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alfredosauce50 · 3 years

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Ghost of jealousy [Possessive! America x reader]

Wordcount: 5,545 Synopsis: Alfred gets upset when he finds you hanging around Mathias during his Halloween party. You tell him he’s your friend, but everything escalates into an argument, so he takes it outside to his car. He regrets everything he’s done, but you refuse to talk to him while he drives off to find some lodging for the night—an old inn. While you avoid him by staying in a separate room, it becomes apparent there’s something very off about this place. Something otherworldly. Will he make it up to you by saving you before something terrible happens?

(I was inspired by this song by Michael Jackson, “Ghosts”) The reader is referred to as she/her.

It didn’t bother you that Alfred always disappeared during his parties. He was the host, after all, and you were merely another attendee, boyfriend or not. There were guests to interact with, excitement to arouse, and the general gist of event-running. So while he was off doing his business, you loitered around in the kitchen with one of your friends. You were dressed as a mermaid, with a seashell bra and all, while Mathias was in his pirate get-up.

Here away from the incessant pounding of Halloween classics and chatter, you could actually hear him talk. "I think it’s cute that we’re matching! Are you sure you didn’t wear this on purpose just so we could look like a couple?" He grinned, earning a small gasp from you.

"Hey! It’s not my problem you wear the same thing every year, Mathias. I—on the other hand, change it up." You gloated a little at that, giving his hip a light bump. He had been sipping a cup of punch, but spilled some as a result. "Ah! Jeez.” Because it was so dark, with only jack-o-lanterns and fairy lights to illuminate the house, you never even realized.

"What’s wrong?”

"Why don’t you smell my coat to find out?” He hummed mischievously. Cupping a hand around your head, he pulled you in and pressed your face against a mysterious wet patch.

"Ew! What was that?!" You pulled away and rubbed your cheek as he exploded into a fit of laughter.

"... Juice?"

"That’s right, min prinsesse. And it’s all your fault." Leaning in with his hands on his hips, he tapped your nose. A dash of guilt was present in your eyes, so he quickly added this. "Don’t look so stressed, (F/N)! I always forgive what you do to me. Mostly. This time, if you wanna make up for it, you’ll have to go to our after-party for once!"

You blinked. "After-party? You mean with just you and Lukas and everyone?" He nodded excitedly. The question was innocent enough, but really, you had another concern in the back of your mind. Every year, you and Alfred would spend a night together after the festivities. You could only imagine how upset he’d get if that didn’t happen. He always valued the time together with you, even to the point of being a little excessive. "Mm... I don’t know. Alfred and I usually do something afterward. I’ll ask him."

His wide grin faltered a touch. Alfred this, Alfred that. Mathias couldn’t exactly say he was jealous—though he’d joke about it, a lot—but wasn’t he a little controlling sometimes? "Mm, mm. Not good enough. I won’t take no for an answer!" Scooping you up in a bridal style carry, you let out a small yelp and reached out for his neck to stabilize yourself. "Let the King of Scandinavia save you from the evil clutches of American capitalism!"

"Mathias, you idiot!" You hissed through a flustered expression, but you couldn’t deny you were enjoying yourself. While he laughed away, bouncing you in his arms, you bonked him on the head numerous times. "Put. Me. Down!"

"Ow. Ah! Okay, okay, stop hitting me!" The Dane was as big of a goofball as your boyfriend, but just less serious most of the time. That was right. As your relationship with Alfred progressed, he was less easy-going than he initially seemed. More stubborn. Argumentative. And you never imagined how soon you would see this side of him.

"What’s this about saving (F/N) from the evil clutches of American capitalism?"

The chorus of you and Mathias’s laughter came to an abrupt end. Uh oh. Turning to the voice, you found yourself staring at none other than your boyfriend, dressed in a long orange coat with a Jason Vorhee's mask on the side of his head. And his arms were crossed with an unamused expression. Only then did you feel yourself get set down to the floor. Great. "Alfred, hey! We were just talking about his after-party. You know, the one where they have a lego-building contest?"

"Mhm. Sounds fun. But we’re doing something even better." Reaching out to your hand, he pulled you away from your friend, much to your displeasure. Mathias didn’t look all too happy either. Alfred then managed a small smile, but it was a little strained. "So c’mon, babe. Most of the party’s events are ending, anyway. Let’s go to my car." He squeezed you in his grip and turned to leave, all with you in tow.

But you weren’t having it. Couldn’t he at least let you explain yourself a little better, considering how upset he seemed already? You stopped, the action pulling on his arm so he would too. "Wait, Al. He asked if I wanted to go, and I kinda want to. Just this one time, please? Lukas, Berwald, Tino, and Emil are gonna be there too—" The fact that you were listing all these names only made it blatantly obvious who was in right, and who was in the wrong.

All you were asking for was some time with your friends. But he played the jealous boyfriend role all too well.

He turned to you with a frown. It was annoying enough to see Mathias carrying you like that. But going to a sleepover with him? He couldn’t be any less enthusiastic. "No, (F/N). Halloween is our thing. We’re supposed to spend the night together like we always do." Reaching out to your cheek, he caressed it gently. "You can hang out with them any other day of the year. Just not today."

Unlike other times, you didn’t give in. He already showed up with an attitude, so sweet-talking wasn’t going to cut it. Especially when you felt Mathias’s hand on your shoulder. The thought that he was behind you and trying to calm you down only egged you on to stand your ground. "Any other day? You’d have to exclude Valentine’s Day, Christmas, New Year’s, and St. Patty’s as well. I never get to celebrate them with my friends, either, so can’t you let me go this one time?"

The room fell silent. Even with the Dane’s friends present, nobody spoke a word. And nobody had to because they all shared one thought.

Alfred was being way too controlling.

Almost as if he could read their minds, he felt himself crumble under their scrutiny. "I’m not talking about this here with you." Without another word, he pulled you out of the house against your will.

"And why not? Is it because Mathias is here?" You retorted, feeling bile rise in your throat.

Once you and he disappeared out the door, Lukas made a brief comment.

"... He really has to stop doing that."

“Yep. Man, I wish he’d just step on a lego." The blonde heaved out a sigh.

"Fair enough."

Once Alfred managed to get you outside his car, he turned to you to finally give you an answer. "And what if it is because he’s there, (F/N)?" He exasperated, already feeling his tongue start slipping now that he was alone with you. And his words only held more impact against the deafening silence of the night. "The reason why I don’t want you hanging out with them on special occasions is cuz’ he’s in the group.”

“Why? Do you hate him or something? But that’s got nothing to do with me!" You ripped your hand from his grip to see his eyes widen with shock. This was the first time you ever lashed out, so he could already feel the inklings of regret well in his chest. He should’ve just shut his trap and let you go.

But something told him he would’ve never let that happen.

"They’re my friends, Alfred! You can’t expect me to pass on every invite they give me just because you don’t like someone!"

He dug his hands through his sandy locks of hair stressfully.

"That’s the thing! Mathias obviously doesn’t just wanna be friends with you! He likes you, I can tell!" He yelled.

The cat was finally out of the bag now. What had been plaguing his mind for months was this—competition. And he hoped that admitting it would somehow get you to understand his behavior, no matter how uncalled for it had been.

But you didn’t. You refused to.

Your jaw dropped, but not out of surprise. Instead, it was pure disappointment. "Even if he did, are you saying you don’t trust me with him?" You scoffed, folding your arms at him.

At this point, Alfred knew how bad he fucked up.

"No, that’s not what I—" His brows knitted together, and his cerulean blue eyes welled with moisture. "I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. I just..." But it was.

Wasn’t it?

Otherwise, why else was he so possessive of you?

"It’s exactly what you meant. If it wasn’t, you’d be defending yourself by now." A small smile curled up at your lips, and it was from anything but mirth. It was your defense mechanism to keep the waterworks at bay, but even that had failed you. The tears finally came spilling over the rim, streaming down your face as he watched on with guilt.

"Even if you hate him, he’s not what you think he is. It wouldn’t matter if he loved me. He wouldn’t do anything because he respects me." Reaching up to your eyes, you rubbed them, but the effort was in vain as you let out a sob. "If you’re so quick to doubt me, then maybe..." You struggled to string together the words as you continued to cry. "Maybe we shouldn’t..."

Maybe we shouldn’t be together anymore.

Alfred froze. Anything but that. And yet, you had all the right in the world to think of ending things. But his heart couldn’t take it.

"No, no, no... Don’t you finish that sentence..." You would probably hate him after this, but kissing you was what he first thought of. The connection between his and your lips managed to silence you, and the close proximity let you feel the waves of heat radiating from his face. And he continued to kiss you, gently, for as long as you let him until you decided to shove him away.

"Don’t." You whispered faintly, albeit firmly. Leaving his side to get into the passenger seat of his car, you buckled yourself up and turned to the window.

He breathed out a sigh, but joined you in the driver’s seat. Facing you with remorse so deep, it made his eyes droop. "You know I love you, right?"

You were still crying, and you never spared him so little as a single glance.

He royally screwed up, for sure.

The engine purred to life. Now, to find a place to stay for the night. Hopefully, he could make up with you before lights out. But his gut told him it wouldn’t be so simple. The car began to move, crushing sticks and leaves under the wheels as he drove on a dirt path deep in the woods. He picked this cabin for the ominous ambiance, but he was beginning to regret his choices. The same could be said for everything he did tonight, hell, the same could be said for how he acted all these months.

He was the jealous, insecure, shitty boyfriend.

And the whole time, he never realized how kind you were to put up with him.

He wanted to tell you he trusted you. To pull you into his arms and apologize a million times. But what could he say to convince you when he’d come off as a liar? Even he didn’t know if he could be honest. Why did Mathias’s presence get him to feel like this, anyway? He boiled it down to how similar he was to him. Like you always said, he and Mathias were two of the same person. Loud, fun, and obnoxious sweethearts. So of course he started comparing himself to him.

And he was doing it right now. He couldn’t imagine Mathias ever having these kinds of problems if he dated you. Fuck. Aside from self-loathing and bitter regret, he was beginning to feel the beginnings of ugly jealousy all over again.

Are you serious right now, Alfred? He thought.

Narrowing his eyes on the road that seemed to disappear, he slowed to a stop. Was it just him losing concentration over these thoughts, or did he really lose his way? Perhaps. But at least he found something. He peered around his windshield to see a few rooftops resembling an old, vintage villa in the distance. Could that possibly be a motel?

He sped up and drove closer and closer until he reached a clearing. Climbing out of his car with you trailing close behind, he made his way to the entrance of the establishment. There was an open lawn in front of the building, and in one of the gardens stood a wooden sign with "The Aura Inn" inscribed into it. Neither of you thought much of it, let alone read the little sub-paragraph of text below it.

"Let’s go." Looking at you over his shoulder, he held out a hand for you to take. You just brushed past him and kept walking. Right. He forgot for a second that you were mad at him.

The only thing that concerned you was having somewhere to stay the night, so the reception was the first stop. Making up with him could come later.

Upon arriving, you were greeted by nothing but an empty room. There was no furniture besides a wooden counter, and even then, it was lacking quite a few amenities. There was no receptionist here either, and yet, the lights were on. That could only mean one thing. Somebody was here, just not in a way you liked. But you were just overthinking, weren’t you? Needless to say, this inn was starting to feel a little off to you.

Gripping the scales of your mermaid dress, you turned to Alfred with a nervous glance. Immediately, he responded with a reassuring smile.

"You okay, babe?"

Hold on. Did he just call you babe? Your mood went sour when you felt yourself nearly give in to him. What he did couldn’t be forgiven so easily, otherwise, how could he take your feelings seriously? So you forced yourself to lie.

"Yes." You murmured. "I’m perfectly fine."

He knew you were lying, but he couldn’t blame you.

"Okay. I’ll just... Get us a room. I think this is an Airbnb." He pulled out his phone.

The thought of sleeping in the same bed as him irked you, to say the least. After the stunt he pulled today, which effectively stopped you from going to Mathias’s after-party, you needed some space. That was right. How come after all these years, you’ve never been to one of his infamous after-parties? Even though you were a close friend of his? It was simple. Because Alfred never let you go. God, thinking about it just made you relive the anger all over again.

So before he finished the booking, you reached out for his arm.

"Wait. I don’t want to be in the same room as you."

He paused, and you saw sadness flash in his eyes. And once again, you found yourself tempted to cave. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

"... Oh. Sure." Alfred finished with the online forms and walked you to your room. The halls were long, winding, and dimly-lit. You would’ve thanked him for accompanying you in this unsettling place, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Once you managed to open the door, which wasn’t locked, he gave you a reluctant goodbye. Resting his arms against the doorframe, he gazed down at you with a bittersweet smile. "Night, babe. I’ll see you in the morning—"

The door slammed in his face and he cringed.

"... Love you too." He murmured, clenching his fists against the door. This was by far the worst argument he’s ever had with you, and it was all his fault.

Pressing your back against the door, you felt blood rush up to your face after hearing what he said. He nearly had you. But you managed to seal yourself away in the safety of your room. It hurt to push him away, but you had to. He couldn’t keep having his way. Alfred needed to accept the consequences of his actions, and you needed to be strong enough for that to happen.

And plus, he needed to get used to not having you around him all the time. But the boy was excessively clingy, and you let this carry on for far too long.

Unpacking your things on the bed, you got your things ready for a shower. As you melted into the hot embrace of the water, your concerns of this inn melted away too. It was just Halloween jitters, wasn’t it? Turning off the faucet, you dried yourself off with a towel before getting dressed. When you exited the bathroom, your room was plunged into almost pitch-black darkness. But you never turned off the lights.

Perhaps this was an energy-saving function.

Well, it saved you from the effort of going to the light switch, anyhow.

Before you moved from your spot, you shuddered at the feeling of a cold draft blowing against your body. Looking over to the source, you were shocked to see that the door was wide open, letting the dim halls stare back at you.

There was probably a little wind tonight, and somehow, you didn’t shut the door properly. Making your way to close it again, you made sure you heard a little click. When you did, you didn’t feel any wind from outside at all, not even a gentle breeze.

Weird.

Setting your things down on the bedside table, you climbed into bed and tucked yourself in. While you made yourself comfortable, you faced the entirety of the room, which had a small wall-mounted TV, rocking chair, and desk. Of course there was a rocking chair. And you somehow couldn’t tear your gaze away from its faint outline in the dark.

Then, it began to rock.

Forwards and backward as if an invisible entity was sitting in it.

“!” Your blood ran cold and you buried your head underneath the blanket. Something was in the room with you. Unlike before, you couldn’t blame it on the wind because you just closed the door. As you came to terms with that reality, the icy hands of fear gripped around your heart. Your breathing grew ragged and uneven. There was something behind you. Someone behind you.

You could practically feel their presence creeping towards you. Closer and closer to your bed as the carpet compressed under its footsteps. Your chest constricted when you felt the bed dip under a weight.

Then, it began to crawl.

But you were too terrified to scream, let alone move.

In that moment, you never regretted your decisions this much in your life. And you never wished more for Alfred to be with you.

Unbeknownst to him as he finished up with his own shower in his room, you were left paralyzed in bed. If he’d known what was happening, he would have run to you as fast as he could. But he didn’t. He only assumed you were busy brooding over him, and maybe even second-guessing your relationship with him. The thought was reasonable, and that upset him to no end. Throwing his towel to a random spot in the room, he fell on his back onto the bed.

Reaching out to the ceiling to stare at his arm, he sighed.

“I’m so sorry...” He murmured, lowering his hands to cover his face with them.

If he was lucky, he’d be able to make up with you by the end of tomorrow. But for now, he was burdened with uncertainty. But his attention was quickly diverted to something else. A laugh. Your laugh. Sitting up with visible confusion, he listened in to the muffled sounds of your voice down the hall.

The walls here were thin, so it didn’t surprise him he could hear you so clearly.

But what did was what he heard next. Another voice talking, and it belonged to a boy. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he registered it as someone he knew. Mathias. Wait a second, what the hell was he doing here? But there was no way he could be, right? Didn’t he have an after-party to be at? The longer he eavesdropped on the conversation, the more obvious it became that it was Mathias. And they were talking about him.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come this year. Again. But you know how Alfred gets.”

“Yeah... Don’t worry about it. This can be our own little after-party. Just as long as he doesn’t find out, you’ll be fine!”

Wait, what?

From what he heard, it sounded like you really had moved on. But you never had the decency to tell him, and that was what filled him to the brim with betrayal--it broke his heart. Was this why you wanted to be in a separate room tonight? Sliding himself off the bed, he stormed out the door to find you. His glasses were already fogging up, but he never bothered to clear them as he marched down the empty halls.

Your voices grew louder and louder, all until he came to a stop outside a room he never booked. That was right. He applied for one with a single bed. He could only imagine what you were doing with Mathias in a room with a double bed.

The laughing continued behind the door.

“You know these walls are thin, right?” He began lowly. Swinging open the door, the noises disappeared along with the people inside. The room was completely dark, and when he flicked on the lights, you and Mathias were nowhere in sight. Not a soul was in here.

“... What the fuck.” He grumbled.

He swore he heard you both giggling away like school children. Did you two hear him coming and hide somewhere? He was skeptical, but he checked around nonetheless. In the wardrobe, then under the bed. There was no sign of either of you. The shower, maybe? Stepping into the bathroom and pulling open the curtains, he was prepared to catch you red-handed. But there was nothing there except for a porcelain white tub. A defeated sigh fell from his lips. What the hell was going on? Alfred was completely sober, a miracle considering he usually drank at his parties. So he had a terrible feeling he wasn’t just hearing things. That only pointed towards one explanation.

This inn was totally haunted.

And whoever, or whatever that haunted it was toying with him.

He swallowed thickly and turned to the mirror, only to jump at what he saw. The reflection revealed a figure standing behind him.

It was Mathias, except his face was twisted in a sick smile.

“Holy shit--!” Alfred paled as he stared face to face with the entity. As he lost himself in its soulless, blue eyes, he was overcome with dread, almost as if the spirit was forcing fear into him. Reminding him of his failures, insecurities, and the uncertainty of his relationship. All of his faults flashed in his mind again and again so incessantly, he thought he would break down on the spot.

Where is (F/N)?

She doesn’t want you anymore.

You should just give up.

And the deeper in he spiraled into these self-destructive thoughts, the wider the entity smiled, its lips stretching to impossible lengths it became grotesque. Darting his wide eyes around the reflection in his bout of panic, he saw its hand reach out to his shoulder in the mirror. He didn’t know how he managed to do this, but he spun around quickly to defend himself. And there was nobody there.

In his brief moment of disorientation, the spirit shot out two arms, breaking the barrier of the glass. Tightening its hands around his neck, Alfred was pulled back against the mirror and choked. “Gh--!” His airway was completely constricted by the iron grip, and he was forced to struggle a few inches above the ground.

Digging his fingernails into the hands, he never felt them loosen.

So he did the unthinkable--he started to smash his fist against the mirror. It hurt like hell and left his knuckles bruised and raw, but the thought of you in danger kept him going. That was right. There was no saying if you weren’t being choked, attacked, or worst. Punching the glass again and again, it finally shattered, and the grip around his neck loosened.

The mirror was reduced to shards and fell into the sink.

Falling to the ground in a loud thump, he stood up while coughing violently.

The arms disappeared, and so did the entity.

And Alfred had a feeling it had to do with the mirror it was in.

Leaving the bathroom with heavy breaths, he ran back to his room and picked up his chainsaw. Halloween had the perks of carrying around dangerous tools, and he was never this glad that he took it with him instead of leaving it in his car unattended. Too bad he was out of costume, though. But a white tank and boxers would do. Holding it above his chest, he revved his chainsaw and ran out the door.

It was time to fuck shit up.

You were still stuck in bed, but the spirit managed to remove your blanket. A soft whimper fell from your lips as your only form of protection was stripped away. If you thought you were terrified, then you would prove yourself wrong with a whole new level of fear as two arms wrapped around your neck from behind. No way. Was it going to choke you? One of its legs was thrown over yours, so you were completely enveloped by its limbs.

As you trembled away in the dark, you let out a soft cry when you felt its warm breath tickle your ear.

“I missed you. Why didn’t you wanna stay in a room with me?” It cooed, the voice sending shivers down your spine. It sounded strangely similar to Alfred’s, and what he said was exactly what he would’ve said too, except it wasn’t him. You never saw him come in, and the last time you checked, he wasn’t invisible.

“... W-What... What are you?” You stammered, feeling a hand glide down your bare thigh. “Stop--”

“I’m his desire, sweetheart.” It began in a low and alluring voice. “Every feeling in the Aura inn festers into a semi-physical form. That’s why I’m here right now. Because he wants you.”

You screwed your eyes shut. Just what the hell kind of place was this inn? A magical hut that personified emotions? “... Can you please let me go? I don’t like the way how you’re... Hugging me.” You pleaded, only to feel the entity tighten itself around you.

“But I don’t want to. He doesn’t want to.” It responded with a hum. “I reflect everything he wants. And currently, he wants to see you more than anything. Especially when he’s dealing with jealousy... And having a hard time at that.”

“Jealousy?” It wasn’t shocking, per se, but he had you curious. If desire festered into a sultry form of someone and hugged their object of affections, what did jealousy turn into? “... I knew he was jealous of Mathias. But that’s not the problem here. We’ll sort it out later. If you’re desire, then what’s jealousy like?”

