#A Damsel In Distress No Longer Remains In Distress Once She Is Rescued

[zarvasace]

Next is Depth! He is dark Sky. (He gets his own special dramatic portrait—the perspective mostly works? Idk I need to practice and find some good refs for this sort of thing.) So much rambling about him and his design under the cut.

Masterpost

The most striking thing about Depth is how normal he looks. Disregarding a few odd features, he looks like Just Some Guy, at least until he opens his mouth. He occasionally feigns being mute around others so he can keep the charade of being human up for longer, since his voice sounds truly awful. Depth is paler than Sky with much darker hair and orange-red eyes, but is otherwise identical. He doesn't mind that, and chooses to play it up a bit with very similar clothes, too. His tunic is rust-colored, opposite Sky’s spring green, and his chainmail is pointed and jagged on the ends instead of smooth. He wears a purple sash with more angular designs and lines, which matches the purple charm that keeps his cape on. 

Depth’s sailcloth is both a source of pride and a sore spot. He made it to contrast Sky’s, dark and tattered, but one of his very secret desires is to get one as beautiful as Sky’s, made by Sun, maybe dark, but functional and lovely and a reminder of her. 

See, Depth doesn't understand Sun—he doesn't actually know her, though he has memories from Sky. He wants her to be a damsel in distress that he can rescue, he dreams of her choosing him over his Light, but he doesn't realize that she won't. He loves his idea of her. While Depth follows [insert LU bad guy here]’s directives, he makes his own plans and he has his own agendas, and many of those plans aid him, in some way, to win Sun’s affection. 

However, as Depth has been growing into the leader role, he's starting to become attached to the other Darks. He's annoyed by them, but his plans have started to expand to benefit them in a way that doesn't necessarily benefit him, too. He might have a little altruism in him, after all. 

Despite that, unfortunately, Depth remains someone who would not save the world, but someone who intends to damn it over and over again. He doesn't flinch at the thought of Demise’s curse, in fact, he would welcome it. He likes the idea of having a purpose and a destiny. He wants to coddle the few people he cares about and would set everything on fire to do it. He says he loves Sun more than Sky ever could, but he would lock her away to keep her "safe."

Depth is the de facto leader of the group, since he's driven and has ambition. He has a very strict idea of what the other Darks should be doing and gets upset when they don't do it. He hates being touched and is ruthlessly practical. Once, when Nothing was being particularly annoying and tried to steal Depth’s sailcloth, Depth broke at least one of Nothing's fingers. He hasn't gotten close to injuring someone like that again, due to equal parts nobody bothering him like that again and him trying to be a little gentler. He doesn't hesitate to threaten injury to keep order, though. 

Depth knows about Ghirahim as a sword, and wants to wield it, but is under the impression that he needs to prove himself worthy first. (Whether or not [LU bad guy] actually intends to let him use it is a different story.) Depth is one of the more skilled sword fighters among the Darks, remembering formal training, but his sword isn't anything special. In a fight with Sky, they would be evenly matched if it weren't for Sky’s ability to use a Skyward Strike, and Depth's inability to block that much light. 

Depth’s special ability is his voice. In a mundane way, the others try to not make him use it, because it's almost painful to hear. In a magical way, Depth’s voice carries over long distances. When he sings, he can summon creatures like bats, crows, rats, and snakes, and they'll listen to him for a time. When he screams, his voice is a magical, short-range wave of destruction. Yes, he's an evil Disney Princess. Depth doesn't feel any strong affinity for the animals he attracts, but he doesn't let Dire or anyone else hurt them, and he doesn't send them to their deaths. He mostly uses them as spies and distractions. 

Depth is one of the more dangerous members of the Dark Chain—not because he’s physically imposing or particularly powerful, but because he can see beyond the next mission and is determined to ruin the Lights once and for all. He's one of those who would happily kill his Light—but only after Depth shows him how he has lost everything dear to him. 

[beaflower77]

A Damsel Among A Brier In Winter

She backed away. Away from the turmoil, the unannounced, unprovoked altercation. Where had he come from? He was supposed to have gone, fled, expulsed. She was only there to touch the frozen roses, to feel their glass like fragility, their magical hidden brightness, witnessing both the wan, decay and renewal on the vines. She backed away, slowly, carefully, trying unsuccessfully to keep her facial emotions under lock and key. And as she past the middle of the garden, where the center of the fury erupted, was still broiling, the corner wall came into view. Turning, taking careful steps, treading lightly, keeping all wits about, Beatrice gave up and tore off. When hearing nothing bearing after her, she ran. Beatrice ran till she could run no more. The further away she became from the heat, the quicker her steps pounded, until she was finally rushing, escaping his emotional fuels and flames and dislike. Leaving the frozen roses to their demise and decay. And alone

Glorfindel had heard it all. Knowing he was accidentally eves dropping, keeping himself hidden, unawares from the other elf’s presence. It took all of his strength to keep himself composed and harnessed to the solid ground below. Arm, hand at his sword, ready to unsheathe and release, Glorfindel stood and listened as a barrage of rapid, hot words fired between the two. And anger and disgust built, squirreled its’ way round his heart, squeezing tight and tighter still.

“I did no such thing.,” she pleaded. “I didn’t. It was so long ago. Why are you even back? Why are you here? Why are you tormenting me?”  Ignoring Beatrice, “Did you not drop several provocative innuendos?,” the handsome elf suggested tightly, giving Beatrice a triumphant glare. “I seem to remember you telling me stories, and dropping teasing glances my way. And words. And such other evidences of your lust.” 

