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foularcadebanana · 5 years ago

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Call Me Jiujiu

I've written the Day 13 & Day 14 prompts for the Untamed Fall Fest 2020 together since I knew this was going to be a big one. Day 13 Prompt-Fruit, Day 14 Prompt-Savor.

This fic got so long and this idea had been itching at the inside of my brain for way too long. I have been screaming internally about this one for like two days...so I'm going to go breathe in some fresh air now.

Summary: Where Jiang Cheng is so worried about Jin Ling that he unknowingly uncles all three of Jin Ling's friends, his own brother, and his brother-in-law/brother's fiancée.

READ ON AO3

Jiang Cheng sat in the throne room at Koi Tower, on Jin Ling’s right, with a stack of papers he had to look over for the discussion conference that was to take place a week later, and a paper bag with a few fruits and a cutting knife. He had been summoned to the room along with Jin Ling’s friends, which had meant that Wei Wuxian had inevitably followed under the pretense of not wanting to be left out, but secretly because he had wanted to help.

Wei Wuxian following the juniors had led to Hanguang-Jun trailing alongside his husband, fiancée or whatever they were, Jiang Cheng really couldn’t care less. What he cared about however, was Jin Ling. He had been working hard for the discussion conference that would be taking place in Koi Tower, and he was required to arrange a night hunt before that with the rest of juniors, which was why he had called them to the throne room as well.

Jiang Cheng hadn’t wondered why he himself had been called there. He would have broken Jin Ling’s legs if he hadn’t called him. This was A-Ling’s first discussion conference, and there was no way he was letting Jin Ling carry the load of arranging it all himself. Heavens only remembered what a disaster Jiang Cheng’s first discussion conference in Lotus Pier had been like, and he had still had a lot of help from the various sects close to Yunmeng.

He knew how Jin Ling got when he had a goal or an aim that he had to achieve. Jiang Cheng had watched with worry, how Jin Ling had aimed to be the best archer in all of their combined sects. He had strived to achieve that goal with hard work and lots and lots of practice, and Jiang Cheng had proudly watched him achieve the goal.

But Jin Ling had been so single-minded in successfully reaching his goal that he hadn’t eaten or slept, or at least he wouldn’t have, if Jiang Cheng hadn’t been there to feed him or remind him to rest or drag him away from archery practice. He had been there to bandage Jin Ling’s hands when they had almost bled from overworking himself at the training grounds.

Jin Ling had become more careful, however, when during one of his afternoon practices, he had fainted on the training grounds with the sun beating harshly above him. Jin Ling had woken up in the physician’s room with Jiang Cheng clutching his hand desperately and crying softly to himself.

He had apologised to Jiang Cheng and had promised to take better care of himself. Jiang Cheng knew he couldn’t blame the kid. He got his stubbornness and single-mindedness and every single other quality from Jiang Cheng after all. Every other quality, that is, except for the blatant lack of self-care and self-preservation. He blamed that one on Wei Wuxian. Never, even during the darkest of times, had Jiang Cheng ever neglected his hunger or sleep or hygiene.

The sheer thought of how his sect would be able to survive if he didn’t take care of himself had kept him going, and thoughts of young Jin Ling having one less uncle because said uncle had been dumb enough to not take care of himself, had driven him forward. Why Jin Ling couldn’t do the same…

But, as Jiang Cheng thought more about it, he realised that perhaps this was something Jin Ling had acquired from him too. He vaguely remembered times in the past when he had been so overwhelmed by his work and his duties that Jin Ling had often complained that Jiang Cheng wasn’t paying attention to him or that he looked tired, and then using one reason or another, he had pulled Jiang Cheng out of his room and into the fresh air.

Sometimes they would end up at the private docks and sometimes up on the roof. Sometimes they would walk outside and go to all of the food stalls Jin Ling randomly pointed at to try some new food. Jiang Cheng remembered one time when Jin Ling had been a child and Jiang Cheng had rejected all of Jin Ling’s requests to take a break.

Jiang Cheng had often bought fruits from stalls which he knew contained the fresh stock before Jin Ling had been due for his visits to Lotus Pier. He had known that growing children were required to eat fruits for proper physical and mental growth. So, he would make sure that he cut the fruits into equal slices and fed them to Jin Ling in the intervals between their daily meals.

Jin Ling had been constantly distracted and very impatient as a child, so it had been difficult for Jiang Cheng to make him sit down to do anything at all. But as soon as Jin Ling used to spot Jiang Cheng arriving with cut up pieces of fruits, he used to sit down immediately, all ready for his uncle to feed the slices of fruits to him. He used to eat them dutifully, without a single complaint, and Jiang Cheng always used to wonder why.

That day Jiang Cheng had been particularly busy and had been rejecting all of Jin Ling’s offers to spend time with him in the hopes that Jin Ling would leave him alone to complete his work. Jin Ling had instead disappeared for some time and had come back holding a plate with an apple and a knife in his tiny hands.

“Jin Ling, what are you doing?” Jiang Cheng had sighed, running a hand over his face. He had been incredibly exhausted that night.

“I’m going to cut this apple for you. Like you do when I need a break,” Jin Ling had said, sitting down some distance away from Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng had tried to blink away his tiredness to register what was happening, but it had happened so quickly that he could not possibly have done anything about it. One second, Jin Ling had just been sitting with the plate containing the apple and the knife, and the next, he had taken the knife into his own hands and was trying to cut the apple.

“Jin Ling!” Jiang Cheng had exclaimed, but by the time he had reached him, Jin Ling had already accidentally cut his finger. Jiang Cheng had quickly taken the knife into his own hand and put it down before pulling Jin Ling into his arms, trying to calm the crying child down.

“I’m sorry, Jiujiu. I was trying to cut up tasty fruits for you, like you do for me when I haven’t eaten for too long. You say that they are healthy and help us grow strong and focus on our studies. I thought it would help you focus on your work better,” Jin Ling had said in between his tears.

Jiang Cheng had shaken his head fondly, feeling a familiar warmth growing in his chest. This kid. He had still been slightly concerned about the blood falling from the cut to Jin Ling’s finger. But Jiang Cheng had lightly taken the finger and put it into his own mouth to cease the flow of blood and give Jin Ling some relief.

“I’m sorry, A-Ling. This isn’t your fault. I should have paid attention to you. Come on, shall we go outside to the Pier? I’ll get another knife and cut the apple into slices, okay?” Jiang Cheng had responded, and he had felt Jin Ling nodding his head on the top of his shoulder.

So, he had lifted Jin Ling up and walked out of the room without a backwards glance.

Now here he was, and Jin Ling wasn’t aiming to achieve a simple goal, he was planning an event. Jiang Cheng observed the dark circles under the kid’s eyes and the way he blinked faster than usual. The way he turned to the side and tried to stifle his yawn, and his tired smiles. The kid looked as though he might faint at any moment, and Jiang Cheng wondered how many hours he had stayed awake for, and how long it had been since he had eaten anything healthy or solid.

Jiang Cheng would need to have words with his elders and whoever was supposed to be taking care of Jin Ling because they were clearly failing at their one simple task. Jiang Cheng had been expecting this, really, and therefore was here to prevent exactly this.

Jin Ling still, despite being a teenager and a sect leader, behaved exactly the same as he used to when he had been a child. When it came to accepting fruit slices from Jiang Cheng, that is. He obviously didn’t let Jiang Cheng feed him anymore, but whenever Jiang Cheng kept the plate in front of him or knocked on the door to his room, Jin Ling dutifully stopped whatever he was doing to go sit beside Jiang Cheng and eat all of the slices with a patience and devotion that Jin Ling never showed with any other food item. It was always swallow first and chew later with the kid.

So here he was with a bag of fruits leaning against his knee. Jin Ling was angrily ranting about a problem they were going to discuss at the conference. Jiang Cheng had long since stopped listening because he had realised that he would not be required to speak up today. Jin Ling had the rest of his two uncles and his friends to take care of his problems, and Jiang Cheng knew they were more than capable of solving them. That wasn’t what Jiang Cheng was there for.

Luckily for him, things were going according to plan. Wei Wuxian piped up ever so often with suggestions, with Hanguang-Jun agreeing or adding a word or two to his suggestions, making Wei Wuxian smile so widely, Jiang Cheng was surprised his lips didn’t permanently stay that way. Then there were the juniors. They actively took part in the discussion, especially when the topic of discussion turned to the night hunt they had to prepare for.

Here was what irked Jiang Cheng though. He could understand why Jin Ling looked like he did. He knew his kid too well. But why did the rest of the juniors seem to be in similar conditions? Jiang Cheng hadn’t been in Jinlintai to take care of Jin Ling, but surely Lan Sizhui and the loud-mouthed brat, Lan Jingyi, had been taken care of in Gusu. What were idiotic Wei Wuxian and his stupid husband doing in Cloud Recesses if not taking care of their son and his best-friend? And why did they look just as tired as all of these kids?

Ouyang Zizhen’s father was a bit old, sure, but he was quite capable of taking care of his son. What was wrong with all of the adults in these children’s lives? Why weren’t they taking care of their children for fuck’s sake? Jiang Cheng was done with all of them.

He grumpily pushed away his paperwork, hoping that Jin Ling would continue to pay attention to the rest of the people in the room so that Jiang Cheng could be successfully ignored. But the moment he thought that—

“Jiujiu! Are you even listening to us? I didn’t call you here so that you could brood over your paperwork and avoid helping me for the discussion conference and the night hunt. You said that you would help! And yet here you are, ignoring me,” Jin Ling snapped. He looked hurt as he crossed his arms and glared at Jiang Cheng.

If Jiang Cheng hadn’t been busy worrying over the kid, he might have felt guilty for not participating in the conversations that had been taking place and failing in helping Jin Ling.

“I’m listening Jin Ling. But the rest of your uncles and your friends are making great points, so I have nothing to add. Why don’t you continue the discussion and I’ll just…join you when I have something to add to the conversation,” Jiang Cheng spoke, trying to keep his expressions neutral as he put his hand into the fruit bag.

“Jiang Cheng, are you alright? This isn’t like you.” Wei Wuxian said, his brows furrowing slightly, and Jiang Cheng sighed. This was perfect, really. The one time Jiang Cheng did not want to get noticed had to turn out to be the only time he did get noticed.

Jin Ling narrowed his eyes at Jiang Cheng, and Jiang Cheng could see the gears turning in his kid’s brain. “What are you up to, Jiujiu?”

Jiang Cheng pulled his hand out of the bag and pushed the bag behind him as fast as he could. He tried to be subtle about it, but he could tell that Jin Ling had noticed the bag. “What is that?” Jin Ling asked. He stood up and began to walk over to Jiang Cheng. Shit. Abort mission. ABORT-

Jin Ling reached behind Jiang Cheng and pulled the bag out in front of everyone’s view.

“What’s in that?” Lan Jingyi asked, the nosy brat.

Jiang Cheng tried to muster his scariest look. He was the Sandu Shengshou after all. “Jin Ling!” He scolded the kid, but Jin Ling had already opened the bag and was staring inside wide-eyed.

Something about the look on his face made a soft tenderness appear in the middle of Jiang Cheng’s chest.

“Come on, tell us what’s inside,” Ouyang Zizhen said all of a sudden. Jin Ling looked at Jiang Cheng and swallowed heavily. He gave the bag back to Jiang Cheng.

“Jin Ling, what does your uncle’s bag contain?” Lan Sizhui asked politely.

Jiang Cheng could tell that they were all dying to know what was in the bag, but Jin Ling did not say a word. Instead, he sat down next to Jiang Cheng, just like he had all those times when he had been a child, just like he had continued to do as he had grown up.

Jin Ling looked up at Jiang Cheng expectantly, a soft glint in his eyes. Even his features had changed, becoming more relaxed and brighter somehow. Jin Ling, in his entirety, was practically glowing.

“Can either of you just talk to us and tell us what is in that bag?!” Wei Wuxian dramatically exclaimed. But neither Jiang Cheng nor Jin Ling payed any attention to him or anyone else.

Jiang Cheng took an apple out of his bag. Jin Ling already had the plate in his hand, and he set it down on the table in front of him and Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng smiled softly to himself as he held the knife in his hand. Jin Ling watched patiently as Jiang Cheng cut up the fruit and kept it on the plate.

“Here kid,” he said, ruffling Jin Ling’s hair and patting him on the back. “You’ve done a good job so far, with the conference and this night hunt, and I’m proud of you.”

Jin Ling looked to be on the verge of crying, but he held it in, nodding his head and holding a slice of apple in his hand. “Thank you, Jiujiu.”

Jiang Cheng then looked up at the rest of the tired faces and proceeded to pour the rest of the fruits on the table in front of him. He sliced them all in quick succession and took a large plate over to the three juniors.

“I know all three of you have been working extremely hard for the hunt but overworking yourselves won’t get this event set up any faster. It will only exhaust you and make you work slower. So, take care of yourselves. I’m sure the rest of the Sect Leaders will appreciate all of your efforts just as much as I do,” he told them.

Then he took the second, medium-sized plate he was holding over to Wei Wuxian and set it down in front of him and Hanguang-Jun. “I don’t know why the two of you haven’t been sleeping properly or taking care of yourselves, but there is no excuse to be made for it. Take care of yourselves, but most importantly, take care of your kids,” Jiang Cheng paused and pointed at the two Lans who were staring at him wide-eyed, their mouths gaping open. “You cannot hope to take care of them if you don’t take care of yourselves first,” he said and stood up, walking back to Jin Ling.

Jin Ling had almost finished eating the apple slices, so Jiang Cheng put the rest of the slices on the table on Jin Ling’s plate. “Eat all of this,” he said. But instead of nodding along like Jiang Cheng expected him to, Jin Ling protested.

“You should have some too,” Jin Ling said. Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes at his stubborn kid.

“I already had some in the morning, along with a heavy breakfast unlike the rest of you, so eat up,” he stated to the room.

“Uhm, Sect Lea— I mean…what are we supposed to call you?” Lan Jingyi was at a loss for words. Ha! Fucking ha! Jiang Cheng seemed to have done the impossible.

The rest of the juniors seemed to be stunned speechless too. They seemed to be looking at Jiang Cheng as if they had never seen him before, as if they did not know how to react. Had nobody ever fed them apple slices during their childhood or showed them any concern? It wasn’t as though Jiang Cheng was doing something weird or unique, was it?

“You can call him ‘jiujiu’ too,” Jin Ling responded cheekily to Lan Jingyi.

Jiang Cheng glared at him, but before he could say anything, Ouyang Zizhen spoke up as though directly from his heart. “Thank you, Jiujiu.” Jiang Cheng stared at him stunned, but the next second—

“Thank you, Jiujiu,” Lan Jingyi piped up sincerely.

“Thank you, Jiujiu,” Lan Sizhui said, and his voice cracked a bit. Jiang Cheng could swear that he also saw a few unshed tears in his eyes.

“Thank you, didi,” Wei Wuxian said, following their lead.

Jiang Cheng would have spoken up if his throat hadn’t suddenly clenched up. He was not overwhelmed by emotions, dammit! How dare all of these juniors call him ‘jiujiu’? And how dare Wei Wuxian think it appropriate to call him ‘didi’ again?

Jiang Cheng opened his mouth to speak up again but was interrupted by Hanguang-Jun this time. “Thank you, Sect Leader Jiang.” He stood up and bowed to Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng almost dropped his jaw at the respect shown to him by Wei Wuxian’s fiancée-husband. He was referring to him by his title, instead of his courtesy name or nothing at all. Jiang Cheng was in absolute shock.

“We are all grateful to you for reminding us of our duties and how important it is to take care of ourselves,” Lan Wangji said, nodding at Jiang Cheng in approval and acceptance and then sitting down.

Jiang Cheng didn’t know how to react. He hadn’t done anything other than giving out pieces of cut fruit and telling everyone to take care of themselves. He did this with Jin Ling all the time. It was not really a big deal. But everyone else in the room seemed to think that it was.

He watched Jin Ling throwing him the biggest smile he had seen in a while as Jin Ling ate a slice of a pear. It was as if he was proud of Jiang Cheng, and fuck, when had that happened.

As the rest of the people in the throne room shifted their attention to the fruits on their plate and began to eat, talking to each other in hushed voices, Jin Ling shifted closer to Jiang Cheng and muttered to him. “Jiujiu, do you think you could feed me? My arms feel numb from all of that writing and planning, and it hurts to lift them up to eat.”

Jiang Cheng smiled to himself, flicking Jin Ling on the head. “Ow, Jiujiu!” He said, rubbing his head.

“Brat! You think you can make excuses and lie to me like this? You realise I can still discipline you even though you’re a Sect Leader now, don’t you? Just like I can feed you apple slices despite it.” Jin Ling started out scowling at Jiang Cheng, but he ended up grinning sheepishly at him.

As Jin Ling rubbed the back of his head, clearly feeling embarrassed at getting caught with his lie, Jiang Cheng took a slice of pear and held it in front of his A-Ling.

“Jiujiu.” A sudden call out to him made Jiang Cheng turn to his side. He realised that it was Lan Sizhui who had called out to him. The Lan junior had turned a bright shade of red. “Could you— Could I— Can I be fed the fruits, too? I— My arms hurt, too.”

Jiang Cheng blinked in surprise at the request. He was even more surprised when the rest of the two juniors followed Lan Sizhui’s request with their own.

“Me too, Jiujiu.”

“Ah, my arms hurt so much, Jiujiu.”

Jiang Cheng turned to look at Jin Ling, who seemed to be glaring daggers at the three of them. “Shut up! He is my jiujiu. He can only feed me.” Jiang Cheng’s lips twitched and the hand that wasn’t holding the sliced pear reached up to ruffle Jin Ling’s hair affectionately.

Jin Ling flushed and quickly opened his mouth to bite the pear.

“I want a pat on my head too!”

“Me too!”

“Could I get one too, please?”

Jin Ling looked as though he were about to explode, and Jiang Cheng knew this meant that his nephew’s friends were in danger of being shouted at, so he spoke up. “Well, what are you waiting for? Come here, then! Let me feed you and pet your hair.”

The three juniors looked as though they had just discovered the secrets of the universe and scrambled to get up. Jin Ling, on the other hand, looked away from Jiang Cheng and all of his own friends. Jiang Cheng tried to hold back his fondness as he looked at Jin Ling. This kid.

“It doesn’t matter what they call me, A-Ling. Even if they do call me ‘jiujiu’, you’re still my kid, alright?” Jiang Cheng said, quietly, as he picked up another slice of pear. You’re my son. You’re irreplaceable, kid.

Jiang Cheng looked up as Jin Ling caught a hold of his wrist. “And no matter how many uncles I get, you’re still my adult— my guard— my parent.” Jiang Cheng forgot how to breathe. “So, I’m still going to need you to be present here, and to actively participate and help me no matter how many other people speak up, okay?” You’re my dad. And my mom. You’re everything to me.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes and breathed out heavily, trying to hide his tears as he spoke softly. “I’m always going to be here for you, A-Ling. You’re my kid, after all.”

PS: After feeding the fruits to Jin Ling and the rest of the juniors, and giving them all the hair pats they deserved, Jiujiu sent them all to their rooms and ordered them to get some sleep. Then he had a talk with Wei Wuxian and Hanguang-Jun about how sleep>sex.

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syms-things-5 · 5 years ago

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Clear The Area - Chapter Fifteen (Part Three)

Previous chapter here

Warnings: language, some suggestive sexuality, and some good old angst

Tags: @jennmurawski13 @kelbabyblue Thanks for the support!

Notes: Hope you enjoy this, and apologies for my poor spelling and grammar.

Chapter Fifteen: Part Three

She woke up earlier than him.

It was half six when she stepped into the shower having given up on her sleep. It had been a hot, rather uncomfortable night and the aircon barely broke a chill through the suite.

It was taking some getting used to, this sharing a bed, especially with someone who insisted on snuggling into the back of her. Sarah wasn’t much of a cuddler and Chris knew this. She would much rather wrap herself up in blankets and drift off to sleep but it didn’t stop him from slowly inching his body towards her throughout the night. It was a case of putting up with it for fear of falling off the end and breaking something.

