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bontenten · 3 years

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The Choosing

Pairing: Daichi x f!reader (ft. Captain Squad <3 and Sakusa)

WC: 3.2k

Genre/Warnings: Crack/Bad Humor, Smut, Romance, Reverse Harem, Royalty AU!, mention or hints of size kink, exhibitionism, creampie, breeding kink, dick and ball worship, you’re perverted and gross

Summary: You are the Princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym and you need to choose a husband.

Repost from my main because I say so. Lee... :gru: i miss u

Also, no beta we die like Daichi.

It’s a tradition carried through many, many generations that the daughters of nobility from the Kingdom of YoreNaym must choose a suitor from the eligible bachelors from the neighboring kingdoms. It’s a show of kinship to the other kingdoms and also a means of securing peace.

At some point, everyone’s sister’s cousin’s second uncle’s sworn brother’s adopted daughter’s nephew twice-removed will be related and connect back to the Kingdom of YoreNaym. In short, the blood of this kingdom’s daughters unite the lands. No incest, there’s enough genetic diversity, if you will. And because you are also a princess of this kingdom, it’s your turn. Yay.

While growing up, you hear the elders say that the youngsters should be grateful that they have the agency to at least pick a suitor. They spin their looms and cackle, reminiscing that, “Back in our days, we didn’t get to have a choice. Our elders appointed a spouse for us from whichever kingdom had a suitor. Unlike you girls who get to choose, ungrateful wenches…”

Does it really matter? It’s just the false pretense of choice, isn’t it? At the end of the day the selection of eligible bachelors are all chosen ahead of time, deemed worthy, and then after the initial picking, you are just allowed to pick. It doesn’t matter who you choose, any one of them will fit the criteria. Maybe you’ll just close your eyes and pick one randomly. Can you actually say, “I’ll choose my own hand and marry myself.”

That’s pretty brave, hell yea that’s a main character move right there. Speaking of which, who are the eligible bachelors you can choose from today? It’s practically your engagement day, yet you really haven’t been paying any attention at all.

“Hey,” you whisper, lifting the curtain of the palanquin. A maid quickly answers to your beckon.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Who are the candidates today again? You have a...list or brochure of sorts?”

“Just a moment, my lady, I’ll retrieve the scroll for you.”

You open the scroll and peruse the contents. Huh, all the neighboring kingdoms are going all out this year. There’s the Kingdoms of Nekoma, Inarizaki, Fukurodani, Aoba Johsai, Shiratorizawa...Wow, even Johzenji and Nohebi have candidates? Funny, all of these are all presenting their crown princes too. As they should, you are the most beloved princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym, and the suitor you choose will bring you back as a blessing to his kingdom. It’s a total bummer that the Kingdom of Itachiyama isn’t participating this year. Sakusa’s crown prince succession is next year! You have heard so many swoon worthy stories about that princeling, even paid handsome amounts of money for paparazzi paintings of the beautiful man. No one will find out that the princess of YoreNaym actually hoards little pictures of Prince Sakusa in her panties drawers. It’s a shame you aren’t picking your husband next year.

There’s one more Kingdom on the list that surprises you. Kingdom of Karasuno, or more commonly referred to as the Kingdom of “Fallen Crows”. According to legends, they used to be quite a prosperous kingdom, but after a few generations of inept leadership, a drought, and poor trade economy...the Kingdom has mostly faded into obscurity. It’s been years since a suitor candidate has been offered. So who is it?

“Sawamura Daichi,” you whisper to yourself, “Interesting.”

The festival ground outdoors is especially grand. There are a huge number of tables prepared off to the side for guests. Trays of food, fruits and wine are provided for every single guest in attendance. You are led by the attendants to the temporary throne seat as the guest of honor. As you make your way to the throne, all the guests stand up to acknowledge your entrance. It’s so pressuring and a part of you wishes you can just dig a hole and bury yourself on the spot. You don’t even want to think about how many eyes are on you. They are all just jealous because, really. Take my word for it, I’m the narrator.

When you take a seat, the guests reseat themselves. A shaman comes to the center stage and bows to you.

“My lady, the time is auspicious, let us commence the Festival of Unity. At this time, I’ll be introducing the eligible bachelors from neighboring kingdoms near and far. They have passed the arduous tests and come as the best to offer in asking for your hand. Each of the suitors will present to you with a talent or skill, as to show you their excellence. After the demonstrations, you will be allowed to take your pick. Whereupon you will—”

“Okay, I get it! They will participate in a talent show, we clap, and I choose a husband, I got it!” You snap, cutting the shaman’s words off. Your patience is wearing thin.

A number of guests can be heard mumbling in the crowds, probably commenting on your behavior. Your eyes scan the guests, you can care less. Judgmental eyes, scheming eyes, lecherous eyes, disgusting eyes....Your gaze meeting with a pair of eyes that are absolutely blank. Wait, not blank as in emotionless. Non-judgemental? The opposite of unkind? Dare you say, polite? He gives you a smile and returns to taking a sip from his goblet. You scan his clothing up and down to look for his family crest. Black and orange. A crow. Karasuno.

Your thoughts are jumbled as an increasing amount of questions fill your mind. He? Karasuno? That Kingdom of Fallen Crows? You barely hear the shaman announce the first candidate.

“Bokuto Koutarou from Kingdom of Fukurodani.” Bokuto is a very large, very well built man. He is wearing his family crest of an owl across his back proudly. You can tell his chest is incredibly broad, the bulge of his big tiddies stretch the tight shirt he’s in. If you squint hard enough, you can maybe see the outline of his nipples through the training shirt, but maybe that’s just your perverted imagination too. Bokuto comes to the center stage and greets you.

“Hey! I’ll uh, demonstrate my strength to you, my lady.” He easily picks up a huge hunk of metal and lifts it with ease above his head. Damn beefiness, those arms of his. Seeing the bulges flex when he flexes has you dreaming of mouth along that delicious flesh. And when he pins you down under his massive body? Ooh, if this is the first demonstration, you’re excited to see the whole lineup today. Gasps and murmurs can be heard in the crowd. Bokuto grins and drops the load on the ground. You can almost feel the tremors beneath your feet. Truly, a herculean feat.

“Thank you, Bokuto, I have seen your demonstration and all those here are witnesses.”

Bokuto’s demonstration is a showy start of the competition for your hand. The shaman announces the next candidate. “Ushijima Wakatoshi from the Kingdom of Shiratorizawa.”

Ushijima walks up to the stage exuding the regal aura of nobility; a byproduct of his strict upbringing. The twin crests of an eagle decorate his shoulder pads. His expression is quite cold, but there’s a saying, “it’s always the quiet ones.” You lick your lips and study him some more.

“Greeting to the princess,” he says with a deep bow. “I also bring a demonstration of my martial prowess.” Ushijima takes off the bow and quiver of arrows from his back and nods at his attendant who then catapults three apples high up into the air. Everyone’s eyes follow the trajectory of the objects, squinting to see what’s happening. No way.

Ushijima draws the bow back and calmly shoots one arrow, perfectly spearing the three fruits along the shaft. The crowd bursts into cheers. You also find your tight grip on armrest loosening, the tension from the scene dissipating in a moment. Ushijima’s calmness, accuracy, decision-making...he would make a very suitable partner for sure. Co-workers of sorts, that is.

You know your marriage carries a lot of weight politically and the fate of the whole universe will rest on your decision. Maybe not the whole universe, but close enough. But, marital bliss is important too right? Is Ushijima the right choice? There are still many more candidates, it’ll be best not to make a rash decision. Your gaze wanders over back to the Karasuno prince who is clapping earnestly for Ushijima’s performance. He’s acknowledging a rival’s strength, you think to yourself. Well, that’s certainly a rare but admirable trait. A confident man, he is.

After Ushijima’s demonstration, Oikawa Tooru’s enchanting musical performance offers a much desired change of pace. The rhythm and melody from his zither carries both the energy of fortitude as well as a graceful spirit. Quite stunning, but just not quite the musical vibe you’re feeling at the moment. Bummer, maybe a different day, really. Could be friends?

Kuroo Tetsurou from the Kingdom of Nekoma offers a particularly memorable performance too. Kuroo comes to the center stage with a trough filled with flames. Everyone is at a loss as to what is going on. Kuroo flashes you a grin before taking out a few pouches containing some powders. In a poof, the flames burst alive with colors blending blues and purples. And moments later yellows and greens, even reds. No one has ever seen fire change color like so.

“Witchcraft!” someone gasps.

“No it must be alchemy. Dangerous craft,” another adds.

Kuroo bows to you. “My lady, this is called chemistry, a discipline of science.”

Kuroo’s smiles teeter on the edge of flirtations and you cannot deny that your heart flutters just slightly when you see his crooked grin. He’s intelligent, humorous, and attractive. Definitely also a contender. A union with him might be fun. And especially when you see Kuroo run a hand through his messy, black locks and give you a piercing gaze, you almost wonder if this is the feeling of chemistry. It feels like you are naked under his seductive, golden eyes, completely submitted to his will and absolutely drugged. And you fear that if he sends you another one of his grins, you’ll come untouched. Dangerous, send him off immediately.

“Thank you, Kuroo, I have seen your demonstration and all those here are witnesses.”

After Kuroo, many more candidates also come to the center stage for their demonstrations. Kita Shinsuke from the Kingdom of Inarizaki composes and recites poetry on the spot. His literary talents and mastery of public speech move a very large crowd of the literati officials. Kita is a charismatic leader and commands confidence. But he doesn’t seem to be the best fit. Your brain says ‘yes’, but your coochie just isn’t feeling it. The nerve signals say no.

Terushima Yuuji demonstrates a one-man comedy show, but his storytelling skills, although humorous, fall just a little short after Kita’s. Had Terushima been slotted for a different position, perhaps he would make a stronger impact.

Daishou Suguru. Interesting. But tongue itself will eventually get boring too.

A few more candidates demonstrate their talents to you. Most of them fail to impress you at all. Your blank expression is more than enough to make a few almost shit their pants or cry on the way they exit the stage. It’s really not their fault, you’re just a bit tired after seeing so many performances and demonstrations. You are just trying to find the best fit after all. It’s your duty and responsibility as the muthereffing princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym.

“Sawamura Daichi from the Kingdom of Karasuno.”

The crowd is silent as Daichi stands up from his seat and makes his way to the center. His shoulder is relaxed and his head is held high. He doesn’t have the large build of Bokuto nor is he decked out in regal fabrics like Ushijima. His hair is simple and clean. His expression is polite and pleasant. Amongst the sea of beautiful and talented men, Daichi is like an ordinary seashell buried in the sand. But like how too many bites of dessert beckon the simplicity of water, Daichi’s humble presence makes him stand out in particular.

Daichi bows deeply. “I send my deepest regards to the princess. I am Sawamura Daichi from the Kingdom of Karasuno.”

“Please rise, Sawamura. What demonstration do you bring to me today?”

“My lady, I have nothing showy in particular. I only bring myself. And please feel free to call me Daichi.” You can feel his piercing gaze on you, confident and assertive. So he has some guts. It beckons you to submit, but you bite back. Grrrrr.

“Just yourself? That’s quite cocky of you Daichi. Others bring talents and demonstrations of qualities that make them fit as my suitor. What do you have to offer for me to choose you? Or is that something you are not looking for at all?”

“Karasuno,” Daichi begins, “Karasuno is a good kingdom. For many years long ago, our people have suffered greatly and we have gained a poor moniker. However, for the last few years, the kingdom has made significant progress and improvements. Alongside my brethren and officers of my court,” Daichi gestures to his entourage sitting off to the side, “We have come a long way. ”

“You tell me much about your home, Daichi, but what about you?”

Daichi pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. He is well aware of the pressures you are putting on him, testing his convictions to the limit. You are a princess after all, so it’s only natural that you test his qualifications. Diachi swallows his nerves and faces your confrontation head on.

“I come to tell you the truth, my lady. I cannot hide these facts about myself or my kingdom. I am truthful, honest, but I have an unshaken belief that my kingdom will prosper because I have my closest and trusted with me. Each of them have their talents and strengths. Karasuno is a band with a bit of everything, and we’re family.”

You inwardly sigh. It seems like Daichi won’t be completely living up your hopes. At first you thought that his confident yet humble demeanor must hide something. Something incredible, because he can sit back and freely applaud other men for their talents. Something remarkable because he doesn’t feel the need to jump out in front of others. Something big. Very big.

“I don’t doubt your family’s bond or strength, but I am here to choose a suitor, a husband in layman's terms. So, I suppose that—”

“Wait,” Daichi cries out, and gestures towards his Karasuno brethren.

A tangerine head jumps up and brings out a scroll. He skips a few steps towards you and passes the document over to the shaman who brings it to you.

“My resume, if you will, my lady. I have no other talents but what is shown there.”

You glance at Daichi, studying him closely. From his clenched fist, you can tell that even in this moment, he’s a bit shaken and nervous. You undo the ties on the scroll and unravel the contents.

All eyes are fixed on you, trying to decipher every microexpression you make. The slight widened eyes, the twitch of the brow. The slight part of the lips and the deep breathes from you trying to calm the invisible fire that’s building in your core. It’s big. If the resume is accurate, Daichi’s demeanor truly is hiding a beast. A massive, humongous, schlong. Finer than any specimen you have seen in banned pictorial books you read and hide under your massive princess bed.

The sheer size and girth of the XL 2d image is rendered in X-TRA fine detail. You brush a finger onto the parchment, tracing the lines depicting the veins running along the shaft. You gulp, rubbing your finger down what is drawn as a big, swollen tip that’s glistening. Artists these days are so detail-oriented, it looks as if precum is just dripping from the tip and shimmering. So realistic, you just want to take it all into your mouth. To gag or to choke. Neither are a question.

The balls, those massive balls that are the storehouses for an endless supply of fresh cum. Organics from the finest the kingdom has to offer. Precious jewels hanging at the base, ripe for your licking. It looks so juicy and plump and you want nothing more than to rub your cheeks, cooing at how cute they are.

You know it’s good. It better be good if the painting is depicting something this sumptuous. If this is the real deal, then you really have nailed the jackpot and secured a brilliant future for yourself. Marital bliss. Bedroom adventures. Bedroom adventures where he’ll fulfill every nightmarish fantasy you ever have. It’ll be hard at first, your cunt’s so tight and he’s so big! But it’s okay, you’ll take him like the royal princess you are because the Kingdom of YoreNaym raises whores and sluts only!

No scratch that. Coital activities can take place anywhere. Maybe you’ll cockwarm him while the two of you hear what the morning court has to say about the affairs of the kingdom. Maybe you’ll find yourself tumbling around in the garden after a cute game of hide and seek, skirt hiked up, as he fucks a grass stain into your back! Okay. That might not be the best idea. Perhaps just once. For novelty’s sake.