“No.,” Beatrice replied. “I mean. You seemed to like it.,” she felt cornered, trapped, sinking fast in wet, pulling quicksand. “I mean, I was only flirting, teasing. You responded positively!” Beatrice was not prepared for this onslaught, never concieving it was ever a possiblity to meet him again. He had been banished from Imladris for many years now. She had no mental, emotional preparation whatsoever for this assault. She had known in the far corners of her mind, this elf was never truly enamored of her. But he said otherwise many times over. What he had done to her emotionally, Beatrice only dared half a recollection, and even that much toppled her mind. Trying to think, mentally shielding herself, “You have been gone for a long time. You don’t really know me!,” she explained. “I am a nice person!! You are confusing me!” And Beatrice’s head spun like a top, berating herself, beating her spinning brains against every single corner there ever was in a sharp, sealed room. She looked for some sort of intellectual way out, but nothing was apparent enough. And she could not see the garden’s exit.

Every step of the way, every word, every thought, design, came out incorrectly. Beatrice inanely babbled, trying to verbally avenge herself, her behavior, her thinking from that time so long ago. Every moment then was a mistake. A disaster, collapse and calamity. She had tried. She had tried, but with no proficiency either then or now to clear and uncloud her thoughts and judgments. Her mindset guilty of wide blunders, misstatements and disastrous misjudgments. The elf had tortured Beatrice’s will and heart even then. But now, she was, in this moment, ensnared and entombed by his lurking, manipulative tricks. How had he returned? And without notice given to her? She wanted to run. Wanted to pick up, threw rocks, sticks at him. Yell, blame him. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to do much. For her eyes were pinned by his gaze, her feet as if lead and her heart, her heart fractured and divided itself, folding inward and became afraid of love once again. She did not want to hurt him, yet, she did.

The elf stiffly walked closer, emanating dramatic, intense, angry heat off his person. The garden’s snow crunched, squeaked beneath his boots. Beatrice stifled herself. Then, she hurled at him, “You left me on that cliff! You left me there! I liked you! I really, really liked you! You said you liked me! You said you loved me!,” pointing to the frosted, ruby roses, laying thickly within still green hedges. “That I was..like a rose..beautiful and sweet! And you hurt me! You left me there! Alone! Not even caring if I slipped, fell off or not! I could have fallen. And died. You just left! You knew I loved you!”  Looking up at him, hurt, anger, sorrow, hollow and hopeless, useless emotions rolled off her, emotions that couldn’t seep away, or hide into the frosted, frozen hard ground. “I really liked you. I thought, I thought you were different, special. I thought you were kind, but you are not! You never were! You are emotionally manipulative!,” Beatrice spat. Standing her ground, “And mean! And vengeful! And wrong!”

Huffing, the elf smiled, snared. “You are a slut. A filthy, human, slut. Waiting for anyone to notice you. To play. To ensnare in your wild, deceptive games.” Tossing his head up toward the pristine city walls, covered in layers of thick, white frosting, and snow crystal landscaping, “Why that Lord of an elf keeps you, I cannot fathom.” Roosleen’s mouth slithered, looking directly down at her, “It is because, perhaps, you make a good pet for him. It is not because he loves you. You do realize, don’t you? That elf lord could never love you.,” staring her down condescendingly. “It is but a falsity, a farce. You are, but a play toy, a tease, a human. A weak, pitiful, ungraceful human.” Beatrice’s face flinched. “Go away.,” she fiercely whispered. 

The crystals in Beatrice’s heart became like the frozen, piercing thorns from the roses, trapped within their own buds and folds. However, unlike the roses, her heart might not thaw and bloom in the spring as they would. And her disrespect and resentment grew.

Beatrice wanted to beat, hit him, hurt and maim him. She tried not to show this long lost elf her inside, hidden emotions, making her a mess, a destroyed wreck of a mess, but had she any verbal retort to defend herself against Roosleen? No. Not much. Back then, Beatrice had teased, flirted. But she thought, that was what one did, when one liked another. But that was so long ago. Why was he back? After so long? And he was wrong. Yet, his glare held her, glued her still, rooting her feet to the snow dusted ground. Letting him come closer, focusing his contempt of her being, hurling insults. Beatrice refused to back away, back down, cower before him or anyone else. So instead, she just stared, defenseless, wordless, and let her heart remain open, letting him rip her apart, and absorbed his torment, disrespect and disregard for her life. Beatrice absorbed his hate, but she did not permit him the will to break her in front of him. Yet again.

And Glorfindel seethed with smouldered wrath. And waited it out.

Nothing more had Beatrice to say, nothing more could she say. So she said the only thing that came to her mouth, “I really liked you.” Again, the disdainful elf sneered, “But why on Arda would I ever like…you?” Then, to send the bullet home, “I only pretended to enjoy you. I only bluffed. You were a curiosity. An intellectual, physical curiousity. However, you quickly bored me.” Beatrice could take no more. Losing the ability to search his eyes, his heart, finally seeing inside his fae, her guts wrenched. Beatrice needed to leave or a vomiting, distasteful mess she would become. She had let herself be laid bare and ripped apart enough, and now she was disgusted of both herself and him.

The high sweeping, smooth white steps came into sudden view. Beatrice ran up them, slipping, tripping, plunging over her silly dark skirts, bracing her body from a head long fall, hurting, skinning her wrists against stone and snow alike in the process. One of the guards quickly stepped down, assisting her, realigning her body with the earth. Waiting long enough to stand, readjust her bearings, grabbing, bunching her skirts, Beatrice ran the rest of the way up and up and up. With the guards looking after her, she left them perplexed and confused. And with that confusion, they became wary and watchful for further intrusions. One went to inform Lord Elrond.

