees a foreign melancholy in her eyes. He doesn't know her that well, but there's a lot Eugene can understand from looking into somebody's eyes.

Adira sighs, shoulders lowering, and he's sure she hears his unsaid question. "I shouldn't be surprised," she says, but it's clear that in a way, she is. "I… knew, that King Edmund was not well, when we left. I often considered that he might very well be…" she trails off, her eyes falling on his body again.

"It's different to be sure," Eugene responds softly, his voice loud in the silence of this immense room. Watching them - Adira, and this skeleton, barely hanging together enough to recognise a human shape - it was difficult to conceive that once upon a time, they had stood here together, alive and happy, perhaps. He can't imagine what it feels like to see an old friend this way, with no warning. "Adira…"

"It's okay, Fishskin," she smiles, and in her voice, he could hear the echoes of all the time Rapunzel told him she was fine, because she didn't know how to act when she was not.

He barely knows Adira. Both because he didn't ask, and because she didn't want him, or anyone, to know her. But he can guess easily that her life had never been one of peace, not even before leaving the Dark Kingdom, and losing contact with the other members of the Brotherhood. He doesn't think she's unhappy, per se, but he- he knows, they all know, especially now after everything that happened, that anger and fear and grief are not emotions that should be let to fester until they explode. Maybe it's his worry for Rapunzel speaking; maybe he's confusing everything, and Adira is simply dealing with the situation the way she wants to, but before he can think better of it, Eugene takes a step forward, and asks her if she wants to bury the king's body.

"To- To give him a better resting place," he explains awkwardly, her eyes piercing right through him. He's ready to say sorry and hope she doesn't kill him for overstepping her boundaries, but, to his surprise, she softens, a genuine if sad smile on her lips.

"Actually Fishskin, that's… a great idea."

And so they do it. Adira finds a bear hood that the King used to wear - Dabney, she says reverently - and they place his bones in it, carefully moving everything in tandem. They don't really talk while doing it. There's not much to be said. Eugene thinks of this king, who was so desperate to save his kingdom that he doomed it, and he thinks about death, too. About how lonely it is.

Adira leads them down a few corridors, and they emerge in a small, grey looking garden. They walk until they find an unmarked tombstone.

"The queen," Adira announces shortly, and Eugene wonders if she helped bury her too.

It's not the first time Eugene digs a grave for someone. He remembers starkly getting out of the tower with Rapunzel, both of them entirely different people than who they were before, and finding a cloak and ashes at the bottom of it. He remembers how quietly distraught Rapunzel had been, and how he had proposed to bury what was left of Gothel.

Shaking his head, he tries to think about something else, but it's hard given the situation. His arm aches at each of his movements. Surprisingly, Adira breaks the silence, and that's enough to distract him.

"I often disagreed with King Edmund," she says, without looking at him. "He was a good king, but his duty to the moonstone blinded him to the bigger picture, and I was afraid that it would lead him, and us, to lose everything. I was right, as I often am," she chuckles, but there's no mirth behind it. Simply grief. Something that can't be quite put into words.

"How did he lose his arm?" Eugene asks, voice low as they finally lower the bones into the ground. His eyes catch the sight of the necklace falling aside, and when they're done, he picks it up, thumb running over the smooth surface of the gem.

"The queen died," Adira whispers. She's looking at the necklace too, when he raises his head. "Edmund's grief led him to act on the anger he had been repressing for too long, but the moonstone was much more powerful than he imagined. Its retaliation costs him everything he held dear."

Gently, Adira takes the necklace from him, and Eugene can't explain the impulse that makes him want to hold onto it for a little while longer.

He's sentimental, he reasons. There's something deeply touching about this man dying while looking at the last thing connecting him to his late wife. These are good explanations, but neither of them addresses the unease and bitterness rising in Eugene's throat. He doesn't understand it himself.

Adira looks at the necklace for a long time, emotions he can't name in her expression. Memories she will not share make her frown, and Eugene feels more and more like he doesn't belong in this moment.

"Should we… bury that with him?" he asks awkwardly. Adira bites her lips, and finally shakes her head.

"This necklace was special for the queen. I know she intended to pass it down to her children."

A terrible voice in Eugene's mind reminds him that it's too late - they both died, and that necklace, that tradition, died with them too. He's hit by the tragedy of it all again, relentlessly reminded that the king passed away long before anyone could try to save him. And they would have, Rapunzel would have convinced him to let her through, she would have given him faith, Eugene is sure of that. He thinks that's why he's angry, too. The king has been dead for years, maybe, alone and desperate until his very last moments. And Eugene, Eugene wishes to go back in time, and give him another chance, get him the help he needed before it was too late.

He has never been good at accepting unhappy endings.

"When… When King Edmund banished us from the Dark Kingdom," Adira continues, "he also made another sacrifice. He sent his son away, when he was barely a baby, to be raised far from the moonstone and its dangers."

Son. A baby, sole survivor of the royal family, who probably doesn't know he is. A baby, who isn't one anymore now, but who is probably alive, and the thought is enough for Eugene to feel something new - he'd call this hope, but he's not sure that it fits. Closure, perhaps.

"You want to give their son the necklace," he smiles shakily.

"That's what needs to be done," Adira agrees, before putting away the necklace in her pocket. The gem catches the moonlight one last time, shining brighter than before, and it's easier for Eugene to let go, this time. "However, I did not keep track of the prince. I don't know what became of him, after we left, but I will keep searching until I find him."

"Hey," Eugene grins, wanting to lighten the atmosphere a little, "you searched for the mystical and maybe non-existent sundrop, and you found it, so I'm sure a prince will be no trouble. And if you need anything, we'll be happy to help," he adds, more earnest this time.

There's a newfound warmth in her eyes, and she inclines her head, acknowledging his words. The situation feels easier, somewhat. They finish replacing the dirt on top of the king's body, and Adira places a little stone to mark the emplacement.

The king is dead, and Cassandra is gone, but Eugene wants to believe that they all can find their own healing in time.

One wrong move reawakens the pain in his arm, and Adira gauges him when he flinches. She tells him that if there are any medical supplies around there, they're probably in the King's personal quarters.

With her instructions, it's not too hard to find them. The bedroom he finds is enormous, which only heightens how empty and dark it feels. Blindly, Eugene makes his way to a window, and pushes the heavy curtains away, letting the moonlight flood the room, and reveal the ambient dust like as many little stars in the night sky.

One side of the bed is unmade. Next to the other, there is an empty crib.

His heart is racing, and he can't explain it. He turns to the bedside table, and does find what appear to be bandages, next to a pile of papers, so close to the bed that it is easy to guess that the king often looked at them.

Eugene approaches. He tells himself, without much conviction, that he should not look. That even in death the king deserves to keep his privacy. Whatever these papers are, they must have meant a lot to him, keeping him company in his darkest hours, and Eugene doesn't belong in this story.

It only takes him a step, and a second, to recognize his old wanted posters.

#tangled #tangled the series #Eugene Fitzherbert #King Edmund #Adira #Rapunzel

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yeenybeanies · 2 years

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I want to know so much about Marin! 🌱🌙😭🌌🔫📎🔥☁️

questions for the ocs!!

oh!! marin!!

k so when i first made marin, i had a WHOLE story idea for her, & haven't given much detail on her since i planned to reveal things in writing. i did write a good chunk of a first chapter, but i haven't touched it in like two years --w--

so i'll just spoil things now 'cos i'm sure i'm not gonna pick her tale up again any time soon, if ever

(also warnings for mentions of childhood abuse here)

also kinda long, so here's a cut

🌱 SEEDLING - what is their most vivid memory from childhood?

an image burned into her mind is, when marin was but a wee young princess, seeing the new captain of the royal guard best like eight of her fellow guards in a training exercise. marin was fascinated. seeing it inspired marin to want to become a strong & capable fighter. she later on went to take private combat lessons from the captain.

🌙 MOON - what is your oc’s greatest wish? how far are they willing to go for it?

her greatest wish, really, is to just be free. she wants to escape her past.

i'd say she went pretty far, considering she did literally run away from her home & took on a completely new name, identity, & even a new accent. the people she knows in her new life have no idea that she's the lost princess of a far away kingdom.

😭 CRYING - what makes them cry? do they cry easily?

marin is not an easy crier. as a child, she wasn't allowed to show too much emotion, lest she be scolded & punished, so she's built up a tough shell, & she's quite adept at keeping the tears at bay.

if she is gonna cry, it's likely going to be in a fight, be it a nasty physical altercation or argument, or a combination of the two. it'd take a lot of provocation, though, & it would take knowledge of her past self/life, which she keeps very guarded.

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

y'know, i honestly don't remember much anymore. i think i made her while i was reading through @diddlesanddoodles' dumpling story (which is excellent go read it), so i had the idea of giants & giant kingdoms in high fantasy on the brain.

something something runaway princess but make her a super tall, buff, warrior badass.

🔫 PISTOL - do they trust people easily? how easily will they turn their back to someone? have they been backstabbed before? will they betray someone if given an ultimatum?

in the years since she left her kingdom & remade herself, marin does trust a little bit easier, though she is still on constant, albeit very down low, alert for any signs that her past is coming back to bite her. (& it does.)

you could argue that marin's running away from her kingdom was a betrayal to her people, but, given the abuse she suffered through her childhood, she saw it as her only option. her dad, the king, was a real piece of work. from the day she was born, he didn't like or approve or marin at all. however, he was under a lot of scrutiny, so he couldn't just get rid of her (like he did her mother, the queen).

all of that being said, marin is very loyal to her new life & the people in it. she's not about to turn her back on anything she has now.

📎 PAPERCLIP - a random fact.

marin has learned how to brew her own ale, which she drinks with gusto

🔥 FIRE - do they have any self destructive tendencies? what habits do they have that hinder them from becoming their best self?

does the fact that her entire new life is built on a lie count? that she doesn't talk much at all about her past, even to her best friend/a man she considers her brother, & everything everyone knows about her is just not true?

though she (& i) would argue that she is her best self in her new life.

☁️ CLOUD - a soft headcanon

marin is enamored by nature. she has a very uncanny ability to move incredibly quietly, so she can/does wander into the woods, & just watches. it's a good way for her to relax that doesn't involve ale or swords.

#marin #hyena ocs #hyena asks #i rly do like her story but i haven't been able to kick my own ass into gear to write more of it

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vermilionwinds · 3 years

Text

11. Preaching to the Choir

A continuation of 4. Baleful

The Southern Front was quiet that night, save for the chirp of insects and the far off rumble of engines.

The air was like breathing in hot syrup, though. Remeraux could feel it sticking to her skin, turning the inside of her armor into a swamp. Perspiration collected on her shoulders in rivulets, to trickle clear down the small of her back and right between her asscheeks. Unpleasant. She squinted her one good eye (her swollen eye came pre-squinted, and it smarted something fierce when the rubber eyepiece bumped against it) through her binoculars as she made another sweep of the battlefield. Leaning her elbows lazily against the burlap sandbags that made up their post, she drummed her fingers against the binoculars with one hand while the other went to fiddle with the focus. Her gaze settled on a squat little warmachina, creeping over a muddy ridge on its four flat discs of feet. Remeraux always thought those ones looked a little like ducks, at least in the face. A glowing blue lens made for an eye on either side of its 'head', and a perforated dark metal barrel for a beak. It was scurrying a little too close to camp for her liking.

“Nimrod. Eleven bells. Roundabouts… two malms out, I reckon.”

Remeraux’s voice was the first sound to break the silence.

“On it.”

The second sound, another voice, in reply.

The crack of a rifle, ringing a little in Remeraux’s pointed ear, was the third.

Through her binoculars, Remeraux watched the bullet find her target. Right through that shiny blue lens, exploding that glass into powder. It sputtered sparks and blue flame from the jagged impact crater, and like a puppet separated from its strings it ceased to move. The coast looked clear enough, after that. Remeraux kept her vigil for just long enough to check for any moves of reprisal. It was a relief to find that their enemy was fine to let them take a pawn of their own, for the time being. She lowered her binoculars and withdrew for the moment, sliding down the wall back down into their foxhole.

Remeraux fiddled in the pocket of her thick, armored coat for something as she watched the woman next to her take her knee off its perch on the edge of the sack wall, exiting her perfect rifleman's stance. Joining her within the confines of their cozy little pit, she lowered the butt of the rifle, rich woods and dull metals, to the ground at her side. Remeraux found herself having to crane her neck up ever so slightly to look at her, despite how similar they were in height. It was probably because, unlike her, Misija wasn’t leaning against the wall.