But hear me out, when you are sneaking into the kitchen for some snacks, he’ll pin you on the large baker’s table and just take you right there to fuck his babies into your womb. His cock pumping into you as the table creaks and shakes from his thunderous movements. He’ll fill you to the brim with copious amounts of his hot cum, heaps and heaps of them, just like the baker fills the buns with cream custard in the most obscene fashion ever. Watch your belly rise and bulge up like pastries in the oven. Oooh cummies.

You sigh and squirm in the seats as you continue examining the masterpiece of a dick. You feel your heartbeat racing wildly as if you are caught tinkling in the castle fountain. It’s unknown if you ever did that, by the way. Just saying, your memory is failing you just a tad. But oh gosh, you’re wet already. The slick pooling between your folds is just soaking through your princess panties; the ones in the drawer where you keep all your secret prince Sakusa drawings heehee. But Sakusa’s pretty face aside, you are now face to face with the most magnificent dick pic you’ll ever receive. Not really unsolicited, but damn work of art. Literally.

The crowd is silent when you clear your throat and roll up the scroll, taking extra care to not let anyone else touch your new precious treasure. You lean forward and perceive Daichi. Daichi gives you a cocky grin, showing his teeth. Slightly stained with the wine, but it’s just temporary. It doesn’t matter as long as the real deal is...well, real.

Daichi catches your eyes wandering to the outline of the bulge between his legs. The glorious dickprint that he’s casually showing to everyone present. It puts Herculean Bokuto to shame, Ushijima into a blushing mess. Kuroo nearly snorts his colored powders. Daishou’s tongue hangs out and dries. Oikawa is sent to the medics. Kita no longer waxes poetry about the weather. Terushima leaves the party early.

Daichi is smug and casually asks, “My lady, would you like to examine the goods? I am a pure man and would not carelessly offer tastes to anyone. But you are a princess of the Kingdom of YoreNaym. You can have a sampling before you commit. Satisfaction guaranteed.”

#haikyuu smut #hq smut #daichi smut #daichi x reader smut #daichi x reader #did y'all see kazooli's post on fetishizing fictional men and their fictional dicks and balls?#this is my answer #forever a princess of yorenaym #you can be too if you want #emi.freshtea #ch daichi #🍵.daichi

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kenganparadise · 3 years

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Saw your Yandere thing and was wondering I hope this is alright but what kind of Yanderes would Raian, Ohma and Agito be like ?

YES!! Thank you so much for sending me a request! I really hope you enjoy i actually had a lot of fun writing this!☺️😆 thank you so much for reading my rules/earlier posts before sending in a request.

Quick Reminder (I should have specified earlier)- I wont do any violent yandere (everything I write will stay consensual towards the reader) so no kidnapping, murder, or brutality towards reader. I much prefer to write about non-toxic relationships. But sometimes I’m a simp for a little spicy yandere🥵

⚠️WARNING TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS AHEAD⚠️

Raian-

• Raian is a possessive/Jealous yandere. He doesn’t like anyone coming near his Mate. God forbid someone flirt or stare at his S/O just a little too long. He’d snap.

• His S/O would see some gore indeed. Raian would murder people in front of them. But he’d also murder people in public or in front of other Kengan fighters. He’d do this just to send a message.

• He gets jealous VERY easily. His S/O never goes anywhere alone. Whether they’re accompanied by him or another Kure. No harm will ever come to his mate.

• His obsession can lead to madness. He would be the type to do things against his Mate’s will. He does what he wants. And he wants his mate all to himself and himself alone.

• He’d go through his S/O’s phone. Not because he thinks they’re cheating on him- he does trust them- but to see if anyone has made comments on their social media’s or if anyone has sent them private messages. He probably blocks a bunch of people.

• And he just wants to see what his S/O looks up. He wants to know everything about his S/O. Some valuable information could be hidden in their phone.

• His mate better kiss privacy goodbye. He’s like basically like a cat with bad separation anxiety. The only place he won’t follow them to is the bathroom.

• If his S/O asks for space that’s gonna be a big fat no.

• He’s got a thing for scent- I’ve touched on this before in my NSFW HCs- but he will steal his Mate’s clothing for the smell. He loves burying his face in their hair and breathing deeply.

• He’d prefer his S/O to stay home and be his cute little house Wife/husband/spouse. His missions are much much shorter. He wants to come home to his mate as quickly as possible.

• Out of these three I’d say this relationship is the most toxic.

Ohma-

• Ohma is a lovestruck/admirable yandere. He’s probably the best out of these three men. Out of the three this is probably the healthiest relationship.

• He’s sickly over affectionate. He can’t keep his hands or lips off his darling.

• I don’t believe his love for his S/O would drive him to insanity.

• The relationship would probably start out as friendship. Though Ohma’s feelings would have probably started immediately. He would grow more and more attached to his Darling. He’d want to grow closer and closer to them.

• Soon they’re one of the only people he hangs out with. He’s calling and texting them daily asking them to come hang out or out to eat.

• He’s finding himself doing things he doesn’t like or doing things he has no interest in just to see his Darling.

• He’d pick up on their hobbies for sure.

• They might notices that his hand lingers on their shoulder. Or that his hand brushes against theirs quite often when they walk together.

• Ohma can become desperate for physical contact with his S/O. They might notice that he stands much closer to them than he does with Yamashita or any of their other friends.

• Finally he’d ask them out. He’d be elated if they say yes. He’d have a big goofy smile on his face and a skip in his step.

• If they say no he’d be utterly heartbroken. He’d go into a depression. He’d snap easier. He’d get into a lot of more fights. He’d be angrier, darker, and moodier.

• His S/O would become his inspiration. Seeing and hearing them cheer him on fills his heart with so much pride and love.

• Out of the three I’d say this would be the healthiest relationship.

Agito-

• Agito is a lovesick/obsessive yandere.

• He has no experience with love. So when he falls for his darling he falls HARD.

• Suddenly this person is all he can think about. They are all he can see, they are on his mind 24/7. He obsesses over them. He becomes lovesick. His chest tightens when he think of them. There’s a lump in his throat when they walk past.

• I believe his love could drive him to madness. He’d wait for these feelings to disappear but they never do. They only grow stronger and stronger.

• The relationship would start off as an odd friendship. At first he’d watch them from afar. He’d study them and their mannerisms, the way they talk, the say they speak, their body language. Then suddenly Agito was around his Beloved quite often.

• but watching from afar becomes not enough for him.

• They’d be surprised. Why was he hanging around them all the sudden? An unexpected friendship would form.

• He wants to be as close to them as possible. He also has a collection of things they have. Maybe a item they dropped, something they had thought they lost but Agito secretly pocketed it.

• His prized possession of his is a sweatshirt they had forgotten. He sometimes cuddles with it at night, pretending that is was them and not a piece of fabric.

• Its canon that Agito is artistically talented. He would draw pictures of his beloved. He’d make sculptures of them. He has sketchbooks filled with their smile. They are his muse.

• He does not have the words to describe how he feels. He’s never felt this way before in his life.

• He’d have such a hard time confessing. At first he’s more than fine just being friends. But his bottled up feelings bubble over. Suddenly he CAN’T be just friends. He need more. He need all of them.

• He confides in his friends. He either goes to Metsudo or Okubo. Both give him shitty advice.

• He ends up just telling his beloved that he has romantic feelings for them. If they return his feelings he’d feel as though a massive weight has been lifted. They’re finally his and his alone. That thought alone is enough to bring a smile on his face

• If he faces rejection Agito would go into a deep dark depression. He feels as though all the color in the world has faded to grays. His heart twists in his chest. He feels pain. His battles become so much more brutal.

• The relationship is quite nice. Agito isn’t that needy at first. He is so gentle with them. His S/O intoxicates him. He wants more and more and more. He can’t seem to get enough.

#kengan ashura x reader #kengan omega #kengan ashura #kengan asura #kure raian #ohma tokita #kanoh agito

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

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Just in Time

doing this thing | day 7 - hanahaki

I wish I had so much more time for this one because I had so many thoughts. One day I’ll have to write a full fic, but for now:

Jaskier has imagined his death in many ways - at the hands of an angry spouse; quiet, in his bed as an old man; a stray downer - but never like this. Never sneaking off and choking up flower petals where Geralt can't see (or, hopefully, hear) him. The last thing he needs is for Geralt to try and help and to look further into what this is.

Jaskier knows, of course. He's knowledgeable in all aspects of love and up until his recent affliction had, like most poets, romanticized hanahaki disease. But knowing the only person who can cure your impending death is also the reason for it seems less romantic than the stories he'd been told as a child.

The worst part is that in all the years and all the stories, there is only one cure for the disease: requited love.

Jaskier sighs to himself as he plucks one last petal from between his lips. At the rate he's going, he'll have as much luck getting Yen to fall in love with him as Geralt.

He resigns himself to it. The petals took some getting used to, but the most difficult part now is keeping it from Geralt. He knows Geralt suspects something, and after months of this, there's no way he couldn't. The only reason he hasn't brought it up, Jaskier suspects, is for Jaskier's sake or for the sake of peace. It's not like it's getting any worse.

It gets worse.

Jaskier wakes up in the middle of the night, choking on petals. When he catches his breath, he takes a quick look around to ensure Geralt is still sleeping and, finding him still asleep, gathers up the petals and slips away from camp. He buries them at the edge of the forest, as he usually does, but this time when he drops the broken petals into the hole, he finds a bud. Just one. But his heart starts to beat a little quicker nonetheless. For months he's been holding steady with the petals, but a bud means the disease is progressing.

Still, he can't let Geralt know. Geralt would only worry and demand to know what's wrong and, if Jaskier didn't tell him, likely take him to a healer and get it figured out himself. And once he knew, gods, Jaskier can't even imagine what that would mean for him. If Geralt knew he was in love would he want to know who with? Would he press if it meant making Jaskier better? He doesn't want to think about it at all.

As with all things in his life, this eventually blows up in his face.

He's performing at a banquet. A tavern would have been too casual, an inn too practical. No, it has to be a manor house surrounded by the wealthy and powerful - and worst of all, Geralt. He's halfway through a jig when he feels the tickling begin. He makes it through the end of the song by some miracle, before coughing and spluttering. He slaps a hand over his mouth but a few petals slip through his fingers as he makes a quick escape to the garden.

Jaskier's hunched over a railing, coughing flowers into the flowerbeds below. For something so soft and delicate, they burn in his throat as though fighting their way out. A gentle hand presses against his back and Geralt slips up close.

"Jaskier," he says and he sounds worried, a tone reserved for... well, not him.

"'M fine," he mumbles, but as soon as he opens his mouth another handful of petals spill from his lips.

"Fuck. Jaskier." The hand on his back fists in his doublet, the other coming around to cover Jaskier's hand. "We have to get you to a healer."

"No," he insists. "Geralt-" he splutters and chokes on a loose petal and hangs his head. How does he explain there's no helping him? None at least that are worth the sacrifice.

"Then Yennefer."

Jaskier turns, wiping his mouth as he lifts his head to look at him. Yen is the last person he wants to see in this state, but Geralt looks scared in a way Jaskier has never seen him before.

"If it gets worse," he suggests.

"No," Geralt says, "before it gets worse."

They argue about it on and off for a few weeks. It's an argument Jaskier doesn't win.

Yennefer is none too pleased to see him, especially when she realizes he is the cause for their visit. She looks him over, clearly realizing something is up when Jaskier holds back a cough.

"He's coughing up flowers," Geralt says, "I've never seen anything like it."

"Hanahaki," Yen sighs, crossing her arms across her chest. "Your bard is in love. Unrequited." Yen looks like she's about to say something more, but Jaskier looks up at her, pleading. He knows she knows what’s happening to him, but Geralt can't know. Don't tell him, he begs silently. Yen gives him an odd look but she doesn't say anything.

"Geralt," she says, "I need a moment with the bard." She keeps her eyes on Jaskier and the intensity of it is a little terrifying, but the alternative is much, much worse. As soon as Geralt is out of earshot, she sits across from him, crossing her legs and leaning on them.

"You know," she says accusingly.

"Yes."

"So why are you here? I can't imagine you came to enjoy my company?"

"I don't want him to worry."

Yen laughs at him. "Too late."

"Don't tell him."

"That you'll die?"

"Yes."

"Why not try to cure it?" Yen's eyes narrow skeptically and Jaskier sighs.

"My beloved will never return my feelings, nor would I expect them to."

"There's another option," she insists though Jaskier can't fathom why.

"I will never fall out of love, not this time." He looks down, focusing too hard on his boots and Yen scoffs.

"Then you're a fool," Yen snaps, rising to her feet.

"Then I suppose I shall die a fool, but please don't tell him."

"If he asks, I won't lie." She leaves the room and Jaskier sighs, dropping his chin against his chest.

"Wouldn't expect anything less," he mumbles. For a few minutes, he sits in silence before realizing Yen isn't coming back. He gathers himself up and leaves the little hut, making his way back to where Geralt is waiting.

"What did she say?" he asks and Jaskier only shrugs.

"Nothing to be done, I'm afraid. We'll have to wait for it to go away on its own."

It doesn't go away, nor does Jaskier ever expect it to. If anything, he's resigned himself to a slow death so long as he can spend his remaining days with Geralt. And he does.

Geralt takes care of him now that he's not hiding it any longer, ensuring he's always warm and well-fed. They'll stop early for the night when Jaskier has a bad fit and Geralt will take care of the rest of the duties around camp. Jaskier is torn. He feels guilty for letting Geralt do so much for him when he's not doing anything to try and make himself better. But a part of him relishes the attention, wishes that it was the way they always were - or at least some of the time. At the same time, he realizes the only reason Geralt is acting like this at all is because Jaskier is sick.

He does everything he can to help and Jaskier just gets worse. He sees the toll it takes on Geralt, how every moment he's not hunting becomes dedicated to Jaskier. And Jaskier tries not to let him, but Geralt is having none of it. And Jaskier gets worse.

It's a cold autumn night when Geralt realizes his efforts are doing no good. They're at an inn, in a single bed because Geralt won't let him get very far away anymore. Jaskier is facing the wall, his back to Geralt's chest when he finally hears the words he's been dreading.

"It's not going to get better, is it?" Geralt's voice is soft but seems like thunder in his ears and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut.

"No, darling, it's not."

Geralt's arm tightens a little around him, though Jaskier suspects it's a reflex. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't want to worry you. I was hoping you'd be gone for the winter before it got this bad."

"I won't leave you like this," Geralt rumbles, "there must be something I can do."

Jaskier could cry at the injustice of it all. He wants to tell Geralt the truth, but he can't put that on him, can't put his death on Geralt's hands. Already, he's sure Geralt will blame himself for it.