Bolting through the chamber doors, Beatrice threw herself inside, startling Lindir from a friendly discussion with a friend. Looking up, startled, dismayed, Lindir rushed, scrambled before her. She tried to move past him. He was swifter, stronger. “Please.,” Beatrice pleaded, trying to keep some semblance of her emotional disarray and hurt contained. “Beatrice?!,” Lindir gave her with concern, puzzlement, holding her arms, body still.  Pleading, “Let me go.,” Beatrice squirmed within his grasp. “No.,” as his arms gathered her closer to his taller frame. “What has happened? What is it? What is happening?,” And the more Beatrice struggled for release, the more she desperately wanted his stability and security. Tonare, Lindir’s friend, stood, studied her, walked to their balcony, looked down in scrutiny. And found the source of her distress,  “Roosleen.,” he mouthed silently to Lindir’s questioning face. The shock, bewilderment, fury rose in the pit of Lindir’s stomach and his world ceased. No. Rooseleen was here. Here? Now? Why? Lindir would not release Beatrice this time.

Inside her heart, Beatrice felt Lindir’s wrath, but remained within his captivity and eventually gave up fighting for release. Instead, Beatrice decided to crumble. Lindir allowed it. To crumble, fall apart and become sick with disquiet and upheaval, as he held Beatrice tight, fighting against a heavy emotional tailspin of a downward spiral. Not again, if he could help it, Lindir vowed. This time, Lindir would have his revenge.

“What have you done?,” questioned, hissed Glorfindel, coming into view. Glaring this elf down, he tread across the path, making light prints to outlay the snowy ground, so quietly from his hidden place amongst frosted hedge and rose. Startled, coming out of his disgusted, revolted argument with Beatrice, the elf stared at Glorfindel with wary fright, keeping from admitting alarm. Gaining control, “What is it to you?,” Roosleen said slowly. “What were you doing there? Spying?” A standoff ensued.

Becoming informed of the malicious altercation between Beatrice and the expunged elf, Lindir and Tonare calmed Beatrice enough to drag the story out. This elf had reappeared twice in her lifetime and his being, his presence upset, unbalanced, and pulled from Beatrice the darkest, worst emotions, and perplexities hidden within. Each time laying claim to her heart and soul, destroying her, sabotaging, shattering Beatrice, and her mind to shards and pieces. Lindir, the others, had found her that dark, dirtied night, sheltered among the many crevices on a lone cliff, stealing herself from a long, depthless fall into the abyss and dark, foaming, wheeling waters below. Lindir had selflessly pulled her back, and back into life. A sheltered, contented, loving life with him. 

Now, as Beatrice dozed, Lindir with renewed strength, purpose and force strode the dim corridors to Elrond, with doom on his mind and judgment, verdict and death in his heart. “I will slay him.,” Lindir calmly seethed in judgment. “He will not leave here on foot.” And he readied, adjusting his sword and belt.

“How you could come back, enter this city without confession or atonement.,” Glorfindel placed with passion. “Twas easy.,” Roosleen replied. “I am known here. I am easily accepted.” And while the elf’s manner, disposition inwardly remained calm, he was extremely aware of Glorfindel’s anger and judgment. And, where Glorfindel’s hands lay. And his hands were not dangling before his sides. As his sword began to come unsheathed, the immediate garden was flanked with other elves, including Elrond. And Lindir.

“Roosleen.,” Elrond challenged. “I do not recall having invited your return.” Turning, swinging round swiftly, Roosleen started, stared before the city’s Lord. “I invited myself.,” Roosleen calmly, audaciously bantered back. Elrond took stock of the elf’s placement of hand on his sword, and knew sooner or later, an encounter would take place. “I am unaware of my elves escorting your presence here. You may not remain here.,” Elrond directed toward the ungovernable, unwanted elf, giving Roosleen one last opportunity to exit, unscathed. “I intend no lasting harm.,” Roosleen retorted, narcissictly. 

As the two elves exchanged glaring, dissing words, Lindir continued to frown, and glare against the repugnant elfs’ behavior. Moving, advancing between, betwix surrounding elves with ire and indignation, Lindir’s rage and resentment grew. With mounting words, arguing midst themselves, Lindir stepped in, issuing a proclamation of his own, “How dare you! How dare you return here! You, who have caused irreparable damage! You have not only caused such damage to this city, but to Beatrice, herself! What you did, there are no excuses for!,” and livid was Lindir’s mind. “If no one cuts you down, I will do so myself!,” Lindir hawked and threw throughout the pristine, frozen red rose garden. 

Elrond’s elves stood readied for word, swords drawn. The stance of Roosleen grew disturbed, pointing off in a distance, “What issues that woman had, she had long before I came along! She was a broken mess before I knew her! And know her, I did.” That tiny bite of a smile was enough. That smile, those words were just enough for Lindir and the others to hear and put up with. The bandying elves flared, bickered, hurled insults and excuses. And before the mess was over, Lindir’s sword was drawn.

As Lindir’s sword thrust and parried, Roosleen gained the upper hand. This was not fighting ground. This slippery, dirtied, snow dropped ground. Even though Lindir was suitable and befitting of sword play or a challenge, his anger and wrath was overtaking his ability to think correctly, or defensively circumvent Roosleen’s offensive movements, as dark boot fought against lighter boot. A mixing of snow encased each heel and toe. As one long thrust of sword and arm pushed Lindir’s sword, his body toward the ground, digging into dirt, another blow belittled him from above, stinging his arm. Righting himself, reigning emotions for one moment, only to lose control another moment, Lindir still managed to kick Roosleen just enough with the heel of his boot, scraping the inside of Roosleen’s shin, enough to sideswipe, but not fully overcoming him. Lindir was not used to or prepared to endure such spiteful fight.

