#this was going to be an emotional and eloquent post but i woke up late and am stuck in an editorial meeting for five hours | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brockadoodles · 3 years

Text

kiss me at midnight - m. tkachuk

AN: The way i can’t WAIT for the season to start so I can gif short haired Matty... Anyways. uh, I woke up today and chose violence, so here’s a New Year’s fic with one of our favorites. Maybe one day I’ll stop posting at 1 am? Let me know what you think!

Word Count: 2395

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and drinking, otherwise it’s fluffy.

“Ten dollars says they’re going to make out within the next five minutes.” You quickly turned your head at the voice. You smiled slightly at Matthew, nodding at him to take a seat next to you. You had just met him that evening and had somehow ended up running into him multiple times throughout the night. You laughed softly at his statement as you swirled your rum and coke in your hand. You didn’t even have to look in the direction that he was pointing toward to know exactly who he was talking about. Your roommate had ditched you in favor of his teammate over an hour ago, and in her defense, he was cute and better one of you not to spend New Year’s Eve sulking alone at the bar.

“I give them three, you’re welcome to hang out and wager me on it.” You joked. Matthew eyed you curiously, anyone that was willing to make a bet with him that quickly was someone he wanted to get to know. He caught the attention of the bartender and ordered himself a drink. He glanced over at your near-empty glass and had another made for you, making sure to tell the bartender to add it to his own tab and not yours. Your friend had very clearly left you to your own devices and he had no intention of doing the same thing, the least he could offer is buying you one drink. You just smiled at him in thanks as another rum and coke was put in your hands to replace the now empty one.

“Would ya look at that, guess neither of us wins.” Matthew mused as he took a sip of his drink. You quickly turned your head to where your roommate was now pressed against the pool table, kissing his teammate. You rolled your eyes before turning your attention back to Matthew, who was inarguably cute. No harming in shooting your shot with someone you likely wouldn’t see again in a crowded bar in Calgary on New Year’s Eve, right?

“Bummer. To think I was going to bet you a New Year’s Kiss.” You shrugged, raising your eyebrow a bit toward Matthew, who now had a smirk settling in on his features. He leaned against the bar as he took a step closer to you, positioning his body between your thighs. It wasn’t uncomfortable, you actually found yourself smiling softly at him as you placed a hand on his waist and tugged him slightly closer to you, opening the door for whatever would come next.

“Me and you at midnight? Deal.” You rolled your eyes at him and pat his side, pushing him back just enough to give you some more room. The conversation started flowing after that, and you found yourself getting lost in the stories he was telling. Something about Matthew was captivating. You could blame it on his looks, maybe the way his eyes lit up when he smiled at you, or the way his hair was just long enough to see that it was a bit curly, or maybe it was the way you were sitting close together now, with his leg brushed against yours under the table that you had moved to an hour before. But deep down you knew it wasn’t just because he was some hot stranger who you were hopefully stealing a midnight kiss from, you and Matthew had a connection that you couldn’t quite explain further than it being what everyone describes in shows that you never bothered to believe in. You could only hope that he felt it, too.

Except, he must not have, because when the clock counted down and you prepared yourself to finally kiss him, he just held you close. Matthew tucked you under his arm as the crowd started cheering and he made no move to kiss you, something that even in your drunken state was causing disappointment. What you didn’t know was that he wanted to kiss you more than anything that night, but he wasn’t about to cross a line you had drawn while drunk. He wanted to make sure it was okay before anything happened, so instead, he settled for a soft kiss to your forehead and exchanging numbers as he put you in an uber back to your apartment. Leaving you drunk and confused as if you had just read the signs entirely wrong.

You spent the next 11 months with Matthew, spending nearly all of your time together. You went to his games, you met each other’s friends, you spent nights with each other and there were so many frustrating pent up moments where if someone would have asked you what you were to each other, you genuinely would have had no answer. Matthew frustrated you in ways that you couldn’t pinpoint because his signals were caught up in the crossfires and you weren’t sure what you meant to him. You knew he cared about you, and sometimes his hand would linger just a bit too long on the small of your back, or he would fall asleep with his arms just enough around you that you would convince yourself that he felt what you had felt for him the entire time.

You spent months dancing back and forth with Matty, replying that New Year’s Eve night over and over in your head, wondering why he never kissed you. Then you spent months to accept what he was giving you, a friend that cared about you and would do anything for you, but one that simply didn’t harbor the same feelings you held close to your chest. You couldn’t fault him for not feeling the same way, feelings sometimes don’t have a rhyme or reason as to why they happen. Sometimes the hand you’re dealt results in a win, and other times you bet your entire heart only to watch it get cashed out by someone else who didn’t care to have it in the first place. But you had spent a year waiting around for him, and at this point, you just needed to know.

Matthew answered the phone quickly when he saw that it was you calling. He had just gotten back from a small get together with some of his friends from back home. He smiled softly as he greeted you, breathing a content sigh of relief as he settled down into what would likely be a long chat with you. You were Matthew’s favorite person and even though he hated being on the phone, he’d talk with you for hours about nothing if that was what you wanted.

“Do you know how there’s that saying about how if you spend New Years with someone, that’s who you’re spending the year with?” Were the first words out of your mouth, acting on a stint of courage that your friends had practically shoved into you the entire time you were with them. They all wanted you and Matty to get your shit together and confess, and you’d be lying if them pressing you wasn’t a factor in this impulsive late-night phone call to the person in question.

“Yeah, I have heard that one.” Matty smiled into his phone.

“I have this theory. I think it’s actually that who you miss the most on New Years’ is who you’ll spend the year with.” You were glad this was just a phone call and that matty wasn’t there to see your face. You had been dancing around something with him for so long now, that it felt like you were stuck in an endless game of poker where no one was winning. But you were the dealer now, and you were giving Matthew the cards that would give him a royal flush if he wanted it, and god you hoped he wanted it.

“You’re going to need to explain that, sweetheart.”

“We spent last New Years’ together, and you didn’t kiss me. We spent an entire year together and you didn’t kiss me, but there’s something here right? Because I feel like there is, and even though you’re in St. Louis and I’m here all I want is for you to miss me just enough that you’ll come home and finally kiss me.”

Matthew swore that he felt his heart lurch in his chest as he processed your words. You, the person he had spent the last year getting to know, spending nights together on your couch watching bad reality TV and arguing over what take out to order. You, the person that he thought about more often than not, so much so that he had made a routine of calling you after every away game, just because it was calming to hear your voice on the phone. You, the person that he had so desperately wanted to kiss the year before but didn’t because it wouldn’t have been right with both of you too intoxicated to make that decision. He had spent the last year assuming that you thought of him as just a friend and he had been sulking about it for months.

“Holy shit, I didn’t think you were into me.” Was absolutely not the most eloquent way that he could have responded to what you had just said. Matthew internally groaned at himself as he listened to the silence that was now coming from your side of the conversation. He was panicking, racking his brain for the right words to string together to make sure you knew he felt exactly the same way as you did. For some reason, just telling you that didn’t feel good enough when you had just about taken his heart right out of his chest from another country away with your confession.