She barely moved under the shower head except to allow the water to rain down on her skin and hopefully liven her up for the day. She was anxious, more anxious than she anticipated she would be. She was always able to keep her cool under test conditions, probably why she became a nurse in the first place, but something about this particular exam was hitting differently and she wasn’t sure why.

She eventually got dressed and went back into the bedroom to sort her hair. He would be annoyed she’d woken up before him now that he had decided he was single-handedly responsible for all her breakfast needs that week. Admittedly, though, it felt nice being looked after in this way. Really, really nice. It was like having her own PA.

He was sleeping flat on his stomach, one leg poking out from underneath the covers. He had wrapped his arms around a pillow and his low snore was rumbling through the warm air in the room. It was confusing how anyone could find that position comfortable and not wake up having lost all feeling down one side of his body. His back muscles were relaxed but still resembled something Michelangelo could only dream of painting. He was, in all honesty, a ridiculous specimen of a man. A man that told her he wanted her to get some good rest and sleep as much as possible. Who had closed her textbooks, ran her a hot bath, and climbed in behind her to massage her shoulders. Potential lingered in the air last night but he was going to stick to his word and not get in the way of her work. He told her he was glad he was with her and happily settled for stroking her hair as she fell asleep. Her head was lying on his chest but when she felt his heartbeat settle and his arms loosen around her, she softly rolled away from him like he knew she inevitably would.

At various times, they found themselves getting into a very comfortable and, dare she say it, enjoyable routine. It was surprisingly easy to do so when the door was locked. He had used the hotel gym to give her some peace for a few hours each morning. He had kept her fed and hydrated when she would have most likely forgotten both having had her nose stuck in her books for hours on end. He had watched daytime television in the bedroom and failed to hide his tears when a charity had rebuilt an elderly man’s home following a flood. When she asked, he had helped to test her using the notes she’d prepped for the exam. He read scripts as soon as they had landed in his inbox. His team was politely shocked at his new-found efficiency.

When they weren’t fooling around on the sofa in the evenings, she had taken a break to read over some lines with him. While at first he was very kind and promising with his notes, especially with some kissing scenes he’d invented, they both knew she was definitely not suited for a life in front of the camera.

“Don’t overthink it too much. Just go with your instincts.” he encouraged her to continue reading with him for fun but she had given up when he had fallen into a fit of laughter as she attempted to arrest him.

“Yeh, no, my brain doesn’t really work like that.” she responded, holding up her hands in defeat.

“Please? I’m sorry, I promise I won’t laugh.” he pleaded. “Again.”

It was easy to get used to having him around but she finally realised how and why women fell for him hard. There was something very childlike about him, something innocent even if he was anything but when they dimmed the lights. He was gentler and quieter than she knew him to be, less sure of himself at times than perhaps the impression he wilfully gave away to the public. She heard the criticisms he levelled at himself when reading his lines out loud and saw first-hand the pressure he placed upon himself where his career was concerned. But for every committed step them took forwards as they learned more about each other, even after all these years, something started to pull her back.

“Hey...”

She was broken from her contemplation by his groggy drawl. He turned on to his side and laid his hand in the space she had previously occupied. One eye had yet to open and his hair was pointing in all different directions.

“It’s far too early to get up, y’know.” He stretched his arm out to connect with her leg curled up underneath her as she looked back at him. “Oh shit. I forgot. Is it really this morning already?”

She stayed looking at him from where she was sat before nodding. “I should only be a couple of hours but I’ll swing by that bakery down the street and pick us up something nice for lunch. They do those almond croissants you like.”

He sighed, taking her in and smiling. She’d tied her hair in a side plait and was wearing a slightly fluffy striped sweater that he wanted to run his hands over. “Yeh, that sounds really nice, Bernette.” He didn’t miss a beat. “I could meet you afterwards? We could go for a walk through the Park?”

“I might just want to come home and cry.”

“Hey now, you’re gonna ace this test. I can feel it.” He was fully awake now, purposeful in his movements towards her to help put her mind at ease. “if I was your patient, I would be ecstatic to have you working on me.”

She chuckled to herself. He was always so confident expressing himself. She was jealous of that. She wished she could be as confident and as sure of herself, like the rest of the family were. It was one thing in her that stood out in stark contrast.

“What have you eaten? I didn’t hear any room service.” He probed, a serious look now glazing over his features.

“Oh it’s fine, I’ll grab something on the way. I’m not all that hungry to tell you the truth.” She tried to brush off his protests but it only served to make him more concerned.

“You’ve got time yet, let me order something up.” He made for the phone but was stopped as she got up from the bed. “You need to eat something, Sarah. You’re gonna be sat there for hours. I don’t want you passing out.”

“Alright, thank you, Dad!” she laughed. “It’s fine! This is not my first exam. I know what it’s like and I promise you I will get something from Starbucks on somewhere else on the way.”

“You’re going now?!”

“Yeh, I could do with a walk to clear my hear. I always found that helpful when back in school.” She was talking from the lounge as she tried to locate her boots. Something else Shanna had chucked into her suitcase without her realising, but she wasn’t as annoyed with this one.

“Give me ten minutes and I’ll come with you.”

She re-entered the bedroom to find him rifling through his bag for new clothes. “Why?”

“Because I wanna support my girlfriend! Jesus!” He was sharper than he had intended but carried on with his search for fresh boxers, throwing out some old stuff in haste like he was searching for long lost buried treasure.

She just looked at him. He’d never used that word before. They’d never talked about it. He acknowledged her silence and stopped to look at her, jeans in hand. He saw her awkward stance and instantly felt like shit. This was not the morning to lay this on her. He knew the very next words out of his mouth would determine how they moved forward.

He paused before chucking his jeans on the chair in front of him. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she responded but she wasn’t sure it was.

“If you wanna head off, that’s totally cool. I’ll be here if you need me. Just text me when you’re done, yeh?”

She nodded at him, offered him as reassuring a smile as she could manage before leaving the bedroom to gather her things. He didn’t follow her; she heard the bed creak slightly so he must have chosen to stay put instead. It was probably for the best. She didn’t want the image of his pitiful face to be her last memory before sitting in silence for 90 minutes, trying in vain to concentrate as hard as she could.

The test went about as well as expected, if what she had expected was to doubt her basic entry-level abilities. She was one of seven that morning, six if you discount the gentleman that walked out fifteen minutes after he sat down.

It was multiple choice. It really shouldn’t have been that difficult. The answer was hiding in plain sight after all. She was reminded of something her tutor once told her and her graduating class before they left the relative comfort of their college:

“There will always be someone who knows more than we do.”

He didn’t mean it in a disparaging way - at least she didn’t think he did - but more that you go from being one of the best in your class to being surrounded by people who are equally as bright and as intuitive as you may be, and who will all have had different experiences. He wanted to say that sometimes, there is no one right answer. It was more than passing a test and qualifying; you have to adapt. You had to soak everything up like a sponge or else you risk becoming redundant in the very profession you devoted your life to. No wonder Medicine had the highest quit ratio. Boy, had she been naive.

Shanna 11.41am: OK OK I kno ur probably still super busy bt i’m dying to kno how it went?? Txt me when you get a sec babe xxxxx

She smiled down at her phone before typing a series of vomiting emojis. That should just about sum up her feelings. Scanning her phone again, she found a couple of messages from Audrey but none from Chris. She was surprised but would be lying if she didn’t admit to being relieved.

She meandered down the street towards the subway, thoughts swaying between reliving stupid mistakes she had convinced herself she had made, to what kind of mood Chris might be in. She texted him that she was finished and heading back like she promised she would, then the train was bang on time so she didn’t even have the luxury of blaming delays. Her legs weighed like lead as she approached the suite doorway, her lack of sleep the night before finally catching up with her.

Everything was deathly quiet when she entered. She paused after shutting the door behind her but still couldn’t hear anything. Certainly no trace of another person being present. Confused, she walked into the bedroom and found a note left on the comforter. He’d gone to the gym and told her to message him when she got back. This might give her the excuse she’d been seeking to grab five minutes alone.

She flopped on to the bed and turned to the side to catch the pile of notes and textbooks he’d shoved there the night before. So much promise contained in those few pages. So much knowledge that it felt like she had no business attempting to absorb it for her own personal gain. Many highly accomplished physicians and scientists had bound their entire lives to the duty of finding answers to the human body’s potential for extreme trauma. What exactly would a young, angst-ridden girl from Michigan bring to the table?

The door went a few moments later and she realised she had closed her eyes. She was lying on her back with her legs hanging off the end of the bed as he walked in, slightly sweaty but nevertheless a sight for sore eyes. Seeing him in this state was the nicest thing that had happened to her all day and she regretted their tense conversation earlier.

“Dude...” he muttered as he dropped his towel on the chair by the door and joined her on the bed. He flopped down alongside her with a heavy sigh.

“Good workout?” she finally offered.

“Yeh, all good. Nothing too strenuous.” He replied like it was the most normal conversation in the world. “Good exam?”

“Oh yeh, same.” she replied just as casual as him before they both fell into a fit of giggles.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked after they had both calmed down.

She took a deep breath. “Not really.”

“You want me to guess?”

“Chris...”

“What?” his voice was a little whinier than he would have liked at this particular time. “I know you. You’re writing yourself off before you know what’s happened.”

“Who said I was writing myself off?” She pushed back. “It’s normal to feel like this. It’s just...nerves or whatever.”

“Yeh, well, there’s no point worrying about something twice.”

She didn’t want to talk about this right now. She was silently hoping he would make a move on her after refraining from touching her the night before when she was definitely in the mood for him. “It’s just...it’s hard to explain.” She got up from the bed and shuffled into the bathroom to remove what little make-up she had put on that morning.

“Try and tell me about it. What was it like? How many questions were there? How many people turned up?”

She threw the face wipe in the bin and ran the tap water to wash her hands. She knew he wasn’t going to budge from his trajectory. She knew he wasn’t going to stop picking at her to talk about it. She leaned her hands on the marble top and took a deep breath.

“It was harder than I imagined it would be. I think I just froze. Like, basic stuff I do day in and day out just wasn’t coming to me.”

“If doing auditions has taught me anything it’s that you always think you’ve done worse than you have. It’s just natural. The brain works in strange ways sometimes. It can trick you.” he reasoned, finally moving into the bathroom but not daring to reach out to her. He settled for backing up against the wall inside the doorway.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be a good result, thought.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” He spoke softly, comfortingly. “You’re so smart and so capable of doing this. You just gotta believe in yourself.”

She nodded in acceptable of what he was trying to say and looked at him face-on. His brow was defined with those worry lines again which made feel a little crap, but he still had a boyish shine about him, no doubt because of the glow from his workout. She would have been a heaving red mess.

“What are you thnking about?” he asked.

She continued studying him, trying to arrange her thoughts. “Is this all there is to life?” she asked after another moment had passed. “You find something you like to do and that’s it, you just coast for 40 years?”

He contemplated her question for a second. “Yeh. Pretty much.”

Sarah huffed out a laugh, not fully appreciating his brutal honest at this moment in time.

“But not everyone is lucky to even get that far.” He moved into the bathroom to stand closer to her. “People can go years with no real clue of what it is they wanna do. You’re one of the lucky ones, Sarah. You figured it out when you were young, you did what you had to do and now you’re doing it for real. That’s less common that you think.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate what he was trying to do, it’s just that often she had multiple anxieties convincing her of the opposite. It’s easy for him to say this, he’s already at the top of his game. He doesn’t have to other with the real world if he doesn’t want to. Most people don’t have the financial luxury of stopping to retrain as something different and Chris had always alluded to quitting acting while he was still young in order to take up something else, like carpentry or simply staying behind the scenes. He always figured he would stop when he had his first child but the reality for everyone else couldn’t afford them that same privilege.

“You are where you’re supposed to be.” He continued. “I don’t believe there is anyone better qualified at what it is they do than you. I believe that and I believe that you know that, too, deep down. You just gotta find the other stuff that keeps you happy in the meantime. Whatever it is that keeps you going.”

“What makes you happy?”

He smiled at her. “Well...what you see if what you get. Family, football, beer. Not necessarily in that order.” He was glad she was smiling again. “Spending time with the people I love. Recognising that I love them and that they love me back and that that love is wonderful.”

“You’re so lucky you don’t second guess yourself all the time.”

“Oh, believe me, I do.” he impressed. “It’s just that I learned some things a few years ago that helped me now. Like taking a deep breath and letting it wash over you. It’s natural to feel doubt but it’s what happens afterwards that really matters. It’s how we choose to perceive the things that happen to us, and how we move forward.”

“Anything has gotta be easier than feeling like this.”

“It’s not always a good thing. Sometimes you have to wait for other people to catch up.” He leaned onto the counter next to her, the mirror in front of them spotlighting them both and making them both appear a little pathetic in their current gait.

“I should start packing.” She whispered after a few more silent moments had passed by.

Neither of them made the effort to move but check-out was 2pm at the latest if Chris had bought it and she was almost certain he had. She would eventually need to make her way to the station and presumably Chris would simply head home in his car. Back to Boston. Back to reality.

“We still have some time. We could order up some lunch if you want to? I’m not entirely convinced you ate anything this morning.”

She watched him in the mirror as he turned to face her, a sterner look in his eyes. He was pretty certain he could read her face this time and her lip-bite told him he was right.

“Or we could do something else with the little time we have left.” He reached out his hand to touch hers, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. She didn’t more away so he chanced his arm and pulled her closer to him before kissing the inside of her palm and wrist. “It was so hard last night.”

She smirked at him before it dawned on him. “I mean...you know what I mean.” He rolled his eyes. “It was hard for me to lie so close to you and not touch you. I really meant what I said, about you getting a good night’s rest but fuck me, it was difficult.”

“I know. It was hard for me, too.”

“We don’t get this kind of time together,” he looked down at her hands, held tightly in his. “And I’ve really, really enjoyed myself. I feel more normal around you. I can’t explain it.”

“It’s OK. You don’t need to say anything.”

This was the type of conversation Sarah would ordinarily run a mile from had it been with anyone else. Chris seemed to understand as well as he stopped himself from talking some more. She was being held in place by the literal limited space around her as he planted himself in her way. He looked down at her causing her to freeze up and, mentally, she began checking if she could feel her feet.

She slowly ran her hands up and down his arms in an attempt to sooth him. She saw him glance down at her lips and she hoped he would end the silence by kissing her but there was no such luck. He was trying to figure something out but what, she didn’t know. He was waiting for her next move.

“I don’t think we’ve thought this much about what happens, when...” he paused, gauging her for a response or an indication that she was OK with what he was about to say. Perhaps even anticipating it in some way. “Sarah, I have these feelings for you and they’re getting stronger and these past few days have told me that I’m right. Do you know what I mean?”

She did know. She didn’t much want to know, but she did. “Let’s pause this and figure it out another time, yeh?” He hands rubbed up to the rest of his shoulders. “Let’s just enjoy this while it lasts. There’ll be another time for talking.”

He wasn’t convinced but assuaged enough to kiss her again, a little harder this time. His hand slipped into her hair to hold her to him and she responded by wrapping her arms around his neck. They had time.

She should have known he would have had the idea to drive them both back home. Yes, there was no need for her to sit on a busy commuter train for three hours but still. She did almost say yes but she would feel awkward asking him to drop her off blocks away from her home and he would inevitably disagree and they’d argue. Not argue per se. They never really argued, but it would become a thing and she didn’t have the heart to disappoint him a third time that day.

They were in happy moods by the time they checked out. All ideas of having a more serious conversation had evaporated quickly after she pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top of him. He had them both naked in record time even for him, and she made a point to memorise his face and the rush of red through his skin when she watched him cum hard underneath her.

She’d bought him a coffee from the cafe bar inside the reception and he’d thanked her with a gentle peck on the lips before slipping away via the underground garage, ball cap pulled down low over his eyes. She felt the light bruises form on her thighs and smiled to herself at the memory of where his hands had been when she walked into the apartment to find Shanna in tears. She froze on the spot.

“Oh my god, what the hell happened?” Finally finding her voice when registering the scene in front of her. Sarah dropped her bags and ran to the couch to wrap an arm around her friend. “Why are you crying?”

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. Sorry, I’m...” Shanna tried to gather her thoughts. “It’s stupid really. I don’t even know what I’m crying.”

“Well, it’s not stupid. It’s obviously something because it’s made you upset.” She pulled her hand inside the sleeve of her hoodie and used it to wipe away her tears. “Do you wanna talk about it? Is it something I can help with?”

“Not really.” This wasn’t the feisty Shan Sarah knew. “Turns out Robbie wasn’t interested in me after all because he’s asked somebody else out. I should have known really. He definitely wouldn’t be interested in me.”

“Oh love,” Sarah empathised.

“It’s not even like I was really all that bothered about him, honestly.” She continued. “It’s just, it’s been a while since someone decent asked me out on a date, y’know? Someone smart who had potential. Normally, they have to be drunk to even approach me and they just end up being dickheads. All of them.”

Knowing Shanna as well as she did, she knew Shanna wouldn’t appreciate an empty platitude. “I think it happens to the best of us. You should hear some of the tales Audrey has. She’s experienced some crazy shit.”

“Yeh? How did she meet Michael?”

“She didn’t make it easy for him that’s for sure!” she chuckled and felt relief at the grin now showing on Shan’s face. “The way she tells it, she stopped looking. Just stopped going to bars and clubs, spent more time doing the things she enjoyed and more time with her friends and family. Randomly met him at a march in the city, can you believe that? He wasn’t even supposed to be there but his brother dragged him along apparently.”

“I think she was right to concentrate on her friends and family. I should take a leaf out of her book. At least you can count on them to keep you sane.”

A sense of unease found its way into Sarah’s head. “Yeh, definitely. You never know when a good thing will strike and maybe this shows you that you know what you don’t want anymore. That’s gotta be a positive thing, right?”

“Yeh, it just feels a bit crap but I’ll probably feel better in the morning.” Shanna got up from the couch and Sarah sense it was more so to hide a few more tears. “I got some wine earlier, do you fancy a glass?”

“Uh yeh sounds good. I’ll just go and sort my stuff out.”

“Oh fucking hell!” Shanna smacked her hand to her face. “I’m so sorry! How did it go?”

Sarah held her bag loosely in her hand, her attempt at making a quick getaway to her room without discussing the exam a failure. “Oh, it was what it was. I won’t find out for a little while so no point worrying about it twice, right?”

“Huh, you sound just like Chris.” Shanna said before walking back into the kitchen. “I’m sure you did great, though. You always do.”

“Thanks.” She carried on to her room to dump her stuff. She would sort it out tomorrow. Right now, she figured Shan would want to get a little bit drunk and Sarah was on a late tomorrow anyway, so...it wouldn’t do them any harm.

“Hey, Sarah?” Shan called from the kitchen.

“Yeh?”

“Who did you have coffee with?”

Confusion set in as Sarah tried to figure out what Shanna was talking about. She peered her head round the door. “What?”

“Coffee today?” Shanna responded, holding a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. “This dropped out of your coat, I think. Coffee for two?”

Confusion quickly turned into full-blown panic as she realised what she had done. Fuck. “Oh, um, I just...” She stumbled over herself and felt her skin redden and get hotter. She must have looked a sight. “Um...it wasn’t...”

“Hey, listen, you don’t need to explain anything.”

“Oh no that’s not what it is-”

“-At least one of us is having better luck in the romance department.”

“Shan, it’s not-”

“-I’m so glad you and Greg are getting on well.” Shanna handed over the receipt to Sarah before regarding what must have looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights. “I mean that. He seems nice and you absolutely deserve to have some fun for a change. I know I haven’t been very supportive of this whole thing with Charlotte but I worry about you a little bit sometimes. After everything that’s happened, I guess I just didn’t wanna see you hurt again.”

Sarah was frozen to the spot. Numb. Shanna had put two and two together and thought the best of her friend. Sarah didn’t deserve that.

“He seems like he’s being really supportive right now and being the person that I should perhaps be. I will try to be better, I promise.” Shanna apologised.