Now that she thought about it, Remeraux wasn't sure that she’d ever seen the woman so much as slouch.

“Chocolate?” Remeraux asked, as she produced a foil-wrapped square from her pocket. She put the fingertip of her padded gauntlet between her teeth and yanked the whole thing off. She wasn't fussy enough to not just open her mouth when she'd pulled her hand free and let the gauntlet just drop right to the floor (just a series of planks pressed into the wet earth). Freshly dexterous, Remeraux unwrapped the foil with grimy fingers. She broke off a messy square of the pitch-black bar with a snap, and held it out to the pale Roegadyn, who just gave a nod in the affirmative and took it first into her hand, and then her mouth. The corners of those equally pale lips turned up, just a hair. Remeraux nodded, smiling in return. She didn’t manage to get many of those from Misija, although to tell the truth they'd only started spending time together recently. But, she had taken plenty of opportunities to glance at her: from across the sands of Gangos, from the other side of Utya's Aegis when she was busy with the Ironworks staff and Remeraux should have really been focusing on taking inventory.

Something about the quiet intensity she radiated, steel eyes like searchlights, gave her the feeling smiling wasn’t something she did often. The few times Misija's own gaze settled on her, though, always made her stomach tie itself in knots. It was definitely doing so now. She distracted herself from the sensation by breaking off her own hunk and shoving it in her mouth. It was shitty chocolate, bitter as sin, but it was better than anything they’d had to eat in a while.

“How’s your eye?” Misija inquired, crossing one arm over her other. Remeraux waved her off nonchalantly with her free hand, as her jaws worked through the dense matter. She swallowed.

“Better than his, I reckon. Fer a soldier, bastard couldn’t throw a punch ta save his life.”

The two women shared a chuckle, briefly flashing teeth smudged with dark chocolate. It was funny, Remeraux thought in the moment before the expression faded from Misija’s face like a snowflake that just touched ground. Usually teeth were the only thing that shone white in faces turned to a sea of brown grime, out there on the Front. For Misija, it was the opposite. Grey hair on grey skin on grey eyes on grey lips. The chocolate on her teeth was the only splash of color present on her face.

“You really didn’t need to get involved, though.” Misija exhaled through her nose, those searchlights of hers scanning Remeraux’s face as if they'd find their answers by scouring them from her skin. “My honor is not a thing that needs defending.”

Remeraux rolled her shoulders. She can’t help but inevitably brush against her ears with her shoulderpads with the gesture, they were just that big. The ears, kind of, but mostly the shoulderpads. “Ain’ just fer you. Don’t stand fer that kinda talk around me. Learned ta punch ta get it to stop a looong time ago.” She chuckled, just a few sharp exhales out of her nose, and popped another square between her lips. She extended another to Misija, who broke off one of her own.

“...The Star may have its depths of cruelties, but few of them are novel, it seems.” Misija mused, her eyes appraising the chocolate as she tilted it side to side between two fingers, before putting it into her mouth.

“Ye’re tellin’ me….” Remeraux just sat in the evening's silence, for just a moment. “Ta find it true o’ Bozja though... that was a bit of a shock, I gotta say.”

The corners of those pale lips dropped back down to a line. “Well. Consider yourself informed.” It was a level response, matter-of-fact and cold. More silence. More chewing. Remeraux couldn’t stand the quality the silence had taken on forever, and was the first one to break it.

“...I know, I know. A mite naive, I s'pose” She shrugged, apologetically. She ran her tongue across the front of her teeth, picking up stray bits of sugar. “Jus’... grew up on folk tales, about it. Bozja, that is. From me mum. An’ she was the child o’ refugees, so I guess the truth got a bit stretched in the tellins." Remeraux scratched the back of her head awkwardly, dragging her nails through short-cropped hair drenched in sweat. "But a kingdom under the sun an’ sand… A goodly queen, loved by her people… An’ a 'fine republic' af’er that.” She sighed, looking around at the wasteland of a countryside. What few structures remained, south of the old ruined capital, still half-melted into crystal at their tips, blasted back and frozen in a photograph of the devastation. ”Even if it was over before my time, it was a nice thing ta hear tell about.”

Misija just took the words in, providing nothing in the quality of her expression to act as commentary. “A nation’s truth is never the stories that it tells about itself." She said pointedly, before turning her eyes back on Remeraux. "Judging by the way you responded to those soldiers, I wouldn’t guess you exactly believe in Ishgard, the good King Thordan and his knights twelve, and the mandate of the Archbishop, blessed first among Halone’s Children…”

Remeraux cocked an eyebrow. Misija just shrugged.

“Unless my intuition is mistaken.”

“Is there somefin’ about my face that just screams Ishgard?” Remeraux gave Misija a playful punch on the shoulder, and got another smile, however slight, out of the woman. "Izzit the ears? The teeth?"

“Mostly just your name. Although I’ll freely admit to having no firsthand knowledge of the place. Imperial education may be broad, but it was rudimentary in some areas.”

Another pause for chewing.

“...Imperial education?” Remeraux asked, as neutrally as she could make the words sound.

Misija gave those silvery eyes a roll, and held out her hand for another break of the bar. Remeraux obliged.

“Don’t look so surprised. Basjalsen himself was a Legion field medic for years. You’ll find that many members of the resistance first lived under the Imperial yoke before turning against their masters.”

Remeraux just shoved the last bit of the chocolate bar in her mouth. The bitterness of it made her salivate something fierce. It was welcome relief from how quickly her throat dried out nowadays, in the moon since... since the gassing.

And it was a better thing to put into her mouth than her own foot.

“...What was it like?" Remeraux mumbled the words from around a cheek full of the candy. "Imperial schoolin', I mean."

“It was… a lifeline.” The way Misija looked at her when she said that… it was as if she left no room for argument. As if it was fact that Remeraux had no choice but to accept. “The fortunate children of Bozja enjoy claiming their homeland of old was a bastion of equality… but, tell that to those not born to the privileged few, eh? You were either born high…”

“Or low.” Remeraux finished the sentence. She spat onto the ground. The chocolate in her spittle made it blend nicely with the mud. “Don’t I know it, sis.”

Misija nodded.

“When the IVth legion took control of the country, they implemented a policy of universal education. I was fed, clothed, taught a trade. I can’t imagine I would have survived, otherwise…" Remeraux recognized that look on her face, suddenly less impossible to read. It was a face she'd seen in herself in mirrors. "...It is hard to not be grateful even. For the occupation.” She exhaled through her nose, and scowled. “The Bozja I knew as a girl deserved what it got, in the end.”

Remeraux mulled the woman’s words over. “...Honestly? I wouldn't hold that against ya.” She gave a sigh as weary as she felt, and rubbed her hands together. One bare, one gloved, crumpling the now empty foil into a ball that she continued to roll between her palms as she spoke. “The Brume, they called it in Ishgard. The ‘wrong’ part o’ town, anyways. Cute little name, ain' it?" Remeraux sneered, choking on the faux saccharinity. "An' a righ' brume it was... stuck us wif all the fog and smog an’ run-off from a city that’s far too vertical. Spent me childhood suckin’ up smoke an’ fumes, as our folks barely could afford us bread on th’ table…” She tossed the ball underhand, caring not where in the foxhole it landed. “Knew I’d go mad if I kept livin’ like that, if I didn’t jus’ starve one day. I jus’... I dunno.”

She could feel those words creep up onto her tongue. They were words that were always rattling around the inside of her chest, until they had to try and climb out of her throat. They tasted acrid, caustic, and had grown in her like bile since the day she returned home for the first time, to a life frozen solid. The day she’d seen what had become of her sister. And every day it seemed, at some point or another, she had to swallow them down hard, and they scratched the inside of her throat as they travelled back down.

Remeraux looked at Misija, and something about the way she returned that gaze, as if appraising her anew, made the core of her being flare hotter than the air around them. Not for the first time, the thought of pressing her lips against Misija's own came unbidden to her mind. She could almost imagine what it would be like for the woman to explore her mouth. How small she would feel in the light of the woman's intensity. But now... she bet she’d taste those same words on Misija's tongue as she took it between her lips. And with that thought... for once, she let them spill.

“Ishgard deserved a hell of a lot worse.”

The corner of those pale lips turned up. Just one of them, enough to show a flash of teeth. Like a lion reminding you of the quality of its jaws. Something about the sight sent a new thrill through Remeraux. It was a dizzying thing, to let lose with words she'd nearly choked on and still be met with approval. A hungry approval. And for once, it was Misija to push through the space between them. She put a hand on her shoulder. It was a simple thing. A simple touch. Even through her armor, her palm seared into Remeraux’s skin.

“...We should get back to our posts, no?”

"...Righ'."

Remeraux swallowed, her mouth dry all over again, and clambered back up with her binoculars.

“...’Nother nimrod. Two bells. Jus’ over the ridge.”

“On it.”

Another crack of Misija’s rifle, as her bullet found its mark.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #RemerauxWrites

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waiting4inspiration · 4 years

Text

Darkness before Dawn II: Secrets come Out

Summary: While Uza accuses you of planning this entire thing, more secrets come to light

Warnings: mentions of abuse, strong language, mentions of blood, angst, family conflict, mentions of infidelity

Word Count: 2,588

Darkness before Dawn Masterlist II The Witcher Masterlist

Dominic is shocked and confused as he replays Geralt’s words in his head. A murmur falls over the room and he looks over to Charlotte who now stands along with Uza. He shakes his head and glances back down at you. “But Charlotte is my firstborn…” he drifts off, his face falling in realization as he slowly turns his body around to face his wife.

Uza swallows deeply as her eyes grow wide in fear. Your eyes flicker between your mother and father as you continue to clutch your wounded arm to your chest. Geralt stares at Charlotte and begins to notice how she has no resemblance to the king. Uza’s gaze falls on you and she slowly begins to walk around the table. “How dare you insinuate such things and stage this entire thing so you can take the throne from your sister!” she shouts, your body going tense as you take in a deep breath and shift slightly back.

“No. Mother, I swear. I didn’t,” you say. And when Geralt looks back down at you, he finds you trembling with fear as your mother walks closer to you, your head shaking profoundly as you look at her with fear in your eyes. Almost the same kind of fear he saw when you were attacked.

Uza shakes her head and balls a hand into a fist as she steps as close to you as Dominic is. “Lies. You hired someone to make it seem like you are the firstborn daughter,” she yells, forgetting that there is a crowd in her presence and raises her arm.

You whimper and cower behind your wounded arm. Dominic quickly grabs his wife’s arm and Geralt raises his sword so that it shields you from any assault Uza had in mind. “Enough,” Geralt growls, moving so that he stands beside you and holds the sword out in front of him, still pointed at your mother.

Uza’s eyes snap towards Dominic as he pushes her arm away and steps closer to her. “You have been raising your hand against my daughter?” he questions, Uza stepping back as her hands grip the skirts of her dress in guilt. “How could you? My own flesh and blood.”

“She’s my daughter too,” Uza spits back, making you flinch at the harshness of her words and pulling Geralt’s attention back to you again.

Geralt looks over to Jaskier and nods his head to you, silently asking him to help you out of the room.

Jaskier slings the lute over his back and rushes forward, breaking the harsh stare Dominic has on Uza and he glances around the crowd staring in shock at the drama happening among the royal family. “Everyone, piss off. Now,” Dominic orders. And no one even thinks to hesitate because of the murderous look in the king’s eyes.

You turn your head to Jaskier who kneels down beside you and find yourself smiling when he smiles at you. “May I be of some assistance in escorting you to your chambers, princess?” he whispers, holding out his hand as a peaceful gesture to you.

“I would like that,” you whisper back, placing your hand in his and letting him help you stand to your feet.

Your mother glares at Jaskier as he helps you stand. You’ve actually known Jaskier for a long time and have become good friends over time. Your mother doesn’t like that you mingle with a bard and has tried to keep you away from him. But somehow, he always manages to sneak in and spend time with you when he’s in the kingdom.

Geralt notices the way you’re not afraid to touch Jaskier or let him touch you. And it is touches that tell him that you two are more than just acquaintances. He turns in an attempt to follow you, to make sure whatever attacked you doesn’t come back. But the king snaps his fingers, making the three of you freeze and turn back around to face him.