"There's nothing, my dear. It's enough to have you here."

Geralt curls around him nose pressed into his hair. Jaskier has to fight back tears, curling around himself as he struggles to catch his breath. His throat is raw from hacking up blooms and he hasn't told Geralt, but they've been more frequent recently and complete with stems and leaves. More than one at a time.

He shuts his eyes and presses into Geralt's warmth, taking care to pay attention to every little detail of Geralt's body against his own. It's so unfair that this is all he has ever wanted and he knows now that he won't live to see the morning. This isn't the way he thought he'd go, but he can't think of a much better way, really. Geralt is soft and warm around him and he listens to the sound of his breath as he slowly drifts off to sleep.

In the morning he's... still alive. He's not sure how because he was so sure of the end, more than he'd been sure of anything. He takes a deep breath to measure the strain and there... nothing. He breathes easily for the first time in months and his heart starts pounding because he still loves Geralt. He can feel the warmth of his body around him, entangled with him and it seeps into his bones. Which means...

His eyes snap open, immediately focusing on Geralt's eyes before him. He can't breathe, but oddly this seems more familiar.

"It was me," Geralt mumbles and Jaskier can feel his lips twitch just slightly. "You almost died, Jaskier, why didn't you tell me?"

Jaskier reaches up, winding both arms around Geralt's neck and drawing him closer. "I didn't want you to blame yourself, darling." Geralt looks conflicted, like he wants to say something, but doesn't know what, so Jaskier interrupts. "Geralt?" he whispers, "tell me you mean it."

"I mean it. I'm sorry it took so long." He tips forward, pressing his lips to Jaskier's. When he draws back, he's smiling and Jaskier will never forget the way he looks now with the morning sun shining in on his face.

"Darling, you were just in time."

#geraskier #hanahaki #rex writes #october prompts 2k20

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peroxideprinces · 3 years

Note

What do you need when you’re sad?

Tag 5 of your favorite blogs

What’s your favorite flower?

What are some seemingly childish things you like?

46. What do you need when you’re sad?

blanket n sketchbook probably fdjakldskljdfs i kinda jus sit in my room n draw </3

42. Tag 5 of your favorite blogs

oh this is a v tough one,,, well you obvi n then ummmmm ill go off the ones i talk to a lot ??? ummmmm @neonkoii @flippedorbit @commic-jester n @cd-head r all pretty cool,,, theres a lot more for sure like my beloved mc spouses n also the yttd mutual but i dont wanna tag that many people fjdklajfs

34. What’s your favorite flower?

ohohoh !!! sweet rocket flowers r really really pretty !!!

26. What are some seemingly childish things you like?

cartoons n stuffed animals ?? like winx club is one of my comfort shows but thats for Children yknow fjklsdjfldksjf

#tyyyy for the ask :] <33 #patchesofwork tag #question mark

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lovelylogans · 4 years

Text

spring cleaning

there’s a pack rat in the family. who it is will not surprise you.

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: food mentions, alcohol mentions, general messiness, jokes about hoarding

pairings: patton/virgil, offscreen logan/roman

word count: 2,412

notes: hi! this is just a quick little fic as i beta and finish off the next chapter of debutante. this is based off the gilmore girls season three episode twelve “lorelai out of water” cold open. takes place the spring after the main storyline, after alliance but before debutante.

⁂

virgil’s phone buzzes at 10:13 am on a sunny spring sunday. he pauses just after he drops off the brunch plates for mrs. torres, babette, and east side tilly, digging around in his back pocket to squint at his recent texts.

logan sanders: Please help.

any other time, this kind of text would probably send anxiety flooding his veins like ice water. as he’s been warned, sure, he’s a little anxious that he’s misreading the situation, but he shakes that aside and snorts.

“called it,” he mutters under his breath, before he wipes his hands on his apron and types out christ, you’re folding easy this year. is that a new record?

a brief pause. then, No, the record was twenty-four minutes. To be fair, that took place when I was ten years old, we were moving into the house, and you were already going to be involved, so I perhaps I should propose that does not count against my spring cleaning record.

ah, that’s right. god, helping patton move had kind of been a nightmare. helping anyone move is a bit of a nightmare, but with patton there’s a whole new layer of shenanigans.

Another buzz. Also, I need this to be hastened along. I have a Socratic seminar in English tomorrow, and though we have settled on a tentative truce I refuse to let Dee achieve the highest grade in the class.

he shoots back i’ll be there asap.

“jean,” he calls to the counter, but jean, having been warned as well, waves him off.

“i got it, at least he waited till the we hit the between-masses lull.”

“you’re the best,” he says, hanging up his apron and ignoring mrs. torres’ hoots about his arms—he's like ninety percent sure she’s spiking her own orange juice so she can have a screwdriver with her pancakes but he hasn’t caught her with a flask in hand yet—and heads out the door.

the citizens of sideshire are fully soaking in the pleasure of a sunny spring day—it’s one of those days, where the weather’s warming up slowly, but there’s sure to be more cold snaps before they fully settle into spring, so lots of people are taking advantage of it. families are sprawled with picnic blankets in the grassy town square. the “long-haired freak” (taylor’s nickname, not his. virgil’s pretty sure his name is dave, but also, he’s not totally sure his name is dave, and as such usually avoids any complications by saying “hey, man,” whenever virgil sees him) is out hawking fruits and vegetables from his garden. lots of people are out on walks, some with earbuds or headphones on, some calling out jolly greetings to other people taking advantage of a blue sky and temperatures that are soaring above freezing.

“hey, virgil.”

“hey, felix,” virgil says, craning his neck to catch sight of—well, he guesses felix and riley are technically his tenants? but that always feels weird to say—his neighboring business owners. felix is busy making sure a promotional poster’s taped to the window. “how’re things?”

“ah, y’know, y’know,” felix says, waving their hands around. “weather’s warming up, so we’re getting into busy season. guess people want to be able to flaunt new ink in the warmer weather, y’know?”

“hey, speaking of—” virgil says.

“oh, yeah,” felix says, scratching at the half of their head that was once shaved bald but is now growing in stubbly. “you wanna have riley do one this time? they can draw up some sketches for you, if you want. or i can, if you want, but it might be a minute ‘cause i’m all hands on deck for this massive full-back piece.”

“nah, riley’ll be cool, it’s been a minute since they’ve done one for me,” virgil says. “i’ll drop by later with some reference photos, ideas and stuff.”

“i’ll make sure they’re refreshed on what your style is before the consultation,” felix says. “appreciate the business.”

“appreciate you and your spouse taking over this empty shop so taylor didn’t get a chance to,” virgil returns, as he usually does whenever felix or their riley thanks him for something. he’s really awkward about accepting gratitude, he’s working on that with emile and patton.

“god, could you imagine taylor next door,” felix says with a theatric shudder. “bad enough he runs half the town.”

“i’ll call tomorrow to make the appointment?”

felix flashes him a thumbs up, and virgil raises a hand in farewell as he continues on his way.

he ends up pushing his sleeves up to his elbows as he walks to the sanders’ house, occasionally saying hey to other residents of sideshire, or tilting his face up to the sun.

this winter’s been brutal, even worse than it usually is for the northeast, with absurd amounts of blizzards and ice. on the days where it wasn’t shoveling ridiculous amounts of snow on the whole town, the sky had been gray and overcast, and what little sun there was could barely stream weakly through the clouds.

but now, the sun sinks softly into his exposed skin, warming him without overheating him thanks to the breeze, carrying the sweet scent of tentatively blooming flowers planted by particularly audacious gardeners.

it is a perfect, lovely spring day.

by the time he gets to the cheerful yellow clapboard house, he’s taken enough deep, calming breaths to ensure that he is a calming presence. he ascends the stairs of the wraparound porch—oh, huh, looks like patton or logan’s making an attempt at being a gardener, that looks like mountain mint—and knocks lightly on the front door.

“please come in,” logan shouts, sounding exasperated, and virgil obligingly pushes the door open.

he toes off his shoes, even as he overhears patton’s voice, cajoling.

“hug-a-world! c’mon, you’ve gotta remember your hug-a-world!”

hug-a-world, virgil mouths to himself, before it comes back to him in sudden, vivid technicolor and he rounds the corner.

and, sure enough, surrounded by the detritus of the sanders home, patton and logan sit in a hastily-cleared space in the middle of their living room, patton holding a stuffed ball tight to his chest.

“of course i remember the hug-a-world,” logan says, still with that tone of exasperation, but lessened now at the sight of a beloved childhood toy.

“you can’t make me throw away your hug-a-world,” patton declares viciously, which would almost be believably threatening if he were not clutching a stuffed ball made to look like a globe to his chest, and if his curly hair was not sticking up in a configuration that virgil thinks of as chaotically unruly, and if he were not wearing a pink-and-blue sweater he usually busts out around easter, and if someone did not know patton as a person. “you learned all seven of your continents on hug-a-world!”

see, without fail, almost every year patton gets suckered into the whole concept of the spring clean. and, without fail, logan or virgil will try to point out that he does this every year, and patton insists no, really, this time for sure he’ll get rid of some of the clutter around this house, it’s about time!, and then he gets sidetracked getting attached to objects he finds that he suddenly cannot bear to get rid of, despite the fact that said objects have typically been buried away in a dark closet all the rest of the year.

which means that logan and virgil sit with him and try to point that out, and patton wavers, before he decides to keep or donate or trash it, and it seems like it’s going okay, until the next thing he touches turns out to be another thing that he suddenly cannot bear to give up.

it’s gotten a little better since that time they introduced the marie kondo method, but also, that much worse, because of course he insists that everything sparks joy!

but this is way more mess than usual. there are cardboard boxes and piles of clothes and bits and bobs that are in piles that come up to his ribs. virgil squints it at it suspiciously.

“attic,” logan says wearily, in explanation. “he got boxes out of the attic.”

oh, shit, the attic. god, that thing is stuffed to the brim with boxes, no wonder the living room looks like someone upended the odds-and-ends drawer for a giant into the house.

“but—c’mon,” patton says, in that same sweetly coaxing tone that usually makes them all throw up their hands and leave the rest of this spring cleaning mess for next year’s spring clean. he holds out the hug-a-world to logan. “hold it. marie says so.”

“marie does not realize that she has a special case with my hoarder of a father and therefore should customize the approach of sparks joy, because you have too wide a definition,” logan says, but he reaches out and takes the hug-a-world with both hands anyways.

virgil examines logan holding it, thinking suddenly of a much tinier logan with a gap in his front teeth holding the same toy in the same way, though the fabric had been much more vibrant shades of blue and green then. there had been a solid stretch of time that the hug-a-world had been the toy that logan had hugged falling asleep, back in the poolhouse. he’d taken the hug-a-world to the diner and to school and all around the inn and to the princes’ apartment and back again.

a side of logan’s mouth twitches up, and then, as if suddenly conscious of it, he forces the corners of his mouth to turn down as he stares at it.

“remember?” patton repeats, staring at logan and the hug-a-world fondly. “we used to take turns to squeeze it as tight as we could and then wherever our pinkies would end up, that’s where we were going to go together when you grew up.”

“yes,” logan says, and then loses the fight against his mouth, because it twitches up into a smile again. “many a trip to uzbekistan was planned that way.”

“look!” patton says, pointing and tilting his head. “that’s canada, then, where’d your other one get you?”

logan moves his other pinky in order to squint at the faded fabric. “i believe that’s cambodia. possibly vietnam, i was rather splitting the border.”

“why not both?” patton says pragmatically, or as pragmatically as he can sound planning a potential trip based off hugging a ball.

logan hesitates, holding the ball.

“look,” patton says. “hey, how about virgil helps clean it up, and the hug-a-world can live in your room?”

logan chews at the inside of his lip.

“if it sparks joy,” patton sing-songs.

logan heaves a sigh.

“the hug-a-world will live in my room, then,” he says, before looking to virgil. “we’ve started a pile for you right here,” and pats a pile of what mostly looks like clothes that can be either repaired, repurposed, or sneakily donated.

virgil takes a breath, and says, “i’ll crack open a window and put on some music, then. patton, you take your allergy medicine today?”

patton tilts his head to think about it.

“that’s a no,” virgil says. “i’ll grab it on the way. water, snacks? we’re gonna be here for a while.”

“are we?” logan says doubtfully, twisting to look at him.

“we are finishing spring clean this year!” patton insists. “i mean it this time!”

logan arches his eyebrows at virgil, and virgil mouths play along, and logan sighs before he turns back to the pile, pulling out an old jacket at random.

“i have never seen you wear this. it should be donated.”

“that was from raf, we can’t just toss it!” patton cries out in dismay, and virgil heads for the kitchen.

he fills up three glasses of water, chops up some celery and apples, fills up three mini ramekins with peanut butter, and sets it all on a tray, along with the round white pill that patton takes for his allergies.

he plugs in his phone and scrolls to a roman-made playlist, lowering the volume so that they’ll be able to hear each other, and proceeds to make his meandering way around the piles of Stuff as best he can without knocking anything over.

on his way, he moves to crack open the windows of the living room, allowing the floral-scented air to waft into the messy room, to hear the chirping of the birds under patton and logan’s debating.

he pushes aside a pile of old books on the coffee table and sets the tray down, mostly ignored as logan manages to triumph and tosses the jacket into a box labeled DONATE.

virgil settles down next to his pile, sitting in criss-cross-applesauce, and gosh all of the clutter of patton and logan’s lives looms over them like a mountain at this angle.

“okay,” virgil says encouragingly. “good, that’s good! raf’s old jacket will probably make some other teenager very happy to have it.”

patton sighs, staring after the jacket. “yeah, i guess.”

“this is good,” virgil says stubbornly, before tugging at a piece of fabric sticking out at random and unearthing a blanket.

“oh, i was wondering where that got off to!” patton says, delighted.

“i thought that got lost in the moving shuffle,” virgil agrees, because the last time he saw this he was pretty sure it was tossed over the back of their rented apartment couch.

“so this blanket has not been washed in at least six years,” logan says.

“well, that can be fixed!” patton points out. “i say keep.”

“we’re never going to finish,” logan groans.

“of course we’re gonna finish!” patton says.

“yeah, logan,” virgil says unconvincingly. “listen to your dad.”

patton beams at him, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek; logan rolls his eyes, before he turns his attention to the blanket.

“so, you claim keep for your room,” logan says. “you already have so many blankets.”

“well, we can always use more blankets!” patton points out. “worse comes to worse, we’ll put it in the linen closet.”

logan tilts his head, before he sighs, and places it in a pile of other fabrics that they seem to have decided to keep.

“all right, fine,” he says, then fishes out another piece of fabric. “next item—”

“look how fast we settled that!” patton says brightly.

“pretty fast,” virgil agrees dutifully.