“Fuck, that was not what I meant to say.” He ran a hand over his face, and he was thankful for once you had asked to just talk on the phone and not FaceTime.

“I really miss you. And everything you’re feeling, I feel it too.” He finally settled on it, hoping that it was enough to convey his emotions. He knew he wanted you, he had waited a year for this moment to come to its head. A year of him subtly standing by your side, itching to reach his hand out to yours but not daring to make the final touch. A year of him hoping you wouldn’t meet someone else that could take up the space that he desperately wanted to occupy. He spent a year waiting for you, he wasn’t going to wait any longer. Before he could stop himself he grabbed his laptop, pulling up flights as you started to speak again.

“God, Matty, there have been so many times I almost told you how I felt.” You breathed out. He could tell exactly how you were feeling, he could hear the relief in your voice. He knew that type of relief, the instant gratification a person feels when they give someone their time and effort and it’s all reciprocated. He knew that feeling because as soon as you mentioned you wanted to kiss him, he felt that same relief settle into his chest, a feeling he had been craving for so long now. A feeling he could act on in a matter of hours thanks to a ridiculously over-expensive flight from St. Louis back to Calgary.

“Can you pick me up tomorrow morning? From the airport?” He asked. You froze in bed, pulling your phone from your ear and looking at the time. It was late, already past midnight which meant it was even later for him. Your heart was racing and you felt like this was some hazy dream that you were bound to wake up from disappointed, the same dream you had experienced probably a hundred times over the last year. Matty was your entire world, and it didn’t feel real that he was finally something tangible. So you told him yes. You told him, yes and you counted down the hours until you got to see him, barely sleeping at all.

You had never been the type to think you’d be standing outside of security at an airport, living out some terrible moment from a romantic comedy as you waited for the person you loved to come through the gates. But there you were, in one of his old sweatshirts, nervously tapping your foot as you eyed every single person that walked through.

You were totally sure that anyone watching you probably was rolling your eyes at the look on your face, the same lovesick look you see in the very movies you often complain about. But you didn’t care because strangers walking through an airport clutching their coffee at 7 am who you would never see again didn’t matter. Everyone had their own destination that day, their own trip that they were making for their own reasons, and your reason was walking toward you, looking at you like you were the only thing that he could see and that was what mattered.

Matty dropped his bag to the ground as you jogged up to him. You wrapped your arms tightly around his waist and tucked your head against his chest, taking a moment to listen to the steady beat of his heart, the same steady beating that you had listened to so many times before not knowing that it beat only for you.

“I’m going to kiss you now because I’ve been waiting for a year to do it and I don’t think I can handle waiting any longer.” Matty grabbed your cheek, pulling your gaze up to meet his as his other arm tightened around you.

“You can kiss me whenever you want now, Matty.” You murmured, letting your eyes flutter closed as you leaned in and pressed your lips lightly to his. You melted into the kiss, letting him pull you closer to deepen it just a little as the early morning travelers kept walking around you. You almost didn’t regret the time spent wishing for this moment, because in a way, the person you spent New Year’s with the year before was the person you spent the year with, and now you got to spend another year with him, being fully and completely each others. It wasn’t midnight, but somehow 7 am felt better than midnight ever could have.

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fic #matty tkachuk imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #flames imagine #why do i keep doing this in the middle of the night

300 notes · View notes

playlistmusings · 3 years

Text

I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with paper rings

1,347 words

Jude Duarte x Cardan Greenbriar

Jude has a gift for Cardan, but she is also Jude 'I hate emotional vulnerability' Duarte, so... You know how that usually works. It's pretty much just a fluffy "Jude gives Cardan a wedding ring" fic. (technically set post tQoN in my mind, but there’s no spoilers past tWK so it could be set whenever)

More fluff that is pretending to be angst because I love the idea of Jude giving Cardan a ring and wrote this while listening to love songs written by Taylor Swift.

-----

It was late in the night—or early in the day, depending on whether you woke up during the late afternoon or at dawn—and the sky was brightening before Jude’s eyes. As she gazed out at the royal gardens her stomach was flipping despite the calm atmosphere. The flowing gardens were always full of life and tranquility no matter the season or the time of day, two things that were ironic to Jude when she thought about the death and chaos she caused in the very same place. But that wasn’t what she was pondering. In the cool air, she stressed over her future, fiddling with the ruby ring on her finger while a million thoughts flew through her mind. What if he doesn’t like it? What if he thinks it’s just a dumb human tradition? What if I’m going to make a fool of myself?

As the sun rose past the horizon, Jude knew she had to be decisive, it was now or never—even though it really wasn’t, because she could just give up and wait until tomorrow (except that was what she had been doing for the past week and a half)—and spun around on her heel, marching confidently back into the palace. She was determined, nothing would stop her now, not her own fears and definitely not anyone else.

She made her way towards her chambers, the ones she now shared with Cardan, hoping that he was still there, ideally still sitting on their bed reading, just as she had left him with some excuse of needing fresh air. She was already making scripts in her head—she would walk in, take the book from his hands, and declare she had something to talk about, it would be that easy. But if it were going to be that easy, why was doubt creeping in again, screaming at her that she was making herself too vulnerable.

She shook her head as she passed the guards at her chamber doors, lifting a hand to make a motion vaguely similar to a wave, before pushing her shoulders back, lifting her head high, and pushing through the doorway with as much confidence as she could muster. You can do this. It was a mantra repeating in her mind as she crossed the antechamber and opened the bedroom doors, closing her eyes momentarily and taking a deep breath before steeling herself for what she was going to do.

“Cardan! I have—” something for you. The words died on her tongue as she saw Cardan sitting on her side of the bed, a black box left haphazardly on the sheets next to him, a ring held between to fingers.

They were both slow to react, Jude out of shock and fear, Cardan because he was seemingly to focused on the band he held to realize his wife had even entered the room. After what felt like years to Jude, he turned to her, a look in his eyes that was familiar, but she couldn’t tell from what.

“Would you like to explain what this is?” His voice was clear and left no room for games, but Jude could hear slivers of confusion intertwined with the words.

She let herself freak out for a few seconds, before getting a shaky grasp on her emotions, trying to drive the fear and stress away. It’s going to be okay. It’s just a ring, it’s nothing. Except it was something, it was something important to Jude, but it had been a long time since she had voluntarily said something was important to her. She much preferred to leave it unsaid, to show that something—or, most recently, someone—was important through meaningful actions and other words. With Cardan it was whispered ‘I love you’s as she drifted off to sleep and cups of his favorite tea when he woke up, soft glances from across the room during meetings and light kisses when they were finally alone for the night. She let herself take one more deep breath, remembering that he was her husband and this wasn’t really that big of a deal.