“You three will stay,” Dominic says, your gaze shifting to Jaskier who gives a nervous gulp because of the way the queen continues to glare at him. “Charlotte, leave.”

“As future queen, I wish to-”

“I said leave!” Dominic cuts her off, turning to look at her and show the anger and rage in his face. Charlotte pulls her hands away from the table and takes a step back in fright before turning to rush out the hall.

Dominic waits for a moment of silence before turning back around to face you. His eyes drop to the claw marks on your forearm and he takes in a deep, sad breath. Jaskier helps you sit on a chair and kneel in front of you as he turns his attention to your wounded arm. He smiles at how he imagines these wounds would be on Geralt’s arm and not yours.

Still, Jaskier starts to peel away the shredded material away from the cuts as your father turns towards your mother. “I want the truth right now,” he sternly says, glaring coldly at her and making your head lift up to her. “Why is it that a witch comes into my palace, curses my firstborn daughter, and my second born ends up cursed?” Uza doesn’t say a thing because she knows that he already knows the truth. “I will tell you why. It is because Charlotte isn’t my daughter, is she?”

Uza tenses her jaw and pulls her lips into a thin line as her eyes glance over to you. “No. You are not my Charlotte’s father,” she states, shocking you at how calm she is about all this when your father is practically fuming.

“You venomous viper,” Dominic spits at her.

Geralt’s eyes flicker over to you when you hiss in pain, his eyes landing on your wounds and he spots something on your skin and a little glimpse of something peeking out the material of the unripped part of your sleeve. Around your wrist, in between the claw slashes, Geralt can make out a prominent handprint. “You’ve done more than just raise your hand to your daughter as a way of discipline,” he speaks, making Uza and Dominic turn to look at him. “You’ve left marks on her body to remind her of her place below Charlotte.”

Uza’s mouth drops open and she looks over to Dominic who, in turn, glares over to her. Geralt looks over to you and finds that you have your head hanging low and have pulled your arm out of Jaskier’s hold to wrap it in the skirts of your dress, hiding it from his sight.

“The Witcher is lying. How dare he suggest such a thing-” Uza tries to defend herself, glaring at Geralt coldly as she takes a step forward.

“Enough!” Dominic cuts her off, your head lifting to look at him in fright as he pulls out a dagger from his side.

Then he turns to you. Jaskier moves away from in front of you as he begins to walk forward, a breath catches in your throat as your eyes flicker over to catch the warning glare your mother sends to you. Looking up to your father when he stands in front of you, you see how his face has changed from when he was glaring down your mother. There’s an almost calm, soft look in his eyes as he holds out his hand to you. “May I?” he questions, nodding towards the sleeves on your arms and holding the dagger tightly in his hands.

You look back to your mother who’s glare only hardens, and your father sees the fear in your eyes.

Gently cupping the side of your face in his hand, he gets you to look back at him and sweetly caresses your cheek. “She won’t hurt you anymore. I promise,” he whispers, giving you a reassuring smile.

Sighing deeply, you give a quick, timid nod and let him take your unwounded arm. Slipping the dagger under the sleeve, he starts to cut a line all the way up your forearm until reaching your elbow. And he takes in a deep breath to find your skin littered with ugly-colored bruises. He can’t imagine where else you may have them.

“What about the hot months?” he questions, looking up at your face when he remembers how you wear short-sleeved dresses when the days start to get hotter.

You shake your head at him. “She just makes sure they are not visible.” The words fall off your tongue before you can stop them and you drop your head in shame.

Dominic sighs sadly and turns his head to look at Uza. “You and I will deal with this later. Right now,” he starts, turning to face Geralt and stepping towards him. “Name your price, Witcher, and I will pay you to find this witch that cursed my daughter and have her remove it,” he says, ignoring the way Uza laughs behind him.

Geralt glances down at you for a moment, thinking about the witch as he grunts to himself. “Witches are not easy to find. They appear and then disappear without leaving any kind of trace,” he mentions, looking back at Dominic and noticing the way Uza freezes and perks up in interest. “This one seemed to have a personal vendetta against you. The only link I will have to her is you.”

Dominic sees where this is going, what Geralt means and nods his head in understanding. “Is there a way we can break this curse without the witch?” he questions.

“Maybe.” Geralt looks down at you, your eyes flickering between your father and him and an almost hopeful look in your eyes. “Until we know what this curse really is, what the spirit wants from her-”

“A spirit?” Jaskier interrupts, a force of habit to question what Geralt had just said whenever he mentions something non-human.

Geralt nods his head and hums a confirmation. “The fact that it’s invisible to everyone but her and the claw mark means that it’s a spirit. And because it’s affected by silver, means that it’s not a friendly one,” he explains, looking at you when you breathe a shaky breath. “It wants something for her. Either to torment her, or for something else. I don’t know yet. But it will come back.”

Your eyes are wide with fear when you look up at him and hearing that it will come back makes you grip the wound still wrapped in your skirts.

Your father nods his head. “Then I will pay you extra coin to protect her from this spirit,” he states, earning a scoff from Uza which he ignores yet again.

Nodding his head in agreement, you feel a sense of relief to hear that the Witcher has agreed to protect you from this thing. “You might want to consider getting a Mage,” Geralt mentions, turning to face you and nodding to your arm. “You should get that checked before it gets infected,” he suggests, earning a nod from you as you stand to your feet again.

When the doors close behind you after walking out the room, Jaskier at your side and Geralt behind you two, you can hear your father and mother shouting at each other. It makes you breathe out a long sigh and drop your head between your shoulders.

Geralt notices how Jaskier’s hand goes to your back the moment your head drops, how every turn in the corridors on the path to your chambers seem so natural to the bard. Jaskier has been here before. He’s been to your chambers before.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here for your birthday,” Jaskier mentions, making Geralt frown and tilt his head slightly. “But I was busy dying because of a Djinn.”

Geralt rolls his eyes as you chuckle at his words and glance up at him. “It’s alright. We both know that my mother would haven’t let you see me anyway,” you state, shrugging your shoulders as you turn another corner.

Jaskier hums and nods his head. “But we both know I would have made a plan to see you,” he states, making you laugh and turn to face him when you reach your chamber doors.

“I know,” you whisper, holding your injured arm close to your body.

He reaches past you and opens the door. “I’ll go see if I can find anything for that,” he says, nodding to your arm and stepping backward as he turns to smile at Geralt. “And I’ll let you two get to know each other better.”

When he smirks at Geralt, the Witcher realizes why he was dragged to this feast in the first place. And it wasn’t to protect him from any lords that want to kill him, but for him to meet you. Geralt glares at Jaskier before he turns around to walk away.

Geralt glances down at you and finds you standing in your chambers behind the door, waiting for him to walk in and join you. He grunts to himself and walks into your chambers, your eyes cast to the ground as you slowly close to the door.

He glances around the room. In one corner, close to a window, he finds an array of paints, paintbrushes, and an incomplete painting on an easel. But he doesn’t walk closer to see what the painting is. He only turns around to look at you and you sit in a seat with your gaze on your arm. “You’re in pain,” he mutters, stepping forward as your head snaps up to him.

You shake your head. “I’ll be fine,” you whisper, your eyes returning to your wounds before you look at your tattered sleeves that expose the faint bruises on your skin. “I guess I won’t be wearing this dress again,” you say with a small laugh on your voice, trying to lighten the mood as you look up at him.

“Then I don’t suppose you mind if I do this,” he speaks, grabbing the sleeve your father cut and rips it off the shoulder. You gasp at the sound of the tear and look down as he kneels in front of you and starts to wrap the material like a bandage around the claw-mark on your forearm. “It’s not a good idea to let wounds dry. It’s best to keep them moist and covered,” he whispers, focusing on trying not to hurt you.

But being focused on your wounds causes him to miss the smile on growing on your face. “Jaskier was right.” That makes his glance up at you and frown. “You are smart. And..very good with your hands,” you chuckle, looking back down at the makeshift bandage he’s wrapped around your forearm.

Geralt laughs and pushes himself up in front of you before sitting on the edge on the seat across from you. “You and Jaskier seem close,” he mentions, making you nod your head and bite your lower lip.

“He’s probably the only friend I have,” you mention, smiling to yourself as you think of all the times you and Jaskier have snuck behind your mother’s back to have some time alone.

Geralt hums and folds his hands in front of him. Friend. You and Jaskier are friends. And he thought that maybe you and the bard have some other kind of relationship other than just friends. But he won’t ask you that question. He doesn’t even know you. Besides, he’s being paid to protect you from this curse.

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morceid · 3 years

Text

Beating the Dead Swan

Chapter 2: lonely angels wrapped in silk

read on ao3

<- chapter one

Summary: Penelope gives the profiles of Camille and other victims like her to the team.

Word Count: 1928

Category: angst

Content Warnings: general criminal minds murder stuff

A/N: noting here that this fic takes place in 2005 when criminal minds starts and spencer is 24

It started out a simple equivocal death investigation. Seven women had been found in their apartments, dead with their wrists slashed. Unfortunately not an unusual occurrence, Detective Conner thought nothing of it. Upon trying to contact the employers of each victim, Conner found they all worked for the same people, and decided to mark them down for further investigation just in case. When the fourth victim was found in her father’s beach house just outside of Virginia, the case became federal and handed to the FBI.

The case, being low priority, was given to Derek Morgan to monitor the progress of.

“You’re completely sure there’s nothing about the bodies that connect these victims?”

“Agent Morgan, if there was anything I would tell you. I think it’s time you tell Detective Conner to rule these deaths a suicide.”

“Alright, will do.” Derek hung up with the coroner. Just then his mobile phone rang with the number of the detective displayed on the top of the screen. Derek sighed.

“Agent Morgan.” He answered.

“Agent, there’s another victim-”

“Conner, listen, they aren’t connected, there is no signature unless you can consider the suicide, I think you oughtta-”

“She was called in by a friend. Not a family member, not an apartment manager, not a coworker, a real friend. Derek, he’s devolving.”

Derek sighed, “Detective, I’ll let you send her body over to the coroner but I doubt there will be anything remarkable.”

There was some mumbling on the other end of the line before Detective Conner gave a response.

“That’s the thing, Agent Morgan, this victim is remarkable. She had piercing holes in her ears just like the others.”

“And how is that remarkable?”

“Her ears weren’t pierced.”

“And you’re sure about that, Detective?”

“Her best friend swears it. Do you think they could be puncture marks?”

��I’m not sure, let me tell Doctor Phyllis.”

Derek set down his mobile phone and dialed the coroner on his office phone.

“Doctor Phyllis?”

“You back again so soon, Agent?”

“Look, we got a new victim, she's got puncture marks on her ears. Not piercings, puncture marks. Can you check the other victims to make sure they’re not puncture marks?”

“Okay, give me a minute.”

Derek heard the sound of doors opening.

“Well, shit, they are puncture marks. On every single ear.”

“Thanks, Doctor Phyllis.”

Derek hung up on the office phone.

“Do I still have you here, Detective?”

“Yep. Were they piercings?”

“Nope. Bring in the girl’s friend and call in the family members of the other victims. We’re gonna need to talk to them.”

Derek hung up the phone and ran up to Hotch’s office.

“Something up, Morgan?” Hotch asked.

“You know that case Detective Conner asked me to look into?”

“The one with the suicides?”

“Yeah, well they might not be suicides. I’m having Conner bring in some people to ask them some questions. You mind if I ask Rossi and Prentiss to help?”

“Of course not, but if we get another case then leave the questioning for Detective Conner, alright?”

“Gotcha, boss.”

Derek gathered Rossi, Prentiss, and Penelope in the break room to discuss the case.

“Babygirl, you want to read out the profiles of our victims?”

