#so many things going on here: the we both cared for Tristan and look how far he's come look

[owlsie-hoot]

*The eyes are the window to the soul*

(You cannot deny it: they have the best eyesex)

[auniverseforgotten]

Ship Ask 2 Electric Boogaloo: Bedivere/Tristan mayhap? o.o

SO I'M STARTING HERE BCUS I HAVE SO MANY SALIERI SHIPS AND I NEED TO GO TO BED SOON

Also a note for clarity: I know what fgo says about the Bedivere in Chaldea not being the one in Camelot and servants not remembering things but you're in MY TOWN and my town is ANGST TOWN so servants remember EVERYTHING [except when it's more angsty for them to forget <3] and this Bedivere is the one from Camelot <3

read more because LONK

who’s the cuddler: 

We start with a hard one lmao, so I think both could be depending on the situation? Overall I do think Bedivere would Want cuddles more but...we all know how Bedivere is with self loathing and self worth, so I don't think he would manage to ask for them. Because of this Tristan would Look like the more physically touchy one, because he sees him and reads what he needs via body language. And there is NO WAY Bedivere isn't touch starved so he has noooooo idea what to do with affection when it's given, especially with all his aforementioned self loathing.

BUT ALSO I feel like Bedi's love language for others is touch [maaayeb gift giving] so when he does manage to convince himself it's okay to touch then he just. Never stops. They come off as very lovey dovey [sometimes to a codependent degree depending on the observer] because they are ALWAYS holding hands but it's because Bedivere Needs touch and closeness to ground him.

who makes the bed:

Bedivere, he's a very organized person imo who likes his spaces neat and tidy. I don't necessarily think of Tristan as messy, but like he would care less so long as everything is functional?

who wakes up first:

Situational, but usually Bedivere. If either of them have really bad nightmares from...any number of traumatizing events in their lives, they both tend to stay awake for the rest of the night.

But also Bedivere has a very bad habit of pushing himself as far as possible for as long as possible, and he will just. Not sleep also. Once he and Tristan get together [AND BOY DOES IT TAKE FOREVER], it's less frequent if only because Tristan will make himself stay up too and Bedivere panics and worries over his health.

who has the weird taste in music:

I'm mixed because it would be Hilarious if Bedi's music taste was as eclectic as his palate, but that was born out of a need to survive more than anything else. And I mean...music is Tristan's whole THING.

So definitely Tristan, and Bedivere will return to their shared quarters to the oddest music he has ever heard, but it makes Tristan happy so it makes him happy too.

who is more protective:

LOADED QUESTION because wow they both are! However given what I said about Bedivere at the very start, I'm gonna say that Tristan is more visibly protective of him. Bedivere's protectiveness is fear for Tristan stemming from mythos and that what an aspect of himself did in Camelot will weigh him down and eventually crush him, whereas Tristan's protectiveness is stemming from the fact that his partner was very much on a solitary, incredibly difficult journey for over a thousand years and still will not stop to rest.

When it comes to events and story they're rarely really main targets, not like say Mash or the MC or whatever welfare we get, so I don't think there's a lot of protectiveness around other servants; they no that they can both handle people. Out fighting monsters though, yeah, especially anything that can poison given how Tristan died...Bedivere doesn't take that well. Meanwhile when Bedivere uses his NP Tristan needs to not be anywhere near earshot or line of sight because yeah sure the noble phantasm Bedivere unleashes saying the power can swallow him whole, yeah he's not gonna take that well [tbf neither do any of the other KoR]

And also Bedivere is just...so self sacrificing, he went before the Lion King as a human to fix a mistake he made, he would lay his life down for anyone and everyone, he would die to protect someone every time, and like hell Tristan is going to let him, he'll be selfish for the both of them if he has to, which is another layer of protectiveness when faced with relationships with other servants.

who sings in the shower:

Tristan he's Tristan he has a HARP BOW he just HAS TO. I do also feel like Bedivere is a bit too shy too; we see time and time again that he's just not. Confident in any sort of place for himself? So even small joys would be denied until they managed to get him some kinda therapy THAT IS NOT KIARA.

who cries during movies:

Oh both of them all the way. It may depend on movie, like Tristan absolutely bawling over tragic romances while Bedivere just sits there, uncomfortable, remembering how much fucked up in his life because of other people's tragic romances. Meanwhile any movie that involves a character undertaking a journey and never being able to be the same will just break him. And they both absolutely lose it with animal movies, WHO DOESN'T??

who spends the most while out shopping:

Tristan, really easy pick there. Not only does he seem to REALLY ENJOY the finer things in life, but also Bedivere is so used to living on. Literally nothing, shopping in general is something that takes getting used to. If Tristan ever buys him a gift he has to make certain Bedivere never learns the price because his already modest nature+a thousand+ years of lonely pilgrimage have left him...very aware of the hardships in life and in the face of those, what do you mean you paid hundreds for this gift, I'm not worthy of that- [which starts. such a fight every time.]

who kisses more roughly:

Mmmm boring answer, but honestly I don't think either of them? Bedivere overall is rather gentle and mild mannered, so it's difficult to imagine him being rough in general, and while Tristan I'm sure could, Bedivere's been through so much that all he wants is to treat him softly and gently because god, nothing else did for centuries on end. No he hasn't forgiven Merlin for that, no he won't forgive Merlin for that, he doesn't care if it was started by Bedivere not returning the sword to the lake, that sin has more than been paid for.

who is more domineering:

In the beginning of their relationship Tristan would have to initiate literally anything because Bedivere constantly feels unworthy; over time Bedivere adjusts, but Tristan is still more likely to initiate. So while I can't really see either of them acting entirely domineering, Tristan veers a little closer to it by virtue of being more comfortable with touch and affection.

my rating of the ship from 1-10: 

10/10, I really love this ship a lot even though my preference is baaaarely slightly for Merlin and Bedivere. The great part is with this ship I can just ignore all the disgusting womanizing shit typemoon does with Tristan's character <3 <3

THANK YOU FOR THE FOUR ASKS I PROB WILL HAVE TO GET TO THE OTHERS LATER because it's past bedtime and the work week begins again for me,,,,but S O O N.

Ask meme here for anyone who wants to do it/wants to ask me!

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Just Short of Forever [Spencer x Fem!Reader]

Thank you to the lovely Anon who gave me this idea: maybe spencer or reader is about to get married to someone else, and they have a sort of runaway bride situation. they realize they have feelings for their ex (being spencer/reader) and they realize they can't get married.

Please feel free to send me ideas/requests! 

CW - none really, mild angst but mostly fluff.

WC: 2.6K

Once upon a moonlit October, Spencer Reid met the love of his life and promised her forever. But their forever didn’t come. Call it fate, call it destiny; call it what you will, but their forever was cut short. 

Somewhere along the line they lost their way. Their “I love yous” became “I’m sorry’s”, their laughter turned to tears. Warm smiles became cold. Hello’s evolved into goodbyes.

Five years was not forever. But you would always carry a piece of each other in your heart. You were each other’s first and strongest loves. 

But life had other plans for you both. 

***

The music blasting from the speakers stung your ears like a thousand tiny pin pricks. The alcohol in your system was enough to dull the boisterous crowd but not enough to stop the assault of the music on your eardrums.

You excused yourself from your group of friends, having to shout to be heard and pushed your way through the throngs to the front door of the bar. 

You gasped, desperate for the fresh air of the crisp March evening to fill your lungs. There were a few people on the sidewalk smoking and conversing and the odd car passed by but other than that the street was quiet. 

Just what you needed.

You pulled your cell phone from your purse to check your messages. You smiled to see some from him. You opened them to read them, just a voice came from behind you.

“Excuse me, miss? I think you dropped this.” 

You froze instantly at the voice. It had to have been nearing three years since you’d last heard it, but you knew that articulation no matter how many years it had been. 

“I guess this is it then.” He stepped into the corridor, the box cradled in his arms.

“I guess so.” You agreed with a sad nod. 

“I hope you find what you’re looking for.” 

“I hope you do too.” You chewed your lip determined not to cry. Not yet.

“Goodbye Y/N.”

“Goodbye Spencer.” 

You slowly turned around and your eyes met. Those hazel eyes gazed back at you, the ones you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. 

His face noticeably fell when he realised it was you. You saw his Adam’s apple bob deliciously beneath the soft flesh of his neck as he swallowed. His hand was held out with your keys in his open palm. You must have dropped them when you got out your phone.

“Hi Spencer.” You breathed with a shaky smile. You stepped a little closer and cautiously took the keys. “Thanks.” 

“Y/N, hi.” He swallowed again, his voice low and croaky. “I didn’t recognise you from behind. You changed your hair.”

“Yeah.” You nodded. You had no idea what to say to him. You never thought you’d see him again and now he was here in front of you there were so many things you wanted to say but nothing that seemed appropriate. 

You watched his eyes regard you, from your too high heels to your skimpy dress. You never dressed like this when you were with him.

His glance faltered when he reached your chest, but not for the reasons you would think. 

You saw his eyes widen slightly, and you swore you saw tears brimming in them.

“Oh wow,” he choked as he spoke. “I guess congratulations are in order.” He pointed at your sash, the one that told him in large gold letters you were the “Bride To Be.”

You followed his gaze down to the sash, you’d forgotten all about it. You ran your fingers over it absentmindedly.

“Uh...yeah.” You muttered. “Thanks.”

“When’s the big day?” There was a twinge of jealousy to his tone, combined with a hint of bitterness. 

“Uhm...two weeks Friday.” 

“Wow.” He gnawed heavily on his lip, he swore he tasted blood. “That’s uhm...I don’t know.”

“Yeah.” You didn’t know what to say. What could you say?

“Actually,” he spoke again, his voice now restoring some punch. “I do know. It’s...it’s...horrible. It’s awful, it’s completely and utterly-”

“Y/N!” 

Spencer was cut off by your best friend and maid of honour poking her head out of the bar and calling your name. 

“They’re playing our song!” 

“I’ll be right there!” You called back, attempting a smile. 

She smiled back and soon disappeared back inside.

“Sorry I have to go. Thanks for finding my keys.” You went to walk past him, not being able to look at him anymore without risking tears. 

As you did so, you felt a strong hand clasp around your wrist stopping you.

You turned back to Spencer, shaking him off you.

“What? You have more to say?” You folded your arms across your chest in frustration. 

“Do you love him?” He surprised you with his forwardness. 

“Of course I love him. I wouldn’t be marrying him if I didn’t.”

“Let me rephrase that then.” He stepped closer to you and you caught his scent in your nose. You’d never been able to describe the way he smelt, it was an aroma that was simply Spencer. 

“Do you love him more than you loved me?”

Now that was the million dollar question. Honestly you knew the answer to that. You’d known since the first time you met Spencer you would never love anyone the way you loved him. But you weren’t willing to tell him that.

“I’m not answering that.” You shook your head and turned on your heels. “Goodbye Spencer.”

“We could have had it all!” He called after you, but you kept walking.

“Goodbye Spencer.” You repeated as you threw the door to the bar open and vanished. 

Spencer was left staring at the space you had just occupied. 

He should have been over you by now. He thought he was over you. But then you’d been standing in front of him and he’d fallen all over again the moment he glanced in your eyes. 

Knowing you were getting married tore his heart in two. Your break up had been mutual, it just hadn’t worked out but that didn’t stop him loving you. 

“It should have been me.” He whispered to himself as he turned and headed back down the street. “It should have been me.”

***

The sun was shining, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It went some way to dulling your nerves. But they were still there, bubbling under the surface. 

You’d thought of nothing but Spencer and those brooding eyes since your bachelorette party. Truthfully, he’d been on your mind since the day you broke up but over time he’d faded to a distant memory. Now he was back with full force.

You’d still been mourning your break up with Spencer when you’d met Tristan, your soon to be husband. 

The wound was still fresh, open and gaping and you’d thought Tristan would be a great distraction from the pain. Somehow over two years past you by and when Tristan proposed to you, you found yourself saying yes.

You did love him, just not the way you’d loved Spencer. The love you had for Spencer had been new and exciting, something you’d never experienced before. It had swept you off your feet and turned your whole world upside down. 

Your body ached for him when he was away on a case and every time he returned and pulled you into his arms, the feeling overwhelmed you. 

The door opened and you immediately leapt up from the couch. Spencer looked exhausted as he stepped across the threshold, but as soon as he locked eyes on you his face lit up.

“Spence!” You fell into his arms immediately and buried your head into his chest. You inhaled his scent, that pure Spencer scent. 

He wrapped you tightly and protectively in his arms.

“Y/N,” he breathed you in. “Gosh I missed you.” 

“I missed you too baby.” You squeezed him. 

“Not half as much as I missed you my love.”

The two of you stood in the doorway in a loving embrace for several minutes, neither ready to let the other go. 

The two of you never felt safer and more at home than in each other’s arms.

You smoothed down your dress and took in your reflection, trying to shake all thoughts of your lost love.

Everything was in place. Your make-up was done, your hair was pinned perfectly in place and you were cinched in your dress. 

You turned to the side and then the other side and you even managed to smile a little. You felt like a princess, that much was for certain. But was the man you were about to marry your prince?

You stepped over to the window where the gardens could be viewed. A winding path snaked between perfectly manicured bushes. 

His black suit stood out against the greenery and you didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. 

You spun around, hoisting your dress up as you marched from the room. As you were heading down the stairwell a voice caught you.

“Y/N where are you going?” Your best friend. 

You turned to look up to where she was standing up the top of the staircase. 

“There’s something I need to take care of.” You told her vaguely.

“Well hurry up, the ceremony’s starting soon. You of all people can’t be late.” She laughed.

“This won’t take long, trust me.” And with that you carried on down the stairs. 

You found the back entrance easily enough and shoved open the door. 

He was wearing his best suit and tie and his hair was swept back off his face, you’d think it was his wedding day. 

“Hi Y/N.” He smiled at you as you approached.

“Don't hi me Spencer. What the hell are you doing here?” You didn’t need to ask how he knew where you were getting married, he’d no doubt gotten his friend Penelope to find you. 

He laughed a little and the sound made you go a little weak. 

“It’s simple really,” he shrugged. “I’m here to tell you you’re marrying the wrong man.” 

It was your turn to laugh now. 

“Really Spencer? Where was this man three years ago? If I recall we wanted different things. So please enlighten me, why am I marrying the wrong man?” You didn’t have time for this, but you wanted to hear why he’d had the audacity to show up here today.

And maybe you wanted to see if he could convince you that you were marrying the wrong man. 

“Because you don’t love him like you loved me. You don’t love him the way I’m pretty certain you still love me.” 

“Nice try.” You scoffed. “I’ve got to go get married. Goodbye Spencer.” You turned away from him now and hoisted your dress again so you could make a quick exit back up the garden. 

“You didn’t deny it.” Spencer’s words were smug and it irritated you enough to get you to turn back around.

“Didn’t think it was necessary.” 

“I didn’t fight for you.” He stepped closer to you. “I didn’t fight for us. And maybe three years is too late. I know this isn’t ideal timing on my part but I’m here now and I’m ready to fight.”

“Spencer, our time has passed.”

“Do you remember our first date?” 

You frowned, you really didn’t have time for this.

“Yes Spencer, of course I remember our first date.”

For October, the weather had been good to you. Spencer had taken you to the Smithsonian, you’d probably learnt more from him than anything the institution had to tell you. 

Afterwards you’d gotten coffee and strolled through the DC streets for hours. 

You chatted about everything, your jobs, your childhoods, what made you tick, music and movies and everything in between. 

Somehow the sun had set and before you knew it you’d spent the whole day together.

“I have to say,” you glanced at him as you strolled towards your apartment. “This has been an excellent first date.”

“It has been, hasn’t it.” He smiled at you. “I might even go as far to say the best first date.”

You blushed as you came to a stop outside your building.

“Well this is me.” You shrugged shyly. You wanted him to kiss you, but you weren’t sure what he was thinking. 

“Look, I’m not the “cool” guy. I don’t really know what is best practice on first dates and I could very well blow this before it’s even started…” he started, coming closer to you and taking hold of your hands. “But I have had an amazing day. And I just want you to know that if you want it, I’m standing here now promising you forever.” 

You felt tears well in your eyes and a shiver passed up your spine at his words. The way he was looking at you was so different from the way anyone had ever looked at you before in your life.

“I’ll bear that in mind.” You smiled and closed the space between you and kissed him. 

It was the kind of magical kiss that would live on in your memory for the rest of your life.

“I promised you forever.”

“You did.” 

“And I meant it.” He stepped closer again, cautiously. 

“Y/N!” You heard your name being yelled across the garden. You turned to see your bridesmaids in the doorway staring at you. 

“What are you doing? We need to go!”

“Two minutes I promise!” You called back. 

You waited for them to leave before you turned back to Spencer.

“I really need to go.” 

“Please Y/N.” He took hold of your hands with an urgency of a man who knew this was do or die time. “I’m not this man Y/N, you know that. I’m not the kind of man that crashes someone's wedding and asks them to run away with me. But that’s how much I love you. I love you more than all the stars in the sky and I always will. So I am here, crashing your wedding and asking you to run away with me.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks all of a sudden. Maybe it’s all you’d wanted to hear from him. You’d waited to hear those words for five long years. But was he too late?

“Spencer,” you sniffed, chewing your lip. “I’m in a wedding dress. I am getting married today.”

“Why do you think I wore my best suit.” He grinned. “I’m not saying don’t get married today Y/N. I’m saying marry the right man. Marry me.” 

“You want to marry me? Today?” You gave him a look as though you didn’t believe him.

He let go of one of your hands and reached into his jacket pocket. Seconds later he pulled out two tickets.

“Flights to Vegas. In one hour.” He shrugged. “I’m going, will you be there with me?”

“Are you for real right now?” More tears fell.

“I am very for real Y/N.” He laughed. “We can be married in a few hours. Please, let me make good on my promise. Will you be my forever?”

You looked at his eyes and then at the tickets and back again. 

It was all you’d ever wanted, Spencer standing in front of you telling you he wanted to marry you. 

And suddenly, the choice didn’t seem so hard. 

“Yes Spencer Reid,” you smiled. “Yes I will be your forever.” 

And with that you pulled him by the hand and the two of you started running. Running towards your future. 

Your future that was always meant to be you and Spencer. He was your forever. 

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Not a Baby: Nat and Chris (And Ronnie)

CW: The first part is pure fluff with a couple underage drinking references/jokes. Second part references the events of Chris getting appendicitis (One, Two, Three, Four) and takes place while he is healing from surgery. Includes surgery references, whumpee rejecting medication, medical trauma references

Sometimes, you just want bittersweet fluff lined with angst.

-

“You gotta help me out,” Tristan sings along with the radio as they wait at a red light, Ronnie furtively checking her phone. “It’s all a blur last ni-eee-eye-ee-ight…”

One message from Paul, just now out of bed after a longer-than-usual workday had fully wiped him out, thanking her for leaving some food in the fridge. She smiles, faintly, at the sight of the little heart emojis he leaves after every single text. 

He’s not much for showing emotion in his face, not like Tristan wears his own feelings on his sleeve, but he knows how to make sure Ronnie feels loved. He always has.

The light turns green, and she taps on the gas, then lets her foot slowly press down. Next to her, Tristan dances in his seat, totally unselfconscious, rocking back and forth. 

“We need a taxi, ‘cause you’re hungover and I’m broke…”

Ronnie starts laughing, one hand over her mouth, the other still on the wheel.

He blinks, turning to look at her. They just clipped his hair short last week, getting him ready for the next competition coming up. She never expected to be a Gymnastics Mom, not once, but here she is, chaperoning her teenage son to the gym on a Saturday afternoon, where he more or less lives these days. “What?”

“I just. It’s something else to listen to your teenage son sing about being hungover, Tris. That’s all. You’re way too young for this song. And probably just for Katy Perry in general, not that anyone should listen to-”

“Mom.” Tristan rolls his eyes, leaning over and pointedly turning the volume up on the radio. “I like Katy Perry. And I, I, I know what hungover is. I’m not, not, not, not-... not-not four years old. I’m fifteen.”

“Fair enough, but I don’t think my fifteen-year-old should know about being hungover, either.” She takes a turn, the radio cheerfully blaring that’s what you get for waking up in Vegas and she wonders why she keeps letting Tris pick the radio station, exactly, when they could be listening to some perfectly fine soft rock right about now. “What do you get up to at Aki’s, huh? Maybe I need to speak to Aimi. Ask if you’re having wild parties as soon as I leave.”

“Oh my god, Mom.” Tristan turns bright red, and she tries not to enjoy how much he’s his father’s son - always but especially when he blushes, the red seeming to make the scattering of pale freckles stand out even more, not less, when he does. “You are, are not going to-... we don’t drink, Mom. We just, just watch shows and… hang out.”

“I know, baby,” Ronnie says, laughter still edging her voice. “I’m teasing you, that’s all.”

He glares out the windshield where he sits next to her, running his fingers up and down the smooth seatbelt, along its edge. Back and forth, enjoying the mix of silk and rough in the texture, she thinks. 

“I’m not a, a, a, a baby,” He mumbles, all teenage resentment and irritation. 

“Oh, honey. That’s the downside of having parents,” Ronnie says, gentling her voice down to affection, taking another turn. She can see the gym now, down at the end of the street. Aimi will probably already be here with Aki, she figures, and maybe they can make a coffee run while the boys practice. “It doesn’t matter how old you get. You could be fifty and I could be sixty-seven and I’d still see you wrapped in that hospital blanket looking up at me with big eyes. Even when we’re both old, you’ll still be my baby.”