It let out a deep, foreboding laugh. “Depends. If it’s only a little bit of envy, he’ll start hearing things that hit his nerves. Nothing but... Harmless fun.” You felt yourself get rolled onto your back, and you were caught off guard by what loomed over you. It was Alfred himself, or more accurately put, his personified desire, but this time, you could see him. “But if his jealousy gets mixed in with insecurity, that’s when things get pretty ugly...”

You furrowed your brows with concern. “Ugly? How so? Is he gonna be okay?”

It craned his head from side to side. “Who knows.”

“But I’ll tell you a few things that I do know. Jealousy tends to be pretty sneaky. It’ll snoop around in mirrors and attack him.” You tensed up all over. “So Alfred will have to smash every mirror in the inn to get it to come out. And when it does, all he needs to do is be with you to send it away.”

Loud chainsaw noises were heard down the halls, silencing both you and the entity. Following that was the shattering of glass.

“... Hm. Looks like he already figured it out.”

Joy filled you to the brim and you smiled wide. “He really did! I’m so glad!” Reaching out to hug the entity around its chest, you pulled away and slid yourself off the bed.

“Thank you, um, Alfred’s desire! I’m gonna go find him now!”

He laid on his side and watched you run off. “You can just call me Alfred.”

“Okay, Alfred!”

While you exited the room to stand in the halls, you found yourself staring at a number of doors that were wide open, and the lights on inside. You assumed those were the rooms he already cleared, which meant he still had quite a bit to do. But he was fast. Appearing out of one room, he continued tearing down door after door to smash every single mirror and window in the inn. And soon, he managed to reduce every piece of glass present into shards.

Once the chainsaw revs came to a stop, you called out his name.

“Alfred!”

He jerked up at the sound, then glanced around. “(F/N)!?” While he was on the first floor in the courtyard, you were on the second in the mezzanine, so he had to glance up to see you. “Oh God, I was so worried! Are you okay?” He shouted.

“Yes!” You called back. “This place is... Super haunted. Let’s get out of here!”

“You called it. I nearly got murdered!”

Running down the stairs to meet with him, you practically jumped onto him after he dropped his chainsaw to the ground. Embracing you with his strong arms, he pressed kiss after kiss all over your face. While he did, you spotted another figure standing by the stairs. Was that Mathias? You couldn’t take a better look at him before he disappeared into thin air. “Oh my fucking god. I missed you so much.” He exasperated, setting you down on your feet. “You won’t believe what happened. I’ll explain everything in the car.”

As he led you out of the Godforsaken inn, he gripped you tight with his hand. And you squeezed right back. “Let me guess. You were attacked by something in the mirror so you shattered every single one here. I know.”

At this point, you and him had arrived outside his car.

Turning to you with shock, he placed his hands on his hips.

“And how the hell did you know? I thought it was original enough that you wouldn’t be able to guess!” He exclaimed, much to your amusement.

“Mm... Not really. With how many horror movies you’ve watched, I wouldn’t put it past you to come up with a solution like that.” Giving him an affectionate pinch on the cheek, he rubbed the spot with a light pout. You considered telling him the truth, but you already wanted to forget tonight. If he didn’t know about it, then moving on yourself would be so much easier.

“Now, I think you have some apologizing to do.”

He softened his gaze. “Yeah... I really do. Sorry for everything. Sorry for being a dick. And not just... For today.” Pulling you into another hug, he nestled his chin into your shoulder. God, did it feel good to have you in his arms again. “I’m gonna be real. I never hated Mathias. He’s my friend. But seeing him with you gets me... Really jealous. And it’s not cuz’ I don’t trust you, it’s because I’m...” His cheeks grew rosy. “I don’t know. I just feel...”

You knew he’d get stuck at this part, so you helped him.

“Because you feel insecure?”

“... Yeah.”

“You idiot...” A soft, content sigh was heard from your end. “It doesn’t matter how similar you are to him. You don’t have to try to make any changes or keep him away from me for me to choose you.”

His heart fluttered as he released you with a sheepish smile.

“I really needed to hear that. So, thanks.” Alfred murmured, reaching out to cup your cheek. “Kinda lame of me to put you through that. I should’ve just talked it out with you.”

“Yeah, you dumbass.” You grumbled, but it was on an affectionate note.

“So, do you think we’ll make it in time to the party for me to carpool with Mathias back to his place? I wanna see what they’re building this year!”

He frowned, but his expression was short-lived as a smile began creeping onto his lips. “Are you serious right now?”

“I’m kidding!”

🎶 Tell me, are you the ghost of jealousy?

This is a request. Thank you for requesting.

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mischievousmoony · 4 years

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Teacups

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Reader

Summary: You and Hermione are in the Hogwarts’ kitchens for a late night cup of tea when she begins to pester you about the identity of your crush. Little does she know, your crush is her!

Warnings: None

Requested

Masterlist

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Nights like these were rare. Usually, you and your three best friends were uncovering secrets, rivaling some sort of evil, or partaking in a dangerous adventure. But after an exceptionally good D.A. meeting you, Harry, Ron, and Hermione decided to have a relaxing night in the common room for a change.

Ron had also decided he was in the mood to play Wizard’s Chess.

“It’s been ages since I’ve brought my set out,” he said.

Harry took Ron up on the offer, seemingly up for a challenge.

The four of you had sprawled out across the floor in front of the fireplace. Harry and Ron sat at opposite ends of the chessboard, sitting upright with their eyes glued to the game before them.

You and Hermione had chosen to sit on the other two sides of the board. Hermione was sitting cross-legged with a book in her lap. She would glance up every other moment when either of the boys made a particularly interesting move but was mostly focused on her book.

Across from her, you were paying even less attention to the game. You were sure Ron was going to win, anyway.

You had decided to lay on your stomach, feet in the air, your head kept up with your right hand. Instead of the violent game before you, your attention had been given to the girl seated across from you.

As the light from the fire reflected off of her features, you couldn’t help but notice how pretty Hermione looked. And it captured all of your attention.

You watched as Hermione’s eyes widened at something she read that must have surprised her. Your lips formed a soft smile in response to her mannerisms. The way her books could encapsulate her had always been something you found so adorable.

Suddenly, Harry’s king was loudly shattered to bits, breaking you out of your trance as pieces of the crown bounced off of your arm.

“That was too easy, Harry!” Ron exclaimed, a victorious smile on his face.

Having known he was going to lose since his second move, Harry simply shrugged and began scooping pieces of his king into his hands.

Hermione then snapped her book shut, “I feel like having some tea. Anyone want to join me on a walk to the kitchens?”

“Y/N will go with you!” Harry said enthusiastically.

Harry was the only person who knew of your crush on Hermione. He had caught you staring at her in class once.

It was ironic, as he has always been a little oblivious, but he said he noticed because he imagined that’s how he looked at Cho.

In your opinion, Harry could not have chosen a worse time to be aware of his surroundings. Because now that Harry knew, he had taken it upon himself to be your wingman, whether you liked it or not.

Hermione sent you a questioning look as if to make sure Harry wasn’t volunteering you for something you would rather not do.

“I’ll go,” You confirmed, letting your features meld into a cheery expression. Once Hermione wasn’t looking, though, you shot Harry a sharp glare.

“And you should take my cloak,” he added in response to your menacing gaze, smiling goofily as he looked at you.

Harry quickly dashed up the stairs to the boys’ dormitories and back down only moments later with his invisibility cloak in hand.

He handed the cloak to Hermione, beaming at you suspiciously over her shoulder.

You soon understood why Harry was so enthusiastic once you and Hermione were under the cloak, pressed up against each other to completely cover yourselves.

At least you were invisible now, or Harry would be teasing you for your blush.

“We’ll see you in a bit,” Hermione said to the boys as you began walking.

“Could you bring back some pumpkin pasties if they have ‘em?” Ron called out as you stepped through the portrait hole.

The two of you had to be very quiet on your walk to the kitchens because, even though you were invisible, people could still hear you. Especially since any noise you made would echo throughout the silent castle.

You gulped, hoping that the stark silence and proximity didn’t allow Hermione to hear your pounding heartbeat that was ringing through your ears.

When you could finally see the fruit bowl painting you nearly sighed in relief. Being this close to Hermione so long had you feeling like you were going to implode.

Hermione’s hand jutted out from under the cloak to tickle the pair and, shortly after, turn the green doorknob to reveal the kitchens.

As soon as you were inside you threw the cloak off of yourself and took a large step to the left, distancing yourself from Hermione. You felt as though you had just emerged from underwater and finally regained the ability to breathe.

While you caught your breath, you looked around the busy kitchen. Despite the late hour, the Hogwarts house-elves were still bustling about. You guessed that they must be making early preparations for tomorrow’s breakfast.

The first house elf that noticed you and Hermione excitedly dropped whatever they were doing to approach you both, eager to please.

The house-elf bowed before you, and in a squeaky voice, asked, “How may I be at your service?”

"Oh, don’t mind us! We’ve just come for a cup of tea!” Hermione replied politely.

“Of course Miss! I will have the tea ready in just a moment!”

“That won’t be necessary!” Hermione said hurriedly before the house-elf had a chance to leave, “We can make it ourselves! You don’t need to wait on us.”

Yet another smile crept on your face in response to something Hermione did. You greatly admired the way Hermione treated the house elves and fought for their rights.

Having come from a wizarding family, you hadn’t given the treatment of house-elves a second thought. However, Hermione opened your eyes and you were proud to say you were the second member to ever join S.P.E.W., just after Hermione herself.

“Miss, I insist,” the house-elf pressed, rocking anxiously on her heels.

Some house-elves felt that they were doing wrong if they let a wizard do something that they could do for them. That seemed to be the case here. You thought that in cases like these, it was better to let the house-elf help you than make them upset. You hated to see them upset.

You knelt before the house-elf, “We really would prefer to make it ourselves,” you said kindly, “But our friend Ron wanted us to see if there were any pumpkin pasties. You would be doing us a big favor by bringing some to us?”

“Of course, Miss! Right away, Miss!” The house-elf said before scurrying away.

Hermione sighed. She did not want to put any of the house-elves to work but it did seem like that was their only option in that situation. She decided to bite her tongue and make her way to the stoves.

Having been to the kitchens for tea countless times before, you two already knew where everything was. You moved to collect the teacups while Hermione filled a kettle with water.

“I’m glad you came down with me,” Hermione said as she set the kettle atop the stove to boil.

You nearly allowed the china in your hands to topple to the ground. Luckily, you managed to catch them, placing them ungracefully on the counter, “O- oh!”

“I wanted to ask you about something,” Hermione said, not taking her eyes off the water.

At a loss for better words, you repeated yourself, except with a more curious tone, “Oh?”

“I- I wanted to ask—” Hermione hesitated— “how are you?”

“How am I?” You questioned, suspecting an ulterior motive behind the question.

Hermione sighed and finally turned away from the kettle to face you, “I mean, is everything alright?”

As you considered how to respond, you straightened out a teacup that you had previously placed upside down when you had been attempting to rescue it from falling.

“Of course!” You tried to say confidently, realizing your delay may affect how the answer was perceived, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Hermione huffed and it seemed she lost her patience as she got right to the point, “You’ve been acting strangely. All year, in fact!”

You gulped, “I’m not sure what you—”

“Please, Y/N!” Hermione cried out, “We’re supposed to be best friends! But you’ve been so distant… like you’ve been keeping things from me.”

A blush began to overtake your features. Hermione assumed it was because you were being put on the spot.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you going off with Harry all the time. Whispering about something. Please, Y/N, what’s going on? You can tell me anything!” Hermione’s tone grew more desperate with every word. It strained your heart to hear, but you just didn’t know how to fix things.

“I- listen- it’s not what you think… me and Harry just…” you trailed off, utterly dumbfounded at the confrontation and unsure of what to say as your cheeks grew redder.

Hermione gasped once again, finally realizing what emotions were actually linked to your blush.

“Are you and Harry—?”

“No!” You interjected immediately, “Are you serious? Harry and I are just friends.”

Bitterly, you thought to yourself, just like us.

Hermione stared you down quizzically.

“Then what? Or…” her face fell a fraction, but you didn’t think much of it, “Or, who? Is there someone else?”

Keeping things secret from Hermione was hard. But lying? Lying was just impossible, so you opted to keep your mouth shut.

“Who is he?” She pressed.

You tightly screwed your eyes shut, bracing yourself. You just couldn’t lie to her.

“She,” you corrected timidly, not daring to open your eyes to see her reaction.

“What?” Hermione pronounced slowly, in a tone you could not read, making you terribly anxious.

You wrung your hands, opening your eyes only to stare at them, “It’s not a he, Hermione, it- it’s a she.”

The silence that followed your admission was deafening. You wished you could just disintegrate on the spot.

If only I could apparate, you thought.

“Well, that still doesn’t answer my question.”

Your head snapped up at once to look at the girl before you. There was an unreadable glimmer about Hermione, but that was the least of your concerns at the moment as you sputtered through your attempt at a response.

“Of course, I don’t judge you at all,” Hermione interjected, “Because- well- that would just be hypocritical.”

You went silent after Hermione’s statement. For a few moments, you two just stared at each other with matching, wide-eyed expressions.

Then, out of the blue and for no particular reason, the two of you began to laugh. The warm, new sense of freedom simply made you both so happy that you couldn’t help it.

You had been clutching your stomach by the time your laughter had died down. Hermione concluded her laughter with a sigh, leaving you two in a comfortable silence as you gazed at each other with amused expressions.

Until, Hermione’s face abruptly fell, as she realized there was still something bugging her.

“Er- Y/N?” She started apprehensively, “I’m still wondering… who is she?”

You gulped, but the news Hermione had just given you had left you with a sliver of confidence.

“Well—” You hesitated, not sure how to say it.

“Yes?” Hermione egged you on, a hopeful look in her eyes.

The sliver of confidence turned into a great rush of bravery. Hoping that you were reading the signs right, you cupped Hermione’s face and leaned in.

The first thing you noticed was that her skin was very smooth underneath your fingertips. Then, your heart jolted as you felt Hermione start to kiss you back and wrap her arms around your middle.

You smiled into the kiss, ecstatic that it was happening while simultaneously not believing that it was.

You had grown more comfortable as a few moments passed. You dropped your tense shoulder and let one of your hands travel to the back of her head.

Meanwhile, Hermione had pulled you impossibly closer so that you were pressed up against each other.

Just when you thought you could stay like this forever, the tea kettle began to whistle.

Hermione slowly pulled away, pausing briefly to share a meaningful smile with you, and turned around to remove the water from the heat. You let your arms drop back to your sides before deciding to grab the tea bags, milk, and sugar.

As you enjoyed your tea, you two sat atop the counter close enough that your sides were touching.

You spent your time catching up on all the things you missed when you were being distant.

It was almost as if you two were ignoring what had just happened between you, as you conversed about very normal things. But you were just enjoying finally being comfortable around Hermione again.

Besides, you both had a certain glint in your eyes that was present since your intimate moment. And you were both content with letting that small sign be the recognition for your new relationship.

Suddenly, when you were discussing something that happened in Herbology last week, the house-elf appeared with an entire basket of freshly baked pumpkin pasties.

Your eyes widened, “Er, thank you! Th- that would be all.”

The house-elf bowed and stalked off. Once you were sure she was gone, you turned to Hermione.

“Now I feel terrible! I didn’t think she would go through the trouble of making a whole new batch!”

Hermione giggled, finding your concern endearing, and leaned in to share your second ever kiss.

Later, when you finally arrived back at the common room, you were met with two sets of cheering.

Ron, excited about his fresh baked goods snatched the basket from your grip and began to eat up.

However, Harry’s excitement was not for the steaming pumpkin treats. For the first thing, he noticed when you and Hermione had walked in was that you were holding hands.

“Finally!” He cheered, throwing his fists in the air with the same energy he has after winning a quidditch match.

Ron looked up at the commotion and took in the scene before him.

With his mouth full, he commented, “Oh! You two've finally gotten together then?”

You, Hermione, and Harry immediately turned to gape at Ron.

“You knew?” Harry asked, dumbfounded.

“What!? It was a bit obvious they were pining after each other,” Ron shrugged, turning back to his food, “They look at each other just like you look at Cho.”

––––––––––

Note: It’s 3 am and I just hope that this is as decent as my tired brain thinks it is

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hellzeldagirlsfanfic · 4 years

Text

The Cost of the Throne Chapter 6

[Pervious] * [Next] * [First]

The death of Joe had caused a massive riot across Ckville.

The people of Ckville were tried of nobles of their city getting away with everything and Joe’s death had been the last straw.

The people gathered at the entrance of the noble quarter, screaming, shouting and demanding to be let in. They wanted Lord Kay and his men to be responsible for the death of the young soldier and the other injustices that Lord Kay had committed. Soon the gathering became violent.

The guards’ of the noble quarter started to attack the people hoping that it would disperse but that only lead to deaths of more people. And those deaths lead to the people fighting back.

The fighting had been going on for a month now.

The hospitals in Ckville are neutral ground. So many citizens would flock to the hospital for protection from the violence and destruction outside on the streets.

And like previous riots, Saint Mirajane was swamped with many patients with severe injuries and limbs that needed to amputate. Along with families taking shelter, every available nurse was called in to help.

To add to the mayhem Vilho hadn’t returned from the capital yet. It was most likely that he was being kept outside the city walls until the riots had clam down. Meaning that (Y/N) was still in charge.

Even with Viji help the patients just kept coming. Nearly all the beds were filled.

Her and Viji managed to get a break during a quiet moment in the riots.

“Vilho must be going crazy outside the walls,” Viji said.

“You can say that again,” (Y/N) sighed into her cup of tea. “I wish he was here so one of us could sleep,” She complained with a yawn.

The two of them were drawn away from their conversation by a loud noise coming from Viji’s office. The two women looked into the office to see Viji’s husband trying to entertain their hyper-act daughter. Viji sighed at her family.

(Y/N) smiled at the small family before downing the rest of her tea.

“Why don’t you spend some time with your family whilst it’s quiet,” (Y/N) told her.

“Are you sure?” Viji asked.

“Yeah,” She answered. “I’ll get Debbie to get you if happens. Though you’ll probably hear it before someone comes to get you,” (Y/N) said.

The month of riots had made (Y/N) forget her worries about Vergil and the marriage as her mind was more focus on her patients.

*** A few more days pass with an influx of patients that filled the rest of the hospital beds. (Y/N) and Viji had to work through the nights to make sure that every patient that came in during those few days was taken care off.

When the two doctors were finished it was a quiet period during the riots.

“(Y/N), go and take a nap,” Viji told her.

“What!?” (Y/N) gasped. “I can’t do that! We still have to go around and do the rounds,” She said.

“You did yourself the another when you gave me some time with my family,” Viji told her. “Any way you need it. You hadn’t slept much during this riot and you weren’t sleeping well before the riot so, you definitely need it,” She said walking away to start doing the round herself.

(Y/N) was left standing in the hallway by herself. She sighed then run a hand through her (dirty) hair.

‘I guess she right,’ She thought as she made her way to her office.

(Y/N) threw herself onto the old couch crammed into the corner of her tiny office. Soon as her head hit the couch’s arm she was fast asleep.

A scream pierced through the hospital.

‘What’s going on?’ She question.

The (H/C) shook her head to get rid of her dizziness. Once it was gone (Y/N) dashed out of her office.

It sounded like the scream came from the entrance hall.

When she got to the large hall she could see the citizens and patients were backing away from a small group of people not far from the front door.

The group consisted of men dressed expensive and refine armour and what looked a uniform underneath. The men were brandishing their weapons. These men were most likely hired by a noble to cause trouble. But to attack hospital!

As (Y/N) weaved through the crowd she spotted a familiar face in the middle of those men.

Anger filled her vein as she pushed her to the front.

“Dante!” (Y/N) yelled. “What the earth are you doing…” She started to yell but faded away when she got a good look at the looked at the man in the middle of the intruder.

He had the same face as Dante along with the same pure hair and steely blue eyes. But this man was completely different from her friend. He was clean-shaven and his hair slick back. The clothing that he was wearing were expensive and superior to anything that the nobles in Ckville would wear.

‘An outsider,’ She realised. “Who do you think you are!? Walking into a hospital branding your weapons!” She yelled at them as moved closer.

The man surrounding him raised their weapons as she drew closer, protecting the handsome white man in the centre.

The man’s steely blue stared right at her, giving her an uncomfortable feeling. A feeling she that she had felt once before in the dark and lonely tunnels of the Cedar Labyrinth, outside the king’s office as he told his advisors the fate he had planned for her.

“(Y/N)!” She heard Viji yelled from the crowd behind her.

The doctor turned her head to search for her colleague taking a step back. When she did a hand gripped her upper arm. (Y/N) snapped her head back to see that the white-haired man was gripping her arm.

“Let go of me!” She demanded.

The man didn’t let go but pulled her closer to him. His guard removed their weapons to let her closer to him as possible.

(Y/N) tried to get out of his grip but it was too strong.

(Y/N) could only think up of one plan to get herself free. So using her free arm she slapped the man across his face with the back of her hand. The shock allowed her to free her captured arm. (Y/N) made sure to put some distance between her and the men.

“Your Majesty,” The guards all gasped.

‘Your Majesty…’

Her body froze at those words.