“Reluctantly,” Penelope pulled up each of the files onto her laptop. “Danica Wilson, a 45 year old woman, was found by her landlord. She grew up in Victoria, Canada, but when she was 12, her parents got a divorce. Her mother moved her and her three siblings to North Dakota shortly after. All throughout highschool she seemed immensely interested in biology and chemistry. She was really good at it too, she took AP classes and she was a promising student. Unfortunately, her mom didn’t want her to do anything of the sort, and set her up for ballet classes her junior year. To appease her mom she studied the history of dance during college and ended up climbing up from an intern at a dance company all the way to a choreographer. Her love for science was still there the whole way through though, she’s been taking free college courses online for biology for about a year. She was found with her wrists slashed and spread out in a star shape on the middle of her bed. There were no fingerprints anywhere in her home and the slashes appeared to be self inflicted. Her mom died a week before she was found, all of her siblings live in other states, and she didn't have any close friends. She never dated, even though she had perfect brown eyes and blonde hair. According to her siblings she had all of the boys at her school after her. Despite there being no evidence of depression or other mental illness officers deemed her mothers death as a stressor and marked her death a suicide.”

“Then we have Maya Peto, 22 years old, found by her sister.”

“So there’s no age preference?” Rossi asked.

“Precisely,” Penelope continued, “She grew up in Detroit. Her parents raised her in a Christian household and shes been openly gay since she was 18. Her dad died when she was 14, leaving Maya and one sister to be raised by their mother. She did exceptionally well in math, but seemed to have no interest in pursuing it as a career. Instead, she became captain of her dance team in highschool and went to Wirtson’s Dance Academy for college. Her last year there, she was picked by Next Star Theatre Company, the same one as all of the other victims, to be on their ballet team. She was found just like Danica, and would be just like the rest of the victims. Her now ex-girlfriend and her had a kid, his name is Gene, he’s a year old, and Maya had full custody of him because Khloe, the girlfriend, had begun doing drugs about a week after Gene was born. How could lesbians have a child? Khloe was cheating. Maya gained full custody of Gene after a year long legal battle, and she had left him with her sister for a weekend while she baby proofed her house. Unfortunately, when she went to Maya’s apartment to return Gene, she found her dead. It was the anniversary of her father’s death when she was found, so the ever so ignorant officers deemed it another suicide.

“Then we have Annie Carr, 24. A coworker found her. Born here in Virginia, Annie was raised by her dad after her mom died when she was about one. She seemed to have a pretty awesome life. Her dad worked two jobs and she’s never had all that much money, but she was a happy kid. She went to a community college and ended up taking the same internship that Danica Wilson took, but she has stayed in that internship for years, mooching money off of her dad and siblings. Mabel Golden, the coworker that found her, claims that there’s no way Annie could’ve killed herself. She didn’t show any signs of depression or mental illness, though she could be pessimistic at times. Mabel said their boss was threatening to let her go, seeing as she hasn’t improved her work ethic in the last five years. Deemed another suicide.

“The fourth victim was Valentine Orange, 36, found by her father. She grew up in Maryland, started acting and dancing at six, her family was pretty wealthy, and she got accepted into the same dance academy and theatre company as Maya Peto. She also danced on the same ballet team. She told her team leader she was going away for a week to her father’s beach house, and when her father came to get her on the day she was supposed to leave, he found her in the guest bedroom, just like the other victims. The beach house was located in Maryland, and due to Detective Cooper’s hunch, the case got handed to us for an equivocal death investigation.

“Francis Falstaff, our fifth victim, was found by her adoptive mother. She was 22. Both of her parents died in a car crash a month after she was born, so she grew up in a multitude of foster homes. When she was ten her and her sister were adopted by Baron Falstaff and Maggie Falstaff. They seemed to be good parents. They went to all of their school events and paid for both of the girls’ college tuition. Francis was trying to make it into the same theatre company that employed the rest of the victims, specifically to work as a jazz dancer. She seemed to have killed herself, just like the rest of the victims, but her mom insists that she couldn’t have. She had a very promising life ahead of her. When they dissected her room they found an evidence board in the back of her closet. Her sister, Yvette, was stabbed to death a couple years back on the way to a party, and Francis was obsessed with finding the killer. Which is why she didn’t have many friends. When it was all processed, they found that the evidence led to Yvette’s boyfriend at the time. It was assumed that this weighed heavily enough on Francis that she ended up, well you know, on the same day she found out.

“Jane Sweeney, the second to last victim who worked on the Next Star Theatre Company ballet team, was 29. She’s been with the company since she was 20, and unfortunately her private teacher was the one who found her. Her father left when she was young. She liked expressing all of her success, almost narcissistically so. According to some other people on the dance team she was the best dancer and loved flaunting it. She was a kind of queen bee and seemed to value herself more than others most of the time. It just doesn’t make sense for her to kill herself.

“Lillian Bonner was the next victim. She was 54. She taught modern dance at the company. She lived with and was found by her only son, Tyrell, who she had with her husband Ivan. Though they were still legally married, the two were separated. Tyrell, who’s 16, said she was a fantastic mom. She always made sure he was fed and had someone to talk to. He told her practically everything about his life and he is having a really difficult time without her. He doesn’t believe that she would do that to herself.

“Our last victim was Camille Price. She was 25. Her best friend, Spencer Reid, who was on the same ballet team, found her. She was the only one who really had people around her. She grew up in Virginia with her parents and two brothers, one older, one younger. She visited them whenever she could. Everyone in her apartment building loved her, she even made dinner for one of the elderly occupants every Friday. Spencer doubts there is anything that would want to make her commit suicide, and to put the icing on the cake, there were puncture marks on her ears that police mistook for piercings. ‘What were they?’ you ask? Injection sites. How do we know this? Spencer swore that there was no way they could be piercings because Camille never wore earrings the entire 8 years he knew her because the Next Star Theatre Company does not allow their dancers to wear piercings or jewelry.”

“Alright, let’s go see if these people got any info for us.” Rossi got out of his seat and headed towards the interview rooms.

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#moreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #original female character #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #tw murder #tw death #tw bruises #emily prentiss #david rossi #penelope garcia #angst #criminal minds angst

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phantom-curve · 3 years

Text

someday this will have a real title pt. 3

wow this one got away from me a lil bit. did I use it as an excuse to listen to Wake Up on repeat for an hour? yes. did I cry while writing it? yes. do with that information what you will.

I really like how this is turning out. honestly, thinking of writing a companion piece from Luke’s POV once I finish Julie’s. also, I realized while writing this that Luke basically ‘poofs’ into Julie’s space every time he interacts with her even though he’s not a ghost and I love that consistency.

still have no idea how long this will be, so thanks for just going on this adventure with me!

tag list: @blue-hat-girl, @lwhoscribbles (thank you! honestly, they’ve got such strong voices writing these characters is a delight. also, titles are hard), @bluefyoto94 (thank you!), @5sosmukefan, @moonlightxnder, @leahthewonder lemme know if you want to be added!

The second the entrance of Los Feliz High School was in her sight, Julie was unbuckling her seatbelt, bolting out of the car in a mad dash to escape into the academic institution. Luke didn’t even have time to fully park the car before she had slipped out of it, her curly head disappearing into the mass of students surging through the front doors as the first bell began to ring. Social etiquette dictated that she wait around long enough to at least thank Luke for the ride, but honestly, social etiquette could suck a fat one. She had been dealing with fake social graces for the last year and frankly, she was sick of all of the bullshit. She didn’t feel particularly inclined to extend said graces to overconfident band boys intent on disrupting her carefully constructed routine.

For the last year Luke had been content to ignore her presence in the few classes they shared, perfectly happy basking in the glory of being an upperclassman with unprecedented musical talent. Luke knew exactly where he was going and how he was going to get there. He didn’t stop to wait for the school to hook him up with gigs, he went out and made the shows happen for his band himself. Julie had always admired his confidence, wished she could be more like him.

She hadn’t always loved the cockier side to his attitude though. He had a tendency to act like god’s gift to music and it drove her insane considering there were kids at this school that worked just as hard as him but wouldn’t ever make it quite as far. Not everyone could be born with that kind of talent, but that didn’t mean he had to rub other people’s faces in it! She should know, hadn’t she always been complimented on her musical ability before anything else? And now that she didn’t have that same gift to offer up to the masses, wasn’t she just another forgotten face in the crowd?

Head low, shoulders hunched against the onslaught of emotion, Julie pushed her way through the morning crowd of students. She didn’t look up until she knew her locker would be in front of her, and even then she only lifted her head long enough to bury it inside of the metal box, pretending she was searching for the schoolbooks already in her backpack.

“Hey, under achiever.”

The familiar voice was warm, the nickname affectionate instead of insulting. It pulled a reluctant smile from Julie as she turned to meet her best friend’s gentle gaze.

“Hey, disappointment.”

Flynn gave her a little hip bump and a sad smile. Oh. So, word had already spread around the school.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Julie hefted her backpack higher on her shoulder, one hand reaching to pull her hat low. Too late she recognized how her own actions almost mirrored Luke’s earlier. Flynn, best friend that she was, linked her arm through Julie’s and began to lead them down the hallway towards homeroom.

“Okay.”

Julie breathed a sigh of relief. Her best friend could be like a dog with a bone sometimes, unable to let any perceived injustice go without a fight. She was thankful she had avoided whatever rant Flynn had at the ready for the time being.

“But we’re gonna have to talk about it eventually, Jules. You can’t just let them kick you out! You’re Julie Molina! Voice of an angel! Queen of-!”

Or maybe not. Flynn’s declarations cut off immediately at the cold look Julie sent her way.

“Right, don’t wanna talk about it.”

Julie nodded fiercely, unmoved by Flynn’s disappointed sigh as she pulled out of her grasp and slipped into her desk. Flynn hadn’t lost her mom and her ability to play music all at once. Flynn didn’t have the entire school breathing down her neck. Flynn’s life wasn’t falling apart in front of her eyes. Flynn didn’t get to judge. Head down, Julie fought back the feelings of shame and guilt, focusing on her anger instead.

She made it through most of the day like that, relying solely on the fuel her fury provided to get her through her classes. Until her last two classes of the day. Composition and Solo Vocal Studies. Except, she wasn’t in those classes anymore. She had been dropped from them like the useless failure that she was. Her dad still didn’t know, so there hadn’t been a meeting with the school to change her schedule. But she couldn’t just go to a class she had been asked to leave. The final bell rang, and Julie was left by herself in the empty hallways. She glanced at the closed classroom doors around her, feeling small and lost. Suddenly, the red-hot rage that had sustained her all day was doused by an overwhelming wave of sadness. She was alone.

Unable to stomach the thought of losing it in the middle of the school, Julie sprinted for the nearest exit. Her surroundings were a blur until she practically slammed into the metal doors, crashing her way outside. She took a few steps before doubling over on her knees, gasping for breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, focused on nothing more than the air going in and out of her lungs. It was breezy, the warm wind blowing her hair around, the wayward curls tickling her face. The sensation helped to ground her, and she finally opened her eyes, the panic receding as she stood. The door creaked open behind her. Julie stiffened at the noise. The hair on the back of her neck felt electrified, and she didn’t have to hear him speak to know who it was. A throat cleared.

“You, um...you dropped this.”

She heard fabric rustling, the soft swoosh of what must be his arm lifting. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, the frustration she’d been thriving on all day creeping in at the edges. She clung to it like a lifeline as she turned to meet his puppy dog eyes.

“What, are you stalking me or something?!”

Her voice was hoarse, not as strong or snappy as she had intended. She balled her hands into tight fists at her sides, ready to verbally attack as she leaned forward waiting for him to respond. He didn’t say anything, eyes soft as he looked down to where his hand was outstretched holding...her hat. Her hands flew to her head, landing on hair instead of the trusty ballcap she had kept perched there for the last year. So that’s how her curls had gotten loose earlier. Heat rose again, burning its way up from her chest to her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She snatched it out of his hands, shoving it back on her head with more force than necessary.

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing. You, uh, bolted outta there pretty quick. Everything okay?”

She watched him bob slightly, like he couldn’t stop moving for even a second. His voice was melodic, somehow everything he said sounding like he was on the verge of bursting into song. In another life, she probably would have been charmed by him. Not in this life though.

“Fine. Looks like I’m done with school for the day I guess.”

She practically sneered at him. Something about his gentle prodding scratched at her. Everyone knew she was a disaster. Everyone knew she was out of the music program, a washed up has been before she had been able to even make it in the first place. He didn’t need to use the kid gloves with her.

“Oh yeah, I forgot you usually have...”

He trailed off, eyes downcast, hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. She glared, not even noticing that he somehow knew her schedule.

“Yeah. Usually. Not anymore. So.”