“we’ll totally finish spring clean this year,” patton says confidently.

(they do not finish spring clean this year.)

#my post #text #my fic #my fanfiction #the sideshire files #sideshire files #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #moxiety

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erenenthusiast · 3 years

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Regarding Mikasa’s ending I’ve pretty much just accepted it. I can understand that her husband (I guess, especially if it’s Jean) would visit the grave with her. I can understand that now maybe the scarf is just something she holds for memory. I can get how the ‘my most beloved’ makes sense because at the time he was buried that was true but that can change now that he’s gone.

The one thing I don’t get is why Mikasa said, ‘see you later.’ I know the Japanese version is ‘itterasshai, Eren.’

Itterasshai (行ってらっしゃい) is the proper phrase to say to the person leaving, often after they announce their departure. It could be directly translated as “go and come back,” but has more of a meaning of: “see you later!”

The nuance of this statement is that the Japanese use this to express their desire that the person leaving will come back home safely, that is why parents/spouses say it to their children/spouse when they leave for the school or work.

Isayama seemed to pick this intentionally over goodbye, I thought, to express Mikasa’s desire to one day be with him at home even if he was leaving now. Now I don’t really think he deserves an afterlife with her (I head cannon they reincarnated into the HS AU so his sins don’t play into it), but it’s her intention that counts.

So I just wonder was that just an elaborate way to say goodbye? But surely Isayama picked that for a reason? It doesn’t make sense to me, considering the extra pages show her married. Now looking back on it with the added pages, do you think maybe it had a different meaning?

Scarf is not something she holds for memories only, but thats something that symbolizes her bond with eren. If it was so silly, then eren wouldn't ever tell her to take it off in the first place. I also wanna say while making these extra pages, isayama says it doesn't change anything we have seen so far so no, eren is still her most beloved the extra pages was focused on them itself. In fact isayama who didn't even bother drawing the man beside her properly, didn't miss the details of his grave in the next panels, that pretty much shows what was his priority and what he intended to mean. Erens significance to mikasa is much greater than just a husband or love interest what so ever, it isn't bound by limits like that. To be the most beloved, you dont need to be a husband, in fact you are underestimating it by saying it because it doesn't work like that, it takes something more. These Feelings, emotions, are not something that comes from fulfilling conditions like being husband or having babies but solely from your heart. It comes naturally. I’m surprised that people to approve of what they have seen in the extra pages, without even context, is ready to change mind on what they were shown so far, for it to make sense. Dont bother. And dont make it contradict what you have seen so far just for the contextless pages to make sense for you when isayama himself said it doesn't change anything. Not all this for a back panel which wasn't even there in the next one. Its you all who are giving it importance, not isayama. But of course anyone is allowed to disappointed or not like the extras but what am saying is, dont twist the whole series for the sake of those extras.

And the "see you later" is pretty evident, that mikasa and erens relationship resolved around home. No matter what they'll return to each other in the end so mikasa doesn't say farewell. Because even if its not possible in the world, it will be in some other realm, they'll reunite. And do you notice you're pretty much trying to twist to many things just for those one panel back man to make sense. Dont lol. Its not that important, in fact that guy was used for em moment. And her relationship with eren isnt as simple as being ber husband, they share more that than and overcame battles together. You remember who you were with during a battle and who gave you the strength and motivation to fight in a battle, who you fought for, not the person who you enjoyed the aftermath of a battle with

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excellentexecution · 3 years

Text

Anonymous asked: Got your gift giving done for Nickie yet?

The Christmas gifts weren’t adventitious. Secondhand sourced, the aftermath from someone who didn’t care for whom they purchased presents for, Bret had made sure to do his shopping on time and with diligence. Just as he always had done, for decades, Logan and Brianna and Niccola were all set. A limited edition tee for Logan of his most favorite band. Special printing for the logos marking the item as high priced, two tickets for the mentioned group as well tucked in a stylish red envolope and festive card. For himself and a friend - signed at the bottom with the words of love and from mom and dad. Recommanded by Niccola, Brianna was gifted the package of a lifetime. Blush and eyeshadow and moisturizers: the definite collection of her preferred fashionable makeup brand. Everything that a young and able minded woman of the modern era could need when it came to beauty. Plus a little more for those who wished to get their monies worth, brushes created with genuine wood and cruelty free brissles, it was rather silly to the Hitman. Makeup for what cause - Brianna was pretty already, but alas, he still bought the bundle. Much akin to how he still made sure to get something perfect for his beloved spouse for the holiday. Dollar amount of no concern - Bret would’ve gotten Niccola the stars if she had asked him to.

“Yeah, I do, actually. Y’know, after being married to her for so long, you’d think I’d know just what to get her. But like the years that we’ve spent together, sometimes our interests change or our habits die hard. We try something new. Sometimes things stay the same, too. I had thought about getting her a necklace - it was part of an anniversary collection but with a ‘winter and holiday themed twist’ - but she already has so many pieces of jewelry from me. Sounded a little cheesey, too, least from the way the advertising talked about the necklace on the TV commercial. Niccola deserved better than that. Better than a television ad that plenty of husbands and boyfriends would make the call for. I’ve seen better jewelry at some of the upscale retailers in the malls, anyways. And I wouldn’t want to have my wife wearing some chunk of silver that I paid no mind to. A boring necklace that could easily be produced - no.”

He added, shirt smelling of a car freshener that oozed of sugar cookies, “this year, I got Niccola a drawing made of our family: myself, her, and the kids. A local artist helped me out with it. He took a photo of our family, it’s one of us during a weekend BBQ with the rest of our relatives sitting outside on my brother’s lawn in garden chairs, but instead of having it be just a basic picture, he used copies of Nickie’s old sheet music for the background. I don’t know how he did it, but he was able to mesh the picture with the music like it was one. You can clearly see the four of us but also see the songs that Niccola composed over the years of her doing music. It’s beautiful, and I am grateful that he took the time out of his day to do a late commission. Lord knows I wouldn’t have been able to pull off a piece like that, y’know. I’m better with the cartoons. I just hope that she likes it as much as I do.”

#[ Anonymous ]#Confessions of the Hitman | Answered #Strength of a Thousand Hearts | Current Era #Making Love Out of Leather and Lace | Bret x Niccola

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years

Text

The Four Loves - Eros

Lewis very specifically distinguishes eros (romantic love, being ‘in love’) from sexual desire (which he calls Venus). (This is, by the way, very helpful for my understanding the concepts of asexuality and aromanticism and the distinctions between them.)

Lewis starts off the chapter with noting that he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with people marrying without eros and in fact that’s been the nature of most marriages through history. (So we can conclud he’d be okay with ‘friends-with-benefits’ provided that it was committed, monogamous friends-with-benefits. In fact, he initially married Joy Davidman - in a civil ceremony, not a religious one - so she could retain her UK residency, when they were close friends but not yet in love, though given his convictions they probably didn’t sleep together at that time.) Nor is there anything inherently ‘right’ about eros, and it is certainly capable of leading to wrong and hurtful actions.

Lewis describes eros in this way (his entire discussion of the subject is from the male perspective):

Very often what comes first is simply a delighted pre-occupation with the Beloved - a general, unspecified pre-occupation with her in her totality. A man in this state really hasn’t leisure to think of sex. He is too busy thinking of a person. The fact that she is a woman is far less important than the fact that she is herself. He is full of desire, but the desire may not be sexually toned. If you asked him what he wanted, the true reply would often be, “To go on thinking of her.”...In some mysterious but quite indisputable fashion, the love desires the Beloved herself, not the pleasure she can give.

...The reader will notice that Eros thus womderfully transforms what is par excellence a Need-pleasure into the most Appreciative of all pleasures. It is the nature of a Need-pleasure to show us the object solely in relation to our need, even our momentary need [e.g., a glass of water when we are thirsty]. But in Eros, a Need, at its most intense, sees the object most intensely as a thing admirable in herself, important far beyond her relation to the lover’s need.

Without Eros sexual desire, like every other desire, is a fact about ourselves. Within Eros it is rather about the Beloved. It becomes almost a mode of perception, a mode of expression. It feels objective; sonething outside us, in the real world. That is why Eros, thoigh the king of pleasures, always (at his height) has the air of regarding pleasure as a by-product. Anyway, whose pleasure? For one of the first things Eros does is to obliterate the distinction between giving and receiving.

I’ve quoted the passage at length because I am trying to get a clearer understanding of the ideas here; it is less easily understood, to me, than the other forms (and not something I’ve personally experienced). But the last line draws me to something from George MacDonald’s writings that I’ve often applied to my understanding of romantic love and how it differs from others. Friendship, or philia, is the enjoyment of someone’s company because you share the same interests. Eros is the enjoyment of the Beloved’s interests because they are the Beloved’s. MacDonald expresses this in his short story “The Day Boy and the Night Girl”, about a boy who is raised to only ever see the day and never experience night or darkness, and a girl who is raised in darkness and never sees the day. They meet, they fall in love, and it concludes with:

Hardly had one [year of their marriage] passed, before Nycteris had come to love the day best, because it was the clothing and crown of Photogen...and Photogen had come to love the night best, because it was the mother and home of Nycteris.

In the story of Aldarion and Erendis in Unfinished Tales, their marriage falls apart because they don’t have this: each of them values their own pursuits, preferences, and desires more than they value being with the other (though I think Aldarion is far more to blame, as she makes many, many allowances for him, and he makes very few for her). Likewise with the Ents and Ent-wives, who both prefer being in the lands that they love over being together.

In contrast to that, Lewis says that the goal of eros is not happiness, but valuing togetherness over being happy:

Eros does not aim at happiness. To Eros all calculations are irrelevant. Even when it comes clear beyond all evasion that marriage with the Beloved cannot possibly lead to happiness - when it cannot even profess to offer any other life than that of tending an incurable invalid, of hopeless poverty, of exile, or of disgrace - Eros never hesitates to say, “Better this than parting. Better to be miserable with her than happy without her. Let our hearts break provided they break together.” If the voice within it does not say this, it is not the voice of Eros.

It is in this respect that Eros can give us a greater understanding of our relationship to God:

This love is really and truly like Love Himself. In it there is real nearness to God (by Resemblance [in its willingness to give up everything for the Beloved]). Eros, honoured so far as love of God and charity to our fellows will allow, may [also] become for us a means of Approach. His total committment is a paradigm or example, built into our natures, of the love we ought to exercise towards God and Man. It is as if Christ said to us through Eros, “Thus - just like this - with this prodigality - not counting the cost - you are to love me and the least of my brethren.”

...In one high bound [eros] has overleaped the massive wall of our selfhood; it has made appetite itself altruistic, tossed personal happiness aside as a triviality and planted the interests of another at the centre of our being. Spontaneously and without effort we have fulfilled the law (towards one person) by loving our neighbour as ourselves. It is an image, a foretaste, of what we must become to all if Love Himself rules in us without a rival. It is even (well used) a preparation for that.

Yet, as noted above, this is not to say that eros is intrinsically good. In fact, Lewis considers it one of the more perilous forms of love, precisely because it is so overpowering that it can lead lovers to think that everything they do for the cause of love is right or justifiable. If amor vincit omnia refers to eros, then Lewis disagrees with the assertion (and so do I). The rejection of it is one of the things I love about Jane Eyre, where in the scene after Jane finds out that Rochester has a living (and insane) wife, and Jan and Rochester are still as deeply in eros as they have ever been, she chooses to leave because staying and living as his mistress would be wrong, defying both his passions and her own. Lewis describes the destructiveness of unrestrained eros, “ready for every sacrifice except renunciation,” and with the particular danger that “temptations speak with the voice of duties” - to go against romantic love feels wrong even when it is right. This doesn’t just refer to love-affairs. We see it in Les Mis when Marius determines to detach Cosette from Valjean (whom he regards as a criminal and danger, and whose wealth he suspects is ill-gotten) for love of her, and Cosette is wrapped up in love for Marius enough to forget Valjean.

And despite the overwhelming demands that eros makes, it is “notoriously the most mortal of all our lives; the world rings with complaints of his fickleness.” People promise very sincerely to be in love forever, and the feeling fades shortly. Lewis notes that “Between the best possible lovers this condition is intermittent” - which is not the case for affection or for friendship. Between those intermittent times, a committment that goes beyond momentary feeling, along with affection, and (ideally) philia between partners must be able to sustain the relationship. (Lewis, probably thinking of his relationship with Joy, asks anyone who is fortunate enough to have true philia with their spouse, in addition to eros, and who had to choose between the two loves, which they would choose; I think the implication is clear that he would choose philia, which was the intial foundation of their relationship.) Which is to say that, if we mean eros (rather than nonsexual physical affection) when we say ‘romance’, almost all people are aromantic most of the time.

#cs lewis #the four loves #christianity #romance and aromanticism

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alistonjdrake · 3 years

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Part One: The Smiling Prince

Prince Cidro an’Frederick Harver Born: Year 1748 after the fall of the Saints Mother: Queen Isolde ana’Juliano Rios Wife: Lady Liliana ana’Ignacio Verona of Veron, Princess Consort of the Escana Empire

As first in line for the throne and Crown Prince of Escan, Prince Cidro was born in the months after King Frederick’s coronation and wedding and as the smoke cleared on the repairs to Graza city after the siege.

And he was born, as noted by contemporaries, scandalously early.

Much of what is known about the trial of Queen Isolde’s birth comes from Lady Helena, King Frederick’s mother, as she was strictly attentive of her daughter-in-law in the early days of the Harver reign.

The Queen Mother wrote in her diary that, “The midwife took Her Majesty the Queen to the birthing chamber in the early evening after a complaint of stomach problems and I followed soon after. I found the woman on her hands and knees and fretting over a little blood. The midwife assured her it was not enough to cause worry over the babe. I had not the mind to hear her complaints and, eager for her to get to the business, called for the physician to prepare a draft to ease the going. Our prince was born in the morning. A small and wrinkled thing but he had the same dip in his forehead that I recalled seeing on both of my own boys in their first days. The midwife seemed worried about his fragility but he screamed for life with powerful lungs and I made sure one of the servants went to alert Frederick, for now his claim was secure.”

At the time, the court had been whispering about the timeline and the very evident animosity between the royal couple. Queen Isolde had had attentions to marry another before the treaty with King Frederick and the man had been in Graza during the duration of the pregnancy. There was also some speculation that Lady Helena threatened Queen Isolde, going so far as to hold a knife to her throat while the midwife cleaned and prepared the baby for viewing in case it was revealed that the child was not King Frederick’s. This event, true or not, later inspired a song and a rhyme often giving in warning from parents to their child’s spouse on the eve of weddings.