It was him; The man who plans to end her life that she worked so hard for.

The man with the white was Son of Sparda.

The half-demon who wanted to marry her for power.

Vergil.

“(Y/N)!” Viji called to her when she finally got through the crowd.

“I’m sorry Viji,” She whispered. “I’ll be leaving you in charge of the hospital,” She informed the other doctor.

“What!?” Viji exclaimed.

She watched as (Y/N) raised one of her arms. Her fingers were straight with her thumb tucked into her palm. The younger doctor poured her magic into her arm and then into her hand. When there was enough magic gathered she’d fired a shoot at Vergil.

(Y/N) didn’t stay to see if the shot hit him as she merged into the crowd of fleeing patients and citizens. She could hear a guard yelling for her capture. She darted down a hallway to the back the hospital and into the room where they stored the dead bodies, waiting for families to collect them. The room had a small door so the bodies could be discreetly removed, the perfect way for her to escape the hospital.

Once out of the hospital (Y/N) quickly moved into the filthy back-streets of Ckville. Her mind was making a list of things that she needed to do in the next couple of minutes so she could escape the city safety.

‘I got to get to the boarding house and get the money,’ She thought. ‘Then I should leave the city through the sewers, that would be for the best,’ She decided.

As she moved fast though the back-streets to the boarding house or she would of if the guards that Vergil had brought with him didn’t get in her way.

“Stop right there Lady Rozeningale!” One of them shouted at her.

“Lady,” (Y/N) snarled. “I get to be called Lady now that your kind plans to marry and not the bastard of Rose-Griffiths,” She snapped at them.

They seemed to be taken back by her comment. They seemed to be uncomfortable about comment maybe because of the content or because she was swearing. Using their discomfort (Y/N) shoot a spell that would only knock out the men. Once the guards were down (Y/N) resume her back to the boarding house.

“And it’s Doctor,” She corrected the guard.

She entered the boarding house by using the rear entrance. The building was eerily silent. She had never been in the boarding house during a riot.

‘Everyone probably sheltering,’ She thought as walked through the loud and clutter hallway.

(Y/N) climbed the stairs that lead up to the second floor, where her room was located. She carefully opened the door and looked into the room to see if anyone was in there. No one, the room was just as she left a month ago.

She swiftly opened then closed it behind her. She made her to her bookcase and push it so she could get. To the money, hidden under the floorboard. She threw the box into a bag and grabbed a cloak.

When she turned around her heart nearly stopped.

Vergil was standing in-between her and the door.

‘When did he entered!?’ (Y/N)’s mind screamed.

There was no way he entered from the door, it was old and need a good oiling.

Her eyes moved from stoic face to his leather bond hands. Clucked in his left hand was a sword, the Yamato, a powerful devil arm that the half-demon had inherited from his father. He probably won’t use it on her hopefully but it was still frightening to have such a blade nearby.

(Y/N) examined the room behind the king. The door was the obvious way out but there was also a window in the other wall behind him. The window led straight to the streets below. She would need to good distract if she was going to made break for the window.

“Whatever you’re thinking I suggest you forget. Just come quietly,” He told her. His voice sounded familiar somehow, it was baritone, clam and sent shivers down her spine.

“I’m sorry but you’re not mother,” She shot back. “And I don’t bow anyone, especially the king of Quebel!” She snarled as she shot another spell towards him.

This spell was slightly different than the one she threw at him earlier. It was mixed pure mana canon and her natural fire abilities. She shot towards the door, she aimed it at the wall next to the door. When the spell hit the wall it causing a large amount of smoke as the flame ate away the wall.

‘I’m sorry Mrs Hudson,’ She apologised to her landlord.

The smoke was thick and black, successfully shielding (Y/N) from Vergil’s eyes. Once the smoke had filled the room (Y/N) cast an illusion spell to trick Vergil that she was making a mad dash to the hole she made in the wall. It seemed to work as she sees his shadow move in the direction of the illusion. Then she made her mad dash to the window brushing against the half-demon on the way. (Y/N) crushing through the window onto a stall on the streets below.

The woman let out a groan as she picked herself from the floor. She stumbling to the alleyway near the boarding house.

(Y/N) scrambled to the nearest entrance to the sewer. She closed the sewer entrance behind then dropped down to the darkness under her.

Once she got her bearing and summoned a light source (her trusty old lamp) the (H/C) started made her way out of Ckville. Her home of fourteen years, the city that gave her a chance to live her life the way she wanted and the place that teach her some much about life.

(Y/N) tried and fail not to cry. She wiped her tears as she left her happy life behind.

The fleeing woman lifted her lamp a bit higher for its light to hit the figure dressed in blue.

A scream was let out by the woman as she got a look of the man that was chasing her. She dropped her lamp as he draws closer to her whilst she moved further away from him.

Vergil stopped once his feet met the still lit lamp. The orange light illuminated his furious face.

‘How!?’ (Y/N)’s mind screamed again. ‘How did he know I was down here!?’ She shrieked in her mind.

“Enough with this cat and mouse game!” He shouted at her.

The angry filled her veins.

“No!!” She screamed back. “I will not allow anyone but myself to control my life!” She added on.

The angry in her veins flowed into her hand. Flames erupted from her hands. (Y/N) threw endlessly steamed of flames at Vergil. Harsh breaths left (Y/N)’s lips at she finished fiery assault on the Dark Slayer. He was nowhere in sight, not even a charted body. Had she destroyed every inch of him?

She stepped closer to the area where she had last sited the Son of Sparda.

“It’s time to end this game,” Vergil whispered from behind her.

(Y/N) didn’t have a moment to move an inch as a sharp pain travelled through her neck. The tiny flame in her lamp disappeared as she faded from the world.

*** That was the first thing (Y/N) notice when she regained consciousness. The next things she noticed that she laying on her right side which was laying on a very comfortable surface and she a little bit warm. Her (E/C) eyes open onto a dark pair of legs. She followed those legs up until she met a handsome face. (E/C) met blue.

At first, she thought it was Dante but then her memories returned from before she lost consciousness.

She bolted up. She could hear her heart in the ears.

They stayed still, staring at each other like predator and prey.

She knew that was in a carriage heading out of Prildo Ira heading towards Quebel.

She didn’t know how long they were staring at each other before she lunges towards the carriage door. Her attempted fail as Vergil wrapped his arms around her waist.

“No!!!” She screamed at him.

(Y/N) struggled against her captor with no success. Her struggle only led to Vergil restraining her efficiently. He had gotten ahold of her wrist across them over her body restricting her movement.

“Let me!” (Y/N) demanded as she tried to wriggle free of Vergil’s hold.

She tried to activate her magic but not a single ounce of mana came to her to aid. This lead to more panic in her system. Had they sealed her magic?

The man behind her, stayed quiet as he let the woman in his arms use up all of her energy.

“Let me…,” She begged as she felt her hope waining. “Please…,” She whispered as tears started to fall from her (E/C) eyes.

But nothing left white hair man’s lips as the woman in his arms lend forwards, she began to sob.

(Y/N) hated it. She felt like she was a child again powerless and weak, sitting the darkness of Cedar Labyrinth unable to change her own fate herself. And everything she had done since she left that darkness of Cedar Labyrinth. It was all for nothing, all training and leaving to be dragged back to where it started.

She cried herself to sleep in the arms of the man who was taking her away from the life she’d loved.

Vergil waited until he could hear her soft breaths.

He pulled her back to his chest letting of her wrist once she laying on it. He then turned her on his lap so she was on sitting sideward. He rests (H/C)’s head in the nook of her neck and supported her head with his left hand. Vergil reached in dark embroidery coat and pulled handkerchief. He wiped her tear-stained cheeks then wiped her nose. Once done he placed a kiss on her head.

Vergil looked down at (Y/N)’s face and the dark bags under her eyes. He noticed them earlier when he had laid her down in carriage but didn’t notice how dark they were. She also was stupidly easy to carry so he took a peek under surcoat and tunic, she unhealthy thin, it wasn’t too bad that you could see her ribs but it nearly there. Not to mention that she smelt bad.

Vergil sighed.

“It’s going to take a lot of work to make you into a queen that history will remember,” He mumbled as he placed another kiss on her forehead.

#devil may cry #vergil x reader #devil may cry vergil #dmc vergil #dmc vergil x reader #dmc #vergil x you

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marthas-feral-cat · 4 years

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The Miserables Month Days 14 and 16: Disguise and Intrepid (Jehanparnasse):

((Combined Days 14 and 16 of @themiserablesmonth it’s a little over 2K long enjoy!))

The Miserables Month Days 14 and 16: Disguise and Intrepid (Jehanparnasse):

The kingdom was in a state of pure excitement, the king had recently announced a masquerade ball in honor of his son Prince Jehan. The ball would take place on the prince’s birthday, and all potential suiters were to attend. This would be the evening that Jehan would select his spouse. His father had encouraged him to choose from his friends’ sons and daughters at the ball, and Jehan had reluctantly agreed. The peasants and lower ranking nobles were invited to make it seem like the prince could choose anyone he happened to feel a connection with, but Jehan knew he was trapped into choosing from a list of suiters of which his father pre-approved for him.

While Prince Jehan prepared himself for the ball, a group of thieves had gotten their hands on some invitations. The Patron Minette was going to infiltrate the palace, kidnap the young prince, and hold him for ransom for all the crown jewels in the kingdom. Claquesous had arranged for the disguises to be made, they would give the names of lords that no one had heard from in years and enter the ball. Two of them would distract the king and queen while the rest got the prince away quietly. No one was to stray from the plan, no one was to let the prince be lost to them.

On the day before the ball, Jehan went into the village to gather fabrics and materials for his costume. The prince spotted a dashing young man in the street, who bowed to him, “Good day to you your highness.”

“Good day…?” Jehan paused waiting for a name.

“Montparnasse at your service,” the charming young man bowed to him once more.

“Montparnasse, what a lovely name,” Jehan smiled sweetly at him, “A lovely name for a lovely man.”

“You flatter me, pretty little Bird,” Montparnasse grinned.

As the two conversed, Mont skillfully picked up a piece of jewelry and pocketed it with no one noticing, even the prince.

Jehan got butterflies talking to this man, “I hope to see you at the ball, Montparnasse.”

“I doubt you will, but I hope so too, Little Bird,” Montparnasse grinned, this was too easy, the prince already trusted him it seemed.

Jehan was quickly whisked away by a guard, warning him to stay away from the no-good thief Montparnasse and the rest of his crew, or the young prince might get hurt. Jehan looked back, slightly disappointed, but still interested in this man and hopeful that they would meet again.

The night of the masquerade came, and Jehan was dressed as the prince of the forest fae. He donned an elaborate crown of flowers and gold leaves, and a costume made of the finest silks the kingdom could provide. He greeted the guests, his numerous suiters, with polite smiles and pleasantries. He then looked up when Lord Jaques de Montemare was announced, he hadn’t heard of him before, but the second he looked up he was enamored by his looks, his costume, his everything.

Montparnasse walked down the steps as he was announced and immediately started towards the young prince. He donned a rather dashing maroon-colored cloak over a simpler black suit. His mask was that of a cat, intricate and gold that covered most of his face, leaving just his smirk for the prince to see as he approached.

“Bonsoir mon prince,” Montparnasse took Jehan’s hand and kissed it gently.

Jehan gazed upon him, blushing at the kiss to his hand, “Good evening to you, good sir,” he managed to remain regal as ever through his heart’s fluttering.

“May I have this dance, your highness?” Montparnasse asked him as the music swelled. He extended a hand to Jehan.

Jehan simply nodded and accepted the man’s hand. He was led to the center of the floor and elegantly pulled into hold as the waltz started.

“So, my prince, have any young men or women caught your attention tonight?” Mont asked, charming as ever.

“I believe one already has,” Jehan nodded as his cheeks darkened once more.

“Perhaps a walk in the garden once the waltz ends, if I may be so bold?” Montparnasse suggested smoothly.

“Nothing would please me more, sir,” Jehan smiled at him.

They talked through the dance, and Jehan told him of all his plans for the kingdom once it was his time to succeed to the throne. He smiled as he explained the reforms he would put through, the fact that no man would ever go hungry as long as he was in charge. No child would be without a loving home, no person would be unsafe in his kingdom, no more suffering, no more persecution, no one would need steal to survive ever again if the young prince had his way.

“Little Bird, your plan is too idealistic, it can never happen all at once,” Montparnasse smirked a little, “No one can fix everything.”

“I know it is idealistic, and I know it won’t be easy, change is rarely so, but I can do it. I have a plan, and I have people who have devoted themselves to helping me achieve it. My kingdom will be one of peace and prosperity for all,” Jehan smiled his optimistic soft smile and his eyes lit up with hope. His heart skipped a beat when he heard the nickname. It was Montparnasse, the thief from the village market place, he’d come to see him after all.

Oh no…that smile…his eyes through the mask…goddamn it I cannot go through with this. I’ve fallen for him. Montparnasse’s face fell slightly, he couldn’t hurt this man, and he would have to tell the others to abandon the plan.

“What’s wrong?” Jehan asked as the song ended, “Was it something I said?”

“Oh it’s nothing to concern yourself with, Little Bird, let’s take our walk,” Mont smiled easily. Inside he was torn; he couldn’t let the others go through with this, but if he refused they’d surely take their revenge on him and take the prince anyway, and then he couldn’t stop them from hurting him.

Jehan linked arms with him and the two strolled out to the garden. “Thank you for sneaking in here, Montparnasse,” he whispered once they were out of sight.

Mont’s eyes went wide, “How did you…?”

“No one else calls me Little Bird,” Jehan grinned, “Besides; I would recognize those eyes through any disguise. Don’t worry I won’t let the guards know you’re here. I trust you.”

Mont felt his heart break; he would betray his trust and the prince would never feel the same way for him again. “Thank you for that, Little Bird. I need you to trust me no matter what may happen tonight.”

“What do you mean?” Jehan asked, “What may happen?”

“I don’t know, but know this, I will protect you,” Montparnasse promised him. He kissed the prince deeply, cupping his cheek and pulling him in close.

Jehan kissed back, feeling his heart beat faster and his face darken, “Protect me from what? The monsters in the forest?” he asked with a breathy laugh.

Before Montparnasse could respond, Babet snuck up and covered Jehan’s mouth, “Hello, highness, mind if we take you for a little ride?”

Jehan tried to scream and struggled frantically in his grasp. This wasn’t happening. Why isn’t Montparnasse helping? He promised he would protect me! Then it dawned on him, this man he’d fallen I love with ten minutes prior was behind it.

Claquesous appeared and tied the prince’s hands behind his back, “Right this way highness.”

Babet pulled handkerchief from his pocket and tied it into Jehan’s mouth before drawing a dagger out from his belt and pressing it to Jehan’s back, “Walk to the carriage nicely little prince.”

Montparnasse protested, “Put the damn dagger away, Babet, he won’t run.”

“Going soft, ‘Parnasse?” Babet teased him as he pushed the prince to the carriage. He opened a large wooden trunk and lifted him up locking him inside.

As the lid closed, Montparnasse mouthed an apology to him.

Jehan glared up at him and cursed him through the gag.

Babet just laughed, “Poor kid thought you really had feelings for him.”

Later at the safe house, Jehan was bound to a chair and refused to answer any questions, earning him a sharp slap to the face. Mont had had to bite his tongue and allow it while he thought of a plan to get Jehan home safely. Montparnasse was assigned to guard the prisoner while the gang sent the ransom letter to his parents. Babet had cut a lock of the prince’s hair and torn a flower from his costume.

Mont waited until they were alone and pulled the gag out of Jehan’s mouth, “I’m sorry Little Bird.”

“How could you? You promised me you’d protect me,” Jehan cried, “You’ll all hang for this, and to think I trusted you.”

“Jehan, listen to me,” Montparnasse whispered, “I promise I won’t let them hurt you. I wanted to protect you, but they’ll kill me if I go against them. I’ll get you out of here safely I swear it.”

“How can I trust you after you let them do this to me?” Jehan leaned away from him.

“Because I heard your ideas, your plans, for when you’re king, and I fell for you so hard, Little Bird,” Mont cupped his cheek, “I love you, my prince,” he kissed him softly.

Jehan kissed back, he couldn’t tell why, but he trusted this man, this man that he’d been warned about and told was no good. He trusted him completely, “I love you too, Montparnasse. Don’t let them kill me, please,” for the first time he let it show how terrified he was.

“I promise they’ll have to go through me to harm you in any way. When they leave to drop the letter off at midnight, we’ll wait ten minutes and I’ll get you home. I just ask that you give me enough time to escape so I have a chance of surviving.”

“You won’t need to escape, the ball was meant for me to choose who I marry, and I’m choosing you,” Jehan told him, “I want you to be my husband and rule by my side.”

Montparnasse fell silent and looked slightly confused, “But I’m a criminal. Surely a lord would be better suited to rule beside a prince?”

“I don’t want a lord, I want you, and I wish my hands were free so I could touch you,” Jehan pulled at the ropes and winced as they dug into his wrists.

Montparnasse moved closer to him and held his face in his hands kissing him once more, “I love you, Little Birdie, so much.”

Midnight soon arrived and true to his word, Montparnasse cut the ties off him, gently kissing his wrists. “Hurry, there’s not a moment to lose.”

Jehan threw his arms around him and held tight for a moment before letting go and nodding. “I’m ready, Monty.”

Montparnasse took his hand and held it tight, leading him through the back of the safe house. He stole a horse, well his horse, and that wasn’t really stealing in his book. He helped the prince up onto the horse and got on behind him, petting the horse’s mane, “Good girl,” he took the reins and snapped them.

The horse took off towards the castle, but little did they know Babet had stayed behind suspecting that this would happen. Arrows flew through the air towards them, but the horse skillfully avoided them all. Babet mounted his own horse and chased them.

They arrived at the palace steps; they were safe. Montparnasse dismounted and helped Jehan off the horse. As Jehan’s feet hit the ground, Montparnasse cried out in pain. An arrow had pierced his chest.

“NO!” Jehan leaped in front of him and grabbed Montparnasse’s sword from his belt. He readied himself to fight the assailant.

Babet hopped off his horse and drew his own sword, seemingly unthreatened by the young prince. He lunged at him with the sword, cutting his arm.

Jehan hissed in pain and managed to move away. He blocked the next swipe, the next, and the next after that. He swung furiously, his hair falling in front of his eyes, and disarmed Babet, “Stand down!” he yelled at the man.

The guards soon came and arrested Babet and sent for medics for the prince and Montparnasse.

Jehan knelt beside him, “It’s okay, you’re safe now my love, you’re going to make it, you saved my life. I’m going to protect you now. You’re going to be alright, I promise.”

Mont grunted in pain, “I-I think not…Please forgive me…before I go I need to know you forgive me for all this…please…Little Bird…”

Jehan cried, “No, no I won’t let you die. Not now, I’m going to marry you. Of course I forgive you, you saved my life.”

Mont smiled, “L-Love you…”

“I love you too,” Jehan put pressure around the wound as the medics rushed outside, “Please save him, he saved my life.”

Montparnasse’s world went dark.

The next morning he woke in the palace infirmary and looked around until he spotted Jehan asleep with his head on the bed by his own. He smiled, “Good morning, Little Bird,” he whispered.

Jehan woke and smiled brightly, “You’re awake, you’re okay!”

“Thanks to you,” Montparnasse smiled and kissed his cheek, “You were an intrepid hero, my darling Little Bird.”

“You have a week of bedrest from that wound, and then we have a wedding to plan, so get better that’s an order from your prince,” Jehan laid beside him and played with his hair, “I’ll be with you every moment.”

The king walked into the room, “Montparnasse?”

“Yes sire?” Mont bowed his head, “I apologize for putting the prince in danger, “I swear from this moment on I will protect him with my life.”

The king smiled, “I was reluctant to allow my son to marry outside of the nobility, but your devotion to him, and that you were willing to risk death to get him home safe has earned you my blessing. I know you two will be great rulers someday, and that you will care for him like no other. Welcome to the family. As for your friends, Jehan has alerted me to their financial distress, and we will grant them pardons, you two may deal with them as you please.”

“Thank you your majesty,” Montparnasse smiled and held onto Jehan’s hand, “You’re right, I love him as I have loved no other before him. I hope to be a suitable husband to him.”

“You will be Monty,” Jehan assured him.

The next month they were married and they lived happily ever after.

#the miserables month #jehan #jehan prouvaire #montparnasse #jehanparnasse #montprouvaire #montparnasse x jehan #jehan x montparnasse #les amis #les amis de l'abc #les mis #les miserables #Patron Minette #fic #fanfic #les mis fanfic #katie writes #long story #2k

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letstalkaboutshtufff · 4 years

Text

Ivar x reader Close call

Pairing: Ivar x reader

Warnings: mild language, mentions of poison and slavery, I think that's it?

Summary: Reader who's a slave tries to save the king before it's too late.

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

Hello my loves! I've recently gotten back into Vikings and wanted to write a little something. Hope you guys like it😚

The great hall was full of life in celebration of some new lands that had been conquered. The ruthless king himself sat on his throne clapping and laughing loudly as the warrior beside him told a crude joke.

You wish you could join them at the table but you were no warrior. Nope life had given you the short end of the straw on that one.