He rocked back on his heels, hands shoved in his jean pockets, arms flexing in an unfairly aggressive display of hotness. His eyes were still looking at her with that same gentle expression. Like he cared. Her fingertips itched and she realized with a start that she desperately wanted to grab her keyboard and pound out an angry ballad about this...this too nice fuckboy with a pretty face and she could see the notes forming now and she could practically feel the smooth chill of the keys under her fingers and...she staggered backwards.

What the hell was that?! Her heart raced, adrenaline spiking. Oh no. No no no. She couldn’t want to play for this dumb boy. She hadn’t been able to play for her dad or her brother. She hadn’t been able to play for Flynn, hadn’t been able to play for her mother. She couldn’t even play for herself! What kind of special magic did Luke freakingPatterson possess that made her want to play again? It wasn’t fair.

“I gotta go.”

She swerved around him, reaching for the school doors. They held fast, locked from the inside. Her shoulders slumped. Just her luck.

“Hey, Julie?”

She didn’t answer, but it didn’t stop him.

“I’m really sorry about your mom. She was an incredible songwriter. You are too.”

The last part was said quietly but Julie heard it anyway. She couldn’t help but scoff as she turned to face him again. He stood perfectly still this time.

“How would you know that?”

His eyes, still so soft, crinkled a bit at the edges. Not a full smile, but she could tell he wanted to. Without breaking their stare down, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn, folded square of paper. Her gaze dipped, eyes widening. Her breath caught in her throat. It couldn’t be. He held it out to her.

“I found it last year. In the practice room. I know I should have given it to you earlier, but there was never a right time. I’m sorry.”

Julie’s vision swam. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she reached out to take the paper he offered.

“I thought...I tried to...”

“I know.”

His voice was the sweetest croon as his fingers closed around hers, tucking the sheet music safely into her palm.

“I went back the next day, but...it was gone.”

“I’m so sorry. God, I should have had Alex give it to Flynn or something.”

“No.” She locked her eyes on his once more. “It wasn’t the right time.”

He gave her a small smile, bouncing just a bit on the balls of his feet again. And then, as if understanding that she needed this moment to herself, he gave her a small nod and disappeared around the side of the building. Julie closed her eyes for a moment, clutching the papers to her chest.

Last year, in a fit of heartbroken rage and unable to express herself through music like she had for her entire life, Julie had locked herself in the practice room after school and thrown an all-out tantrum. She had screamed herself sick, cried until she couldn’t breathe, and in a final fit of uncontrollable emotion, trashed the last song that she had written with her mother, finished just days before she took her last breath. It had been satisfying in the moment. A vow to give up the part of herself that was made up of her mother, cut the pain off at the source so to speak. She had regretted it the instant she woke up the next morning, but it was too late. By the time she got to school, the first student on campus even, the practice room had already been cleaned. The hollowed out, empty feeling of loss that had followed had been gut wrenching. The realization that she had thrown the last connection to her mother in the trash left a gaping hole in her heart. It had been a fitting punishment that Julie had never even gotten to play the final product. A fitting punishment that she would never play anything again.

Luke had just changed all of that. He had given her that piece of her heart back. Fingers trembling, she unfolded the pages. She traced the looping letters of her mother’s familiar handwriting, following the notes up and down the bars, the melody playing in her head as she read. At the very end, a final message she had missed before:

Julie, you can do it.

Love, Mom

It felt like coming home. Pages clutched to her heart once more, Julie leaned against the building, lifted her face to the sky, and wept.

#you guys this was supposed to be a fun lil writing exercise and now it's a full on fanfic #that's honestly v on brand for me #also this was supposed to be fluffy! blame julie for the angst!!#julie and the phantoms #jatp #juke #jukebox #julie x luke #luke x julie #julie molina #luke patterson #palina #Mads speaks #Mads writes #jatp ficlet #jatp fanfic #jule ficlet #juke fanfic #find the strength find the melody

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that-sw-writer · 4 years

Text

Empress for the Evening

Note: it’s 2am and I’m really out here writing one shots... true clownery

Summary: You hated First Order Galas. Having to plaster on a fake smile and act cordial towards hundreds of people who you barely knew was not your ideal way to spend the evening. But when the Supreme Leaders takes an interest in you, you realise that perhaps the night won’t be as boring as you had anticipated.

Word count: 3257

Warnings: None really, just a lotta fluff

PART TWO

Y/N hated these big First Order galas.

Once every cycle the leader of the Order's allied planets gathered for a spectacular event filled with schmoozing, and usually plenty of boozing. Hundreds of Kings, Queens, Princes and Princesses would be in attendance as well as the First Order officials.

Usually you would attend with your father, the reigning King, but he had recently fallen ill and was unable to accompany you, leaving Princess Y/N to attend alone. Your planet boasted one of the most extensive steel industries in the galaxy, which frequently saw other leaders making bids for cuts of the produce.

Without your father with you it was your job to guide any negotiations which you were not as experienced in by a long shot, but you had spent years attending diplomatic events and watching your father interact with others. He had always told you that you were a natural diplomat, and tonight you were determined to prove that you were.

Your planet provided the First Order with much needed steel in exchange for healthy profits and protection. That deal functioned perfectly, and your father had strictly said that there was no room for further investors at the moment - the worry was that the older, more experienced diplomats would try and take advantage of the young Princess. But you had no intention of letting that happen.

The event was being hosted aboard the Finalizer, one of the biggest ships in the First Order's fleet. You were relieved to have your handmaidens with you - they were only there for assist with you hair and makeup, but they were close friends of yours and their company was valuable.

Having arrived a few hours prior, you were now in your quarters for the evening. They were certainly luxurious, but there was little time to admire them before you were being fussed over by the your three handmaidens.

"Are you excited for tonight my Lady?" The eldest of the three, Kira, asked you.

"I suppose so. I've never had to attend alone, it's quite daunting." You gave a short laugh.

"I'm sure you'll do just fine, nobody will be able to deny you when they see you in your dress." The woman working on your hair, Flora, gave you a sweet smile.

"Flora's right, you'll be the centre of attention!" Jeyne added - she was the youngest of the three, and her optimism was always up-lifting.

"I'm not sure I want to be the centre of attention." You chuckled, "I think I'd happily settle for nobody paying me attention!" You were only half joking.

You had only ever seen First Order officials when they visited your planet, and they were always intimidating individuals, particularly the Supreme Leader. He was a force to be reckoned with, and your instinct told you to stay away from a man as notoriously dangerous as him.

A few minutes before the Gala officially started your handmaidens had just finished putting the finishing touches to your appearance. You moved to look at yourself in the mirror and couldn't help but admire the gorgeous craftsmanship on your dress.

It was layers of black satin, topped with chiffon. There were two slits either side of your legs, allowing the dress to beautifully flow behind you as you walked. The black was broken up by gold embellishments around your waist, which stretched up and over your shoulders - they accentuated your figure perfectly.

Your hair was styled in an elaborate up-do, one which was associated with your planet's traditions. Your makeup was not too heavy, it gave your face a natural glow and complimented the dress with small gold flakes meeting the gold embellishments at your shoulder and travelling up the side of your face.

You couldn't deny that you looked truly regal tonight.

"You ladies are magicians." You were in awe at the transformation they had performed, and they all just proudly smiled at you.

A sharp knock came from the blast door, a Storm Trooper's voice following, "Princess Y/L/N, we're here to escort you."

You bid goodnight to your handmaidens, who had been assigned their own shared quarters next door to yours. They all gushed as you left the room, wishing you a good night, hoping you enjoy yourself and everything in between.

As the two Storm Troopers led you to the reception hall where the Gala was to be held you couldn't help but feel powerful with your dress flowing behind you, posture straight to match.

Despite looking powerful, the second you entered the reception hall and were deserted by your escorts you felt tiny. A few heads turned your way, muttering to the other people stood in their socialising circles.

The room was huge, decorated in lavish red and black ornaments. A staging area with a band playing music and a dancing floor connected where a few couples were already swaying together to the beat. What caught your eye was a long staircase, leading to a large blast door - you assumed that's where the important people were able to enter.

You inhaled a deep breath and grabbed a glass of champagne, taking a dainty sip. Part of you wanted to just down the entire glass there and then, but you had an appearance to uphold.

A few more people were filtering in, and very soon a voice rang through the room, grabbing everyone's attention.

"Presenting Supreme Leader Kylo Ren."

The room broke out into applause as the young leader walked into the room through the blast door and made his way down the stairs. His expression was flat, posture poised - it seemed as though he barely wanted to be here, and honestly you couldn't blame him.

You realised you had been standing alone for some time, so it was time to plaster on a fake smile and start socialising. There was one group of people where you recognised a majority of the aristocrats, so you approached them and they all greeted you with wide smiles.

"Princess, it's so good to see you."

"What a lovely young woman you've grown up to become."

"It's such a shame your father couldn't be here tonight, do send him my best."

"If your mother could see you now she would be so proud."

You spent a long time feigning laughter, and showing your gratitude when you heard these remarks over and over again as the night went on. You felt uneasy for a lot of the night, even though you didn't show it. It was as if someone was constantly watching you, but every time you looked around you couldn't see anyone looking your way.

You wished someone would give you a conversation with some more substance... But sometimes you should be careful what you wish for. Just at that moment Baron Eastley approached, and he had a smug grin plastered across his face. He ruled over Bracca, the scrapper planet - your father's biggest competition in the steel industry, but much lower quality than what you produced.

You plastered a fake smile on your face and turned to Eastley, "Baron, it's a pleasure to see you again."

He was a middle aged man, around the same age as your father. Very proud, and had a habit of trying to buy up your steel empire to add to his own.

"Princess, it's strange seeing you here without your father." He remarked, and you could tell by his tone that he was here searching for opportunity.

"I'm afraid he's unwell, he regrets that he cannot attend tonight." That was a lie, he was thrilled he didn't have to go - you got your hatred of these events from him.

"I see, and that means you're handling the political matters tonight then I assume?" It was clearly a pointed question, he seemed to think you were born yesterday, but sometimes it helped that people underestimated you.

"I am indeed." You took a sip of the champagne you held, figuring you'd need all the help you could get to make it through this conversation.

The Baron fell silent for a moment, as if considering what to say next, but eventually he spoke again, "Say, I don't suppose you remember my youngest son do you Princess? Jacob is a similar age to yourself, and I daresay I have been looking for his perfect match." A sickening grin crossed his lisps.

You wanted to throw up on the spot - you had met the Baron's son and he was a disgusting, power hungry snake. He would do anything to be a King and work his way up to the top, his ambition was dangerous.

"I'm afraid I'm not currently open to marriage at this time, Baron. But I appreciate the gesture." You attempted to turn and walk away, but his slimy hand was at the small of your back, spinning you back to face him.

"Now Princess if I discuss this with your father and he agrees I don't believe you will have any say in the matter. Besides, you'll be Queen someday, and wouldn't it be nice to have a powerful King to handle ruling for you." He was disgusting to say the least, and you weren't going to stand for it, that wasn't the kind of Queen you intended to be one day.

Smacking his hand away from your waist, he recoiled quickly and you straightened your posture to appear more regal, "My father would never force me into a marriage I do not consent to it is not the way of our planet, and I certainly do not need anyone to handle ruling for me, I'm quite capable of doing that myself."

He looked stunned at your outburst - his views of women were very limited. Namely he believed they should be seen and not heard, and god-forbid they do anything without a man to support them.

"I suggest you reconsider, Princess-" His tone was low, as if he were beginning to threaten you, but before he could finish the ominous presence of Kylo Ren interjected.

"S-Supreme Leader." Standing up straight and giving a stiff bow, the Baron looked like a deer caught in headlights.

You meanwhile knew how to keep your cool, you gave a soft smile and curtsied, allowing your dress to flow outwards as you did, "Supreme Leader, it's an honour to meet you."

He nodded towards the both of you in acknowledgement, "I'm not interrupting anything I hope."

"Not at all Supreme Leader, in fact-" Baron Eastley von misogynist gushed at Kylo Ren, purposely stepping in front of you, to which you just rolled your eyes, "- I was hoping to speak to you tonight about Bracca taking over as the main supplier for steel for the First Order, you see-"

Kylo Ren held up a gloved hand, which immediately silenced the Baron, "I was actually here to talk to the Princess." He cooly responded, "If you'll excuse me."