Sarah looked down at the slip of paper in her hand and then to the floor, a little bit of feeling starting to return to her legs. “Shan,” she started quietly, so quietly that she missed it entirely and when she looked back up, Shanna was walking back into the kitchen.

“I mean it. You’ve always been amazing to me. Picking me up when I need it and looking after me. Everyone says I take you for granted sometimes and they’re absolutely right so I just wanted to say that I will back you up 100% from now on. No excuses. You and me against the world, right?”

Shanna flashed her a broad and hopeful grin and all Sarah could do was return a limp version in response.

“Let’s get that wine opened and you can tell me all about it.”

Shanna disappeared into the kitchen again. If she had stayed a second longer she would have seen tears form in Sarah’s eyes at the knowledge that she screwed everything up. She and Chris had diverted a conversation on the promise of having it another time but that was never going to happen. Not now.

How could it?

#Chris Evans #Sarah Bernette #chris evans x original female character #clear the area #evans fic #chris evans fic #fanfiction

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ladyofmaidensandwine · 5 years ago

Text

Of Saints and Sinners

Part Three of the All’s Not Fair in Love and War Series

Square Filled for SPN Dean Bingo: The Bunker

Characters: Dean Winchester, Fem! Reader, Sam Winchester, Charlie, John Winchester, Fem! Reader

Wordcount: 1,674

A/N- I know this one’s a bit short and rather late- sorry it took so long, luvs- but I did feel that this chapter wasn’t meant to be particularly exciting and was more about the reader coming to terms with herself and her new reality.

Summary: Dean has a surprise for the reader, and the reader struggles to reconcile two very different versions of herself while still trying to accomplish her mission.

The Bunker, it was called. Massive, endless corridors and halls of identical wooden doors, a windowless stronghold built of solid stone and hidden behind the outer wall. No one got in, or out, without the King’s explicit consent, and the building felt too familiar to you. Another prison. Dean had made a begrudging man allow you to select weaponry of your own from the armory, and then had the seamstress follow your guidelines to create a new wardrobe for you, as your cover had been blown wide open when you’d been forced to fight. The wounds had mostly healed, and would undoubtedly scar, and while everyone felt the safety of the Bunker would protect them, you had doubts. You had seen things that no wall of stone could keep out forever, and eventually, you would have to leave.

No matter where you went, a fully-armed escort of at least four men accompanied you, but not for your safety. For the safety of the civilians. Dean had promised John wouldn’t be able to execute or imprison you again, but how far did his word go, against the commands of his King? You waited for the inevitable heavy iron shackles, and that dark and silent cell haunted you in sleep. You couldn’t enter small or crowded spaces still, and the lack of windows in the stronghold made it hard to breathe sometimes, but you would never give King John the satisfaction of seeing you crumble. You trained, let them see what you were capable of if provoked, you studied maps as often as you dared, tested your mental capacity by memorizing as much of the politics of the kingdom as you could, learned and plotted and planned, and marked the days before you would make your move.

Dean had been absent, but his brother kept an eye on you. He never made to approach, but you knew he was there. On nights when you couldn’t sleep, you’d sometimes find him in the library, not a word spoken between you as you kept to yourselves and read your respective books. Those nights you sometimes faced with equal parts excitement and dread. The game was fun to play, a strategic balance of moves and countermoves, testing one another’s resolve, but it could mean precious time wasted in your search.

You’d been playing games since the moment you revealed yourself, one identity shed in favour of a completely new one, a person more palatable to the court, and one you hoped would gain the trust of the Royal Family. No one knew who you were, beyond your reputation, except for Dean. You wondered which part of your long-buried past he’d managed to uncover. Did he know who you were, where you came from? Did he know why you’d been captured so long ago?

Dean returned quietly, and you hadn’t known he was back until he was at your door, looking weary but determined. “Where were you?” You asked, not bothering to greet him. He entered the room and shut the door behind him, taking a seat at the end of your bed. “It’s good to see you, too.” Dean replied, raising a brow your way. You scowled deeply, and had to seriously refrain from chucking a brush at his face. Dean huffed, and glanced around the room. “Father sent me to hunt them down. Gather information about the attack.” He answered. “What did you find?” “They came on Crowley’s orders. To take over the throne.” Your eyes narrowed, suspicious of the information. “What is it?’ Dean questioned, pine coloured eyes searching you for an answer. “Nothing concrete. This feels a little too aligned to be coincidence, though. I was rotting in that cell for a good long while before His Majesty deigned to drag me out, and soon after, Crowley plans a coup, forcing us to retreat here? There’s more at work here, I know it.” You said fiercely, pacing the room as you spoke. Dean’s face was grave, eyes intense and solemn. “If this is all a part of some grandiose scheme, then we will uncover the plot and put an end to it. Y/N, look at me,” Dean requested, laying a warm hand on your shoulder as you met his gaze, “we will figure this out. Together.” Somehow, you believed him.

The Bunker offered privacy, which meant you and Dean could escape prying eyes and endless questions and people demanding your attention. You’d taken to sparring in one of many training rooms available, teaching Dean how to throw knives as accurately as you did, while Dean furthered your capacity in unarmed single combat. He’d attempted going easy on you until you’d broken his nose for it, and since then, the two of you spent almost every day together, fighting or trying to discover Crowley’s motives. There were eyes and ears everywhere, but you were no longer in hiding- you wore what pleased you, no more dainty lace and demure pastels, and while at first you seemed agreeable and a pleasant lady like any of the other court women, you no longer hesitated to put those who would speak against you wrongly in their place. It was the most honest and like your true self you’d been in many years, and with Dean, all those fortified walls and concealing masks fell away even further. He made it so easy, so simple, to be Y/N and Dean, just Y/N and Dean, not an assassin and the Crown Prince, a killer and a soldier, just two people enjoying the company of someone who understood.

“I have something to show you.” Dean said, pushing aside a heavy tome of the records and lineages of King John’s court of nobles. You tilted your head, raising a brow in a silent question, but Dean didn’t answer, only gave you a knowing smirk and an extended hand. “Do I get a hint?” You asked, taking his hand and letting him lead you from the library. “No. Close your eyes.” Dean instructed. “What?” “Don’t you trust me?” He asked teasingly. Your eyes narrowed. He was up to something. “At the moment, no, but generally, yes.” You replied, smirking back when he gave an unamused expression. “Y/N.” Dean said, annoyed. “Dean.” You mocked. “You may be the most obstinate woman I have ever met.” He sighed. The Prince eyed you with a look of both determination and exasperation, the kind of face you’d watched him give Prince Sam at least a dozen times before. “Then perhaps you’ve met your match, Your Majesty.” You quipped, but closed your eyes without further refusal. Dean huffed a laugh, his calloused palm rough but warm against yours, a small smile gracing your lips. You had glossed over it in jest, but it was true- you did trust him. And that terrified you.

You stared in stunned silence. A room with rows upon rows of artwork. Sculptures, and carvings, sketches, acrylic portraits and landscapes, watercolor paintings, oil, pastels, charcoal drawings, murals and mosaics. Your breath was caught in your throat, eyes wide as you absorbed the myriad of colours. “Is it to your liking?” Dean asked lowly, sounding nervous. You don’t reply, stepping slowly into the first section of stunning oil paintings, the most beautiful art you’d ever seen. Paintings of mermaids and things almost human, with eyes that held that lifelike quality a painter could spend years trying to get right, the shadows so well done, you could swear the paintings move. “I don’t- I have no words.” You said in awe. “What is this? Where did you get all this?” “My ancestors, the Men of Letters, collected the best artwork in all forms they could find for centuries. It’s stored here, but no one ever actually looks at this gallery. I- I noticed you admiring the paintings in the palace, and I thought perhaps you might find some interest in these,” Dean muttered, ears turned red, “and it has been too long since the room was used, anyways.” He deflected from his observation of your love for art, but you were not distracted by attempt. “Dean,” you said, catching his attention with the use of his first name, “this is quite possibly the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you, truly.” You said sincerely. “Don’t thank me, Y/N.” Dean said, something almost bitter and regretful in his tone. “There are supplies, should you want for them, towards the back. I should be going, but I-” He stopped, seeming to reconsider his next words carefully. “I hope you won’t mind if I stop by later.” He said slowly. “I should be quite offended if you don’t. Until then, Your Majesty.” You said with a curtsy, Dean sighing, but with a grin to match your own. “M’lady.” He bowed, smirking before exiting through the grand doors.

Dean was good to his word- there were countless supplies, easels and paints to last you your entire life, but though you had once delighted to spend hours attempting to perfect the colour and texture of a cloud with careful and decisive brushstrokes, that place in your heart that had been bursting with life was empty. You stared blankly at a canvas, and wondered where the girl you once knew had gone. The girl who brandished sticks of charcoal instead of knives, the one whose hands were streaked with a veritable rainbow rather than deep crimson, the one that had been kind, the girl that had been so alive. In your heart, you knew that girl had gone into Hell, and someone new had crawled out. And yet, sometimes you thought there might still be that part of you that had loved fiercely, and lived freely, little flickers of a painted scene in your mind’s eye, a stirring in your heart that called for joy. And as you explored the vast collection with Dean, you wondered if an artist’s imagination and a lover’s gentle hands could redeem an assassin. If maybe there was still a part of you worthy of redemption.

TAGS-

Forever Tags-

@justagirlinafandomworld

SPN Dean Bingo Tags-

@deanwanddamons

@spndeanbingo

All’s Not Fair in Love and War Tags-

@perpetualabsurdity

#all's not fair in love and war #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #spndeanbingo #medieval au

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kikiofthevast · 5 years ago

Text

Suits You

CW: Mentioned past major character death (not permanent or real don't worry), implied past human experimentation, spoilers for SDR2, DRAE, DR3, and SDR2.5, implied body modification/self-mutilation, mention of brainwashing

Pairings: A hint of Komahina

Summary: Nagito and Hajime have a little talk on the way to the Future Foundation Headquarters.

Or: The author thinks that Hajime Hinata looks good in a suit and projects this onto the DR characters.

Did I read a bunch of Wikipedia the free online encyclopedia that anyone can edit articles on how Japanese honorifics and address works so I can make my dialogue realistic? Maybe. Is my dialogue still probably wrong? Yes.

Also stuff I used to my advantage in this fic: The bullshit nature of the Analyst talent, the gratuitous amount of time between SDR2 and DR3, and Izuru's existing knowledge of the events of Despair Side.

Also also see if you can guess what Hajime's reply would have been before Mikan cut him off.

Ao3

---

Hajime leaned forward against the railing of the ship as it sailed on the ocean. The sight of the sunset was rather beautiful, even if it was like any other. The ship's motion also was a nice rhythm to focus on, even if it was a little dull.

"Nice view, isn't it?" Komaeda said, making Hajime jump a little, and he turned to see the Ultimate Lucky Student smiling at him.

"It gets a little repetitive after a while, but yeah, I guess it is." Hajime turned back in the direction of the setting sun, as Komaeda moved over to stand next to him.

"Souda-san finished the arm, and Tsumugi-san helped with the attachment," Komaeda said in his usual casual tone, raising the robotic arm and flexing his fingers. "It fits very comfortably, as to be expected of two Ultimates.

"Glad you like it," Hajime replied.

Komaeda got a strange look on his face, and Hajime suddenly knew where this was going. He continued, "While he was working on it, he also told me how you shut down the simulation. I have to say, Hinata-san, I never realized you had such true hope within you!"

And there it was.

"I-it was nothing, really, I just...trusted in the future. And it was mostly Nanami."

"Ohhh, don't be so modest! If I had known you would have done and said all of that, I would have stuck around! It was my fault really, I should have had more hope in you all-!"

"Nagito."

Komaeda-or Nagito-reeled a little, blinking a bit at Hajime.

"Hinata..." Nagito spoke carefully. "Do you consider us...friends?"

Hajime looked away and tried to keep his voice from shaking. "Well, despite how you try to put yourself below us, you're an Ultimate too. If anyone doesn't belong here, it's me. A Reserve Course Student that became a talented person because of a few surgeries. But here, right now, you and I are equals. I may have talents that you don't but we are standing here.

"We were both attendees of Hope's Peak, no matter the circumstances, and we were both manipulated by Junko Enoshima to do her bidding as Ultimate Despair. We both involved ourselves in Towa City, we both went into the Neo World Program, and we both helped to stop it.

"We worked together in the Program, even after you realized our true identities, and you helped us start to realize the truth of the world. So yes, Nagito Komaeda, we are friends."

There was silence between them for a long moment.

Eventually Nagito cracked a weak smile and said, "Wow, is that what you think of me Hajime? You make me sound like some kind of hero!"

Hajime let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "I wouldn't call what you did in Towa City heroism," he joked, and Nagito laughed.

"I don't recall you being in Towa City. Did you poke around in my head before getting me out of the program?"

The remarks and jokes they were making so lightly didn't seem like they would be good in a normal environment, but then again, none of this was normal.

"I spent some time watching, didn't really do anything other than that. I regret it sometimes but...it's in the past. And no, I can promise nobody rifled through your mind before we got you out, even if Souda wanted to." He said the last part with a smile and Nagito matched it with a more genuine one than his previous, weaker smile.

"Good, I would hate to have to explain what I lived in the Program. Did you make that Alter Ego? The World Destroyer, he called himself?"

Hajime went back to looking at Nagito directly. "Yeah, I did. It seemed like he did a good job of freeing you, even from the deepest layer of the Program."

"Well, he was certainly similar to Izuru Kamukura, he had a very straightforward and violent approach to getting me out."

"Huh, I don't actually know what he did to get everyone out. But I guess it's none of my business."

The silence between them was less tense than before, more companionable.

Nagito's face eventually grew serious, and he asked the question Hajime was sure everyone had wanted to ask him.

"Are you sure about this?"

Hajime took a deep breath and Nagito quickly backpedaled, almost instinctively.

"I know you've probably thought about all of the possibilities already, and I know that you've explained all of the reasons we should do this multiple times but I-"

Hajime held up a hand. "Nagito, it's alright. Really."

Another easy smile formed on Nagito's face. "No, I understand, I understand. Forget I said anything."

"No, Nagito. You're allowed to have concerns. I understand that not everybody can predict all outcomes of a situation." A wry smile crept onto his face as he spoke. "All I can ask you to do is trust me. Based on the information Naegi gave us, the Future Foundation is expecting the return of the 78th class members and will likely arrest at the very least Naegi and hold trial. There is also a high likelihood that the Foundation has been infiltrated and that Mitarai's despair video is the cause. Chisa Yukisome was a victim of the video, so she may have shown it to other members of the Foundation. I'm certain that whoever has seen the video in the Foundation has likely set up another killing game of sorts with the use of Mitarai's video to push him over the edge and convince him to utilize a video he created to cultivate hope in the same way the previous one was used to cultivate despair and we have to stop him from spreading it to the world, because as his classmates we are the only ones who can talk him down."

A beat of silence. Nagito was staring at him, eyes wide.

Hajime suddenly looked sheepish and the spell was broken. "Or at least, that's what I think."

"Well," Nagito said, "I guess that makes some sort of sense. I'll trust you on that. Although," there was a sparkle in his eye, "if it doesn't, you owe me 20 Monocoins."

"Wh-"

"Uh-um!"

Both boys turned to see Tsumiki, who was bowing and she pointed toward the area of the inner ship she had just come from.

"Um, Souda wants you to know that, uh, we'll be there soon!"

Hajime bit back a remark about how he had already figured out when they would arrive and just smiled. "Thank you for the notice."

Tsumiki smiled and waved before moving back in. Hajime and Nagito waited for a moment before the inevitable crash and cry sounded from within and it really didn't take a talent for analysis to realize what had happened.

Their previous conversation forgotten, Hajime put his hands down on the railing and Nagito smiled at him.

"Well, even if it's like before, I should go make sure that Tsumiki is okay."

"Yeah," Hajime replied, staring out at the water again, suddenly unable to look at Nagito.

He heard Nagito start to walk away. Then he stopped, and added a thought that Hajime never could've predicted, and that made him blush and grip the rail of the boat harder.

"You look good in a suit, by the way."

And then he was gone.

#danganronpa #super danganronpa goodbye despair #goodbye despair #hajime hinata #nagito komaeda #mikan tsumiki #tw: implied violence #tw: human experimentation

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wander-yet-wonder · 6 years ago

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Bitonto going back home

Chapter one - Battle of Bitonto

Fandom: Hetalia Pairing: Spamano (Spain/Naples), Frain (Spain/Bourbon France), PAST Spaus, (Spain / Austria) Word count: 2698 Rating: All audiences (possible mature content in later chapters) Warnings: Implied references as to how Spain and Naples's relationship is unbalanced and possibly unhealthy. Pee. (In a bucket in a closet and non-graphic but just so ya know) Summary: "It had been twenty years, yet the moment he saw him it was like the first time again. Every part of him remembered at once his inescapable entanglement with this man: The absence hadn’t removed his shackles; the chain had just gotten longer." Antonio reclaims his territories in South Italy after Austria had taken them in the war of the Spanish succession. Caught between the warring factions like a boat in a maelstrom is the kingdom of Naples himself. Read on AO3: X

Roderich was an absolute, absolute, nightmare to deal with when he was stressed. Romano had experienced this more than enough the past twenty years; whenever the man was giving a dinner party and had started preparing too late. The house would be a mess, food needed to be cooked and of course none of the guests could see the actual state they lived in. The days before guests would come over Roderich was furiously cleaning and barking commands and orders at Romano to help. At days like that, the only moment of reprieve he'd get was to go get water at the town square and mooch some tobacco of the boys there.

Today felt similar somehow. Roderich was unprepared, outnumbered, frantic. He'd managed to scramble together a meagre 6000 men. It would not be enough, and he knew it. He'd been commanding Romano to ‘bring him his sword, no not that one, the other one, God you're useless boy! Just go and pack rations and-‘ Romano had listened to him listlessly. He really didn't feel like doing anything, just making sure his civilians didn't get hurt in the squabble.

He'd been sent out to go deliver some letters to the captain of the guard but on the way back he stalled... Why should he go back to that house? To be shouted at? Instead, he bought himself roasted chestnuts and climbed the stairs in the old bell tower of the chiesa di San Francesco d’Assisi, finding a comfortable hiding spot with a view amongst the parapets. His eyes fixed on the horizon and his limbs tingled with anticipation. He was coming. He couldn't see anything yet, but he knew: 12000 Spanish troops were just beyond the horizon. A strange feeling took hold of him. He'd been so numb lately, so apathetic to all this mess. Spain had been too broken to even acknowledge him when he left; seemingly enthralled by France and just- tired and sick. When Roderich had taken him, telling him that Spain was in no shape to take care of him, Romano knew that was the truth. But the Austrian had overestimated his own state of mind. He was keeping his head held up high, a strong and composed front for anyone to see. But Romano had to live with him and had to witness exactly how thin that veneer was. By now he'd cleaned about everything of the kitchen floor- broken plates, blood, vomit. He started to feel like he was the only adult here. He wasn't even certain if Spain had ever even thought about him after he'd been led out of his house. Years had passed afterwards and that had just confirmed for him that Spain hadn't even really noticed he was gone. He didn't want it to- but it had broken his heart a little. So those garrisons beyond the horizon breathed new life into a piece of him that he'd so diligently killed. He'd come for him. Yet he wasn’t just yearning, the advent of Spain would bring war to his town, so he dreaded it in equal amounts. From his hiding spot, he could see the monks in adjacent cloister rush about supplies so it could be used as a hospital for the inevitable wounded. It never ceased to be curious to him that the seagulls and doves would just soar over it all and nest here with him in the bell tower, over Spanish troops, over stubborn Austrians, and over Italian blood to be shed. They were just, above it all. As long as he was up here, in a way, he could be above it as well.