Having an opening to kick dirtied snow into Lindir’s face, keeping him defenseless, Roosleen dodged, kicked Lindir in the ribs, the tender, vulnerable guts, again knocking him down, bruising, the muscles of his shoulder tearing, causing Lindir to grimace in frustration and pain. Roosleen, knowing he was opened for wounding, even a behind assault or multiple attack, but bent on purging this moment of an unendurable elf, drew his sword back, and overhead, aiming for Lindir’s neck. But stopped short.

Roosleen, his body, frozen in time, stopping all movement, letting his chest cave with a sudden loss of air, his torso tensed, braced itself for a collapse. His arms, in midair, did not release his sword yet. Another immediate, bone cracking slice and sound from behind, and Roosleen’s body buckled at the knees, heaving soundlessly into the shuffled snow, leaving his entire self exposed to the elves. And his arms dropped, as his knees buckled, silently skidding against the dirt. His face registered shock and ruin and pain.

Lindir, heaving, lifted his head in time to see Glorfindel raise his own sword. And heavily sent it careening against Roosleen’s neck, severing it completely. His head dumped silently to the ground, where it stilled. Lindir set his eyes on the dirtied, tarnished, red and white ground but a moment, knowing his life had been spared and saved. Closing his eyes, opening them, keeping his eyes fashioned on Glorfindel’s boots, Lindir tucked his head in and swallowed, closed his eyes, but a moment longer.

“Clean this up.,” Elrond fiercely commanded the elves, turning to leave, his face a mess of chaos. “No!,” Lindir pleaded. Turning, looking down upon Lindir, still kneeling, “My Lord.,” Lindir began, trying to breathe, “I will take care of it.,” he licked his lips, tightened, knitted his mouth shut. “Beatrice…will need to see this.” Elrond, glancing towards Roosleen’s body, took stock of Lindir, understood what he meant to do, nodded his assent and left.

Taking Beatrice, leading her by the hand, Lindir returned with her to the garden. Before leading Beatrice inside the center, “I mean to show you.,” Lindir suggested with wariness but determined. “Come with me.” Beatrice went, not with hesitation, trepidation but with dignified resignation. Wanting Beatrice to see the end, the finality of this issue of Roosleen, they both entered the garden. Standing within the circular pit of vipers she knew as rose bushes and hedges, Beatrice knowing all too well, understood exactly what she was about to bear witness to, however, not knowing if she wanted to see or not, she continued to blindly walk beside Lindir. Was it because, she just did not want to see this elfs’ body and demise and face the end, or just not see the honesty of the thing, and face the truth, uncertainty and pain it would bring to her heart?

Walking into the center of the clearing, rows of snow covered hedges surrounded the still wet, white and crimson ground, as well as Tonare and the few other elves standing by, waiting for Lindir’s command. Lindir stood before Beatrice and gestured down, “Do you see?,” Lindir asked her, looking down on the body. “Do you see now, Beatrice. It is over. Finished. No more shall this elf torment and degrade your honor.”

Beatrice looked at what was left of Roosleen. She felt sorry for him, for her, the situation, the whole catastrophe. It was truly a sad thing. Why did he return? What useless, senseless thing would cause him to return? And why now? She nodded thickly, dumb and mute, while Lindir talked on. No tears, no remorse, not much emotion did Beatrice let enter her heart or mind, just yet. In time, Lindir knew she would cry and sniffle the nights away. Turning, keeping numb, Beatrice followed her gaze, looked up at Lindir.  “Beatrice.,” Lindir started. “Do you remember telling me your stories of fairies?,” he asked. “Fairy tales.,” Beatrice corrected. Nodding, “Yes. Fairie tales. Some were of fair maidens, damsels in distress, you called them.,” and Lindir pointed out to Beatrice. “You were a damsel in distress Beatrice. Once, you were. Now no more. No longer are you that damsel. Now, Beatrice. Now, you have been rescued, recovered. Now.,” he continued, “You must live your life in independence, not dependency. Not sorrow, nor pain. Do you understand? No one can harm you here.” Beatrice pulled so much air into her lungs, she thought she would expand, explode and burst as like a piñata, But unlike a joyous, festive, colorful piñata, Beatrice released only dirtied, lung filled monoxide with a heavy sigh. And understood, agreed and nodded.

Lindir nodded off to Tonare and the others to carry away the body of Roosleen, the recalcitrant elf and looked longingly at Beatrice, with more dignity than pity and placed his hand on her face and held her gaze. “No one will harm you.,” he promised. 

Roosleen was someone Beatrice did indeed love, had true, genuine feelings for, feelings of kindness, respect and joy towards. But that was then, before he willingly informed her of his game, his farce and disgraceful sham. Knowing it was better for the sake of all, that this issue was finished, done with, destroyed, her heart broke and Beatrice began to feel the desperate loss of something which once was and could have been, had Roosleen been different. Roosleen was gone, but Lindir was not. Lindir had fought for her, her value, her honor, her being and life. She harbored no anger, resentment nor hatred toward Roosleen, only…..loss. Loss. And release. 

The garden, with its’ soft yet bright winter roses, petals closed, not one red rose in bloom. All roses curled, frosted and tight lipped against the wind and snowdrops, all cozied up for the winter. Every so often, a petal here or there would drop, break off. And Beatrice would walk there from time to time, amidst them, touching here, there, and she remembered.