He rolls his eyes again, but this time she catches the hint of a smile he’s trying to hide pulling at one side of his mouth. Tristan leans forward and switches the radio station over to Ronnie’s favorite, then falls back into his seat, focusing on the seatbelt again.

Sometimes, like his father, he doesn’t know how to say he loves her, but he always knows how to show it.

-

Two and a half years later

Nat came down for a glass of water, only to find Chris wide awake on the couch at 3 am, top teeth biting down so hard on his bottom lip she was afraid he’d draw blood, making his slow, careful, shuffling way towards the stairs.

She’d managed to convince him to go back to the couch, or really more or less command him, but the trade-off was promising she’d stay downstairs with him for a while.

Now, instead of water she has a mug of hot tea steaming gently on the side table, instead of her warm bed she has Chris’s head resting on a pillow in her lap while she runs fingers slowly through his hair - dark red in the night, lit with a hint of silver by the reflected light coming off the television - and instead of dreams, she has reruns of Frasier.

“You palmed your pain medication earlier, didn’t you?” She asks the question as gently as she can, without judgement.

He doesn’t answer, green eyes locked on the television, where the main character’s younger brother is preparing for a date and managing to set an ironing board on fire in the process. It’s probably one of the best scenes in television history, but Nat can’t even begin to pay attention to it. Worry has her all twisted up, heart beating a little too fast, as she picks up her mug and takes a sip, honey and lemon and yes, a little bit of whiskey in her tea all settling over her tongue. 

“Chris,” She says, softly. “I asked you a question.”

“Mmmhmm,” is all he says, and he doesn’t move. His head is a soft weight against her leg, and his hair runs like silk through her fingers. He’s pale not just from the darkness and the late-night TV, but from the pain he must be in, must be holding back.

Of course, there’s no one who has come through her house who hasn’t been pretty good at hiding pain, after a while. Once you’re drowned in it, once it’s your everyday truth, you learn not so much to actually hide it as simply to go on living with it. 

No one Chris’s age should already be so good at this.

“You have to take those, or you’re going to hurt like this all the time for a while,” Nat says, trying to keep from lecturing him. His freckles stand out more, lit by the cool blue-tinged light of TV. She watches him smile, just a little, at the slapstick comedy going on. “It’ll take longer for your incision to heal if you-”

“Don’t, don’t like pills,” Chris whispers, and she watches one of his hands, palm flat, running up and down the heavy weighted blanket she’s laid over him. It’s soft as rabbit fur, and he starts to hum, nearly a whisper, as he touches it. “Jake’s gone. Out. Didn’t… didn’t want them.”

Nat takes a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly. “Chris, you can’t only take pills when Jake is here to give them to you. He can’t always be here, he has things he does outside of this house-”

“I know. But… I didn’t want them. I, I, I don’t mind hurting a little.”

The funny thing is, it’s not bluster. He really doesn’t. Chris would really rather lay here, awake in the middle of the night, in terrible pain than simply put two pills into his mouth and wash them down with water. There’s been too much done to him with drugs, and he’s not the only one she’s had to help recover the idea of medicine as something other than torture.

He’ll get there.

She hopes.

“Okay, well… where did you put them?”

There’s silence, again, but this time he shifts a little, a flash of his hurt and discomfort across his expression. “In, in the couch cushions.”

“Do you have any of your other doses in there?”

“... mmhmm.”

“Chris…” She sighs, putting her hand up to her forehead, rubbing her fingers just above the bridge of her nose as the tension starts to build behind her eyes. Oh, her head’s going to hurt soon. She can’t just be up at night like she used to without paying for it the next day. “How many have you skipped? Huh?”

“... four.”

“Four. Four times-... okay.” She exhales, slowly - he’s tense under her hand, now, and she can feel the worry in him. Knows he’s trying to figure out if he’ll be in trouble, get punished. Disciplined for the ways he’s learned to live with what happened to him.

A different kind of test than what he’s tried on Jake, but it’s still a test.

“Chris. I can’t tell you how much I don’t want to have to sit here and watch you and see you swallow them. I know that it’s hard for you, I do, and I’m so sorry that we have to do this, but I have to take care of you. I want to take care of you. And part of that is making sure you know how to care for yourself. When you’re recovering from serious surgery-”

“The, the, the, the cut’s not even that big,” He mutters, a hint of irritation. 

Nat feels a surge of affection for him that, if she were standing, would nearly knock her off her feet. Chris interrupting her, Chris being pouty and sulky and every inch a seventeen-year-old boy, is a new thing. She doesn’t take it for granted.

It’s just… a little inconvenient right now.

“It doesn’t matter how big it is. It went all the way inside your stomach, and it was a pretty serious surgery. You need these pills or you are going to hurt like hell for so much longer than if you take them and get better. You got it?”

He sighs, but relaxes against her again, and she starts running fingers through his hair again, simple and maternal. “Yeah. I, I do.”

“Okay. Let’s watch the show and see if maybe you’re up for taking your dose and heading back to sleep in a bit, huh?”

“Will you, you, you stay? Even if I-... even if I do, and fall asleep?” He twists a little to look up her and winces as it pulls the still-tender muscles in his abdomen. “Will you stay?”

Nat thinks about how badly her back’s going to hurt in the morning. The headache already trying to sneak its way in around the edges. How she’s going to end up napping half the day away and not getting a damn thing done she had planned.

Then she just smiles down at him, at his wide green eyes in his narrow face and the heavy blanket hiding every other inch of him in softness and warmth. “Yeah, okay. I’ll stay right here with you, ‘til Ant’s up in the morning. How’s that sound?”

“Good. See if you can get comfortable for a bit.”

The two of them fall back into an easy silence, broken only by the low-volume of the TV show, and get through two more episodes of Frasier before Nat’s tea is gone and she and Chris are both half-asleep on the couch, her hand simply resting on his hair, now, light but ever-present. 

Eyes closed, the television’s cool blue still dancing against the inside of her eyelids, she hears Chris mumble, “Night, Nat,” in a sleep-slurred voice. It’s got to be four in the morning, there’s not much night left.

“Night, baby,” Nat murmurs.

“Not a, a baby, Mom,” Chris whispers, but both of them are too close to sleep to notice.

-

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes  @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary @orchidscript @moose-teeth @nonsensical-whump @outofangband

[charming-2d-boys]

Could I possibly request a fic where Chrollo's s/o gets turned into a mouse during a fight, and when he brings her back to the Troupe, she ends up getting scared because Uvo or Phinks were too loud and she runs off. And then hijinx ensue as they try to catch her before she gets hurt— Hopefully this isn't too long—

This sounds so adorable! 😍

Thank you for the request and I hope you'll enjoy this as much as I did! 😄💕

A/N: At first I read about Chrollo transforming into a mouse and it was so cute! It reminded me of that scene in Stardust with Tristan being transformed into an animal (can't remember what it was exactly, only that I thought it was very cute) 😂

Scared, little mouse - Chrollo x Reader

   Why was everyone around you so big and loud? And why did you feel so disoriented and like you weren’t yourself anymore? You could only shake your head a bit, trying to make the fog in your mind dissipate.

   “(Y/N)? Love?” You heard his voice before you even saw him. Chrollo was staring down at you, book in hand slowly disappearing as he slowly extended the other one towards you, close to the ground, palm up. His eyes were a little wide in shock and his hair and clothes were a little disheveled from the earlier fight. The one who had attacked you while you were on your date was nowhere to be found, not that you could see much or that far away, but he was most certainly dead. Chrollo would never let his guard down so much unless it was only the two of you.

   You wanted to call his name, but the only thing that came out was a squeak. You quickly looked at yourself as best as you could and realised that you weren’t even human, but a mouse. How could this happen? Your eyes snapped back to Chrollo, who only smiled pitifully.

   “I know, darling. And I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you in time. I’ll turn you back soon and make it up to you, I promise. But we have to get out of here and go back, where you’ll be safe, okay?” Leave it to Chrollo to help you feel grounded quickly without even trying too hard.

   As soon as your little form was in his hand, you felt his fingers gently pet you as he walked back to the current hideout. You always appreciated how gentle Chrollo was with you and this moment was no different. And the way he smiled at you... despite it being so pitiful, you felt comforted. He could still keep you safe. This... predicament was only another obstacle, just like so many before it and that would probably follow it.

   But everything felt so weird. You were aware that you looked nothing like yourself and you were so much smaller. Everything looked so normal with Chrollo holding you up, but you knew that the moment you’d be put down, things would change drastically. And that, honestly, freaked you out quite a bit. You felt so vulnerable right now and were actually thankful for having your boyfriend with you.

   When you both reached the hideout, you could see a few of the Spiders playing cards and others drinking and chatting. Uvogin was the first to notice Chrollo and loudly greeted him before he went silent as his eyes settled on you. The others followed and silence settled upon everyone as you were gently put on a bigger slab of the fallen ceiling while Chrollo sighed and explained the situation.

   “You mean this little thing is (Y/N)? Man, (Y/N), I knew you were small and cute, but now you’re even more so!” Uvogin laughed as he held his stomach. You wished you could roll your eyes and sigh, but the only thing that came out was a barely audible squeak of disapproval. You wanted to tell him that pretty much everyone was smaller than him and you looked at Chrollo, who only smiled playfully. Uvogin was right though. You were small and cute, no matter what. The Troupe would always see you like that. “(Y/N)! Did you just squeak? Do that again, that was-”

   “Shut up, Uvo! You’re being too loud, you idiot!” Phinks yelled, probably unaware that he was being loud as well.

   “Who are you calling an idiot, huh?” Uvogin retaliated, the two of them glaring at one another. Everything was so loud and just seeing everyone being so much bigger than usual was terrifying, no matter how used you were to them.

   “You, you big-mouthed idiot!” They started getting louder as their bickering escalated and you flinched constantly. Their usually loud voices seemed even more intense and louder now and you started moving backwards slowly. Chrollo’s gaze snapped towards you and he slowly tried to calm you down, trying to get you to focus on him. And it seemed to start working until a loud crash from Phinks punching one of the walls sent you scurrying away from the Troupe and into the rubble.

   “Uvo, Phinks! Please, shut up! (Y/N) ran away.” Chrollo felt a bit panicked when he couldn’t see you anymore. You were so small and scared now and he couldn’t bear the thought of not finding you or having you hurt yourself. The Troupe decided to split up and cover more area, each one trying to find you. Of course, some realised that walking slowly and talking calmly was the better way to go. Others... didn’t really seem to realise this or were a bit too scared by the prospect of something happening to you because of them, hence their thoughts being in total disarray.

   You could hear everyone’s voices, some louder than the others, but you refused to come out unless it was Chrollo or at least other calmer members like Machi, Pakunoda, Kortopi or Shalnark. So far, you’d heard Uvogin, Phinks and Nobunaga, plus Franklin’s loud footsteps. You could hear rubble pretty much being flung over in certain areas and that made you cower even more in the little dark corner of the unused room.

   “(Y/N), love? Are you here?” That was it, Chrollo’s voice! Despite the fear, that squeak was loud enough to attract his attention and make him step into the room, looking around for you. Once he saw you gradually step out into his line of sight, he smiled in relief as he crouched down. As soon as you were in his warm hands, he kept you close to himself and slowly walked out, careful not to rock you around too much.

   “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to them. And I’ll get you back to normal. Just bear with it for a little longer, okay?” That little squeak made Chrollo chuckle as he found the other Spiders and they all gathered around him, all of them quiet as they awaited their boss’ instructions. They were all relieved that he’d found you and you were safe and sound. Hopefully, they’d be quieter while you were like this, lest you ran away again and Chrollo actually got upset.

[zelenacat]

When We Were Young- Chapter 29- An Obitine Story

Satine was shaken awake by Obi-Wan at three-thirty, he was dressed and cleaning up. The Duchess whined for him.

“I wanted to let you sleep,” the Jedi confessed, “but I’ll help you get ready.”

“Ben,” Satine whispered harshly, “I can’t get ready in half an hour!”

“Hurry then.”

The Duchess dressed as quickly as she could with her corset, trying to be patient with Obi-Wan as he fumbled.

“I swear I did it this morning.”

“I know!”

“Stop pressuring me!”

Satine sighed.

“What?”

“Remember when we were young?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“This would happen all the time.”

“Only now,” Obi-Wan tugged, “we’re grown adults with children ourselves, and no Master Qui-Gon.”

“Very true.”

Satine’s hair took longer than it should have, but fortunately, she hadn’t unpacked much. 

“Now I wish Parna had come,” the Duchess whined, “Ben, carry my bags.”

The Jedi sighed, but did as he asked. Jaym met them in the hallway.

“Everyone is worried,” he smiled, “we thought you were dead.”

“Not dead,” Satine assured, “just tired.”

Jaym took the bags from Obi-Wan and headed down the hall. Satine pressed a quick peck on Obi-Wan’s cheek.

“Love you, Darling.”

“I love you too.”

The Duchess ran to catch up with Jaym.

“So-” he began

“No comments,” Satine interrupted, “we’re late.”

They weren’t that late, maybe because Korkie, Tristan, and Mara were goofing off with Ahsoka, but Satine saw Padme’s face.

“Very fashionable entrance,” the Senator smiled as they hugged, “we should’ve known.”

“Time slips away from us.” Satine shrugged.

“Duchess,” Anakin kissed her hand, “I hope you enjoyed your visit.”

“Don’t act so smug, Anakin,” Satine scolded, “and make sure Tyra doesn’t get into too much trouble.”

“I’ll try.”

Satine approached Ahsoka.

“Momdalore!”

“Keep an eye on my twins, will you?”

“Of course.” Ahsoka nodded

Satine turned, “Children, we don’t want to be late.”

It wasn’t till they were sitting down sipping tea that Korkie asked his mother how their father was doing.

“Fine,” Satine raised an eyebrow, “he seemed in a good mood when I left.”

“Honestly, Lady Mother,” Mara sighed, “try to be more subtle.”

“I hid you all from the Jedi Council for your entire lives,” Satine countered, “I would say I’m quite subtle.”

Tristan laughed, “Maybe you’re losing your touch.”

Satine gasped, “Never.”

  There was a small group of reporters waiting for their landing, eager to see the reunion. Tristan hugged his foster parents and put on quite a good show, thanking the Jedi for their rescue. Parna received her niece, though their reception was much less ostentatious.

“And you, Duke, is it good to be home?”

Korkie smiled, “Most certainly, and I would also like to thank our saviors, we really appreciate their kindness and hospitality.”

“Thank you for all the kind wishes we’ve received as well,” the Duchess added,placing a hand on Korkie’s shoulder, “our family is reunited again.”

The press could likely spin that comment, but Satine didn’t mind. She strode past them and into the palace, her children behind her.

“Lady Mother,” Korkie whispered as they climbed the stairs, “am I really just supposed to go back to school?”

Satine frowned, “What do you mean?”

“I want to learn more about what I can do,” he confessed, “and I think I need therapy.”

“So do I,” Mara agreed, “on both counts.”

Tristan also wanted to see a professional, he claimed that the Sith did strange things to your mind, and he definitely needed a break.

“Lady Mother?” “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more assistance,” she frowned, “I hate what they did to you.”

“The Sith Lord is in custody now,” Korkie smiled sadly, “Maul and Dooku won’t be able to do much.”

“They can still try.” Satine countered.

The Duchess didn’t know how right she was, that night, after Tristan went home to his foster family and Mara to her mentor, Satine and Korkie sat having dinner with her ladies. 

“Let me get some more tea, Your Grace,” Khaami stood, picking up a tray, “I’ll be back.”

Conversation continued until Parna noticed that it had been twenty minutes and Khaami had not returned.

“Why don’t you go check on her,” Satine suggested, “and bring the desert course.”

Parna grinned, “Gladly.”

Korkie was in the middle of complaining about how much schoolwork he’d have to catch up on when the glass doors to the balcony shattered. Both the Duchess and her son jumped up.

“What-”

“Stay where you are,” Dooku growled, “and this will go a lot easier.”

Maul held both Khaami and Parna behind a lightsaber, and Korkie raised his hands.

“Don’t try anything, boy,” the Count snarled, “we’re here for your mother.”

In spite of what Dooku had just said, Satine stepped in front of Korkie.

“We won’t hurt him, Satine, if you come with us.” the Count added, eyes blazing.

Maul growled and the Duchess squeezed her son’s hand.

“Alright,” she exhaled, “but my ladies must be freed as well.”

“No,” the Zabrak snarled, “they come with us.”

“Then why-”

Dooku picked up Satine using the force, clenching her waist with his mind.

“And for good measure,” the Count smiled, “this.”

Korkie flew back and hit his head on the wall, Satine wailed.

“Come on.”

They were prodded onto a ship, and Satine and her ladies had their wrists bound. Huddling the corner of a hull, Parna whispered that her brother could help.

“He’s dead,” Darth Maul called.

“No, Satine,” Dooku frowned, reading the Duchess' thoughts, “Mara wasn’t there.”

“Don’t you dare use her name.” Khaami spat.

“I killed Ursa Wren too,” Maul smiled, “it was great fun.”

Tears welled in Satine’s eyes, Ursa had raised her son for her, and now she was dead because of it.

“You monster!” Parna growled, voice breaking.

“Oh, right, he was your brother,” Maul laughed, “what an interesting family you made.”

Silence filled the ship.

“Where are we going, Kal?”

The Count smiled, “To your enemies.”

“I don’t have enemies.” Satine replied without thinking.

Maul snorted, “If you believe that, Duchess, you’re more naive than we thought.”

Satine retreated inwards? Who could be considered her enemy besides the Sith and the Separatists?

“Pre Vizsla.” the Duchess frowned.

Dooku and Maul didn’t acknowledge her, instead, they maneuvered the ship into the lower levels of Sundari. Satine swallowed, corruption on her planet was fueled by the Vizslas and their desire for war, them and all who followed them. No good would come of this.

“Do you have the prize?” a voice croaked over the radio.

“Yes,” Dooku smiled, “and the ladies.”

“Did you hear that, son,” the voice asked, “they even got the ladies too?”

Raucous laughter burst out from the radio and Satine shrank back. So many voices, so many people.

When they landed, Maul used the force to carry the ladies by their necks and bring them off the ship. The Duchess was greeted by Tarrei Vizsla, grinning maliciously as he shoved a gun to her back.

“Walk,” he ordered.

Satine followed Count Dooku as he made his way through a series of tunnels, bribing guards and telling passers by to spread the word. The Duchess had been caught.

“Ah, Duchess,” Pre Vizsla smiled when Satine arrived, “so good to see you’re looking well.”

The criminals around Vizsla laughed, like a pack of hyenas about to eat.

“Shame on you,” Satine growled, “all of you.”

“The poor Duchess,” Pre Vizsla gave a mock frown, “she thinks she hasn’t been ruining Mandalore.”

“You all should be ashamed of yourselves,” Khaami spat, “treating the Duchess like this, she’s saving Mandalore.”

“Ha,” Tarrei Vizsla laughed, “she degrades our very purpose.”

“And what purpose is that, Tarrei?” Satine asked.

“Restoring Mandalore to her former glory!”

The criminals cheered.

“War will get you nowhere,” Parna disagreed, “and many people will die that would’ve been saved by our Duchess.”

“Your Duchess,” Pre Vizsla growled, “is a Jedi-sympathizing b-”

“If you continue with this,” Satine warned, “know that none of you will survive.”

“On the contrary, Satine,” Count Dooku spoke up, “it is you who won’t survive.”

The Duchess had almost forgotten her ex-fiance was there, so she turned to him.

“What do you plan to do once I am rescued?”

“Bold assumption,” the Count smiled, “though I suppose you have faith in your Jedi lover.”

Satine pretended to be horrified, she had no idea if it worked.

“So it’s true?”

“Most definitely,” Count Dooku nodded, “and they most definitely have children.”

“Who do you think you are,” Parna spat, “making up these lies?”

Count Dooku ignored Satine’s lady and announced that he had a plan to set in motion. The Duchess growled at him as he left. Pre Vizsla turned to face Satine.

“First things first.”

The pain in her cheek appeared out of nowhere and throbbed. Laughter echoed in Satine’s ears.

“How dare you,” Khaami thundered, “how dare you strike the Duchess!”

“Oh no,” a criminal whined, “what are you gonna do about it?”

They were led to a cell and locked in with such flair Satine wondered if there was a camera. Suddenly, Parna burst into tears.

“He’s dead,” she wailed, “dead, dead, dead.”

Satine gripped the cell bars tight.

“I’m sorry, Parna,” Khaami whispered, “I’m so, so sorry.”

”Awful,” Satine shook her head, “these demons deserve hell.”

“Careful, Duchess,” Tarrei Vizsla appeared, “now you sound like one of us.”

Satine growled at him.

“Why are you here?” Khaami spat, holding tight to Parna.

“To guard you, torment you,” the former Count shrugged, “it’s all the same to me.”

Satine glared at the Mandalorian, how dare he identify with her people. Her good people.

“But I do have one question, Duchess,” Vizsla smiled, “are the rumors true.”

Angry, Satine stood and spat in Tarrei’s face.

“You know, I much prefer words.”

“You’re vile, Tarrei,” she barked, “you will regret working with Mandalore’s enemies.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Vizsla raised his hand, “your enemies are my friends.”

“Go away.” Parna sniffed.

The former Count laughed and Satine’s rage fueled. The bars of the cell began to shake.

Tarrei’s eyes went wide, “What-”

Satine glowered at her former ally and the bars shook harder.

“Are you doing this?”

The Duchess let go of the bars and stepped back, but they still wiggled uncomfortably. The eldar Vizsla ran in the opposite direction. The bars stopped shaking as he turned round a corner.

“Satine?” Parna questioned, eyes still red.

“That wasn’t me,” the Duchess shook her head, “honestly, it might’ve been the force.”