When Antonio would eventually cross the hills surrounding Bittonto and reach the town, the image of Romano eating chestnuts in the bell tower wasn’t what greeted him. Roderich had eventually noticed his charge had been missing for too long and had him dragged back to the house and, after that, to the city wall's defences. Romano got outfitted in some almost offensively basic armour and had a musket pressed into his hands. At daybreak, he was made to stand next to Austria when their cavalries and Antonio’s were facing each other. Roderich stubbornly declared that the people of South Italy didn't welcome the Spanish and that Spain was to leave at once. He elbowed Romano and he repeated the words without much heart. The face of Romano, who was standing next to Roderich- supposedly to make Antonio feel like Romano no longer wanted to be in his care- spoke volumes: ‘Please Antonio don't kill too many civilians and I'll gladly return to you’. He looked like what he was: a defiant teenager being made to stand somewhere and say something by an overbearing parent. Antonio turned a hard gaze to his ex-husband and smirked as he rose to the challenge. He didn’t say anything and just stepped closer to Roderich, who in a moment of weakness fidgeted with the ring on his right hand that he was still wearing. Satisfied with the reaction Antonio spat on the ground and turned his back as they both drew back into their ranks.

Watching a battle like this take place was an incredibly tense affair. Romano was stationed at the city walls, near the Porte Baresana, and was gripping his musket as he watched the Spanish cavalry perform feints. Antonio was provoking Roderich, trying to get him to react, trying to get him to break formation. There was a certain art to this game of strategy but he could only see it in theory later back in the studies of learned men during peacetime, here in the moment however he could only count the seconds until he’d get pulled into the chaos of combat. It didn’t take long for Roderich to take the bait; the sun was barely peeking over the olive groves on the surrounding hills when the cavalry broke. It had started. Romano loaded his musket in case he had to defend himself, not knowing if that would be against Spaniard or Austrian and watched Roderich’s neatly lined up cavalry ranks devolve into a disorganised scrambling mess. It was poetic somehow; this was the effect Antonio always had on Roderich. So often had Romano watched how all the refined order Roderich portrayed to the world would come undone and unravel at Antonio’s smallest provocation.

Then, one by one he could see riders break away from the group and disappear into the hills. “Accidenti! They’re fleeing!” He shouted to the soldier next to him, but also just half to himself. Roderich’s army was crumbling and fleeing in the direction of Bari. Romano leaned further over the balustrade, trying to see what happened but a cannon fired, and the infantry opened fire, causing thick clouds of gunpowder and smoke to obscure the view of the battle taking place in the valley. He ran down the wooden stairs of the temporary scaffolding that had been put up along the city wall to go and find a better viewpoint, but the moment he got down, the city gate burst open and Austrian soldiers rushed in. Amongst them was Roderich on horseback, smeared with soot and looking like a cornered animal about to jump. He spotted Romano instantly and grabbed his shirt. Romano got pulled close against the horse. The boy was nervous to be that close to the large animal in such a chaotic environment, it could trample him if it got spooked. Roderich leaned close so he could shout instructions at him over the noise of the battle and the chaos in town.

“I’m going to get reinforcements- defend the down! I’ll be back soon I promise.”

In a moment of forced parental affection, Roderich patted his head and smiled at him. “I have faith in you, you can do it!” He then let go and turned his horse. When he galloped out, Romano saw that Guiseppe Antonio, Prince of Belmonte, the commander of the Austrian troops followed him. They were without a leader in here, no general left to instruct the Austrian forces still within the walls. Romano ran the moment Roderich was out of sight, to hide, to keep himself safe. He was so done with cleaning up the mess these two had made of themselves. He was so done fighting Roderich’s battles. Still the Austrian soldiers, despite being without a leader showed no intention to surrender. Jogging as far from the battle as his heavy, clunky, slightly too large, armour permitted. Romano found an empty garrison building he could wait out the siege in. To his joy, he found an abandoned bottle of wine and a supply closet, perfect. To the devil with courage: this wasn’t his fight. He was just a leaf in the wind being blown around mercilessly by the powers of Europe, he might as well lament his fate with a bottle in hand, getting drunk. It also hurt less if you get shot when you’re drunk, he knew by experience, it numbs everything.

Halfway through the bottle, Romano got up to piss. A little unsteady, he made his way to the window and peeked outside to see if it was safe to find an alley or latrine. Oh, fuck no it wasn’t, soldiers were running around, and bullets were flying, he’d have to find an alternative. He searched the building a bit but didn’t dare to go too far from his supply closet: A stray bullet going through the windows could still hit him. He crawled on all fours to another door and opened it. It was another supply closet but this one was filled with ammunition… Oh, and a bucket thank god. Romano crawled in and closed the closet door. He stood up and unbuttoned his fly, let out a sigh of relief and started. As he was doing his business he started casually looking around at the closet, and then a great idea came to him. Great ideas tend to strike when you’re in the bathroom (or in this case a closet?), especially if they’re coming from that place of ‘not quite drunk but definitely beyond tipsy’ state of mind. There was a way to end this stupid battle without having to fight either the Spanish or the Austrian soldiers. With a shit-eating grin, he tucked himself away and took two kegs of gunpowder under his arms. He cracked the door open just enough so that he could look outside of it. Once he saw a clear line, he took a sprint and found the cesspit behind a block of houses. He tore open the barrels and dumped them in. He paused and then threw some water on it as well, can’t have that stuff blowing. He made the same run five more times, dumping round musket bullets, gunpowder and lint into the cesspit and then dumped a wheelbarrow full of manure on it to hide it. Exhausted he wandered over to a tree and sat down. Night had fallen and the fighting had seized. He sat there and almost fell asleep from exhaustion, but he eventually got cold and dragged himself home. The armour clattered to the floor and Romano stumbled to his bed. He passed Austria’s empty room, the bigger and more luxurious one. For a moment he contemplated sleeping there, but he knew he’d be uncomfortable doing so. He just took the down feather-filled pillows and then went to his simple cot.

The next morning, he dragged himself back to the front line, in armour, to see how the situation was progressing. The highest-ranking soldiers were discussing strategy in rapid German and Romano stifled a yawn. They had already started giving commands for the soldiers to take positions and the fighting to resume when a young Italian mercenary working for the Austrians came sprinting towards them. “Stop! Stop wait! We are all out of ammunition!” Confused murmurs rose through camp. Accusations were thrown left and right, but yesterday had been chaos, everyone had been shooting everything and no one had exactly kept count. After a tense silence they realised there was no way to salvage this, they had to surrender. Romano showed no emotion, even feigned some surprise but oh, his relief was immense. His plan had worked.

Romano removed himself from the command tent and marched himself back into the city centre, sitting on the steps of the Cathedral, waiting. He could see the white flags rising on the watchtowers and there were some very tense minutes of silence before, with an utter cacophony, the Spanish army poured into the streets. They were not killing or plundering to his great relief. Then he saw him, slowly emerging out of the crowds. He saw Antonio before the other saw him. On horseback he rose above everything, first, he could see a glimpse of him and as he approached, he was revealed to Romano like the sun slowly emerging from the clouds and equally radiant. The moment those green eyes locked with his Romano felt his chest contract with a painful surge of emotion. Antonio looked better than he’d seen him look in fifty years, gone was the sickly crumbling empire, and returned to him was that brazen, youthful Achilles. It had been twenty years, yet the moment he saw him it was like the first time again. Every part of him remembered at once his inescapable entanglement with this man: The absence hadn’t removed his shackles; the chain had just gotten longer. Their eyes met and Antonio smiled. Of course, he’d be smiling, he’d won after all, always getting his way, that man.

Romano threw his hair out of his face and looked up at the other with a defiant smirk. He was the first to speak and threw a casual and uninterested sounding greeting at the occupying nation. Anything to hide that he was trembling.

“Ciao, so… what have you been up to? Haven’t seen you around these parts for a while. Was the food bad last time or-”

He couldn’t finish his little charade of uninterested chatter because with a loud clatter of armour Antonio had swung himself off his horse and landed in front of him cutting him off with the sheer noise the metal made. Before he knew it, strong arms pulled him to his feet and into a tight embrace. Romano initially stiffened but slowly allowed himself to ease into it. He would’ve given a lot for this embrace in the past, had it come earlier. Had it come before he had learnt to know better than to have expectations. He tried to draw back because if he stayed there longer he would lose control of his volatile heart but found he couldn’t. The strong arms tightened when he tried, and he found he wasn’t as much embraced as that he was captured. His cheeks flushed red in frustration, instantly recalling that this was the way things were again: Everything was on Antonio’s terms, it was imitated on his terms and it didn’t end until he had gotten what he wanted.

“Mi Nápules, don’t be so cold- I came back for you! I tried before but I wasn’t strong enough yet. I should run into that cathedral behind us right now and thank God on my knees for returning you to me.”

Still, the grasp did not relent. Antonio’s eyes were firmly on the Romanesque cathedral behind Romano’s back as he kept talking.

“Of course, Roderich isn’t completely defeated yet, he’s regrouping in Bari.”

He squeezed harder, possessively, it almost hurt.

“Technically you’re still his territory. I suppose you should still aid him in the next phase of the battle…But I don’t think you want to. Come let’s go pray and go home, your house here! I want to see it!”

And like that it was all decided for him, while he was muzzled, any opinion he’d might want to express muted as his face was pressed into Spain’s shoulder. When he could finally breathe again, blinking against the light of the returning, bright Italian sunlight he was already being pulled along into the cathedral so God himself could seal his fate and seal this reunion.

#spamano #spaus #frain #aph spain #aph south italy #aph france #historical hetalia #juliwrites

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horde-princess · 7 years ago

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Catradora in “Promise”

This ep has so much going on, I wanted to work through it chronologically and try to peel back the layers of their relationship. What are Catra’s motivations? What drives her to turn on Adora and leave her for dead? This gets kinda intense sorry but I add fun pictures to make up for it :’)

So the first flashback shows us how Catra came to rely on Adora for friendship and protection. After they relive this memory together, Catra instinctively saves Adora’s life, and they joke around a little--the heartwarming memory having briefly resurrected their broken friendship.

But as the episode continues, the cracks in their relationship start to show--cracks so deep they were hidden from both of them until they grew older. Catra casually jokes that Adora never had much faith in her, and when Adora agrees, Catra says she doesn’t blame her. This little exchange says a lot about their dynamic, since Catra always had so much faith in Adora (even when Adora may not have earned it). What I believe they’re talking about here is how Catra didn’t really work hard as a cadet, or do anything that would show her strength of character and thus allow Adora to respect/trust her. Catra was simply never given the opportunity to prove herself in that regard.

Then, Catra asks about Adora’s childhood memories. “It wasn’t all bad growing up in the Fright Zone, was it? I mean, you still have some good memories, right?” Considering the awkward way she asks this, you can kind of translate her question to mean “so, exactly how easy was it for you, leaving me behind? Did all the years we spent together really mean so little to you?”

In the next flashback, they’re older, and we see how Catra is struggling to hold back resentment towards Adora now. They are evenly matched fighters--actually, Catra might be better because she’s craftier than Adora--but somehow it’s always Adora who ends up getting all the praise... and Adora never noticed how unfair it was.

When we met Catra in the first episode, she came off as kind of lazy and rebellious, right? But in this episode it’s revealed that she only took on that persona when she realized she would always be seen as second best to Adora. She chose to protect her pride rather than put effort into something she would never get due credit for--from Adora, Shadow Weaver, or anyone else.

Basically, she had three options: 1.) fight against Adora and risk their relationship; 2.) work hard, accept her place as second best, and let everyone view her as weak (including the girl whose respect she desperately craved); and 3.) pretend she just didn’t care about her work. The implication of option 3 is that she chose to prioritize her relationship with Adora over her ambitions. But as Catra eventually learns, suppressing who you are is not a reliable coping mechanism.

After this, back in the beacon cave, Catra is attacked by a giant spider robot. She defeats it herself then gets extremely offended when Adora jumps in to try to save her from it. So we’re seeing how Catra’s past memories with Adora are affecting her motivations in the present day. She wants her respect but she’s not getting it. Now she’s back to being angry with Adora, and Adora (as usual) doesn’t understand why.

And then we get to a really pivotal moment. Adora apologizes for leaving, admitting she never wanted to leave Catra--just the Evil Horde. Then she says, “you could come with me, you could join the Rebellion! I know you’re not a bad person, Catra.”

Catra doesn’t respond but her conflicting emotions are written all over her face. Catra is not a bad person. She isn’t doing evil things just for the sake of hurting people or gaining power over people, like Hordak. She wants power to protect herself. Her morality is gray.

Catra was raised in an abusive, evil environment, trained to believe that people only respect you when they fear you. People only love you when they fear you... Except for Adora. Adora’s unconditional love was the foundation on which Catra had built her life. Through all the abuse and misery, it’s what gave her hope that things would be better one day. It’s what she clung to for survival.

When Adora abandoned her? That foundation of love and friendship crumbled to dust. Catra was forced to fall back on the only other method of self-preservation that she knew: power. Control. With Adora gone, she would do whatever she had to do in order to avoid ever becoming a victim again.

So at this point we can start piecing together Catra’s motivations... she is being driven on one hand by her childhood trauma (which Adora played a part in), and on the other hand by Adora’s betrayal. Adora is clueless about it all, which I sort of get since Catra never confronted her about anything. I think Adora is only just beginning to understand the extent of the emotional trauma she unintentionally inflicted on Catra, and there’s a lot of growth that needs to happen there before Catra will be willing to extend forgiveness. But I do think reconciliation is possible, and Catra’s reaction here when Adora says she’s not a bad person gives me hope that she can still be redeemed.

Moving on, there’s a flashback where we learn about Shadow Weaver’s abuse, and it sparks an argument where Catra yells at Adora for not protecting her “in any that would put [her] on Shadow Weaver’s bad side.” I won’t go into this since there are other posts analyzing it, but clearly Adora had broken her promise to Catra continually throughout their childhood without really realizing it. Anyway, then Adora asks why Catra won’t just leave with her and join the Rebellion, and Catra reveals it’s because she’s tired of living under Adora’s shadow.

Ok. Imma get deep for a second. So we’ve established that Catra hates feeling like she’s second best to Adora, and that’s what she thinks would happen if she joined her team. Strangely enough, in addition to Catra’s pride and ambition, my theory is that there may be a romantic element to this as well. Catra doesn’t want to be Adora’s sidekick, but... I don’t think her goal is to be better than Adora, either. I think what she wants more than anything is for Adora to see her as an equal. (Not once in the show does Catra say that she wants to be stronger than Adora. instead she says things like “I’m stronger than anyone ever thought” and that she wants Adora to feel weak. That’s a lot different than comparing their strength.)

Remember in the second episode, Catra tells her “it doesn’t matter what they do. The two of us look out for each other. And soon, we’ll be the ones calling the shots.” Catra was dreaming of the day when she and Adora would rule together, side by side. No more fighting for Hordak’s approval, no more relying on her protection. No more golden child vs. reject, but partners. Just the two of them at the top of the world. Maybe then, Catra would finally feel worthy of accepting Adora’s love. But how can they ever be equals, especially now that Adora is an 8 ft tall magical hero?... Well, they can’t be.

At least, not as long as they’re fighting on the same side.

It’s only on the battlefield where they can be seen as equally powerful, equally respected... by their kingdoms, and, most importantly, by each other. It makes sense in a twisted way. After all, there’s a thin line between love and hate.

So I believe this is part of the reason she refuses to join Adora’s side of the war. Catra thinks she needs to win Adora’s respect in order to balance out their relationship. Even if achieving this goal costs one of their lives. That sounds horrible but, as I wrote earlier, Catra’s faith in love was shattered by Adora’s betrayal, and now Catra is utilizing her abusers’ teachings that people only “love” you if they fear you.

[whew.........congrats if you’re still reading this lmao we’re nearing the end finally]

The last thing I’ll go over is the “promise” itself. Little Adora says the lines that Catra repeated wayyy back in the 2nd episode: “It doesn’t matter what they do to us, you know? You look out for me, and I look out for you. Nothing really bad can happen as long as we have each other.”

In what is possibly the most SOUL CRUSHING MOMENT IN TV HISTORY.... the girls walk off hand-in-hand, except little Catra turns back to look at her future self. and if I had to guess what was going through her mind it was probably something like, “I wish I could warn you, Catra... she’s going to break her promise. And your heart.”

Wow. This episode is an emotional journey. It shows that it wasn’t just one act of betrayal that turned her into a villain, but it was all the years of Adora unintentionally putting her down, despite promising to protect her. Catra sacrificed so much for their relationship, and in reliving this memory she realizes that she mistakenly placed all the faith she had in a girl who would one day throw it away like it meant nothing.

So, it’s with this swirling mix of emotions that Catra, for the second time this episode, finds herself with the choice of saving Adora’s life or letting her fall.

And now that she has had some time to reflect on it... well. What had valuing friendship ever done for Catra in the past?

edit: i’m in love with Adora, I just criticize her a lot in this post bc I was thinking from Catra’s perspective. I think Adora only had the best of intentions, but she was abused herself, and she certainly suffered under the burden of being Catra’s protector. Catra may have wanted her to rebel against Shadow Weaver w/ her when they were kids, but if she had done that then they both would’ve been screwed, and that’s something Catra doesn’t want to accept. Instead she wants to fixate jealously on the way Adora benefited from the special treatment. There is probably some truth to her accusation that Adora loved being the favorite (because, who wouldn’t?)--but that doesn’t change the fact that everything, everything Adora did was to keep Catra safe. Unfortunately, this arrangement still caused an inevitable status disparity, with Adora looking down on Catra and Catra stuck gazing up at her. god this ship is so tragic i love it ajsldjfl

#if anyone actually reads this whole thing you'll have to let me buy you a drink or something lmao #this story is so complex and amazing like.... Noelle's MIND. wow #catradora #she ra #meta

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emilx311 · 6 years ago

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Senju Tobirama has two names, one known only to a handful of people. Turns out, this can make finding your soulmate a bit difficult.

Written for MadaTobi week prompt Soulmates. Tobirama's second name here is Tetsuo which means (according to the list I found) wise hero or wise man. To make it easy to read I tried to stick to Tobirama for the most part, but anytime Tetsuo is used it is referring to Tobirama.

If you enjoy my fics please help support my writing!

There was something very few people knew about Senju Tobirama. Well, really there were many things about the younger Senju brother that were not widely known, but the most important one was his name. Not his everyday name, that one had spread well beyond the boarders of fire country attached to tales of his battle prowess, his invented jutsus, his various feats, and monikers such as ‘the white ghost’. No, it was his true name that remained a secret.

Many had forgotten, but the previous lady of the Senju, Butsuma’s soulmate, was a Hatake and the Hatake could be a superstitious people. They believed that names had power and so every child of the clan was given two names. The first was their secret name, their true name. This name was a secret, given only to those closest to the person. The second was their everyday name, the name the general public would know them as. Though she had left her clan to help her husband and soulmate lead his, the lady Senju held on to some of her traditions. When each of her sons were born, she carefully selected two names for them. In their public names she followed the traditions of the Senju. In their private ones she followed her heart. When they were alone with her, she would use only these private names, would remind her children of the power they contained and why they should take such care with them.

Hashirama had always been a true son of the Senju. Though he respected their mother and her traditions he did not believe in them. He remembered and guarded the name she had given him as a gift but saw Hashirama as his name. After she passed, only his brothers would use his other name and soon even they began to stop. Soon it was all but forgotten, used only as an occasional loving nickname.

Tobirama was his brother’s opposite in many ways and this was among them. He had taken after his mother the most, both in looks and temperament. He listened with awe to her stories and committed them and her beliefs to memory. He’d never seen “Tobirama” as anything more than a cover, a shield created to protect his true self. Tetsuo was the name he regarded as his for it was the name his mother had given to him out of love.

Tobirama was a duty. Tobirama was having to be the spare heir. Tobirama was having to be his father’s soldier. Tobirama was having to fight and kill. Tobirama was stomping his emotions down so they would not get in the way of what had to be done. Tobirama was the aches of wounds and bruises and hours spent training and pushing himself to be better.