With that the large man brushed the Baron aside to stand before you. Even with your heels on he was tall, and this was the first proper look you had gotten at his face. He was handsome, in a very rugged way, defined features, a few freckles dotted around his face and a long scar that ran from his neck up past his eye. Although he looked dangerous at first glance, when you met his gaze there was a certain softness to his brown irises.

"I apologise for the King's absence Supreme Leader, he's taken ill." You flashed him a polite smile.

"Please send him our best wishes." He nodded at you, and you couldn't ignore the Supreme Leader's awkward energy. What did he have to be nervous about? He was the handsome ruler of the most powerful force in the galaxy, it was ideal.

"I'll be sure to." You replied, before the pair of you were just awkwardly stood there in silence, which you quickly decided to break, "I'm having a wonderful time, I hope you are too." You commented, even though you were lying. You'd rather be anywhere else than having to pretend to be nice to so many people.

"Mm, I've never particularly enjoyed these events. I find them impractical." He responded, and you were shocked at his honesty, you wished you could agree with him but that definitely would not be something a Princess would admit.

"You don't have to pretend to be happy to be here." Kylo Ren looked at you and your mouth went dry, how had he known? Then it hit you - he could fucking read minds... You prayed he hadn't heard your handsome comment.

"It's a lovely party Supreme Leader, it really is, I just- I-" You stammered, faltering for the first time that night, because this time you truly had been caught off guard.

He looked down briefly and let out what could only be described as a quiet laugh, he looked weirdly cute when he smiled, but you quickly cut that train of thought off incase he heard it. Something told you the Supreme Leader wasn't someone regularly described as cute...

"Can I get you another drink?" He asked, still giving off a nervous energy. But he had noticed the empty champagne flute you were holding.

"I'd like that." You were still smiling, and with that he took the empty glass from your hand and waved down a server to replace the empty one with two full glasses.

He handed one to you and kept the other for himself. You turned to look at the band, and the numerous couples on the dance floor, Kylo looking over your shoulder.

"Do you dance?" He asked, taking a drink from his glass.

"Oh, no I've never been one to enjoy it. I'm usually happy watching." You chuckled, "Do you?"

"Absolutely not." He replied.

You and Kylo spent almost the entirety of the night talking, it largely stayed as polite small talk, but he was asked plenty of questions about your home planet, he genuinely seemed interested. You asked him about the First Order, not getting too deep into any politics or work talk but just enough to seem invested.

Kylo could sense a lot of maturity from you, and a strong sense of diplomacy. He knew you would you make a fine ruler one day.

You were both still talking to one another, exchanging small laughs here and there, but you were interrupted by a sadly familiar face.

"Forgive me Supreme Leader but I was hoping to have a word with Princess Y/L/N." Baron Eastley had a sickening smile on his face.

"Ass kisser." You mumbled under your breath, and you could have sworn you saw Kylo's lips curve upwards into a smirk.

"By all means." He stepped away from you, but lingered nearby.

The Baron cleared his throat, clearly not wanting company for this conversation, but he pressed on. "Princess, I understand that before I may have come across too strong. But I wish to put my offer of marrying my son to you again, he has the experience you lack when it comes to diplomacy-"

"-Let me stop you right there, Baron." Perhaps you'd had one too many champagnes by this point, but your ability to hold your tongue had all but vanished. "Despite what you may think I am perfectly capable of ruling, and I do not need your stuck up, power hungry son to encroach on that. There is nothing in the galaxy that would make me want to marry him - you think me naive, but I can see plain as day that you would have us wed to give yourself control over my planet's economy. It will never happen."

You were a little shocked at your own outburst, but the words were out there now... That was certainly not cordial behaviour.

"How dare you." Baron Eastley snapped, taking a step towards you to jam one of his slimy fingers in your face, "When your father dies there will be nobody to protect you anymore, and I will see the steel industry transferred to Bracca."

It was apparent that you had both forgotten whose presence you were in, but the wrath of the Supreme Leader wasn't aimed at you.

"You interrupt me only to disrespect the Princess?" He snarled, and at that moment you realised just how scary he could be.

"N-no Supreme Leader I didn't mean-" Suddenly shaking in his boots, the Baron stammered over every word.

"Bracca is of little use to me as it is, and if I see you ever addressing the Princess again I will have that heap of scrap blown to bits." His large figure was overbearing, and the Baron scurried off after muttering numerous apologies, clearly fearing for his life.

You exhaled a sigh, whilst talking to Kylo you have actually found yourself starting to enjoy the Gala, but now you were just as fed up with it as before.

"I apologise if this ruined your evening." He turned back to you.

"It wasn't all bad." You managed a small smile but still felt slightly deflated at the Baron's words. You wished people would stop overlooking you, and assuming you couldn't handle power when you knew that wasn't true. "But if it's all the same to you I think I may retire for the evening."

Kylo paused for a moment as if debating whether he should speak or not, but he did and his words surprised you, "May I walk you back to your quarters?"

You blinked, unable to believe that this was the Supreme Leader of the First Order being gentlemanly and asking to see you to your room.

"It would be an honour, Supreme Leader." You finally broke out into a proper smile, and he offered you his arm which you gently took.

"Please, Kylo is fine." You couldn't believe how nervous he seemed, but there was a tension between you that you couldn't explain, it was one you had never really felt before.

"I apologise for making a scene." You said as you slowly walked back towards your quarters.

"You don't need to apologise for someone else's incompetence, and he was wrong anyway diplomacy doesn't always take experience. You're a natural." You sensed genuine conviction in his words, and that truly was a compliment coming from him.

"Thank you Supre- Kylo." You looked up at him with a smile, before you fell into comfortable silence.

You reached your quarters admittedly faster than you would have liked, and part of you was sad to be parting ways with Kylo now. You stood facing one another in front of the blast door, hoping to delay the inevitable for a bit longer.

"I hope to see you again soon, Princess." Kylo broke the silence, his brown eyes staring into yours.

"And I you." You replied, still looking just as regal as you had done at the beginning of the evening, "Thank you for-"

In that moment you were cut off by his lips crashing into yours, and you melted into the kiss. If somebody had told you your night would have ended in making out with the Supreme Leader you never would have believed them.

His hands travelled down to your waist, yours resting on his chest. It just felt so natural, like you'd kissed him a hundred times before. Your heart ached when the kiss was broken, not knowing when you would see him again.

Kylo took a step back and scratched the back of his neck, his face starting to heat up, "I'm sorry- it's just-"

This time you were the bold one, you stepped forward and placed a slower, gentler kiss to his lips before pulling away, "Don't apologise. I was going to say thank you for a lovely evening."

Regaining some of his composure, a small smile smirk sat upon his lips, "I told you, you don't have to lie about enjoying these events."

Opening the blast doors you walked through into your quarters and turned to smile at him once more, "That time I wasn't lying."

Perhaps these Galas weren't so bad after all.

#kylo ren #kylo x reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x y/n #kylo ren x you #kylo x y/n #kylo x you #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren fluff

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the-lightning-mage · 3 years

Text

OC Interview: Beatrix Cousland

I saw this floating around and decided to do it for some of mine (Graham’s up next). I’m including some of my own questions, and I’ve seen various other questions used by different people. If you specifically came up with some of them, let me know so I can credit you! This is for my Warden and is set anywhere from after the beginning of Act 1 of DA2 to before she leaves to find the cure.

Introduction

Can you introduce yourself?

She smirks and scoffs slightly before she starts talking, “Prepare yourself for a long list of titles. I am Beatrix Cousland, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Queen of Ferelden, and Hero of Ferelden. But those closest to me call me Bea.”

What is your gender identity, orientation, and relationship status?

“I am a woman. I like men and women, though I do have a preference for men. And,” her smirk breaks into a full blown grin, “I am married to the most wonderful man in all of Thedas. You may know him as King Alistair, but he’s more than that.”

Where and when were you born?

“I was born in Castle Cousland in Highever, like all other Couslands before me, and I was born in 9:10 Dragon.”

What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

“I’m good with any blade really, though I stay away from Greatswords. In front of people who have not seen me fight before, I enjoy dual-wielding longswords, because the look of intimidation is priceless. I usually spring for two daggers though. One of which belonged to Duncan,” a slight look of sadness appeared on her face, but she shook her head and continued, “As for my fighting style... I’m a rogue, through and through. My friend Zevran taught me some of the techniques that the Antivan Crows use, and a friend of his, a pirate, taught me her personal style of dueling when we met her in The... we met her Denerim.”

Lastly, are you happy?

“I am, now. I struggled to find happiness in the beginning of the Blight. I don’t think I would’ve made it without Alistair. But now? I’m happier than I thought I would be. I miss my family, and my friends, but I am in the best place I could be now.”

Family and Friends

What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them?

That look of sadness is back, “My... most of my blood relatives are dead. My parents, my nephew, my sister-in-law... The only close relative that is still alive is my older brother, Fergus, and he is very, very dear to me. I of course have Alistair. I love him more than anything in the world. Then there is the Wardens and my closest friends, and I consider them my family,” the sadness fades, and she starts laughing, “If you had told me that I would consider Nathaniel Howe family back when the Blight started I would’ve never have had believed you.”

Have you ever ran away from home?

“Hmmm... I’ve sneaked out, and I’ve fled from my home, but I’ve never ran away.”

Would you consider marriage or having children?

“I’m already married, so I did consider marriage. Now, I don’t think I would ever remarry if... well, I don’t want to think about that. As for children... I want to have children, but,” she places a hand on her stomach, “Wardens. Our fertility is so low that it’s practically non-existent. And given that both Alistair and I have gone through the Joining... At the very least we will adopt a child. Maker knows that they could use it. The nobles who oppose it can go to the Void.”

Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

“Why would I be friends with someone I hate?” She makes a disgusted face, “Am I friendly with people I dislike on the other hand? Yes, sadly. It’s part of being both a Commander and part of the nobility. It’s one of the biggest downfalls of the nobility.”

Which friend knows everything about you?

“Well, Alistair of course, but that’s a given. Other than him... it’s probably a rather odd tie between Zevran and Nathaniel. How Nathaniel and I got to that point... I still struggle to understand it. Leliana and I used to be closer, but I don’t get to see her as often as Zev.”

Other

Are you religious?

“It’s complicated. I believe in Andraste and the Maker, but the Chantry is a whole other beast. This world cannot be what Andraste had envisioned. I mean, look at how long it took for the Chantry we know to be established.”

What is one thing from your past that you would change?

“I would save Oren. As much as I hate saying it, saving my parents would change too much, but Oren. He was far too young.”

Are your parents proud of you, or would they be?

“I think so. When I said goodbye to my parents I think they believed that I would succeed as a Warden, but I don’t think they saw me becoming the Commander or Queen.”

Choices

Drink or food?

She gives an incredibly confused look, “What kind of question is that?”

Cats or dogs?

“I love all animals, but I am very Fereldan woman. I may or may not have an small army of mabaris in Denerim.”

Optimist or pessimist?

“I try to be an optimist. As Commander, I have to be. The Wardens under my command look to me, and I don’t want them to be scared. Though it can be hard sometimes. When I start to become more pessimistic, I focus on just the actions themselves.”

Sassy or Sarcastic?

“...Sarcastic?”

Have you ever

Been caught sneaking out?

“...yes. And no, I won’t be elaborating on that. I don’t think a certain person would appreciate it.”

Broken a bone?

“Yes, once when I was child. I was thrown from a horse. I broke my left arm. Then,” her face contorts in complete disgust, “when were dealing with the mess in Amaranthine, I broke some ribs. Those healed almost instantly thanks to Anders. It’s a shame he decided to leave, but I don’t hold it against him. The other Wardens are going to hate me for saying that.”

Received flowers?

“Look at my titles. Of course I have. The best however, was a single flower.” She gets a dreamy look as she continues to speak, “The first time Alistair really, really tried to flirt with me and tell me how he feels, he gave me this single rose. He had plucked it when we had stopped in Lothering. That moment when he had given it to me... Maker, it was easily the sweetest and cheesiest thing anyone had ever done for me. I am so happy to have him by my side.”

Ghosted someone?

“...No?”

Pretended to laugh at a joke you didn’t get?

“Again. Look at the titles.”

#beatrix cousland #dragon age #dragon age origins #warden cousland #warden #dao

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freddiesaysalright · 4 years

Text

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes - Chapter 1

Gwilym!Prince Charming x Reader

Summary: After losing your parents, your step-family makes your life impossible. That is, until Prince Gwilym holds a ball. It’s your one chance for everything to change.