Parna snorted.

“You and the force,” Khaami laughed, “allies, who would’ve thought?”

They sat in silence until Tarrei Vizsla returned with his son and three other guards.

“She made the bars shake, it was like,” he gasped, “it was like-”

“Are you a Jedi?”

Satine burst into laughter, completely astonished at the unexpected comment. Parna stared dumbfounded at the criminal who asked while Khaami mocked him.

Pre Vizsla turned to the man, “A Royal Mandalorian Jedi?”

“There’s no other explanation.” Tarrei agreed.

Pre Vizsla looked back at Satine.

“Make the bars shake.”

Satine stared at the man as if he were crazy.

“Well?”

“I can’t.”

“She’s lying.” Tarrei frowned.

Satine gestured, “It wasn’t me!” 

“Son,” the former Count was firm, “it was her.”

Pre Vizsla stared at Satine for a long time.

“What possible explanation is there?” he concluded at last.

The Duchess could think of quite a few reasons, fortunately, no one in front of her was a mind reader.

“Leave them, what can they do?”

Tarrei Vizsla wouldn’t speak to the prisoners for the next three days. When Satine awoke on the fourth day, her neck stiff from sleeping awkwardly, she sat up to the opening of the cell door.

“Come on!”

The Duchess wasn’t expecting to be yanked by her hair, and gave a little yelp when her scalp was pulled.

“Hurry up!” Pre Vizsla barked.

Something must’ve been wrong, and this filled Satine with joy.

“Stop smiling,” Tarrei slapped her, “you’ll regret it.”

Angry, the Duchess growled, but no one seemed to hear her. She and her ladies were being tugged along a back hallway that seemed to have hardly been used. Trash littered the floor and more than once Satine stumbled.

“Hurry!” someone barked.

An explosion boomed in the background, and it rattled the Duchess so much that even when they were in a ship flying away, her teeth still chattered. In the pack, Khaami and Parna huddled together, shoved between boxes of illegal substances. Satine was tied in the back by the fresher, and it smelled awful.

“Oh, suck it up.” Pre Vizsla spat.

There were two other criminals besides the Vizslas, which seemed to be a small group for precious cargo.

“What happened?” Satine asked.

Tarrei Vizsla snorted.

“Like we’d tell you.” a criminal answered.

They had no problem getting off of Mandalore, the Vizslas had too many friends, what shocked Satine was when their ship was shot down while they went to refuel on a desert planet she’d never heard of. It wasn’t a bad crash, seeing as they were caught by a ray and lowered to the ground.

“What-”

The ship door burst open and Khaami screamed. Gruffy looking soldiers with giant weapons entered the ship.

“Ah,” a man, their leader smiled, “fellow criminals I see.”

“What do you want?” Pre Vizsla asked, tone sharp.

“You came to our planet,” the leader gestured wildly, “it’s us who should be asking that question, friends.”

“We’re not our friends.”

Parna gasped, “You’re Hondo Ohnaka?”

The man turned, a smile on his face.

“A prisoner with sensibilities? That’s rare.”

“I’m Parna Supreis,” Satine’s lady began, “and-”

Satine gasped as Parna was gagged.

“Are you,” Hondo grinned, “then you must be the Duchess of Mandalore, no?”

The Duchess watched as he came close, then spat in his face.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hondo snapped, “men, take them.”

”Now hold on-”

“Who’s in charge here?”

Khaami pointed at the Vizslas, “They are.”

“Then take them too,” the pirate ordered, “the government will likely want them.”

Satine watched in horror as the other two criminals were shot. Only this time, she didn’t feel quite as bad, and that scared her.

“Come on, ladies,” a pirate tugged on their new bonds, “it’s time to go.”

A couple men snickered and dread settled in Satine’s stomach, this was much worse than she had anticipated.

They were forced onto speeders and taken to the pirate hideout, which was much grander on the inside than out.

“Are those Zygerrian rugs?” Satine frowned.

Hondo laughed, “They most certainly are.”

Zygerrian rugs were made by slave labor and very expensive.

“You’re disgusting.” Khaami growled.

“Now, now, that won’t earn you any favors.”

Satine and her ladies were placed in a cell, all tied together at the hip with some glowing contraption. Fortunately, their cell was actually nice. There was nothing to aid in an escape of course, but there were pillows and couches.

“This is for our most distinguished guests.” Hondo smiled proudly.

The Vizslas were put across from them, in a sour smelling hold that reflected on their true nature.

“You’ll regret this, Satine.” Pre Vizsla growled.

“What did I do,” the Duchess asked angrily, “wasn’t this all your fault?”

Hondo laughed, “Enjoy yourselves, friends.”

Satine, Parna, and Khaami all decided that one person should keep watch. Satine had the first slot.

“Duchess.”

Satine jumped backward, “When did you get here?”

“I’ve just had a very interesting call with your sister,” Hondo smiled, “she has captured Count Dooku and is willing to trade him.”

Satine grinned, “You must enjoy having the Count in your custody.”

“Oh, I do,” Hondo nodded, “almost as much as I enjoy having you and your ladies.”

Satine frowned, “When is the trade happening?”

“First,” the pirate held up his hand, “you must choose the two prisoners the Count will replace.”

Satine fumbled for words, “May I conference with my ladies?”

“You may.”

Gently, the Duchess woke her ladies and explained the situation.

“We can’t let the Vizslas go alone,” Khaami whispered, “they could escape.”

“But you both deserve safety.” Satine stated.

“We should definitely send Pre,” Parna decided, “and one of us should accompany him.”

“Oh, Duchess!”

Satine turned.

“If you chose to go, you will be the only one released.” Hondo advised.

The Duchess frowned.

“Parna should go,” Khaami whispered, “guard Pre and give testimony.”

“But-”

“It will give you time to mourn.” Khaami added.

The Duchess announced her decision, and the next day, Parna and Pre were taken outside and Count Dooku was thrown in the cell across from Satine.

“Kal.”

“Satine.”

They did not speak for two days, a stalemate occurring when both sides of the battle were prisoners, but finally, Hondo spoke for them.

“I have to ask,” he began, “how was the engagement party?”

“We never threw one.” Count Dooku answered.

“What, but surely-”

“I throw garden parties all the time, Hondo,” Satiine smiled bitterly, “it’s a natural part of being in charge.” “That I can understand,” the pirate nodded, “I throw parties as well.”

“Do you?” the Duchess asked.

“I do, for instance,” the pirate smiled, “I’m currently throwing a party to celebrate your capture.”

Dooku snorted.

“It’s true,” Hondo opened her cell, “and you’re going to be paraded around.”

Satine ground her teeth as the count laughed.

“Her Grace is royalty,” Khaami gasped, “you will not treat her as some peasant!”

“I shall,” Hondo grinned, “and if you don’t cooperate, your lady will suffer.”

Satine growled, “She has a family.”

“Then you appreciate what you must do.”

Satine swallowed, standing on shaky legs.

“You will regret this.” the Duchess warned.

Hondo rolled his eyes and tugged Satine by her hair into a room that stank of pirates. They laughed at her.

“So this is the Duchess of Mandalore?” one asked.

Satine balled her fists and stared at the voice.

“Angry, aren’t you?”

Suddenly, tremors attacked the ground.

“I am Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore, Second of my Name, and Lady Krewella,” the ground shifted, “and you will treat me with respect.”

A pirate snorted and Satine turned her fury on him.

“What is it, peasant,” she asked, “can’t stand being reminded of your place?”

The man would’ve lunged at her had he not fallen on the uneven ground.

Hondo frowned, “Duchess, is that-”

Shaking with fury, Satine shouted, “Silence!” 

Rocks began to fall from the roof. Then it went black. 

“Satine?”

The Duchess groaned Khaami’s name.

“It’s alright, you’re back in the cell.”

It hurt to open her eyes, but Satine managed.

“They think you caused an earthquake.”

“What?”

Dooku groaned.

“Honestly, Satine, you heard what your lady said.”

Khaami helped Satine over to a lounging couch so she could lie down.

“I knew it,” Tarrei shouted, “you are a Jed!”

Satine sighed, Dooku gave the Mandalorians a strange look.

“It’s true,” Vizsla continued, talking to Dooku, “she made the prison bars shake back in Sundari.”

Dooku raised an eyebrow, “Did she?”

“She did.”

“That wasn’t her,” Khaami shook her head, “it was-”

“There’s no other explanation!” Tarrei gestured.

“It sounds like your Jedi-Spawn are helping you from miles away,” Dooku snarled, “the blood of your force-sensitive bastards is within you, and their midichlorians have fused into your body.”

Satine gaped.

“That can’t be true.” Khaami whispered.

“Either that or you’re expecting a force-sensitive child.”

Khaami turned to Satine.

“It’s too early to tell.” she mumbled back.

Vizsla’s eyes went wide, “Kenobi is the father of your children!”

“Oh, please-”

“It is true,” Dooku added, “their force signature is a mix of yours, his, and their own attitudes.”

Satine glanced at Khaami.

“You,” Tarrei pointed, “you’ve been working for the Duchess longer than the Duke of Sundari has been alive, you would know!”

Khaami held up her hands, horrified, “No, no, that’s not true.”

“Is it not?”

No one had noticed Hondo in the corner.

“Because I just did an image search of the Duke of Sundari, and he looks a lot like Kenobi.”

Satine opened her mouth and closed it.

“Why would you care?” she eventually asked, quiet.

“Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi is a dear friend of mine,” Hondo bowed, “it’s an honor to meet the mother of his children.”

Satine swallowed, “Will you tell him I’m here,” Satine asked, “will you let me go?”

“Not cheaply,” Hondo answered, “but he knows you're here, he and Skywalker might come to collect Dooku.”

Khaami walked right up to the bars, “You must let her see him.”

“I’ll think about it,” Hondo hesitated, “I am very interested in this story if you must know.”

“Please,” Satine begged, “please.”

The pirate looked at her once more before leaving.

“Please,” the Duchess yelled, “please!”

It took two months for the Republic to decide what needed to happen, and by then, Satine knew she was pregnant again. Prime Minister Jaru was coming for Tarrei Vizsla, Pre had already been sentenced for life, and it was likely his father would face the same charge. Anakin and Obi-Wan were coming for Dooku, Satine knew lots of money had been exchanged. For some reason, no one had a plan for the Duchess. Korkie had been staunchly advocating for her return, being forced to take on many of her duties and claiming it wasn’t his place to do so. However, the asking price for the Duchess was so high, that Mandalore couldn’t pay it without suffering financially.

“You’re cruel.” Satine decided, speaking to Hondo.

“I might be,” the pirate shrugged, “but business is business.”

[themadauthorshatter]

Do you guys know what could've been kind of interesting to see in SGE? More specifically, the first book? Tedros realizing he has some possible feelings for Agatha while still thinking he's in love with Sophie.

Think of it like this:

Tedros trying to be closer with Sophie, i.e. trying to talk about his life back in Camelot, any frustrations he's having in his classes or with his friends, or even just wanting to know more about HER, but Sophie only hugs his arm, rests her head on his shoulder, or simply holds his hand and tells him she loves him.

Upon seeing this, his mind and eyes drift to Agatha, who is doing something like getting some homework done early or practicing some magic. Maybe he sees Kiko and Agatha together and Kiko is complaining about accidentally dying her hair green and making it all spiky, so Agatha waves a glowimg finger and fixes it right up for her, explaining to Kiko, who wanted blonde hair, that she's beautiful with her dark hair and Tristan is an idiot if he doesn't see that; not a very "Agatha" line, but I imagine she'd be tired of seeing and hearing Kiko cry and is genuine in her words because Kiko's nice to her and a pretty decent friend.

Maybe a challenge happens where people from the opposite side partner with each other and Tedros OBVIOUSLY partners with Sophie.

Agatha, however, doesn't get a chamce to think before Hester and Anadil equally take a step forward-

AND HORT CRASHES INTO AGATHA INSTEAD-He wants to get Sophie back for using him, and Hester is not taking her away from him.

Even with a possible concussion, Agatha and Hort do well, the challenge being getting across a deep and raging river by walking across a log or something, I'm not good at making up challenges for fairytales.

Because she's in heels and doesn't want to ruin her makeup, Sophie crawls across the log rather than walks, which makes Tedros have to slow down and wait for her.

I should probably mention that this log is close to the water and is cracking beneath them, so THEY NEED TO GTFO the log.

Tedros knows this, but doesn't want to leave Sophie(both because they'll get points taking away for leaving their partner and he's still pretty sure he loves her).

Chekhov's gun fires. The log breaks and both Sophie and Tedros fall in and are swept away beneath the surface.

Agatha follows with most of the students and Yuba following.

Because she's a smart person, can swin, and doesn't care about her looks, unlike many of the other students, Agatha recruits Chaddick, because he's strong, and Anadil, with she has rats, which are CRAZY intelligent, and they find another dead tree or a vine or something to put over the river, thin enough for Sophie and Tedros to grab, but thick enough that it won't break. Anadil kicks her maguc into overdrive and grows her rats to be the size of pitbulls, and Chaddick and Agatha use them to get to Tedros and Sophie out of the river before the tree or vine snaps.

I'm sorry for making Anadil OP, but she's exhausted when her rats are back to their normal sizes, too tired to even stand up as she glares at Agatha and tells her, "That is the last time I'm helping you."

Tedros storms back to the Evers with Sophie trailing behind him, begging for him to listen as she apologizes.

Under water, she had flailed and held Tedros down as he tried to get above the surface, which almost made them both drown.

He doesn't talk to her at lunch, but does notice Chaddick awkwardly commending Agatha for her quick thinking. By awkward, I mean it's almost painful to watch him find the right words to thank this "witch" for helping to save his best friend.

Again, this is an awkward exchange and it takes a few minutes for Agath to understand Chaddick and not get offended.

Tedros thinks on this and considers all the "connection" moments he's had like the goblin challenge where he mistook Agatha for Sophie and when he picked Agatha's coffin.

Sophie notices him staring and asks if everything's alright and why he isn't paying attention to her; water on the brain.

He shrugs, smiles, and says it's nothing, which makes Sophie smile and go back to talkimg, Tedros inconspicuously watching Agatha cackle her giddy ass off when Beatrix accidentally falls in mud while trying to approach Tedros in glass slippers. Kiko laughs behind her hand, but is close to tears. Agatha does magic her clean, but Beatrix still pouts and gets a little mad, even if the squeal she did was nothing short of hilarious.

Trial By Tale happens, events and all, but Tedros doesn't instantly break up with Sophie. He keeps his distance instead.

One night, after he's won and hasn't spoken a word to Sophie or sat near her at lunch, eating in his room instead to avoid her and because he's still a little injured, he is awake and can't sleep, so he wanders the quiet school halls, watching snow fall and reminiscing about home and how his school year's been, maybe even having a made up conversation with his father about what's happened.

HOW COINCIDENTAL THAT AGATHA IS ALSO OUT OF HER ROOM AND LEANING AGAINST A LEDGE TO ALSO WATCH THE SNOW.

This is the conversation between them that follows:

(Agatha turns to look at him with annoyed eyes)"... Here to call me a witch again?"

"Well, as long as you don't punch me again, I won't."

(Narrows her eyes a little mire before turning back to the snow.) "Why are you out here?"

(Tedros leans against the wall facing her and tips his head back, watching the snow.) "Can't sleep. Hester's demon got me better than I thought." (Chuckle) "I still have a bruise on my side from the thing."

(Agatha gulps as she remembers how it broke into pieces and attacked him, but says nothing.)

"How about you? Does the witch have you doing her work for her again?"

(Agatha gasps, surprised by the jab to her friend and at how he figured it out. Tedros's face is mostly expressionless, though he does raise an eyebrow as if to say, 'Go 'head. Prove me wrong.' She relaxes again and shakes her head.) "My room doesn't have a good view of the trees. I bet it's snowing in Gavaldon, too. Harder than it is here, maybe."

"Gavaldon?"

"My village. Where Sophie and I came from. Our home."

(Tedros laughs) "I'm sorry, how long have you two been friends for?"

"Long enough. What about you? What brings the prince of Camelot out to watch the first snow of winter?"

(Tedros's smile drops as he returns his gaze to outside.) "Like I said. I couldn't sleep."

"Why are you REALLY out here?"

(Tedros is silent for a few seconds, biting his lip because he's obviously uncomfortable.) "... Your village. Gavaldon. Do you... miss it?"

(After another second of silence, Agatha responds.) "A little bit. We were better friends there, at least. And I miss my cat."

(Tedros humms quietly as he gives a slight nod, biting back a 'witch' comment.)

"I guess you're used to the attention. Being the prince and all."

(Tedros shrugs and scratches the back of his neck.) "Sort of. Not really. No one ever followed me around like Beatrix. Could you see a maid being on my tail like SHE does?"

(Agatha can't help but laugh, Tedros chucklong with her before his smile drops.)

"I don't know. I mean..." (He leans on the ledge.) "I like being with my mates and all, but... it gets annoying when there's always a couple of girls giggling at you behind the corner. I miss my room, too. And the library. And the court yard. And the garden. And the field."

(His voice breaks at that last one, but Agatha doesn't bring it up. Instead, it's her turn to talk about home.)

"I miss my mom. We didn't really get along, but she's my family, Reaper, too."

"You named your cat Reaper?"

"He took care of our rat and bird problem. You'd be surprised at how many blue jays come to a cemetery." (Agatha's smile drops.) "I miss that, too, the cemetery. It was quiet. And just reading fairytales in my room instead of studying to BE in one."

(Tedros nods at that, no joke or quip.) "It's all fun until you learn how dangerous it all really is." (He is silent for a second, gulping and running his hand through his hair.) "Thanks, by the way."

(Agatha turns to him, playing coy because she's not used to the Evers ACTUALLY being nice to her, save for Kiko.) "For what?"

"The Trial. Saving me. I don't think I'd be here, if you didn't."

(Agatha blushes and looks at her hands.) "No... No problem. I mean... Well... I guess that..."

(Tedros smiles and slips some hair behind her ear and kisses her hand.) "'You're welcome, Tedros. I hope you can repay me, somehow, Tedros.'"

(Agatha almost tells him to forgive Sophie, but instead says something else.) "Can you talk to Sophie? She's sorry about what happened and she really does love you."

(Tedros frowns.) "Love isn't pulling someone down with you when you're under water. And neither is leaving your teammate to fight alone."

"You said you wanted to repay me, this is how. Do you really want to be indebted to a witch?"

(Tedros reluctantly nods.) "Fine. I'll talk to her."

"Thank you."

(Agatha turns and walks back to her room, but Tedros only watches her leave, speaking when she's out of ear shot.) "I don't think you're a witch."

I feel like I could add more, but this will be enough for now.

I hope you guys enjoyed, sorry if this came off as fanfiction-y or any of the characters were a little OP, magic or otherwise. And like I said in my progress post, this is just what I would have done to have Tedros and Agatha fall in love, or start falling in love

Either way, I hope you enjoyed this

Incase you're interested, here's a link to part 2: https://themadauthorshatter.tumblr.com/post/642332442965983232/im-bored-im-continuing-with-that-tagatha

[xviruserrorx]

Whala! Another sneak peak but this one is from the main (merlin Au) story that helps connect everything together. I have been working on this for many months, trying to get the plot right and all the events, as a lot happens. But here is officially the first sneak peak/announcement of it.

This bit is actually at the very end but there is no spoilers for the whole thing... Kinda...sorta? I mean tags always kinda give spoilers already so.... But also yes I know the cut is weird but any farther and their would be actual spoilers.

"Where did all these kids come from anyways?" 

Arthur gestured to the field where said group of teens were running about. Blossomed flowers  and blades of grass under their feet as they chased after one another.

"You were harboring half in the castle right under my nose, didn't know you were stashing them around other places too." 

"Harboring?" Merlin mumbled under his breath in an offended tone. Arthur chuckled at his offense of his obvious foibles and inclination that was present with eight teens.

Merlin sighed, "Will says I have a problem." His tone almost reluctantly as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Arthur scoffed, "You say it like it's an addiction." 

"It was an accident." Merlin defended.

"You accidentally ended up with eight kids in your hands?"

Merlin simply shrugged his shoulders in response as if he didn't know how each one ended up in his care. Even if not under his supervision in the castle but rather with people he trusted would keep them safe. Though their individual safety and how much they all meant to him was all the same.

"When you put it like that…'' he mumbled.

"It sounds pretty bad, Merlin."

"No it-," Merlin fumbled with his words then huffed, "just a little bit."

Their eyes locked before they both chuckled. Arthur for the ridiculous situation his servant had gotten himself into yet again. And Merlin, who knew the thought that Arthur was just as bad. An attachment already formed, that if one of them were to be injured or hurt, Arthur would be there, beside Merlin, to help. 

A bout of laughter drew their attention back to the field. Watching as Mordred ran up and caught Daegal. He wrapped his arms around Daegal's midsection as he lifted his feet from the ground and spun him around. Daegal, too busy laughing to try to bother escaping. 

Merlin smiled, "You and Morgana are to blame for Mordred though." He reached over and stole a couple of grapes from Arthur's plate.

Arthur quickly shot him a pointed look. Ignoring Merlin's thieving hands as the sight was nowhere out of the normal. But rather for the comment he made. Arthur now knew exactly the story of how everything went down many years before.

Merlin caught Arthur's look on him before he looked away. He looked back to say something but nothing came out. He rolled his eyes. "Okay, maybe I'm to blame for that one too." 

The king smiled at Merlin's unusual habit or so to speak, while he shook his head. 

"I can't help it!" Merlin exclaimed.

"You have a kind heart, Merlin." Something if never said out loud, could be said by glances and unneeded words; that Arthur hoped never changed.