“It’s a ring,” His eyes bore into hers, screaming I know that, stop being difficult! She continued, “It’s a ring, uh, a ring for you.”

He nodded once, something about his demeanor changing slightly. “It’s a ring. For me.”

Jude nodded, trying to force the words that had been playing in her head for the past month out of her mouth, but Cardan spoke before she could, “Then why was it hidden? And why now? There’s nothing to celebrate.”

Jude glanced at the ground quickly before looking back into Cardan’s eyes, “I just—It’s for you because you’re my husband and I know that sharing rings and whatever isn’t like a thing for faeries but it is for me and you gave me a ring when we got married which meant that you know that, even if it was technically mine to begin with, before you were an absolute asshole and stole it. So, I got you a ring, a dumb human ring, because you’re my husband and married people give each other rings, even if the idea of giving you a ring is dumb and intimidating.”

It all came out at once, in a much less eloquent fashion than she had intended, but Jude supposed she shouldn’t be picky about how it came out when at least it was finally out.

Cardan seemed to be in shock at Jude’s outburst, looking at the ring then her then the ring again.

“You got me a wedding ring?”

Jude nodded sharply. Cardan grinned.

“And then you hid it because you got scared?”

“I was not scared!” Jude shouted, “I never said I got scared!”

Cardan grinned wider, if that was even possible, standing up and walking towards where Jude stood by the door.

“Sure, not scared, just—what was it?” He pretended to think as he approached her, “Oh yes, you said it was intimidating to give me a ring.”

Jude glared, “This was supposed to be romantic, you know? Not you making fun of me for a poor choice of words.”

Cardan smiled, leaning in to kiss her brow, and mumbling something along the lines of “Sure, if that’s what you say.”

Jude tried to stay annoyed with him, but he was frustratingly good at using soft touches to unravel her, his breath making her shiver as it brushed along her jaw and neck.

“It’s just—Cardan, stop, I’m trying to talk.” He grinned, stepping back from where he was leaving a particularly dark bruise on the underside of her chin. “It’s just that I grew up seeing rings on my parents’ fingers and now I have a ring on my finger and I like it, a lot more than I thought, and a lot more than I’ll ever admit again. And I just wanted that for you, I wanted to give you something that you could have forever, to remind you that I loved you, even if I wasn’t there to say it.”

Something softened in his eyes, a genuine smile flashing across his face as he reached down to grab Jude’s hand.

“Jude, I promise you, I could never forget that you love me. And I don’t know what you’re worried about, I love it, I love you.”

Cardan smiled before making a show of slipping the ring onto his finger. Jude smiled back, hesitantly, before reaching forward to cup Cardan’s cheek and pull him in for a sweet kiss.

“So, how long were you hiding it before I found it? Days? Weeks? Maybe a month? Am I really that scary?” Cardan’s voice filled the room before he began laughing at Jude’s exasperated groan.

“Maybe I’ll take it back, then, if you’re going to make me wish I never married you.” She countered as Cardan crowded her, pulling her towards their bed.

“Oh, we both know you’re never going to wish that.” Jude swallowed a sharp retort and just shook her head, smiling as Cardan kissed her.

#jude x cardan #jude duarte #jude greenbriar #cardan greenbriar #prince cardan #jurdan fluff #jurdan #fluff #tfota fanfic #the folk of the air fanfic #the folk of the air #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing

212 notes · View notes

glimmerglanger · 4 years

Text

Whumptober 2020 - Day 16

THE END OF THE OOF!AU! It’s complete! The rest of whumptober shall be one-shots and (i think) a pair of interconnected prompts. Thanks for going on this ride, I’ll be posting it over on ao3 later, for ease of keeping track of it in the future.

General Information: Post Order 66 Vader-Captures-Obi-Wan AU. Happy(ish) ending. Codywan. Past one-sided Vaderwan.

WARNINGS: Very minor for this part, mentions of everything they’ve been through and discussions of battle, but that’s about it.

Alt 3. Comfort

Comfort came in many shapes. Dreamless sleep was one of the first true comforts Obi-Wan received in so long. Obi-Wan had known it would help, and he thanked Ahsoka for the gift of it, when he finally left his quarters, Cody at his side, a hand now resting against his side. He could feel the point of contact settling Cody’s emotions, a piece of reassurance, physical, that he was there and alright.

Ahsoka looked miserable, when Obi-Wan thanked her, shame tinging her signature through the Force. She only felt worse when he assured her that he was fine, and so he left it.

Sleep helped. Talking with Cody helped more, feeling some of the agony drain out of him made it easier for Obi-Wan to breathe as the day stretched onwards, as they cut across the black to meet up with this rebellion of Ahsoka’s.

The troopers watched him, when he went to the mess to get breakfast, such as it was. Their emotions curled against him, worry and concern and all the things Cody felt, written across all of their minds.

He sat with them and ate, talking, and reached out, hesitantly, to grip Crys’ shoulder after he finished. Crys froze, for just a moment, and then reached up, fingers brushing Obi-Wan’s wrist and--

Oh.

The emotions swirling around and through them didn’t disappear, didn’t ease, magically, into nothing. But they settled, somewhat, became less ragged. Cody watched him, close by - always close by - and Obi-Wan nodded at him with a smile that didn’t hurt, quite so much.

Obi-Wan watched Rex move among the troopers, throughout the day, speaking with them in quiet voices. He could track Rex without even looking, without being in the same room, because flares of emotion followed him everywhere he went.

Ahsoka, he noted, did not mingle so freely. She stayed near the bridge, feeling tense and guilty when Obi-Wan made his way back. There were things he knew he ought to say, to explain, but it felt difficult to say them, with a dozen troopers in the room.

He noticed, awake enough to process it, that they never left him completely alone. There were always a few in any room, even if they weren’t talking to him, even if they weren’t looking at him.

They felt...eased, in the Force, when he initiated conversations, when he reached out and touched them, shoulders or backs, even if it cut up into them at the same time.

“Finally,” Bones said, late in the day, when Obi-Wan went to the medical bay. He felt… well enough, but it was easier to recall that Cody had been gut-shot, not long ago, with his head no longer so clouded. Cody seemed intent on following him; he followed all the way to the med-bay, and into Bones’ frowning care.

Cody shot Obi-Wan a look, even as Bones grumbled him over onto a bed, plucking at his blacks. “I’m fine,” Cody insisted with a little scowl, and Bones rolled his eyes eloquently, lifting the bacta patch over his stomach.

“Have you been changing this yourself?” he said, scowl getting fiercer, and Obi-Wan turned, planning to give them some privacy, before Cody jerked a hand towards him, freezing before he closed fingers around Obi-Wan’s wrist.

Obi-Wan hesitated, for just a moment, and then inhaled, exhaled, eased back and covered Cody’s hand with his.

He sat still, through Bones’ ministrations, his emotions unknotting a little with each cautious breath he took.