Word Count: 3.4k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish, @queen-paladin, @rogerina-owns-me, @mirkwoodshewolf, @namelesslosers, @headl0ng, @captvianswaan, @xviiarez, @baltimoresweethearts If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: The first part, I hope y’all enjoy!

Warning(s): Descriptions of abuse and general creepiness

Moodboard

Prologue

Chapter 1 here we go!!!

“Father, please,” Gwilym groaned, setting his book down. “Not this again.”

He had been reading - rather peacefully - when his father burst into the library and started asking him when he could meet another young lady suitable for him to court.

“I’m not getting any younger, Gwilym!” the king returned. “I’d like to see you settled before I go!”

“You’re in great health,” the prince argued. “And besides, why is it so important that I’m married before you die?”

The king hesitated before replying, which made Gwilym’s brow furrow.

“I need to know there’s someone looking after you,” the king said. “That you’ll be taken care of.”

“Father, I’m your son, not your widow,” Gwilym said, rolling his eyes. “And it isn’t a wife’s job to look after her husband.”

“What do you consider her duties to be, then?” the king challenged.

“To love me, that’s all,” Gwilym answered. “To be my partner.”

“Love, puh,” the king scoffed. “I tell you, the world is too different now. First, Prince Rami marries a village girl, and then Prince Benjamin finds himself a mermaid. If you’ve got some crazy idea because of them, then I’m telling you, boy, I won’t stand for it!”

“In fairness, the mermaid is a princess,” Gwilym said with a cheeky smirk.

“Don’t play with me,” the king replied. “I’m serious, Gwilym.”

“I’m serious too,” Gwilym said. “If I meet the right girl - someone I love - then I’ll be happy to get married. But you must accept that she may very well be a village girl or a mermaid or a servant.”

The king huffed. “She may also be high born. Or at least a gentleman’s daughter.”

“She could be anyone, I won’t discriminate,” Gwilym said. “But I must love her, Father. If I’m going to get married, that is my condition.”

“But who knows how long that might take!” the king cried, exasperated.

“What’s the rush?” Gwilym returned with a shrug.

He kept his eyes fixed on his father, whose face was reddening with heat. The king looked very hard at the floor, as if fascinated by the dust on the wood.

“Father?” Gwilym pressed. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m not in great health, son,” the king admitted. “I’m afraid I don’t have much time left.”

Gwilym got to his feet and approached. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m ill,” the king said, finally meeting his son’s gaze. “It’s still early on and there is treatment, but I don’t know how much life is left for me. I’d like to see my grandchildren, and know the woman that will be my son’s companion. Then maybe, when I join your mother, I can tell her about them.”

Gwilym offered a faltering smile. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t want to worry you,” the king said. “Especially with me not even having all the information yet. But that’s what it is, and why I’m so concerned with it.”

The prince sighed. “Well, I can’t make you any promises. Love happens organically. It’s not something you can force.”

“It is something you can build,” the king rebutted. “Like your mother and I did.”

“It might embarrass you to hear this, Father, but I’d also like some passion in my marriage,” Gwilym said.

The king’s face went beet red, and Gwilym bit back a laugh.

“Well!” the king cried. “Times truly have changed when young men can so carelessly talk about matters of the bedchamber in broad daylight!”

Gwilym chuckled. “Look, I just said passion. If your first thought was the bedroom, then whose mind is truly in the gutter?”

The king’s frown deepened.

“Don’t play with me, boy!” he warned again.

“I’m sorry, Father, I won’t tease you anymore,” Gwilym promised. “But even so. Only a deep, true love will sell me on matrimony. Until then, we just have to enjoy our lives. The way they are.”

The king released a low breath, the redness slowly draining from his cheeks.

“I want to,” he said. “But when I think about the future, I…”

“I know,” Gwilym said. “Let’s not focus too much on that. How about we go for a ride? Just you and me? For old time’s sake.”

When Gwilym was growing up, his father used to take him riding for time away from the palace, especially if Gwilym was feeling upset or stressed. They’d saddle up their horses and just take off into the countryside. Fresh air did wonders. It seemed to clear the air inside themselves and they always had the best conversations.

“Yes,” the king said with a smile. “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

Gwilym called in a footman to get their horses ready.

***

“There,” you said finally as you tied the last ribbon on your stepsister’s dress. “All done. Is there anything else you need, Miranda?”

“No,” she replied dismissively. “You can go now. Is breakfast ready?”

“Yes,” you said. “Your father and Eleanor are already downstairs.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” she snapped. “Now it looks like I overslept!”

“But, Miranda,” you said. “You did oversleep.”

“Well - Father doesn’t need to know that!” she argued. “Never mind. I’m going downstairs.”

She stormed out, slamming the door behind her. You followed shortly after, closing the door softly after you. Miranda and Eleanor could slam doors all they liked, but if Frank ever heard you do it, you were certain you’d be out on the streets.

You headed downstairs, below the main floor, into the kitchen. The tea would need to be freshened up soon, and you had a kettle warming on the stove. Elsie and Robert sat at the servant’s table, nibbling at their own breakfast.

“Y/N, take a seat,” Robert offered. “Bacon’s still hot.”

You shook your head. “I can’t. I’ve got to get their tea up quickly so I have time to visit Papa today.”

“Oh, it is the anniversary, isn’t it?” Elsie recalled. “It’s been so long, it slips my mind.”

“Yes, it has been a long time,” you sighed sadly. “But I miss him every day.”

“Of course you do,” Elsie said. “Well, hurry on then, I’ll make you something fresh to eat.”

You thanked her and ran the tea upstairs. You entered the dining room and instantly felt a frigid air about the family. You began to pour the tea, knowing better than to question things.

“So, Y/N,” said Frank, the usual stiffness to his voice. “I understand you have time for meddlesome pranks.”

“I - what?” you questioned. “I don’t understand.”

“I think you understand perfectly well, don’t play dumb,” he warned. “Toying with my dear Miranda’s clock to make her almost miss her breakfast is childish at best and vindictive at worst.”

“But, I didn’t -”

“Don’t interrupt me, Y/N,” he said, cutting across you. “If you have time for stupid games, then I don’t see why you need time off this morning.”

“Frank, it’s the anniversary of my father’s death,” you reminded him. “I go and visit his grave every year, you know this.”

“Well, perhaps you should have thought of that before acting like a mischievous child,” he said.

Tears welled up in your eyes. “But I didn’t, I swear!”

He ignored this.

“Today, before you head to the tavern for your shift, you will wash all the windows, re-do the laundry, mop the floors of the entrance hall, and polish my boots,” he said. “On top of all your regular duties, this should prevent you from temptations like practical jokes.”

“You can’t,” you said softly.

“I can,” he returned. “This is my house, and I won’t tolerate any tomfoolery. You want to behave that way, then you will face the consequences.”

“It’s not fair, Miranda just overslept, I didn’t touch her clock or anything in her room!” you insisted.

Your stepfather’s head snapped toward you, eyes wide. You had never spoken back to him, but nothing was more important to you than honoring your parents. Visiting your father’s grave was something you used to do with your mother, and it made you feel close to her as well. Frank shoved his chair out from under him and got to his feet. You stepped back, frightened.

“Don’t you dare take a tone with me, Y/N!” he barked.

He moved toward you, his form looming. You felt like you were actually shrinking under him.

“I - I’m sorry, I just -”

“Enough!” he cried, and he shoved you.

You fell to the ground on your side, catching yourself on your hands. You could already feel a bruise forming where his hands had gripped your arm. A shiver ran through you. He stood there, tall and proud, straightening his vest.

“That was undignified,” he said shortly. “But I also won’t tolerate disrespect. You will complete all your tasks today, Y/N. And if I find it isn’t done when I return from town, you will face far worse than a shout.”

“Y-yes, sir,” you replied, shaking.

“That’s a good girl,” he said.

He returned to his seat, and resumed his breakfast. You watched the tension slowly release from Miranda and Eleanor’s shoulders. A warm tear slid down your cheek. On trembling legs, you got up, and made your way back to the kitchen.

Elsie saw your pale, terrified face, and she jumped up, taking you in her arms.

“What happened, dear?” she gasped.

You let out a sob and told her everything that just transpired, almost disbelieving yourself. Elsie and Robert held you in their embrace. Since you’d lost your mother and father, they were the closest thing to a real family you had.

“There, there, darling,” Elsie soothed. “It’ll be alright. Robert and I will handle those chores for you. You go on out to the cemetery.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “If Frank finds out, we could all be in trouble.”

“How will he know?” she replied. “He’s always out of the house, and as long as it gets done, there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“W-what about Miranda and Eleanor?” you sniffled.

“They’re going to town with their father today, they’ve got some lessons to attend to,” Robert said. “No one will know except us.”

You gave them a watery smile. “Thank you so much.”

Frank and the girls left straight from breakfast. Elsie urged you to go ahead and get to the gravesite and get back as soon as you could, just in case. You agreed, and quickly fetched your cloak and basket. Packing a few things, you headed out.

It was a short trek from the main house, but you didn’t mind the walk. In fact, you loved walking. It gave you an opportunity to sort out anything on your mind. As a young girl, you used the time to imagine yourself as anything other than what you were - a sad child with no parents and a difficult future. On your little walks, you could be a princess or a warrior or mermaid or whatever you wanted.

Now, as an adult, your imagination had dwindled. Harsh reality took its place. The only way to escape Frank was to have something to fall back on, and since he didn’t pay you, and worked you all day, you had nothing. But after this morning, you knew something had to be done. Frank was always distant and demanding, but that kind of aggression was new. And that was something you could not tolerate. Your arm throbbed in agreement.

You reached your father’s grave, and placed a ring of flowers against it. You lit a candle and set it beside the headstone. There was actually a towering statue there of an angel. In a way, you’d always seen your father as an angel, but he wasn’t cold and rough like stone. He was warm and gentle. You said the usual prayer for his spirit.

“Oh, Papa,” you sighed when you were finished. “I miss you so much, especially today.”

You opened your mouth to speak again, but shut it quickly at the sound of horse hooves. Fearing Frank had returned unexpectedly, you blew out the candle and stood up, pressing yourself into the angel statue. You heard voices and held your breath, straining to make out what they were saying. To your great relief, it didn’t sound like Frank.

“Gwilym!” one man called out through a laugh. “Slow down, my boy!”

Another laugh rang through the yard - soft, friendly, and sweet. You listened as the horses slowed to a stop and the men caught their breath.

“Don’t tell me you’ve lost your edge, Father,” the one called Gwilym panted. “We haven’t been gone very long.”

“I’m old,” the father replied.

“You’re young at heart, though,” Gwilym returned. “Where are we?”

“Sir Frank Tarleton’s property, I believe,” the father answered.

“He owns an estate?” Gwilym asked. “I thought he ran the tavern.”

“He does,” the father said. “He inherited the estate from his late wife. It was in the Y/L/N family for centuries before Tarleton got it.”

“What happened to the Y/L/N family?” Gwilym wondered.

“The man died, his wife remarried Tarleton,” the father said. “There was a daughter, I believe, but Tarleton cares for her now.”

You almost snorted. “Cares for” - that was rich.

“How sad,” Gwilym said.

Taking a chance, you peered around the statue, careful not to expose yourself too much. You saw the two men, clearly nobles from the way they were dressed, but you didn’t know who they were. The younger one - Gwilym, stood out to you. He was dashingly handsome; tall, blue eyes, soft dark hair, a strong jaw, and a gracious smile. The older one looked similar, with more gray in his hair and a longer nose. Otherwise, they might have been brothers instead of father and son.

Gwilym’s horse turned, so you leaned further out to keep looking at him. Unfortunately for you, it was a stretch too far. You lost your footing on the statue and tumbled into the grass landing on your already bruised arm with a sharp yelp.

Gwilym and his father whirled around and saw you. The former dismounted swiftly handing his father the reins, and he jogged over to you.

“Are you alright, madam?” he asked, offering you his hand.

You looked up at him in awe. He was handsome from a distance, but up close he looked unreal. Like a painting or a sculpture. He belonged in a gallery or a palace, not in a field, helping your clumsy self up.

“I - yes - sorry,” you sputtered, heat rising in your cheeks.

“Let me help you,” he said gently.