"Merlin!" 

"Arthur!"

They both looked up to find Daegal and Mordred waving them over. 

Merlin in turn held up his hand, telling both to wait a second, but that they would come. Everyone else with them, doing the same. Calling or running off to drag the others into their game. 

"They all admire you," Arthur said, "admire each other in a way too." 

Merlin smirked, "This is our family." He pushed himself up to his feet 

"No one has any family left so… I guess we made our own." 

They both looked over as Morgana and Gwen got dragged up and over to the rest by Kara and Drea.

"Everyone here." Merlin continued. He looked down and gave Arthur a content smile before back to what was going on.

He looked over to see Gilli and Lamia doing their part as Will and Freya were dragged from their laid back relaxed positions on the grass. Merlin wished Lancelot was there with them as well. Instead too busy inside with George, keeping the rest of the knights from following them and curious what the group was doing out in the fields.

But he knew one day, like Arthur, Gwen and Lancelot they would soon find out. Hopefully joining them out among the flowers and open space where they could run and not be running from the said knights.

"I think Tristan and Isolde are beginning to grow fond as well." He said and looked over to see Eoghan and Sefa pulling the couple over as well. Sefa's hair having just been braided back by Isolde, now was bound to become a mess again with all the running about.

Leaving only him and Arthur left to make their way over to the others.

Also this has not been proofread or read through at all, please excuse grammer and horrible pacing.

[johaerys-writes]

Dorian Pavus/Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 37: A Trevelyan’s Word

Tristan and Dorian spend some much needed quiet time together. Some fluff, a tiiiiny bit of angst (blink and you’ll miss it), and some important conversations.

Read on AO3 | Read from the beginning

Libraries had always been one of Dorian’s favourite places to be, ever since he could remember himself.

After having lived in so many different Circles, and having worked and studied in many more, gravitating towards the nearest library wherever he happened to be was something like second nature to him. He remembered the layout of every one he’d visited in startling detail: the neat rows of bookcases of the Carastes Circle; the circular library tower of the Circle of Trevis, with its tinted glass windows that had been specifically designed to protect the priceless tomes from the scorching sun and the dust; the vast Library of Minrathous, where one could easily lose themselves in unless they had a chart, a compass, a detailed floor plan and perhaps said a prayer or two. Regardless of the size, layout or method of archiving, finding what he was looking for had always been a swift matter, each library’s secrets revealing themselves to him readily after one brief sweep of the many rooms and shelves.

Never once had he encountered a library as reticent as the one in Skyhold.

After several months there, he still could not figure out the organisational system that the books had once been stored in. He’d assumed it was because of all the different kinds of people that had once resided there, but even in the oldest and most dilapidated libraries he had visited there was some method to the madness. In Skyhold, however, there was just madness.

Books on Pyromancy, which he had personally moved to the top floor - where they belonged, alongside the treatises on Primal magic- would magically appear on the lower floor shelves, alongside the tomes on Entropy magic. The scrolls of ancient Tevinter glyphs and spells, which he had found after sorting through the multitude of Chantry books that seemed to be practically sprouting out of the soil in that place, and that he had painstakingly cleaned from dust and arranged in alphabetical order in the booth next to his own, had now disappeared into thin air. The apprentice archivists, when he’d asked them, had simply stared at him with the sparkling gazes of well-fed heifers. One of them had had the audacity to look him straight in the eye and unironically say:

“If it’s Spirit glyphs you’re interested in, why don’t you read Former Second Enchanter Muriel’s research? Those scrolls you're looking for are outdated, anyway.”

Outdated? Outdated! The very notion had had Dorian grinding his teeth. As if seeing Former Second Enchanter Muriel’s sour visage every day, and listening to her endless tirades about Tevinter and anything else that displeased her wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t touch that tiresome crone’s research with a ten foot pole— no, make it twenty feet. One could never be too safe.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance as he shoved the book on Alchemy he’d found lying forgotten by the side of the wrong bookcase back in its proper shelf. If he’d known the level of ignorance and buffoonery he would be met with in the South, he would have seriously reconsidered ever leaving Minrathous. Oh, certainly, his homeland was a nest of vipers, but at least Tevinters knew how to organise a dratted library.

Now, if only he could find who in the Maker’s dratted name had gone through his dratted scrolls—

A glance at the research table across the rotunda promptly answered his question.

“Helisma,” he grumbled through clenched teeth as he stomped towards her. Priceless scrolls and documents were gathered willy-nilly in her arms, as well as the arms of the two apprentices that trailed her. The Tranquil looked up at him calmly when he barred her way.

“May I ask what on earth you have been doing with all the scrolls? You are the one who snatched them away, and don’t you even try to deny it.”

“I moved them to the underground storage rooms.”

That she could deliver those lines without an ounce of emotion was entirely bewildering, despite the fact that she was, indeed, a Tranquil. He forced his lips into a tight, sarcastic smile. “Why would you do that, pray tell? What have the poor things done to offend you so? Surely whatever it was could have been resolved over some tea and crumpets, instead of banishment to the nearest dungeon.”

She simply blinked at him, her tone completely flat as she informed him, “The upper levels of the library are reserved for leather bound tomes and codexes. The underground storage rooms are where scrolls, manuscripts and loose documents should be kept.”

“Helisma, my dear,” Dorian uttered tightly, trying his best not to lose his composure and start yelling in the middle of the library where everybody and their aunts could hear, “we have been over this. There is no reason for the scrolls to be there. They are needed here, where they can be used. The storage rooms are as damp as it gets, certainly you must be able to see that keeping ancient and fragile scrolls there is not the wisest course of action?”

“The humidity in the storage rooms is less than forty percent. That is lower than the Circle of Amaranthine’s storage rooms by five point two degrees.”

“And you’re saying it as if it’s a good thing? If the humidity in the Minrathous library was half as high, the master archivist would be having an apoplexy!” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose, taking in a deep breath. There clearly wasn’t any way of making sense of this, and he would sooner teach a mule to dance than talk Helisma out of her ways. “Very well. Have it your way. I’ll see what I’ll be able to salvage from this mess.” He sniffed and tossed his head back in defiance as he turned around and stomped back the way he’d come, leaving a blank-eyed Helisma behind.

The chill in the lower vaults was unmistakable, cutting through his many layers of clothing and piercing him right to the bone. Dorian resisted the urge to frown as he gathered his cloak around his shoulders. Any more of that, and he would getting wrinkles before his time, and he had enough as it was. Ever since coming to the South, he had noticed a few more around his eyes that he was sure had not been there a few months before. If this went on any longer, he would be looking like a shrivelled up prune by the time this entire Inquisition business was done.

The stray thought made him stop short, there, in the half dark and quiet of the vaults. Part of him wasn’t sure if he wished the Inquisition business to be done, he realised. Of course, he wanted Corypheus and his Venatori to be defeated, more than anyone. If this were done, the world would have a chance to recover, and with it his country’s reputation. Still… the thought of the future brought with it a certain amount of trepidation. Trevelyan would ultimately be the one to face all those dangers, and no one knew how he would be affected. His life was on the line, day after day, and Dorian more than anyone could see how it was stretching him thin. Even if everything went according to plan though, even if they both survived this ordeal, no one knew what the future held for the two of them. For the time being, they were bound by this common cause. Beyond this… only time could tell.

The worry and unease that he so often tried to brush away slithered to the surface. Dorian took a deep breath to quell it. There was no point thinking of the future, when everything about the present was so uncertain. Trevelyan was alive and well now, as much as he could be, and that was all that mattered.

Brushing the thoughts aside, Dorian turned right as soon as he’d reached the storage room he was looking for. It was the farthest down the corridor, with only a lone torch burning.

Torches. Amidst all this paper. The horror.

The sounds beyond the door of the storage room quickly revealed that there was someone else there, shifting through the many scrolls and documents in the cramped space. At least she had the sense to conjure a small ball of light, which was now hovering above her as she searched, its halo glossing her cropped black hair. She gave a small start when she heard him entering, her large blue eye widening.

“Lord Pavus,” Grand Enchanter Fiona breathed, pressing her palm to her chest. Or was it just Fiona, now? “You frightened me.”

“My apologies,” he said. He clasped his hands behind his back and glanced at the scrolls she had been shifting through. “I see I wasn’t the only one who has found the scrolls Helisma has banished down here useful.”

“Ah, yes. She does have some strong opinions about where everything should be stored. I’m not entirely certain I agree.”

She gave Dorian the barest hints of a smile. Their interactions had always been kept serious and professional, both of them taking care not to linger in each other’s presence too long, despite them practically sharing the same workspace. At first, it was because Dorian wasn’t quite sure what to make of her, and he had the suspicion that his presence made her just as uneasy. However, he had soon found out that she didn’t particularly invite any interaction beyond the typical. The former Grand Enchanter and Grey Warden had kept a low profile ever since joining the Inquisition, more so after they had taken permanent residence in Skyhold, and Dorian didn’t blame her for that. There had been enough talk about her, even without her stirring any sort of trouble or gossip.

Even so, the fact that the former leader of the mage rebellion, who had —unknowingly, allegedly— struck a deal with the Venatori and had been banished from Ferelden because of it, could go by largely unnoticed at all was an impressive feat. Still, she managed to do just that. Most days.

“Is there something in particular you’re looking for? Can I be of any help?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. You’re much better versed with those scrolls than I assume I am.” A compliment? That was promising. “I’m searching for Magister Domitius’ research on reanimated undead. I do remember seeing a copy a while ago, in loose papers, but it disappeared before I had time to properly bind it. Have you perhaps seen it?”

Dorian narrowed his eyes in thought as he looked around the stacks. It didn’t take long for him to spot a few sheets of paper hastily rolled and bound with a leather cord. “That seems to be it,” he said as he dragged it out carefully and handed it to her. Fiona inclined her head in gratitude, unwrapping the document with slow, careful motions.

“Thank you. That was most helpful.”

“Anytime.” Dorian took a step back, giving the mage some time and space to inspect the discovery. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly as she read, her lips pursing in thought. She was short in stature, and could easily be overlooked if she wished it to be so. Yet there was something about her, a commanding presence and a stubborn streak that was hard to define, and to hide.

“I studied this one many years ago," he mused, crossing his arms before his chest. "It’s a rather interesting treatise, although some of the glyphs for releasing the spells that bind the undead are quite crude.”

“Crude, but effective. That is just what is needed right now. I hear the undead have claimed many lives all over Thedas, and will likely claim many more.”

“So grim, so early in the day? Grand Enchanter, I expected more from you.”

The elf glanced up at him, her lips quirked in amusement. “Former Grand Enchanter, if you please. Or you can just call me Fiona, as everyone else does these days.” The smile faded away as she looked down at the scroll once more. “One does learn to be grim after seeing as many deaths as I have. It is a hard thing to shake off.”

The silence that followed between them was somewhat awkward, with her carefully studying the writing on the yellowed and musty pages. Still, if there was something Dorian was good at, that was filling the silence. “So how come you’re studying the undead? I wasn’t aware that necromancy was your field of study.”

“It is not. The Inquisitor reported a large number of demons and undead in Crestwood, and some of the Inquisition mages were assigned with coming up with strategies to defend the villages until the Inquisitor is able to close the rift. I have experience battling the creatures, so I volunteered to investigate the matter further and to train the new recruits.”

Dorian’s stomach tightened ever so slightly. There were so many issues that demanded Trevelyan’s attention, he often wondered how the man found time to eat or sleep. He certainly seemed to be doing much less of both these days. That he found time to spend with Dorian at all when they were in Skyhold was a marvel in and of itself. Even before leaving for Crestwood, before the ordeal they’d both been through with the demon, he'd seemed so gaunt and pale, wrung out. The Inquisition was stretching him thin. Dorian wondered if ever the time would come that it would break him.

He took a deep breath, trying to swallow past the knot in his throat. He wouldn’t let it come to this, not if he could help it. He would stand by him, help him as much as he could. That was what a partner did, after all, wasn’t it?

“It is very noble of you, to offer to help with the matter,” he told her, in an effort to distract himself from his thoughts.

“Not at all. It is the least I can do to aid the Inquisition’s efforts.” She let out a soft sigh as she rolled the scroll back up carefully. “The way things ended in Redcliffe, the Inquisitor could have demanded anything he wished. Instead, he offered us a full alliance, and our dignities back. That is not something I am about to forget.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose he could have ordered you to become the Inquisition court jesters, as I hear the Orlesians seem to be doing with their mages.”

Fiona stared at him for a brief moment, until she realised he was jesting. She let out a chuckle then, shaking her head lightly. “I am glad he did not.”

Dorian joined her in laughter, the awkwardness between them dissipating somewhat. Affection and a strange sort of pride blossomed within him when he remembered Trevelyan in the hall of Redcliffe castle, only the bearer of the mark back then, with no real authority to his name, standing tall and proud before the King of Ferelden himself and declaring the mages equal partners of the Inquisition. Everyone had thought him mad, Dorian included. Looking back, perhaps it was around then that Dorian had fallen in love with him in earnest. A fool he certainly was, but a brave, beautiful, extraordinary fool at that.

“He has been known to make some interesting choices,” Dorian said, not quite able to hide the tenderness in his voice. “Some of them correct.”

“I dare hope it’s more than some.” She glanced up at him, and the pale light of her spell danced in her eyes. “The world has taken much from all of us, I suspect most of all from him. Still, I have faith that if anyone can see us through it all, it’s him. Not many would have done what he did. To declare an alliance with the mages, to shun the Chantry, to forge a new path, a new way of doing things... that takes courage. Or madness.”

“He has a fair bit of both.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “He is… an odd character. His ideas are odder still. Quite unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” She tilted her head to the side ever so slightly, and Dorian thought he saw something in her eyes, something akin to sadness, even more akin to sympathy as she regarded him. “I suppose it’s the same for you, yes?”

Dorian straightened, preparing himself to deflect the comment, to deny it, but something stopped him. He let out a soft breath instead, gazing at her levelly. “Yes. I suppose it is.”

A brief silence stretched between them. Fiona smiled fleetingly before looking down at the scrolls in her hands once more. “Thank you for your help in finding these. It is much appreciated.”

Dorian stepped to the side to let her pass. She left, her footsteps barely making a sound.

He let out a sigh into the quiet of the small storage room. Fiona’s words about Trevelyan had been kind, almost fond, and certainly much nicer than what many others he’d heard, yet even she couldn’t hide the depth of her expectations, her hopes. Dorian didn’t envy Trevelyan the power of his position much. The world expected so much of him, sometimes it did feel like it was perched upon his shoulders.

The scrolls stared at him sullenly from their shelves. Dorian pushed his shirtsleeves up and summoned a bright ball of light above his head. There was plenty of work for him to do. If everyone was doing their part to help the Inquisition, Dorian would do twice— no, three times as much.

When he lifted his head from his desk and looked out the window of the small nook in the library he called his office, it was already dark.

Dorian frowned back down at his own notes, sprawled before him messily like a blanket of autumn leaves freshly fallen from the bough. He had been poring over them for the better part of the day, after finding the scrolls he had been looking for. He was sure the copies he had made from the Venatori ritual in the Emerald Grave were correct, but they made no sense. Surely whoever had come up with those glyphs knew what they were doing, to some extent, but Dorian just couldn’t make out what they were trying to do exactly. The ritual itself was eerily similar to the one he had remembered finding years ago in the Minrathous library, but there were some fundamental differences. The Venatori had tried to control the power of the spell by tweaking central parts of the glyphs, but those they’d used for the binding clashed with the glyph right across from them, which was a bastardised version of a well-known affliction hex to weaken the subject’s mental defences. No wonder the poor people the Venatori had used the ritual on were turned to drooling, unresponsive vegetables; their mind was turned to jelly long before the actual mind-control spell was cast.

And it would be quite fortunate if that was the only problem he’d encountered. Trying to figure out the logic behind it was giving him headaches. There was something here, something that eluded him, Dorian was sure of it. That certainty only made him more intent on finding exactly how the ritual worked, and for that he needed resources that were not available to him at present. Tilani’s answer to the letter he had sent her regarding the original scroll was yet to arrive. It probably hadn’t even reached her yet.

Dorian suppressed the urge to curse the South and their terrible postal system, and reached for one of the dusty tomes he had managed to find in a forgotten part of the library instead. There was a glyph amongst those he had managed to copy that reminded suspiciously of Disthenes’ version of a glyph of paralysis. Now this, this he could work with. He had studied the Tevinter’s work extensively while he’d been holed up in the Circle of Marothius, and his memory was still fresh. If he used Disthenes’ theorems and altered the glyphs enough to make them work, in combination with Enchanter Hallesis’ equations in order to fix those horrible spirit-manipulating spells he’d seen the Venatori using...

Dorian let out a soft sigh. He probably should leave the matter alone, he knew that. There was little chance of figuring out how the ritual worked, or rather, didn’t work, without the original scroll he had asked Tilani to find. Yet, he’d already been working on this too long to let it go like this. If he was able to make some modicum of progress on his own, or better yet, find a way to work out some of the kink and errors in the glyphs he’d copied from the ritual, then he might be able to find a way to reverse it as well. The Inquisition needed knowledge like this, if they happened to chance upon a Venatori ritual like that again. Knowing what weapons and spells the Venatori had in their arsenal was half the battle, wasn’t it?

He half jolted out of his seat when he felt warm lips brushing the shell of his ear, a hand skimming his waist. “Four hundred and twenty two.”

Dorian leaned back in his chair, smiling at the sound of Trevelyan’s voice. How that man could walk up to him without making a sound, he could never understand. “Four hundred and twenty two, what?”

“Minutes. I’ve been counting.” He leaned forward, catching Dorian’s lips in a gentle kiss. The library was empty at that hour— Dorian thanked the Maker for that. He sighed as he turned around in his chair, his hand finding its way to the back of Trevelyan’s neck to deepen their kiss. He tasted of spiced, honeyed wine, with a mild undertone of the sweet and tart dried apples he always kept on him.

“Have you, now?” he murmured teasingly.

“Yes. I told you I would, didn’t I?” Trevelyan’s smile widened. “My word is my bond.”

A flush crept up Dorian’s cheeks with the warmth in Trevelyan’s gaze. He was peering at him with so much tenderness, and with their proximity Dorian could smell the warmth of his body, the faint smell of his soap. He realised then, that although they’d only been apart since that morning, he had missed him. And the fact that Trevelyan had come straight to him after finishing with his duties, with the black ink from signing his reports still staining his fingers, made him feel warmer still. He suddenly couldn’t wait to be alone with him again, to touch and kiss him freely without worrying about who was to see, to avail himself of the body that hid beneath that snugly fitting dark blue coat.

With his heart beating with a strange sort of giddiness, Dorian turned around and gathered his papers, placed them in the drawer of his desk and locked it securely. “So,” he said, standing up, “shall we retire to your quarters? I’d rather not spend another minute here, thank you very much.”

Trevelyan took his hand, threading his fingers through his. “There’s something I want us to do first.”

Read the rest on AO3!

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Paul Higgs: Baby Daze

Tomorrow I will return you to your regularly scheduled whump programming. Today... this is what wanted to be written.

CW: Teen pregnancy, some crass language surrounding said pregnancy, brief gun reference, some organized crime references

Approximately eighteen years before Tristan Higgs became another casualty of WRU…

-

"Well, look who’s here! Billy Higgs’s boy, come to see us after school, then?" Sean Malley claps him on the back and Paul nearly stumbles forward, just barely catching himself as he crosses the threshold from the sun-warmed walkway with straggly weeds growing stubbornly up through the cracks into the chilly shadowed warehouse. His sneakers scrape along the ground, but he stays standing.

He's hardly even as big as a stick compared to his dad's work buddies, all older guys with thick muscled forearms and sleeves rolled up to their elbows. He’s never had much muscle on him at all, but then his dad didn’t have much in old photos either. Maybe he’d get some as he got older, if he worked here. If they let him. "How’s things, hm? Keeping your grades up?”

Paul smiles, a slightly strained expression. The smile is automatic, it’s what everyone expects with small talk. At school he mostly doesn’t even bother with it, but with his dad’s friends… well, a smile’s polite. Right? Friendly. 

He tries to look more friendly. He needs them to say yes to what he’s about to ask for.

“They’re fine,” He says, squinting as his eyes adjust to the change in light. “Same as always, A’s and B’s.”

Mostly B’s, but they don’t need to know that.

“Good, good.” Sean slides an arm around his shoulders, jovial as always. Paul tries not to be visibly uncomfortable at the touch. Everyone is always touchy, in the world, and he’s never liked it much. Except with Ronnie, but… that’s different. “So, talk to us, Paulie. What's got Billy’s boy mucking around here at the Garden with the old-timers?" 

It's not actually much of a garden, unless you count the dandelions in the sidewalks and the bits of scraggly grass along the edges of the pavement as your rows of plants. Instead, the big warehouse stretches wider than two Walmarts, chopped off into pieces by the standalone temporary walls inside that don't reach the ceiling. 

The ‘Garden’ is a place where things happen that no one with a badge is ever supposed to see. There's shouting, good-natured calling out of sums and figures and code words Paul doesn't know, bouncing and echoing in a constant chaos of sound. Metal scrapes, an odd clicking Paul vaguely recognizes but can’t quite place until he thinks of his dad cleaning his guns now and then at night, carefully putting them back together once he’s done. 

All that noise lays heavy like a blanket over his skin. He pushes past it - he's got a reason to be here, and he won't let Ronnie down. He can’t let her down.

"I'm here to work," He says, going for strong and loud. He doesn't change expression when the men around him laugh. 