You were just a slave, heck you weren't even an interesting one. Some of your slave friends had managed too woo their masters and be set free with their charming personalities but you weren't bold like them. The boldest thing you've done in your life was sneak some extra portions from the kitchen when no one was looking.

You made your way into the kitchens for the millionth time that night and grabbed some more ready dishes, those warriors ate like starving wolves. The delicious smell of chicken wafted through your nose and you resisted the urge to snatch one up. You hadn't eaten anything since the morning what with everything being so busy preparing and all.

You made your way back into the bustling hall. Setting the down the dishes close to where the king sat. By the gods he was handsome, those blue eyes were like sparkling oceans. Usually you were able to get away with a few glances without him noticing but you must've lingered too long because somehow those ocean eyes were now on you with an eyebrow slightly raised, "Is something on my face slave?"

Shit...

"N-no n-nothing, sorry my king.." you quickly bowed your head down in embarrassment and turned away. An warm hand pulled your arm back before you could run away,

"Make yourself useful and get us some more mead" he ordered.

"Yes my king" you scurried away back to the kitchens, cheeks on fire. Geez what were you?! 12?! If just a little contact made your heart beat so fast and stutter like that, how were you ever gonna get a man.

With a sigh you pushed open the curtain to the kitchen and searched for some bottles.

"Hmm that's strange, someone mustve taken it." You couldve sworn there was a full bottle just a moment ago when you got the dishes.

"Mira do you know where some more bottles of mead are?" You asked one of the other slaves in the kitchen.

"There's more in the back shed! Need help carrying them?" She asked setting down some dirty dishes.

"No I'll be alright!" You smiled and made your way outside. The cool air felt great on your heated skin. It was nice being away from all the noise.

You slid in the slightly open shed door and paused when you saw a brown haired girl standing with her back to you. You heard a quiet clanking noise, like a bottle being shaken, not wanting to startle her you opened the shed door more making a creaking sound.

She jumped visibly and shot around. Eyes slightly wide and a thin layer of sweat on her fore head. She looked panicked for some reason.

"Sorry didn't mean to scare you" you giggled trying to lighten the mood, "Are you alrig-"

"I-I'm f-fine.." The girl quickly turned around, gathered up what appeared to be a bottle, and rushed past you.

Okaaay that wasn't weird at all.. she must be a new slave from the conquerored lands. It wasnt uncommon for the new slaves to be scared at first, especially those taken from their homes. Thinking nothing more of it you quickly grabbed up some bottles, the last thing you wanted was Ivar to be angry at you for taking too long. You'd seen the king slap slaves for far less. You knew you shouldn't have been so infatuated with a man who could be so cruel but by the gods when he smiled your morals flew out the window. You wish you weren't a slave, that way you could've had a chance at least to be his friend. Maybe in another life you would be a powerful shield maiden and he would be enamored by your strength. There were so many scenarios that ran through your mind you could've written a book about them. Hell you could've filled a an entire library with all the situations you've dreamed up. Loneliness and a creative mind are a dangerous combination.

When you walked back into the hall you frowned noticing the girl had given Ivar the bottle instead of you.

Aw man I wanted to do that...with an internal sigh you set the mead at the other end where you noticed it was running low. You wondered how much mead these men could actually drink before they drowned themselves inside out. Speaking of drunk men, it might be helpful for you to try and calm the poor girl down. After all drunk men loved to prey on sacred skittish girls. At least knowing she had someone she could talk too and call a friend might help relax her nerves.

You scanned the room and soon spotted the familiar mop of brown curls hiding behind a pillar.

Poor thing must be terrified. Half her body was concealed and she held her fingers to her mouth, nervously chewing on them. You took a few steps towards her but stopped when you noticed she was staring at something like her life depended on it.

Following her line of vision your eyes landed on the kings laughing form. He was pouring from the new bottle and somehow that made the girl even more nervous. Somethings not right...

You were about to start walking towards her again when she suddenly darted off out of the hall.

You looked back at the king narrowing your eyes as he lifted the mug halfway.

The pieces began clicking like a puzzle in your mind

A new slave you've never seen before..

The clanking in the shed...

The nervousness...

Oh no...

It was like everything was in slow motion when you dashed across the room like a madman over to where the king was starting to drink. The cup was just barely grazing his lips when you dived onto his lap smacking away the cup onto the floor.

The commotion caught the entire halls attention and your heavy breaths were the only thing that could be heard in the silence.

You were frozen, completely terrified as the situation you were in dawned on you. All eyes were glued to you.

You turned slightly in his lap and met his very shocked and confused eyes. All 2 of your brain cells managed to squeeze out a single word in defense. "P-poison" you whispered and tried to shuffle off his lap, only for him to firmly grab your arms trapping you in place.

He was getting angry now, a dark look swimming across his eyes, "Poison? Explain yourself slave!".

"T-there was a girl- one I hadn't seen before getting your mead from the shed, before I came in she was doing something I couldn't see and she looked frightened, I didn't think anything of it until you were pouring your drink. She was hiding looking at you like her heart was gonna burst, before you lifted the cup she took off outside. I put two and two together and just reacted..it could be nothing but..." you looked over to where his brother ubbe lifted the fallen cup, carefull not to touch any of the fallen liquid. He held it up to his face and looked deeply inside the cup. His eyes narrowed when he spotted something collected at the bottom, "It's true" everyone gasped around the room, Ivar tensed under you. "Theres powder on the bottom".

"Where is this girl you speak of?" Ivar growled, you shivered even though his anger wasn't directed at you, lifting a finger you pointed towards a side entrance, "She ran that way, she was wearing a red dress and had brown curls." Ivar nodded to some guards and they quickly ran in the same direction. "Do not let that bitch escape!" he yelled after them.

You shifted uncomfortably, he still hadn't let you go.

Apparently the girl hadn't gotten far at all because only a few moments later 2 guards had brought the girl in kicking and screaming. "LET ME GO, PLEASE I DIDN'T DO IT" tears were rolling down her face like a waterfall.

Ivar smiled wickedly before loosening his grip.

You immediately got off and watched as he grabbed his crutch. The shaking girl watched in utter horror as he slowly walked towards her like a predator.

"Didnt do it? Didnt do what hmm? Didn't try to poison me?" He knelt down a few inches from her face grabbing her chin with his fingers.

"Shh shhh stop crying, I'm not going to kill you" he caressed her face in a calming motion. The girl started to calm down but you knew what was coming, with a smirk he leaned towards her ear, "I'm going to break you". She thrashed around once more as Ivar got up and ordered the guards to take her to a cell, she fainted and had to be carried out when he said he would be in later to interrogate her. Poor thing, you guessed someone had threatened her because she did not look like a killer. And slaves were an easy target for such schemes.

Once the guards dragged her away Ivar turned to the crowd, "My friends, I believe we were in the middle of a celebration were we not? Bring out fresh mead!" The men cheered and soon the silent hall was once again bustling. You stood there awkwardly by the throne not knowing if you should just leave and get back to work. While you were debating the king turned to you with an amused smile. "What is your name my little hero?" You felt heat rise to your cheeks at the nickname.

"Y/n my king" you bowed slightly.

"Y/n...I believe I owe you a thank you" he walked closer to you which made your heart do a little leap.

"That's not necessary my king I was only doing what anyone would". He laughed and you looked up at him slightly confused. What was funny?

"Believe me when I say there are many who would like nothing more than to see me dead" the thought of that made you very sad.

"Well in any case" he stopped until he was right in front of you, lifting your chin up with a finger "you deserve a reward don't you agree?" The feel of his fingers on you were too good and suddenly words evaded you. All you could do was stare into his devilish eyes and nod slowly.

The Cheshire cat could learn a thing or two from how he was smiling now. Leaning into your ear he whispered "Good, because by the way I've caught you looking at me the past few weeks, I think I know exactly what kind of reward you desire".

Gods help me...

***************************************************Thanks for reading! Comments really make my day and inspire me to write more so if you liked it please let me know:)

#ivar the boneless #ivar fanfic #ivar x you #vikings #viking fanfic #close call #reader saves #poison #poisoned #self insert #ivar x reader #ivar x oc #slave girl #slave reader #reward

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cigarettesandharringrove · 5 years

Note

Can I get uh,,,, provoked with a dash of aren't we a thing, then why are you flirting :0

Oh gosh yes, I need this. Lets get this roller coaster goinggg because im a sucker for jealous steve!

—

Steve wanted to blame Nancy for taking him to Jocelyn K’s house party, because Jocelyn was on the cheer squad (popular in the school) and Steve knew she had a thing for bad boys which explained why Steve wasn’t invited since being demoted from Keg King to Babysitter. But Jocelyn definitely had an obvious thing for not just any kind of bad boys, no, more specifically a bad boy with unruly blond locks and tantalizing sapphire eyes, Billy Hargrove.

And Steve couldn’t really blame her, Billy was something else entirely. Most people considered Billy a selfish, prideful jackass, and they weren’t wrong to some extent but there was a lot of sides to Billy. Sides that Steve got to find out in secret, like Billy liking camping and swimming in lakes, making fires, and hiking–he always has a morning cigarettes at the lake shore at the crack of dawn alone. But Steve would bring him coffee and they’d watch the sun rise together.

But right now, Steve watches from across the living room Jocelyn playing with her long brown hair, giggling extra loud to make sure the whole party knew that she was hitting on Billy ‘bad boy’ Hargrove.

Steve’s gut burned, watching Billy talk to her with no apprehension and a cigarette between his lips; the mixture of alcohol and jealousy was making him shake the red solo cup in his hand. Because despite how much time they spent during spring break together, they still acted like strangers at house parties in Hawkins.

Then, Billy’s eyes swept the room, finally landing on Steve’s, of course Billy’s gaze would make Steve’s feet stay rooted to where he stood, he always got stupidly choked up with Billy’s intense eyes. He watches Billy put out his smoke and take a swig of beer, there’s a playful smirk on his lips as his eyes trail back to Jocelyn. And Steve is seeing red as Billy leans down to let Jocelyn whisper in his ear, and the smile grows on Billy’s face–no, no, no, her arms were wrapping around his bicep and it all felt wrong as Billy let her.

The burning sensation travels up to Steve’s throat and he’s fuming. What. The. Fuck.

Before she can take Billy and lead them into some random room in the house, Steve weaves through the crowd towards them with tunnel vision. Once he got his hand on Billy’s arm, he could see the entertained grin that danced across the teen’s smug face.

“Harrington, I’m busy here.” Billy teases, making it seem like he cared about Jocelyn. Steve knew better than that, because he knew Billy didn’t have eyes for anyone at this party but him.

“We need to talk now, Billy,” Steve slurred out, shooting Jocelyn a warning look of ‘don’t try me right now’.

Steve could blame the obnoxious amount of alcohol he had consumed, or the brooding jealousy that made him want to punch Billy for looking at anyone but him. Steve knew it was unfair, but fuck if he didn’t feel hurt seeing Billy smile down at Jocelyn and the intrusive thought of him sleeping with her–no, Steve wasn’t okay with that no matter what state his mind was in.

It didn’t take long for them to find an empty room and locking it behind them, “Alright, Harrington, what is it?” Billy took a seat on the edge of the bed as he observed Steve pace the room.

Steve finally managed to stop himself from pacing and stood in front of Billy, both setting their drinks down as they soaked in each other.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Steve retorts in the same insincere manner that Billy did. “Or do I have to spell it out for you, Billy?”

Billy rolled his eyes, “You’re mad about that chick from downstairs?”

Steve felt his cheeks burn and his throat tighten, he wanted to slap Billy right then and there. Their eyes meet as Steve shudders out, “What are we, Billy?” it came out like word vomit, and right now, Steve kind of wished it had just been vomit because it would be easier to clean that mess up than this emotional one.

Billy’s brows raised, a sudden realization sweeping over him, “… Steve…”

“I want to know, aren’t we a thing? Since spring…, or did you do all this just to mess with my head?” Steve managed in a low, broken voice. He wanted to be angry at Billy but all he felt was a pain in his chest.

“I’m not trying to mess with your head, Steve…” Billy grabs Steve’s hand, pulling him between his legs as he stares up at Steve with a particular look of earnest.

“Then why did you flirt with her?” Steve looked away, down at the floor, somehow feeling ashamed that he was this invested in Billy when they hadn’t even made things official.

“She was flirting with me but I told her I only got my eyes on one person,” Billy slowly reaches his hand up to cup Steve’s face and firmly guide the older teen to look at him. “And that’s you, Pretty Boy.”

“Don’t lie to me, you smiled at her,” Steve retorts bashfully, suddenly feeling self-aware that he was pretty drunk and getting lost in Billy’s eyes.

“Because she was asking me to introduce her to Tommy,” Billy shakes his head and grins, “you know, you’re hot when you get jealous, Pretty Boy.”

Before Steve can manage anymore words he’s roughly shoved into a kiss that makes him see fireworks as he closes his eyes. God, he wanted it, no, needed Billy on him now. The feverish pressure of Billy’s persistent lips makes Steve moan, inviting Billy to deepen the kiss; tongues hotly mingling and a mixture of cigarettes and alcohol flood their senses.

When they finally pull apart, Steve whispers against Billy’s lips, “Mine.” and Billy nods his head with a smile. “Yeah, feelings mutual, Pretty Boy.”

—

This was so much fun to write!If you wanna send me anons, or prompt requests, feel free to! This one was from this post!

#harringrove #q the groves #reply #reply post #prompts #finished prompt #anons welcome #drop them prompts on me

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yet-another-jjba-imagines-blog · 5 years

Note

Since there's way too much snow where I live rn, could I request brunos gang and what would they do if they got snowed in with their s/o?

God I wish that were me. I’ve only seen snow twice in my life.

Anyways I’m doing this using second person pronouns cuz that’s just what feels right for me? If you don’t want me to do it like that just feel free to tell me.

Bruno:

“Well mio caro, it appears as though we’ll be here for quite some time. Shall I fetch us something warm to drink?” He calls to you as you bury yourself in blankets on the couch. He then goes to the kitchen and you hear the gentle clink of the teacups as he prepares the drinks. A few minutes later he returns with two cups of tea/coffee/hot cocoa and a plate of Buccellati cookies (look them up they’re a real thing and they’re delicious.) left over from the gang’s Christmas party. He puts them on the coffee table and cuddles under like ten thousand blankets with you and you two start a movie marathon with lotsa huggles n smoochies (One of the movies you watch HAS to be Il Postino because that’s his favorite and he deserves the best.) until you fall asleep. If you fall asleep first then he carefully swoops you up and take you to a proper bed (cuz sleepin on a couch can do a fuckin number on ya.) and he keeps cuddlin up to ya till he falls asleep too.

Abbacchio:

“Ah, shit. Looks like we’re gonna have to cancel that shopping trip. And here I thought we could stock up on some Moscato.” He says before stalking over to the music player and pressing play. Monteverdi softly begins to drift through the home as he seats himself besides you, shivers, and tugs the blankets off of you. “Hey, quit hogging the blankets.” He quickly fixes them so they cover the both of you generously and he scoots a bit closer. After a while of sitting there and taking each other’s warmth with the calming music in the background, someone’s stomach growls. Whose is it? I dunno. And he pipes up. “I think we’ve some Ruchetta salad left over. I’ll throw some on a couple of plates.” He slowly gets up and heads to the kitchen, you hear him throw open the fridge and a few cabinets as he starts to rummage around. After a few moments of nothing but the classical music and the clinking of China plates Abbacchio lets out an “Aha!” “What is it Abba?” Hep pops up from behind the bar holding a bottle. It looks like... a bottle of Zonin Primo Amore. ((I headcanon this as Abba’s favorite cuz it has a higher ABV than most Moscatos.)) “I almost forgot I had this. Kept it hidden just in case.” “Well in that case bring over the good glasses and we can pop in a movie!” “Can we watch Sling Blade?” “Abba I love you but Sling Blade isn’t exactly a ‘cuddling on a snow day’ kinda movie.”

Mista:

“Well I wanted to go outside and make snow angels but I don’t think I can even open the door now.” He plops onto the couch, still dressed up in layers and you take a seat next to him, peeling off your own jacket. “Why don’t we change into our jammies and do something else?” You offer. “And what exactly would that be?” I mean, what would be better than snow angels in this kind of weather? “Go change and you’ll see!” When he comes back into the living room he finds you setting up the CD player. You look over when you hear his footsteps approach and smile as you press play. He grins wide as The Carpenters begins to flow from the speakers. You grab his hand and you both start dancing and singing along “... I’m on, top of the world lookin, down on creation...” Neither of you knows how to fuckin dance so you kinda stumble around a bit before you find some kind of natural rhythm. When you do you lay your head on his shoulder and he puts his chin on top of your head as you both just enjoy the moment and each other’s company.

Narancia:

“Noooooo I wanted to play in the snoooooooowwwwww!!!” He’s banging at the door, as if doing that will somehow make the twelve inches of Jack Frost’s flaky white shit retreat from the doorway. You wonder how he even manages to lift his arms, as you saw him shove all of three coats on top of his shirt. His way-too-fucking-long scarf nearly touches the floor and you think it might be a good thing he can’t go out. He’d trip on that thing five feet out the door and hit his head on the porch rail or something. You gently grab his shoulder and direct him to the couch, sitting him down and taking off his excess layers. “What, you think whining will make the snow give way?” “No...” “I’m sure the snow will still be there tomorrow morning and maybe we’ll actually be able to step out the front door. Why don’t we just chill until then?” He looks away with a quiet huff, and that’s when you get an idea. You immediately get up and make a mad dash for the next room, where you store your electric lamp for camping, and start to put on a little shadow puppet show with him, weaving stories of bunnies and wolves going on great adventures together.

Fugo:

“Caro, what are you doing?” “ We’re making a pillow fort Panni! C’mon and grab something let’s go go go!!” You’re haphazardly throwing spare pillows and blankets into a pile, gathering the materials you’ll need to make the perfect pillow fort. He laughs but goes along with it, methodically placing pillows and blankets as you continue to run around gathering an erroneous amount of materials. Soon enough the two of you had made a fort fit for both King and Queen, stocked up with snacks and drinks and cute stuffed animals. The two of you go inside and sit against two large, fluffy pillows supported by the couch, and take a moment to admire the feats of your teamwork. You snuggle up close to him, placing your head in his lap. He cards his fingers through your hair, scratching you scalp as well and giving you a little massage, he continues to do this even after you fall asleep, and feels truly calm and warm in this little haven that you made together. He reflects on how grateful he is to have you around, and is glad that you’re his, and vice versa.

Giorno:

Giorno sits in the dim light of the fireplace and candles reading the latest fantasy adventure novel to catch his interest. He hears the soft thump thump of your feet against the floor as you approach with two plates, each with some pudding on it and two cups of chamomile tea. You place the dishes on the coffee table and sit beside him on the couch, leaning your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes, and gently resting your hand on his thigh. He grabs one of the teacups and takes a sip, and after placing it back down gingerly grips a spoon and uses it to scoop up some of the pudding and take a quick bite. When he’s finished, he begins to read aloud from where he last was and you listen, not truly paying attention to the words or their meanings, but to the sound and cadence of his voice as he longingly gives life to the story, much like how he gives life to objects. Without so much as opening your eyes, you grip the blanket next to you and drape it over both of your laps.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jjba #vento aureo #bruno buccellati #leone Abbacchio #Guido Mista #Narancia Ghirga #Fugo Pannacotta #Giorno Giovanna #mysticsoulexpert

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sp4c3-0ddity · 5 years

Text

Dueling Hearts - 5

Chapter Summary:

Pidge forgets the court of public opinion, Allura frets, and Lance loses his shoe.

Chapters: 5/7 Word Count: 5112 (30 189 total)

Read Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

A/N:

those first two scenes did not exist in my original outline...

also thank you to everyone who’s been reading/reblogging this!!

Read Below (or read it on ao3):

Pidge doesn’t bother getting out of bed the following morning. No pressing business awaits her, no task begging her attention, no mystery to solve through action and thought. The entertainment console - whether media or games - holds no appeal to her, the tile ceiling more interesting in her exhausted fugue.

She slept fitfully after King Thurar’s visit, a part of her fearing he’d barge into the room unannounced as soon as she slipped into unconsciousness, greeting her with a blood-stained sword and bragging about Lance’s death. Her imagination kept her busy, and when she finally fell into a doze the walls surrounding her closed in, something in the corner creeping towards her but never straying from her periphery.

It incited a need within her to flee, but terror paralyzed her.

But she forces herself upright and pushes her glasses - will she ever see her family again? Will the king even think to invite his future in-laws to his wedding? - onto her face. Her eyelashes stick together when she blinks, and she’s sure she looks awful, especially after skipping a shower the night before.

(She almost took her shirt off in front of King Thurar so like quiznak she was going to undress entirely with that mortifying event so fresh.)

Perhaps if she makes herself as physically unappealing as possible the king will—

A sharp chime sounds from the door, the guard outside announcing over the comm, “Minister Lirnem is here to see you.”

A prickle of foreboding washes over Pidge when she recalls running into the minster on her mad dash back to her rooms, but she climbs out of bed and tells the guard to admit her.

Minister Lirnem doesn’t enter alone. Three Barsinian women follow, one pushing a cart laden with two covered trays, another with a data pad in hand and what looks like a fancy camera fit for National Geographic hanging carelessly from her shoulder, and the third with a briefcase and a long fabric bag draped over her shoulder.