Whatever the rumors were and if they were founded in truths, King Frederick and Lady Helena both accepted Prince Cidro as a member of the Harver family. And his birth came with great fanfare as it was likely used as an excuse to wipe the slate clean. In the months after his arrival, there were festivals throughout the streets of Graza, King Frederick minted a new coin and named it after him and had it given it out generously to the people, there were several ceremonies in which King Frederick simply displayed his son to the court.

However, as he got older few would say Prince Cidro was particularly spoiled. After the death of his mother, he was raised under the attentive care and strict scheduling of Lady Helena. She hired an array of tutors for the first born as she wanted him to be excessively well-read. It should be noted, King Frederick was the first worldly king of Escan, the first one that the rest of the continent paid any true attention to, and so they likely felt they had a lot riding on the reputation of the first son.

However, Prince Cidro did not excel in much. He was not talented in arts, did not take to military stratagem or showed any signs of being a tactician, was not incredibly wise about politics, and never really took to learning languages outside of Escan, basic Oskyi, and passable Ceoye. And yet, the one thing all his tutors would agree on was that Cidro was marvelously charming.

By the age of nine, people would say he could light up a room. He was very personable and people felt draw to the small prince. It was said King Frederick would sometimes have him tag along as a good luck charm. If the young boy had any talents, it was in diplomacy and carrying conversation. Those in his inner circle said he was never jealous, never bitter, always supportive, always kind. He did not shy away from his own ignorance on subjects and would make a point as he got older to invite experts to court to explain something when he did not understand.

Prince Cidro was very fond of all his siblings and would often describe himself as a family man, but he was undoubtedly closest to Prince Leonides and they worked together on most things. While Cidro was the charming and personable one, Prince Leonides was the elusive and stern one, and one often complimented for his brain. Dissenters in Graza’s court would say that Prince Cidro was empty-headed who let his younger brother do all the thinking for him.

Cidro was not unaware of these statements and he did establish himself in other areas. While he did not have the cunning and talent to earn himself the title as the youngest appointed councilman like Prince Leonides (in fact he would not join until he was twenty in contrast to Prince Leonides’ appointment at fourteen). Cidro placed most of his focus in foreign affairs and into their relationship with the nations underneath Escan’s banner. Most notably, and controversial, it was found in letters with the vicereine of Karri that Cidro was incredibly critical of Escan’s actions in the Rhine nations and wanted some sort of reform. This is often credited as one of the reasons he traveled to frequently during his twenties.

Speaking of, Cidro was famously romantic in his youth. He was a very obvious eligible bachelor by the time he was an adult as the heir to a rich nation. He was offered the hand of foreign princesses, influential aristocrats, and there was no shortage of suitable options at Graza Palace. Most of Cidro’s attempts at courtship were short-lived and there doesn’t seem to be any reason why. There was some talk of similarities between him and his father, but as far as anyone knows Prince Cidro did not have any lovers or hidden children. In fact, plenty of his romantic attempts would be later called quite juvenile.

Although not often talked about, Prince Cidro did partake in Graza’s tradition of excessive drinking and partying but somehow avoided causing any long-lasting scandals from this period of his life. Prince Cidro was also at times a bit of a gambler and lost money easily to courtiers at card tables before needing to be dragged away. He was, at the very least, a courteous loser much to the point it was reported people would give him his money back because they felt bad.

Before leaving court, Cidro always took time to spend with his siblings. He was famously the one who had to report the assassination of Queen Luca to Prince Argus. He was very fond of all of them, supporting their hobbies and at times funding some of their projects if their father could not fit it into the budget. He preached the importance of family time and occasional dinners. He gave them many gifts (both while he was in Graza and later he would shower them in souvenirs from his travels) and was always more than happy to offer brotherly advice. He has always tried to be respectful and accommodating to the many queens and stepmothers he’s had throughout his father’s reign and often quoted that he was not close to his own, and as many of his siblings did not have the benefit of knowing their grandmother like he did, took it upon himself to fill that space.

He would eventually meet and marry Lady Liliana ana’Ignacio Verona in 1770 when the couple were twenty-two and would begin the aforementioned decade of traveling throughout Escan’s territories.

Cidro would become a big supporter of Lady Liliana’s charitable endeavors and the couple would open schools and religious institutions together, although Prince Cidro’s dedication to Santivism was never strictly stated and at times he often treated convents more as convenient sanctuaries for Escan’s orphans than a place for the Saints.

In 1782, at the age of thirty-four, Prince Cidro returns to Graza with the news that his wife is pregnant and eager to reunite with his beloved family.

#my characters #my writing #tss trilogy #world building #yes I'm doing this again #I just feel like I've added so much more backstory with the first harvers and the 9 wives #that the original post I did for them is so lacking #I don't really talk about their relationships to the other characters #I mean I'm gonna leave out the Lady Cordinia thing because that's in ORG as opposed to stuff that happens before it

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codevassie · 4 years

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i've got a request! prinxiety fantasy au. roman became a prince after making a deal with a magical creature (that can be a side but also can remain unnamed, whatever works for you). the deal was: roman would become prince but in exchange, the creature would take his true love when roman would meet them. so roman was always careful not to fall in love with anyone. that worked until he met virgil. aaand i leave the rest up to you! i hope this makes sense lol

CV: Sorry it’s so long and also not long enough and also really late. Thank you so much for your patience! My mind would not stop coming up with ideas for this fic but I wrangled it in enough to get this out. Hope you like it, An!

CW: Weapons, Trauma, Injury [Edit: Angst, Unhappy Ending]

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Prince Roman was kind and fair to all who knew him. It was uncanny to his citizens how Disney their prince was. He glowed in all ways–always smiling, exceedingly handsome, eyes gleaming with pride.

He was also a bachelor, sworn to it almost like a monk. He loved to flirt and would dance with many a handsome man; Roman was no stranger to romance and collected kisses like precious stones. He was not one for staying with one person, sweetly turning down those who came back, wanted more. There was guilt in his eyes, but the prince never wavered.

He was determined to rule on his own, with only advisors to lean on and citizens to give his love. This was something that had never happened before, but their kingdom had also never had a prince like Roman before.

Since the day their prince had been crowned heir to the throne by the childless king and queen, things had been very different in their kingdom. Royalty did not have to be blood, and a king did not need a queen, or any spouse at all.

Roman did not want to marry. And no one would have batted an eye at this–but the prince did not seem to want anything at all. Full of love, he had no one to give it. Friendly, but lacked friends. It was a constant source of gossip around the castle–why their beloved prince insisted on being alone.

But the prince knew what he was doing. Roman knew well the dangers of growing close to others.

He didn’t regret the decision he made. As prince, he could make a difference; he had somewhere he belonged. A mother and father who cared. Citizens he adored, and adored him in turn. People to care for, to fight for. Roman now had more than he ever hoped in his once hopeless life.

Most importantly, Roman had his brother back. That was worth more than anything Roman could have gained or given. Worth more than his very life.

So, no. He didn’t regret it. If he had the choice, he’d always go back and face those wild eyes, those scales and wicked lies for the chance to have this.

Whoever he’d meant to love one day would have to find someone else.

-/-

“How are you today, Remus?“

Remus hummed. Roman knew that translated to ‘not very well.’

“Okay,” he said calmly. He moved over into the brightly lit room to where his brother sat at the window. Roman sat across from Remus and said nothing else. Today wasn’t a talking day.

So Roman sat and let his nerves calm, his mind wander like his brother’s must have been. He couldn’t imagine what sort of things Remus saw–flashbacks from the hills and the caves and the fear. Roman grew restless, and he couldn’t imagine how Remus did it for days on end, jolted into another reality that existed in his head, in the past.

He passed a lot of his days like this, sitting quietly by his brother’s side. Probably not enough though. Never enough to help. But it was hard to balance his time now that he was prince, always something more to do, something he could do to help, to plan, to sign, to consider. It was a lot.

But at least they weren’t terrified every day would be their last.

At least Remus was with him again, safe.

“I miss Dee,” Remus surprised Roman by speaking up. Roman looked over, but his brother hadn’t moved. His gaze was towards the hills.

There was nothing Roman could say to that. He stood reluctantly, taking a glance towards the horizon himself, before stepping back. “Sorry I can’t stay very long today.” It had only been twenty minutes Roman noted by the clock on the mantle, but Remus didn’t seem phased. “I’ll come eat dinner with you tonight, though,” Roman offered. Still, nothing. “Alright. Bye, Remus.”

Roman stepped out, careful to not make any loud noises as he shut the door. Days like this were the reason Remus’ room was far away from the hustle and bustle of the castle. The noise was too much for him. There were still plenty of people around to attend to him though, to make sure he didn’t get up to too much trouble during the times he was lucid.

That didn’t stop Roman from stepping away and quietly knocking his head on the opposite wall. Forehead supporting him, Roman sighed, trying to piece himself back together. Once he had built himself up, able to give a winning smile and a confident gait, Roman picked himself up and squared his shoulders.

A prince had very little time to spare already, and he had used what he had to visit with his brother.

Winding through the halls, Roman made his way back to the front study, where his advisor and a handful of guards waited. When he opened the doors, he shot them all his winning smile. “Are we all ready?”

It took them no time at all to get to town, then just a little further to the square, which was under construction. It was a smaller project, but one that Roman loved: a park, with room for community gardening, a playground with outdoor instruments, a couple pieces of exercise equipment, and a small stage for community theater.

It was important to him, but it was something he rarely had the time to see into fruition. There was more pressing matters in the kingdom that Roman had to oversee.: discussions to meditate, economic policies to study, corruption to dig into. When Roman became a prince, he’d known it would be a tough job, but he had never expected what seemed like such a nice kingdom on the outside to have so much else on the inside.

It was exhausting, but this park was where Roman hoped to make a positive influence. He barely had the time for it, but he made the time for it. It was usually what kept him awake at night in his office, going over budgets and blueprints.

He hadn’t been to the site for a month.

When the carriage pulled up, Roman jumped out, guards already on his tail. He didn’t wait for them, though, striding straight towards the ring of architects and construction crew at one side. A quick glance around told Roman they were making decent headway on the tiny amphitheater.

Looking back, he took stock in what he would be dealing with. The kind architect was there, so he’d have to do his best to steer clear. Roman was a sucker for nice guys. The smart one was there too. Damn it; double the threat.

“Hello, Shelby, Logan, David, Patton, Christie,” he greeted the ones he knew by name. “How is everything going?”

Shelby, the team leader, stepped forward, giving a kind smile. “Moving forward at a considerable pace, my prince,” she said, and, from there, they dived in. The architects pointed to blueprints and talked about estimated times for finishing different aspects, as well as possible obstacles and needed materials. They talked for half an hour before they were talking in circles again, and Roman knew he needed to draw a line and make a retreat.

“It sounds like you all are doing splendidly and have things well under control. I would say continue forward with how you’re doing. I trust you to make the right calls.” His smile was wide, and he was beginning to feel the line of business and friendly failing.

All Roman wanted to do was share jokes with Patton. Listen to Logan tell him about the book he was reading. Even hear about Shelby’s family–though she was hardly a threat to the curse inside Roman. Still, Roman felt wrong for staying around, for getting near anyone with the danger he posed.

Roman needed to get somewhere safe. He needed just a breath of fresh air–somewhere without pretense, where he wasn’t constantly tottling between unnecessary rudeness and letting his traitorous heart do what it does and fall far too quickly.

He had always fallen fast and hard, always one for all or nothing. Never at a mere glance, no. He may be a romantic, but love at first sight simply wasn’t real. Deep longing at first sight was something Roman was prone to, though.

But Roman was careful. Never would he let an innocent soul pay for his deeds. If the price he had to pay was his love, then he would simply never fall in love.

And, since love at first sight wasn’t a thing, Roman could simply stay away from anyone he might have liked. If Logan’s smart words made him blush, if Patton’s puns made him giggle-

Off Roman went. If he didn’t stay around them, he couldn’t fall in love with them. Easy enough.

That may have been a reason Roman rarely made his way to the park construction or spent too much time at any of his projects. He cycled through advisors. He exchanged polite greetings with guards and nothing else. He was an amiable prince, who reached out to his citizens, but he couldn’t afford to be too friendly, to get attached.

He knew he could be better. Without this fear, he could be so much better. He’d be friends with everyone he knew, not acquaintances. He’d be a personal ruler, not a distant one.

He couldn’t risk the lives of his citizens though.

So, at the nearest chance, Roman ducked away. The others invited him to coffee, but he declined.

Instead, he went somewhere he’d normally never go. He marched into the library, waltzed straight up to the most infuriating person he knew.

Not even Roman was hopeless enough to fall for Virgil.

“My prince,” the librarian greeted lazily, not even standing from his slumped position across the desk. “What can I do for you today?“

He picked up a pen and scrawled across a paper, deigning to not even look Roman in the eye. Whatever pleasantness Roman had felt upon seeing a familiar, unexpectant face, soured at the blatant rudeness.

This callousness was what had sealed the deal for Roman in the first place though. The absolute zero percent chance that Roman could like, much less love, this man. Roman never thought he could hate one of his own citizens, but this guy… He was the worst.

Roman could have never fallen in love with someone so… Virgil. So condescending and sarcastic and pessimistic. Virgil brought with him a stormy cloud of hatred everywhere he went. The mere thought of being around him was deplorable.

Which made him perfect.

“I just came to see your lovely face, my chemical woe-mance,” Roman said breezily. He had taken to maliciously flirting with the library assistant. It satisfied both his need to flirt with someone and his abhorrence of the man’s face.

And tone.

And personality.

And the way he pointed out every security detail his guards had missed by walking in there.

And how he always pointed out the measures Roman was slow to take with his policies, and ones that he missed, redirecting Roman’s attention to needed areas.

And when his hair fell in his eyes because, damn it, Roman wasn’t blind.

And when he laughed at something because he wasn’t horrible all the time and those were the times Roman panicked the most because shit did he mess up by letting himself talk to Virgil so much-

And his fashion sense was also horrible, so there.

But, of course, Roman was above such things. If the gloomy broody wanted to stoop, Roman would not-

“Forget how to say your own name again?” Virgil asked, and Roman stopped in his tracks, shooting him a confused look. “Hate to break it to you, but Roman doesn’t have a W.”

Roman’s face lit up red and he straightened faster than a cat struck by lightning.

“I am your prince,” Roman said, hands curling into fists. The guards behind him didn’t react, however. By this point, they were all used to Roman and Virgil’s arguing.

They thought it was ‘banter.’ Roman often reminded them it was a verbal battle of wits. They asked why he kept coming back.

He never answered that.

“I don’t need reminding every time you’re here, my prince,” Virgil rolled his eyes. It was ironic how the honorific fit in his mouth, like a bad taste.

“Don’t call me that,” Roman snapped. Virgil raised a brow.