“You’ve helped so much,” Obi-Wan said, after a quiet evening meal, standing beside Rex, who was staring out a viewport with a haunted look on his face. His emotions felt raw, flayed open, and Obi-Wan winced, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “How are you doing?”

Rex didn’t blink for a long moment, and then shook himself hard, looking over. “General,” he said, scrubbed a hand over his face, “I’m not doing much.”

“Yes, you are,” Obi-Wan said, managing a smile. “They’re doing so much better, it’s--”

“Don’t think that’s much because of me,” Rex said, mouth crooking, rueful and tired. He gave Obi-Wan a pointed look that was indecipherable. Obi-Wan blinked at him, and Rex shook his head. He said, “Nevermind. You should get some rest, General.”

And resting, Obi-Wan thought, might be a problem, once more, but Ahsoka followed him into his quarters and sat on the side of his bed, eyes sad when he said, “Really, I’m not a youngling, you don’t need to--”

“I want to,” she said, fingers soft across his brow, “just let me help you, this time.”

And he slept, dreamless and deep, and when he woke up, Cody was wedged into the chair by his bed, chin bent forward against his chest, brow furrowed, his hand on the sheets, fingers stretched towards Obi-Wan’s, but not touching.

They visited a planet, days later, deep in Wild Space, where Ahsoka said they’d meet some members of the rebellion, and found a market there. Obi-Wan winced at the idea of taking Ahsoka’s credits to buy clothes that fit, but she insisted. And it did feel good, to pull on robes of tan and cream, almost, but not quite, the uniform he’d worn for so many years.

He looked at himself in a reflection, afterwards, and almost recognized what he saw.

Cody did a double-take upon seeing him - he’d bought clothes, too, well… armor, to be more precise - and Obi-Wan crooked him a smile, asked, “What do you think?”

“Looks good,” Cody said, without a pause to consider, and Obi-Wan looked away, swallowing. He doubted, very much, that was true, but… But it felt like a step towards normal, a step back to himself.

He liked having boots again, anyway.

Ahsoka’s rebel friends were a motley mix, the old and young, those who remembered what the Republic had been and those who had never known it in anything but dreams. One of them recognized Obi-Wan - somehow - and blurted, looking surprised, “General Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan crooked his mouth, nodding; it felt different, when the troopers called him by his title. It stung, hearing it from some stranger with wide, hungry eyes. “We heard you were dead,” the man said, taking a step towards him, looking him up and down.

“Not yet,” Obi-Wan said, tensing when the man reached out towards him and--

“We should discuss your resources,” Cody said, flat, easing a step forward, in front of Obi-Wan, his shoulders a hard, straight line. “And what you’ve been doing so far, against the Empire.”

The man’s smile froze in place, just for a moment, but he eased back, and Obi-Wan breathed easier, reaching out to touch Cody’s back, tapping a thank-you against his armor. Tensions were higher than he liked through the meeting, but, in the end, the experience they brought to the table carried the day.

Too few of the people in the rebellion had ever fought a war.

He let them keep calling him General. Perhaps, he thought, it was a title he needed to wear, at least for a while longer. For everyone in the galaxy, not just the troopers. And, anyway, they agreed to put him in touch with someone who could provide him with a prosthetic arm.

There was a comfort to familiarity, too. Obi-Wan had felt that, even on Tatooine, growing used to his little hut, to the sand and the heat. The Recompense grew familiar, over time. She’d never replace the Negotiator, but she… filled a gap.

She must have for the troopers, as well. They stayed with the ship, planned their missions - there were so many missions to plan - from her halls. And, when one of the higher ranking members of the rebellion suggested they give her up, Obi-Wan said, “No, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

His men had lost enough. They weren’t going to lose anymore.

Besides, there was plenty of room in her halls for more troopers, as they started hitting bases on the edges of the Empire, freeing the lost and the trapped, those enslaved in their own heads.

He watched, as time passed, the way the survivors of the 212th took their brothers in, soothed them, held them through the inevitable nightmares and the horror, and felt warmth spread through him, deep and true.

And there was comfort, too, in looking over and finding Cody by his side, as they liberated outposts, pushed back Imperial forces, and undid the great wrongs done across the galaxy. There was comfort in soothing Cody when nightmares woke him, as so often they did, in listening to the words that spilled forth from him, when he could not contain them anymore, in threading their fingers together, holding his hand.

There’d been damage done to all of them, deep and terrible, but Obi-Wan knew how to heal from such injuries. He showed the others, as best he could, feeling them fight towards healing just as diligently as they’d fought for everything else the galaxy tried to deny them.

Anakin had captured him, brought him in alone and with no one. And he would have died, slowly and in agony, had he remained alone. But Anakin had brought his men, too. Put them together.

And together, they’d always been stronger than they were apart.

He considered that, standing on the bridge of the Recompense, looking over at Cody as he frowned at the next base they planned to assault. “You’re thinking loudly,” Cody said, after a moment, glancing up at him. “Everything alright?”

“It will be,” Obi-Wan said, quiet; his voice had never returned, not fully. He’d stopped waiting for it. Cody shifted, concern ever and always on his face and in his emotions. Obi-Wan reached out to him and he reached back, automatic, fingers threading together.

Obi-Wan could shift closer to him without feeling his heart lurch into his throat, could lean against his side, enjoying the warmth of it, the warmth inside his emotion, curling close. Cody made a soft sound, his other arm curling around, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes, just for a moment, resting close to him and feeling, even if he knew the feeling would not last forever, safe.

FIN

#whumptober2020 #alt.3 #comfort #clone wars #fic #mentions of past trauma #oof!au #codywan #happyish ending #and then they saved the galaxy and killed palpatine and healed and stuck together through everything #COMPLETE #IT'S COMPLETE

88 notes · View notes

onewhoturns · 6 years

Text

pt 3 - Protector

Did you miss Part 2? Part 1? Here’s part the third - an interlude, to some extent. Again, credit to @kaldwinqueen for the Outsider. I wrote for Emily and Corvo. This chapter is all adorable dad and angsty whale boi. Posted to AO3, so go leave it some love. Part 3 in The Void Devours. [If you have trouble with formatting, click through to keep reading]

Emily was asleep within five minutes of her head hitting the pillow.

She’d offered the bed to him, after realizing he’d made a good point -- not wanting to just summon servants to her room with a cot only to explain the sudden appearance of a man. She offered to sleep on the divan. But he’d refused, so she slipped under her covers despite the still setting sun, and was out in an instant.

She was still asleep some time later, when an assertive knocking came at her door. “Your Majesty.” It was Corvo, his voice typically gruff but perhaps a bit on edge. A harder knock. “Emily.” She didn’t stir.

Oliver had taken his seat on the couch and for several minutes he sat at the end with his back against the arm and his knees tucked to his chest. His shirt had gotten a bit wrinkled -- which annoyed him to no end, but otherwise he remained pretty presentable. It was when she passed out that he buried his hands in his hair, tugging at it and grumbling to himself unsteadily, trying to remain quiet. Though he was certain that no amount of his angsty bickering would actually wake her.