“Uh…hi,” Pidge says, unsure what else to say while so conscious of her oily face and bed-mussed hair. “W-what do you want?”

She winces when the question slips out ruder than she means - and, well, why shouldn’t she be rude? Isn’t Minister Lirnem, who promised to do something for her, complicit? - but before she can apologize or ask another in followup, Minister Lirnem wonders, “Why are your eyes red? Is that a…feature of your race that you usually cover up?”

Pidge’s lips part in surprise as she rubs her exhausted eyes. “I’m just…tired,” she says, and it’s not a total lie.

(Minister Lirnem needn’t know she cried herself into a stupor last night.)

“Well, if you need to bathe, then bathe. You have a dress fitting and a photo shoot, and you and I can speak over brunch after.”

Pidge’s eyes widen, limbs stiffening in shock. “A dress fitting? For what? For the duel? I wasn’t even fit for that bizarre dress I wore to the ball.”

(She really hopes Minister Lirnem won’t wonder where that dress is now…)

“For the duel you can wear whatever you like,” she replies, primly clasping her webbed hands together. “So long as it is nice and befitting a lady of the court.”

“But I’m not—”

“If His Majesty wins, you will be,” Minister Lirnem reminds her almost impassively. But her thin lips press together, and Pidge wonders if she’s also unhappy with this situation. “This fitting, however, is for your wedding dress.”

If Pidge held something, she would’ve snapped it clean in half while her heart skips a stunned beat. “W-what? But I’m not—he hasn’t—Lance can still—”

“Attend to your morning needs,” Minister Lirnem advises her. “We will begin when you are ready.”

But Pidge will never be ready to be the bride of a man that literally holds her hostage; her feet aren’t cold so much as frozen at absolute zero.

She forces air into her lungs and takes a stiff step towards the bathroom, and another, and the next, until a door separates her from the heralds of her fate. Tiles cool her bare feet, and her shell-shocked reflection stares back at her from over a marble basin.

Pidge grabs a towel, buries her face in its soft cotton-like fabric, and screams.

A part of her wants to escape again, never mind the witnesses that stand between her and the balcony, but she can’t, not with a threat hanging over her head - over Lance’s head.

It’s bad enough she’ll have to marry King Thurar, but if she has to watch him kill Lance too?

Her grip on the towel tightens, her whole body trembling and a sob bursting out of her. But she suppresses the next, taking deep breaths in an effort to keep her emotions in check.

It’s the only control that remains to her.

The shower gives her the opportunity to compose herself, and when she emerges with pruny fingers in a cloud of steam, her heartbeat isn’t too uneven and it doesn’t hurt so much to breathe.

She even manages a small smile for Minister Lirnem, who bids her to stand on a stool before the floor-length mirror in the corner. The tailor - or seamstress? - that she brought drapes a pale green gown over her, its hem covering the stool and a long train trailing behind her.

Pidge finds it ironic that a wedding dress is far simpler - and more elegant - than the gaudy ball gown now dangling from the balcony railing. Not a single thread of wire embroiders this gown, the sleeves made of a lacy material that falls past the tips of her fingers and tapers to a point. The collar is high and edged with the same lace as the sleeves - irritating her neck - and the skirt flares at her waist.

If she didn’t worry she’d trip over it - or if anxiety didn’t churn in her stomach - Pidge would be tempted to spin and watch the hem lift around her.

“You are…shorter than I expected, Green Paladin,” the seamstress observes as she marks where she needs to hem the dress.

“I’m guessing you didn’t design the dress I wore to the ball,” Pidge says.

The seamstress smiles thinly and admits, “My apprentice designed that. It was a project meant to test his mastery.”

“Did he pass?”

“He…did,” she says, “but only because His Majesty liked it.”

Pidge snorts, amused despite herself, and holds as still as she can while the seamstress pins the dress in places it hangs loosely.

She wears something more basic for the photo shoot but, naturally, embroidered with wires in a floral pattern that glows green. She complies with the photographers requests - except for one.

“Please smile,” she says, offering one of her own.

Pidge presses her lips together, partly because she has no reason to quirk them and partly out of defiance. Her fingers grip her skirt tightly, watching the photographer glance beseechingly at Minister Lirnem.

The minister sighs and says, “Carry on. The photographs are more important than her smiling.”

Pidge’s lips twitch out of triumph, but she keeps a straight face for the rest of the photo shoot.

The seamstress and the photographer leave after the shoot, and Pidge changes into her own clothes from among what Hunk brought her from her bedroom aboard the Castle of Lions. Minister Lirnem’s last escort sets up their meal at the small table, and Pidge sits across from her.

She picks at the tableware, the knot of dread in her stomach depriving her of any appetite the sight of Barsinian food hasn’t.

“Why the photo shoot?” Pidge asks when the silence as Minister Lirnem eats grows too stifling.

“The images are for a press release,” Minister Lirnem tells her. “The people of Barsina will have to know something of their future queen should His Majesty win the duel.”

Pidge’s stomach flips, her eyes widening; public relations was always Allura’s - and sometimes Shiro’s or Hunk’s - thing, so she never really stopped to consider what implications King Thurar’s challenge would have on his subjects.

Perhaps she’d been too self-centered not to even wonder how Barsina itself would view her.

“I’d make an awful queen,” she confesses. She prods the black-dotted gelatin in her bowl with a spork.

“I told His Majesty as much,” Minister Lirnem says with a frankness that startles Pidge. She jerks her head back and stares at her, unsure if she should feel insulted or not, but the minister continues, “Your reputation as the Green Paladin preceded you, and it tells of a woman too devoted to her own research and family to lead a people, let alone a population and culture alien to her.”

“I…”

“Barsina needs an alliance with Voltron far more than it needs an alien queen,” Minister Lirnem explains. She sips her burgundy tea, the ceramic cup clattering on the saucer as she sets it down. “His Majesty did not care to hear that. It is his youth and inexperience, I am sure.”

Pidge’s grip on her spork tightens. “W-what did he tell you?” she asks, a part of her fearing the answer.

“He promised you will be able to research to your heart’s content.”

“How…kind of him,” Pidge says through gritted teeth, the spork’s handle bending slightly.

“His Majesty wishes he could devote more time to his own research and inventions,” Minister Lirnem adds, “so he desires a queen that can lead his scientific endeavors while he rules. His mother and predecessor ruled while his father, her consort, was an engineer, so I suppose he longs for the same partnership with his consort.”

Pidge sets her spork down and flexes her stiff fingers. Her heartbeat fills her ears as she chooses her next words carefully, “Why are you telling me this? So I’ll understand him?”

She can’t keep the bitterness from her voice nor the scowl from her face; why should she understand a man that kidnapped her?

“In part,” Minister Lirnem concedes. She frowns at her half-empty tray - perhaps she has no appetite either - and says, “He was a child when his mother passed away, so I ruled as his regent until he came of age. I took us into hiding and restricted our travel in space to avoid too much attention from the Galra, but His Majesty wishes to set up alliances with other planets, and I cannot fault him for that.”

“Well, he’s doing it all wrong.” Pidge crosses her arms and glares at the woman sitting across from her.

“His method, while unconventional, can work,” Minister Lirnem says. “Voltron will not fight Barsina when it can cost them future allies.”

Pidge’s jaw sets stubbornly, but she can’t argue, not when she knows she’s right.

(They’d just help her escape some other way…wouldn’t they?)

“However, I do wonder…with such a start to your partnership—”

“Some partnership,” Pidge scoffs.

“—will you ever be so content to have been forced away from your friends and family and someone His Majesty suspects is your lover?”

“He’s not my—” she blurts on reflex, cutting herself off when she realizes even a truthful denial may do her no favors.

But her face warms at the way Minister Lirnem designates Lance, a heat in her chest because by quiznak does she wish it’s true.

(He almost kissed her…didn’t he?)

“Do you love him?” Minister Lirnem wonders. “Do you love the Red Paladin?”

Pidge bites her lip - she’s never said it aloud and doesn’t wish to start now before a near-stranger that’s as good as an enemy to her - but irritably mumbles, “Yes, but…apparently it doesn’t matter.”

Minister Lirnem stands without replying and walks to the door. “A servant will come for the trays,” she says. “You should eat something. Winters in this part of Barsina are cold, and Tolemac Castle, for its beauty, is poorly insulated; you will need a little more fat on your bones to keep you warm.”

“Uh…” Pidge scrambles to follow, stunned. “Wait, Minister, I have a question.”

Minister Lirnem turns to face her, hands hidden in her long sleeves. “Yes?”

Her heart pounds as she asks, “If I…marry the king and, assuming I follow the laws of Barsina and fulfill whatever duties he expects of me, will I be able to see my family again?”

“If you marry the king,” she tells her, “he will be your family.”

Pidge’s chest tightens, and it takes more than a little effort to breathe. “Oh…then I’d better not marry him,” she says, sounding numb and painfully resigned to her own ears.

“No, I suppose you had better not,” Minister Lirnem agrees. “If there is nothing else—”

“Actually, can you ask one of my teammates to bring me something?” Pidge wonders. She knows her request is silly, especially with her future hanging in the balance, but she wants to be frivolous for once.

“So long as it is not forbidden you.”

“You said I can wear whatever I want to the duel?” Pidge smiles when she nods. “Can you ask them to bring me my dress? They’ll know which one…”

***

Lance woke up that morning telling himself that today would be the day - or quintant? - he would finally summon his Altean broadsword. Between Keith swinging at him - Lance suspected he enjoyed himself a little too much - and the drones on the training deck and his own determination, he hoped it would come true.

Instead, when Allura comes by the training deck to check on him, his bayard still fluctuates between his rifle and its base form and even when he deliberately allows the drones to close in on him, too near to aim a gun, he can’t.

He chucks his bayard across the room.

A frustrated growl escapes him when it collides with the far wall, his fingers curling into fists. Anger - at the situation and at himself - floods him; Pidge depends on him, and he can’t even summon his bayard in the proper form?

“Lance?” Allura’s footsteps echo through the room, and her hand rests on his shoulder. “Did your bayard…do something to you?”

“That’s the problem!” Lance exclaims, spinning around and flailing his arms. “It’s not doing what I need it to! I’ve tried everything we can think of - I even let the drones get close enough to me to shoot me”—his shoulder stings as he’s not training with armor since he’s not allowed any for the actual duel—”but nothing is working!”

Allura smiles, but he can tell it’s strained. “Have you tried—”

“Everything,” Lance insists.

Her shoulders sag, a sigh escaping her. “You can’t go to the duel unarmed, Lance.”

“Can’t I?” He shrugs and holds up his fists. “I have two guns right here.” And oh, would a punch flying across King Thurar’s smug face be satisfying…

But Allura doesn’t smile - of course not, not when it’s barely a joke. “Perhaps you should ask Hunk to help you set up an alternative.”

“Maybe…” he concedes.

It’s not the first they’ve spoken of it, building a hurried and makeshift weapon for him to cart to the duel, but he stubbornly holds onto the wild hope that he can summon the broadsword from his bayard at will.

He needs to; it’s his best bet, a weapon perfectly suited for him even if he hasn’t mastered it. And with Keith’s help over two quintants, he at least grasped the basics.

They won’t do him any good if he doesn’t have a quiznaking sword.

“Then do that,” Allura says. She frowns pensively and sighs. “I’m going to Tolemac Castle to visit Pidge. There are a few important things I need to discuss with her.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “What things?”

“It’s between me and her,” Allura says.

He crosses his arms, irritation flickering in him. “No, it’s not,” he protests. “I’m the one fighting this duel, not you, so—” He cuts himself off, his stomach flipping with fresh fear, but anger quickly replaces it. “You’re preparing her for if I lose, aren’t you?”

“I—”

“What does happen if I lose?” Lance wonders. His heart sinks with something akin to despair, but he forces it away. “We won’t…abandon her, will we?”

Allura’s eyes widen, and she reassures him, “No, of course not! I will not abandon her to a fate she doesn’t want, no more than you would.”

“And if we do, her family would probably kill us.”

Allura chuckles. “That they would, and we would deserve it.”

Lance runs his fingers through his sweaty hair, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders. “It won’t come to that,” he promises with more confidence than he feels. His eyes slide past Allura, to his bayard lying on the floor.

“I hope not,” Allura says. “And…is there anything you wish for me to tell Pidge?”

Lance can think of a million and one things he wants to tell Pidge: that he misses her and her laughter and her teasing so desperately his chest aches, that he’ll win the duel and free her, that he’ll lose the duel and smuggle her away from a royal wedding if he has to, that he loves her and her smile and her big brain and how she always has the answers to the questions both out of his mouth and from his heart.

And he wants to know why she didn’t even talk to him when she escaped to the training pitch…and why he hasn’t seen her since.

Fear grips him, squeezing his heart, and he wonders if she was caught.

But to Allura’s question, he simply replies, “No.”

Everything he wants to tell Pidge he wants and needs to tell her himself…so why doesn’t he?

Allura’s eyes narrow, in suspicion or skepticism, but she says, “All right. I will be on my way then.”

Lance mumbles a goodbye, barely paying attention to her departure in favor of the idea gripping him. If Pidge can’t see him…what’s stopping him from seeing her?

(Besides the duel’s stupid rules, at least.)

Lance collects his bayard and runs to his room for a shower - Pidge deserves better than to greet him at his smelliest. He clips on the cuff from his armor, the map to Tolemac Castle’s grounds downloaded onto it, and attaches a personal cloaking device - built by Pidge; they owe her so much - to his jacket.

(He just hopes Tolemac Castle doesn’t have any thermal cameras or sonar installed to survey its grounds.)

Excitement thrums through his blood, and it’s almost enough to drown out the worry that she won’t want to see him.

Almost.

***

Pidge doodles on a data pad with a stylus, mind buzzing with what information she learned from Minister Lirnem. Her palms sweat - the stylus nearly slipped from her fingers barely a dobosh ago - and her heart stutters with anxiety, and she seeks to distract herself from her fate.

But scribbling designs for the robots she wants to build isn’t helping.

She pinches the Rover pendant of her necklace in her teeth, sliding the chain along it. Rover himself takes shape on the data pad, a black pyramid and a green circle on the screen.

The reminder of something else she loved that she lost makes her chest tighten.

It’s a relief when the door chimes, and a grin pushes at her lips when the guard announces, “Princess Allura here to see you.”

Pidge fidgets with the stylus in the time it takes for the locks to click open and Allura herself to walk through the door.

She smiles, and Pidge doesn’t hesitate to embrace her.

“Pidge,” she says when they pull apart, her hands on her shoulders like a proud parent’s - or like Matt’s. Her smile falters. “I am so sorry this happened to you; this is my fault.”

“What?” The apology shocks Pidge’s system, her jaw dropping. “No, it’s not!”

“It is.” Allura sighs, avoiding her eyes in favor of taking in the lavish room. “I encouraged you to charm the king. Perhaps if I instead—”

“No!” Pidge, unsure what to say or do to alleviate her concerns, shakes her head so fast she almost makes herself dizzy. “It’s not your fault at all! W-why would it be? It’s not like you locked me in a tower and threatened Lance!”

“Maybe not, but I as good as—threatened Lance?” Allura’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “What do you mean? The duel is only to first blood.”

Pidge immediately regrets letting that slip, because if Allura takes that information back the Castle of Lions with her, Lance will find out. And if he finds out…he’ll be that much more likely to do something more stupid. So she raises her hands and forces a smile on her face before backtracking, “Th-that’s what I meant! Even a paper cut’s threatening if you get it from a sword.”

(She winces, the contradiction in the statement almost painful when she doesn’t correct it.)

“If that’s it—”

“It is,” Pidge insists.

“All right,” Allura says, tone resigned. She sits heavily at the table, arm resting atop it. “Lance has been doing all he can to win the duel.”

Pidge swallows as she drops into the chair opposite, mind drifting to the one training session she observed. Her stomach flips, but she agrees, “I know.”

“But…Pidge, Barsina’s not so valuable to the Coalition that we’re not willing to just walk away from an alliance.”

She stiffens and stares at her fingers wringing the hem of her shirt. “I’m guessing if I escape and leave we’d get worse than lose a potential ally.”

“You hit the head on the nail,” Allura admits.

“Nail on the head,” Pidge corrects automatically.

“Nail what on the head?”

“Never mind,” she mumbles. She clears her throat, skin crawling with sudden self-consciousness, and attempts to joke, “I guess we can’t all throw a royal suitor across a room to teach them a lesson.”

Allura grins and concedes, “I suppose not, although I would gladly throw His Majesty across his own grand ballroom on your behalf if I thought it would help.”

Pidge smiles, her chest warming with something like reassurance, and some of the tension oozes out of her shoulders. “And I would appreciate that. I’ll just have to settle for Lance poking him with a sword instead.”

And he will, Pidge tries to convince herself. He has to.

“I hope that will be the outcome of the duel,” Allura says, “but no matter what happens, Pidge, I want you to know that you will not have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I know I don’t,” Pidge says, her hands clenching into fists and jaw setting.

But the knot of dread in her stomach tugs tighter. What if King Thurar wins the duel and she refuses to marry him anyway?

He’s already held Lance against her just for her one and only escape…

Allura’s visit stays brief, her updates on their team limited. She confesses to avoiding speaking to the Coalition - especially Earth, and especially Pidge’s family - and adds that, despite the looming duel, Coran still works to find a legal loophole for them to exploit.

And Lance…well, he sent no message with her, and Pidge’s heart sinks in disappointment.

He vows to fight for her but doesn’t wish to say anything?

Pidge’s chest hurts when she thinks of Lance and the last time she saw him too hard, and as her fingernails dig into the palms of her hands, she wonders what she would say to him if they faced each other.

For one, she’d demand what the quiznak he—

A thud from the balcony makes Pidge jump out of her chair. Her heart pounds as she creeps towards the door, remembering the rope she left tied to the railing. She pushes aside the curtains and opens the door and finds a shoe and—

“Lance?”

Pidge’s breath catches as a familiar yelp rises from the balcony railing near the castle’s wall. She sprints across the balcony when Lance himself appears, the timer on a cloaking device running to zero while his body dangles from the railing.

She grabs his arms and heaves with a grunt of effort, muscles straining as his feet find purchase on the wall. She tugs him over the railing, stumbling backwards and panting when she lets him go and he falls.

Lance pushes himself upright, groaning and clutching his shoulder, her hasty lifeline in a pile beside him. “Th-thanks for the—”

Pidge launches herself at him, her arms winding around his neck as she presses her forehead to his collarbone. A lump sticks in her throat when she swallows, her eyes burning even as relief washes over her.

Lance hugs her tightly around the waist, his body trembling against hers and his heart pounding a rapid but steady beat. “P-Pidge, are you—”

A sob escapes her as she shakes her head. “N-no…w-what’re you doing here?” she demands. “You could’ve hurt yourself b-before the stupid d-duel…” She pulls away to look at him, to drink in his face, struck by a sudden gut-wrenching fear:

King Thurar never mentioned what would happen if Lance is caught here.

“W-we can talk inside,” Pidge says. She reluctantly extracts herself from his arms and stands, offering him a hand.

His wraps around hers, and even once they’re ensconced inside, away from the balcony where their voices can drift down to the busy gardens, he doesn’t let go.

“Pidge…” Lance cups her face with his free hand, and she leans into it, her eyes slipping shut. His thumb skirts across her cheek, and she sighs. “I-I’m here because I miss you.” His lips brush her forehead, and he runs his fingers through her hair.

Pidge sniffs, her hand gripping his like it’s a lifeline even as she says, “Y-you shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?” Lance wonders, his eyes narrowing when she opens hers to meet them. “I-I saw you yesterday when I was training, but you didn’t come to—”

“I-it was risky,” she says, tearing her gaze away from his. “I could’ve been caught”—she was caught—”and I didn’t want to distract you.”

“If that’s all, then why aren’t you looking at me?”

Pidge bites her lip and forces her gaze back up. “Better?”

Lance frowns, but he reassures her, “Don’t worry, Pidge. I’ve got it, okay?” His hands warm her face, his forehead resting against hers while her fingers wrap around his wrists. “I’ll kick that king’s quiznak tomorrow, and we can go home.”

And Pidge, for all her anxiety and fear, believes him.

***

Lance’s heart pounds with him standing so close to Pidge, heat flooding his body to the tips of his toes and fingers even while regret that she’s upset - actually scared - fills him.

This is his fault, after all, so if he can inspire some confidence in her - even if he doesn’t have much himself - then he will.

He just hopes any she has in him won’t be misplaced.

He holds her close, arms wrapping around her and pulling her against him, and every shuddering breath she takes wracks his body, the necklace he gave her trapped between them. He’d happily spend the night like this - why should he return to the Castle anyway when he’ll be right back here in the morning? - but he came on a mission, and it begins with telling Pidge—

“Why did you never tell me about your bayard upgrade?”

Lance stiffens, surprised by her question and when she pulls back to meet his gaze, an eyebrow raised expectantly. “I don’t know,” he admits. “It…never seemed important since I never got it again.”

“Really?” Pidge frowns skeptically, her arms falling away from him to cross. “It’s a notable development seeing as how my and Hunk’s bayards have changed even if you haven’t been able to repeat it yet.”

Lance misses her warmth and tries to reach for her, but she takes a step back. “It was—”

“And why did you accept the king’s challenge anyway?” Pidge demands.