“What do you expect me to call you then?” he asked. “Your excellency? Your highness? General pain in my ass?”

“You make all of those sound like ‘general pain in my ass.’” Roman shot back with fire.

“Then what?” Virgil crossed his arms.

Roman spoke without thinking. “My name.”

One of the guards coughed behind him. Virgil looked stunned.

“You want me to call you…” he said, and all anger had dissipated. If Roman had known this was all it would take to knock Virgil off his high horse, he would have done it so much sooner.

“Yes,” Roman said, feeling awfully proud of himself. “Call me Roman.”

Another cough behind him. What was it with the guards today? He hoped no one was coming down with anything.

“Roman?” Virgil asked, and it was said quickly, like he was still shocked at everything going on. This, however, is where Roman realized his mistake.

His name on Virgil’s tongue did not, in fact, sound like ‘general pain in my ass.‘

His name sounded….

Softer.

Sweeter.

Like a melody he’d never heard,

And one he’d kill to hear again.

Roman was suddenly hit with a sadness so unmistakable it was as if it had always lived in him. Something that felt lonely, something that felt like… goodbye.

Goodbye to this. Goodbye to the only person he had left that saw him as something that wasn’t a prince, or a stranger.

Oh gods, not Virgil too.

Roman straightened up, clearing his throat suddenly. “Um, yes?” he said, voice coming out squeaky. He cleared it again. “I mean, yes. Yes. Of course. If you’re going to insist on butchering everything else…”

“Might as well butcher the real thing?” Virgil asked, and he finally broke out of his shock to snicker. Roman’s heart thumped.

Fuck.

“Yeah, well. I actually have to go now, but it was nice seeing you and-”

“Nice seeing me?” Virgil asked, thrown off guard by Roman’s sudden departure. Roman hadn’t been there five minutes, but he had to get out of there.

“As ever. Terrible to see you as always, hot topic, and, if you’d just excuse me-” Roman was backing away, making his way to the door. He assumed the guards would follow.

“Hot topic…” Virgil seemed to be asking, but Roman didn’t give an answer.

“See ya!” were his final words before he ducked out.

Roman paid no mind to the knowing glances his guards shared behind him as he rushed off to the carriage.

He could only think of the heart in his chest.

And the noose it could lasso around Virgil.

-/-

“It’s not Virgil, right?” Roman asked pacing around his brother’s room. “Anyone but Virgil, surely.”

Remus continued to look out the window, mind probably elsewhere.

“It wouldn’t be. Virgil is… Virgil.” Roman shook his head. “He’s Virgil.”

“Virgil?” Remus spoke up, but he didn’t look at Roman. Maybe he was present, just a bit.

Roman nodded, pacing again to the other side of the room. “I can’t see him again. That’s it. It’s too dangerous. Even if there’s absolutely no way I’d fall for that guy, I can’t risk it.”

Remus turned Roman’s way, eyes looking troubled. Roman’s mind was spinning out of control.

“But it couldn’t be Virgil. I wouldn’t fall for him. I can still talk to him. It’ll be fine, right?”

Roman paused, thinking through his words before groaning.

“Oh my gods, I want to talk to him!” he lamented, then sat down heavily on his brother’s bed. Remus continued to watch him, looking for all the world like there was a puzzle in front of him, very close to being solved.

“Remus, what am I going to do?” Roman asked, covering his face. “I like Virgil.”

“Virgil,” Remus mumbled.

“I can’t ever see him again. This is the end. We were never even friends! He was the asshole in the library. That’s it. That’s all he’ll ever be. And, somehow, I like him. What the fuck, heart? What the actual fuck?”

“Virgil,” Remus repeated, brows furrowing. Something was there, but Roman was too distracted to consider it.

“Gosh, but I can see it now. He’s got the warmest brown eyes to go with his shit personality. He’s so sarcastic. He actually makes me laugh. How dare he?! How dare he make me like him and all his assholeness?”

Roman stood from the bed. One look Remus’ way and he immediately regretted everything.

“Rem? What’s wrong?” he rushed to his brother, who had the most distressed look on his face, fingers sparking green. Roman folded his hands over them, not minding the slight sting. It was better than someone walking in and seeing the magic. “Remus?” Roman asked again, kneeling before his brother.

Remus blinked. Looked down at his hands and frowned. “Sorry, Ro,” he said, then looked back at the window. Whatever he’d been thinking, it was gone. Roman couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him.

One second of lucidity and Roman was glad it was gone. What kind of brother was he? Watching Remus look out the window again, lost to everything but the hills past the kingdom, Roman felt a deep sinking loss in his chest.

But, with that look that’d been on Remus’ face… how could he not be relieved?

He sighed again. Roman did that a lot in this room. He wished he could help it, for Remus’ sake.

But Remus probably didn’t hear it anyway.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he breathed, words lost to his brother. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Roman retracted his hands, absently noting the singe marks across his palms. He’d wear some gloves to cover them.

“Sorry,” he repeated. The word rang in his head, begging to be said again and again, until his sins were carried off with them, somewhere far away in the wind of those words. “Sorry.”

-/-

The next time Roman visited the park, he didn’t go to the library. However, it seemed he didn’t have to.

“Thank you so much, kiddo!” Roman absently heard from Patton as he scanned over some of the construction plans. “I can’t believe I forgot this.”

Roman heard one of his guards cough, stifling what sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Funny, they usually only did that when-

“No problem, Pat,” a deep, vaguely uncomfortable sounding voice replied, and Roman shot straight up. There was another noise that was definitely a laugh this time, but he didn’t pay mind to it. His eyes shot to the interaction happening not five feet from him.

Virgil.

He was standing a bit slouched, hands stuffed into his pockets and nodding along to Patton’s excited gibbering. It was sort of adorable, how patient Virgil was, the way he hid his smile when Patton punned, how out of place he seemed to feel, but comfortable around his friend.

Roman hadn’t known Virgil and Patton were friends. That was adorable.

Okay, Roman should really stop thinking of Virgil as adorable. Soon. Now.

But his eyeshadow was slightly smudged–probably from wiping it on accident–and that was adorable too.

No. Stopping now.

Roman dipped his head back down, boring his eyes into the blueprints. He absorbed none of it, but he acted the part like a champ. Looking busy sure came handy when a prince wanted to avoid people. You couldn’t argue that a prince wasn’t doing important work.

Well, perhaps a lesser prince. But everyone knew how seriously Roman took his job (whether he lived up to expectation or not. Virgil saw past that. Virgil pointed out exactly where Roman lacked…. but he also commented on the good things too. He’d said how much safer it was to walk home lately–how the children were excited about the park–how some patrons of the library complained about the tax increases, but Virgil argued with them about the necessities of the kingdom; all the community works, roads paved, safety measures).

“Ro?” Patton asked, and, even if it weren’t for his voice and bubbly nature, Roman would have known it was him. Patton was the only one on the construction crew that had taken him up on his offer to not use ‘my prince’ every time they referred to him.

“Hm?” Roman asked, pretending to be busy. He saw Patton from the corner of his eye, dragging another person by his side–no doubt Virgil. Roman swallowed harshly.

“This is my friend Virgil. Sorry to interrupt work and all, but I try to introduce him to everyone around here. He doesn’t get around too often and-”

“Pat!” Virgil hissed beside him, and Roman couldn’t help it. He looked up.

And they locked eyes.

Virgil’s cheeks were a dull pink, furiously trying to escape the bounds of the pale foundation he’d applied. For a moment, they were suspended there, Virgil and Roman just looking at each other.

Then, Virgil looked away. “Patton, you can’t just drag me around everywhere.”

Patton, the dear, had the good grace to look sheepish. “I just thought you’d want to meet the prince is all.”

“We’ve already met,” Roman said, against the wishes of his panicked nerves. It felt like something he wanted to keep for himself, something he could hold secret and close to his chest. He forced the words out though. Surely there was no valid reason to keep it secret.

Virgil flinched as Patton whipped around to face him. “Really?!”

He shifted a bit on his feet, and Roman noticed how considerably less confident he was outside the library. Maybe it was the new space, or the unknown gazes, but it worried Roman how much smaller Virgil appeared outside his familiar walls.

While Patton excitedly talked to Virgil about this new development, Roman was able to take a second to himself. It was Roman’s first time around him knowing how he felt about Virgil–without the panic of last time, mind spinning with Do I like him? Do I like him? Do I like him? Roman could examine those feelings up close here, scrutinizing them for what they were. He definitely liked Virgil, that much was definite by then, but how much? Roman fell quickly, but, as long as he was even still a bit afloat, it was fine. Virgil was safe.

And Roman understood with relief that this was indeed the case. He wasn’t in love with Virgil. It was still frightening how easily he’d fallen in deep like with the man, but Roman could remedy the situation. It just… took a bit of… severing of their relationship. Just a dash of distancing, a pinch of avoidance and rigid politeness.

It was less than a minute that Roman had to think on this, Patton and Virgil’s conversation ending abruptly when Virgil started to get visibly overwhelmed. That worried Roman too, but it only seemed to embarrass Virgil.

“Virge? Buddy?” Patton asked, but Virgil’s red face shook back and forth.

“It’s fine, Pat. Let’s just moveonrightnow,” Virgil spoke without a lot of breath, words coming out quick. He was different outside the library, like he was constantly afraid of… something. He was jumpy, and Roman was sure that if someone were to sneak up on him right now, purposefully or not, they would be socked in the jaw.

“Yes,” Roman spoke up, seeing his opportunity. “I’m afraid I’ve actually ran out of time here, but we got a lot done here today. Great job, all of you.”

“You’re leaving?” Patton asked, looking disappointed.

And Roman realized what he’d tried to avoid for so long. Patton was cute. He was funny and kind and made Roman feel like the world had light. But Roman really had nothing to be scared of. He looked at Logan too, clever and full of passion for his work and interests, and thought the same. He’d been avoiding all the wrong people–people who could’ve been his friends.

So to Patton Roman gave a sad smile of his own. He gave his excuses–the many duties of a prince, how busy things have been lately, that he really should let them get back to work instead of hovering over their shoulders so often–he was just a prince, after all.

It all paled to the real reason, nestled deep in his chest where he hoped no one would look, see his obvious lie.

Roman couldn’t be near Virgil.

Too risky.

-/-

The thing with falling for someone–it doesn’t stop when you don’t see them.

What was the saying? Distance makes the heart grow fonder?

That saying existed because days without those you’re infatuated with just make you think about them more. And Roman, the chronic dreamer he was, could not stop thinking about Virgil. He dreamed in his sleep about pushing the hair from Virgil’s face, curling it around his ears and leaning down for a gentle kiss. He day-dreamed about Virgil in his library, slouched over his desk, waiting for patrons and passing the day in boredom.

Roman thought of his snarky quips, eyerolls, insistent gestures when he was trying to tell Roman something. Those milliseconds of a softer look that Roman would ignore, trying to convince himself he loathed Virgil, so he wouldn’t have to go away.

He realized now how too late it was.

Virgil’s laugh was stuck in his ears–Virgil’s nervous voice outside the library–Virgil’s stories of friends he’d never see again, growing up in a distant place.

And Roman hadn’t realized how much of himself he’d given as well. Virgil had been an ear to Roman’s rants, a backboard to spring off horrible ideas. Virgil could be ruthless, and Roman could be idyllic, but, somewhere in there, it actually worked. He’d told Virgil about spreading himself thin, about the demands of a prince he hadn’t expected when the king and queen had adopted him. He told him about how much he cared, cared so much, about the people of this kingdom, even while he’d only been there for three years himself.

There was so much, now that Roman considered it. And still so much he wanted to share. He’d never told Virgil about his brother–no one knew about Remus. He wasn’t fit to be in the public eye. That much scrutiny and pressure, after everything he’d been through, would destroy him.

But he found himself wanting to tell Virgil. Found that he trusted him with the information.

And he wanted to tell Virgil about where he and his brother grew up, about the night he woke up and Remus wasn’t by his side, and it took two years of searching and loneliness to find him and save him. Roman wanted to tell Virgil his favorite color was red, that his favorite stories as a kid were about knights, not princes, that he spent his free time–or what freetime he used to have–writing poetry, and he had a secret love for theater that he’d never had the opportunity to explore.

Roman felt his heart pulling pulling pulling. It wouldn’t rest, wouldn’t relinquish the hold it had over him, would not forget him- him-

Virgil.

His heart was a selfish thing. It stuck like glue to those who didn’t want it. It kept its love in a cage, never to let go.

But Roman had to stop thinking of him. It would only lead to heartbreak. It would only lead to Virgil’s doom.

That should make it easier on his heart–knowing the person it longed for was at risk for its choice–but nothing did sway it. It was up to Roman to wrangle it in, suppress, push it down down down.

A sound at the door of his office snapped Roman out of his thoughts–spiralling, an hourly occurrence at this rate, sending him straight to a world far away, spinning in purple irises. The door creaked open, and there stood an odd sight.

“Remus?” Roman asked, concerned. He was already standing, walking around the desk and across the room. “Is everything alright? Why are you on this side of the castle?”

Remus was very far from his room, and the castle was pretty confusing. It was a surprise his brother had found him at all.

“Virgil,” was all Remus said, like it held all the answers he’d ever been looking for. Roman paused, eyebrows furrowing.

“What about him?”

“It’s him.”

“What?” Roman asked, and Remus reached out, grabbed his hand. Before he knew it, Roman was being pulled along. Remus was leading them down the corridor, looking more sure of himself than Roman had seen since they were kids. “Remus, what are you doing? Where are we going?”

Remus didn’t answer him. In fact, Roman was thrown into even more confusion when he was steered into a random room at the end of the corridor, his brother huffing as he shut the door behind them. “Walking takes too long,” he seemed to be realizing. His hand was glowing and, when he reached out for Roman again, it was a blink of an eye before they were standing somewhere completely new.

“Remus, what the hell?” Roman asked, retracting his hand. “You shouldn’t use your magic like that! Anyone could see you.”

But Remus wasn’t listening. Was he ever? Instead, he was looking around. “Not where I would have picked.” He was sounding… like himself. Roman stared, wide-eyed. If he wasn’t so confused, he’d be elated. He’d long since thought getting his brother back to any normalcy–or whatever was normalcy for Remus–was impossible.

“Who’s there?” a voice interrupted his thoughts, carrying across the library stacks. Roman recognized it and cursed internally. Why had Remus taken them there?

Slowly, Roman put up his hands and crept out of the small alcove Remus had taken them to, ready to come up with an explanation for their sudden appearance on the fly. “Do not be afraid,” Roman said, as any prince would. He stood in the open and found Virgil’s gaze. All Virgil had to protect him were his own fists–not the best tactic, Roman thought. Then again, it was only the other day that Roman had been afraid Virgil would sock the nearest person.