[monster-fricker]

Part 2: Perhaps At Another Time

Male Orc (He/Him pronouns) x Female Human Reader (She/Her pronouns) - SFW Chapter, but will eventually be NSFW

- TW for wound, blood, and death mention (nothing explicit). Our orc, Galaak, has now been introduced. A little angst, a little fluff.. Let me know if you like it. -

You regained consciousness a few times, but briefly. You noticed the sensation of being carried, watched the ground move parallel beneath you, coming into focus and then swirling away. The air was icy but the shoulder you were hung over was warm, as was the hand wrapped delicately around your waist. Somewhere in your haze, you giggled out a weak "I guess I'm a damsel in distress now." That was greeted with a clearly confused, "What?" and you chuckled. Delirious, you feigned swooning. "My hero." Before you passed out once more, you remember thinking you hoped he recognized it as a joke.

You awoke with a start. You didn't quite have a nightmare. You don't remember dreaming at all. But your adrenaline was high and you sat up, then doubled over in pain, immediately lowering your body back down on the bed. You tried desperately to piece together the events of... yesterday? There was no way to tell how long you had been unconscious and panic rose to your throat. Bandits. You could recall that much. Had they successfully kidnapped you?

No, no. They were run off by someone, someone monstrous in size, though perhaps you imagined that part. And whoever it was, he must have taken you back to his home. You lifted your shirt delicately and touched the wounds on your abdomen. To your surprise, they had been wrapped in bandages, and you could feel the stitches through the soft cloth. Some sort of embarrassment overwhelmed you, that he had rescued you and seen your body, that you were in need of rescuing at all, but the embarrassment was countered by relief. Maybe you weren't exactly safe, you thought, but you were with someone who cared enough to nurse your injuries. Besides, fear was useless at times like these.

You lingered in bed for awhile longer. It was enormous, taking up most of the space in the room. In fact, there was not much else in there, save for a nightstand with a glass of water sat atop it and lanterns lining the walls. The window next to you was blanketed by trees and ivy. You took that as a sign that you must still be in the forest.

After an hour had passed, you began the slow process of getting out of bed. You let out a few groans, gingerly placing one hand to your stomach, then to your head. Those bandits really did a number on you and it was a miracle you had survived to tell the tale. As you stood up, you took notice of your shirt, freshly cleaned and not belonging to you. It was over-sized to say the least and fit you like a long sack dress. Embarrassment washed over you again, but you were determined to move forward.

A few steps and you were already light-headed. You whined in pain and lost your footing. However, instead of hitting the floor, a tremendous arm collided with your waist, instantly stopping you from falling further. You squealed in surprise, tried to tear upright, but the arm remained firm and lifted you the rest of the way.

The arm belonged to an orc. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. You really shouldn't be out of bed." His voice was gravelly, but his face was sympathetic. You couldn't help but gasp. He was nearly seven feet in height, with shoulders as broad as a table, seemingly sturdier than that. He had a thick jaw and was admittedly handsome, even with a scar on the left side of his face, stretching from forehead to just below his bottom lip. It cut through that portion of his mouth, causing it to be permanently lopsided, and you imagined it must have damaged his eye too, as he wore an eyepatch of leather. Actually, if you were honest with yourself, he was more handsome because of it, but you pushed those thoughts away with a shake of your head, along with a gaping expression that was undoubtedly rude.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just..." Your words trailed off for a moment. "I've just never seen an orc before." You regretted the statement as soon as it reached the air, worried it might offend him. To your surprise, he let out a baritone laugh.

"Well, hopefully I will not disappoint as your very first encounter with one." His eye glistened with amusement.

"Not at all," you said and chuckled nervously. "You did save me after all."

He laughed again, but cocked his eyebrow in concern. "Really though, you should go back to bed." With that, he led you over like a fragile child, and propped you on the mattress.

Perhaps at another time, in another circumstance, you would have protested, been offended that he took you for weak. But you did feel weak, that was certain, and his was touch pleasant. Perhaps at another time, in another circumstance, you would not have protested at all.

Your stomach rumbled loudly. "By the gods, little one, you must be starving." Again, his expression was one of concern. "I fed you broth, as much as I could in your state anyway, but let me bring you something better now." He left the room.

You didn't know what to think. You had heard orcs to be brutish beasts, violent and unsavory characters. But this one was kind. There was a pang of guilt for troubling him like this. The smell of food made that guilt dissipate quickly.

He returned with two bowls, one for you and one for him, and sat at the foot of the bed. "I hope you like deer stew. It's all I have prepared at the moment." You hummed happily, bringing the first spoonful to your lips, then another. You must have looked like a ravenous animal. Luckily, he ate in the same way. You watched the liquid spill down his chin, splatter onto his great, ivory tusks, and stifled a laugh. If any company would forgive you for your lack of manners, it would certainly be an orc.

"So...," you started, still chewing on a particularly heavy chunk of meat, "Do you have a name? I would continue with 'my hero' but that seems a little cliché."

There came that baritone laugh again. "Galaak," he said, "though I don't mind a cliché every now and then."

You chuckled at that. It could be the food or the joy of finally being in a real bed, but you were comfortable, and strangely so.

"Galaak," you repeated. You offered your name and he repeated it as well. It seemed less like a formality and more like a song. A toothy, crooked grin lit up his face.

"Guess I shouldn't call you 'little one' anymore then. Kind of cliché, I'm sure." For some reason, that made your cheeks burn crimson.

You grinned too, although refusing to meet his gaze. "I don't know. I mean, it's very rare I meet someone that I look little next to." You patted your chubby belly, forgetting the wounds and subsequently wincing. "Besides, I don't mind a cliché every now and then."

Galaak beamed, but spoke shyly. "Then 'little one' it is."