She’s angry with him, he realizes with a gut-wrenching certainty, and with how dismal his progress at learning how to use a sword - which he doesn’t even have for the duel - he deserves it.

Maybe that’s why he irritably quips, “I guess you didn’t appreciate the romance in my gesture.”

He knows it’s the worst thing to say as soon as the words leave his lips even without Pidge’s face darkening and her lips twisting into a scowl. He knows it, because it doesn’t even come close to hinting at the depths of his feelings for her, for how thinking of her with someone else hurts.

Pidge snaps, “There’s no romance in this because no one - not you and not that jerk - asked what I want!”

“But I—”

“Is this what it takes for you to finally notice me?” Pidge wonders. She flails her arms, and something like hurt tinges her voice. “For you to think you’re going to lose me to a quiznaking king like you thought you lost Allura?”

He reaches for her with growing panic, tries to grasp her hand, but she wrenches it away. “Pidge—”

Her voice breaks, driving a stake deeper into his heart, as she says, “Y-you don’t have to w-win me, Lance.” She sniffs and wipes at her nose with her sleeve. “You a-already h-have me if only I h-have you too.”

An absurd heat rushes to his face, and her words stun him speechless even while his heart hammers in an effort to burst from his chest. His lips part uselessly as he seeks the words to reassure and comfort her and tell her that of course she has him!

He hesitates too long.

“F-fine.” Pidge, her face a burning and embarrassed red, unclasps her necklace and flings it at him.

Lance, startled, fumbles to catch the delicate gold chain and pendant as she shoves him towards the balcony. “Wait, Pidge—”

“Y-you’d better leave before the guards hear you and d-drag you away to be locked in a dungeon,” she tells him.

Lance trips over the threshold and tries to return the necklace to her, but she shakes her head. “This is yours,” he insists.

“I-I don’t want it,” she says, scowling despite the tears swimming in her eyes.

His chest tightens. “Katie, listen to me—”

Pidge turns her back to him, shoulders trembling, and says, “B-be careful on your way down. A-and…you’ll do great a-at the duel.” She flashes him a tight smile that makes his heart ache with the familiar pain of rejection right before she closes the door.

Continue to Chapter Six

#plance #pidgance #lidge #flirtyrobot #i think you guys will like this chapter a little more than the last ;)#voltron #reem writes fic

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cordonianchoicesqueen · 6 years

Text

Rewritten: The Royal Romance: The Hedge Maze (Part Seven)

A/N: I did actually pay for this diamonds scene the first time I read it and it was what made me feel like Liam was the only person for Riley... for a little while.

Summary: Riley and Liam sneak out after the Masquerade to the Hedge Maze. Riley is introduced to Bertrand and finds out about the financial difficulties the Beaumonts are facing.

Choices Chapter: Book One, Chapter Four

Disclaimer: Characters and main storyline from Pixelberry’s Choices.

Word Count: 2600+

Warnings: tiny little bit of NSFW, but pretty PG-13

The Hedge Maze

The King gave a short thank you and farewell then the party dispersed either back to their rooms in the palace or to the cars out front. Within fifteen minutes I couldn’t hear a sound in the building. I paced my room, watching the clock. I thought about changing but something felt so exciting about running around a hedge maze in a ball gown I couldn’t afford with a Prince who wasn’t allowed to be alone with me, especially at this hour. The shoes and mask however were abandoned at the side of my bed. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I creaked open my door and tiptoed down the hall being careful to check for staff or security. I somehow found my way back downstairs and made a bee-line for the ballroom. The staff were clearing the room so I waited for an opportunity to sneak through and go out onto the veranda. As I made it out into the garden, I broke into a sprint heading for the hedge maze, feeling the dewy, well-trimmed grass beneath my toes. The maze was much larger then I thought as I got closer, the hedges towering above me. The tree at the centre with it’s elegant lights throughout the branches looked magical. Just as everything did in this fairy-tale world I’d found myself in. Out of nowhere, Liam materialised, looking even more dashing with the added touch that this wasn’t allowed.

“Cutting it a little close there,” I chided him, looking at my wrist as if I was wearing a watch. He sighed, “I was trapped in a conversation about table seating for tomorrow’s picnic but I managed to tear myself away from that truly awe inspiring discussion… for you. Shall we?” His eyes twinkled, a handsome quality, and he offered me his hand. I liked the way he did that. Always giving me the option to either walk alone or with him. It was my choice. It was an easy choice. I took his hand and we approached the maze, “it really is beautiful here at night.” I gestured over to a colossal fountain depicting dolphins jumping and lights cascading through the spitting fountains. “I wish I could take all the credit but the gardens out here were my mother’s vision,” he said with pride, “it was her last wish. Sometimes when I stroll this garden at night, I think of her.” I squeezed his hand as we paused. He looked up at the star-studded sky, more stars than I had ever seen. The city lights in New York drowned out the natural sky and seeing it now, I was filled with wonder and how I had survived without this spectacle for so long. “I’m sure she would have appreciated how much you care for her garden and her creativity,” I said softly. “Thanks. The garden holds a lot of good memories as well. You probably think my games with Drake are silly,” he blushed. “I don’t know,” I said, “it… sounds like a lot of fu- TAG, you’re it.” I let my hand slip out of his, tapping his shoulder and ran straight into the maze. I hitched my skirt with one hand and ran my other hand along the wall of the maze with the other, feeling the cut hedges graze my finger tips. I could hear his laughter and his feet pounding the ground chasing after me. I knew there was no way he could hear what direction I was going with my bare feet carrying me at what felt like the speed of light. I kept my eye on the tree at the centre, trying to find the right path. “Cheater!” I heard him yell a little way off. I couldn’t help but let out an excited giggle as childish excitement pulsed through me. Despite my head start, I knew he was gaining. I turned a sharp corner and was faced with a straight path to the centre of the maze! With new energy I sped ahead. The hedge here arched over me and beautiful flowers bloomed from the walls. Fairy lights were strewn across wooden beams and I was mesmerised. I could hear Liam approaching round a corner connecting to my path and instead of going straight ahead I dug my heels in and stopped. As he turned the corner I jumped out at him. He let out a small yell and barrelled straight into me. We both went tumbling to the ground, but Liam’s reflexes were fast and he held onto me tightly to take the brunt of the fall. I lay on top of him as we breathed heavily, laughing. All pretence of nobility and monarchy disappeared. “We made it, I can see the centre just up ahead,” he said, our faces only inches apart. “I do believe I win,” I said, picking a blade of grass off his shoulder. “How do you figure that?” he raised an eyebrow. “Easy, I am on top,” I giggled. We both suddenly became very aware of just how close our bodies were. We could feel each other’s hearts pounding in our chests from running. You could have cut the tension in the air with a knife as my body straddled his. We both wanted each other, deeply, intensely. “Hey! We don’t know who tagged who here. I want a second ruling,” he teased, placing his hands on my hips, pulling me down onto him. “Well we don’t always get what we want… even princes,” I teased, whispering in his ear. He laughed. His gaze resting on my red lips. I bit my bottom lip, trying to control my desperate need to kiss this man, to strip him naked and have him kiss every inch of my body. I could only imagine that he was thinking the same thing looking into his craving eyes. “There’s something about you…” he shook his head, “that is just so right.” He cupped my face in his hand, his fingers warm and soft linger on my cheek. “I can’t help myself,” he whispered, caught in the moment. He pulled my face towards his and my desperate need for his mouth was answered. I feasted on his lips, as our kiss quickly intensified. He tasted like champagne and strawberries. His hands moved across my back, gripping me as close to his body as he could. I bit his lip and kissed down his sharp jaw line, licking the bone, sending shivers down his spine. He let out a small groan and arched his body against mine as I kissed his neck, sucking lightly and playing with his skin with my teeth. With an animalistic growl from the back of his throat he flipped me onto my back so that he was on top of me. It was a delicious noise that made me want to scratch my nails down his back and take off all his clothes. I wrapped my legs around his back but he was careful to not put all of his weight on me as he expertly kissed my lips and wrapped his fingers in my hair. I didn’t want him to be careful with me though, I wanted to feel his full weight against me. He kissed down my neck, gently, his hands on my tits and squeezing them. He hit a sensitive spot on my neck and I let out a whispered moan of his name. “Liam,” I said in ecstasy, craving him more than I had craved anything in my life. However, my call of his name had the opposite of the desired effect I wanted it to have on him. He seemed to shake himself awake and pulled himself from the dream we were in. “Oh, I’m, eh,” he stumbled, blushing, “we shouldn’t. We don’t know what will happen… I can’t hurt you... What if…” And like that the moment was lost as he stood up and backed away from me. That was the question. What if I am about to watch him fall in love with someone else. What if I am about to watch him literary choose someone else over me. I had known this man a day yet I wanted to give him everything. I trusted him and felt like I knew him but two intense days together did not mean I was the definitive choice. Olivia had said herself that she had known him since they were children. I did not have a bond like that with him. It was far more likely I was going to end up heart broken in this situation. No matter how you looked at it. “I know,” I said standing up and trying to shake some of the dirt off my now off-white dress. I didn’t want to look at him. I felt embarrassed for beginning to assume that we were on the same page, in the same position. We may have a connection but I was nothing. I felt small. He came up behind me and surprised me by wrapping his arms around me and whispering in my ear, “what is it about being around you that makes me want to break all the rules I’ve ever learnt?” I let myself sink into him, already at the level of comfort you’d expect to have from someone you’ve known for years, “maybe, you need someone like that in your life.” “Maybe I do,” he kissed my cheek. “This was unexpected… but it was perfect.” I felt the embarrassment ease as I could tell he was being honest. I wasn’t reading the signs wrong, he wanted me as badly as I wanted him. I guess he just had better control. “You laughed more in this maze than you did all night at that ball,” I finally turned in his arms to face him, snuggling into his chest. “I guess, I really needed this,” he enveloped me close. “Thank you, Riley.” “Thank you, Liam,” I said. We held each other for a moment, as equals. As two people without responsibility or somewhere else to be. “Will I see you soon?” I asked, looking back at his chiselled jaw and glittering eyes. “Yes, tomorrow. It will be very busy… but I’m sure I can find some time… for you,” he kissed my forehead. “I look forward to it,” I smiled, warmly but with still a twinge in my heart.

When I snuck back into my room I rest my back against the door and let myself slide down it until I was sat on the floor cuddling my knees. I was so sleepy but awake because of the jet lag, so sad but happy, so confused but so sure. A million thoughts in my head. Suddenly, I heard a tap at the door. So late at night, I wondered who it could be. I wondered if Liam had managed to get away from his guard, not wanting to be away from me unless he had to be. I opened the door. “Maxwell, hey!” I said, hiding my body behind the door as I was still wearing my white dress, now covered in dirt. “Sorry. I know it’s late but there’s someone you should meet,” Maxwell replied, with excitement. “Bertrand, this is the one I was telling you about! This is Riley!” Maxwell stepped to the side to reveal an imposing man with a stern expression. He was nothing like Maxwell, I could already tell by his stand-offish stance and the way his eyes sat stone cold. “This,” he said slowly, “is the girl you’ve chosen to represent our house?” “Yes! Nailed it right?” Maxwell exclaimed. “Riley, this is my older brother, Bertrand.” I realised it was probably weird I was still hiding behind the door and stepped out to shake his hand, “It’s nice to meet you, Bertrand.” He looked down at my hand with a scowl and took in the dirty marks on my dress and my dishevelled hair, “the proper way to address a Duke is ‘Your Grace.’” “Oh! I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” I said, dropping into a neat curtsey. He rolled his eyes in a very Severus Snape-esque style, “at least it looks like you can be trained.” I was so fed up of these nobles looking down on me that I couldn’t control what I was saying when I angrily and wearily replied, “hey, I’m not your pet!” “He doesn’t mean it like that,” Maxwell looked at Bertrand with pleading eyes. “Maxwell… a word in private,” Bertrand responded. Without waiting for a response, Bertrand grabbed Maxwell’s arm and yanked him further back into the hall. I turned around to give them privacy. Although I could just about make out what they were saying in hushed, angry whispers. “That’s the girl you picked to represent our family?” Bertrand hissed. “Yeah. Liam really hit it off with her when they met at the restaurant for his bachelor party. She was our waitress,” Maxwell said, positively. “A waitress…” Bertrand said but then repeated in an explosive whisper, “You brought a WAITRESS? I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you! We could’ve had our pick of any unsponsored duchess or countess in half of Europe!” “Well sure, but like I said, she and Liam have a lot of chemistry. I think he really likes her,” Maxwell said, completely ignoring his brother’s outburst. “I know you probably don’t care but she could make him really happy. Like I have never seen him look so happy kind of happy. Shouldn’t Liam have a shot at that, even if he is the Prince?” I smiled to myself. No wonder Maxwell was being so kind to me, a stranger. He was really just being a great friend to Liam. He thought I would make Liam happy and was going out of his way to make sure we had the opportunity to explore that. He knew making me happy would make Liam happy. “Spare me your sentimentality,” Bertrand grumped. “You’d better hope that this waitress doesn’t ruin everything.” I heard his heavy footsteps making their way back to my door. I turned, knowing I was doing a bad job of covering up that I had heard their entire conversation. Bertrand squinted his eyes at me, “we have to trust one another to be successful.” “Right,” I said nodding. “Perhaps Maxwell didn’t full explain this, but if our house puts forth the Prince’s choice, we’ll win fame and recognition…” Bertrand said clearly. “Something we could really use right now, because we’re actually kind of broke,” Maxwell pulled a face. “Maxwell! You overstep!” Bertrand yelled. “Sorry,” Maxwell sighed. “You’re broke? Is that why I had to sort out my dress for tonight?” I looked down suddenly wishing I hadn’t just rolled around in the dirt in something that wasn’t easily replaced. “That’s precisely why,” Bertrand said. “Sorry about that. We can only afford to get you the bare minimum through this process. No one outside of our family really knows how bad things are,” Maxwell said playing with his hands. “Do you get money if I marry the Prince?” I questioned. “Not directly but we get leverage through prestige. It would be best to get that leverage before others find out about our… situation. In the circles we run, if word got out of our financial ruin, it would be a scandal,” Bertrand exclaimed dramatically. “But our name is worth something at least!” Maxwell interjected. “At the very least, we can introduce you to the right people, get you invitations to the right events, even a couple dresses to help you through. I only regret that we can’t offer you more.” “Speaking of which,” Bertrand said curtly, “we must prepare you for tomorrow’s event.” “The Derby!” Maxwell said. “You know what a Derby is?” Bertrand looked at me raising his eyebrows. Completely on the spot, I felt like I was on a quiz show, “isn’t it just fancy horse racing?” “Basically, yes. It will be your first opportunity to make an impression on the press as they will be covering the event,” Bertrand did not give me any points for my correct answer. “The press love events like this, especially with all the tabloids taking a huge interest in the search for the new queen,” Maxwell said. “Everyone in Cordonia will be influenced by what is written about you. The monarchy serve the people. You will need the approval of the press and, therefore, the people to win Liam’s hand,” Bertrand explained. “The Queen will, also, be present. You must earn her favour.” Looking at my tired and overwhelmed face, Maxwell said, “we’ll speak tomorrow more about it. Nothing to worry about. You’ve got this.” Maxwell gave me a quick hug. “Goodnight,” Bertrand said already half way down the hall.

#rewritten #trr #choices #cordonianchoicesqueen #cordonia #choices trr #choices app #playchoices #choices fandom #fanfic #the royal romance #maxwell beaumont #bertrand beaumont #trrgang #prince liam #pb

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missrrhea · 7 years

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The first Christmas

Summary: Three years after their son is born, Draco and Hermione have not yet gotten to close to Draco’s parents. A story about family, pride and love.

Pairing: Draco x Hermione

Note: I take no credit for the characters and the picture

“Mum, will you come?” Little Scorpius looked up at his mother tugging at the rim of his red and green sweater his mother had bought for him especially for this occasion. Hermione dropped to one knee in front of her three-year-old, holding his tiny hands in hers. “Mummy’s got some work to do, love.” she said, smoothing his platinum blonde hair. The boy’s silvery gaze dropped to the floor and his bottom lip drew out in a perfect pouting face. It killed Hermione to see her only son like this but there was no way she would turn back now. “Besides” she smiled “Dad’s gonna be there. Don’t you miss grandmother and grandfather? I know they’ve been very excited to see you”. She tried to sound as happy as she wanted her son to be. Truth was, she had never been truly accepted by the Malfoys, not even after Scorpius’s birth. Things had improved since, she couldn’t deny, but either way none of them could stomach an entire afternoon in the same room. Little Scorpius nodded eagerly and gave her a genuine smile. He wrapped his arms around her neck and pecked her cheek noisily. “I love you, mummy”. Hermione pulled his tiny frame closer, tucking his head under her chin. “I love you too, sweetheart.” Hermione looked up to see her husband leaning against the doorframe, a warm smile spread across his lips. She held Scorpius and extra moment, then rose back to her feet, meeting her husband’s gaze. “We don’t have to do this, love.” He said quietly enough only for her to hear. “We can call the whole thing off.” She shook her head. “No, Draco. We have already agreed you’ll be spending the day with your parents.” She put one hand on his chest, staring into his deep silvery grey eyes. Her son had those same eyes. In fact, he had been the spitting image of his father since the day he was born and that only made Hermione happier. She hoped her son would only outgrow the mas his father was. That was, she believed, one of the main reasons the Malfoys were so fond of Scorpius. Not of her, of course. They liked to pretend like she didn’t exist, like it wasn’t her king sized bed he had been conceived in and like he hadn’t actually come from inside of her. But Hermione didn’t care as long as the Malfoys didn’t resent the little boy. And they never have. They have been towards Scorpius what they had never been towards Hermione and often even towards Draco to hear him tell the story. “I wish you would come.” He sighed. “I could ask them to behave, you know, for both of you.” He said looking over at his son, as he was playing with his shoelaces. She shook her head and cupped his clean-shaven cheek. “It would be too much for one day, Draco. They might love Scorp, but they still resent me.” Hermione lowered her gaze, unable to hold her husband’s intense stare when it came to that topic. She knew it wasn’t easy for him either, having to divide between his parents who had raised him and loved him and his wife and son who adored him and couldn’t live without him. If given the chance, Draco would have put his parents aside for her sake, but Hermione was not going to allow that. Draco leaned down and kissed her fully on the lips, breaking her line of thoughts. “I feel bad leaving you like this.” He tried to reason “Don’t. It’s only half a day. Besides, I’ll catch up on decorating the house and the Christmas tree.” Draco shot her a hard look. “Don’t you dare touch the tree, Mrs. The tree is for the three of us to decorate together as a family. Got it?” Hermione couldn’t help but smile. She never would have thought Draco to be so keen on family tradition, especially tradition from the Muggle part of the family. She just nodded and pecked her husband’s lips one more time before letting go of him.