He left it that way, disheveled and tossed about, figuring he could fix it later before she woke. He knew that wouldn't be for another long while but he was a patient man.

He was a man.

He breathed out. Breathed in, capturing the breath and holding it there, bringing his hand up, now raw with a cut that had stopped bleeding, and he stroked the thin line across his throat before breathing out again.

He had was a man who had survived.

His eyes flickered over to the door at the sound of the knock and for a split second he weighed his options. Leave and disturb her sleep, open the door and disturb her sleep, or, hide. Yes. That seemed to be, in his now very much alive and human mind, the best course of action in the moment. But once he found himself hidden behind the royal purple drapery, silk covering the expanse of his body as he leaned back against the cold window, he realized that this perhaps was in fact not the best course of action.

He realized this of course, when it was too late. So he would ride this out and hope to the very void itself and beyond that Corvo wasn't on high alert like the watch dog he was trained to be.

A louder knock. “Emily, I’m coming in.” And in another minute he was in the door. While not frenzied per se, there was a definite anxiety in his tight lips and sharp eyes, that softened when he spotted his daughter sleeping soundly. He always softened for her. She was his weakness, he was her strength. The most loyal subject she would ever have.

Corvo took soft steps to her bedside, sitting on the edge. He remembered doing this same thing back when she was younger -- especially during the rat plague and right after it, right after Jessamine…

With a gentle hand he smoothed the hair from her face, pausing just a moment to feel her temperature. She hadn’t been well lately. She’d been hiding it - attempting to hide it - but he wasn’t as easily fooled as some others in the tower. He’d planned to give her another couple days to fix it herself before he would send Hypatia straight to her. Still, now she seemed at peace, cocooned in a deep sleep.

He leaned down and placed a bristly kiss on her forehead. All this responsibility, and she was still a kid. But she’d always be a kid to him. His kid.

The last week she’d been restless and seemed steeped in hectic energy, but now she was just a young woman in slumber. “You’re gonna be okay, Em,” he assured her sleeping form, giving her hand a squeeze. He looked down at the gloves that still covered her hands even in sleep - not knowing if she’d ever be called from bed, or walked in on. His eyes were pained again, reminded of the struggle she now faced, all because he hadn’t been there, hadn’t done his job well enough. He’d failed her, when she needed it most. But she’d come out of it as strong as ever -- stronger, even. “You’re a good kid.” He pulled the blankets up a little further around her, and held her hand again. “I’m proud of you, Em. And I’m gonna keep you safe. I promise.” He never got to talk like this to her anymore. Not after 14, where anytime he got emotional she would roll her eyes and make gagging sounds. But she couldn’t tell him off now. And he needed to tell her things like this sometimes.

Satisfied his daughter was peaceful and comfortable, he turned his attention to the rest of the room. Eyes scanned over every surface as he did the cursory Royal Protector scan, the same he did every time he escorted her to some new location. He didn’t go check her drinks for poison - not right this second, anyway - but he looked over the entrances and exits, checked for weak spots in security. His eyes narrowed, lips thinning into a hard line as he spotted the shape in the curtains. Assassin? If they were, they weren’t particularly good at it.

Quick, silent steps, circling around from the side. He couldn’t quite see the figure, but he was sizing them up already. His arm shot out, wrapping around what should be the neck area, pressing the tip of his crossbow into the side of the - man? Seemed like it was a man, too tall for most women. “Hands where I can see them.” A quick glance to the bed. “And keep quiet.” He wasn’t about to wake Emily if he didn��t need to.

Oliver listened and closely so, eyes closed as he grinned faintly. He'd always been so fixated on the bond they shared, his own father having been... not the greatest, to say the least. And perhaps he'd also been just the slightest bit envious as well. But his parents were long gone, even before he'd been cast into the Void on that awful day in the Month of Darkness. Billie was the closest he had to a mother these days but if he were being honest she was far more a sister than anything, or at least, he felt he could trust her more than he could trust a mother. Then again, he didn't exactly know the standards here.

He had no frame of reference for that kind of-

Oh.

His eyes widened and his whole body tensed, adrenaline rushing again. "I assure you that waking Emily is the exact opposite of what I'm here for," he whispered back, bright wide eyes flickering over as best as they could in an attempt to meet his. "I can explain this, and with a fair amount of eloquence, but I urge you not to stab me and to remain calm and rational."

Corvo’s eyes flashed angrily. “I told you no contact with the rest of the tower.” His voice was only slightly gruffer than normal. Irritated, not infuriated. “How hard is that for you to understand?” He lowered his weapon but still pulled Oliver out from his hiding place, stepping between his daughter and the former god. He looked over him in a quick assessment. Messy hair. Wrinkled clothes.

“What are you doing in my daughter’s bedroom?” And he was talking about his daughter, not just the Empress of the Isles. His voice had gone hard, crossbow raising again but not aiming. Not that he’d need to at such close range. He glared at the man who’d been cowered in the corner of his daughter’s room. He had a lot of explaining to do. As much as Corvo trusted Emily, if he were to double it, that’s how much he didn’t trust Oliver. At least, around his daughter.

"Now I am... fully aware of how this looks." He glanced down at the crossbow and his eyes flickered back up to Corvo, then to Emily. "... And I am also aware of how much explaining this might require." He took a deep breath and anxiously ran a hand through his hair, a habit he was quickly beginning to develop over his past few months of being human. He supposed it was better than nail biting or fidgeting to the point of distraction.

He thought for a moment, trying to gather himself and the words he would use, considering the rhetoric with which to approach the subject and deciding that starting off with 'My dear Corvo' would probably get him an arrow between the eyes... or somewhere else a bit unsavory.

"There are things you take for granted, when you're a human, when you can feel everything so much that it fades from your awareness and easily becomes nothing but noise in the background of everyday life. Sensations were luxury in the Void. To surpass anything but a cold, numb, nothing was bliss, and to be deprived from basic human... basic functions of sentience... existing... for four thousand... for many long years-" He found himself stumbling over his words, stopping a moment to catch himself. Corvo Attano did not know his origins, his story. This would all be foreign to him, it was difficult to explain to someone when it felt so out of context.

He hadn't noticed it before, the fear that had settled within his chest, tightening, tugging, pulling him into himself. He wasn't afraid of Corvo Attano, but the idea that he might never see Emily again, the idea that all of this would sound like rubbish to a man who had little time to entertain him. He wondered for a moment if it were even worth explaining, if words themselves could ever do justice to the way that he felt that night.