You both ate in silence for awhile. It wasn't silence built from awkwardness, rather something sort of reassuring. You allowed your mind to drift, your gaze too, examining Galaak's frame more closely. The way his dark, braided hair fell down his back, contrasted by the ornate beading sewn within; the way the muscles of his biceps bulged through his shirt- a shirt very similar to the one you were wearing now; the way his belly, deliciously round instead of muscular, jiggled when he moved- you could feel heat in your thighs and you forced your mind to drift somewhere, anywhere else.

The bandits, you thought. Your voice broke the quiet. "Those bastards took everything, didn't they?"

"Those bastards? Oh, oh." Galaak looked a little taken off guard by the interruption of his own thoughts. "Nah, I frightened them cowards off. Got a few good swings of the hammer on them too." His smirk was mischievous. "They left a lot behind. Of course, your rabbit meat wasn't worth saving, but once I'd bandaged you up, I went back and collected your things." He pointed to the corner of your room where your bag leaned against the wall.

You were immediately filled with hope and exclaimed, "What about a dagger? Did you find that?" Galaak's face fell, shoulders deflating. You knew the answer before he could speak.

"It's okay." The tears stinging the corner of your eyes betrayed that statement. "One of them must have... must have kept it."

He noticed the wavering in your speech and hung his head. "Was the dagger important to you?"

You bit your cheek for a moment, trying to keep more tears from coming. Words spilled out instead.

"It's silly. It's just... my mother gave me that dagger after my father died, for protection, you know?" Galaak nodded, head still facing the floor. You started crying. "Anyway, she died too, a few years later. That's how it goes. And I had to sell what little we had left. It was hard. It was... hard. The dagger was the one thing I refused to sell. It is, was, the last reminder of her." You brought your hands to your face, as if they would hide the fact that you were sobbing. "I know it's silly."

Abruptly, one of your hands had left your face and was wrapped in his. Galaak looked terrified, terrified that you'd pull out of his grip at any moment. But you didn't, nor did he. "It's not silly, little one," he whispered, "There are a lot of silly reasons to hold onto something, but that's not one of them." Galaak squeezed your hand tightly.

"Thank you. For everything." Your smile was false, but you offered it anyway. "I'm tired. Is it alright if I stay another night?"

"You can stay as long as you'd like. I will let you get some rest," he said. His hand stayed on yours for a few moments before releasing you, taking the empty bowls into his arms, and making his way out of the room. When he got to the doorway, he added, "I'll be out for a bit tonight, but if you need anything, my home is yours."

You mulled over those words while drifting into shallow sleep. My home is yours. It was a lovely home. You envisioned what a normal day here looked like, what it would look like with you in it.

Perhaps at another time, in another circumstance. Despite yourself, you allowed the thought carry you into slumber.

Previous Chapter

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[thephantomessoftheopera]

Notes on Gaston Leroux‘s „The Phantom of the Opera“ - Chapter 27: „End of the Ghost‘s Love Story“

Artwork by @flaviamarquesart

<< Previous chapter

“End of the Ghost’s Love Story” is the most powerful chapter in the novel, because it reveals the full extent of Erik’s love for Christine. It is also the one that makes the story truly extraordinary, because it redeems his character and lifts him above the level of a gothic villain, who is usually defeated and punished in the end. This is why he is generally considered a “Byronic Hero” (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Byronic_hero). The Byronic hero is a complex, often tragic form of romantic anti-hero who is generally more villain than traditional hero, but who has at least one redeeming quality (usually connected to love) which makes him a sympathetic figure despite his flaws and/or crimes. The character type was created by the English poet Lord Byron in his works such as “The Corsair” and “Don Juan”, and became extremely popular in the 19th century. Except for his looks, Erik fits that classic character type in almost all other aspects (highly intelligent, tortured, violent, ruthless, manipulative and driven by an all-consuming passion).

The chapter’s title also makes it clear that the whole thing is a love story at its core - everything in the novel happened because Erik fell in love with Christine. It is, and has always been, the story of Erik’s love - he is the one character we follow up until the end.

The final chapter is narrated by Leroux again, but it draws on what the Persian supposedly told him when he went to visit him in his flat in the rue de Rivoli. When the Persian wakes up after losing consciousness in the water, he and Raoul are resting in the Louis-Philippe room, and Erik and Christine are taking care of them. Raoul has already woken up before the Persian, and is now asleep again.

The room itself astounds the Persian in how ordinary and old-fashioned it looks, and how much it contrasts with Erik’s general appearance (remember that the Persian had never been in Erik’s house before). Erik explains to him that the furniture once belonged to his mother, which explains why the style is so different from his bedroom, which is decidedly more „Erik“. The Persian also wonders why Christine, who is moving silently through the room and then sitting down beside the fireplace, ignores both Raoul and himself when tries to call her. The Persian believes that Christine is reading “The Imitation of Christ”, which is significant and which I will come back to a little later. The “opposites” theme is also present in this scene again, describing Erik’s figure as black and a demon, and Christine’s as white and an angel. The Persian finally falls asleep again.

When he wakes for the second time, Erik has already delivered him back to his flat according to the promise he made to “his wife”. The Persian immediately sends to find out what happened to Raoul, and learns that Raoul has disappeared and that Philippe’s body has been found on the shore of the lake under the opera house. The Persian has no doubt that Philippe was drowned by Erik (or “the siren”), and decides to denounce him to the police. However, his testimony is ridiculed, and he - like Raoul - is taken for a lunatic. The Persian then decides to write everything down and later hands his manuscript to Leroux (which is what we’ve been reading in these last chapters).

When he has finished writing his account down, Erik comes to visit him. He is clearly unwell and described as weak, leaning against the wall and “pale as a sheet”. The Persian accuses him of murdering Philippe and wants to know what happened to Raoul and Christine, whether they are dead or alive. Erik denies murdering Philippe, but the Persian doesn’t believe him. We don’t really know the truth though, so the “murder mystery” has no definite resolution and turns into more of a side note.