He doesn't think their laughter is meant to be unkind, and besides, he doesn't really care if it is. These men have all known him since he was born - if anyone’s going to give him what he needs, it’ll be them. "My dad told me I could pick up some shifts this weekend as a lookout, that you pay cash at the end of the shift, right away. That I could get a couple hundred if I’m good at it, maybe five if I do some running, too.”

"Oh he said that, did he?" Sean meets eyes with Cilly, whose real name Paul has never learned. He isn’t entirely sure anyone here has ever given him their real legal name. Not even Sean. "Will might've let the family know first before he sent his boy here, hm? 

"Well, it's. It's important I get cash. Um. Fast. I just spoke to him, probably he'll call you in a bit thinking he's giving you a warning." Paul tries for another smile, and hopes it's warm enough. A bit of coppery strawberry blond hair falls over his green eyes as he looks hopefully from man to man. 

He's not even eighteen yet, but really, isn't that even better for a lookout? He knows where they do their business, he knows who to watch for, and he doesn’t look like he’s one of them at all. He's paid attention, sat up at night making maps of where they work and what they do. He knows they’ve gotten into business with WRU, even, the big Facility up in Berras has been sending people down here now and then. He’s good at this sort of thing. He knows he can do this. He’s going to make a living at this one day, and everyone starts somewhere.

He just… has to convince them. These men aren't unreasonable, and they're family. Well, sort of. In a way. In that they all commit crimes with his dad. And some of them actually are real family, although he’s not always sure exactly who.

"What d'you need cash for that can't wait for your parents to come back from Florida, then?" That's Cilly, scratching idly at a red spot on his face, sipping a mug of hot tea like they're at a kitchen counter and not a fold-out table by a warehouse door. The others all have takeout coffee cups, but not Cilly. 

Paul's mom buys him new mugs on all her vacations. A gentleman among thieves, she said once. 

Nah, Paul's dad had said. Just a thief. But he puts on airs for you. 

All the more reason to show him my appreciation, Bill. 

The mug he’s drinking from now was one of Paul’s mom’s presents to him. It has a little palmetto tree on the side and Nothin’ Could Be Finer written in swirling script. It came from a trip to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina when Paul was seven. 

He hated that trip. He never liked sand. Or the ocean. Or the noise of all the people everywhere in the street. He would have been happy with a book on the couch in the condo if they’d have let him stay there. 

"They're not in-"

"Think they're in Georgia," Conor pipes up, the oldest with hair gone nearly gray, cousins to the real boss, a man Paul has met maybe three times and knows only as Mr. Sondheim - which isn’t even a little bit his actual name. 

Conor makes Paul’s skin prickle, the way he thinks maybe a cat feels when it sees a mean-looking dog across the street. Paul's dad came home once with blood he had to wash off his hands and a shirt he had to throw out. When Paul asked, he said only, Conor's temper is going to get someone who matters killed one day. Too bad his grandson's as bad as he is. "Aren't they?"

"Nah," Sean says, shaking his head. "Florida. Definitely Florida."

"Actually," Paul starts. "They're in-"

"I thought Texas," Cilly says, almost thoughtful. He interrupts Paul thoughtlessly, and Paul’s face colors a little with embarrassment. He feels like the odd man out in a conversation meant to be about him. 

"They went to Alabama," Paul finally says, soft. Thinking no one’s listening, but they all look at him then. That's worse than when they weren't paying attention at all. He never meets any one person's eyes, instead focusing on Sean Malley's forehead, a spot that'll look like eye contact without having to be it. He's never liked having to look too many people in the eye. 

Or anyone, actually. 

"Ah, all right then. Alabama. Well. What couldn't wait for them to get back from Alabama, Paulie-Wol?"

No one's called him Paulie-Wol since he was eleven - and he hated it then. He blushes even darker. He's always been easy to make blush, and they laugh again. It's a little meaner this time. He has to not care. It’s important not to care, so they’ll let him work. 

Paul Higgs straightens his narrow shoulders and pulls a crumpled but of paper, shiny on one side, out from his back pocket. "This is why. I need money. Fast. For this."

He can't help how his voice dips, hushed, almost in awe. Sean is the first to take the little piece of paper, eyes widening in surprise at what he sees, before he hands it to Conor, who whistles through his teeth. Cilly takes it next, with a soft exhalation that's either curse or prayer. 

With this group, it could be either. Or both. Paul’s dad always says God doesn’t care overmuch about the difference.

"You're a bit young, aren't you? To need money for this?" Sean asks, and he's… concerned, Paul thinks, and he tries to square himself up even taller. “What’re you, Paulie, fifteen?”

"S-seventeen. It’s-... we didn’t plan on it, Sean, it just happened." This time when his face stays red, heat burning under the smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose, they don't laugh. All their smiles are gone, too.

They've gone serious, these men who aren't quite blood but might as well be. They aren't laughing at or with or because of him. They look worried about him.

"Paulie," Conor says, shaking his head. "Paulie, you know better than this. Don't they teach you how to make sure this shit don't just happen? Thought we’d stop having teenagers knocking each other up once we got past the eighties.”

"They did. I had a whole health class where we-... but it doesn’t matter, it still. Happened, okay?" The absolute last thing he wants to do is talk to these old guys about Ronnie, and why, and when. If they ask him he’ll melt into the floor, and die, and just be dead right here and now.  

“So, when you say you need money… Are you looking to drive her up to Berras?”

“No, that’s not... We talked about it, but she said she already thought about it and made her decision. This isn’t… Don’t look at me like that. I like her decision. I’m happy.”

“You are?” Sean blinks, surprised.

“Yes! I'm happy, so don't tell me I fucked up, because I did. I know I did, but… but I talked to Ronnie, and we have a whole plan and I need money for my plan. And just. Look at it.”

Sean glances back down, taking the paper back, smoothing it out. Shiny on one side, it's a printed black and white image, a smeary blur of monochrome shades. Unmistakable in its center, more or less, is a gently rounded blob of white, topped with another and with other little blobs coming off its sides. Labeled along the top is Baby Botham, 14 weeks 3 days. 

“Botham?” Sean asks, head cocked to one side.

“That’s… that’s Ronnie’s last name. She, uh. She didn’t tell them… Because we’re not married.” Paul squares himself up again. “Yet. We’re not married yet.”

He tries not to think about Ronnie crying on his shoulder about how her parents and her sister had screamed at her when she told them, that no one was talking to her and they might throw her out, like this. His throat will close up if he does, in hurt for her, and in anger. 

His own parents he’d just told on the phone today, heard the long silence on the other end. Whispers that didn’t quite carry through the line. Then his mother had said, brisk and no-nonsense as always, So what does Ronnie want to do? We’ll help however we can. Will she need somewhere to stay?

“You’re not married yet,” Cilly repeats, not with derision, just with a kind of flat uncertainty. “You’re seventeen, Paulie. Little young to be talking marriage, don’t you think?”

“Well, we’re talking it, anyway,” Paul says firmly. “And don’t tell me it’s stupid. We already made our minds up.”

“Well, far be it for me to question your judgement,” Sean deadpans. “Since you’re clearly making excellent decisions already-”

“I got married at sixteen,” Conor points out. “Wife and I been married forty-two years this December, too. Sometimes it works out.”

“Different world, different times,” Cilly counters, and Conor has to nod in agreement to that. “Lots of those didn’t work out either, now did they? Besides, kids got options now we didn’t have back then.”

“Ronnie doesn’t want those other options,” Paul says, forcing his voice to be loud enough to carry, surprising all three men, who give him a new kind of look. Maybe even seeing him as nearly a man and not a kid, just for the moment. “She doesn’t. I never told her to do or not do anything, we talked about it, and she knows what she wants to do, and I agree with her. Ronnie and I want to get married, and we’ll need somewhere we can live when-... when the baby comes. So I need to start making money. And I want-... I need some fast, this weekend.”

Cilly’s expression goes cold. “Don’t tell me your folks are making you find a place that fast. I’ll take Billy to the woodshed myself if he’d be such a bastard to his own kid when things get tough-”

“He’s not,” Paul says quickly. “They’re not. Mom and Dad aren’t-... but they get it, they’re helping us. It’s not for an apartment, not yet. It’s so I can buy her some stuff.”

"This is a serious thing," Sean says, and he rubs his thumb over what Paul is pretty sure is his baby's head. The blobs are all sort of odd to look at, but… he's pretty sure that one's the head. It’s where he would put the head, if he were designing a person, anyway. "But I can see you’re quite the serious young man, now. What sort of stuff are you lookin’ to buy, Paulie?" 

Paul swallows, nervously rubbing his palms along the seems on the outside of his pants. “I… I don’t know. What do you buy someone who’s pregnant? I thought, like, baby clothes? Or a crib?”

“No, no, no.” Sean shakes his head. “You can’t just get her baby stuff, not this early. You are not starting with a crib, Paulie. You got nowhere to even put one yet.”

“Then… what do I buy?” Paul looks from man to man. “I’ve never known a pregnant person before, not anyone I cared about.”

“You were around for my wife’s last pregnancy,” Sean says, mildly offended.

Paul shrugs. 

The three older men look at each other, and then sigh nearly as one. Someone pushes out the fourth chair from the fold-up table and Paul sits, each of the other men sitting in turn. Sean picks up his phone and dials. “Hey, Don. Let everybody know we’re off-limits for the next couple hours, ‘til lunch. Yeah, Billy Higgs’s boy stopped by. He’s sniffing around for some lookout work this weekend. Find him some decent jobs for me, will you?”

Paul starts to smile, and it’s genuine this time. Sean hands him back the little picture of the blob that will become a baby, his and Ronnie’s baby, and he tries not to crumble it fully in his hands, worried his sweat will smear the ink. She’ll get another one in a few weeks, said her doctor told her it’ll look more like a person, then. Less like a weird frog. Or like a really, really bad painting.

“Thanks, I’ll owe you.” Sean hangs up the phone and grins, leaning on his elbows on the wobbly little table. The sun shines warmly through the open warehouse doors on Paul’s back. “All right. Between the three of us, we’ve got, what, ten kids?”

“Yeah, but five of those are all Cilly’s,” Conor points out. “And mine stopped bein’ kids decades ago.”

“Yeah, but babies don’t change, and they don’t need much. You need a pen and paper to write things down, Paulie?”

“Write… write what down?” 

“What you’re gonna spend your money on, for your girlfriend. You don’t just show up with baby clothes, kid, you gotta go all out. Let’s talk date, let’s talk gifts for this Ronnie, let’s talk it all out.”

“What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” Cilly says. “They all get that book, right? Isn’t that the one?”

Sean snorts, derisive. “Don’t get her that, not this early. That damn book had my wife in fucking tears telling her everything that could go wrong. We need to think of a happier book than that.”

“Well, call your wife and ask her what she’d want, then.”

“Maybe I will.”

“You should!”

“She’s liable to start planning a damn baby shower if I do. You know how Christa is about little ones.”

Cilly grins. “Think she’ll make those deviled eggs I like for the shower?”

“Cilly, for God’s sake, we found out about this five minutes ago.”

“Right, but... deviled eggs.”

Paul takes a deep breath, and sits back in his chair. “I’ll remember, whatever you say. I promise. I don’t need to write it down. Just tell me what I should get her, what I should do.”

“Right. Well, then.” Sean spreads his hands. “Let’s talk gifts.”

-

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump ��@cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes  @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary @orchidscript @moose-teeth @nonsensical-whump

[kickingitwithkirk]

Deuxième Omega

Summary: Jensen is not dealing well with his unexpected divorce and before the ink is even dry, he is pushed into another union with a complete stranger.

Pairing: Alpha!Jensen Ackles x Omega!OFC

Word Count: 3363

Warnings: A/B/O, angst, angry Jensen, cursing, alcohol abuse, parental manipulation, arranged marriage, Alpha dominance over Omega, unintended injuries.

A/N: So, get this; a lot of my original writing ideas from my weird as hell dreams about Sam Winchester but for some reason Jensen is starring in this one. I’m gonna blame the bad PMS I’m having for all the angst in this.

A/N II: There is no intentional hate or malevolence intended towards any of the Ackles family. This is a purely fictional piece containing real and created persons/names/events set in the fictional A/B/O verse.

*Supernatural doesn’t end in season 15 and some dates/events have been altered to fit the story.

*no beta, all mistakes are mine *photos found online

Jensen was sitting slouched on the leather couch staring at the paperwork that had been dropped off by courier this morning, official notification of the dissolution of his marriage to Danneel when Jared entered his trailer. “It’s not gonna say anything different no matter how many times you look at it.”

“I know,” Jensen sighed heavily, “never thought I’d be in this position.”  He tossed the papers on the table and picked up his beer draining it in one go.

“You better not drink anymore, we’ve still got two more scenes to get through before we can leave tonight.”

Jensen rolled his head towards Jared leaning across the kitchenettes bar counter with a very concerned expression.

Jensen had always been a social drinker, he did love his beer, the slight softness over his toned stomach was the biggest indicator. But there had been constant uptick in his drinking during the mandatory two year waiting period for an Alpha/Beta divorce. So far, it hadn’t seriously interfered with work but there had been several instances of his obvious imbidding that Jared,  Alex, even Misha ended up pumping him full of coffee to get him through.

“Then let’s get them done so I can get really fucked up before that shit show happens tomorrow.”

“Jack, give this new marriage a chance. Your dad said she’s a good match right? You never know, maybe it’ll work out like Gen and me.” Jared’s marriage had been a private match and he was happy with the Omega that his family had chosen.

Jensen snorted, getting up and walking out of his trailer, “Yeah, you lucked out with her, not always the case. Look at me, I’m getting a second hand Omega.”

*** To say the atmosphere in the private arrivals area was strained was an understatement. The Ackles were seating several feet apart awaiting their son.

“Mommy…daddy, how’s it..go..going?” They both turned in unison to see their very drunk middle child staggering towards them followed closely by Jared and Clif.

“Jensen Ross Ackles, how could you show up in this condition!” Donna Ackles snapped as he gave her a cheeky smile before passing out. “Fuck!” Jared blurted out, catching him before he face planted onto the tiled floor.

“Jared Tristan Padalecki you’re to blame for this!”

“I’m the one who’s been there for him, not the one forcing him to do something he’s not ready for! This is on you, I’ve tried to get him to stop but he’s hurting like hell and you don’t care!”

“You can’t speak to me that way young man! I always knew you came from trash and this proves it.”

Jared let his inner Alpha surface, eyes glowing red in anger, “If you ever speak disparagingly about my family again…” Clif quickly stepped in between them giving Jared a look.

“I’ve had it with you inserting yourself in our family business! I’ll make sure you never have contact with Jensen outside of work ever again!”

“You go ahead and try, Jensen’s forty two years old and more than capable of making his own choices. The only reason he’s agreed to this is because you’ve duped him into believing this is the only way to uphold your family’s social standing in the Dallas Pack because all you care about is how you look to those fucking country club bitches!”

“Alan, could you please bring the car around so we can get away from this embarrassing situation.” The older Alpha gripped his mates arm giving her a firm look of disapproval and steered her towards the exit. They could still hear her grousing, “how dare he deliver Jensen in this state,” as they went out the door.

Jared hefted his friend over his broad shoulder and carried Jensen back out the private entrance as the SUV pulled up. Clif opened the back door and helped Jared place him in the vehicle, carefully laying him across the seat.

“How bad has it been for him?” Alan inquired after Clif shut the door so his mate couldn’t hear.

Jared pulled off his beanie, running both hands through his hair, not hiding his frustration before answering, “He’s been in a downward spiral, drinking continuously, got him to stick to beer. I found him looking at the divorce papers and as you see… ”

Alan sighed heavily. Jensen’s divorce came out of nowhere, everything on the surface appeared good between him and Danneel but in hindsight he realized there were telltale signs all along, the biggest was her reluctance to have children.

Anytime anyone inquired she waved it off, saying she wanted to wait till Supernatural had ended, it wouldn’t be fair to leave all the responsibility for rearing their pups predominantly on her, she wanted Jensen there, to be a hands-on father.

Alphas were involved to an extent in care and raising of pups, but it was unusual for one to be as hands on as the Betas or Omegas were.

Jensen was one of those exceptions. Whenever with his siblings, he was right in there helping, never turning down a chance to play with them, even princess tea parties with his only niece. When on vacation or at conventions with Jared and his mate, he always was willing to help with their pups.

“I want to formally apologize for what Donna said, she overstepped the lines of etiquette. This is no excuse but she doesn’t know how to handle this situation. Jensen’s always been her favorite and she personally picked Danneel as his mate, it’s been a slap to her ego.”

Jared smiled, “I accept your apology Alan. Jensen’s always said his mother has been a…handful.”

Alan laughed, “That’s the diplomatic way of putting it,” he signed again, “Donna’s family always spoiled her being the only Omega, somewhere along the way she’s forgetting that being part of Dallas society doesn’t give you the right to treat others badly.”

*** Late next morning

Jensen was sitting on the edge of his hotel bed contemplating how he got here.

He thought Danneel was the one. When they were introduced by his mother a few months before his twenty seventh birthday they instantly clicked and started dating that night.

Jensen proposed six months later, couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have found a love match. Danneel stated she wasn’t ready to give up her career yet, so they compromised and decided on a long engagement.

Supernatural started filming its fourth season when Kripke announced that the series would end with season five. Danneel also found out her current role was being written out of the series she was in about the same time so they set the date for May 2010.

Jared’s surprise wedding in February that year reaffirmed Jensen’s desire to settle down and start his family in a few months. They bought a home outside Austin like Jared and his new mate Genevieve. Things were going as planned, then the unexpected happened.

A couple months before they finished filming the CW announced Supernatural was being picked up for season six under new leadership.

Jensen returned to Vancouver not long after they were married. Danneel continued working, doing guest starring roles on other series and was cast in the occasional recurring role of Jo.

Every year when the show went on hiatus Jensen would bring up about starting their own family, he was feeling the biological pull more and more. Once again, she stated it wouldn’t be fair for them to have a family and him be a drop-in father, and moving to Vancouver full time, nope, he worked too many hours.

Danneel started dabbling in other interests outside of acting and in 2018 they opened The Family Business Brewery with her family. A few months later Jensen was served with the divorce announcement.

*** “Jensen, it’s time.” He looked up and Alan was saddened by the lost look in his son’s eyes. There was a resignation in those green eyes that never existed before. Saying nothing Jensen got up, slipped on his suit jacket and walked out of the room.

Alan mentally shook himself but that nagging feeling was back once again, something wasn’t right about this whole situation.

*** The Uber stopped at the back door of the small country church. The woman in the backseat thanked the driver and got out, pulling the garment bag with her. She walked to the door and rang the bell. It opened revealing the minister’s wife.

“You’re very late, the wedding is starting in fifteen minutes.” She said, hurrying up a staircase to the second floor and entered an empty room. “Where is your family? They should have arrived already to help you get ready.”

“There is no one coming,” the woman replied as she hung the garment bag over a closet door next to the mirror attached to it. The minister’s wife’s jaw dropped in surprise, “and it won’t take me long to get ready. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be down in a few minutes.”  

She unzipped the bag removing a veil and shoes having arrived already in her dress, chosen by the groom’s mother, and attached the veil to the headpiece holding back part of her simply styled hair. She looked at herself for a moment before pulling the front part of the veil over her face then joined the minister’s wife who was to escort her to the chapel. She placed the shoes she wouldn’t wear until after the ceremony on the small table outside the double doors and took her place in front of them.

Jensen was sitting in the first pew of the small country church wondering why this place was chosen for the wedding as Donna and Alan made their way to sit next to him. His siblings, Joshua and Mackenzie, were already seated in the one behind him with their mates as the rest of the Ackles clan that had been invited filled up the rest of the pews.

He looked over at the bride’s side. There was not a single person seated in any of those pews. He frowned, finding it strange, wondering where her family was when the intro music started.

The minister took his place and gestured for him to rise. Jensen couldn’t move, his body feeling like it was tied down with lead weights. “Jensen!” His mother hissed at him in a low tone.

Suddenly, he felt himself get up, urgently needing to get away from her as his inner Alpha became agitated, as if it sensed something was amiss.

Each secondary gender pairing had their own ceremonial traditions so he was required to remain facing forward when the music changed and the doors behind him opened.

As the guests stood Jensen focused his senses on her as she proceeded down the aisle. He couldn’t scent her, too many different scents mingling together to isolate hers. He listened to the whispering material of the dress as she slowly walked, finally stopping next to him. In his peripheral vision he could see her head bowed under the thick veil obscuring her face and hair, her hands were clasped together in front of her, devoid of a bouquet.

The minister started speaking, talking about the obligations each Alpha and Omega were required to follow as dictated by the book. Jensen inhaled sharply, realizing what was occurring.

This wasn’t the common ceremony but the ancient, traditional version that only the extreme believers still used today. There was absolutely no out for either party from once the proceedings started.

If he objected to the ceremony he would be shunned by his pack, his family would be forced to never acknowledge him again or suffer the same censure; if the marriage didn’t work and they separated, he was responsible for her care as she would be set aside from society and forced to live in isolation.

He looked over at his parents, Alan was pinching the bridge of his nose trying to quell his anger knowing that his mate had put Jensen in an impossible situation as Donna sat there with a fake, placid look.

His own mother had irrevocably bound him to this Omega for the rest of his life.

The rest of the ceremony was a blur, neither party was required to say anything, there was no exchange of rings or a kiss at the end. The minister finished the ceremony and turned to the altar signing the marriage certificate with a quill pen dipped in ink. Jensen signed next, his hand was shaking so violently in anger making his signature barely legible.

The Omega didn’t sign, only her name was required for legality and the minister filled it in. He poured a powder on it to set the ink, blew off the access, rolled it up and tied it with a piece of twine before handing it to Jensen offering his blessings for a fruitful marriage. It took every ounce of his acting ability to politely smile, shake his hand, thanking the minister for the proceedings.