"The Void watched. It stared, it commanded and I obeyed. And sometimes I would wonder if it were the hollow breeze of oblivion or the quiet cackling of the presence that kept me bound to an existence without existing. I knew, before Billie ventured to Shindaerey Peak, before Daud told her his plan, that in weeks time I would fade, and I would be liberated in one way or another. But even death itself could never fill the emptiness, the jagged hole that had been left when they... I approached Emily several months ago and we shared a drink and conversed and though I undoubtedly should have asked for your blessing before appearing before her so late at night and - I did not have time nor did I think that- o-or even expect that-..." He took a deep breath and he stared away, guilt clear on his face even if it were masked loosely behind the stoicism that was so characteristic of him.

"When I kissed her I wasn't aware it would have such explosive consequences... Not until it was already set in stone. There is a wound within her that invites the Void, and it is closing, slowly, but the more that she utilizes her abilities, the more it opens and tempts her. It troubles her late into the night, to the point that the simple human function of sleeping has now become something of a rarity. Because of my... unique connection, tether, to the Void, my presence seems to tame it, which allows her to sleep, among other things." He still didn't look up, swallowing harshly, a sweat pricking at his brow.

The younger man’s talk of 'sensations' wasn’t making it any better. Corvo’s eyes narrowed. His suspicions didn’t disappear as Oliver explained - or tried to explain - some aspect of being... Void-bound, for lack of a better term. Corvo very nearly rolled his eyes at the florid language. The kid was almost as bad as Wyman with their poetry. But that reaction quickly stilled.

His eyes stared daggers into the man who tripped over words of late-night rendezvouses and of asking for his blessing.

Even under his anger he had to acknowledge it; this kid was so damn stupid. Corvo had known better that to mention anything to Jessmine’s father the first time they ever- they were ever- …intimate. He hadn’t mentioned it to the man at all, actually: Jessamine had, and that was after the affair was already underway. Hells, the guy could’ve saved them both a lot trouble if he’d just kept his damn mouth shut. But he’d said it now. And Corvo had heard. And he wasn’t happy.

When you kissed her?! He bit his tongue to stop from shouting at the former god, hearing out the rest of his story. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure the rest was any better. Emotions battled within him -- primarily anger, that the punk had been so reckless, so selfish, so irresponsible as a god. It was one thing to go after heretics that writhed in hedonistic worship, but to set his sights on the Empress. On a woman - a girl, only 25 - who only took his Mark out of necessity. Corvo’s jaw was firm as he shook his head with disdain at the black-haired boy who cowered before him. The 'among other things' comment had him wincing and groaning - he didn’t want to know what other things. He really didn’t. And he didn’t want to know how Oliver knew.

And now he was left in the uncomfortable position of figuring out this whole situation. If he took Oliver away, he’d be hurting Emily. Protecting her, in a way, but - on a more immediate level - hurting her. If he let Oliver stay, he risked losing his still young and still perhaps not the most sound-in-judgment daughter to the temptations of the Outsider. At least the younger man’s words seemed sincere. And scared, which was good. He should be scared.

A moment of silence passed as Corvo weighed his options.

Finally, he put away the crossbow, straightening himself.

“Well you can’t leave,” he said flatly - an order. “You stay here now. Any time she needs to sleep, you’re here, you hear me?” He jutted an authoritative finger at the man. “And if she needs - whatever else she needs. You do it.” He had no idea what the situation was, entirely, but whatever it was; Emily’s well-being was top priority. “But by no means will you ever be touching my daughter, understand? You keep your hands off of her; I keep my hands off of you.”

Oh how he wished he could fade into nothing right now. How he so desperately desired the sweet embrace of nonexistence would sweep him off his feet and take him away from this awful, compromising situation. His eyes met Corvo's and something shattered within him, making his knees a little weak.

He hadn't realized it before, but even if he wasn't that scared of Corvo, he certainly was a terrifying man.

He nodded though, expression hardening in his sad attempt to save face. He went cold, stoic, impassive and unreadable. Even though he was beginning to ponder whether or not coming to the tower in the first place had even been the best course of action. No. Of course it was. Emily needed him, so he would be here. Besides... it felt nice to feel needed.

"It was the arrangement made after our conversation in the hidden chambers behind the fireplace near Dr. Hypatia's lab. She'd been on her way there in her silken nightgown with her hair draped down her..." He stopped himself there. Perhaps he should leave some things unspoken. Imagery set aside.

"I was to sleep here, she was to sleep there and converse with you on the matter in the morning," he explained, trying to change the subject.

Corvo stiffened as he mentioned the secret room. That was Jess’s place. That was his place now. He winced further as the boy went on. “Just-” Corvo held out a hand, “Just... stop talking.”

A brief pause, and luckily the topic was changed. The arrangements seemed… Glancing to Emily, Corvo nodded in reluctant agreement. So his daughter had made a smart choice after all. He really should trust her more.

He did trust her.

Just maybe not her hormones.

“She made the right choice. And I’ll be discussing it with her in the morning. In the meantime, I’ll be sleeping right here.” He promptly lay down on the ground between the couch and Emily’s bed, sending Oliver another glare. “Goodnight.” And with that he turned away from the man. He may not be falling asleep, but he was done listening to the former god pining over his daughter.

Oliver stared at Corvo, eyes widening faintly. He had definitely said something wrong. Perhaps multiple things but he wished people would tell him instead of expecting him to know, instead of scolding him for unintentional wrongdoings. But he was thankful that Corvo hadn't shot him at least. That was good. That was... progress.

He didn't reply, pulling himself back onto the couch and slinking back against the arm, leaning into the fabric with his knees tucked once more to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs, almost for dear life. He didn't sleep. He found it difficult to sleep actually, though he hadn't mentioned it to anyone he was sure Billie at least noticed.

The Void didn't have him physically but in spirit, it owned all. Even him. He would visit there sometimes in his dreams, walking the platforms again, wailing leviathans overhead. He would wake up in cold sweats, a numbness taking him just as he woke but fading away once he'd come to.

So he avoided it at all costs. And it wasn't like he'd get a good night's sleep right now even if he tried. Not with Corvo laying there, surely not sleeping either. His stomach grumbled and he realized he hadn't eaten dinner. But he ignored it, the faint aching was nice anyways. It was good to know he was still alive.

Minutes turned into hours but it passed in a blur that he hardly noticed. Notes suddenly began slipping from his closed lips and he hardly realized it himself but he began humming. Perhaps to quell the tense silence that had fallen on the room or maybe out of some odd nostalgia, to feel guilty brought back memories. His mother sick in bed, pale in the face, circles under her eyes as she caressed his cheek with her thumb and her palm. Cold. The Void already had her.

And she would sing to him, there would be a candle flickering somewhere in the room, and he wasn't sure why but her words, her breath that they provoked, it was lined with cold, as if a window had been left open, puffs of mist escaping from her. If this night were good for anything, it was thinking.

A small tear trailed down his cheek and he didn't know why he was sad, but he was.

If Emily had been aware of the hours passing, she may have cheered once she hit hour three. And then it was five, then eight - eight! - blissful hours of sleep. When she finally woke it was a solid ten hours later. Ten hours of perfect, pristine, beautiful, euphoric dreamless sleep. Seeing the light from the mostly-risen sun coming in through her windows and lighting her ceiling, Emily blinked. Morning. She’d slept til morning.