Erik tells the Persian that he is about to “die of love” for Christine. As I’ve mentioned before, I believe that the most likely physical cause of his death would really be the gunshot that Raoul fired at him, and a possible infection following that injury which would lead to his precarious state of health as seen in this chapter. This could metaphorically also be described as “dying of love” (because he wouldn’t have caught that bullet if he hadn’t been in love).

After turning the scorpion, Christine begged him to save Raoul, and she had already offered before to accept his proposal if he gave her the key to the torture chamber, but Erik did not care then, because he did not believe her. But when she swears to him that she will become his “living wife”, it‘s different as he finally sees in her eyes what he has been hoping to see - Christine’s genuine commitment. She means to go through with her promise and is accepting him as her husband at that moment - and this is why her commitment is powerful enough to break through to him.

According to their agreement, Erik takes the Persian aboveground, but since Raoul probably wouldn’t agree to leave, Erik drugs him and locks him up in the dungeon beneath the fifth cellar. Then he returns to Christine, who stands calmly waiting for him. Erik suddenly feels “shyer than a little child” as he approaches Christine, but she does not back away from him. He tenderly kisses her forehead and is overwhelmed with how good it feels to kiss her, as no woman has ever allowed him to, not even his mother. Christine even leans into his touch a little, and remains close to him after the kiss, „as if it were perfectly natural“.

Fear and disgust are very powerful, primal emotions, but Christine‘s feelings for Erik are strong enough to overcome both. Considering that no one, not even the Persian, was able to even look at Erik’s face without horror, I feel that Christine must have cared very deeply for him, as she allows his kiss without fear and without recoiling from him at all, even after everything he has put her through.

He falls at her feet and starts crying of happiness, and seeing his tears, Christine starts to cry as well. Erik tears off his mask so that he won’t lose any of her tears on his skin, and still Christine shows no sign of horror or disgust. And she doesn’t only allow him to touch her, but she also touches him of her own free will and takes his hand, saying “poor, unhappy Erik”. I feel that this is the moment when the full expanse of his life’s tragedy truly hits her. She is not only the first woman, but the first person in his entire life to treat him with tenderness and acceptance.

Gratitude and love for her overwhelm him and make him realize that he has forced her choice. He puts the gold wedding ring into her hand, setting her free and telling her that he knows she loves Raoul and that she is free to go and marry him whenever she pleases. He „calmly cuts his heart to pieces“ and puts her happiness before his own in this final expression of true love and sacrifice. For as damaged as he was, the ending proves that Erik truly loved Christine because his love is ultimately selfless. There is also no bitterness in his feelings towards Christine after she leaves - he has always loved her, and still continues to love her. He still feels protective of her: “I’d better not hear that anyone has touched a single hair on her head!” Christine gave him “all the happiness in the world”, and he is grateful to her for this gift. His love for her redeems him as a character and proves to be his moral compass - before, he considered himself “outside the human race” and therefore not bound by common moral values.

In the previous chapter, Christine is shown reading what the Persian believes to be “The Imitation of Christ”. I don’t think that is a coincidence, and I also believe that the name “Christine” was perhaps even chosen for her on purpose (she was originally named Pauline, according to Leroux’s manuscript). Christine becomes a “Christ figure” here in two ways: through her sacrifice, she saves the lives of Raoul, the Persian and everyone in the Opera. But she also offers acceptance and love to a sinner, an outcast who has been shunned by society - and this is an extremely powerful gesture. She possessed the strength necessary to see Erik as a human being, and that is what sets her apart from everyone else. Her love here transcends the realm of romantic love and becomes almost divine - all-encompassing, forgiving, healing.

Christine may superficially fit the traditional image of a “damsel in distress”, but the would-be hero who was coming to rescue her didn’t get very far, nor could he do anything to save her. The only hero who saved Christine was Christine herself - and she also saved everyone else: Raoul, the Persian, everyone in the Opera, and Erik. Both Christine and Erik show incredible bravery in this chapter: Christine‘s bravery shows in her truly accepting Erik as a man and in saving Raoul, and Erik‘s bravery consists in letting her go, relinquishing his one chance in his life of having everything he has ever dreamed of.

Erik then goes to free Raoul and brings him to Christine, where Raoul and Christine kiss. Christine swears to Erik that she will come back to bury him with the ring, and then she finally kisses him before they leave.

Seeing Erik weeping and overcome with emotion, the Persian no longer doubts him. Erik tells the Persian that when he feels he is close to dying, he will send the letters that Christine had left with him and a few of her personal objects to him, and that this would be the cue for the Persian to put an obituary notice in the newspaper so that Christine and Raoul would know. Interestingly, that entire arrangement hinged on Erik himself announcing his death without anyone confirming it, because he could only mail things to the Persian if he was still alive. This leaves a lot of blank space for the reader’s imagination, because who knows if he really died…? The Persian, at least, never saw him again, but announced three weeks later that “Erik is dead”.

Next chapter >>

[hopelesshawks]

Official Accounts Part 19- Search

Summary: (y/n) was perfectly happy remaining anonymous, even if her best friends were all pro heroes and she worked under THE Hawks. Handling the technical aspects of hero work from the background suited her just fine, thank you very much. That goes out the window when suddenly her twitter blows up thanks Denki and the famed no. 2 hero is asking her to run his own official twitter as a result

If you don’t want to see Official Accounts content blacklist #hopelessoa

Warning for non graphic descriptions of injuries and manga spoilers

Masterlist

You are NOT a damsel in distress. So when you woke up bleary eyed in some industrial building, hands cuffed and chained to the ceiling, feeling like you’d been hit by a truck, your first thought wasn’t, “I hope a hero comes for me”, but rather, “ok what’s step one to getting out of here.” First the matter of freeing yourself. You didn’t have a bobby pin so you’d have to get yourself free from the chain up top and then deal with the handcuffs. Honestly if you could get some time alone you could probably pull it off. You may not be able to take Dabi on directly but you could probably surprise him enough to make a getaway. Unfortunately, Dabi hadn’t left you alone since you’d woken up. And GOD did the asshole like to talk.