Tetsuo was none of those. Tetsuo was the joy of reading, of experimenting, of learning and creating. Tetsuo were the secret soft smiles he saved for his brothers, Touka, and later Mito. Tetsuo was wiping away his brother’s tears and whispered words of apology and forgiveness in the night. Tetsuo was drawing up drafts of treaties he wasn’t sure would ever be signed and plans for a village he doubted would ever exist. Tetsuo was promises to do all he could to help make Hashirama’s dreams a reality. Tetsuo was being able to let his guard down. Tetsuo was playing with and teaching the clan children. Tetsuo was carefully bandaged wounds, and kind words, and warm eyes.

Tobirama was the face he presented to the world, but Tetsuo was his heart. However, Tobirama had not only embraced the name his mother had given him, he had also embraced her warnings. Tetsuo was vulnerable in a way Tobirama was not, not only to spirits but to other humans, and so he kept Tetsuo tucked away. Only when he was alone, or with the small handful of people he trusted completely, would he allow Tetsuo to emerge.

His soulmark did not help in this regard. He’d kept it hidden since it had appeared, a task thankfully made easier by the fact it was on his upper thigh. It wasn’t that he feared he would never meet his mate, nor was it because he was ashamed of having a male’s name. He also did not suffer from the common fear in shinobi that their match would die before they could meet. He did not agonize over the possibility it could be a civilian. No, in these ways he’d been luckier than most. He’d known who his mate was since the moment he’d first seen the elegant writing sitting starkly against his pale skin. Madara was, after all, a rather unusual name.

No, Tobirama hid his mark precisely because he knew who it was for. He didn’t want his father to know he was matched with an enemy. Didn’t want to hurt Hashirama even more by revealing his soulmate was the boy Tobirama had been forced to part him from. He didn’t want to give Touka anything more to worry about-especially not something that could distract her during a battle. He assumed Madara was doing the same since the other never said anything. He continued to fight Hashirama and only ever glanced at Tobirama when checking on his younger brother. So, though deep inside Tobirama Tetsuo mourned for the chances lost, he forced himself to push past it and put such things out of his mind.

And then everything changed. Tobirama, who was always, always, Tetsuo deep in his heart, found himself with the perfect opening to kill Izuna. And yet, as he lined up his strike, all he could think about were whispered promises to his brother in the dark, were the documents and plans he had drawn up in case of the impossible. His brother’s stories about Madara echoed through his mind and the mark on his thigh seemed to burn with possibilities he’d never been able to let go of fully. And so, instead of following through, Tobirama moved his sword so it ended up clashing off Izuna’s. His rival stumbled back, well aware of just how close to death he had come.

The rest of the battlefield had gone silent. All eyes were on them, including their brothers’. They had all seen where Tobirama was aiming, had all seen the inevitable end, and they had all seen Tobirama change his strike at the last possible moment. After a few seconds that seemed to stretch on for eternity, the silence was finally broken by Madara screaming his brother’s name as he rushed over. He was shaking as he checked Izuna over, and the relief on his face when he found no serious wounds made Tobirama’s heart clench. His shocked, thankful gaze met Tobirama’s for a second before Hashirama sensed his opportunity and rushed over to ask Madara for peace once again. And this time, this time with his little brother alive in his arms only thanks to a Senju’s mercy, Madara said yes.

Things moved quickly after that. The treaties Tobirama had so carefully written and rewritten were brought out and signed. And, when Hashirama managed to talk Madara around to creating the village they’d dreamed about as children, he was prepared and dumped all the plans and schematics he’d painstakingly researched and created in front of them. Hashirama had blubbered about how he was the best brother ever, and even Madara had seemed impressed. Construction on the actual village started soon after, and in what seemed like the blink of an eye, Konoha had started to look like a proper town. Hashirama had never been so happy, not even the day he’d met Mito, and Tobirama shared hi brother’s joy. It truly was an amazing achievement…and yet he couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed. Even as their clans had settled together into peace and they learned to work together, Madara never approached him to talk about their bond. He tried to put it out of their mind and focus on his work (and there was always so much work that needed to be done) and he was, for the most part, successful at doing so.

Madara could barely believe that this was real some days, felt like he’d been living in a dream since that fateful battle. His heart had all but stopped in his chest when he’d seen Tobirama line up his strike, but then the Senju had changed course. Instead of being dealt a fatal wound Izuna had walked away with nothing more than a bruise. And then they had actually managed to create peace between their clans. He and Hashirama had been able to make all their childish dreams into a reality better than anything they’d ever imagined. Konoha was beautiful, everything he’d ever wanted and so much more. And, this too, he had Tobirama to thank for. Madara was slightly ashamed to admit that he’d never believed Hashirama when the other had told him, had sworn, that Tobirama also wanted peace. The younger seemed so cold, so quick to fight, so willing to kill that he’d been unable to trust the other could ever truly want peace. He saw now how wrong he had been.

It had been Tobirama who had written the original drafts of the treaties they had signed. Treaties that were truly fair and equal, that left neither clan weaker than the other. It was Tobirama who had done the practical research they’d needed. Tobirama who had drawn up blueprints and plans they were able to construct off of, plans that had clearly taken years of work to create and refine. He thought of Tobirama slaving over books since they had all been children in order to give his elder brother a real chance to see his dreams though and was forced to admit that he’d been wrong. Tobirama did want peace, Tobirama did support their dream and was willing to work harder than anyone to see it through. And, after realizing all this, Madara began to wonder what else he was wrong about when it came to the other man.

The answer that that, as it turned out, was just about everything. As the village grew, Madara had gotten into the habit of watching Tobirama. At first, it was simply because of curiosity. He had wanted to see what the other man was actually like. He was surprised to find himself more and more entranced the more he saw. He was less surprised to realize how wrong most of his impressions of the man were. Tobirama could be cold yes, but more often than not it was not malicious. He was a busy man and he preferred to get straight to the heart of things. But he was always warm to those he cared about. He always had a smile for the Senju children that flocked to him, and later, for the children outside the Senju that began to join them. He was beyond patient with them. Madara had seen him teaching a group of them some basic Katas once while visiting the Senju compound, carefully explaining and kindly correcting them. He was also always willing to answer questions, no matter who they were from.

Tobirama was fierce, but Madara saw more and more that this did not mean he craved fights. He would not allow others to walk all over him, he stood his ground when challenged, but he never started confrontations himself. Well, that was not quite true. If he got wind of someone bullying another, especially if the victim was one of those he considered his, he would seek out and ‘correct’ the behaviour. But, without his old prejudices blinding him, Madara was able to see that this did not make him quick to fight, but rather, quick to protect. And that, well, that was something Madara could respect.

The more Madara watched, the more he could understand the traits he’d once been reviled by. This included the other’s tendency to go straight for the kill in battle whenever he could. Tobirama like to nip things, especially problems, in the bud and make sure they would not be repeated. Going for the kill meant he took out a threat permanently. It meant that the enemy would not be able to hurt him or his, meant that someone else would not have to deal with it later on, meant that he did not need to fear an attack by an enemy he’d thought down. It was not that he was a monster trying sate his bloodlust, it was that he was taking the quickest and most efficient root to protect his side and end the battle.

The longer Madara watched and the more he saw the more he understood, and the more he understood the more he found himself unable to look away. Before he knew it, months had passed and Madara realized he had fallen in love with Senju Tobirama. For anyone else this would not have been a problem, but Madara was an Uchiha. A clan of fire users, they burned with all the passion of their jutsu. And they believed very strongly that their largest passion should be reserved for their soulmates. It was unheard of for an Uchiha to look elsewhere while their match still lived, and Madara knew his did. The ink over his heart was still as dark as it had been the day it first appeared; Tetsuo spelled out in neat, efficient strokes. And Madara did yearn for him, for this mysterious man that had been made to fit him perfectly in a way no other could, but he was not here! There was no one among any of the clans to join Konoha baring that name and Tobirama was right there!

Tobirama was right in front of him, also still lacking any sign of a match, and Madara could see so clearly all the ways they would fit each other. A year ago he would never have believed it, but he knew now that Tobirama would be able to match him passion for passion. He could, and did, stand his ground unflinchingly even when faced with the worst of Madara’s tempers. Tobirama was intelligent, hardworking, and beyond dedicated to the causes and people he considered his own. He cared for their village and all the people in it just as much as Madara did. He was also strong, able to go toe to toe, and occasionally even beat, Izuna and hold his own against Hashirama or Madara himself. It didn’t help that the Senju was absolutely beautiful. Lean and pale he was like moonlight given form, except for the twin gems he called eyes. So, Madara found himself caught in a sort of limbo where he watched and wanted from afar, almost wishing that his mark would fade so he would be free to approach. The whole thing left him feeling guilty and wrong-footed which was in turn making him even more irritable than normal. This, ironically, ended up being what brought everything to a head.

It was a lovely day and Hashirama had decided that his brother and best friend both needed to relax. To this end he had wheedled, and nagged, and begged, and pouted, until they had both agreed to come with him to the onsen after work. Tobirama, as was his habit, made sure that the towel around his hips was secured in such a way that it covered his soulmark. While he did this every time he visited the onsen it was especially important this trip since the two people he was with were also the last two people he ever wanted to see his mark. Hashirama would cry and try to push them together, and Madara…well, just because Tobirama had forced himself to accept that Madara didn’t want anything to do with him or their bond didn’t mean that he wanted to hear the other man say so.

“Oh hey, Madara, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your soulmark before!” His brother was exclaiming, peering intently at the Uchiha’s chest. Tobirama was quite surprised since he had assumed that Madara would have found some way to cover or hide his mark as Tobirama did. He was also confused; this was not how his brother would react to seeing his name on the other. He’d been so certain, the Uchiha’s handwriting even looked the same, but maybe, maybe he’d been wrong? Maybe there was another Madara out there, or, maybe he had a broken bond. Maybe he was matched to Madara, but Madara wasn’t matched to him. “Have you found them yet?” Asked his oblivious brother.

“Obviously not!” Madara snapped. “I’ve asked around, but apparently there is no one named Tetsuo anywhere in Konoha”. Tobirama stumbled and almost fell as he walked towards them, much to their obvious surprise. He didn’t really care though, not when he was able to catch sight of Madara’s chest himself. It was there, written as if by his own hand in black ink above the other’s heart. It was there and it explained everything.

“Tetsuo” he whispered, almost reverently. He then followed that up by facepalming and saying, “I am such an idiot!” He’d assumed that because Tobirama was the name used most often it would be the name on his mate’s mark. That had become especially true after Hashirama met Mito and she’d had his common name on her. In hindsight it seemed obvious, of course the mark would read Tetsuo! The marks were linked to their souls, to their purest essence and, at the core, he’d always seen himself as Tetsuo, not Tobirama. Mito’s mark had read Hashirama because that was the name his brother saw as his, not because it was the one more commonly used. And of course Madara had never approached him, he had no idea that he had a name other than Tobirama, let alone that it matched his mark and that they were soulmates!

“Tobi-Tetsu-oh, OH!” Hashirama exclaimed, looking between the two of them in shock. He hadn’t even thought, but yes, now that he looked again that was definitely his brother’s handwriting and Tobi had always been so careful to hide his mark, even from Hashirama! He hadn’t realized at first because, like his brother, he’d expected the name written on his match to be Tobirama. “Oh, I’m so happy!” He cried, tears dripping down his cheeks.

“What?” Madara asked, glancing between the two Senju. “What are you talking about? Have you both gone crazy?!” He ignored the thought in the back of his mind, the idea that they were reacting like this because they knew who his soulmate was. He also ignored the hope, worry, dread, sorrow, and longing churning inside him. That, at least, seemed to bring them back into reality. The brothers exchanged a look.

“I’m just going to um…go somewhere that is not here” Hashirama finally said, all but fleeing. Madara was getting even more confused and now he had only one possible source of explanation.

“What the hell Senju?” He demanded, placing his hands on his hips and giving Tobirama a look which clearly conveyed, ‘explain now’. Unusually for him the Senju seemed to fidget under Madara’s glare. He looked hesitant for a moment before seeming to reach some sort of decision.

“I’ll explain, just-not here” he said. Madara finally remembers that they were in the changing room of a public onsen clad only in towels and had to agree that was fair. The two quickly changed back into their clothes and then Tobirama grabbed his hand and they disappeared. They reappeared in the living room of a house Madara had never seen before.

“My home” Tobirama answered his unspoken question. “Please sit, I did promise you an explanation”. Madara follows the suggestion while Tobirama stays where he is, leaning on the wall facing Madara and still fidgeting. The silence stretches on before Madara makes a pointed ‘well, get on with it’ gesture. Tobirama takes a deep breath and does.

“As you likely guessed by our reactions, Hashirama and I know who your soulmate is” the younger Senju starts off with, and Madara swallows. “I will tell you who it is, but there are some things I have to explain to you first.” Madara is surprised, but nods, willing to listen. Perhaps his soulmate has health issues, or is on a long-term undercover mission?

“The Hatake, like every other clan, has certain traditions and beliefs not well known outside the clan. One of these is that they give every child two names. They believe that true names hold power, so all children on their blood are given an outside name they can use instead of their true name” Tobirama explains. Madara is confused, while interesting this history lesson on the Hatake does not seem particularly relevant. “What many forget us that our mother, Hashirama’s and mine, was originally a Hatake. She gave up much from her clan when she wed father, but she did not loose the beliefs she had been brought up with. So, when she had her children, she gave us each two names.” Here the Senju pauses and seems to brace himself before starting directly into Madara’s eyes.

“Tobirama is not my name, not really. It is my outside name, the name I was given to shield my true name so it could not be used against me. My true name, the mane my mother gave me out of love, is Tetsuo, and I am your soulmate” he confessed.

Madara felt as if he couldn’t breathe. He was frozen to his spot, unable to react and unsure how he would even if he could. Emotions flew through him, there and gone only to be replaced a moment later. Shock, he’d found his soulmate? Anger, his soulmate had been in front of him, had known all this time, and had done nothing?! Relief, he’d found his soulmate! Confusion, his soulmate was the man he loved? Awe and wonder, Tobirama was Tetsuo, was his soulmate. The man he loved and his soul’s match were one and the same!

“Madara?” Tobirama’s concerned voice finally roused him back to reality. He blinked his eyes a few times and was surprised to feel a few tears escape. Tobirama (his soulmate!) was crouched in front of him, face twisted in worry with an arm reaching out for him, but now quite touching. “Madara?” He asked again.

“I’m okay” Madara assured him, “just surprised. But-” here he hesitated, but he needed to know. “But if you knew we were soulmates-you do have my name, don’t you?-why didn’t you say anything before now?” His heart pounded in his chest and he held his breath, waiting for the answer. Tobi-Tetsuo looked embarrassed.

“I, well, to be blunt, I thought you weren’t interested” he explained. Madara blinked, rather taken aback, and Tetsuo rushed to elaborate. “I do have your name, always have. During the war I assumed you would never be able to want a Senju and then when peace came and you never said anything, I figured it meant you weren’t interested in me, so I tried to respect that and stay away. I never even thought that the mark might read Tetsuo, never imagined you might not know.” By the end he was blushing adorably and Madara’s heart was swelling with happiness and hope.

“You want this? Want me?” He has to ask, has to be sure.

“More than anything” Tetsuo whispered, voice thick with emotion, and Madara can’t resist anymore. He grabs the man he’d been loving from afar for months and drags him into a kiss. Tetsuo responds enthusiastically, and doesn’t protest even as Madara drags him closer and closer until he’s sitting on the Uchiha’s lap.

“Mine” Madara whispers reverently once he’s finally pulled away from the other enough to speak. “My soulmate”. Tetsuo beams at him.

“Always” he swears and, for the first time, Madara feels complete.

#MadaTobi #madatobiweek2019 #Tobirama #Hashirama #Izuna #soulmates #writing #fanfiction #my work

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but-first--tea · 6 years ago

Text

Guilt

(old writing from this character’s RP history)

Kyra stretched out across the wooden deck, its smooth, weathered planks almost uncomfortably warm against her skin from the afternoon sun. She closed her eyes and let the heat sink into her for several long moments before rolling over and propping herself up onto her elbows, staring intently at the shadows beneath the opposite deck and waiting for her eyes to adjust. A pair of shining black eyes stared back, quiet and wary. Kyra reached toward the small paper bag at her side, and the movement sent the skittish creature jumping further back into the shadows, out of view. Fingers scooping a handful of nuts from the bag, Kyra scattered the nuts across the grass, then let her head sink down to rest on her forearms, holding herself as still as possible. A minute passed, then two... but her patience was finally rewarded, her lips curling into the faintest of smiles as the nutkin darted out from beneath the deck, snatching a nut from the grass and diving back under cover with its prize, watching her still as he nibbled. She remained still, and watched in quiet satisfaction as the adorable fuzzy creature enjoyed a second nut, this time out on the open deck. She had spent days trying to coax him out for more than half a moment, and she felt a quiet sense of pride as she watched him hop from one nut to the next, eyes constantly wary and watching her, but remaining out in the open nonetheless. Eventually, he cleared the grass of nuts and returned once again to his safe haven beneath the deck, and Kyra rolled onto her side with a sigh, staring at her reflection in the shallow pool.

This was what her life had become. She spent her days decorating and reading, strolling the beach, and earning the trust of a single, tiny nutkin. She spent her nights, well.. not getting a whole lot of sleep. Anything and everything to try to forget all that had come before the here and now. Wasn't this everything she had ever wanted? She was home, and safe, with a man who loved her and a distinct lack of fear for her life, or a terrible, overwhelming sense of dread. She was happy... wasn't she? Or, at least, she should be. Tried to be. Why, after everything she had survived in order to be here, couldn't this at least feel.. real?

Because it's not.

The knot of cold in her stomach that accompanied the voice of Aventris sent a shiver through her, a stark contrast to the heat of the sun on her skin. Shut. Up.

No. You need to listen to me. There are things you need to know, before it's too late.

Squeezing her eyes shut in irritation, she turned her focus inward, trying to shore up her defenses against the voice without success. Without Isu's light in opposition, the imprisoned soul fragment had been growing in both strength and boldness, finally able to speak into her mind at will. In sheer frustration, she resorted to replying... something she knew she shouldn't do, but did anyway out of sheer, impulsive anger. Why would I entertain a single word you say? Your kind thrives on manipulation, intent on creating chaos. Sure, I could listen to you. I could also start a romantic relationship with an incubus. Both seem like equally great ideas.

Aventris's voice sounded infuriatingly patient and reasonable in the face of her scathing sacrasm. You don't have to listen to me. Get the information from someone you do trust.

Kyra blinked. ...What?

Go to the Archive. All the information that Drutwas gathered before... his imprisonment... is compiled there in Meridian. It will still be there. Everything it contains can be accessed by the Archive systems, and Juleaux can independently cross-reference and verify its veracity.

The presence retreated, leaving Kyra to be slowly and inevitably overcome by her own curiosity. She abandoned her failed attempt at lazing about by the pool and stepped across the grass into the house. Ugh. Why did I let her goad me into responding? As soon as Tay gets back from Gridania I'm getting Isu back. She got dressed. It's clearly a trap. She made herself a sandwich... then stared at it with a distinct lack of appetite. But why would she want me to go to Meridian? There has to be something there, or why bother? She was supposed to be resting. She promised Tay that she wouldn't do anything dangerous. But she'd warded the place to hell and back again. It was as safe there as it was here.

Within minutes, she found herself standing next to the aetheryte outside of stone edifice of Meridian. The place looked like any other residence in the Goblet, now, the renovations she had contracted erasing all visible elements of the events that had taken place within like a well-healed scar. A few more minutes saw her down the lift and through the wards sealing off the Archive itself from the rest of the building. A faint scent of ozone still hung in the air, the walls darkened and cracked despite the heavy warding on the room and Zanin's shielding besides. At its center, the Allagan console still glowed dimly-- dormant, but still functional. A single artifact remained intact in the stasis field: a small data sphere. Activating the console, she keyed through a series of runes to access the information contained in the sphere, and began to read...

As all the pieces fell into place, her entire life playing out from a different perspective, a sick feeling grew in the pit of her stomach. "Jules," she finally spoke, trying to keep her voice even, trying to process the information logically despite the crushing, searing cold growing in her stomach and closing around her chest, "cross-reference and verify data sphere contents from independent network resources."