“Finally,” she whispered, eyes closed, overflowing with relief. She felt tears falling from her eyes and wiped them away, feeling silly. This shouldn’t be such a big deal, and yet it was. Emily writhed under her sheets, unable to help the joy that filled her, stretching and popping her joints as she woke up. She rejoiced in the act of waking, reveling in the feeling of her bed, arching her back against the mattress and clutching the sheets, letting out a purr of happiness.

She truly felt the sun. And it was beautiful.

She moaned with one final stretch, toes curling and fingers flexing against her headboard, then finally opened her eyes wide to the sun. She couldn’t help the small smile gracing her lips. It was a glorious day.

She rolled over, grabbing for the whale bone comb as she often did, starting in on the ends of her hair as she sat up, her whole body shuddering delightedly with newfound energy. It was a good day to be--

She stopped as her eyes spotted the Outsider. He didn’t appear to be sleeping.

At first he'd watched her, eyes flickering over her stirring body. But near immediately he turned his gaze away, not only to respect Corvo's wishes but also because he didn't want to tempt himself, didn't want to stare for too long that he might start desperately desiring her, that his hands might ache just to touch her. So he turned his gaze, lids lowered halfway, staring out the window and onto the water.

He told himself he didn't need her. He told himself over and over and over again until he was near mouthing it. He would find someone else, no, better yet, he would grow old and die alone like the vast majority of humans. She was not his belonging, he could not stare at her as such, you must restrict the wandering gaze.

He felt his stomach churning now. So that would make a total of two hungers he was now holding at bay. At least he could hopefully soon satiate one of them. He would get over the other. He would tell himself so much that he would start to believe it.

He hoped.

She felt a plethora of things as he turned away. A bit embarrassed that he’d spotted her rather frivolous response to the morning. Surprise that he was still there -- then again, she reasoned, that was surely why she’d made it to morning at all, but she was still mystified he’d stayed. There was also shame over her behavior the day before, mortification at the failed seduction, guilt at how he’d shut down in those last few moments. Gratefulness that he hadn’t abandoned her.

She felt her hard wall of the day before softening. Of course now she was beginning to understand. Now that she’d already made all of the mistakes. Now she saw how she could have been gentler, kinder, could have given him the touch - the simple affection - he so obviously longed for without viewing it all as some game of power. That wasn’t what it was to him, was it? Just to her. Just to her mind, brought up in halls where power was a monitored commodity, traded and withheld and redeemed by people with pretty clothes and ugly ambitions.

She shook her head, trying to get her thoughts straight, feeling some already slipping from her mind as they might through a sieve. At the very least she should apologize.

Emily leaned forward, crawling to the edge of the bed. “I-”

She cut herself off, at the sight of her father fast asleep on the floor. Her jaw dropped slightly, eyebrows furrowing then immediately raising in shock, a quick bounce of movement that would have surely been comical had she been aware of it. She looked to the Outsider, then gestured silently to her father’s body, cocking her head in question. All night? she mouthed. She’d never heard him come in. As she glanced down again, she felt a blush rising in her cheeks. By the seven bloody strictures - he’d seen the Outsider, then. She winced. That would take some explaining.

He was beginning to hope for a lot of things lately, one of those being that she would be the one to explain everything to him. With her, words came naturally, as if he were in the Void, as if he could pick and choose from every word in the whole language just sitting at his disposal, waiting to be properly utilized in the most advantageous ways possible. But with Corvo he couldn't coordinate, he felt awkward, less of a man when the other towered above, gaze so dark and piercing, face twisted into a glare.

And then there was the other part of him, shut away under lock and key, the one that knew why he was so hardened on the outside, had witnessed every scar he'd gotten, from the competition in Karnaca to the slips along rooftops or the metal searing the skin of his chest throughout his months in Coldridge.

It was difficult to start a relationship with someone whom he knew near every tiny, intimate detail about, when the other knew little to nothing about himself.

It was especially difficult to speak without making comments that would assuredly seem malicious. He didn't want that. He just had no other means of communicating, his few years as a child scraping by in Tyvian alleyways, barely escaping death at every corner had taught him near nothing where emotions came into play and these last few months? These months on a ship with Billie Lurk, a woman who's passion translated into how hard she hit, how well she proved herself? She wasn't much better at it either.

Not since Deirdre. It'd gotten even worse after Daud.

He nodded in response to her question, though passively, with no clear expression on his face. She was now a business partner. Nothing more. He would let her know that, he would be firm and strong enough to keep himself contained. He had stared the Void in the face for four thousand years and it had blinked first.

Emily wanted to be exasperated at her father’s protective nature - and honestly, she was, to some extent - but she found herself with a tiny soft smile as she looked down at Corvo on the floor. He was her strength, she was his weakness.

She glanced to the standing clock. Just past 5:30. A bit early, but it wasn’t as though Corvo would be mad at her for waking him. Whether or not she wanted to wake him was another matter. She had to consider the conversation that would inevitably follow. Her eyes flicked briefly to the Outsider, trying to greet his expressionless demeanor with patience instead of pain. She would find a way to make it right. She would. She didn’t want him hurting.

She hesitated there for a moment, looking at her father, her indecision visible -- a rare occurrence. But here, in her own room, this early in the morning, after the most satisfying night of sleep she’d ever had; her guard was down. Examining Corvo’s sleeping face, she imagined the questions he might ask. She wondered how much the Outsider had told him. If he was smart, not quite everything. Had he explained the corruption of the creeping Void? Even now she sensed its presence, though far away and not so vicious as it had been before. The longer she spent around him, the weaker the pull of the Void was.

She could have kissed him for that.

She wouldn’t. A kiss given in gratitude wasn’t what he wanted - at least, she didn’t think so. Still, her lips tingled at the prospect. Her body felt free of the tar-like tendrils of the Void for the first time since - well, since he’d kissed her those months ago. She felt light and airy and as though her vision was suddenly clearer than ever before. A part of her even felt confident that if she needed to she could access the abilities of the Void, too, without being destroyed in the process. She didn’t intend to test the theory.

Emily’s gaze drifted back to the Outsider, her warm eyes clear and bright, untouched by the Void, her judgment unhindered. Instead of buzzing in her head, questions floated calmly, waiting for her to pluck them from her thoughts and vivify them with her tongue.

She kept her voice low, just a hair above a whisper, trying not to wake her father. “Thank you. Truly. I can’t possibly express how grateful I am-” She stopped as Corvo twitched, watching him for a moment, verifying he still slept, before her eyes returned to the Outsider. “...How much does he know?” The question was tentative, curious.

He was unaffected by her voice, only letting his eyes linger on hers and nowhere else. No longer would he indulge temptation. He would bury the desire to study her from afar, with her wild hair and half waking expression, clothing disheveled and wrinkled in some places but form fitting... oh so very form fitting.