He turned, marching out without acknowledging his bride and she obediently followed behind him, pausing to grab her shoes along the way and scurrying to the waiting limousine climbing in after him.

Jensen sat in the back on the farthest side pouring himself a drink from the bar as his new wife sat quietly near the still open door. A few minutes later Jensen was on his third glass of whiskey when his parents climbed in and the chauffeur shut the door. He started the limo and as they pulled out Alan pressed the button to close the privacy window between them.

The tension in the back was so palatable an icebreaker couldn’t have cut through it. “Donna how could you…” Alan was unable to say anymore, his disgust for what had happened thick in those few words. “I did nothing wrong,” she snapped back, “I only had Jensen’s best interests…”

“Like when you threatened to sabotage my friendship with Jared again? By the way, Clif’s the one who dropped the dime on what happened after I passed out last night, not Jared, so you don’t get to blame him for that too.” Jensen threw back the rest of his drink before continuing.

“Oh, don’t think I’ve ever been ignorant of your disdain for him ‘cause the clan he comes from isn’t good enough for those highfalutin bitches in your social circle. Or how you’ve persuaded me to do this only to find out you took it to the extreme, forcing me into an impossible situation, accept this marriage or lose everything. Congratulations mom, you are still the queen bitch, sorry, bee, your precious reputation is secure.”

They traveled the rest of the way in silence. The limousine pulled onto the grounds of the country club in front of its grand entrance. Jensen got out before the chauffeur finished putting the car in park leaving his new wife to scramble out behind him as Alan and Donna got out the other side.

Jensen finally took a good look at his bride. She was in a simple, modestly cut, long sleeved dress, the only adornments a row of buttons down the bodice, no jewelry and apparently a pair of shoes that didn’t fit as she was struggling to get them on.

She was still fussing with her left shoe when he spoke in a stern voice, “Since our wedding was in the traditional, we’ll continue with its edicts. You are not to remove that veil, acknowledge or speak to anyone. You will not leave my side for any reason. Where I go, you go, three steps behind me. Nod once if you understand.” She nodded once.

“Son, I think…”

“Dad, as the traditional also states, I’m well within my rights to make demands of my Omega without interference, am I not?”

Alan acquiesced, “Yes, you are.”

“So” Jensen rubbed his hands together, “let’s go celebrate this disaster, shall we.” Putting on a fake smile, he went into the venue to greet his family with his Omega obediently three steps behind him.

*** Several hours later

“This shit has got to stop cause I swear it’s the only time I’m doing this dad.” Josh grunts, annoyance thickening his voice as he helped guide his inebriated brother to his hotel room. “Come on.. have ‘nother drunk, ‘posed to be celebrating my disaster marriage to that…’mega..don’t even want her.”

“Jensen, shut the fuck up! I’m not gonna stand here and let you insult your mate.” Josh snapped at him.

Jensen ripped his arm loose, “ ‘en go, not stopping you…and she’s not my mate,” his free arm waves unsteadily as he points towards his new wife standing by the main door, “my real mate took my money, my home, my fucking heart!!!”

Josh turned his back on his brother, “Jensen, I can’t stand seeing you like this, you need to get it together.” He headed for the main door,  pausing to speak to his brother’s new wife, “I’m sorry he’s taken his anger out on you now. My brother is a good man, an honorable Alpha,” he stepped close to her and lowered his voice, “there is far more to this than what you’ve been told, please be patient with him.” He left slamming the door behind him.

“Fuck him,” Jensen muttered staggering into the bedroom and sitting on the edge of the bed slumped over.

“Jensen, your brother is right, you have got to pull yourself together. Therefore, as the Alpha of our clan, you are banned from our family. When you are back to being yourself, the Alpha you once were, you may appeal for re-admittance.”

Alan then did something he hadn’t done since Jensen was a small child, he bent over and placed a kiss on his son’s head, “I love you and I want my son back.” Nodding to his new daughter in law he left.

It hurt him tremendously knowing he wouldn’t see his son for a long time but it was for his own good. Now his Omega was the only one who could help him mend. Hopefully Jensen would see this marriage wasn’t the biggest mistake he’s imagined it to be.

Jensen didn’t move until he heard someone shuffling their feet. He looked up squinting at his new wife still standing by the bedroom door. Sitting up straight he grunted at her and passed out, falling backwards on the mattress. She slowly walked over and hesitated a moment before reaching out touching his shoulder, shaking him.

Getting no response she sat down near him lifting her right foot, gingerly removing the ill fitting shoe with a gasp and then repeated with her left. The blisters on both her heels that had busted open earlier were raw and had bleed. She detached her veil and wadded it up, stuffing it in a shoe and bent over untying Jensen’s and removed them too.

Standing up she gripped both his jacket lapels and hefted him upright to lean against her as she worked it off letting him flop back down and unbuttons his shirt leaving him sleep the case of everything he drank off. She left a pain reliever and bottled water on the nightstand.

Quietly shutting the bath door she found the dress had too many small buttons down the back. She laughed mirthlessly at the irony she was stuck in the dress like this marriage. Pulling the skirt up over her knees she sat on the counter to soak and clean her sore feet in the basin.

Once the worst of the ache was gone she pulled the drain and climbed off to finish washing up the best she could. The mirror reflects back the emotional toll of the last few months in her eyes.

She went over to the bed only to find her husband had moved, sprawled out over its entire surface. Searching for extra bedding and not finding any she gave up going back into the main room and curled up on the couch hoping to find a comfortable position to get some sleep for a few hours so she could briefly forget what her life had become.

Part II

SPN: @donnaintx​​​

Dean/Jensen: @flamencodiva

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh Ep 35 S4: Raphael Joins the Pile of Dead Bodies

Ah 2020, thankfully we have one trashfire somewhat behind us, but I’m still avoiding social media for so many obvious reasons because of all the other trashfires that just never seem to stop burning, so lets talk about Yugioh with all of this newfound time.

Ah, card games. Card games that go on for 6-7 episodes. Lets see how they pad it out:

In a lot of ways, Roland really is just padding for the show, and that’s OK. He’s doing his best, by doing literally nothing but stand outside and check the time.

Inside the dusty soul chamber, Tristan has decided to do us the favor of recapping what happened last episode, which included the return of our four dead friends, so that they could die...again.

Seto’s reaction to seeing these dead people suddenly alive again was very “guys...I went nuts like years ago, I’m just going with it at this point.” and he’s still 100% positive that this is all a hologram and that no one will ever die.

Whatever it takes for Seto to get out of bed in the morning, I guess.

(read more under the cut)

One of the big mechanics the game is that you need to stay level headed, or the Orichalcos just kind of slurps you up. This explains a little why Dartz is so freakin chill basically all of the time, just the Bob Ross of evil over there. It also is sort of funny because Pharaoh and Seto are the least chill people to have ever lived so he’s just kind of waiting it out to see whom between Seto and Kaiba gets the most angry first and completely botches it.

Yugi has to do literally nothing and for the first time in his life this is the right choice.

I’m so glad he gets to use his big brain move of “If I don’t play, no one dies!” from S1. Glad it came back to serve him for once instead of just make everyone else really annoyed.

Yugi just...not moving means it’s now Seto’s turn to put down some cards, and he kinda looks over at Pegasus and goes...well you know what’s gonna happen next.

I have no idea why he didn’t attack Pegasus. Like this episode is kind of weird because we got these flashbacks of Pegasus being like “you’re my only hope, Yugi!” and it’s like wtf, Pegasus trapped you on a murder island and tried to kill you multiple times. He abducted Mokuba and turned both the Kaiba brothers into cards.

yo did Seto and Pegasus get back together in between seasons or something? Was there a whole character development where these two have fun brunches in San Fransisco now? Because I would watch that anime. I would watch the anime where Seto and Pegasus are co-hosting Diners, Drive-ins and Dives, and just destroying every unsuspecting local restaurant they brunch in.

But are we just assuming that the eyeball did all that evil stuff from S1 and that otherwise Pegasus is a good person? Because like...he was a mess before he got possessed. He’s kind of a Yugi, he’s kind of a Bakura, he’s kind of a Marik...in that there’s a mess in that bean, and getting possesed just only amplified what was already there.

So, with his smug as hell grin, Seto surprises Dartz by only barely getting affected by this inescapable moral dilemma and Seto just very quickly deciding to do a murder. And then we get a little blimp throwback to S2 (S3? I don’t even remember at this point, since we’ve been stuck in S4 for an entire year. Thanks 2020.)

If blocking the shot when Marik did it in S3 or S2 or whenever that was, didn’t get Mai to like Joey, then it shouldn’t work if you do it a second time.

But hey, I guess it’s better than letting her perma-die. Although this show desperately needs to figure out how to use Mai if they’re gonna keep her around, youknow?

Like all ships are fine and valid here, ship whatever you want to your hearts content: I don’t ship at all, as you know, but I hope one day they give Mai a personality that is consistently likeable. I do want to like her because she’s like...good at what she does when she plays cards and can be that can be a fun “hey I’m a girl but I’m not a freakin ‘gamer girl’ you male chauvinist assholes” type of character. But, the show just...the show doesn’t know what they want outside of a little romantic tension that they legally can’t follow through because of a 5-6 year age gap with a teenager.

This show actively tries to destroy this ship, and then turns around and is like “oh shoot this ship is all we have.” This show tries to lift up Mai as a feminist icon one season, and then tears her down for being “too” feminist the next season when she decides to--youknow--kill Joey Wheeler because he made her feel weak or something when he saved her life. 

Like the show does a lot to explore weakness and strength, and how what we see as weakness is actually strength, and how what we tend to attribute as strengths is actually weakness, and how our modern career/school/success expectations set us up for failure, but I think they explored that way better with Seto than they ever did with Mai.

Could’ve been cool Mai, you could’ve been cool.

Anyhoo, that was my spicy commentary on a 10+ year old anime, good to get it off my chest.

Seto and Yami have the typical problem they have whenever they play cards together, where one goes completely rogue. Except this time, the one going rogue isn’t Seto, it’s Yami. He’s just like...I’ll make life for Seto very difficult and I will lose this game and I don’t even mind because I’m already dead, deal with it.

So honestly this is an episode where it’s just Seto demanding we kill a bastard, and Yami being like “but not THAT bastard” and Seto just shrugging and saying “I have to kill A bastard, Yugi! Just CHOOSE one!”

That actual line in the show (I forget what it was exactly) does infer that Seto thinks Joey holds him back, and that implication speaks miles about Seto’s insecurities.

HOW THOUGH..........what are you jealous of, Seto?

You’re better at cards than he is, he’s never beat you at anything. It’s not about who’s best friends with Yugi because...Yugi’s possessed so Yami is always going to take first place...

......so what could it possibly BE?

Seto doesn’t attend school anymore, is it about that? Is it because Joey is likeable? Is it because Joey pretends he has a much older girlfriend? I mean hypothetically, Blue Eyes White Dragon is WAY older than Mai so...that can’t be it.

.....what IS it???

Does the “friendship” he have with Joey make Seto too soft? Is that what’s holding him back? Because Seto doesn’t actually think he’s friends with these people and says that Yugi and co are “Mokuba’s friends” so like....

.....what are you talking about, Seto???

Is it because you’re addicted to cards again? Because that’s...sort of Joey’s fault because he was the one who told you he needed a ride to Jacksonville, and then let slip that the “King of Games” title was up for grabs, is that it?

Are you just tired of Joey asking you for a ride?

Not like it matters, because Joey survives, and Seto gets to feel like a complete asshole about it.

As Raphael (who is this purple blur here) motorcycles into the dome of souls, Rolands last words were

“You can’t go in there!”

which was the weirdest thing to say to a guy you just saw fall down a 50 story building a few hours ago. Raphael not being dead should be the thing Roland fixates on, but instead he’s seen so many people die and come back to life, that he’s only concerned that Raphael will get in trouble for trespassing.

Again, Roland is the only Kaiba that hasn’t died yet, and it’s because he’s the only Kaiba that hasn’t broken the law.

Dude. What if the reason Roland is standing outside is because he’s been politely looking for the doorbell to be let in?

...the players asking for death...like clockwork...and me asking for the end of this freakin game...we played...1 turn this episode...

This episode was 1 turn!

And you may ask...well what else could possibly happen to stretch this out and well...

Raphael dives in on a motorcycle to save the day. Which is an aesthetic, by the way, this huge man covered in like a dozen belts, doing a wheelie jump into a chasm of 1 million souls. that’s an aesthetic.

So he shows up, gets off his bike and I was like “Oh good, someone to maybe save Yugi saving Joey saving Mai?” And instead, I was...not given that.

Mostly Raphael is here because he ALSO wants to kill Dartz, and is like “can I join? I know you’ve only played like 1 round, just deal me a new hand, it’ll be fine.” and it’s like...we already played the Orichalcos Raphael, this is not a game of Uno, you cannot just jump in.

Dartz is sort of obsessed with how everyone around him has potential for evil except for him, the chillest human to ever be born, and I gotta say...when he’s in this room...Dartz has a point.

+++++++++++++RANT ABOUT BEING PERFECT FEEL FREE TO SKIP++++++++++++++

It is sort of nice to have the concept of an older generation (in this case 10,000 years older) fighting with a younger generation. To have the older, more typically wiser generation say “Listen, I kinda screwed the planet and the war economy and the prison system...and I’m gonna keep doing that...and you can’t stop me because you’re a bunch of hypocritical dumbasses.” and then the younger generation say. “We don’t care if we’re a mess, dude. We aren’t the problem here.”

I may be putting some recent topical STUFF into this mold here, but it is a nice little analogy that they made even someone who is such a human disaster as Yami and Seto “morally good” enough to fight Dartz. You don’t have to be a perfect Harvard Grad to fight the system, you don’t have to be an entirely problematic-free savior, you can be even as problematic as Seto Kaiba--just get rid of the dumb assholes trying to destroy the world. That’s all.

Like this concept is strangely prescient because in 2020 we’re in a weird time period where if you aren’t perfect, you’re not allowed to have opinions. You’re not allowed to make content. You’re not allowed to make change. This is mostly an online problem in places like twitter, but it’s a real problem--because in the end what you’re left with is no one that wants to step up to the plate because they know that they, too, are flawed.

And like not even just as a political thing, even as a creator, as an artist, I see this problem more and more with kids. Kids who are like “I am afraid to draw because what if I do it wrong and I get dragged on twitter years later?” or “I want to make a story, but I’m afraid to get cancelled because my fantasy story has problematic stuff in it? Am a bad person for wanting to write it?” And it’s like...what are we doing to young creators right now? Did we all fail humanities? How have we failed art and literature SO badly that we’ve come to this point that people are too afraid to even learn how to do it right?

Anyway that was a tangent, but like...you see the similarities, right? That if you really were as perfect as Dartz either politically or creatively, you’d be a freakin monster and would probably just tear down everyone else around you on twitter rather than lift other people up. It’s a stretch but eh, it’s been a while since I went on a good Yugioh tangent and like

---it’s not like I can say this on twitter---

+++++++++++++++END OF THAT RANT+++++++++++++++++++

So it’s at this point that Dartz turns to Raphael is like “I mean...we weren’t really doing anything else, and Yugi and Yami are playing so slowly...I guess I have time to bust your nuts” and decides to bust his nuts.

Oh hey, I was right.

And yeah, that’s still effed up. Dartz killed his Raphael’s family, left him on an island, and then adopted him later after forcing him to dig up their graves. Like...Raphael, that’s effed up.

He also did the same thing to everyone else (and for Valon he just kinda glazed over that really fast because we had to edit his backstory out of the English version)

PS at this part Mokuba started sweating bullets and Tea leaned over and was like “Is this true, Mokuba?”

And Mokuba was like “...yes.”

Because, I don’t think Mokuba can keep any secret from Tea. Like for reals, Tea may be the most dangerous thing to all of KaibaCorp if she wasn’t so distracted by Yami’s endless string of problems. Mokuba is constantly telling them all of Seto’s deepest darkest secrets and there is like nothing Seto can do about it.

The animation of Gozaburo turning into a beautiful Dartz was just a simple fade to white, but man--imagine if they had dome some crazy effed up animation where Gozaburo just whips back his head and he has ass length blue hair and long, luscious lashes?

Imagine.

Anyway, this was enough for Raphael, who was already our most gullible and unstable person on this show, to just flip that switch and go lime green like all those other minibosses before him.

Really glad we built up Raphael for him to just die at the door hahaha.

That was so freakin random.

OK then. Thanks for nothing, Raphael.

I guess we go to the next episode to see if we finally play another turn? We can hope for good things. But if we don’t play a full turn I will NOT be surprised.

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

[zelenacat]

When We Were Young- An Obitine Story- Chapter 23

After a quick comm to Obi-Wan to let him know the girls were on their way. Satine fell into a deep sleep, only to be woken three and a half hours later to prepare for the day.

“Count Dooku’s coming, remember?” Parna whispered gently.

The Duchess groaned.

“We all feel that way,” Khaami sighed, freshly ironed dresses in her arms, “but this is for the good of the system.”

Satine sat up, feeling her bloated stomach, now empty.

“Dear God,” her eyes widened, “the Count!”

“Exactly.”

Satine threw herself out of bed then groaned.

“Go to the fresher,” Khaami advised, “there’s wrappers under the sink.”

After her underwear came a long chemise, today’s corset required a protection layer, and Satine wanted extra covering in case her neckline slipped. She was, afterall, wearing a very heavy dress. Then a girdle, to pull in her stomach extra tight. Only once all these previous layers were tightly secured did Satine see her dress.

“Is it exactly what you were going for?”

“Yes.” tears pricked Satine’s eyes. 

The gown was liquid gold, shimmering with citrine stones that caught the light elegantly. It was high-necked and regal, with boning on the bodice. Lilies were embroidered throughout the dress in a honey-toned thread that brought life to the gown. Satine hadn’t realized she’d been running her fingers along it.

“Shall we get you in it?” Parna grinned.

“We can try.”

Khaami snorted, but unzipped the dress all the same.

“Wow,” Satine breathed as Parna buttoned her up, “this is tight.”

The Duchess looked at herself in the mirror and frowned.

“A gold sash,” Khaami smiled, holding the garment in her hands, “to distract from your stomach.”

As one of her ladies fashioned the sash around her, the other held out a box.

“Your jewelry, Madam.”

Satine gasped as she saw her headpiece. It was a gold tiara with a lily emblazoned in the middle made out of diamonds.

“I will sparkle in the sunlight!” the Duchess twittered.

“That is the goal, Satine.”

Khaami pulled her hair back while Parna extracted more jewelry.

“No earrings,” she observed, “as you requested, but a broach instead of a necklace.”

“Does it match  with my ensemble?” Satine asked.

“Naturally,” Parna held up the jewel, “more diamonds.”

Once she was ready, Satine helped her ladies dress, they would be wearing white gowns in a similar style, only less ornate. A knock came at the door as Satine was helping with Khaami’s hair.

“Lady Mother,” Tyra poked her head in, “we’ve come to show you our outfits!”

“Very well, then,” Satine smiled, “come in.”

As they were maids-in-waiting, Tyra and Hera, who was looking quite tired, were wearing servants' outfits. Although, to distinguish them from the regular peasantry, both were wearing white with gold sashes.

“You look lovely,” the Duchess commented, “if not a little tired.”

“Speaking of which,” Parna piped up, “my brother commed to inform me that Jynn and Lyra were received in one of the Temple’s lower levels.”

“Good,” Satine nodded, “Ben said the same thing this morning.”

The Duchess beckoned Tyra over and kissed her head.

“You know what to do, darling?”

“Yes, Lady Mother.”

“Stay out of the Count’s way.” Satine reiterated.

“We will.” Tristan agreed, Korkie on his arm, entering the room without a care.

Fortunately, no one was it a state of undress, but Satine chastised her sons nonetheless.

“Really, Lady Mother,” Korkie assured, “neither of us are like that.”

 Satine raised an eyebrow, “I should hope my sons weren’t.”

The boys looked at each other.

“You’re very frightening when you do that, Lady Mother.”

“I have to agree,” Tyra nodded, “it’s like we didn’t eat our vegetables or something.”

Satine laughed, a pleasant yet hollow reminder of what could’ve been.

Tyra’s comm beeped and she looked up, “The Count sent cronies to investigate the underworld, that means he’s here!”

After a quick kiss to all of her children present, the Duchess began a brisk walk down to the royal throne room and audience chamber. Korkie had just taken her arm when the doors opened.

“Her Grace Satine Kryze, Duchess of Mandalore, Second of Her Name and Lady Krewella, escorted by His Grace Korkyrach Kryze, Duke of Sundari, accompanied by the Lady Parna Supreis and Lady Khaami Eldar.”

There were many fawning whispers about the Duchess’ glorious dress and how handsome her nephew was. Satine let a smile play on her lips, he was eighteen now. His and Tyra’s birthday had been secretly celebrated with their siblings at Mara’s favorite place. Satine hadn’t been a part of it, and she wanted things to stay that way, seeing as Mara’s tastes were generally brutish.

Korkie gently helped his mother onto the throne, then stepped to the right. With Khaami and Parna on her left, they must’ve looked quite the bejeweled spectacle. 

“His Excellency, Count Dooku, Head of the Seperatist Alliance and Speaker of the Most High Seperatist Senate.”

The Count was dressed in black. Satine was slightly disappointed. Here she was looking like the sun, and he looked like the night sky. Not to say his dress wasn’t stylish though, it was clearly made of the most expensive fabric in the galaxy and embroidered with silver thread.