Still, just his fists didn’t seem like a great defense against swords or knives or any number of weapons a burglar could have. There was a pang in Roman’s heart as he thought of what might have happened if it wasn’t just him and Remus in there. Virgil would have been defenseless.

As realization dawned on Virgil’s face, they stood at a stand still, both almost afraid to move. When Virgil’s eyes drifted to his raised fists–loose, not really fists at all, who had taught Virgil to fight?–he dropped them like hot coals, stuffing them in his pockets.

“Fuck, Roman, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Virgil said, and Roman knew he shouldn’t be focusing on this–but Virgil had said his name again, and his heart was singing.

“My dearest apologies,” Roman bowed, and, going by the weirded out look on Virgil’s face, that was not of norm between them. He supposed they had never been quite civil with each other–even at the beginning. “I wanted to show my brother the library and you weren’t at the front desk, so we just came in.”

“I’ve been at the front desk this whole time,” Virgil said, not defensive, but confused. Well, at least Virgil wasn’t in a bad mood.

“Funny. We didn’t see you.”

“Wait wait wait,” Virgil said, backing up a second. “You said brother?”

Shit.

Looked like Roman would have to explain that sooner than he’d thought. Or, really, at all. Wanting to tell Virgil and telling him had been on two separate lists entirely. Roman wasn’t actually supposed to be talking to Virgil at all.

“Okay, so-” Roman went to start, but he was caught off by a twin set of gasps, one shortly after the other. The first had come from behind him, so that’s where he looked.

“It is you,” Remus said. Roman’s eyes widened, finally catching on to what his brother had been trying to tell him.

“Wait, do you know each other?”

“Remus?” Virgil’s reply answered that question well enough. Roman turned back to him, eyes darting between the two. Virgil sputtered, “What- How-”

“It’s too late,” Remus mumbled. It sounded a bit more like he had over the past year–less like himself, but his eyes were present; he looked to be considering something–something he didn’t seem to favor. “It was a trap.”

“A trap?” Roman asked. “What do you mean? A trap for who? Who’s trapping?”

“Remus, what the fuck? How are you here? How did you get away?” Virgil asked, walking closer, but not too close, like there was still a part of him that couldn’t believe what was in front of him.

“Get away?” Roman said, pieces further slipping into place. He didn’t like where this was going.

“What about Dee?”

“Dee…” Roman mumbled, the name familiar in his ears. I miss Dee, Remus had said. I miss Dee I miss Dee I miss Dee…

“It’s too late,” Remus repeated. “Of course it was you.”

Then, the room erupted into chaos.

-/-

Books flew, shelves rocked, windows clattered. From the corners of his eyes, Roman could see flashes of purple and green. Past the wind in his ears, he heard vague shouts from Virgil and a round of fuckfuckfuckfuckfucks from Remus. He couldn’t recall if he was saying anything himself, but he knew what he was feeling. Scared.

Roman had no idea what was happening, but, from the flashes of light, he deduced it must have been magic. This made him turn toward his brother, suddenly scared that all of this had gotten to him. Being outside the castle, some place unfamiliar, not to mention Remus had always been kind of a loose cannon with his magic–it could have caused Remus to panic.

But one look at him and Roman knew his brother wasn’t the one doing it. He turned to Virgil, remembering what he’d been saying, how he’d known Remus, how he’d raised his hands in a stance that made no sense in traditional fighting–but, with magic?

Purple sparks flew across Virgil’s skin, like they were doing on Remus too, but his eyes weren’t aglow. He wasn’t doing it either.

What was happening?

Then, abruptly, it stopped.

Shelves balanced back to their places and books dropped to the floor, lifeless. It was all they could do to just stand there before movement caught Roman’s eye at the top of one of the shelves.

Someone sat there, legs folded elegantly over one another where they balanced precariously. Roman recognized the one glowing eye peering down at them, the scaly hands, the knowing smirk.

“What a lovely reunion,” she purred. Roman was stricken, fear clenching his gut. Instinctively, however, he stepped forward in front of Remus and Virgil. He watched as her eyes traveled over each of them, finally landing behind Roman’s left shoulder, lips curling further into her face. “I was hoping it would be you.”

“How- How did you-” Virgil stuttered, but his voice died out. Roman narrowed his eyes, something protective overpowering his fear.

“You should not be here,” Roman stated.

“But, my prince,” she said, “We made a deal.”

“A deal that hasn’t come to fruition,” he said.

“I see someone’s still in denial,” the woman leered. “A witch’s curse knows all, though. You can’t scam the Dragon Witch of her hoard, my prince.” The way she said ‘my prince’ infuriated him, but nothing like Virgil’s had. The Dragon Witch said it like it was nothing, like it was delectable and sweet and hers to keep.

“What is she talking about?” Virgil asked, and Roman turned. Instead of scared, he now looked confused. He was watching the two of them, apprehensive, but ready to fight. His hands were up again in those loose fists, purple sparking off of them. Magic. Virgil had magic. “You made a deal with the witch?”

“Not that he had much choice.” The witch shrugged. It seemed casual, despite the manic glee in her eyes. “I was going to kill him and keep Remus. But he wanted his brother, and he got to be prince of a kingdom! Fair trade, if you ask me.”

“It’s not fair,” Remus said, and the witch seemed to remember he was there. “You can’t take him-”

“Shut up, Remus,” she said offhandedly and Remus flinched. Rage filled Roman, and he stomped further toward the witch.

“Don’t you dare-”

“Don’t I dare what, sweetie?” she asked, folding her legs up onto the bookshelf with her, where Roman couldn’t reach. He was ready to topple the whole shelf when her words caught him. “I’m only here for what I’m due. I was hoping you’d choose Virgil.”

“What?” he asked, and his voice echoed. He turned around and saw Virgil’s ghostly face, mouth open, having spoken at the same time.

“There’s so many possibilities, you know,” she said and sighed like she was bored. “There’s some realities where you fall for the architects, but there were quite a few where we’d end up here and that was certainly a risk I was willing to take. So glad it paid off.”

“But I’m not-” Roman protested, and when he was cut off again he felt ready to pull his sword. It would do nothing against her magic–something he knew well–but she was really getting to him.

“Not in love? Please,” the Dragon Witch scoffed. “It’s not my problem you haven’t realized it yet.”

“Wait!” a voice suddenly tore through their conversation, and Roman looked back at Virgil, something tightening his gut. Virgil looked simultaneously angry and afraid and lost. “Hold on for a second. What the fuck is going on?”

With a grace that shouldn’t have belonged to someone so wicked, the witch floated down from the bookshelf, jumping right over Roman and landing in front of Virgil. Virgil seemed to have masked everything in those few seconds, standing defiant and tall before the woman. It mystified Roman. It was nothing he had ever seen before–nothing like Virgil’s comfortable confidence in the library. Virgil lowered his hands, appearing defenseless and unafraid under her manic gaze.

“Long story,” she said, tossing her head side to side. “But I’ll tell you the ending if you want. My little happily ever after… minus dear Remus over there. I’d rather have all three of you but Remus turned weak. This. This was the outcome I was betting on.”

She leaned in, centimeters from Virgil’s face and anyone else might have missed the minute flinch in the man’s body, but Roman saw–tuned into it. Virgil’s eyes were hard. He said nothing.

Even as he was sentenced to his doom–to a doom brought to him because of Roman–because of a heart he couldn’t control–because Roman had signed away another’s life–a life that wasn’t Roman’s to give–a life Roman hadn’t yet met–that he was destined to love and hate and damn forever.

And it’d been a trap.

“Virgil, my long lost terror, you belong to me again. The End.”

#sanders sides #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #ts creativity #ts anxiety #ts #tw weapons #tw trauma #tw injury #minor edits: realized the italics didn't copy over #but that's fixed #also i'm going to lose my shit if people don't stop walking behind me while i have writing on my screen #i have an allergic reaction to people seeing my writing when i'm not ready for them to #which for irl people is next to never #requests #tw angst #tw unhappy ending #ahhcc

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fanficflaneuse · 4 years

Text

Life in Black - The Pilot

Index

Episode 1: The Pilot

A/N: GIF is not mine, I found it on Giphy. I hope you like this experiment. It is a mixture of narration and scriptwriting.

Words: 2341

Summary: Bellatrix decides she wants to live with her younger sister and her brother-in-law.

Opening Sequence

Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy sat in front of each other. Just like every morning, they took breakfast in the porch, overlooking the gardens. Narcissa insisted it reminded her of her homeland and Lucius knew better than to challenge her. He indulged her instead. He read The Daily Prophet as she drank her tea.

Narcissa was in the middle of a story about the preparations for the Paris Wizarding Fashion Week, when they were shaken by a loud bang from the house. The couple ran inside, wands out and faces full of concern. The elves ran frantically to the living room. As they approached, Narcissa relaxed and Lucius tensed even more.

“Bella!” said Narcissa, approaching her eldest sister and giving her a hug. Lucius took a deep breath, bracing himself up for whatever was coming; Bellatrix and him were barely on speaking terms.

“About time you came to greet me, sister” she answered.

“We weren’t expecting you,” mentioned Lucius.

“Do you hear something, Cissy?” said Bellatrix, pretending her brother-in-law wasn’t in the room.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. “What are you doing here, Bella? I thought you and Rodolphus had moved back to Paris?”

“Don’t even mention him to me. We’re getting a divorce,” she said casually, not a hint of sorrow or melancholy in her voice.

Both Lucius and Narcissa eyed her warily. “I am so sorry, sister,” said Narcissa after a moment of awkward silence.

“Oh, don’t be. It was doomed from the beginning.”

“That’s what happens when you marry for convenience,” Narcissa said, shaking her head at the memory of Bellatrix’s rushed, loveless marriage.

“If the other option was to end with a slob like your husband, then no thank you.”

“Excuse you?” he said, outraged.

(NARCISSA MALFOY) TALKING HEAD.

(Narcissa sits on a very elegant armchair. The room is full of paintings and photographs staring at her. In the back of the room, above a marble chimney, there’s a very big portrait in which Lucius and Narcissa stand on either side of a teenager. He resembles Lucius and smiles awkwardly.)

“My sister...she’s truly something. I can’t really put it into words,” she says, politely smiling at the camera.

(Lucius comes into focus. He’s sitting on another armchair).

“She’s crazy,” he adds, deadly serious. Narcissa frowned at him.

(Bellatrix comes into focus, half sitting on Narcissa’s chair arm).

“Excuse you?” she exclaims, mimicking his previous outburst.

[Back to scene]

Lucius and Bella bickered for a while. Even the elves stuffed their ears with cotton balls so they didn’t have to hear them. Narcissa grew bored a few minutes into their petty drama; it was always the same with them. This time, though, the fact that Bellatrix had decided to move in with them without even asking made their usual passive aggressiveness less passive and more aggressive.

After Lucius stormed off and Bellatrix chose to establish herself in the closest room to theirs, Narcissa decided to call the big guns (also known as her sister Andromeda). She knew her sisters didn’t have a good relationship, but she was also sure she couldn’t deal Bella full time on her own.

(BELLATRIX LESTRANGE) TALKING HEAD.

(Bellatrix sits cross-legged on a champagne coloured divan. It’s placed in front of a big window that oversees the Malfoy gardens. As she talks, a flock of albino peacocks runs in the background).

“My relationship with Andromeda? Oh, it’s nonexistence. Since she married that mudbl- oh right, everyone’s offended by everything nowadays. So, the pc term is muggleborn, right? Well, ever since she married that muggleborn and had a half blood spawn of the devil I decided I just have one sister. She also married an absolute tosser, but at least he brought a pure last name to the table.”

[Back to scene]

Andromeda appeared a few hours later, ready to see her sister for the first time since she got engaged. The two estranged sisters bared a very close resemblance. They were both tall women with curly hair, big, blue eyes, long eyelashes, thin lips and sharp jaw. Anyhow, as they sat by either side of Narcissa, she thought there couldn’t be in the world two more different people. Andromeda’s soft, brown curls in a fancy updo complemented her face and made her look younger. Her eyes were full of kindness and patience. Their older sister, on the other hand, had a thick, raven hair, which looked as though she had hardly combed it. It made her come across as a patient of St. Mungo’s fourth floor.

The sisters sipped tea stiffly and avoided eye contact. Narcissa decided that the feud needed to end, for her own mental wellbeing.

“Andy, Bella is now living with us here,” she said.

“What?” Andromeda now looked at her older sister, trying to the decipher the mask of indifference Bellatrix had always worn.

“Go ahead, laugh all you want,” said Bellatrix, a sardonic smile on her face.

Andromeda was left speechless for a few seconds. Narcissa could see her sister’s mind working and tried to amend Bella’s words.

“She meant -”

“Do you really think I’m so heartless, Bellatrix?”

“Well, you did change your beloved family for a dick,” she shot.

(NARCISSA MALFOY) TALKING HEAD

“I really can’t blame Andy.”

She has a knowing smile as she says this.

(Lucius comes into focus).

He smirks and nods.

[Back to scene]

“Well, Bella, at least I was transparent with my intentions. What were yours exactly? Have a pure and most noble last name and a bit on the side? We’ve all heard about that one, even Cissy, even if she pretends not to.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Andromeda.”

“Tom Riddle. Does it ring a bell? Toujours pur and all that crap only to end your marriage for a fling with none other than an ex - convict,” she spat.

“You’ll drown in your self righteousness, dear. How bored you must be with that husband of yours and all our stupid social norms.”

“You’re talking to me about social norms? You burned my face out of the family’s tapestry when I got engaged to Ted.”

“It was just a game and Cissy fixed it.”

“Just a game? For whom? An arsonist?”

“Your insufferable! Always thinking you’re the better sister, the prettier sister, the perfect sister.”

“I am the prettier sister,” said Narcissa flatly; she had already grown bored of Bella bickering with everyone.

“I never said that!”

“You thought about it! I know you did. You think I’m unbalanced. You think I should be in an insane asylum or something, but I’ll tell you what, I’m smarter than you are. Wait till I fix my hair and climb out of the pit of desperation I’m in and I’ll even be prettier than you are.”

“It’s not a competition, Bella,” reminded Narcissa, “although if it was none of you would stand a chance against me.”

As always, the older sisters ignored the youngest one and concentrated on outsmarting one another. A loud bang came from the other end of the room. Narcissa, cigarette in one hand and lighter in the other, turned her head to see her cousin, Sirius and his husband, Remus. She shot them an almost pleading look as they took seats by her side as Andy and Bella had long since discarded their place.

“Cissa, toss me the light,” he said, lying back on the couch.

“No, no, darling. This is bad for your health,” she answered as she put the cigarette between her lips.

Sirius raised a brow. “You taught me how to smoke,” he remarked.