Draco picked Scorpius up and headed towards the fireplace. “We should get going, grandmother and grandfather are waiting.” Scorpius giggled, mesmerized as always by his father’s voice. Just as Draco released the floo powder, Scorpius’ eyes locked on Hermione and the pouting face was back on her son as realisation hit him. “Momma?” It was all he got the chance to say right before a flash of green flames enveloped him and his father then disappeared as if they were never there. The sound of Scorpius’ pouting rang in Hermione’s ears long after they had left. She waited by the fireplace for a couple of minutes, not sure what to do next. She sighed deeply, grabbed a book from the table and left the room. ~*~ The flash of green light died out and Draco was standing in the family study, where the floo network was connected to the Manor. Scorpius had his little arms wrapped tightly around his neck, as Draco held him tenderly to his chest. From across the room, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy jumped from their armchairs to greet their son and grandson. “Daddy. Mommy?” The boy looked to his father, big silvery eyes meeting the more mature version of their own. Draco kissed his son’s cheek and smoothed his pale blond hair, quite a mess of curls, just like his mother’s. “We’ll see mommy soon, love.” He whispered to his son. He felt his heart brake a little, knowing that his son could not enjoy the company of both his mother and grandparents at the same time. “We’re here to see grandmother and grandfather, see?” He sounded more excited as he stepped out of the fireplace and set Scorpius down on his legs. Narcissa dropped to her knees to greet her grandson, all formalities aside. “My, aren’t you a handsome little boy!” She cooed and held her hand out for the boy to take it. Scorpius giggled and went to give his grandmother a hug. Draco met his father’s tense gaze as he closed in on them with careful steps. “Draco” he greeted him “Good to see you, son.” He stepped closed, his arms open to his son, a curious look in the depth of his dark grey eyes. “Don’t worry, father, she’s not here.” Draco said under his breath, not wanting to attract Scorpius’ attention. Lucius hugged his son without another word, then turned to his grandson, his face lighting up at the sight of him. “Hello, there, young man. You look dashing, as always.” Lucius planted a kiss on the baby’s head as Narcissa picked him up. “Come on, darling” she said to Draco “the table is already set.” She started towards the dining room leaving Draco and Lucius behind. From his grandmother’s arms, little Scorpius stared with big eyes at his father. “Daddy?” He said and his father winked at him, a warm smile across his lips. He held out his tiny hand towards Draco but Narcissa kept on walking. Their lunch was pleasant and quiet and Scorpius managed to eat all his three courses on his own, with very little to no help from his grandmother. After lunch, they went to the greenhouses, where the Malfoys usually spent their winter days, when it was not too cold or too snowy. Narcissa picked Scorpius up to take him to the greenhouses, but the boy shifted in her arm almost crying. “Daddy” he said, extending his little arms to Draco. “Come, grandma is going to take you to see the plants” she said, holding him firmly, so that we wouldn’t wriggle out of her arms and hurt himself. The boy shook his head. “No. Daddy!” He said more firmly and held his arms out desperately trying to reach his father. Draco was by Narcissa’s side in a heartbeat, easing his son out from her embrace. Once back in his father’s arms, Scorpius looked at his father with enquiring eyes. “Daddy!” He said, his tone demanding “Mommy?” They had just entered the greenhouse and the door shut itself behind them. Draco sat on the nearest chair, placing Scorpius on his knees. “We will see mommy soon, okay, love?” Draco stared into the younger version of himself and, for a brief second, he saw how much he looked like Hermione, despite his hair and eye coloring. Scorpius shook his head. “I want Mommy. Now!” He shifted in his place, but Draco had a firm grip on him. He drew his lower lip out and Draco recognised the beginning of a tantrum. A few steps back, Lucius and Narcissa were watching the scene very interested. “Scorp, I promise we will see mommy. Be a good boy and don’t go crying on me now and we will go home, okay?” But Draco’s warning had come too late. Big tears welled up in his Scorpius’ eyes and rolled down his cheeks, as his face reddened . “I…want…mommyyy…” he sobbed and nothing Draco did or said could calm him down. “DADDYYY… I WANT MOOOMMYYY!” Draco cradled him to his chest trying to soothe him, but Scorpius only cried harder, smearing tears and drool over Draco’s suit. “Maybe I can hold him” Narcissa offered, but Draco shook his head slightly. Narcissa stopped halfway towards him, her arms extended to Draco. “Hear your mother, Draco. She has, after all, already raised a child.” Draco shot him a death glare and only held his son tighter. “The way you put it, father, it would be better if I just left him here with you and go back home to mind my own business, isn’t it?” He could feel his anger rising with every moment and Scorpius’ cries didn’t help one bit. “Watch your words, Draco, you wouldn’t want to say anything rash.” “Wouldn’t I, father? Or is it that you wouldn’t like to hear what I have to say?” Lucius said nothing but watched his son carefully. “Have you ever thought, father, that maybe Scorp didn’t want to spend the day away from his mother? That it’s hard for a three-year-old to understand that half his family is superficial and cannot bend their stupid rules to welcome both his parents in their home? That we always have to trick him into coming here and that Hermione always insists me to come and visit because she knows how much he means to you?” “I never forbade her to come into this house.” “No, but you did not exactly welcome her either, have you?” Lucius remained silent. Draco looked from him to his mother, only to see her eyes welled up with tears. Draco hoped they were tears of shame. Even Scorpius had stopped crying at the sound of his father being so angry. He had never heard Draco speak like that, ever, and it was like he was too scared to utter another sound. Draco checked on him to see if he was okay, then started to exit from the greenhouse. Narcissa followed shortly. “Aren’t you going to stay a little longer?” “Sorry, mother. I need to take Scorp home. We can’t floo it he’s indisposed.” Draco went into the Manor way ahead of his mother, and from behind his shoulder, a pair of innocent silvery grey eyes stared at Narcissa, making her swallow the hard lump in her throat. Draco grabbed some floo powder and stood in front of the fireplace. “Say goodbye to grandmother and grandfather, Scorp.” “Bye, grammy” he waved his little hand to both his grandparents and Narcissa wrapped them both in a tight hug. “Thank you, Draco.” She whispered to her son and pressed a kiss to his temple. Draco dropped the floo powder and disappeared from the Manor in a flash of green light. ~*~ Back home, Hermione had dozed off in her favorite armchair, her book on her lap. She woke up with her son trying to climb her legs. “Mommy!” Scorpius was exalted and Hermione picked him up in her lap. Draco was standing in the doorway. “Sorry, love, didn’t mean to wake you up.” He walked over to her and sat on one of the cushioned arms, kissing Hermione’s forehead. “How was it?” She asked her husband. “Good. They were happy to see him.” Hermione smiled gently. “Good.” At dinnertime, an owl came and dropped a letter in front of Hermione. She eyed it curiously, not knowing who would possibly write to her at this time. The name Hermione Malfoy was written in a neat handwriting and turning the letter around, Hermione immediately recognized the seal. “What’s that, love?” Draco asked from across the table. “A letter. From your parents.” She looked at her husband who dropped his knife and fork and held his hand out. “Give that to me. There’s no need to ruin our dinner.” “It’s addressed to me. Your parents have never sent me a letter before. It must be important.” She opened the letter. “Hermione, wait.” Draco said “Before you read that… you should know… we had a fight today. It wasn’t pretty.” “Was Scop there, too?” She asked holding her husband’s gaze. By the look of him she didn’t need an answer. Hermione sighed and dropped her eyes to her plate. “Next time, if you must fight, please don’t do it in front of him.” She said avoiding Draco’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Hermione. He got me so worked up.” “Nevermind. It’s done.” She picked up the letter again and looked at it. “Now I want to read it even more.” She started reading out loud: “Hermione, We haven’t actually been close these past years… come to think of it, I realize now I don’t know you at all. You have given us the most beautiful gifts anyone has ever had and we haven’t even had the decency to thank you. I must admit that both I and my husband have acted rather selfish, enjoying the benefits you brought to this family but not actually acknowledging it was you who made it all happen. So since I have failed to say it before, I am going to say it now: thank you, Hermione, for making our son happy, for believing he was the good man that he is. I know now that you bring out the best in him. And thank you for our wonderful grandson, which I am sure you know we adore with all our hearts. I know how you stood up for Scorpius to have a close relationship with his family and I apologize for making you feel like you were no part of it. We, mothers, tend to be blinded by the love for our children and I’m ashamed to admit that it wasn’t until today that I had realised Scorpius was you son too, not only Draco’s. Having said that and hoping you bear us not too much ill will, I want to make amends for all the time lost. I know it might be too much to ask of you, but we, my husband and I both, want you to be part of the family. There have been too many tears and too many heartbreaks to keep going like this. Please accept our deepest apologies and be patient with us a little while longer. We will be trying our best, I promise.

It you think fit, all three of you are most welcome to join us at the Manor for Christmas. Send an owl with your response and I will take care of everything else. Sincerely hoping to hear from you soon. Narcissa Malfoy” Hermione finished reading the letter, tears welled up in her eyes. Draco stared from across the table, mouth gaping open. Hermione took a deep breath and smiled at her husband. “I say we go.”

Draco reached out from his seat and placed his hand over hers, gently squeezing her fingers.

“Then we shall go.”

#dramione #draco x hermione #draco malfoy #hermione malfoy #hermione grange #malfoy #scorpius malfoy #lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy #pureblood #family

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siren-dragon · 7 years

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Long Live the King - (Ardyn Izunia x Reader) Ch. 7

I finally finished chapter 7, yay! I do apologize if this one seems a little scattered as it is currently 23:43 PM as I am posting this. -__-

As always, a big thank you to everyone who has been reading this story as both @maty-yami and myself greatly appreciate it. ^_^ And without further ado, let’s get this story started!

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

You paced restlessly along the balcony of Cartonica Station, waiting for the boys to return after they phoned you of their successful retrieval of the royal weapon. The entire night you spent emptying the box of pregnancy testers to see if at least one of them were lying. Though your hopes were dashed as every single one showed the exact same result: you were pregnant.

It was obvious who the father was, as you only slept with Ardyn; but that was not what worried you. A child was something you did not plan on having again; especially after your previous child was murdered before your very eyes. And if Noctis and the others were to discover that you were pregnant, and with Ardyn’s child at that, they would never trust you again. And then there was Ardyn himself to consider. What would he say, if you told him? Judging from his note, he didn’t want any more connections with you, let alone a child. His departure and your now raging hormones left you angry then depressed, and running on nothing but 2 hours of sleep was certainly not helping.

But as you lay a hand against your stomach, you couldn’t help the small smile that came to your face. Children were a happy occasion to celebrate; regardless of timing or convenience. And it was then and there you refused to lose another child, vowing to protect this one with all your strength…no matter what.

“Hey (f/n)!” Prompto greeted you happily. “I hope you weren’t too bored by yourself.”

“Not in the slightest,” you replied. “I take it we’re off to Gralea then?”

“Actually…we’ll be stopping in Tenebrae for a bit.” Noctis spoke quietly.

You gave Noctis an understanding nod, “we might as well since we’ll be passing through.”

“So long as it helps him move on,” Gladio shrugged.

As the five of you boarded the train once more, you noticed a light change between the four boys. They appeared to walk with more purpose, heads held high despite their journey into enemy territory. It seemed they had finally finished their bickering and have become stronger from their trial, making you beam with pride.

It was just a shame that your trial was only beginning...

“(f/n) ...are you alright?”

You turned to face Ignis, his unseeing gaze focused on the table between you. The train shook and rattled beneath your feet as it pulled you ever closer to Gralea; and to Ardyn.

“Yes, why do you ask?”

Ignis turned his scarred eyes to you, making you shudder slightly. “You’ve seemed rather distracted as of late. I was simply curious if something was troubling you.”

That question felt like a slap to the face. You looked down to the table in shame, knowing Ignis couldn’t see your expression of guilt and anger. What were you to say? How were you to answer such an innocent question?

You felt gloved hands gently, but firmly take hold of your own, causing you to look toward Ignis’ face. “If you do not wish to tell me, then you need not say. But when you are ready to talk…I will be here if you need me (f/n).”

“Thank you, Ignis.” You spoke softly, wishing the serious advisor could see the smile of gratitude that came across your lips.

“Hey guys, morning.” Noctis spoke, coming to sit beside you, “anything I miss?”

“Nothing of any consequence. Though it feels good to ride the rails again. Eager to drive once we are in Gralea?” Ignis replied, expertly switching the subject to your relief.

Noctis snorted, “if they let me.”

“We are fortunate to have the Regalia at all. We owe the First Secretary our thanks.”

“She’d get even more thanks if she gave us a discount,” you sighed.

“Those transceivers are top-notch.” Ignis said, “I recall when the Hydraean raged- in the midst of the empire’s retreat, one conspicuous craft remained behind: The Chancellor’s.”

You frowned, recalling the tale Noctis had told you of his battle with the Hydraean, and the unexpected visitor who murdered Lunafreya. Your grip tightened ever so slightly around the Styrofoam cup in your hands. Oh yes, there was much to talk about…

“The last thing I remember was his ship, heading for the alter. I fell unconscious…and was powerless to stop him,” Ignis admitted.

“I’m just glad you’re alive.” Noctis sighed in relief.

“Oh, is someone else there?” Ignis asked, turning his head to the left.

“Just Gladio,” you answered.

Noctis frowned, “where did he go anyway?”

“On a brief reconnaissance. Something caught my ear…”

“Hey Captain, Lieutenant; mission complete.” Gladio announced, coming to a halt at the table.

“Splendid.” “Thank you Gladio.” Both you and Ignis spoke.

“So, what ‘caught your ear’?”

“Rumors of longer nights.”

“They’ve been growing longer day by day,” Gladio added.

You nodded, “there was talk of it back in Lucis, even within Insomnia. But recently there has been an unseasonably sharp change.”

“Should this trend continue, before long…”

“There won’t be daylight.” Noctis finished.

“Well, it’s not out of the question. The empire’s already slain half of the Six. No wonder the whole world’s in disarray.”

“And longer nights mean more daemons,” Ignis continued.

Gladio hummed in agreement, “seen that with our own eyes.”

“I happened to overhear a fellow passenger discussing this very same phenomenon.”

“So, we sent Gladio to seek ‘em out,” you grinned.

Noctis laughed, “nice police work.”

“Well, don’t want to keep ‘em waiting. You coming (f/n)?” Gladio asked.

You shook your head, “don’t want to spook them with too many people. I think I’ll stay here with Noct for now.”

“Suit yourself,” Gladio shrugged before leading Ignis down the train to the next car.

Noctis looked out the window while you picked up the menu, wondering what to eat when the prince gasped. Following his gaze, you turned to the window and felt your jaw drop at the sight of a massive snow-storm sitting right beside the deserts of Eusciello. There was the sound of a hand smacking the table when Prompto leaned beside the two of you. “Oh, there you guys are. Are you seeing this?”

“Yeah…never seen anything like it…” Noctis replied. “What’s going on…”

“It’s a real mystery,” Prompto shrugged. “But I’m not liking the look of that snow-cloud, kinda gives me the chills. Like who comes up with this stuff? I couldn’t even dream it up if I tried. Heh, it’s a marvelous world.”

You turned to speak with Prompto only to have Noctis to rush toward the blonde, aiming a punch right toward his face. Fortunately, the gunner’s reflexes were quicker and he managed to side step out of the way. “Whoa, what’s going on?”

“Noctis, are you alright? What’s gotten into you?” you asked, confused at your friend’s sudden change in demeanor. “Yeah buddy, you okay?” Prompto spoke, equally as confused as you yourself was.

Noctis spun about to face you both, a look of rage twisting his facial features as he summoned a royal weapon and swung it at Prompto. You both dodged in the nick of time, causing Noctis to embed his blade into the floor before banishing it once more. “Shut up!” Noctis screamed.

“Be careful there!” Prompto exclaimed, scurrying backwards. “Wait…is this for real?”

“Noct, what the hell is the matter with you?!” You shouted, summoning your bow to block Noctis’ next attack.

“Stay out of my way (f/n)! I’m gonna KILL HIM!” Noctis roared, knocking you to the floor.

“Run!” you shouted to Prompto, causing the blonde to quickly climb to his feet and race toward the next car with Noctis at his heels.

You chased after them, watching Noctis rip open a compartment door in anger as he searched the contents within. Coming to a halt beside the prince you put a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Um…Noct are you oka- ugh!” you exclaimed as his fist swung out, slamming against your cheek and causing you to lose balance. Stars danced across your vision as you watched Noctis rush away down the rest of the train. You moved to stand once more before feeling a blow to the back of your head, causing you to gasp in pain and slump backwards into a pair of strong arms that smelt of sandalwood.

“My sincerest apologizes, (f/n), but I mustn’t have you interfere. Sleep well, my dear.” Ardyn whispered in your ear before your eyes closed and the world faded from view…

You opened your eyes and groaned, feeling a slight pain coming from your cheek and the back of your head. Slowly you tried to recall what happened; remembering the train, Noctis losing it and attacking Prompto, and then Ardyn knocking you unconscious. You fumed angrily at having been caught off guard so easily, but the damage was already done. Gently you rose from the bed you were laying on and glanced around at your surroundings with confusion and suspicion.

Wherever you were, it was certainly not the train.

Bunk beds lay in two rows across from one another, each with its own bedside table. On the far end of the room was a row of lockers with a few coats thrown across empty chairs. To the right was a large metal door that was the only exit which currently remained closed. You moved toward the wall where a plaque sat alongside a map and fire-safety guidelines.

“Zegnautus Dormitory, Number 601,” you spoke aloud. “Zegnautus? Wait, I’m in Gralea?”

Riffling through your pockets you sighed in frustration to discover your mobile phone was missing, knowing exactly who took it. Glancing back at the map, you tried to pinpoint a route toward an exit or control room to contact the boys, finally finding one that would lead you toward the communications room that was bound to have an emergency phone line. Memorizing the route, you opened the door and quickly knocked back an arrow before cautiously walking out of the dormitory.

The air was still and the silent, only to be broken by the light tapping of your boots upon the metal floors. Why were there no guards? No researchers? Not even a lost secretary wandering the empty halls. Something did not feel right, and that thought alone made you raise your guard even higher. Taking the last left toward the communications room, you opened the door in front of you and froze at the sight that lay before you. Across the floor lay clothes; multiple copies of the same uniform strewn about the entire room, including shoes. Kneeling beside the closest set, you searched through the pockets and retrieved an ID card, wallet, and keys.

“That’s strange, why would they leave their valuables?” You murmured to yourself, “what in the world could have happened here?”

Standing up you entered the next room, which was filled with metal cages. Clothing was thrown about in this room as well, though broken shackles also laid about within the cages, making you frown. What the hell was going on here?

You moved toward the desk and picked up a stack of papers, flipping through the pages as you read the words written.

“Military Applications of Mutative Plasmodia,” you read aloud. “In light of the large sample size, the test results can be considered conclusive: commonly occurring parasitic protozoa are the are the agents of daemonification. These findings pave the way for the weaponization of daemons, and the first step involves finding a way to control mutated organisms. This report recommends Minister of Research Verstael Besithia submit a detailed budget request for the Deathless Project.”

“A parasitic protozoon….so the daemons are from a disease?” You spoke before a look of horror came to your face, “Then that means, all the daemons…they’re people….”

“Were people; I’m afraid they no longer remember their previous lives.”

You spun about toward the source of the voice, bow drawn and raised in defense. Ardyn stood before you with his hands stretched out in a non-threatening manner, a hint of a smirk drawn across his lips. “Tell me why I should not release this arrow into you right now,” you spoke harshly.

“Because you still have questions that I hold the answers to,” Ardyn replied simply.

You narrowed your eyes in anger before lowering the bow and sheathing the arrow into your quiver once more. “Explain please,” you snapped.

“It is fascinating what one would do for power over their enemies,” Ardyn said, running a hand across the cage door. “All the Empire need was one little push and they were corrupting their own citizens to create their magitek.”

“So, you spread the scourge to Niflheim,” you finished. “Is that why you left? To try to protect me from this! By the Six Ardyn, why couldn’t you just tell me!?”

“I couldn’t get you involved.”

“That’s not an answer Ardyn! Tell me the truth!”

“BECAUSE I HAVE TO DIE!” Ardyn roared in anger, his voice reverberating around the room causing you to freeze in your tracks. “Don’t you understand (f/n)? I have been wandering this world with nothing but these damned daemons, as the ‘Immortal Accursed’! Did you really think I could trap you within that darkness?!”

You watched his sclera turn black as obsidian tears began to fall from his eyes, leaving trails of liquid shadows across his greying skin. Clenching your hand into a fist, you slowly walked toward him and raised your hand; allowing the fist to slam straight into his right cheek. Ardyn yelped in surprise, staggering backward from the blow before looking to you with a expression of pure shock.

“You are a FUCKING IDIOT Ardyn Lucis Caelum!” you shouted. “Did you really think I would turn my back on you again? Did you not think to explain what happened here?!”

Ardyn stared at your outburst in surprise, knowing that curses did not often fall from your lips.

“You destroyed an Empire!” you continued, too angry to care. “Corrupted innocent people into daemons, killed your own descendant and the Oracle; among countless others, and felled gods! And I am furious with you, horrified at what you’ve done! And yet still I....I want to stand beside you.”

Moving closer to him you wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face into his chest. “I love you, Ardyn Lucis Caelum; now and forever.”

He remained as still as stone against you before his arms slowly returned the embrace. “You still wish to remain with me, even after all I’ve done.”

“I’m your wife, you fool. I have to inspire you somehow.”

“(f/n)…I cannot give you a happy ending.” Ardyn whispered.

You raised your head to look into his eyes, a small smile coming to your face. “I know…but perhaps I could give you one…. we both could.” You said, moving his hand toward your stomach.

Ardyn stared at your stomach with wide, terrified eyes. But you could see deep within those golden eyes the small spark of hope lingering in their depths. “Are you certain?”

“Positive,” you answered back.

“It seems the gods have not forsaken me,” Ardyn chuckled humorlessly. “Though I will ask you once more (f/n), will you stay with me?”

“If you will have me,” you replied, mimicking his words to you in Altissia.

“Now and forever, my dear.”

9 Months Later:

“Congratulations Madame, it’s a boy!”

You panted heavily as you laid against the multiple pillows behind your head. Your (h/c) locks were plastered to your face by sweat from the labor you had endured. Looking to the bundle within the doctor’s arms, you reached your arms for your child. “May I see him?” you asked softly, your voice all but gone from the screaming you did.

“Of course, Madame, there you go. I’ll go and retrieve your husband,” the doctor replied before depositing your child within your arms and disappearing out of the room.

Cuddling the bundle to your chest you smiled down at your son, laughing at the tuft of magenta hair that was just touch darker than his father’s. Running a finger gently against his hand he grabbed hold of your finger with all his might before a content smile pulled at his lips.

“How is he?” Ardyn asked, the concern he felt evident in his tone.

“Come see,” you answered, moving to show Ardyn. “I would like you to meet Ausel Lucis Caelum.”

“Hello there, little one.” Ardyn smiled, “it is nice to finally meet you.”

And there is the end of the chapter! Stay tuned for the final two chapters, and I’ll try to post them as soon as I can. See ya and good night! ^_^

#ffxv #fanfiction #ardyn izunia #ardyn lucis caelum #ardyn izunia x reader #Long Live the King - ch.7

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marcusssanderson · 5 years

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45 Muhammad Ali Quotes On Life, Love and Being a Champion

Our latest collection of Muhammad Ali quotes that will help you think and live like a champion.

Muhammed Ali is widely regarded as one of the greatest boxers of all time.

He was the heavyweight champion of the world 3 times and has defeated some of the best boxers in the history of the sport.

He is known for his incredible speed, strength, and controversial statements.