“Your Serene Highness,” Count Dooku bowed before the dias, “it is my great honor to be invited to Mandalore.”

“I do hope you enjoy your time here, Your Excellency,” Satine said in a critical tone, “Mandalore is eager to make Seperatist friends.”

“Your Grace shall not be disappointed,” Count Dooku grinned, “and in honor of our goodwill, we Separatists wish to give you a gift.”

The crowd mumbled to themselves, Satine raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

Count Dooku clapped his hands and two servants stepped forward from the back of the room, each holding a cage. With a flick of his hands, the Count opened the cages and turtle doves swooped through the room. The crowd gasped. The brave Count took a step forward and produced a flower from his sleeve. One of the birds picked it up and flew it to Satine.

“A flower, for Your Grace, one of many presents to come.”

The Duchess was flattered, she may have even let some color onto her cheeks.

“A lily, what a thoughtful gift, Your Excellency,” Satine grinned, “it’s quite beautiful.”

“Almost as beautiful as the nation you’ve built, Your Grace.”

The crowd collectively held their breath.

“You most certainly have done your research, Your Grace,” Satine nodded, “and it does your talent a great complement.”

Conversations broke out immediately.

“Talent?” the Count’s voice asked in her head.

Satine was shocked.The Count smirked. The Duchess clapped and the chatter settled down.

“Would you do me the pleasure of escorting me to the ballroom,” Satine held out her hand, “Your Excellency?” 

“It would be a joy for a star such as yourself.” replied the Count, climbing the steps.

Korkie eyed the Count warily, meanwhile, the Duchess was smiling, and it was slightly reaching her eyes.

“You make for an interesting visitor, Your Excellency.” Satine commented as they made their way.

“As you said, Your Grace,” the Count replied in a smooth voice, “I do my research.”

“Clearly I should’ve been more diligent in mine.”

Count Dooku turned to face her, “Interested were you?”

“As much as necessity demanded.” Satine replied, without missing a beat.

They didn’t speak again until the first dance, which Count Dooku insisted on having.

“I have many questions.” he began.

“And I may not choose to answer them.”

The Count huffed.

“But you may try, of course,” Satine tilted her head, “I would hate to discourage you at such an early stage.”

The next voice she heard belonged to Tyra, “Good. Play him.”

Satine was unaware of this new force ability, but she much preferred speaking to her daughter rather than her dance partner.

“Well if you insist,” Count Dooku smirked, “I do certainly want to know how you captured my spy.”

Satine made sure to guard her mind, “A lady never reveals her secrets.”

The Count twirled her, letting his hand rest on her hip.

“Perhaps a simpler question then,” Dooku decided, “was this courtship planned by Senator Amidala?”

Satine raised an eyebrow, “The Senator was much opposed to this as you must know.”

“Was she?”

“The Senator feels that one must take sides to protect their country,” Satine hesitated, “currently I feel firmness is dangerous.”

“It is,” Count Dooku agreed, “then again, so is dancing with a Sith Lord.”

The song ended, the Duchess curtsied and the Count bowed.

“Your Grace.”

“Your Excellency,” Satine extended her arm, ”do allow me to introduce you to my ladies.”

The Count offered the Duchess his arm and they glided across the floor. Satine signaled to Khaami.

“Your Excellency, this is my Lady Khaami Eldar and her husband, Lord Eldar, Khaami, may I present the Count Dooku.”

After bows and a curtsey were exchanged, the Count went on the hunt, trying to glean information from Khaami.

“Well, Your Excellency, I think that’s up to Her Grace,” Lady Eldar straightened and turned to the Duchess, “Satine, should we discuss our favorite pastime with the Count?”

Satine grinned, “I think we should, Khaami, why don’t you begin?”

Lady Khaami turned to the Count.

“Did you know our Lady’s favorite pastime is ridding Mandalore of her enemies?”

This certainly shocked the Count.

“I mention this because I’ve heard your just as aggressive in your spare time when committing mass murder.”

Khaami said this all with a smile on her face, Satine glowed.

“Mass murder, you say?”

“Mandalore prefers peaceful ends to conflicts,” the Duchess stated, “we happen to hear that the Separatists can be brutal.”

Count Dooku smirked, “Senator Amidala has certainly spoken with you, but I never thought I’d hear anti-bellicose notions from a Mandalorian.”

“You mistake our strategy if you believe ancient prejudices.” Satine commented.

The Count’s Eyes sparkled, “Strategy?” 

Satine raised an eyebrow, “Do Sith Lords do everything without a plan?”

“On the contrary, Your Grace,” Dooku smiled, “we always have a plan.”

“How unattractively diabolical.”

Without waiting for a reaction, Satine turned and made her way to Parna.

“How goes the evening, Your Grace?” Parna asked politely.

“Well, thank you,” Satine answered, feeling the Count step out alongside her, “may I present his Excellency Count Dooku.”

Parna curtsied and commented dryly, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The Count tilted his head, “Lady Supreis, is it?”

“If you’re going to ask about my connections, I suggest you hold your tongue.”

The Sith Lord looked like he had never been spoken to before like that, “Oh?”

“You know how siblings are, Your Excellency.”

Count Dooku narrowed his eyes, “I did hear about your sister.” 

“Ah yes,” Satine nodded, “she married your former apprentice.”

“Lovely,” The Count smirked, “we can say we met at the wedding.”

Satine gestured around her, “So this was all for naught, Your Excellency.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” Dooku drawled.

“Good,” Satine straightened, “because this dress required extra seamstresses.”

Just as she’d hoped, the Count paused to admire her dress.

“It’s a lovely color on you,” he commented, “regal.”

The Duchess took the Count’s arm, “That is in my job description.”

Dooku huffed, his eyes wandering the crowd.

“Looking for someone, Your Excellency?”

The Count paused and looked down at the Duchess, who was about a head shorter.

“No, but is it too far out of the realm of politeness to ask for a second dance?”

Satine gave a playful sigh, “I suppose it’s not.”

Dooku led Satine onto the dance floor. Suddenly, Tyra’s voice appeared in her head.

“Dooku’s grooms are spies, they tried to plant evidence.”

The Duchess glowered.

“Are you well, Your Grace?”

“You do know, Your Excellency,” Satine smiled, “it is rude to come into someone's home and plant false evidence in hopes to stir up trouble, especially if you have been so kindly invited.”

The Count raised an eyebrow, but his voice betrayed nothing.

“And you would accuse me of such.”

“Proof, Your Excellency,” the Duchess spun, “speaks far louder than an accusation.”

Dooku was silent for a moment.

“And here I thought we’d reached an understanding,” he said finally.

“Oh, and what would that understanding be?”

They had danced by the musicians now, and the Count broke away to whisper into the ear of a string player.

“Your Excellency?”

In a quick second he was back, leading her father onto the dancefloor. Then, the music changed and Satine realized he was about to put on a show.

“An understanding?” the Duchess sneered as she curtsied.

It was a traditional Mandalorian dance known for its riveting, lively tune. They called it the Mandalorra, and Satine was not amused.

“I’m not wearing proper attire.” she spat at the Count.

“I practiced for this, Your Grace,” Dooku twirled her, “and it’s too late to stop me now.”

So they danced the spirited song, and Satine had to wonder if the Count was actually considering their union. It would be powerful and make a statement, plus add soldiers to the Seperatist ranks.

By the end, Satine was panting. She curtsied as the Count bowed, unsteady applause rang out through the ballroom.

“If you would be so kind, Your Grace,” Dooku took Satine’s hand, “I would love to meet your nephew.”

Satine looked for a way out of the situation, “My nephew?”

The Count raised an eyebrow, “After a dance like that, I’d thought you’d be delighted.”

“You mistake me for a schoolgirl, Your Excellency, this game of yours will not be won easily” the Duchess curtsied, “please excuse me.”

Satine signaled for Parna, who followed her lady. In the hallway, much of the guest chatter turned to low rumbles.

“Comm Khaami and tell her to watch Korkie,” she ordered quietly, “I’m worried for Tyra.”

The lady nodded and Satine made her way up towards where the count’s rooms would be. She didn’t have to go far to find evidence of a fight on the guest floor, strangely enough, Satine found no guards in this hallway. 

“We have you cornered,” a voice threatened, “your meddling has been most annoying, but I will ask you again, where are the Duchess’ private quarters?”

“Good evening, gentlemen.” a new voice interrupted.

Satine peaked around the corner wall. Tyra was pinned up against the wall with a knife to her throat, and she couldn’t do anything without giving herself away. In front of her were four cronies dressed in black. Two held Tyra down and two turned to their right, facing a man in Mandalorian armor.

Tyra’s eyes met her mother’s, “Boba Fett, the bounty hunter, he’s close with Mara. I don’t know why he’s here.”

“Who are you?” one of the grooms asked.

“A friend of the lady’s,” Boba Fett answered, “and you should know it is rude to treat them as such.”

One of the men facing Boba Fett scoffed, the other raised his knife. Then a fight broke out. Satine shielded half her face behind the wall, keeping an eye on Tyra. She was perfectly still until her captors doubled over.

“Wait,” Tyra held out her hand, “tie them, we don’t want an incident.”

With a grunt Boba Fett agreed. 

“You’ll regret this.” a groom spat.

“We won’t.” Tyra smiled, looking at her mother.

The bounty hunter pulled a recording device from his pocket and pressed pause.

“Well done, Sir,” Satine stepped out from behind the pillar, “if you would be so kind, I would very much appreciate that recording.”

Boba Fett bowed with a smile, “Of course, Your Grace.”

He handed the Duchess the recording, but she caught his hand.

“Thank you, Mister Fett,” she nodded, “tell Mara I am much appreciative for you and your skills.”

“I will, Your Grace,” the bounty hunter’s eyes twinkled, “you are most kind.”

“Would you be so helpful as to help drag these men into the main hallway?” Satine continued.

“Of course,” Boba nodded, “I assume Tyra is capable of assisting me?”

“She is, make sure these men get thrown in holding.”

Satine watched as the men were dragged into the main guest hallway, where a couple of early deperaters were astonished.

“Do pardon me,” the Duchess smiled politely, “I must speak with the Count.”

Unfortunately, Dooku was not in the ballroom, but Korkie and Khaami walked right up to her.

“He’s a master politician,” Korkie stuttered, “he seems like, like he knows something.” “Where did he go?” Satine asked.

“Into the garden with one off his assistants,” Khaami answered, “we sent Gorg after him.”

“Entertain the guests,” Satine ordered, “I’m going after him.”

The gardens were bright at this hour, yet menacing. Satine swallowed down her fear, no one would dare hurt her.

“Captured, you say?”

The Duchess paused and started a fresh recording.

“Yes, sir,” a mechanical voice beeped, “they were not able to plant the evidence.”

“Failures, we have to-” the Count paused, “another heartbeat.”

Satine hid the recording device up her sleeve just as the Count rounded the corner.

“Your Grace?” he smiled.

Satine stood, eyes narrow, “What a villain you are, Your Excellency.”

“You sound like your senator friend.” Dooku countered.

The Duchess raised an eyebrow, “You have given me no reason to believe otherwise.”

The Count sighed, “Long ago you were referred to as a she-wolf, now I see why.”

“I am very close to asking you to leave my system, Your Excellency,” Satine frowned, “give me one reason why you should stay.”

Dooku considered this for a moment before speaking.

“Because Mandalore hides more Sith secrets than you know.”

Satine tried to hide her surprise, “Oh?”

The count smirked, “I’ll see you in the morning, Your Grace.”

“Wait,” Satine commanded, “my guard?”

Dooku moved his hands and Gorg appeared, floating and grasping at his neck.

“No!” the Duchess ran to her friend.

“Concordia,” Gorg gasped, “Concordia.”

Then he passed out. The Duchess had her lower guards drag him to the medbay. Then she ran to her room, summoning Khaami, Parna, Tyra, Korkie, Tristan, and Hera. They met in her personal parlor and drew the blinds closed.

“What is it?” Korkie asked, his face drenched in worry.

Satine took the recording device out from her sleeve and turned to Parna, “I need copies of this.”

“Proof,” the lady’s eyes went wide, “my brother knows a person.”

“Good luck,” Satine passed over the device, “be careful.”

After Parna left, the Duchess locked the door and continued.

“The Separatists want to frame me for something,” Satine began, “and Gorg mentioned something about Concordia.”

“Death Watch?” Tistan asked.

“Perhaps,” Satine nodded, “they were looking for my personal quarters.”

Tyra’s comm dinged.

“It’s the Council,” she frowned, “they need a report.”

“Go in my room,” Satine ordered, “and keep quiet.”

The Duchess turned to her second son.

“You might have to help Tyra with her espionage endeavors.” 

“Spying?” Tristan questioned.

“Spying.”

Khaami spoke up.

“The Count mentioned that he had friends in the Republic.”

“What?”

“It’s true, Lady Mother,” Korkie added, “it was subservient, but he stated that his sources kept him well informed.”

Satine put a hand to her head, “I must tell Padme.”

“There are also the grooms in the dungeon.” Khaami offered.

Satine sighed, “Thank you, boys, you’ve been helpful, announce that the party is over now

After a little argument, each son kissed Satine’s cheek and went off.

“I want Jaym to interrogate the grooms,” the Duchess ordered, “if need be we can use Tyra.”

Khaami nodded, “I shall go inform him.”

When Tyra returned from her call, she told her mother that her father would comm soon.

“That always makes me smile,” Satine softened, “will you help me change, Tyra, Hera?”

“Of course, Lady Mother.”

“Of Course, Satine.”

Once all her jewelry was placed in a box, Satine had Tyra run it to the jewel room.

“I’d hoped to show it to you myself,” she told her daughter, “but prepare to be astounded.”

Hera helped Satine out of her dress and Satine groaned. The nurse then helped Satine to the fresher.

“I can’t believe you gave birth and then held a diplomatic court visit.” 

Satine sighed, “Royal life, what can you do?”.

When Satine emerged from the fresher some time later, Hera was talking to a blue Senator Amidala through the comm.

“Of course, my lady,” Hera smiled, “here she is now.”

With a groan Satine sat down.

“I must compliment you on your composure,” Padme began, “we met the twins just before the pictures came out, and that dress looked glorious.”

“Thank you, Padme,” Satine blushed, “is Obi-Wan there?”

A snide sound that could only have come from Anakin reached Satine.

“I am.” a familiar voice echoed.

Satine dismissed Hera with a wave, “How are the twins?”

“Oh my God,” Anakin whined, “they’re so cute!”

“Yes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan repeated calmly, “they are very cute.”

“And they’ve settled in quite well.” the Senator added.

The Duchess grinned, thinking of her daughters.

“How was the Count.”

Satine frowned, “Completely untrustworthy.”

Anakin snorted, “I could’ve told you that.”

“He tried to frame me,” Satine continued, still angry, “he’s involved with the criminal underworld, and he has a plot relating to Concordia!”

Obi-Wan sighed.

“Also,” the Duchess frowned sympathetically, “he has spies in the Republic,”

A moment of silence.

“What?” Padme questioned, anger in her tone.

“Korkie mentioned that, in their conversation,” Satine paused, “he alluded to knowing things.”

Obi-Wan sighed, Anakin groaned.

“Was he specific?” the Senator questioned.

Satine shook her head, “No.”

“We have no definite proof,” Padme frowned, “but I will tell my friends to be on guard with what they say, and on the lookout.”

“Also,” Satine swallowed, “Dooku said Mandalore houses Sith secrets, I can’t imagine why.”

Padme tilted her head, “What?” 

“Concordia,” Anakin gasped, “wasn’t it important in one of Mandalore’s wars with the Jedi?”

Obi-Wan gave him a look.

Master Skywalkler sighed, “Once you and Satine got back together I did research to find stuff to tease you about.”

“You,” Satine asked, “did research?”

“He has his priorities.” Padme explained.

“Death Watch inhabited Concordia last I was there.” Obi-Wan reminded.

“I haven’t forgotten.” Satine smiled.

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair.

“Perhaps,” he began, “the library might have some more information on Mandalorian Sith lore.”

“We’ll look into it.” Anakin promised.

“Thank you,” Satine nodded, “tell Ahsoka and Quinlan I say hello.”

“Of course.” Padme grinned.

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Part 6A: Vikings - Kissed by Fire

Summary: On the celebration of (Y/N)’s name day, her brothers come with an old flame from her past. But is he truly an old flame?

Pairings: Ragnarssons x Stepmom reader (platonic), Ragnar x reader (romantic), OC x reader (romantic?)

A/N: I really hope y’all like this part, it is merely the beginning of the drama that is to come. 

As her father’s only daughter, the celebrations done in honor of her name day were usually grand events that lasted several days and went well into the night even if she had already gone to sleep for the night. It was not strange for her then, when her dear husband Ragnar decided to hold grand festivities for her name day as well.

For many, it was simply an excuse to drink and feast to their hearts content but for Ragnar it was a display of the love and affection that he held for his second wife. There was no question that the man favored his second wife, (Y/N). When he returned from his raids; it was her that he gave the finest of dresses, it was her that he gave rare jewels, and it was her that he greeted first. So for the man to throw a feast of this magnitude, it was no surprise that he would do so for his favored wife and told her to dress elegantly for the celebration.

Without question; she dressed in a finely made gown of blue, the golden necklace she wore her first day in Kattegat, and had lined her eyes with kohl to make the (e/c) hues stand out. It was when she looked down to sift through her box of accessories that she jumped in surprise to feel the prickle of Ragnar’s beard when he kissed her neck.    

“How is it that you only become more beautiful?” he said lovingly.

“Flatterer” she giggled. “I won’t lay with you tonight that easily.”

“Can a husband not worship the ground his wife walks on merely because he remains as infatuated with her as the day he met her?” he asked as he continued to pepper her with kisses.

She turned around and wrapped her arms around him, bringing him into a soft and tender kiss. A short lived moment, when giggles caught their attention to spot the majority of the children at the door.

“Perhaps I should be selfish and keep you solely to myself” Ragnar teased.

“There is enough of me to be shared, now move” she said with a playful shove as she reached into her box and pulled out a delicate anklet.

Gently, Ragnar took the anklet from her hand and kneeled in front of her as the children impatiently jumped on their bed. He clasped the anklet onto her ankle with care, holding onto her foot in thought as he let go and turned his bright blue eyes to her.

“When we first met, you wore this every day and never took it off. On our journey, you wore it frequently but not as often as you did before. The last time that I ever saw you wear this was the day before our wedding and that night saw you put it away” he said. “Does this hold any meaning to you?”

(Y/N) nodded, “It was given to me by someone I held dear. It was a gift that I may always remember them and the time we spent together fondly.”

“After the celebration, would you mind telling me the story behind it?”

“I would love nothing more.”

                                                ---------------

The men and women cheered in excitement upon the arrival of their king and his favored wife, closely followed by the older children as they carried the younger ones in their arms.

When he was handed a horn of ale, Ragnar lifted it up for a toast.

“Let us feast and be merry, to celebrate the name day of my beloved wife (Y/N). A woman kissed by fire, who caught my eye so many years ago in the land of Iberia. The woman that is now mother of my children and companion in life. For (Y/N)! Skol!”

“Skol!” everyone cheered.

“Salud!” cried out several others voices.

To the utter surprise and glee of (Y/N), her nine brothers along with their entourage had entered into the hall with casks of wine under their arms. Setting the casks down, all of the men did not hesitate to smother their sister with affection.

“It is so good to see all of you, especially you Bjarke. Your name day is tomorrow” she said. “Perhaps you can all go on a hunt with the other men and I can cook your favorites.”

“Can you?!” all her brothers gasped.

“No one else’s cooking can compare to Nana’s and yours” said Antonius.

“Our wives can cook well enough and the servants are alright, it is your cooking that has always been the best” said Cole.

“That’s right!” said Hvisterk. “Mama makes everything tasty.”

“Even the things that are yucky taste good when Mama cooks” said Sigurd with a lisp.

“I already said that I would, there is no need for sweet words when I have offered” (Y/N) giggled.

“Surely we can give you a gift in return” said Athel.

“Your presence is enough, I can ask for no greater gift than to be with my loved ones on my name day” she said.

“What if we were to tell you that our gift is exactly that?” said Endre.

“Did father come along as well?” (Y/N) asked, looking around the room in hopes of spotting the man.

“Not father, but someone that you certainly remember fondly” said Gunnar.

The tallest of her brother’s smirked as he stepped aside; revealing a man around the same age as (Y/N). He was of lithe build, messy brown hair fell onto his forehead, his blue green eyes gleamed, and scruff lined his jaw.

“Tristan?” she gasped.

He smiled in a manner that made the green of his eyes seem brighter.

“Is it really you? My goodness, I haven’t seen you in years Tris” (Y/N) said as she pulled him into a tight hug.  

“(Y/N)! It seems that the years have been good to you, more beautiful than the last day that I saw you” he chuckled, taking her hand to bring her into a spin. “You have blossomed into the woman that I knew you would.”

She laughed, “I was a girl of seventeen last you saw me. In that time I have married and become a mother, Tris. I would imagine that I am not the girl that you knew.”

“That is true. Your brother’s didn’t tell me on the journey, but tell me do you have a son or daughter?”

“Both. I have a daughter and five sons.”

His eyes widened, “Did you truly have that many?”

“I birthed one son and a daughter, but in marrying now have an additional four sons.”

His features softened as he held onto her hands, “I had known you to be a kind and loving person but to take on the care of children not of your womb. I can tell those boys will be well loved.”

“Oh,” she gasped in realization. “I was so caught up that I didn’t introduce you to the rest of my family.” 

Leading him by the hand, she stepped to stand by a disgruntled looking Ragnar and pouty children beside them.