As she refused again and he was about to give her some new argument, Remus put his hand on his spouse’s thigh. “Remember your new year’s resolutions,” he said in a sing-song voice.

Sirius groaned.

“What brings you two here. It’s been a while,” said Narcissa.

“Andy told us you invited her and we wanted to make sure Bellatrix didn’t rip her head off,” shrugged Remus.

(ANDROMEDA TONKS) TALKING HEAD

(Andromeda sits on a grey, L shaped couch. Her living room is small and cozy. It looks exceptionally clean. She’s surrounded by plants. Behind her, there’s a big shelf full of frayed books).

“Rip my head off? What, because I’m the only one of the Blacks who wouldn’t be diagnosed as a loony then I’d let Bella walk all over me? No, sir. I showed them right then and there I could also roast someone.”

She looks pleased with herself, but her smile falters a few seconds later.

“Is roast a real term? Did I used it correctly?”

[Back to scene]

Lucius had also joined the others in the drawing room. He cheered on Andromeda every time she said something particularly witty to Bellatrix.

“You go, ‘Meda!” he said after she remarked how everyone breathed a little more peacefully after she moved out.

Andromeda looked at him straight in the eye. “I know you’re my brother in law, but we’re not there yet, honey.”

“I hate her,” he said pointing at Bellatrix, “isn’t that enough?”

The three sisters looked at him, eyebrows elegantly raised.

“Whatever you say now will determine your faith, Lucius,” taunted Sirius.

“I’m also married to her,” Lucius continued, this time pointing at Narcissa, “so you should consider yourself lucky she didn’t run off and have a baby with a convicted felon.”

Remus snorted obnoxiously.

(NARCISSA MALFOY) TALKING HEAD

“I couldn’t smoke while I was pregnant with Draco. Hardest nine months of my life,” she says with a grimace, “it was all worth it, though. I’m living the dream. I mean, who doesn’t want to be in charge of a fifteen years old boy who only babbles about one of his classmates?”

She doesn’t look very convinced.

[Back to scene]

Sirius had joined in the roasting now. Bellatrix had mentioned something about her not being invited to his wedding with Remus. He, in turn, spilling the family tea all over the living room’s floor.

“I never really cared that you were a twi-”

“Tais toi!” screeched Narcissa, not wanting her sister to literally taunt their cousin once again for his sexual orientation. Bella knew exactly who else in the family she was mocking and Narcissa was having absolutely none of that.

DISSOLVE TO: the whole family sitting like scolded kids. Narcissa furiously pacing in front of them.

“This ends here!” she announced, “I’m tired of the Blacks being the absolute worst family in the history of families.”

“What is she saying?” Remus whispered to Sirius while Narcissa kept rambling.

“Shhh,” Sirius mumbled back, “I can barely understand. Somehow her accent keeps getting thicker and thicker.”

“Sirius,” she said. Her cousin perked up at the mention of his name. “When was the last time you saw Nymphadora?”

“Uhh, yesterday?”

“What?!” she exclaimed, “so you see each other regularly?”

“We go to work together.”

“You work?” she asked, even more surprised than before.

“I own a bar,” he shrugged, not surprised that his cousin didn’t know of his whereabouts.

“Of course you do,” interjected Bellatrix, “and what does dearest Nymphadora do?”

“She’s an auror,” Andromeda answered, not allowing any biting remark to come from her sister’s malicious lips.

Narcissa looked at Andromeda curiously. She tried her best to be close with both her sisters and yet somehow she didn’t know know Nymphadora was an auror. In her mind, for some reason, her metamorphmagus niece was still in Hogwarts.

“She sees Lucius at the Ministry all the time. Just last week she told me they chatted on the elevator,” said Sirius.

Narcissa shot his husband an accusing look.

“I’ve seen her a couple of times, but I never thought she worked there. I just assumed she roamed the building for...reasons.”

Andy facepalmed as Bella cackled.

“Alright, well those days are over.”

“What days?” asked Remus, afraid to know the answer.

“The days of us not knowing what each other are up to. Auntie Walburga died three years ago,” she said. Andromeda patted Sirius’ back when he frowned at the mention of his satirical mother. “She was the last one of our parents’ generation. It is our chance to start anew, to accept each other. So, it’s decided. We’re having dinner tonight.”

The rest of the family joined in a collective whine, but accepted. Everyone knew better than to mess with Narcissa once she was set on something.

A few hours later, the elves placed all sorts of delicacies at the table. Draco was granted permission to apparate from the school back home, arriving as the rest of the family took their sits. He frowned as he sat by his aunt Bella’s side, who only talked about how he looked like his good for nothing father. He sent a pitiful look at his cousin Nymphadora, who smiled amusedly at him as she tried to start a conversation with Regulus. Sirius and Ted were already talking like old friends and Remus and Lucius shared a laugh at Professor Snape’s expense. Andromeda looked satisfied. Narcissa, at the head of the table, eyed her family proudly.

“Levitate the potatoes my way, please Nymphadora?” said Draco. He wasn’t particularly close with his cousin, but he knew she hated the name.

“Don’t. Call. Me. Nymphadora!” she said as she pushed the potatoes a bit too harshly towards him. Her changed from purple to a shade of red.

“I like you already,” said Bella.

“That’s a very bad sign,” muttered Remus.

(LUCIUS MALFOY) TALKING HEAD.

(Lucius sits on the same elegant armchair as before. He has his legs crossed and the attitude of a dandy).

“Life is full of changes. Some big, some small. I learned a long time ago you can fight it or try to make the best of it. And that's all a lot easier if you've got people who love you to help you face whatever life throws at you,” he says, an affectionate smile on his face.

He then frowns worriedly. “I just hope my house doesn’t become the designated place of gathering. My peacocks couldn’t take it.”

Roll Credits

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loveafterthefact · 4 years

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Love After the Fact Chapter 10: Time to Sharpen Up

Chances of survival are dwindling into single digits... because Lance is lousy with a sword.

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“Come on now, Lance. You’re better than this.” Alfor frowns, following his son's uncertain footwork.

“I’m really not.” The droid pulls on its whip, Lance’s broadsword tangled in the glowing cord. The Altean is panting, skin glistening.

Alfor presses his thumbs into his eyelids, though whether with disappointment or embarrassment, Lance can never tell.

He’s not a good warrior. Not with a sword.

Keith just watches, tail flicking back and forth, ears following Lance’s movements. Shiro stands on his right, visibly unimpressed, but trying to be polite.

Lance sighs. He’s just not very good at this. The droid charges, too fast. Lance has been distracted by his audience, hasn’t seen the advance. It’s a genuine mistake, this time.

“Lance!” Alfor yells, drawing his own weapon to protect his son while Coran tries to end the training sequence. The training sequence can’t end during an attack.

Too fast. Alfor won’t get there in time.

Lance throws a hand up, a flash of blinding blue light flaring from his palm.

Light threads through every crack and crevice in the charging droid, saturating its wires, melting, warping, disintegrating in the blinding light. It crumbles into nothing a mere spot from his outstretched palm.

He collapses to his knees. Too much. Too fast.

“Invalid technique. Victory forfeited,” rings out from the walls. Keith gapes, eyes wide. What a terrifying thing to be able to do to something. Lance could do that to him.

“End training sequence.” Alfor crouches beside him. “Son, are you alright?” Lance meets his father’s worried gaze with weary eyes. Alfor softens. Lance’s eyes find the floor.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get there.” Alfor gently helps him up. “If nothing else, you have plenty of untapped potential. And I know you’re capable.” The king looks his son over, anxiously checking for injuries. Lance nods, staring at the training room floor. “Look at me.”

Lance looks.

“I know you have it in you, son.” Alfor cards a gentle hand through Lance's hair. Lance nods, more for his father’s benefit than anything else.

He doesn’t feel much at all. The things Lance wishes he were good at are the things everyone knows he’s bad at and the things he’s actually good at, no one knows at all. It’s mostly intentional, but in this case, it’s reality. With his father, his spouse, and his spouse’s brother watching, it bites.

Everyone else disperses to return to whatever they were doing, leaving just himself and Keith. The Galra comes over, tail flicking like a pendulum. “I know you said you were lousy with a sword, but...”

“But quiznak am I lousy, huh?” Keith nods, sheepish. “We should go hunting soon. I can finally try out that bow Zarkon gave me for my birthday. You can see my actual skills then.”

“Sounds good.” Keith’s ears are wilted today. Lance knows why.

“We have a few vargas before it’s time to say goodbye.” Lance puts a hand on Keith’s arm. “Is there anything you’d like to do?”

“I think… I think I’d just like to go and… sit in the loft in our quarters, if that’s alright. I know we have work to do, but-”

“Go on. If anyone asks, I’ll say you’re helping the Captain get his affairs are in order and that you’re both working to ensure your safety after he’s gone. Commander Iverson is certain to be bitter about it, since he’s technically in charge of your safety, but I consider that a bonus, personally.” Lance grins, and Keith manages a small smile, despite both his aching hearts.

Lance only has one. How he gets enough oxygen with only one heart is beyond Keith’s capacity to understand. Perhaps that's why he's so bad with a sword.

Up in the loft, Keith finds himself looking out at the grounds. He can’t see beyond the castle walls. He’s never seen beyond the castle walls, not even when he got here. He’s never met the commonwealth, never seen any wilderness. If this past movement is any indication, the Alteans are perfectly content to restrict him to the castle walls and never give him the opportunity to leave. Keith is still staring out the window of the tower loft, half-extended claw dragging down the fine glass, when there’s a knock at the door. He turns away from the purpling sky to find Adam.

“Prince Yorak, Crown Prince Lancel has sent me to escort you to the launch.”

Keith sighs, nods, leaps down from the landing, not bothering with the ladder. “Will I ever be permitted to go somewhere alone?”

Adam sighs, holding the door open for him. Keith trusts this Altean more than the others, though still not much. “Likely not. You are not held in fond regard.”

“So we are still pretending this is for my benefit.”

“No. You are also under constant surveillance. One of the guards posted outside your door is a Listener, one who uses alchemy to enhance their hearing. You’ll be pleased to know that their only report thus far was that you have not yet consummated your union to Crown Prince Lancel. King Alfor is not pleased.”

Keith stops in his tracks. “My body is the only possession I have left.”

Adam turns to him, pushing up his glasses, ever-present datapad cradled in his arm the way one might cradle a baby to their hip. He looks… sad, but trying for indifferent. “That’s where you’re wrong, Prince Yorak. You swore fealty to your King. Everything that you are belongs to Altea, including your body. You have been contracted out to the Crown. That being said, I have instructed the Listener to wait a phoeb, then claim you have mated with the Crown Prince.” Keith frowns, trying to understand.

Adam smiles, lips curling. “Your reality is that you are a living possession. But reality can be manipulated with relative ease. I can make your perceived reality far, far different from what it is. I can make you charming, demure, innocent, beautiful, powerful, awe-inspiring, terrifying, loathsome, dangerous- whatever Crown Prince Lancel wants. That is what you are.”

Keith stares at the green-scaled Altean, eyes wide. The ruff of fur down his back rises with a sudden chill. “You- I’m beginning to think you are the most dangerous thing on Altea.”

“You may very well be correct. Shall we?” Adam turns, leading them down yet another hall.

“My brother sure knows how to pick ‘em,” Keith mutters, more to himself than anybody else.

Adam trips. “Excuse me?”

“Oh. You couldn’t tell?” Keith cocks his head. Adam blinks, hazel eyes wide. He shakes his head. “My brother is embarrassingly smitten with you. It’s really funny, actually.” Keith smiles. “It’s... nice, I guess. At home, he’s always so imposing. He’s imposing a lot here, too. It’s nice to see some other side of him working its way into the open. He normally saved that for when we were in our den, away from everyone else... I think he likes it here.”

“Everyone likes it here. Everyone except you, it seems.” Everyone else gets to go home. Adam turns before backing his way through the doors to the launch pad. “Though, as far as the commonwealth is concerned, you miss your homeland, but our beloved Crown Prince is the only thing you need to be happy.”

Adam grins as he holds the door open. Shiro tugs Keith out into the open before he can step past, pulling him into an all-encompassing embrace. Keith doesn’t even try to resist.

“I’m really gonna miss you,” Keith whispers, a slight whimper in his voice as he throws his arms around his brother.

“Aw, I’ll miss you too.” Shiro gives him a squeeze, eliciting a gentle purr from the young prince. “It won’t be so bad. Lance is a good man. He’ll be good to you.”

“He has been thus far.” Keith doesn’t enjoy the admission, but there it is. Not everything is terrible. “Even if he’s a terrible warrior.”

“True. He is. But he seems to like you well enough. And this place... I know you haven’t seen much of it yet, but it is beautiful here.”

“I know. And it’s nice. But it’s not home.”

Shiro smiles, one of his large hands rubbing the spots behind the younger Galra’s ears. “I’m proud of you for doing this. For not putting up fuss or fight. Sometimes, that’s the hardest thing you can do.”

“I know. I have no regrets. No matter what might happen.” Shiro steps back then, regarding him with that cool gaze. A soldier’s gaze. The captain nods, lays a fist over his breast. Keith returns the gesture. He’s a soldier. Not a pampered prince. A soldier.

Lance watches the farewell, not saying a word. He knows all of this already. His spouse is a warrior, not a lord or a prince. Lance needs to do better to support that lifestyle. Keith can’t be happy sitting around reading all day. In the meantime, he walks over and places his hand on the small of Keith’s back, trying to be supportive.

He wants Keith to know he's here for him.

Lance is surprised when the Galra’s ear turns toward him and his tail curls around his ankle. It’s the furthest Keith has chosen to acknowledge Lance’s presence in view of other people without it being for show. Adam has fallen to gossiping about how cripplingly shy the new prince is to save face.

Speaking of which... Shiro steps up to the Altean, leans down, whispers something in his ear. Adam’s face turns bright red, scales glittering brilliant green as the Galra draws back, grinning from ear to ear. Lance hears a snort as Keith tries not to laugh. He smiles. “I’m going to invite him back as soon as possible. Watching these two flirt is the most fun I’ve had in my life.”

“It’s hilarious,” Keith agrees, whispering in Lance’s ear.

“Reminds me of watching my fathers flirt, to be honest. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen Alfor undignified.” Lance grins. “I’ll tell you about it sometime, if you want.”

“I- I’d like that, actually.” Keith smiles an uncertain smile, willing but not hopeful.

The spouses stand side-by-side as the ship carrying Shiro departs for Daibazaal. A soft keen in Keith’s throat informs Lance the warrior prince wishes he could be on that ship too.

“It will be alright, Keith. You’ll see him again. I promise.”

#LoveAftertheFact #LAtF #klance #galtean au #altean lance #galra keith #adashi #altean adam #galra shiro #voltron legendary defender #vld

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