You took his hand and he lifted you carefully to your feet. He was surprisingly strong for his slimmer frame. You knew you shouldn’t stare, but you couldn’t help yourself. He was so...tall.

“What’s a girl like you doing out here all alone?” he asked kindly.

He took in your face and thought you fair, even with the dirt and soot that dotted your skin. The hood of your cloak covered your hair, but he found the color flattering on you.

“Paying my respects,” you said, nodding toward the grave. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

Now, you looked everywhere but at his face, embarrassed.

“Not at all,” he assured you. “We’re just passing through. It’s us who likely disturbed you.”

You shook your head. “No, sir. I was just leaving.”

His brows came together as he observed you. You were a striking girl, but the timidity concerned him. It was not a typical feminine play at being coy. You were genuinely fearful.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked. “We could escort you home.”

“Oh, no!” you cried, looking at him at last. Your gaze shot quickly back to his feet. “I couldn’t impose. And besides, I dearly love to walk.”

“It’s no imposition -”

“No, sir,” you said firmly. “Thank you, but no. I must be going now, I’ve got so much to do at home.”

You bent down and snatched up a basket, drawing your cloak closer around you.

“Good day, sir.”

You offered a short curtsy and then turned and walked off. He watched you go until you disappeared over the hill.

“How very odd,” he said to the king. “Do you think she recognized us?”

“I should say not, or you’d have gotten a lot more respect than a ‘sir,’” the king said. “Ignorant child.”

Gwilym mounted his horse.

“Don’t be so harsh, Father,” he said, settling into the saddle. “She’s only a servant, there’s no reason she should know us right away.”

“Let’s ride on,” the king replied. “I’ve got my energy back.”

“Well then, you’d better keep up!” Gwilym joked.

They took off. You heard them thunder away in the distance, and you wondered if you had just missed an opportunity to escape. You shook your head. That couldn’t be the case. Those men had no reason to help you. They knew Frank, and you had no way of knowing whether or not they were friendly. And yet...that Gwilym had the kindest eyes you had ever seen.

You went home and got started on the rest of your chores. By some miracle - mostly because you had Elsie and Robert’s help - you got everything done. Evening was drawing near, so you went up to change and prepare for a shift at the tavern.

You were in your chemise when your door burst open. You gasped and covered yourself with your blanket, whirling around to see Frank standing in the doorway. You stepped back.

“Well, I see everything is in order,” he said. “Well done, Y/N.”

“Thank you, sir,” you replied coolly.

He cleared his throat. “Regarding my conduct this morning….it was not gentlemanly.”

Your brow furrowed. Was he actually going to apologize?

“But I’m not sorry,” he said.

Of course he wasn’t.

“You need to understand, Y/N, that I am the authority in this house, and I won’t stand for disrespect,” he went on. “But I will say, I admire that you bore it with such dignity.”

“I - thank you, sir,” you said again.

He walked in and stood in front of you, coming within inches of your face. His hand came to cup your cheek, and he brushed some ashes off it. You looked up at him with wide eyes. This was also new, and his touch made your stomach churn.

“Yes,” he said. “You are growing up to be a fine woman.”

Your mind went completely blank. You had no idea what he meant by that.

“I’ve just paid you a compliment, Y/N,” he said. “The polite thing to do is say thank you.”

You didn’t want to thank him. He had invaded your privacy and your personal space. It felt more like intimidation - to further squash any more thoughts of rebellion against him. He was asserting himself.

“Thank you, sir,” you repeated, but it didn’t even sound like it came from you.

“Good girl,” he said, stepping back at last. “Now, finish dressing and get to the tavern.”

He turned on his heel and swept out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind him. You sank onto your bed and drew in a deep breath.

The tavern was already filling up by the time you arrived. You offered Zelda - the manager - an apology as you tied your apron on.

“It’s been a very long day,” you told her.

Your feet were already aching, but that was something you were used to. Your limbs and muscles always had a dull pain about them from working all day at the house, and all night at the tavern.

“Understandable,” Zelda replied. “But jump on it, girl, we’ve been open half an hour already.”

“Yes, Zelda.”

You went up to the first table and jotted down drink orders.

When you first began work at the tavern, the customers intimidated you. They were mostly men, who drank heavily, and were therefore loud. But you quickly realized the regulars were some of the sweetest people you knew. They came in to relax after working all day, and they sometimes even brought their wives and children. Those were your favorite days.

“Y/N!” called one of the men, called Peter.

“Good evening, gentlemen!” you greeted. “How are you?”

They all talked at once, so you smiled and nodded, feeling some relief. Work was a nice distraction from all of Frank’s new and strange behavior.

You went to fetch them a pitcher of ale, but as you walked, you saw the front door open. In walked the last person you ever expected to see at the tavern. This wasn’t a place where people with his kind of money spent time. It was the man from earlier - Gwilym.

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee x you #Brian May #brian may imagine #brian may x reader #brian may x you #BoRhap #BoRhap cast #borhap boys #borhap cast x reader #borhap cast imagine #borhap cast x you #borhap boys x reader #borhap boys imagine #borhap boys x you #a dream is a wish your heart makes series

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butterflies-dragons · 4 years

Text

Sansa, Jon and Sweetness

I know that “sweetness” could be a bad omen for other characters in different contexts, but in these quotes of Jon and Sansa “sweetness” means innocence, family, dreams, beauty, desires and love.

Sweet Lady

Remember when Jon Snow called his mare “Sweet Lady”?

The mare whickered softly as Jon Snow tightened the cinch. “Easy, sweet lady,” he said in a soft voice, quieting her with a touch. Wind whispered through the stable, a cold dead breath on his face, but Jon paid it no mind. He strapped his roll to the saddle, his scarred fingers stiff and clumsy. “Ghost,” he called softly, “to me.” And the wolf was there, eyes like embers.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

As I said before, there are so many things to say about this quote:

Jon Snow, the guy who is supposed to like the warrior woman type, whispered to his mare “Easy, sweet lady”. He could’ve said “Easy, girl”, but he said: “Easy, sweet lady”. Oh Jon, you are such a romantic dork.

Lady is also the name of Sansa’s direwolf.

Lady and Ghost are mentioned together and linked in many passages of the Books. I love it.

At this point Lady is dead, so she is literally a ghost.

Later in the Books Jon also dies. So we have a direwolf with a dead master and a master with a dead direwolf.

And guess who is the female character that is called ‘sweet lady’ the most? Yes, the answer is Sansa.

Red haired girls calling Jon Snow “Sweet” & Jon Snow calling red haired girls “Sweet”

Ygritte:

Tormund frowned down at Jon. "Best go, if it's the Mance who's wanting you."

Ygritte helped pull him up. "He's bleeding like a butchered boar. Look what Orell did t' his sweet face."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

Sansa:

“There's a new High Septon, did you know? Oh, and the Night's Watch has a boy commander, some bastard son of Eddard Stark's."

"Jon Snow?" she blurted out, surprised.

"Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose."

She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still . . . with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Jon:

Blood meant little and less amongst the free folk, Jon knew. Ygritte had taught him that. Gerrick's daughters shared her same flame-red hair, though hers had been a tangle of curls and theirs hung long and straight. Kissed by fire. "Three princesses, each lovelier than the last," he told their father. "I will see that they are presented to the queen." Selyse Baratheon would take to these three better than she had to Val, he suspected; they were younger and considerably more cowed. Sweet enough to look at them, though their father seems a fool.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

Red Hair exists Jon Snow: Lovely! Sweet!

Sweet Dreams of Winterfell

Jon and Sansa really want to go back to Winterfell, their home:

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.

The dream was sweet . . . but Winterfell would never be his to show. It belonged to his brother, the King in the North. He was a Snow, not a Stark. Bastard, oathbreaker, and turncloak . . .

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

That was such a sweet dream, Sansa thought drowsily. She had been back in Winterfell, running through the godswood with her Lady. Her father had been there, and her brothers, all of them warm and safe. If only dreaming could make it so . . .

She threw back the coverlets. I must be brave. Her torments would soon be ended, one way or the other. If Lady was here, I would not be afraid. Lady was dead, though; Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, her father, her mother, even Septa Mordane. All of them are dead but me. She was alone in the world now.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

Sweet flowery smelling

Jon is OK with sweet flowery smells:

"Maybe he never washes, so he smells as rank as a bear."

"Then I'd push him in a stream or throw a bucket o' water on him. Anyhow, men shouldn't smell sweet like flowers."

"What's wrong with flowers?"

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

The shield that guards the realms of men. Ghost nuzzled up against his shoulder, and Jon draped an arm around him. He could smell Horse's unwashed breeches, the sweet scent Satin combed into his beard, the rank sharp smell of fear, the giant's overpowering musk. He could hear the beating of his own heart. When he looked across the grove at the woman with her child, the two greybeards, the Hornfoot man with his maimed feet, all he saw was men.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VII

Sansa smells sweet like flowers:

Sansa Stark, he mused. Soft-spoken sweet-smelling Sansa, who loved silks, songs, chivalry and tall gallant knights with handsome faces. He felt as though he was back on the bridge of boats, the deck shifting beneath his feet.

—A Storm of Swords - Tyrion III

On the morning her new gown was to be ready, the serving girls filled Sansa's tub with steaming hot water and scrubbed her head to toe until she glowed pink. Cersei's own bedmaid trimmed her nails and brushed and curled her auburn hair so it fell down her back in soft ringlets. She brought a dozen of the queen's favorite scents as well. Sansa chose a sharp sweet fragrance with a hint of lemon in it under the smell of flowers. The maid dabbed some on her finger and touched Sansa behind each ear, and under her chin, and then lightly on her nipples.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

Sweet as Song

Jon seems fond of sweet voices and singing:

The wildlings seemed to think Ygritte a great beauty because of her hair; red hair was rare among the free folk, and those who had it were said to be kissed by fire, which was supposed to be lucky. Lucky it might be, and red it certainly was, but Ygritte's hair was such a tangle that Jon was tempted to ask her if she only brushed it at the changing of the seasons.

At a lord's court the girl would never have been considered anything but common, he knew. She had a round peasant face, a pug nose, and slightly crooked teeth, and her eyes were too far apart. Jon had noticed all that the first time he'd seen her, when his dirk had been at her throat. Lately, though, he was noticing some other things. When she grinned, the crooked teeth didn't seem to matter. And maybe her eyes were too far apart, but they were a pretty blue-grey color, and lively as any eyes he knew. Sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him. And sometimes by the cookfire when she sat hugging her knees with the flames waking echoes in her red hair, and looked at him, just smiling . . . well, that stirred some things as well.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

With their black hoods and thick black cowls, the six might have been carved from shadow. Their voices rose together, small against the vastness of the night. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins," they said, as thousands had said before them. Satin's voice was sweet as song, Horse's hoarse and halting, Arron's a nervous squeak. "It shall not end until my death."

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VII

Sansa sings sweetly:

It wasn’t fair. Sansa had everything. Sansa was two years older; maybe by the time Arya had been born, there had been nothing left. Often it felt that way. Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly. All I could ever do was shout the words.

—A Storm of Swords - Arya IV

He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon's breathless laughter. Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back …

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

Sweet Bran

Jon and Sansa remembering Bran’s sweetness:

When the dwarf grimaced, his scar tightened and twisted. "The boy's earned himself a dagger, wouldn't you say?" Thankfully Tyrion did not wait for her reply. "Joff quarreled with your brother Robb at Winterfell. Tell me, was there ill feeling between Bran and His Grace as well?"

"Bran?" The question confused her. "Before he fell, you mean?" She had to try and think back. It was all so long ago. "Bran was a sweet boy. Everyone loved him. He and Tommen fought with wooden swords, I remember, but just for play."

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

When nine-and-ninety hostages had shuffled by them to pass beneath the Wall, Tormund Giantsbane produced the last one. "My son Dryn. You'll see he's well taken care of, crow, or I'll cook your black liver up and eat it."

Jon gave the boy a close inspection. Bran's age, or the age he would have been if Theon had not killed him. Dryn had none of Bran's sweetness, though. He was a chunky boy, with short legs, thick arms, and a wide red face—a miniature version of his father, with a shock of dark brown hair. "He'll serve as my own page," Jon promised Tormund.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

This post was so sweet to write ♡

#Sansa Stark #Jon Snow #Sansa x Jon #Jon x Sansa #jonsa

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