By the Void.

When he noticed the twitch in Corvo's features he immediately tensed, slowly shaking his head and turning his gaze away at her question. Too much, is what he was compelled to answer with, but he didn't, lips pursed together in a thin line, eyes dimmer than they were the night before. Perhaps it was a lack of passion, or perhaps a lack of sleep. It was probably both actually.

Physically he was exhausted but his mind was whirling. He had things to write, things to do, things to distract himself with. But he was at least grateful that she'd said thank you, it made him feel just the tiniest bit better about the whole situation.

"Everything," he said simply, which was vague in itself. "We kissed without his blessing, and through selfishness I cursed you," he added, his voice quiet, barely above a whisper. He failed to mention the fact that Corvo probably thought they'd done far more than that.

Probably because he didn't realize that was what Corvo thought.

Because no one told him anything.

Emily’s eyes caught the way he looked at her father, the way he turned away. Something had certainly come to pass between the two of them. And with his words she immediately understood what.

Her eyes widened, mortified. “EV-” Her voice came out far too loud, and she quickly glanced down nervously as she lowered her voice. “Everything?” She couldn’t even focus on her feelings about the rest of his words. Was he completely daft? She felt a blush rising up her chest at the prospect of her father knowing about their… brief intimacy. He tended to assume the worst, to blow things a bit out of proportion, at least when it came to his daughter’s love life. She could remember his lecture to Alexi about her responsibility to the Watch, how she couldn’t let her relationship with Emily affect it in any way -- how he’d gone out of his way to make sure she was never posted alone when she took duty in the tower, even after they’d broken off the affair. Wyman had gotten the same treatment, until Emily had stepped in and brokered a peace. And she could only imagine it was worse with the Outsider than with any previous suitors -- Corvo wasn’t exactly inclined to favor the former deity. And with the strictures - the wanton flesh, and all that - the Outsider didn’t exactly have a pristine reputation.

Emily shook her head. She’d need to iron this out, and quickly. She wondered if she could sneak the Outsider into her safe room without waking Corvo. It would probably be better if he wasn’t there.

Thoughts immediately shifting into problem-solving mode, she performed a quick maneuver with the comb she held, reviewing the rest of his words, until it held her hair back decently well, wedged in a complex knot. She was suddenly slightly irritated. “You don’t need to ask for his blessing.” She tried to keep her voice as a whisper. “That’s just… insulting,” she added with a disapproving look. “I make my own decisions, my father doesn’t speak for me. If it were his way, I’d still be a virgin.” The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them, but then the deed was done. “And I’d never have kissed anyone,” she added, though it was a bit too little too late.

Corvo stirred.

“You should leave,” Emily spoke apologetically, truly feeling bad about cutting him out of the loop, but she knew he’d only serve to distract Corvo, and that would prevent any sort of resolution.

Oliver's thoughts drifted back to the days before the contest in Karnaca, how religious Corvo's mother had been, how so very sweet and loving she was towards him, but how adamant she was about him following those seven guiding strictures, even if she rarely directly enforced them. They were her morals, so he figured in some way, they were also Corvo's.

"It is respect, Emily," he suddenly spoke, standing up. "It is not that he owns you -- despite what you think, not everyone in the Empire is working against you, or actively attempting to sabotage your rights," he scolded, clearly not in a great mood. He stepped past Corvo with near perfect silence, the grace in his step clear even if he were typically on the clumsy side.

"Corvo Attano is a great man who's made sacrifices in his short lifetime that the strongest men in history would shudder at the thought of. To have his blessing would be the greatest of accomplishments. Like it or not you are his daughter and thus he does have some say in your life, and at the very least, a right to his own opinions. Cast aside your petty rebellion for a few moments and you might see things the slightest bit clearer than you had before." He turned the door handle, opening it and glancing back at her. "And perhaps you should show a bit more gratitude to one of the only people in the Empire who genuinely cares about your well-being rather than dismissing him or stepping on him like hardened dirt beneath your polished boots." He shut the door behind him, an unreadable expression on his face. It sounded as though he were warning her, but his tone was chiding, his brows furrowed but not in anger, knitted together in hurt. It did hurt. It felt like regardless of the steps he took, he would always land on eggshells, cracking under his weight, shifting, crumbling. There was no winning with either of them. Tell the truth and they disapproved, lie and they were infuriated, say nothing at all and he was being dismissive. His patience was wearing thin.

Emily’s lips thinned into a taut line as he chided her. She took steady breaths, reminding herself to be patient. He was tired and grumpy. His power came from his words; he would use them to keep himself safe, and to him that meant scolding her. She wasn’t even that mad about his words. He made a decent point, it was just the way he assumed her thought process that was irritating as all hells.

Of course she knew Corvo wasn’t trying to ‘sabotage her rights’ - he loved her. She loved him, of course she did, he was her father and she respected his opinions. But she sometimes had to remind him that she wasn’t a child anymore. If the Outsider thought he might shame her for taking advantage of her father, he obviously hadn’t been paying close attention to their relationship.

Emily respected her father tremendously. He was a great man, and she didn’t need anyone telling her that. She saw it clearly enough. No ‘petty rebellion’ could cloud the pristine (if imperfect) image her father held in her eyes. Everyone who looked on their relationship with scorn, calling him weak-willed or her spoiled, knew nothing. They were the only family they had. No grandparents to help shoulder the burden, no siblings, no aunts, uncles, cousins. Not anymore, anyway. She knew he was strong. Knew he was brave. She loved him more than she could ever love a partner, of that she was sure. She owed him her life a thousand times over. And if the Outsider couldn’t understand that she wouldn’t explain it to him.

She watched the Outsider pout his way out of the room. And he called her childish.

“He’s got a point, you know.” Corvo looked up at her once the door had closed, sitting up, in good humor despite the tense exit of their guest.

She shook her head, wryly. “You know I appreciate you, Father.”

He pulled himself to a standing position, wincing at stiffness left over from sleeping on a crossbow, turning that small bristly smile on his daughter. “Of course I know, Em.” He slung his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him in a clumsy hug, kissing the top of her head. “But really,” his voice was conspiratorial, “I keep wondering when I’ll get that parade in my honor. Or a statue.” She grinned and pushed him away. ��Don’t forget the boat. I need a boat named after me,” he added with a grin, knocking her arm aside and swooping in for a full-on hug, nearly pulling her from the bed.

“Father!” She laughed, knocking him with her shoulder playfully before slipping her arms around him, too. Maybe his little tirade had made her realize one thing: they didn’t hug enough.

With one last quick squeeze she pulled away, adjusting herself until she sat on the edge of the bed, letting out a huff of breath. “Okay. Fun time’s over. We need to talk.”

Corvo nodded, accepting her shift in tone with a determined grimace, the threat of a lecture entering his voice. “Yes we do.”

More of my stuff here.

10 notes · View notes