The interface hummed to life in response, but the command wasn't immediately executed. "Kyra." His voice sounded sad, worried. "It's done. It's past. Leave it be."

She shook her head, for all the world as if he could see her. "I need to know the truth. None of this has ever made sense. I've spent my life a pawn, running from one square to the next, just trying to stay alive. Like hell I'm going to pass on the chance to finally know what the game is."

A tangible pause. "Jules. Please."

Finally, sluggishly at first, as if he was hoping she'd change her mind, the information began to appear. Data block one. Verified. Data block two. Verified. Data block three... one by one, every last bit of it was corroborated. It was true... all of it. She wasn't the hero of this story. She was its unwitting villain. Feeling dizzy and sick, she sunk down to the floor. It was all her fault. Her actions led to the death of her entire family. She had told Tay to kill her mother in this very room, and he did exactly that, because he believed in her. Because she hadn't known. Gods, mother... why didn't you just TELL me?

Aventris's voice only added to the agony. She tried to. But you were too busy running from your childish, broken heart. Drutwas would have, but never deemed you ready to understand. I tried to. But you were too busy believing you were the righteous one.

Simply being in that room was suddenly unbearable. The weight of her guilt made it hard to breathe, the ozone tang in the air making the sick feeling in her stomach even worse. She had to get out, get away. Driven by overwhelming impulse, she fled from the room, out beyond the wards and wrenched herself into the aether, teleporting away from the scene of her crime to somewhere more... fitting.

#ffxiv rp #old writing #rp history #kyraeth vale #rp archive

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amethyst-noir · 7 years ago

Note

Now, because I love to watch the world burn, here’s a really angst filled prompt. After Infinity War, Stephen purposefully poisons himself, made to slowly break apart his soul to completely erase any chance of reviving him afterwards. Wong and Tony don’t notice anything until Stephen’s almost dead. So when they find Stephen unconscious, it becomes a race against time to save the Sorcerer Supreme. (Bonus angst, the reason he poisoned himself was for guilt over giving up the Time Stone)

Anon! How dare you! That's…horrifying! Brutal! Gruesome! I stopped breathing for a moment when I read itfor the first time! I love it and wrote this in two evenings when I shouldhave done other things. Considering you want to watch the world burn Isincerely hope that you like this total angst-fest. But I still managed towrestle some kind of bittersweet ending from this. More bitter, admittedly, butat least it’s not pitch black. ;) I still don’t know anything about the comicsso this is pure MCU mixed with my own fucked up imagination.

The title is, once again, taken froma song. They’re locking up the sun / Thelight of reason gone / N’ hope has been successfully undone - Locking Upthe Sun, Poets of the Fall.

TW for attempted suicide via reallynasty magic and major depression. Stephen’s not in a good place but there are externalforces at work. (I just couldn’t bear to make him that desperate withoutoutside “help”.) He and Tony still have to live with theconsequences, though.

The nice and fluffy promptfills arestill coming, promise. It’s just that this one came along, hit me over the head,and demanded to be written RIGHT NOW AND DAMN THE CONSEQUENCES.

LockingUp the Sun

Stephen found references to the spell years ago whenhe was still a novice at Kamar-Taj. Back then the daily pain had been bad buthe’d just found new hope. When he’d read about it he’d shuddered, horrified atthe mere concept and unable to imagine how somebody could be that desperate. Itwas overkill anyway. Dead was dead and you didn’t come back from that.

How naïve and clueless he’d been back then.

Being a powerful master on the cusp of being named thenext Sorcerer Supreme had its perks. One of them was unsupervised access toWong’s domain - the library of Kamar-Taj. It was easy to work his way throughthe references in various books until he finally held the tome that held theactual spell in his shaking hands. He looked and it and shuddered all overagain. It was horrifying. Gruesome. Dark magic at its worst.

It was what he needed - deserved - after all he’ddone. It was the only way he could really be sure that this death would finally stick.

Stephen felt relived, despite everything that awaitedhim in the near future. He was willing to pay any price to finally end it forgood.

It would be slow and painful; the book had warned. Thegradual breaking of the connection between his body and his soul would taketime and he would feel every agonizing second of it. Stephen didn’t mind. Hecould live, or rather die, with pain.

His hands were shaking far more than usual when hetraced the sigils over the tea he’d brought with him and murmured theincantation. As soon as he was finished he took the cup and drank it withouthesitation. The let it vanish immediately afterwards; there was no reason toleave any trace of what he’d done behind. He felt nothing but a slight twingein his chest but that would soon change, he was sure of that. He carefully putthe book back where he’d found it and left the library. Another meeting withthe other masters and his duties here would be done. Forever. Then he wouldcollect the Cloak, which he had left behind in his quarters because he knewthat it would have tried to stop him at any cost, and return home to theSanctum.

And wait for the end there. Despite what he knew hestill hoped that it would come sooner rather than later.

The same night he woke up in the worst pain he’d everexperienced. His hands, his neck, his back, his chest - it was waking up afterthe accident all over again but without the benefit of painkillers to get himthrough it. The book had been right; he could feel the first fractures in hissoul. He gritted his teeth, let the tears flow and knew that this was just thebeginning. It would get worse from day to day until finally…

He couldn’t wait for the moment when he’d take hisfinal breath, secure in the knowledge that nothing and nobody could and wouldbring him back from this.

I’m coming, the promised the waiting darkness. Just a littlewhile longer and I’ll be with you.

He should have died years ago in that car crash. Heshould have bled out, or drowned, or the impact should have snapped his neck.He was just correcting a mistake, that was all.

As predicted the pain grew worse almost by the hour.His familiarity with chronic pain didn’t help one bit - this one was pure hellwith no relief except death in sight. He couldn’t concentrate, he couldn’tsleep, he could do nothing but curl up in some corner and try to endure itwithout screaming. He’d left the Cloak downstairs and locked himself into hisbedroom. He’d never leave it again. Wong would probably be the one to find hisbody after he didn’t show up to the ceremony to make him Sorcerer Supreme. Itcouldn’t be helped but Stephen regretted it nevertheless.

Despite everything, Stephen reveled in theexcruciating pain. He’d made so many mistakes, in first life as well as the newone he’d been granted after the accident. He’d laughed in the face of rules,he’d misused magic and - worst of all - he’d dared to take on theresponsibilities of the Sorcerer Supreme and given away what was not his. Andnow those in charge wanted to gift him with the title for real, when he’dalready proven over and over again that he wasn’t even worthy of the magicalabilities he already possessed. The slow breaking down of his soul was the onlyfitting punishment; the fading away into nothing, after he gave the Eye ofAgamotto away, had been far too kind. And then he’d been brought back from thatanyway.

A new wave of pain passed over him and Stephen chokedon his breath. This time it was not the poison but the thought of Tony thatmade him double over and cry out in misery.

I’m sorry, he thought for the very first time since he’d made the decision to usethe poison. Ever since he’d realized that his feelings for Tony Stark hadchanged from tentative friendship to the very first stirrings of love he’d beenafraid. Afraid of being found out, afraid of the inevitable rejection. Eventhough the poor man’s engagement hadn’t survived the arrival and eventualdefeat of Thanos there wasn’t any sign that that Tony felt anything butreluctant friendship with him. They’d met a few times for lunch or dinner,sure. They’d talked about a lot of things, but nothing too personal. Or hadthey? It was hard to concentrate and his memory had become blurry in the lastfew days. They had only touched once and that had been when Stephen hadstumbled and only Tony’s lightning fast reflexes had kept him on his feet. Ifhe really concentrated he could still feel Tony’s grip on his left arm and heallowed himself the luxury of recalling the moment in every detail. He couldn’tremember another moment in recent memory when he’d felt as safe and protected.

Stephen’s sacrifice had been worth it, yes, because itmeant the world still had living, breathing Tony Stark in it. But that didn’tmean that he didn’t have to be punished for his transgressions.

Another sliver of his soul broke away and for a whileStephen forgot about everything but the pain.

Soon, the darkness whispered. Just hold on for a little while longer.

Seven days after he used the spell Stephen finallyslipped into unconsciousness. His body still fought the magic and triedeverything to keep itself alive but it was no use. By now Stephen’s soul wasalmost completely severed from his body and the parts that had been cruellybroken away had withered and died without their anchor.

It was the day Doctor Stephen Strange was supposed totake over the responsibilities of the Sorcerer Supreme and when he didn’t showup Wong was the one to visit the Sanctum to look for his errant friend andformer pupil.

“Boss, there’s a call for you.”

“Not now, FRIDAY. I’ve still got this report togo through and after that…”

“It’s Master Wong. He says to tell you that it’sabout Doctor Strange.”

Well, that got his attention. Tony barely knewWong, had met the man only a handful of times after Thanos’ defeat. ButStephen? That was another matter. They were friends, even though there oftenwere long periods of time where they didn’t speak to one another because oftheir busy, hectic and pretty incompatible lives. Come to think of it he hadn’theard from Stephen in about two weeks or so. Time for a call, hedecided. He had some cool new stuff to show off and he kind of missed thecompany of an intellectual equal who was also funny and very nice to look at. “Puthim through.”

“Mr. Stark? It’s about Stephen. I need yourhelp.”

No hello, no nothing. But there was an undertone inWong’s voice that put Tony on red alert. “What happened? I can bethere…”

“Now,” Wong finished the sentence for himthe same moment a portal formed in the middle of Tony’s office. Wong put downthe phone and just spoke directly to Tony. “The idiot has done somethingto himself and now he’s dying.”

Tony didn’t even think about the obvious answers tothat. Like: Did you call an ambulance? or Do you want me to get himto hospital? or the most important one And why do you call me?Instead he got up, made sure that the Nano-reactor was on him and steppedthrough the portal with only the tiniest hint of trepidation. Other, moreimportant, questions and feelings where crowding out the rest. “Where’sStephen?” he asked the moment he stepped through the portal. Wong lookedafraid and frenzied - both things Tony would never have him thought capable of.

Instead of answering Wong just grabbed him by thesleeve and dragged him along the hallway to the door to Stephen’s bedroom wherethe Cloak was fluttering around in a panic. The bad feeling intensified as Tonylooked between Wong and Cloak. “Stephen?” he asked and was surprisedhow quiet and weak his voice sounded.

“Is in there.” Wong gestured to the closeddoor. “It’s magically blocked and I can’t break the spells. I’m hoping youcan blast the door open.”

“And how do you know that he’s not just sleepingin there and we’ll wake him up for nothing?” Tony didn’t think so, notwhen he took the behavior of the Cloak into account and Wong’s uncharacteristicanxiety. He’d already activated the suit and configured a cannon before Wongcould answer.

“He should have been in Kamar-Taj today for animportant… meeting. When he didn’t arrive on time I did a quick locating spelland it showed him here. There’s no reason for that and so I did another spell.It revealed that he’s not sleeping but actually dying behind a magically lockeddoor.” Wong gave it an affronted look and a kick. “It’s bad so hurry up and let us in!”

Wong’s final shout got drowned out by the noise of thedoor splintering in a thousand pieces. Tony was the first one through theremains and the dust of the blasted door and scanned the room, the Cloak behindhim, while Wong was still coughing in the hallway.

“Stephen?” There, in the corner, that washim, wasn’t it? “Stephen!” Tony shouted before sprinting over to thebody lying on his side on the floor before the window. The suit was alreadyretracted back into its reactor by the time Tony fell to his knees besideStephen. “Stephen?” he tried again, far more quietly this time. Hecarefully reached out to touch Stephen’s neck to feel for a pulse. His handswhere still shaking slightly, so he was not dead, but he didn’t look aliveeither. To pale, to thin, to cool and far too still apart from the shaking. Washe even still breathing? “What have you done to yourself?” Stillpressing his fingers to Stephen’s neck and counting the too weak and slow pulsehe moved over to the side to make room for Wong. “FRIDAY? What’s thestatus?” he asked while Wong performed some complicated looking handmovements, complete with muttered non-English.

The sensors in Tony’s glasses painted a grim picture.“Heart rate is dangerously low, as is his temperature. Brain activityalmost at zero.” FRIDAY lowered her voice to a whisper. “Death isimminent, boss.”

Tony closed his eyes for a moment to not see thediagrams anymore and swallowed. “Wong?” Despite everything he hopedfor a better diagnosis from the sorcerer but he only got a shake of his head.The Cloak, which had approached cautiously, reached out to touch Stephen, too.Tony moved out of its way to allow it easier access. Its agitation was clear tosee.

“I can confirm what your lady is saying. He’salmost completely gone.”

“But why? He was healthy two weeks agowhen we last met! He couldn’t deteriorate this fast!” Panic tried to clawits way back into the forefront of his mind and Tony fought against it with allof his will. He had no time for it. “He was looking perfect two weeksago,” he repeated, helplessly. Tony had been this close to asking him outon a proper date but hat hesitated at the last moment when Stephen hadmentioned something big coming up in Kamar-Taj. Another time, Tony haddecided. They had more than enough of it, after all.

Wong just looked down and Stephen with tears in hiseyes. “Why?” he whispered. “Why did you do that toyourself?”

Wong’s words brought him back to reality. “Whatdid he do? And don’t tell me that it’s some magic secret or God help me…”

“Suicide,” Wong interrupted. “He killedhimself in a way so gruesome and brutal that a non-sorcerer can’t evencomprehend it.”

Killed himself. Not tried to. Tony concentrated on the faintheartbeat under his fingertips. “He’s not gone yet. How can we savehim?”

But Wong shook his head. “We can’t. He poisonedhis soul, ripped it away from his body, piece by piece. It’s a drawn-out andvery painful death. There is no way of saving him. The spell is designed toprevent exactly that.”

“No!” Tony refused to accept that. He’d losttoo many people, most of them in brutal ways, but not one of them to suicide.He’d been tempted from time to time, sure, but to actually do it? In a manneras brutal as Wong had just described? That Tony couldn’t understand. Just mix afew pills with alcohol and get it over with. Or go out in a blaze of glory whilesaving the lives of others.

There had been no warning signs, whatsoever. Two weeksago Stephen had been the perfect company for a nice dinner - charming and funnyand so much Tony’s type that he could barely keep his hands to himself. Thesigns had been there, he was sure that Stephen was also interested. But stillhe’d managed to restrain himself from just kissing Stephen on his beautifullips. I should have done that. Maybe he wouldn’t have…

“You said it ripped apart his soul,” thewords left a bad taste in his mouth and his stomach heaved. Poor Stephen. Why?What hurt you so bad? “Is there a way to… I don’t know… put it backtogether?”

“The poison weakened the connection between hisphysical form and his soul and fractured it in the process. Then… pieces of it,for lack of a better term, broke off, bit by bit.” Wong took both ofStephen’s still shaking hands between his own. “The severed pieces witherand die immediately. The process is painful and takes days. Death is theinevitable end, there’s no antidote and now way to stop it once it started.He’s already gone. His body just hasn’t realized it yet.”

“There has to be a way.” Tony’s voice hadbroken completely and he could see almost nothing through the veil of tears.There had to be a way. “There’s still something of his soul left,right? Otherwise he would be dead?”

“Stark, Tony, he’s already…”

“Yes or no, Wong. Is there still something of hissoul left?” That beautiful, wonderful soul that deserved only happinessand the best things the universe had to offer but had to suffer through so muchinstead. Too much, Tony’s subconscious supplied. He didn’t know whatexactly had broken Stephen in the end but it didn’t matter. They would find away through it, he would drag Stephen to the best therapy money could buy andhe would watch over him 24/7 until the stars burned out if that’s what wasnecessary to keep him alive.

Another incantation, more murmuring but at the endWong nodded. “Not much, it’s literally hanging on by a thread, but he’sstill in there.” Tears stained his face and he looked as stunned as Tonyfelt. The big Why? still hungin the air between them.

The idea was crazy, Tony knew that. He knew almostnothing about magic and the little bit he knew he could do without. But he’dmanaged to fall in love with a sorcerer and was determined to bring him backfrom the dead. So, magic it was. He would learn everything necessary to keepStephen by his side. But for that to happen he had to save him first.

“So if his soul was ripped… away,” God, thewords were hard to speak and Tony concentrated once again on the faint pulseunder his fingertips while his other hand grabbed on to Wong’s and through themto Stephen’s. “Can we give him a new one?”

Wong looked at him as if he was crazy. Rightfully sobut by now the idea was here and crystallized more and more with every second.“His body has lost its connection to his soul, right? But what if we givehim part of another, healthy one? That can act as a bridge between his brokenone and his body? Could we save him that way? Can we heal him?” Can Iget him back to tell him that I love him?

The are you crazy? look had morphed into an youare crazy look. “You want to transplant a soul, Tony,seriously?”

“Basically, yes.”

“And I guess you’re offering to be the donor, amI right?” Wong fast far to perceptive but right now it saved them precioustime. He was already thinking it over, planning and Tony could barely sitstill, desperate to do something. But one look down at Stephen stilled allthose impulses. Tony could feel death approaching. He’s not yours. Not yet.You’ll get him when it’s time. Not now. He still has some much to do. To live.

“Theoretically speaking…”

Tony didn’t like to repeat himself. “Yes or no,Wong.”

“I can try. But there’ll be consequences. Forboth of you.”

“Will we both be alive to face thoseconsequences?”

“If it works? Yes.”

“Then do it. You can tell me about later.”

Wong looked at him for a long moment, judging hissincerity. He gave in with a nod. “Give me a moment. I’ll have to getsomething.” Wong more or less ran out of the room.

Tony gathered Stephen up in his arms and held him close,with Stephen’s head on his shoulder. A partly formed armor gave him enoughstrength to pick Stephen up and carry him to his bed, the Cloak flutteringbehind them. “We’ll get you through this,” he promised theunresponsive man in his arms before he laid him down gently, “and I’ll getyou all the help you need. I don’t care if you’ll hate me for it but I can’tlet you go. You deserve so much better”, than pain and misery anddeath. But he didn’t speak those words out aloud, they had no place here.He wanted to press a kiss to Stephen’s lips but resisted the temptation. First,he had to get Stephen back and then through this depression or whatever it hadbeen that had forced him to such extreme measures. Then, and only then, theycould talk about them and their eventual future together. If Stephen everforgave him this invasion of his privacy. But Stephen would be alive. That wasall that mattered.

“Ready?” Wong asked a few minutes later andlooked at them nervously.

“Ready,” Tony confirmed. He still had onehand on Stephen’s neck, tracking his pulse, while holding Stephen’s right handwith the other one. He bent down and whispered a quick “I love you”into Stephen’s ear before he closed his eyes and let Wong’s magic wash overhim.

It didn’t really hurt. There was the sensation of somethingbeing ripped away from his chest but it faded almost immediately and hadn’tbeen really uncomfortable to begin with. The arc-reactor, in all the time ithad been inside of him, had been far more painful. But it was still a… strangesensation and not really pleasant.

The loud gasp that Stephen gave as the piece of Tony’ssoul in him began to repair the damage was the last thing Tony heard before hehimself slipped into unconsciousness.

“You’re his link to life,” Wong told himhours later, after he’d woken up. Stephen was still fast asleep but hisbreathing and pulse were better and a little bit of color was back in his face.Tony was beside him on the bed, close enough for their bodies to touch, whileWong was on Stephen’s other side, watching them both like a hawk. “If youdie, he dies. That’s a fact. So if you want him to live you might want torethink your current career.”

That was unexpected but not really a surprise, themore Tony thought about it. “That’s one of those consequences youmentioned earlier.” Fuck, giving up being Iron Man had not been on hisimmediate agenda, despite the constant nagging of his friends to step back andtake better care of himself. He looked down at Stephen. He wasn’t doing it forhimself but for someone else. It was easier to stomach this way. “Okay.What else?”

Wong just looked at him and shrugged. “How shouldI know? This has never been done before. Congratulations, Tony, you and Stephenare the first true soulmates outside of fairytales and popular fictionfantasies.”