Muhammad Ali quotes and poems are famous around the world.

Ali was a passionate and intelligent man that always spoke his mind and was full of wisdom.

Unlike most boxers who used their managers to talk for them, Ali wanted to be known in the media. Ali used the media to grow his audience and his message.

Ali loved to throw off his opponents before even stepping into the ring.

Muhammed Ali first took up boxing at age 12, after another kid stole his bike.

His amateur career went extremely well and he dominated any tournaments he entered.

He was trained by Chuck Bodak and was known for his exceptional discipline and dedication to the sport.

Many of his fights, such as the fights against George Foreman and Joe Frazier, are the most famous in boxing history. Ali became the heavyweight champion of the world at the young age of 21.

While Muhammad Ali’s boxing skills were incredible, he’s also known for being a free spirit.

While many other people fled to other countries to avoid the draft, Ali decided to publicly denounce it.

He refused to be drafted, and as a result, was jailed for 3 years in the prime of his boxing career.

His resistance and protest of the war, despite the repercussions, showed the world how strong Ali’s spirit was and inspired many.

Muhammed Ali will always be known for his rebellious nature, witty mouth, and incredible boxing ability.

He created a legacy that will live on forever. Everyone can learn something from Muhammad Ali quotes.

Below is our collection of inspirational, wise, and funny Muhammad Ali quotes and sayings, collected from a variety of sources over the years.

Muhammad Ali Quotes on Life

1.) “Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in the world they’ve been given than to explore the power they have to change it. Impossible is not a fact. It’s an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration. It’s a dare. Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary. Impossible is nothing.” – Muhammad Ali

2.) “I don’t count my sit-ups; I only start counting when it starts hurting because they’re the only ones that count.” – Muhammad Ali

3.) “I hated every minute of training, but I said, ‘Don’t quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.” – Muhammad Ali

4.) “The fight is won or lost far away from witnesses—behind the lines, in the gym, and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights.” – Muhammad Ali

5.) “He who is not courageous enough to take risks will accomplish nothing in life.” – Muhammad Ali

6.) “It’s lack of faith that makes people afraid of meeting challenges, and I believed in myself.” – Muhammad Ali

Muhammad Ali Quotes on Being a Champion

7.) “Friendship … is not something you learn in school. But if you haven’t learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven’t learned anything.” – Muhammad Ali

8.) “I know where I’m going and I know the truth, and I don’t have to be what you want me to be. I’m free to be what I want.” – Muhammad Ali

9.) “A man who views the world the same at 50 as he did at 20 has wasted 30 years of his life.” – Muhammad Ali

10.) “Service to others is the rent you pay for your room here on earth.” – Muhammad Ali

11.) “It isn’t the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out; it’s the pebble in your shoe.” – Muhammad Ali

12.) “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” – Muhammad Ali

13.) “I am the greatest. I said that even before I knew I was. I figured that if I said it enough, I would convince the world that I really was the greatest.” – Muhammad Ali

14.) “If they can make penicillin out of moldy bread, they can sure make something out of you.” – Muhammad Ali

15.) “Only a man who knows what it is like to be defeated can reach down to the bottom of his soul and come up with the extra ounce of power it takes to win when the match is even.” – Muhammad Ali

Muhammad Ali quotes on Islam and Love

16.) “Champions aren’t made in gyms. Champions are made from something they have deep inside them—a desire, a dream, a vision. They have to have last-minute stamina, they have to be a little faster, they have to have the skill and the will. But the will must be stronger than the skill.” – Muhammad Ali

17.) “There are no pleasures in a fight, but some of my fights have been a pleasure to win.” – Muhammad Ali

18.) “I’ve wrestled with alligators / I’ve tussled with a whale / I done handcuffed lightning / And throw thunder in jail.” – Muhammad Ali

19.) “If my mind can conceive it, and my heart can believe it—then I can achieve it.” – Muhammad Ali

20.) “Don’t count the days; make the days count.” – Muhammad Ali

21.) “It’s not bragging if you can back it up.” – Muhammad Ali

22.) “At home I am a nice guy: but I don’t want the world to know. Humble people, I’ve found, don’t get very far.” – Muhammad Ali

23.) “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” – Muhammad Ali

More Quotes by Muhammad Ali

24.) “To be a great champion you must believe you are the best. If not pretend you are.” – Muhammad Ali

25.) “What you are thinking is what you are becoming. – Muhammad Ali

26.) “What keeps me going is goals.” – Muhammad Ali

27.) “Live everyday as if it were your last because someday you’re going to be right.” – Muhammad Ali

28.) “Age is whatever you think it is. You are as old as you think you are.” – Muhammad Ali

29.) “If they can make penicillin out of moldy bread, then they can sure make something out of you.” – Muhammad Ali

30.) “Silence is golden when you can’t think of a good answer.” – Muhammad Ali

31.) It’s hard to be humble, when you’re as great as I am. – Muhammad Ali

32.) It’s just a job. Grass grows, birds fly, waves pound the sand. I beat people up. – Muhammad Ali

33.) It’s the repetition of affirmations that leads to belief. And once that belief becomes a deep conviction, things begin to happen. – Muhammad Ali

34.) Life is a gamble. You can get hurt, but people die in plane crashes, lose their arms and legs in car accidents; people die every day. Same with fighters: some die, some get hurt, some go on. You just don’t let yourself believe it will happen to you. – Muhammad Ali

35.) My toughest fight was with my first wife. – Muhammad Ali

36.) My way of joking is to tell the truth. That’s the funniest joke in the world. – Muhammad Ali

Muhammad Ali Quotes on Training

37.) No one knows what to say in the loser’s locker room. – Muhammad Ali

38.) Old age is just a record of one’s whole life. – Muhammad Ali

39.) Only a man who knows what it is like to be defeated can reach down to the bottom of his soul and come up with the extra ounce of power it takes to win when the match is even. – Muhammad Ali

40.) Rivers, ponds, lakes and streams – they all have different names, but they all contain water. Just as religions do – they all contain truths. – Muhammad Ali

41.) Service to others is the rent you pay for your room here on earth. – Muhammad Ali

42.) I know where I’m going and I know the truth, and I don’t have to be what you want me to be. I’m free to be what I want. – Muhammad Ali

43.) “I never thought of losing, but now that it’ s happened, the only thing is to do it right. That’s my obligation to all the people who believe in me. We all have to take defeats in life.” – Muhammad Ali

44.) “I wish people would love everybody else the way they love me. It would be a better world.” – Muhammad Ali

Muhammad Ali Pre Fight Rhymes and Quotes

“This is the legend of Cassius Clay, The most beautiful fighter in the world today. He talks a great deal, and brags indeed-y, of a muscular punch that’s incredibly speed-y. The fistic world was dull and weary, But with a champ like Liston, things had to be dreary. Then someone with color and someone with dash, Brought fight fans are runnin’ with Cash. This brash young boxer is something to see And the heavyweight championship is his des-tin-y. This kid fights great; he’s got speed and endurance, But if you sign to fight him, increase your insurance. This kid’s got a left; this kid’s got a right, If he hit you once, you’re asleep for the night. And as you lie on the floor while the ref counts ten, You’ll pray that you won’t have to fight me again. For I am the man this poem’s about, The next champ of the world, there isn’t a doubt. This I predict and I know the score, I’ll be champ of the world in ’64. When I say three, they’ll go in the third, 10 months ago

So don’t bet against me, I’m a man of my word. He is the greatest! Yes! I am the man this poem’s about, I’ll be champ of the world, there isn’t a doubt. Here I predict Mr. Liston’s dismemberment, I’ll hit him so hard; he’ll wonder where October and November went. When I say two, there’s never a third, Standin against me is completely absurd. When Cassius says a mouse can outrun a horse, Don’t ask how; put your money where your mouse is! I AM THE GREATEST!” – Muhammad Ali

Last night I had a dream, When I got to Africa, I had one hell of a rumble. I had to beat Tarzan’s behind first, For claiming to be King of the Jungle. For this fight, I’ve wrestled with alligators, I’ve tussled with a whale. I done handcuffed lightning And throw thunder in jail. You know I’m bad. just last week, I murdered a rock, Injured a stone, Hospitalized a brick. I’m so mean, I make medicine sick. I’m so fast, man, I can run through a hurricane and don’t get wet. When George Foreman meets me, He’ll pay his debt. I can drown the drink of water, and kill a dead tree. Wait till you see Muhammad Ali. – Muhammad Ali

I’d like for them to say he took a few cups of love,

he took one tablespoon of patience, teaspoon of generosity,

one pint of kindness. He took one quart of laughter,

one pinch of concern,

and then,

he mix willingness with happiness,

he added lots of faith,

and he stirred it up well,

then he spreads it over his span of a lifetime,

and he served it to each and every deserving person he met.

– Muhammad Ali

To make America the greatest is my goal, So I beat the Russians, and I beat the Pole, and for the USA won the medal of gold. Italians said: “You’re Greater than the Cassius of old´´. We like your name, we like your game, So make Rome your home if you will. I said I appreciate your kind hospitality, But the USA is my country still, ‘Cause they’re waiting to welcome me in Louisville.

Poem written after winning the gold medal in the 1960 Olympic Summer Games in Rome, Italy

Top 10 Muhammad Ali Best Knockouts

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Which Muhammad Ali quotes were your favorite?

Whether or not you’re a boxing fan, there are lots of lessons you can learn from Muhammad Ali quotes. He was a heavyweight both inside and outside the ring, and left an indelible mark on history and culture.

Hopefully, these words from the people’s champion have inspired you to be self-confident and to hold true to yourself and your own beliefs, regardless of circumstance.

Did you enjoy these Muhammad Ali quotes? What other quotes by Muhammad Ali would you add to the list? Tell us in the comment section below! #ripchamp #ali

The post 45 Muhammad Ali Quotes On Life, Love and Being a Champion appeared first on Everyday Power.

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thepunklounge-blog · 6 years

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Miracle Mile - A Short Story

It was the poorest I had ever been, or ever would be thereafter. I was still young, which was good. The imperviousness of youth protected me to some extent, from the cold, from hunger, from aggravation, from austerity. I found a job in the paper for a telemarketer position at the 5455 building on Wilshire Boulevard. I called the number listed and they hired me right over the phone, which should have been a red flag, but what can I say, I was desperate for any job. I had nothing. I was living above the stage of Al’s bar at the American Hotel. It was a small, single room, not much bigger than a jail cell. The bathrooms were down the hall, no closet space, no kitchen, no food for that matter. I slept on some folded up comforters on the floor, I had a desk, a telephone, a little ten inch TV-VCR combo that had a tape stuck in it, an electric typewriter, and a small refrigerator, which, aside from the block of ice building around the walls of the little freezer, was totally empty most of the time. I had to be at work at 8 am. I got up at 5:30, took a hot shower, got dressed and headed downstairs into the icy morning air with my allotted six dollars, for bus fare, there and back, and lunch. I’d catch the Dash bus down at the corner in front of Blooms General Store. It was a little bus that only cost a quarter, and took you to the hub of the city’s transit centers, connecting to just about any bus, train or express line heading out of downtown. I’d ride it to Wilshire and Grand, where Wilshire Boulevard begins. Then I’d wait on the corner for a Metro bus to take me west. It was winter and the air was frigid. I had an old tweed coat with a faux-fur collar that I bought in some second-hand shop, but the wind would blow right through it and down my neck. My fingers would be numb and I’d shove them down in my pockets to warm them. If the bus was too full, the drivers wouldn’t even stop and you’d have to wait for the next one, which was often the case. Hence, my reason for leaving my place at least two hours before my shift began. You never knew what kind of eventualities would arise. Some of the drivers didn’t care though. No matter how filled to capacity the bus might be, the driver would stop, open the doors and yell out, “Come on people, keeping a schedule here, climb on, there’s plenty of room!” But that was mad. They were mad, with their fingerless gloves, gripping at the giant steering wheel, their eyes red and crazy, waving passengers aboard and cramming them in like sardines. And as desperate, rushed, and out of options as we all were, we’d climb on, cramming and mashing against each other so tightly, your feet were almost lifted off the floor. You were nearly suspended in the mass of bodies, all coffee breath; body odor, farts, bloodshot eyes, scowling faces, faces of disappointment, of hopelessness. Some mornings I was lucky enough to get a seat, and I’d sit with my face buried in a book, trying to wish away all the ugliness of my surroundings. The Wilshire line was one of the angriest, most hostel lines in the city. People would fight for seats, or standing room or a rail to hold on to. Knives would come out of pockets, or broken bottles. Bums would kick the back door and scream at the top of their lungs, “LET ME THE FUCK OFF THIS MOTHER FUCKER OR I”LL FUCKING KILL YOU ALL!!!” Sometimes, instead of reading, I’d lay my weary head against the window and look out at the city passing by. We’d cross over the Harbor freeway out of downtown, into MacArthur Park. The homeless in the park would be bundled under blankets and stuffed into sleeping bags beside the lake, steam from their snoring mouths rising into the ghostly sunlight. Some of them were junkies. The lucky ones would be splayed out on the grass, soaking in the rising sun, with a nice fat shot of dope warming their bones, smiling and nodding off in morphine soaked dreams. Wilshire always seemed haunted to me. Not just one old building or storefront, but the whole thoroughfare. It has an ominous aura, the shadows are deeper, the trees are old, their trunks scarred with graffiti and smeared with grease. The buildings are granite and gray, art deco, built by masonic orders at the turn of the century. There were old department stores, synagogues, museums, cathedrals, and flophouses. We passed through Korea Town then, with its noodle houses, hostess bars, and massage parlors, then past The Ambassador Hotel, where Robert Kennedy was assassinated in the hotel kitchen. I’d get off on Wilshire and La Brea and rush into the elevator and ride it up to the top floor, and make it into the office, usually, just in the nick of time for my shift to begin. The building was a solid black fortress. I’d go right to the vending machine and buy a Snickers bar for breakfast, then over to the coffee maker and pour a cup. The coffee was always thick as mud and amphetamine strong. My co-workers were all black. I was the only white boy in the phone room. The room had no windows and was very small. There were about fifteen of us crammed in there in small cubicles. The boss was a black man. His name was Mr. Spencer. He was tall, about 6’5 and must have weighed about four hundred pounds. When he came running into the phone room the whole floor shook. He wore a suit and tie and had a loud, booming voice. “Who here is motivated to make some money today?” he’d exclaim, and would scotch tape a single dollar bill to the wall. Not a fiver, not a ten… a single. “Whoever gets the first lead today, gets that dollar!” he’d proclaim, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him. We would roll our eyes at the supposed reward. The job didn’t pay very much, to begin with, a measly one hundred and twenty-six dollars a week, plus commission if we could manage a lead that went through to a sale. The job was a grim and difficult one. We were cold-calling homeowners to see if they were interested in refinancing their homes and taking the money, and reinvesting it into remodeling their kitchens, or bathrooms, or adding on an extra room, or installing a swimming pool. They would give us copies of numbers out of the white pages to call. This was before cell phones or even auto dialing. You had to read the tiny, blurry numbers and dial away. There was a script that we were told to adhere to, word for word, without variation. You had to say it so many times a day that you developed blisters in certain parts of your mouth from repeating it so often. It went like this… “Hi, this is Chris, I’m calling from Sunrise Realty and Finance. We’re offering a special rate on refinancing and we see here that you filled out an entry form to win cash prizes and rewards (which was total bullshit) We’re calling to follow up on your inquiry. How are you doing today?” But more often than not, you never got that far. It usually went a little more like this… “Hi, this is Chris from Sunrise Realty and…” then the voice on the other end would interrupt… “Who? Who the fuck is this? FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKIN FUCK!” slamming down the phone. Most of my co-workers had a hard time with the script. Many of them were strung out on crack or heroin. Some were very old, or not very articulate, not too good at reading off the page with ease and grace. Their words sounded scripted and clumsy, they would fumble the words and stammer, and struggle with them. One guy was from the Congo and his accent was so thick, it was nearly unintelligible. The people we were calling were in cities like El Segundo, Compton, Lynwood, and Carson. Working class neighborhoods, people barely getting by, if that. Most were struggling, even unemployed in most cases. Living in homes their parents bought and were paid off years ago when housing was more affordable. I, however, was able to figure something out the rest of my co-workers were too tired, too strung out, or too apathetic to notice. It was a numbers game. The more people you were able to reach out to, in the shortest amount of time, was what the game was all about. Yes, 99% of the time, you got screamed at and hung up on. But every once in a while you got some interest. The quickest way to do get to those interested was to get right to the point. Not fumbling through some long winded and obviously scripted pitch; people were so burned out on those, especially when poorly delivered. No, the best thing to do was hit them with why you were calling in the first three seconds of them picking up. I would simply say, “Home remodeling?” If they had no interest, they would simply hang up or tell you to go fuck yourself. Fine, but sometimes they would respond by saying, “Home remodeling? Well, what do you guys do?” That’s when you knew you had a chance. There was something worth going on about…there was hope. By doing this, I was able to get more leads per day. Making me the leading telemarketer in the office. When the others caught on about how I was doing this, they tried it themselves. But for some reason, they couldn’t make it work, no matter the pitch, or lack thereof, they couldn’t catch a break. The bosses, who couldn’t have been happier with however the hell I was getting them their leads, told the others, “Y’all stick to the script. Chris does what he does and that works for him. It don’t work for Y'all. Read the words in front of you and that’s it!” This created a bit of envy from my co-workers and often ugly, resentful glances were thrown my way. I wasn’t trying to outdo anyone. I was just trying to survive like everyone else. Using was left of my wits to make that happen. We had our lunch break at half past noon. We had thirty minutes to rush downstairs and grab something, then get back on the phones. Many of my co-workers wouldn’t even bother with food. Most of them went down to the alley behind the building to smoke a joint, or take a pull on the pipe, or to fix in the bathrooms to take the edge off. I would rush up the street to the Burger King, order a 99-cent Whopper, no cheese, who could afford cheese, after all, no fries, and a cup for water. I’d slam it down my throat and run back to the office with the damn thing stuck halfway down my neck. I’d grab a second cup of black coffee and start dialing. Most of my co-workers would meander back, ten or fifteen minutes late, high as a kite, wreaking of booze or weed, taking shit from the boss for being late, nodding, grinning, and bumbling through their lives. One afternoon, the boss came into the phone room and asked me into his office. He told me that I had more leads that led to sales than almost anyone if the history of the company. Which wasn’t saying a whole lot. It was a fly by night that had just been set up a couple of years prior to my arrival on the scene. He gave me my own little office with a desk facing out a huge window, looking out onto the Hollywood Hills. The pay was the same, however, and there were no other perks aside from the privacy and the lovely view. I’d stare out the window, high above the city, the whole of it filling my eyes, looking down on the streets, and the hills above them, the opulent homes along Mulholland, the clubs and restaurants along Sunset, the traffic, the jets soaring through the skies, the ghetto birds patrolling the freeways for car chases. The teeming masses, struggling, losing, aching, worrying, rushing, grasping for some small victories, a dollar taped to a wall, a fix, a bottle, some sex, a place to sit on the bus, some cheese on your Whopper…anything. At 6 o’clock the boss cut us loose. We’d drag our tired bones onto the elevator down to the lobby. A Mexican kid named Julio, who worked at a café on the corner, would be getting off at the same time as me, and we’d walk to the bus stop together. He was a nice kid, plump face, always smiling, always greeting me with a nice pipe full of weed to smoke on the way to the bus. The bus heading back downtown on Wilshire dropped you off back on Grand, and the Dash bus stopped running back into my neighborhood from there at that time of night, so I had to take a bus north on La Brea, up to Sunset, and transfer to the 1,2,3 or number 4 bus, down to Hill and 1st street. We’d stand huddled together under the bus stop overhang, shivering in the freezing cold wind, stoned, hungry and exhausted. We’d ride up to Sunset and La Brea, Id get off, Julio would continue up to Hollywood Boulevard. I’d thank him for the smoke and get off, and wait in the cold for my transfer. I’d get on the first bus that came along. Usually, the buses heading into downtown were much less crowded than the ones leaving it. I guess leaving downtown was much more desirable than going there. Sometimes it would only be me and two or three others on board. The bus driver was a white woman with a southern accent. She was morbidly obese and kept ranting, “Jesus is my lord, the Lord Jesus is with me! Jesus is my lord, the Lord Jesus is with me!” Over and over and over, the whole ride downtown. She wouldn’t stop for five seconds. It was maddening. I got off on Hill and 1st and walked east through Little Tokyo. The smells coming out of the ramen houses and sushi bars was intoxicating. I watched people from the cold street, through the windows, eating steaming bowls of teriyaki chicken and rice, and spicy tuna rolls, and drinking hot Sake. My stomach growled and my head would spin with hunger. I’d cross Alameda and down across an empty parking lot to the hotel. I’d unlock my door, light the pilot of the little radiator in the corner and warm up. I'd crack a can of tuna, mix it was some mayo, spread it on some wheat bread and scarf it down. I’d take a hot shower down the hall, come back to my room, lie on the floor, cover up, and fall fast asleep. Tomorrow was another day, another bus ride, another cold call, another strong cup of coffee…another chance at a miracle. ~Christiaan Pasquale To read more of my work, click on this link, thank you....http://psychoslander.wixsite.com/christiaan-pasquale Read the full article

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