“My love and stars of my life, this is my good friend Tristan. His father was a merchant very close to my father and we grew up together” (Y/N) said. “Tris, this is my husband Ragnar the man that took me away and stole my heart in the process. These are my children; Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, Agnar, Ivar, and Kari.”

Ragnar scoffed when Tristan went to shake his hand, ignoring the man in favor of drinking his ale. The boys pouted but conceded in giving the man a swift handshake, as they knew that (Y/N) would scold them later if they did not greet her friend.

A slight glimmer caught his eye and Tristan spotted the anklet on (Y/N). 

“You still kept it after all these years?” he asked softly. 

(Y/N) smiled sadly, “It was the last gift that you gave me. I hold it quite dear.” 

At her words, Ragnar’s jaw clenched but stayed quiet as Tristan practically leaped to embrace her tightly.

“Oh!” Tristan gasped, knocking his hand against his head. “I almost forgot, my brother Matteo also came along and should be here.”

Looking around the room, he brought his fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle. “Matteo! Get over here!”

Almost like a shadow, Tristan turned to spot his older brother Matteo beside him.

“Teo, introduce yourself. We haven’t seen (Y/N) in a number of years and it would be impolite.”

(Y/N) held back a grimace when Matteo’s blue eyes raked down her figure. He bowed at the waist and smirked, “I am Matteo Federico De Valle Aldrete an old friend of (Y/N) and older brother to Tristan but you may all call me Teo.”

“I thought your father left you in charge of trading with the Franks” (Y/N) stated plainly.

“He did, but called me back as he felt my talents were needed elsewhere” Matteo chuckled.

(Y/N) took two horns of ale from a passing thrall and handed them to the two men.

“Have a drink, I am sure that you have yet to partake in the festivities” she said. 

“Thank you, that is very kind of you Conejito” Matteo chuckled.

“I will do my best to drink with all of you, but I cannot hold my drink very well” said Tristan nervously.

“That is alright” (Y/N) said as she sipped from her own drink. “It is a time to make merry. To old times!”

“To old times!” the two men cheered.

Drinking heavily from their horns, unaware of the (e/c) eyes that peered at them as they drank.

____________________________

Tag list: 

@heavenly1927​

@princesscornbread​

@ivarthebloodyking​

[joshslater]

Durag

A little rewrite of The Durag by bodilychanges.

“Ella! Where the fuck is today’s mail?” David shouted before even having sat down at the breakfast table. He was firm in his view that vigilant scrutiny and immediate punishment was the source of his wealth, allowing him to have a maid in the first place. David had many other firm views. “Homosexuals are all gay” he often joked, but he was an equal target offender. Homosexuals, Muslims, people of color. Although he would call them “the blacks” and the gays “people of color”. It often got a laugh at the club or at parties. In truth it didn’t really matter how poorly made his jokes were, people would laugh anyway. That’s the thing with money.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Cohen, but this just arrived.” Ella came rushing as quickly as she could, without running, from the front part of the mansion with a few small letter envelops and a larger DHL plastic envelope.

“What is it?” “It must be from one of your secret admirers, sir.” Ella suggested. “Good save.”

David snatched the bunch of envelopes from her hand, and she left almost as quickly as she entered, knowing David hated seeing any service personnel around. It had to be a secret admirer as no one would ever admit to like you, she mused on her way out.

David downed his ginger-lemon-honey booster shot and looked at the DHL envelope. It was more of a plastic pouch than a real envelope, big as a pocketbook and with something soft inside. There was no corporate sender on the address sticker, but just said DHL dropoff service point and “Tristan″ as sender. Sounded to him like some of the new ad companies with their hip names. Perhaps it was some T-shirt or something someone wanted him to have. He started to pull the plastic, which only stretched from his efforts. “Fuck!” he exclaimed and reached for a fruit knife from the bowl of exotic fruits, cut open the envelope and reached inside.

The shock was far worse than a normal static electricity shock. He dropped the knife on the floor and involuntary sent the envelope with its content across the room. All of his right arm hurt, and he could feel tingles as if the arm had fallen asleep and was waking up. “Motherfucking what the hell!” he shouted, and stood up. He walked a few steps to the envelope on the marble floor, grabbed one corner of it, and shook out its contents. Something black and glossy landed on the floor. The arm didn’t hurt as much, but the tingling sensation was spreading and he started to feel hot.

Carefully he gave the piece of cloth a quick pat with his hand. Nothing. He grabbed it and twisted it around in his hands, working out what it was. It took him a while to recognize it as a durag, though he had never heard that name. He was boiling with rage. Who the fuck would send black paraphernalia as some kind of sick joke, he thought. Was the electrocution also intentional?

He didn’t want to drop it back on the floor for Ella to pick up, or throw it in the trash himself. He wanted to incinerate the shit out of it, right now. The outdoor grill, or fire pit, or the ballroom fireplace, or the kitchen burner, all good options. He decided for the gas burner in his study, where he got rid of documents and USB sticks he didn’t just want to shred.

Somewhere in the stairs though he did something that he wouldn’t be able to explain. It was like an involuntary reflex, or a compulsion. Almost without knowing it himself he put the cloth on his head over his grey hair, put one of the smaller bands in his mouth, and pulled the other one flat around the front of his head. Then he took the first one out of his mouth, pulled it the other way around, and quickly tied them both behind his back. Finally he pulled everything tight, twisted the neckcloth, and tied it into a knot in the back.

As he entered the study he was almost surprised his hands were empty. He was breathing heavy, sweating profusely, and feeling like he had gotten a fever. He stepped over to the art deco mirror from 1922 he bought at an auction. He looked different, tanned like he had been out sailing all of last week, but somehow different in other ways. For a brief moment the thought “Why is there a fucking rag on my head?” caught his attention, until just a moment later he was more concerned about what was happening with his body.

He lifted the front of his black tank top and stared aghast. He had tried to take care of his body, it’s simply a matter of discipline after all, but there is only so much you can do to prevent skin from aging. But the skin, his skin, looked nothing like it did mere minutes ago. Glistening from sweat, the now hairless, young skin was slowly turning darker and darker, as if someone was pouring coffee into milk. He didn’t care if it so made him immortal. If it made him look this filthy it wasn’t a trade he wanted. Without noticing he lifted the front of the tank top over his head and placed it behind his neck.

His lean body was visibly gaining weight. His pecs grew and he could see abdominal muscles filling out his midriff. His arms and legs were also stacking up pounds. The tingling sensation in his arms didn’t diminish at all, and he did a few muscle flexes, which made the veins pop and sent a wave of relief through his body, along with a massive dose of testosterone. The low key itching that had been growing in his groin and armpits crescendoed into feeling like a rash, as wet hair visibly grew out under his arms.

All his senses were bombarded with an onslaught he couldn’t cope with. There was too much information to sort through. He scratched his armpit and looked at disbelief at his wet fingers as the testosterone boosted armpit stench reached his nose. He was confused, revolted, scared, and just wanted all of this to stop, whatever was going on. Something inside of him cracked and he moved his hand up to his nose and took a deep whiff of his armpit sweat. It was like his brain decided to like what was happening as a coping mechanism. Right there and then David believed the scent from his pits to be the most arousing thing he had ever experienced in his 54 years on earth. He took another deep breath and felt his dick stir.

He unbuttoned his Eddie Bauer shorts and started to climb out of them. It was a struggle to get out of both them and his briefs, and looking at his lower body it wasn’t a surprise why they were getting tight. His legs and feet had undergone the same transformation as the rest of him and were slowly settling in its new shapes and sizes. His ass was a pair of round basketballs of a bubble butt. Massive athletic thighs led down to hard calves, which ended in a set of size 16 feet.

His dick and balls were however of the same size as before, but now the same dark color as the rest of him. He let his left hand fingers run through the wet pubic hairs. He started to masturbate with his right hand while inhaling deeply from his sweaty fingers. It was good, but not as good as the armpits. He coated the back of his left hand in the sweaty right armpit. How he wished he could stick his nose in there, or lick it. He moved his gaze up in the mirror and saw a young, muscled man who looked anything but David. Alluring dick sucking lips, the strong bone structure of African descent, strong, muscled, sweaty. He could not think of anything he wanted more than to be fucked hard by the man in the mirror.

He let a moan slip from his lips. It was the deep rumble of an African American bull in heat. The sound he made made himself even hornier. What if the hot man in the mirror was a sex-addicted jock who wanted nothing but fucking him as deep and as hard and as long as he could as often as he could. But he wanted him to have a monster of a cock. To his delight he could see that every stroke made the cock in the mirror a little bit longer and a little bit thicker, but it also became more and more difficult to resist to climax. He wanted both to enjoy it more and enjoy it for longer. He shut his eyes and tried to think of something else, but all he could think of was dark, sweaty skin from different parts of the body.

The first thing he felt was a sharp tug on his nutsack as his balls suddenly exploded in size and mass. It didn’t hurt, but it surprised him, and made him unprepared for wave after wave of pleasure as he shot load after load of cum on the mirror, screaming in ecstasy as he did so. Exhausted but euphoric he just stood there with his eyes shut, trying to not think of anything but just savor the moment when a shriek knocked him out of his trance.

In the mirror he saw Ella by the door, her face completely drained of color. She was in by the desk, pressed the panic button, and out again before Darius had time to react. It felt like syrup to think. What was the response time for the police again? He couldn’t remember. He should go, but where? Away. He should bring something. He looked at the too small shorts below him he was dripping cum on. He had cash in the safe. No, you can’t open it when the panic alarm is active. What was the response time for the police again? He couldn’t remember. Was his name even Darius?

“FUCK!” he shouted and almost in panic ran down the stairs, out the patio, passed the pool, rounded the pool house, went past the BBQ area, around the smaller pond, rounded the hedge, came around the tool shed, down the access road, and ran to the garden entrance.

“Perhaps he split the front.” Malcolm thought out load. “Relax man. He’s still David inside. He just can’t get enough black cock, that’s all. He knows he can’t come runnin out the white folk side.” Tristan was sitting in the driver’s seat in the City Gardening truck they’d lent as a favor. They hadn’t seen any security driving up the access road, but they came prepared with excuses. “Perhaps cops shot him” “You just jumpy, man. We talked all this before. Police wont shoot nobody out here. Goes on public records and fucks with the value of the hood. Besides, we’d hear if... There!”

Stumbling out through the gate was an athletic man wearing nothing but a durag and a tank top pulled over his head. His eyes were wild and he was staring at the car like a deer in oncoming traffic and his mind was a jumble of contradictions. Why the fuck did those black fuckers park here, he thought. The police will have to deal with them. I want to suck them off, both of them. I want one to fuck me while I blow the other, and then have them swap places. No, why the fuck would I even touch them. The police is on their way. I wonder what they smell like. It looks hot in that truck.

“Remember, we need to get it on him before he clears up.” Tristan told Malcolm. “On it.” he lowered the window, waved and shouted. “Hey borther! Hurry! Come here before anyone sees you. There are clothes in the back!”

Darius was shaken into action and quickly ran and entered the truck.

5 months later.

Darius looked at the purple stud. It would look so good on him. Perhaps he could ask Tristan to buy it for him, since he didn’t have any money himself. Every time he raised the question with Malcolm and Tristan they just brushed it off, saying it was too early. He needed to take care of himself and focus on remembering anything from before his memory loss. Besides, if he worked he wouldn’t have time to have sex around the clock. They did have a point there. There probably wasn’t a black dick above 5″ in town that he hadn’t had inside of him. All of the squad, and Malcolm in particular were regulars, but Tristan had a way to get almost anyone, straight or gay, to fuck him. He once asked Tristan what he tells people to have sex with him, but he just smiled and said it was a secret.

Jammal was one of them. He wasn’t gay, but something Tristan told him made him make an exception for Darius. Jammal worked in the docks, and every time they fucked he made sure to show up sweaty. Darius loved nothing more than to inhale deeply from Jammal’s armpits, lick them, suck his dick, and finally have him ride his ass for as long as possible. He would like to get the purple stud and wear it next time they met. It was just a piece of glass on a needle, but he would love to wear it for Jammal.

“Hi. Can I help you?” the girl in the store asked. “Yo. I want to... I can’t...” “You want to try it on? It’s no problem. I have disinfectant.”

With a bit of hesitation Darius started to unscrew his stud from its plate. He’d had it in place for as long as he could remember. Just as the needle left the hole of the pierced ear lobe his mind was assaulted.

Everything from before the car ride came rushing in. How he put on the underwear and sweat pants. How he had been sniffing the clothes and Tristan complained that they should have used clean ones. How he had been running from the mansion. How he had transformed from racist, bigoted, multi-millionaire into the hot, dark meat he was now. The old memories mixed with the new ones, how he had lived together with Tristan and Malcolm in their trashy place. How he had spent every hour over the past months sucking, fucking, and working out with anyone willing. He was filled with nauseating disgust for them, what he’d done with them, who he was. At the same time he could feel his large dick getting hard, and it wasn’t despite what he was thinking of, but because of it he realized.

“Are you alright?” the girl said with a concerned look. “I think I... I know what is wrong.” he said and carefully put the needle of the stud back in.

[bqstqnbruin]

Protection

I just want to say that his roster pics do not do him justice. But this was requested like A WEEK ago but as mentioned I’m the worst. I also had a really weird week emotionally and I’m still not sure what happened other than a lot of crying but oh well ? Please let me know what you think! Hopefully I get into more a rhythm with writing requests!

_______________________

“Staring at your drink isn’t going to give you the answer,” Tyler teases you. 

“Well, it’s not like I’m going to find the answer any way!” you squeal, your voice high in frustration. 

“Babe, it’s fine, they’re being assholes.” Roope wraps his arm around your waist, pulling him closer to you, kissing your cheek.

“Yes, I know that. But what’s the answer?”

“42,” Tyler says, the guys laughing, Jamie smacking him in the chest for saying something so ridiculous. 

You just stare at him with your mouth open, “You’ve got be kidding. How is the answer a fucking number?” Everyone bursts out in a loud laugh, everyone around you starting to stare at the scene you’re causing as a group. “Can I smack him? Am I allowed to do that?” you look to Roope, him beaming at you.

“I’ll get him for you at practice.” 

“Ok, kid, you try,” Tyler smirks. 

Roope shrugs, pulling you closer, mirroring the smirk on Tyler’s face, “If it’s for my girl.” He was so protective over you, but not in an overbearing way. You loved it, actually, having someone watching over you. You were free to be your own person, but if you needed some Roope was there when you asked. 

“Y/N, let’s go get something else to drink,” Katie says, prying you away from Roope and the boys, leaving them to ask each other as many dumb questions as they want. She pulls you to the bar, your hand probably about to break hers from the grip you had on her so that you wouldn’t get separated. The bar was crowded and loud, you only knew the guys and their girlfriends, and you really didn’t want to get to know anyone else tonight. “So, it seems like things with Roope are going pretty well?” she asks once you both make it to an opening at the bar.

You can’t help but blush at the sound of his name. You had been together for about four months; the relationship was just new enough that you still seemed to be in that honeymoon phase, but you had been together long enough that it seemed like it was going to stick. At least for a while. You hoped. “Yeah, it’s amazing. He’s amazing.” 

“Jamie even said that he’s been playing better since he started dating you. The guys think you’re their good luck charm.” 

“I doubt that,” you laugh.

“No, I’m serious!” Katie insists, “When was the last time you saw them lose when you’re at a game? Jamie only wants me to go to games when he knows you’re going to be there because otherwise, he’s sure they’ll lose.”

“See, Roope only wants me to go to games when he knows you’re going to be there.” You both stop for a minute. “Hockey players are so weird.” 

You both start cracking up until the bartender gets your attention. “Vodka cran for me and Corona for her, we’re with that group over there,” Katie tells him, pointing back to the guys. One of the guys had drunkenly offered to pick up everyone’s tab last time you all went out, and Roope got him saying it on camera. The guys’ goal that night was to make him regret it. 

“Put the Corona on my tab.” You turn around to see this guy leaning up against the bar behind you. He was cute, sure, but he was no Roope. 

“Oh, no, I’m covered already, but thank you,” you say, telling the bartender, turning back to Katie. 

“You have to tell me though-” Katie starts.

“No, I insist. I can’t let you pay for that drink,” the guy interrupts.

“Don’t worry. I’m not the one paying for this.” You hold the drink up to him, before turning back to Katie. “What were you saying?”

“What weird stuff does Roope do before he leaves for a game?” she asks.

“Oh, c’mon,” the guy says behind you, again. Why isn’t he getting the message that you’re not interested? You give Katie a worried look, her just shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “I’m Tristan.” 

“That’s nice. I’m talking to my friend though, sorry,” you say, pulling Katie away from the bar. “Do we go back to the guys or just away from him?” you whisper to her, not really sure where to go.

“Let’s find the guys. If he sees you with Roope all over you, he might leave you alone.” You lead Katie back to the booth where you left the guys, only to find them gone. “Those idiots left?” she nearly screams, causing some people to turn and stare. “They had one job! They weren’t supposed to leave us!”

“Technically, we didn’t tell them not to leave the booth, and we left them, to begin with,” you point out. “But where the hell did they go? They left so much of their crap here.” You pick up Roope’s jacket that was on the seat, putting it on because you were cold anyway. “I guess we can just sit here and wait for them to come back.”

“The fact that you just put his jacket on!” Katie gushes, taking out her phone, hopefully to text Jamie.

“I’m cold, Roope would have put it on me anyway.” 

“Nice outfit change,” praying the familiar voice was that of one of the guys. You tear your eyes away from Katie to see Tristan standing at the table. “Mind if I sit?”

“Yes,” you and Katie say in unison, as he decides to sit anyway.

You whip out your phone, hoping to find a message from Roope telling you the guys went somewhere within the bar. With Katie still on her phone, and you not wanting Tristan to ask more questions, you send her ‘Anything from Jamie???’

‘No, I’m gonna go find them.’

‘NO! Please don’t leave me with him!’

You text Roope an SOS text, only to feel a vibration in the pocket of his jacket. ‘My dumbass left his phone here. Get Jamie or Tyler to tell him to get here ASAP please!’ you send to Katie, trying your hardest to ignore whatever it is Tristan is babbling about, him moving closer and closer to you as you try to inch away. 

“So are you from the area?” Tristan asks. You can feel his hand getting closer to your thigh as he tries to lean in, probably so he can ‘hear you better,’ as you can imagine he would try to claim.

“Yeah.” 

“Where do you live?”

“Around.” 

“With your friend here?” he motions to Katie, who is still on her phone trying to get a hold of the boys.

“No.” 

“So do you live by yourself?” His hand is inching closer and closer to your leg. No matter how much you squirm away from him, he still tries to get closer.

“No, I live with my boyfriend,” you lie. He doesn’t need to know you don’t actually live with Roope. But who cares?

“Boyfriend? You don’t have a boyfriend,” he says confidently, his hand finding his way onto your thigh.

You push him off, practically jumping into Katie as you can feel the anger inside you boiling up, “Excuse me? Who are you to tell me I don’t have a boyfriend?” Katie gets out of the booth, pulling you with her as Tristan does the same, following the two of you.

“If you had a boyfriend, he would be with you right now.” He follows you, trying to grab onto the hand that’s holding your drink.

Katie leads you through the bar, twisting through the people for what seems like forever, trying to lose Tristan but not succeeding in the meantime. You finally think you see one of the guys, towering over the rest of the people. 

“Is that Jamie over there?” you point to the back near the wall, looking for the blonde mess of hair that would be Roope.

“Oh, thank god,” you hear Katie let out, Tristan still following you and asking you about your boyfriend. All you can do is try to ignore him once you get up to Jamie. “Where’s Roope?” Katie asks him, not letting go of your hand, Tristan a few feet behind.

“He should be with Tyler,” Jamie says, scanning the area for the two. He takes Katie’s free hand, leading the two of you like toddlers through the bar over to Tyler and Roope. 

You let go of Katie’s hand, feeling tears start to form in your eyes once you see Roope, knowing Tristan is still behind you. You practically run into Roope, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, as he does the same. “Babe, are you ok?” 

“Please always have your phone with you when we’re out, especially if you and the other idiots decide to wander,” you tell him, taking his phone out of his jacket pocket, which lights up with your text message from earlier. 

“What’s this?”

“No, it’s fine now that I’m with you.”

“There’s a guy bothering you?” You can see the anger in his eyes, Tyler and Jamie rushing over once they heard Roope’s voice.

“It’s fine, I promise.” 

It wasn’t fine. Because who else but Tristan would show up, “This guy bothering you, hun?”

“Uh, no. I think you’re bothering my girlfriend, actually.” Roope walks right up to him, Jamie and Tyler behind him. With all three of them being over six feet, Tristan seemed so small as they towered over him. 

“Roope, do not.” You sandwich your way between Roope and Tristan, trying to get Roope to look at you. You know he wants to hit him. It was the protective part of him that was taking over him, especially once he read the SOS text. The last thing you needed was for him to get into a fight and get all of you kicked out of the bar. “He’s not worth it.” 

“Excuse me?” you hear Tristan say, “I’m not worth it?” 

“No. You’re not. You have been nothing but a creep this entire night, even when I said I have a boyfriend,” you start to get mad yourself, Roope’s arm snaking around your waist to try to calm you down. “So unless you want to get into a fight with three of the Dallas Stars, I would suggest you leave.” 

Tristan does as you demand, his eyes wide open as he runs away from you and the guys. “I can’t believe I just did that,” you spit out, turning to Roope and practically crumbling in his arms. 

“I want to go after him.”

“No. Stay here with me. Take it out on Tyler next practice,” you joke, referring to earlier.

“I don’t think I want him to anymore,” Tyler says, backing away from the two of you, the guys laughing around you.