“Soulmates? Great.” Tony looked down atStephen and the queasy feeling intensified. Stephen Strange, doctor, sorcererand apparently majorly depressed guy that had just tried to kill himself in themost fucked up way imaginable, bound to Tony Stark, the guy with the survivalinstinct of a moth drawn to a flame, according to his friends. And the rest ofthe world. A match made in heaven. Hell. Wherever. “We’re lucky when wesurvive until the end of the year,” Tony muttered. Wong sighed and lookedheavenwards as if to ask for help.

“I didn’t say anything about you. You’llsurvive his death. Just not the other way round.”

God, this got worse and worse. “Any more unwantedresponsibilities you want to dump on me? Am I responsible for his feeding andbedtime, too?”

“Would do him a world of good if somebody finallywhere. You do realize that he’s a mess, right?” Tony was beginningto, yes. “And don’t forget that this was your idea.” But Wong lookedat him with kindness. “Thank you. I would have missed him.” Wongtouched Stephen’s trembling hand. “We’ll see how everything affected hismagical abilities when he wakes up. There could be trouble on that front,too.”

Great. Tony was beginning to doubt of he’d done the rightthing in his panic but one look at Wong, and the affection with which he lookedat Stephen, put those fears to rest for good. He’d done the right thing, now he- they - just had to live with the consequences.

“It began after I came back from the shadowdimension.” Eight hours later Stephen was sitting up and holding a mug oftea in his trembling hands, aided by the Cloak around his shoulders. He barleydrank from it but used its heat to warm up his fingers. He didn’t have thestrength to look at his audience of two but forced himself to tell the story asfar as he’d been able to piece it together. “I went there the day afterour,” he paused for a moment, “date.” He looked up at Tony andsmiled slightly. “I would have responded to your overtures more if therehadn’t been the ceremony in two weeks’ time. I wanted to get this over firstand come back to you as the Sorcerer Supreme. It would have given me and usmore freedom to pursue this thing between us.” The smile vanished. Now, hewould never be the Sorcerer Supreme, instead he could count himself lucky if hecould remain as guardian of the New York Sanctum.

“I think I brought something back fromthere,” he finally continued. “It began shortly after I’d come back -I just felt so depressed, desperate and hopeless. Soon I could think aboutnothing but making it all stop.” Wong took the mug out of his hands andTony cradled them between his own. “I think I can remember everything butit wasn’t me, you understand? I haven’t thought about killing myself inyears and I’ve had more than enough deaths anyway.” Tony leaned over andpulled him close for an embrace and Stephen followed willingly.

When he’d woken up restrained by Tony’s nanotech he’d almostpanicked, before he realized that his two friends where there and watching overhim. It turned out that Tony and Wong were afraid that he’d try to kill himselfagain as soon as he woke up and had reacted accordingly. Their surprisedreactions, when Stephen had just looked around in wonder and asked them whathad happened and why he was tied down, would have been funny if it hadn’t beenso heart wrenching. Stephen had seen Tony cry before but never over him andWong’s tears had been equally hard to watch. Their despair had been palpableStephen felt like shit for putting them through this trauma and with every wordof their story he’d felt worse.

Maybe it would have been better if they’d found himtoo late but Stephen loved his life too much to not be thankful. No matter theinevitable frustration in the future. At least he had one, even if it was boundto Tony’s. Dying together with someone had never been on his list of things todo but it seemed that destiny had other plans for him and had shortened hislifespan considerably. But at least he had some time left. Concentrate onthe positive.

“And now?” Tony’s tone was so carefullyneutral that Stephen wanted to smack him. “What do you want to donow?”

Not killing myself, he wanted to snap but Stephen held himself back.“Honestly? A shower and something to eat. Whatever it was, it’s gone.”With the better part of my soul. It made Stephen shudder. He could feelthe emptiness inside of him and it was an abomination. Wong had assured himthat it would continue to heal and that he would feel better in time but thefact remained that he’d lost most of himself and it had been replaced withsomething alien. Still, he felt better than he should have, all thingsconsidered. He was grateful for Tony’s sacrifice even though most of theconsequences would only reveal themselves in time. “You don’t have to bookme the next therapy session available and I don’t need a suicide watch. I’m thesame I was two weeks ago.” Minus a few vital parts, substituted by the manwho was looking at him as if he was the sun and the moon in one. And while heprobably could use therapy for a myriad of reasons being suicidal wasn’t one ofthem. Been there, done that, hadn’t been to his taste.

Stephen preferred living, but that was no longer up tohim alone. He gently disentangled himself from Tony’s embrace. “And whatabout you? What are you going to do know?” He had no more rights to demandanything from Tony than he had two weeks ago and whatever decision Tony made ithad to be his own, unburdened by his new responsibility for Stephen’s life.Tony had survived being Iron Man for over twelve years know, Stephen had allthe faith in the world that he could continue to do so. But still…

Tony shrugged. “Retire, I guess.” He put afinger to Stephen’s lips to stop the forthcoming protest. “It’s somethingI should have done long ago; after Thanos at the latest. Pepper and Rhodey arehaunting me almost daily with their pleas to stop putting myself into mortaldanger every few weeks.” His fingers left Stephen’s lips and caressed hischeek instead. “Turns out I just needed a good reason to stop and I thinkthat I’ve finally found it.” He smiled at Stephen. “We both deserveto rest now, I think. But not the eternal kind.”

Wong just smiled indulgently as Tony leaned forwardand enveloped him in the tightest, most welcome hug of his life. “Noregrets,” he whispered but Stephen knew they would come. Trading Iron Managainst Stephen’s life wasn’t the best bargain but it had been the only oneavailable.

While Tony held him he could feel Wong embracing himfrom behind. He looked up at his best friend and managed a weak smile, despitehis tears. “Thank you.”

They’d sort everything out. Eventually. Hopefully.

=/\=

#ironstrange #stephen strange #tony stark #wong #amy writes #inbox #promptfill #Anonymous

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theravenmuse · 10 months ago

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The Ineffable Bride

This fic is a retelling of The Princess Bride written for the Good Omens Do it with Style Silver Screen Bang! Featuring art by @crowleys-curl

CW: minor character death and temporary character death typical of The Princess Bride story. Persistent misgendering of Aziraphale (who is a man that chooses to dress femininely) by Gabriel.

Summary: Aziraphale had known true love once. Perhaps he had been young, and foolish, but even as his inevitable wedding with the eminent Prince Gabriel drew closer, it was the smile, dashing and equally foolish, of a long lost farm boy which filled Aziraphale’s mind. But that farm boy was gone. Long ago, he’d left to seek his fortune with promises of returning as soon as he was worthy of Aziraphale’s affections, but he had broken that promise. It was no fault of his own, but Aziraphale had never forgiven himself for letting that foolish young farm boy go, and he hadn’t forgiven Crowley either. He’d never thought he’d need to, until Aziraphale found himself captured by a dastardly Sicilian who aimed to make war between Florin and Guilder, and a mysterious man dressed in all black – really, what had that silly farm boy been thinking, neglecting to cover those brilliant golden eyes – came to his rescue.

Excerpt: ��Are you going to tell me who you are? I think you own me that, at least, given that you’ve taken me as your prisoner.”

Crowley grinned and gave a sweeping bow. “I’m the Dread Pirate Roberts, the most fearsome pirate to sail the seas.”

“Really?” Aziraphale said. “That’s a shame. I’d hoped we could get along, despite the fact that you’ve kidnapped me, but it can’t be so if you are who you say you are.”

“Oh? Why is that, highness?”

“Because if you are him, it means you killed my love.”

Read Chapter 3 on AO3

@do-it-with-style-events

@goodomensafterdark

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens fanfiction #fic #the princess bride

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hwu-adventures-blog · 7 years ago

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Family Life- Requiem

Family Life- part 1, part 2, part 3

Tragedy befalls the Sinclaire household, and Beatrice and Ernest find out that it’s hard to remain strong even for the children’s sake.

The rain fell upon the people gathered in the church yard. Dressed in black they were all surrounding a freshly dug grave. The family and friends surrounded them, Miss Parsons and Mr Chambers, Luke Harper the stable boy, Prince Hamid, Miss Sutton and Mr Marlcaster, Briar and Mr Woods were all in attendance along with other members who knew the family. At the front of the congregation stood Ernest and Beatrice with their children. Vincent was holding Mary who sobbed uncontrollably, with one arm around his brother, Eustace who was supported by a crutch and baby Clementine sat quietly in her pram just in front of them. With them was Ernest and Beatrice- Ernest gripped Beatrice tightly trying to remain strong for the family whilst she cried into him as much as her daughter was, as the grave was filled with dirt. Ernest read the name on the grave over and over-

‘George William Sinclaire

1822-1828

Age: 6’

Ernest could not believe what had happened- one minute George was happy, playing with Mary and Eustace (whenever Eustace was able) and the next- he was gone- taken by the illness that befell him. He wished he had more time with his son- that he had seen him grow up, marry, have children of his own but now, now that was impossible. He’ll never see his son again. Ernest held Beatrice closer. Never wanting to let go of her.

The night of the ball had ended in terrifying circumstances. Their second eldest, George had collapsed, and Ernest had put him to bed before the doctor had arrived. Beatrice had stayed by her son’s side as the doctors examined him and she’d answered all the questions with honesty, Ernest had entered near the end of the examination after reassuring his other children that George would be alright, but eventually the doctor had come to a diagnosis and it was something neither Ernest or Beatrice wished to hear.

“it’s yellow fever”

Ernest had watched as Beatrice shook her head in disbelief and denial

“no it must be something else”

“I’m sorry countess Beatrice but there’s nothing else that matches up with the symptoms”

Ernest looked at the doctor

“is there anything you can do?”

“I am sorry Mr Sinclaire but there isn’t a cure- all we can do now is wait for the inevitable and make him comfortable”

The doctor had left and Beatrice had retreated to the master bedroom clearly distraught over the news. Ernest had run after her, catching up to her in the corridor. Tears streaming down her face.

“Beatrice”

“not again Ernest”

Ernest knew exactly what she was saying not again too. Twelve years ago she’d ran down these very halls to her father’s room and stayed with him as he died of yellow fever and now the same illness plagued the halls of Edgewater Estate once more- history was repeating itself.

“Beatrice- I-”

“first my father and now George”

Ernest pulled her in to him and held her tightly stroking her head. Gently trying to comfort his wife.

“Beatrice it’s going to be alright”

“Ernest how is it going to be alright? our son- our son is- dying”

“I don’t know how but it will be- I promise- whatever the outcome is George will still be here with us- you and I both know that and everything will be alright”

“how do we tell the children? How do we tell Mary her twin brother only has a few days left on earth?”

“I don’t know how- but we’ll tell them together like we’ve always done”

Beatrice stood helplessly- sobbing into her husband’s arms, she’d lost her child- her son! George was quieter than Mary but that never stopped him from showing he cared. She felt like her grandmother must have done when she lost her father- her heart ached- broken- of course she had her other children but that was no excuse she was not unfeeling like her stepmother had been- she loved her children equally and to lose one of them used to be unthinkable and to make matters worse she remembered the day that George left them ever so clearly-

Early morning had descended at Ledford park, and it had just gone past one when The bishop left the boy’s room at Ledford Park and shook his head at the parents in the corridor.

“I’m sorry- he doesn’t have much time left- it is time to say goodbye and let him go into God’s hands” he said “you should get his siblings”

“they’re staying at Miss Parson’s household tonight- there won’t be enough time” Ernest said regret visible in his words.

Ernest had thought it would be a good idea to send the children off to Annabelle Parson’s home to give George a bit of space and see if it would help him recover under the recommendation of an old friend of his fathers. Beatrice had been reluctant to let her children go and stay away from their brother especially since anything could happen but eventually, she had conceded after Ernest promised they wouldn’t be too far away. but in the past 24 hours George had deteriorated so much that Ernest and Beatrice had sent for the bishop fearing that this was it and they were correct.

“then you two should both be with him”

Ernest looked at Beatrice and they had walked into George’s room where George was laying in his bed, looking weak she had sat besides him on the floor and smiled at him gently

“Mama? Papa? What did Bishop Winters say? Will God make me better and able to play with Mary tomorrow?” he asked

“he said God would make you better- but you won’t be able to play with Mary for a while Georgie” Beatrice spoke softly brushing a strand of his head away from his sweating head

“how soon?”

“I don’t know son” Ernest had said smiling sadly at him

“mama I’m scared” the young boy had said turning to Beatrice and looking terrified as if he knows what was happening

“there’s no need to be frightened- mama and papa love you very much and so does Vincent and Mary and Ernest and little Clem- we all love you so, so much” Beatrice had smiled at him gently

“will Grandpa be where the angels are?” George was smarter than any boy his age- top of his class- he had figured out he would not survive the night.

“Grandpa Vincent will be up there along with Granny Mary and my mama and papa- they’ll all be there- they’ll be very excited to meet you” Ernest said giving George his warmest smile

“I can’t wait to meet them either”

“you can tell them all about those toy soldiers” Beatrice said comforting her son

“and my adventures with Mary?”

“and your adventures with Mary- they’ll especially love to hear about those”

“and the time we brought a stray kitten home”

“definitely tell them about that”

“I’ve decided I’m going to be Mary’s angel mama and that way she’ll remember me”

“George that sounds like a brilliant plan” Ernest said

“I’ll tell Mary all about my adventures up there when I see her next” George let out a staggered breath

“I know you will son”

“mama?”

“yes Georgie?”

“can you pass me Mr Bucket?”

Mr Bucket was George’s teddy, gifted to him for his first birthday by his parents and had been his constant companion (other than his twin sister) and helped him get him through the nightmares and bad times - Beatrice reached to the end of his bed and passed it to him and George grabbed the bear with a loose grip- before closing his eyes to go to sleep

“goodnight mama, goodnight papa”

“goodnight George” Beatrice kissed her son’s forehead

“sweet dreams son” Ernest said

The pair sat there- not wanting to leave their son’s bedside at all. Beatrice held onto her son’s hand tightly as she felt it slowly get colder and colder- wishing, praying for a miracle to make her son better- George’s breath was getting shallower and shallower until eventually- half an hour after he had fallen asleep- the breathing quickened and staggered and then stopped- his hand was stone cold and there was only silence from the boy. “no” Beatrice had let out a cry she didn’t know was in there at the exact moment they realised he was gone and burst into uncontrollable tears- she felt Ernest pull her into him and hold her tightly as if not wanting to let her go- he was crying too, as she felt tears drip onto her hair and they sat there on the floor by the bed holding each other their hearts broken in two.

As the funeral procession broke away, the family had many people come up to them and offer their condolences. It was the worst feeling in the world, and Beatrice could not help but remember how she’d lost so many people to the grim notion of death. How many tines she’d stood and watched as a coffin was lowered to the ground. The first one she could remember was her grandfather, Frank Morse’s funeral her mother had managed to save just enough to go to Germany for the funeral. She remembered meeting family members she’d never met before, she remembered thinking that she hoped nothing ever took her mother away from her like that. the next one was her mother’s funeral. It was small with only the priest, Beatrice, Briar and Briar’s mother in attendance. She was not buried in the churchyard as she was not allowed to be due to her having a child unmarried however she was allowed to be buried in the back of the family garden- Beatrice’s father, Vincent had brought her childhood home for Beatrice soon after as a present seeing that Beatrice was having a hard time adjusting to her new life so she could go home whenever she missed it. the next funeral was that of her fathers, merely weeks after moving to Edgewater- it was unexpected and abrupt. The funeral was the largest she’d been too and she had refused to move for her stepmother as the cow had claimed it only be a seat for her and no matter how hard it was but it did lay way to one Beatrice’s fondest memories with Ernest. the last funeral she had attended was that of her grandmothers. The Dowager countess, Dominque had died a few months after little Vincent was born and it was not a surprise when it did happen, she was aged and had lived a long and fulfilling life and like Vincent’s it was a big funeral and she was buried in the family lot in the graveyard beside her son and husband, Rupert. But now Beatrice was stood at a funeral she never wanted to see happen. Beatrice looked towards her children and she remembered telling them George had died;

They’d almost immediately gone to Annabelle’s house in the morning and had woken the children. Vincent fully understanding death even at age eight, had stood there in disbelief that his younger brother had gone, Eustace didn’t understand where George had gone and asked a lot of questions that his parents could not answer without crying, and Clementine just gurgled in her eldest brother’s arms. However Mary took it the hardest. Beatrice had broken the news gently to Mary after she had awoken up properly, that her twin brother had gone and he was never coming back- Mary had immediately burst into tears and grasped onto her mother as she realised she’d never see or speak to her other half again. Beatrice had comforted her and let her cry into her- she could not even imagine what it was like to lose a twin- and it hurt her to see her daughter in as much pain as she was but for a different bond. They’d sat and cried. The children had returned home with them that morning to Ledford and they’d just been quiet for the two days leading to the funeral. Mary refused to come out of her and George’s room, she’d slept in George’s bed instead of her own and she didn’t speak to anyone (except occasionally her mother and father but eventually even she’d stopped talking to them) she’d been broken in grief.

The family had returned to Edgewater Estate in the evening after everyone had left. The children were put to bed and were asleep sooner than expected, they had been emotionally exhausted not to sleep. A few minutes later, Beatrice had gone to bed tired from crying and determined to be better and braver tomorrow for her children, she felt she needed her sleep to do that. Ernest retired three hours later, having downed some alcoholic drink- he couldn’t quite remember what it was, he just found himself drinking it and ended up having a few glasses to drown his sorrow- he was not the kind of gentleman who drank every night but he had needed it. So, when he turned in for the night Ernest had been shocked to find Beatrice, wide awake and staring up at the stars from the window seat.

“I thought you were asleep”

“I cannot sleep Ernest”

“neither could I”

“I can never sleep again”

“it’s not your fault”

“I’m cursed”

“now you’re talking nonsense”

“I’m cursed, everyone leaves me Ernest, I’m nothing but bad luck”

“it is coincidental”

“we buried our son today, Ernest, our son- after he died from the same Illness that killed my father who left me merely weeks after I came to Edgewater because my mama left me too- how can you say I’m not cursed?” Beatrice’s voice cracked “what if someone else leaves me? what if I lose more of the children? What if I lose you? I can’t risk it”

“you will not lose any more of our children and you will never lose me” Ernest pulled his wife into an embrace as she cried again. Ernest knew she was broken, but he did not know the extent of her brokenness.

“I can’t risk it Ernest”

“what do you mean?”

“tomorrow I want you to go to Ledford and take the children with you, I need to pack, I need to go, I need to go home”

“Beatrice-”

“I don’t want to drag you down with me”

“you won’t- we can get through it together- you are not cursed, you have people who love you, you have children who bring you joy, you have me- you are not cursed”

“I’m not?”

“we buried our child today, but we can pull through, we’re the Sinclaire family, we can get through anything together even if it hurts to do it” Ernest said softly with enough sincerity in his voice to reassure her “now, let’s go to bed and sleep, we’ll talk more about this arrangement you’ve suggested in the morning- just sleep on it”

“I don’t know if I can sleep”

“I’ll be by your side and I won’t let go of you when the night terrors come”

Beatrice looked at the door and then the empty suitcase by the bed then at Ernest and she nodded reluctant to return to the realm of dreams and nightmares. She laid down in the bed and Ernest changed into his night clothes and joined her he brushed the tears away from her face as she fell asleep and when he was sure she was asleep, he let the tears finally fall.

A/N:I thought I’d get Part 4 up before Book 2 starts on monday, so here it is, I cried writing the death scene as I hated killing off George but child morality was really bad in the regency era and yellow fever was a really common killer which is why i used the same disease that killed Vincent (the MC’s father). once again i have no clue when part 5 will be up but it will be jumping a few years ahead and despite trying their best, Ernest and Beatrice are forced to have a serious discussion about one of their children. I’m also working a few christmas fics for Ernest and Beatrice and a few other pairings so keep an eye out for them! anyway, thanks for reading!

tagged accounts:

@cocomaxley, @symonde , @indescribablechoices, @flyawayboo

#ernest x mc #pixelberry #desire and decorum #choices: desire and decorum #ernest sinclaire #mc

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cslupus · 6 years ago

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Of Mountains And Molehills

Greetin's Cretins! It's Lupus! I've discovered that writing a one-shot is, in some ways, more difficult than a novella. Economy is the key, but if you make it too information-dense, the reader will get fatigue from all the heavy-lifting! I've done my very best to strike the balance between brevity and description though tasteful use of exposition! Go one and hate me! But if you wish to hate me to appropriate music: "Mountains and Molehills" by Flux Pavilion.

"Where's Letty?" Andrew asked sweetly.

"You sister Letitia is dead. We've told you this." And so Digory Kirke had, 5 times that day.

Tears spilled from Andrews eyes as he absorbed the shock for what felt like the first time once again. This is the reality of dementia.

Letitia was his twin sister. There were four children total. He, Letitia, and Mabel all had the same father, but their eldest sister was a bastard, sired by a mysterious stranger. Her name was Asteria.

When her mother met the man who was the be the father of her next three children, she knew she didn't have very many options. He was a simple man, but he was kind, and he provided for his family to the best of his ability. He even gave his surname, Ketterly, to Asteria, adopting her. It was a show of acceptance she was not used to and never forgot.

When asked about Asteria's father, her mother, Scarlette (You may have heard of someone with the same name having adventures in Narnia.), simply said he was the most radiant man in all of the land. Asteria grew up strange, quiet, and beautiful.

The marital status of Asteria's mother upon her birth limited her in life. The inhabitants of Dorsetshire were basic and prone to jealousy. Growing up was hard and people her age weren't accepting.

So when a handsome local lad began to pay her extra kindness, she was putty in his hands. When she was heavy with her own child, the lad pretended not to know her. She was laughed out of town for her claims. After all, he was the son of a powerful man in the village.

Asteria named her son Adam. Soon after his birth, a woman who went by the name of Ms. Lafey, who claimed to have fairy blood, began to visit them. At first, Scarlette welcomed these visits as Ms. Lafey had arcane knowledge that helped her to understand her daughter and grandson. Andrew had also taken a liking to this woman and would run to the door when he heard her distinctive three raps from the pommel of her pretty sword-cane.

But over time, Ms. Lafey's erratic behavior and broken promises wore on the family. Finally, after she showed up drunk late one evening and became violent when asked to leave, Scarlette was at her limit. She shut her door for good.

When Andrew and Letitia were 16, they both begged to go to London and were finally granted permission. Andrew wished to track down "Lady Lafey" as he called her and bump elbows with other occultists, haunting opium dens and darkened parlors. Letitia merely wished to marry money. Both found their heart's desire.

Soon, Letitia was the young widow of an old rich man, scorned as an opportunist, but set up to life comfortably for all of her days. She was very practical and paid little mind to the opinions of her in-laws.

Her brother moved in with her and continued his study into the occult. He faithfully visited Ms. Lafey in prison, neglecting his own mother. When Lady Lafey was near death, she gave him an ornate box and ordered him to destroy it without opening it. He knew he was lying when he promised it would be done.

He toiled for years to unlock the mystery of the box, living off of Letitia's windfall that she shared with her twin either out of duty or guilt. When their baby sister, Mabel, developed cancer, Letitia welcomed her into her home as well so she could be close to the best doctors.

Asteria looked after their ailing mother and, unable to meet ends, asked Letitia to also take Adam as a boarder so he may work and send money home. She was penning her response when Andrew intervened.

He'd used his eldest sister's strange parentage to his advantage in the circles he ran with and had long ago learned that they were far more interested in his sister than he, so when it looked as if someone of star-blood would be under the same roof once more, his avarice and ambitions got the better of him.

Had he come to the matter with a different mind, perhaps he would've welcomed the chance to be a guiding hand to a protégé. He could've been everything for Adam that Ms. Lafey was not for him. The young lad's enthusiasm and natural light might've strengthened Andrew's character. Perhaps they would have donned rings side by side and explored Charn together, where they would've known better than to strike the bell that woke Jadis. Perhaps when curiosity led to their inevitable return, they would've found a newborn Narnia and King Adam would've ruled with his Magician Advisor on his high council.

Perhaps, but no one is ever told what would have happened.

"Oh. Diggory! Is that my tea? Oh wonderful. Now, where's Letty? Let's wait until she joins us." Andrew said sweetly.

"Uncle Andrew," Digory said with more patience than he felt, staring down the cracks in the pavement of the garden patio. "You sister is dead." Digory watched the cookie drop from his Uncle's hands as he fell into tears once more.

Digory lived in their manor out in the country. It was the roaring 20's and while other landed gentry were throwing parties and playing in their society, everything was kept low-key in his manor. Sometimes he longed for the care-free lot of his peers, but he knew all too well that all that glitters is not gold.

They knew he took care of his Uncle. They came to him because, though they didn't want for problems, they'd never learned how to be sad and were helpless to it when life inevitably happened. They involved him in their most private matters because they were bound by a covenant entailed with the title of Lord or Baron to be ever vigilant and never trust equals.

The Kirke's were unknowns: new money that'd struck it rich in India. They were also relations of a known gold-digger. Her in-laws had put out word to keep the Kirke's at arms-length. For this reason, Digory was paradoxically trusted by a few of them. He was the social Hermit, utterly blameless in his circumstance.

When Andrew had more of his mind intact, he'd entertain guests with his stories of life as an urban sorcerer in the Victorian heyday of spiritualists and mediums. He was before Alan Parsons; before Anton LaVey; before even Aleister Crowley. He read Emanuel Swedenborg and even traveled to meet Cora L. V. Scott in her parlor after years of correspondence. And he met the most interesting and unstable people you could imagine along the way.

His most interesting story, the birth of Narnia, stayed hidden. Sometimes, when he was sitting in the garden, he'd remember. His face would light up and he'd look like he was about to say something, and then he'd go back into his confusion.

"Excuse me, sir." said the maid. "Your cousin has arrived." Digory stood and went inside to welcome Adam. He was counting on his help. He was at his wits end with the day in and day out of putting up with other people's bullshit drama while his Uncle deteriorated. He knew the only way it would end is in his Uncle's death.

More than once, he considered going for the rings they'd buried at the base of the apple tree and finding something in some world to cure his Uncle, but he felt in his soul that this is the sort of thing that is only granted once. So he waited for the dark day that would mark his freedom. In the mean time, Adam was here.

"How is your mother, Adam?" asked Diggory.

"She's still traveling. Here's a picture of her in Paris that she sent." he said as he handed him a picture in a frame with a ribbon and bow. In it was a woman who looked 25, but was in fact much older. She was in a flapper dress and smiling coquettishly. "She means it as a gift for Andrew."

"I don't know why he needs new pictures of her, ever. Aunt Asteria is never going to age, is she."

"It's possible it's happening, just incredibly slowly." Adam replied. "But look, new hairstyle."

"So I see." Digory raised his eyebrows and nodded as he looked again at the picture. She was sporting a stylish bob with a feathered headband. "Well, he's not very lucid today, but I can take you back to see him. I've had to tell him Aunt Letty is dead 6 times since breakfast."

They walked back to the rear garden table where Andrew most liked to sit to find his blanket in his chair and his slippers gone, along with him.

"UNCLE ANDREW!"

Andrew often saw things that weren't there. Today he was seeing The Lion and feeling a regret he could not elucidate even to his own mind. The Lion bid him to follow, which He had never done before. Andrew stepped into his slippers and he was off.

He continued, unknowing of time, until the English hills and plains gave way to forests unlike English forests. Where it was cloudy and misty before, it was now bright and like the month of May.

He heard bubbling female laughter and followed the sound to find a tribe of Maenads maying (as is their namesake) and braiding one another's hair. They all turned and saw him simultaneously like a pride of lions. They quickly assessed him and the most decorated amongst them stepped forward and helped the old man sit down.

They tended to his blistered and bleeding feet. They gave him fresh water and some wild-picked fruit and goat-milk with honey, but they held back the mead, seeing that his mind was very damaged. Then they bid him rest on a blanket draped over a pile of soft greenery they prepared. "I know what to do, sisters." said one to the others after Andrew was asleep. "This nameless one needs great care. I know a small knot of dwarf brothers that reside together. They'd be number enough and are of great competence." They all agreed quickly and then, with the business done, got back to their enjoyment, albeit at a much lower volume. This is the Maena way: they do their part and then leave you to your fate.

Andrew sat in the hand-hewn rocking-chair provided for him by the dwarves. The Narnian air had done him some good physically; his mind was still worsening despite this. Pants were hard for him, so he wore long robes like a Calormene but made of soft Narnian textiles. He had a staff for walking, which he did daily with a dwarf accompanying him. It was early summer and there was much celebrating.

He was restless that morning. Without the mind, Mankind is left to animal instinct, and every animal in the forest felt the change. He needed to hide. Flee. He stood, leaving his staff, and wandered again into the countryside as white flakes of snow fell and a chill came to the air.

This first snow didn't stick and melted on contact. Had the 100-year winter not started in summer, the snow would have accumulated sooner and the dwarves might've been able to follow find his tracks, but his footprints blended with those of others on the road. The one who was to stay back and take care of Andrew lamented his mistake of not bringing him to the well with him.

Invigorated by the Narnian air, he was able to walk for a day and a night with little rest. Soon he was collapsing at the edge of Cauldron Pool. There above him on the rocks of the cliff clung three Hagons. They spread their wings and glided downward, circling, like pterodactyls. The cast their shadows as they stood over him, wings crossed around their shoulders like cloaks.

Andrew looked up and desperately reached out:

"Thirst." he said eagerly. One of the smaller Hags, the gentle twin, cupped some cold mountain water into her hands and tipped it into his waiting mouth. He drank, and afterward began to shake his head emphatically. "Shine." He said again. The three sisters looked at one another with puzzlement. He spoke once more. "Blossom!" he said with great desperation.

"I think I know what he wants." Said the elder of the three after a moment. She picked him up like a bride and flapped her great wings, climbing the air until she was well above the cliff. Her sisters flew below her.

It was nearly a whole day before they finally began their circling descent, Andrew asleep in Sapphire's sinewy arms. Emerald and Ruby landed a little ways from them. They were next to an ancient orchard of dark-wooded trees with papery leaves bearing brown fruit. Sapphire plucked one and handed it to Andrew. He eagerly took a bite and, upon tasting that it wasn't what he was looking for, he dropped it and began to cry like a toddler.

"This confirms it. He desires The Fruit." Sapphire concluded.

"But what can become of him if he takes of the fruit? He'll be cursed and become twisted like our cruel mother!" Emerald said with great fire.

"Too true." concurred Ruby, "We could trick someone into stealing one to give to him. The writing on the gate says the fruit may be taken for others."

"We know enough about magic to know the writing can come to mean something else. Such treachery may yet come to affect us." reasoned Sapphire.

"Well I certainly won't jeopardize myself or my sister." said Emerald.

"Very well, then. Only one need go. I can make it by dawn." Sapphire said as lifted the weeping Andrew once more and took to the frigid skies.

The sun crested over the eastern horizon behind them as they arrived at the valley. There, shining golden within the walls of the hilltop garden, was the Lion. Sapphire sensed him and had no desire to steal an apple while He was present. She was at a loss for what to do, so she made like a Maenad and dropped him at the far edge of the valley.

"Blossoms! Shine! Drink! Brandy! SHINE!" said Andrew, squirming like a child in her arms as she touched down. She watched him walk to the base of the hill before flying to rejoin her sisters in the Toffee orchard.

Andrew stared up the green turfed hill. It was steep, nearly impossible for an old man in his state to climb, but his mind was too gone to tell him this. He began upward and soon he was climbing up using his hands and feet, gripping the dewy earth with his gnarled toes. The grass was green, impossibly uniform, and slick. He was as Sisyphus. He would gain ground, then lose it all, then gain once more. At one point he was three quarters of the way to the top when he slid down to near the bottom. He clawed the dirt, leaving a trail of gouges in the earth.

Finally, his eyes were level with the very bottom of the gate, just two arms-lengths away. He felt such relief, but he'd forgotten what he was trying to do and almost let himself slide limply down the side of the great hill. A beautiful, shrill cry came to his ears from the garden. It was a sound that broke your heart while also filling you with joy. He followed the cry of the Phoenix and soon was laying face-down on the loam outside the gates.

He could smell The Fruit and something else. It was something warm, as if forgiveness itself had a scent. He forced himself to his hands and knees and crawled through the open gates. The silence with the light from the Silver Apples and the glow from the Lion brought a stillness to Andrew's mind and he felt safe for the first time that his broken mind could remember.

"You shall not steal the Fruit." said Aslan with a low rumble.

"Blossom! Thirst!" Andrew pleaded.

"You shall not steal the Fruit." Aslan repeated. He then sprang up, twisting in the air, to swing his paw into the bows of the tree. "CATCH!" He roared as he freed one Apple. It soared through the air with such immaculate trajectory that it landed perfectly between Andrews raised and begging hands. He reflexively gripped it. He had what he wanted. He wept for joy and then in sorrow because he could not remember what to do next. "Eat." ordered Aslan.

Andrew bit into the fruit, covering his chin in dark amber-burgundy juice. He devoured the apple, knowing only that one action, capable of nothing else. As he finished, he felt satisfied. Color returned to his face and his musculature returned to it's youthful state. His hair, which had been a dirty-looking mess with some black hairs around the base of his skull, was pure platinum and fell thick and wavy down his back. His beard thickened and became salt and pepper with dominant white.

Then he started to remember. He remembered Digory, Letty, Astaria, Mabel, Adam, dear responsible Adam who helped his ageless sister look after their mother. He remembered Jadis and he remembered Narnia. He understood where he was now.

"Well then, Lion. I suppose I owe you now." he said with considerable ire.

"If you choose to view it as such."

"Am I not in your Bond? Why did you bring me here? What am I to do now?" he asked, puzzled. Aslan walked out through the gate, saying:

"Do whatever the fuck you want to."

#narnia #chronicles of narnia #fanfic #fanfiction #the magicians nephew #Aslan #Andrew Ketterly #digory kirke

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walkthroughtheword · 4 years ago

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Reading for August 17th Judges 10&11 CHAPTER TEN

It is almost as if the editor of Judges built in a chapter for the reader to catch their breath. Note that Tola and Jair are judges but neither fight military campaigns nor does the land enter peace. Keep in mind, these judges are regional, not national figures.

Next we are reintroduced to two antagonists; the Ammonites and the Philistines. The Ammonites are pushing the tribes from Gilead (east of the Jordan) from the east and the Philistines are gaining strength from the west coast of the Mediterranean. Their incursions are directly due to the apostasy of Israel. God is angry and content to leave his unfaithful people to live in the consequences of their choice to reject him.

Finally, after eighteen years the people cry out to the Lord; they are well aware of the nature of their transgressions. The people have cried out to God before but this is different. This time they repent, put aside foreign gods and serve God.

That being said, Ammon is ready to attack Gilead. At a strategy meeting at Mizpah, it is decided that whichever tribe has the courage to attack the Ammonites first will rule over the others in the region.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Israel has failed in both conquest and covenant and the people group God called to be “set apart” for the purpose of bringing salvation to the world were quickly becoming just another set of “ites” in a sea of “ites.” Chapter 2: 12 reads, “And they angered the Lord.” Today we enter the quickly deteriorating swirl of the Judges by meeting a man named Jephthah.

V. 1 Jephthah was a great warrior Jephthah hails from Gilead which roughly runs east of the Jordan River north and south from the Sea of Galilee to the Dead Sea. It controlled the north/south King’s Highway trade route and was known for grapes, olives and a particular ointment called the Balm of Gilead. He is smart, enfranchised and skilled in warfare which makes him well known in the region. His father was Gilead and his mother was a prostitute Jephthah is apparently the first born but he comes from an illegitimate mother, which the author casts more as unfortunate than nefarious. It is the chink in an otherwise strong suit of armor but it is the chink that brings him down.

V. 2 Gilead also had several legitimate sons who drove Jephthah off the land and denied him any part of his father’s inheritance When his father dies, his younger, jealous and lesser gifted brothers make legal claims that disinherit their notable brother and strip him of position, name, power and influence. They could have never beat him in battle so they beat him in court.

V. 3 Jephthah lived in Tob and soon had a large band of rebels following him Jephthah is forced to live on the margins of society and soon draws an army of similarly alienated men who live lives of hunters, mercenaries and raiders. They camp in the mountains on the border of Ammon and Gilead.

V. 4-6 When the Ammonites attacked, the leaders sent for Jephthah and asked them to lead them in a limited capacity It appears there were no generals in Gilead with the character, strength, skills and courage to raise and lead an army, so the political leaders made Jephthah an offer(ish). He replied:

V. 7-9 “You have stripped me of the very social standing required to lead. So here is my counter-offer: I will come and lead you and God gives me victory, I will not only be given back my place in society but I will be your ruler.” Jephthah does not let his pride keep him from his destiny. Jephthah has learned, as only one can who has lost everything, that if there is to be restoration come to him, it will come from the Lord. That however does not keep him from negotiating; rather than accept the limited title of chieftain offered him, he negotiates the role of ruler of chieftains.

V. 10 “The Lord is our witness.” Now the deal is struck and it is sealed in the name of God. The invocation of Yahweh is of interest here because it appears that both the people and Jephthah know God, respect God and place him as a witness to their agreement.

V. 11 So Jephthah became their commander and took the oath before the Lord in Mizpah With Jephthah sworn in, large and in-charge, he now begins his executive duties and surprisingly, first attempts diplomacy. In the water of the Judges, this is seen as good leadership and the King of Moab claims an ancient boundary quarrel to be at the center of the conflict. Jephthah shows an excellent grasp of history and disputes the claims of Ammon but verse 28 reminds us that the negotiations are a farce, Ammon is going to attack regardless of the facts. Now that war is inevitable, Jephthah shifts from a ambassador to general and travels Israel recruiting an army.

V. 29 At that time the Spirit of the Lord came upon Jephthah and he recruited and led an army against Ammon The Hebrew reads, “God’s spirit happened to” Jephthah and he raises an army, not by provocation like Ehud but by the Spirit like Gideon.

V. 30-31 And Jephthah vowed that if the Lord gave him victory that the first thing that came out of his house upon his return would be given to the Lord with a burnt offering There is no need for this foolish vow, God has already promised victory and the Spirit has already rested upon Jephthah. This literally means that the first thing that comes from my house will “belong to Yahweh.”

V. 32-34 God gave Israel the victory and they drove Ammon from the land When Jephthah returned home, his only child, a daughter came out to meet him, dancing for joy The battle won, Jephthah now returns home, not doubt thinking of his vow. His mistake is in thinking God gave him victory because of his vow, that is frankly superstition, but now he feels bound to uphold it. I am guessing he was hoping a dog he really didn’t like would come out of that house first. No such luck. Bounding from the house is his only child and she is clearly the apple of his eye. She is rejoicing in her father’s victory but the sight of her causes pain, not joy for Jephthah for his foolish vow is about to change everything.

V. 35 Jephthah cried out in anguish, “My heart is broken for I made a vow to the Lord that I cannot take back” The mature dialog between father and daughter make it clear that she is not a child on one hand and not of marrying age on the other for she is denoted a virgin.

V. 38 So he allowed his daughter to go into the hills with her friends to mourn the fact she would never bear children Most of us were taught that Jephthah’s daughter is mourning her life but that is not what the text says, it says she is mourning the fact she will never have children. Could there be more here than we have always assumed? Possibly.

V. 39 When she returned home her father kept his vow and she died a virgin. There are two plausible options here. The traditional option is that Jephthah offered his daughter to Yahweh as a burnt offering and this becomes a cautionary, utterly disturbing and tragic tale. The other is that the girl was not sacrificed at all but given to the service of Yahweh. And in her case, that meant she was not allowed to marry, was cloistered for religious service (like a nun) and thus died from old age but died a virgin. The tragedy in this scenario is that Jephthah would not have children from his only child to carry on his name. This raises the possibility that Jephthah did not lose a daughter as we so long presumed, he lost a legacy.

And this brings me to Rule Two of Biblical Interpretation: When two equally plausible and supportable Biblical scenarios are presented, go with the one that helps you sleep. I’ll bet Jephthah’s daughter made a fine servant to God.

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