“Aren’t you curious why you can’t access your quirk?” Dabi asks. “I literally work hero tech, don’t insult my intelligence. I was looking over the specs for these cuffs just last week,” you reply with a roll of your eyes, “the better question is how you got hold of a pair.” “Can’t tell ya that, that’s no fun.” “So that’s why you won’t leave me alone? Cause this is fun for you?” “What? I’m bored. Your little boyfriend hasn’t texted me back,” he shrugged. “Not my boyfriend,” you snark back. “Ah right, sorry. Your ex boyfriend hasn’t texted me back,” he corrects with a smirk, “are you worried he won’t come?” “Nope.” “Aww, come around to thinking he cares about you again?” You roll your eyes again. “He’s a good hero. Regardless of whether he cares about me, he’ll come. And if not him I’ve got some really overprotective friends.”

Your arms are tingling from being held above your head for so long and your wrists feel rubbed raw by the harsh metal of the handcuffs but you refuse to give your captor the satisfaction of seeing your pain or discomfort. “Why even bother with all this?” you ask. If he was going to annoy you with all this chatter you may as well get something useful out of it. “You don’t really expect me to villain monologue my whole plan to you, do you?” he scoffs. “No but I also don’t expect you to leave me alone any time soon, so the least you could do is talk to me about something more interesting than the texts you read off my phone.” That wrenches a surprised laugh from the man. He walks over to you, giving you an appraising look the whole way over until he’s in your space, only a couple inches away. “Which do you think would hurt Hawks more? For me to kill you in front of him,” he leans in to whisper the last part in your ear, “or for him to watch you join me instead?” He pulls away only slightly, the two of you practically breathing the same air. “What on earth would make you think that I’d want to join you?” you scoff. “If you knew what the commission was hiding-“ “Tell me then. If you want me to join you so bad.”

Hawks arrived at the first address in record time. Speed was his thing after all. The moment he had touched down at the doorway and slipped into the all but abandoned warehouse he sent out several feathers to look for any sign of life within. Hawks had taken the two furthest locations since he’d be able to get to them the fastest and speed was of the essence. Logically, Hawks knew Dabi wouldn’t kill you before he or one of your friends got there. No, Dabi’s m.o. was suffering and it would hurt more to watch you die then to just find your body. That didn’t mean he relished the thought of you spending any more time in the other man’s clutches. His search turned up nothing. So he called his feathers back and in the blink of an eye was out the door and racing off to the second location, praying you were there.

“Well shit,” you sigh out, “I never did like Endeavor.” “Good instincts,” Dabi smirks. “You’re forgetting, Touya, I went to school with your little brother. I might not have known he was abusive, but I knew Endeavor wasn’t father of the year.” “So are you in or what?” “In to ‘take down’ hero society with you?” “Exactly.” “No way in hell.” Dabi scoffs in disbelief. “Wow, you are so enamored with them it makes me sick.” “I’m not enamored with the HPSC I think they’re disturbingly apathetic at best and grossly corrupt at worst. As for Endeavor he deserves to pay for his crimes the same way any other regular citizen would. But there are good heroes out there and you would have me take them and innocent civilians down too in your quest for revenge.” “Good heroes huh?” “Yes! Good heroes like All Might and Chargebolt and Mirko and-“ “Hawks?” “Yes, and Hawks.” “Did he or did he not just break your heart?” “Hawks made mistakes that broke my heart and made me no longer want a romantic relationship with him that is not the same thing as being a CHILD ABUSER. At the end of the day he is a hero through and through. He is a good man with capital i Issues and a strong sense of morality and is one of the few top pros willing to push back against the HPSC.” “You’re an idiot.” “You’re a selfish prick with daddy issues.”

The slap across your face probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you. Perhaps you had pushed a little too far. The side of your face stung and you belatedly realized his hand had been alight when he struck you. You wonder if the brief contact was enough to leave a burn. “Oh I’m sorry, did I hit a nerve?” you reply as you slowly turn back to face him. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he laughs with a shake of his head. “You might’ve given up on heroes but I see a better future in Hawks and Mirko and my friends.” “Then you’re not as smart as I was giving you credit for.” “Feeling’s mutual. But tell ya what, once I’m saved, I’ll tell your daddy you say hi.” When Dabi hits you this time you don’t have to wonder if he left a burn or not. You just know.

Hawks followed the same procedure at the second address as he had the first. He carefully slipped into the complex, careful to remain stealthy as he sent out a few feathers to search. It didn’t take long for him to find you and Dabi. He quickly texted the others and then recalled his feathers the moment he’d identified where the two of you were in order to avoid Dabi potentially noticing. Little did he know it was already too late for that as Dabi had set up silent perimeter alarms to let him know the moment someone came for you. Deep in the recesses of the building Dabi turns to you, still trying to catch your breath from the punishment your big mouth had earned you. “Looks like we have a guest (y/n). Now the fun really starts!”

Author’s Note: B O Y did this one get away from me. I intended the rescue effort to be all one part but as I was writing it out I realized I wouldn’t be able to have the level of detail I wanted if I did that so I just picked a good stopping point and HERE WE ARE. Next chapter will also be mostly written. We’ll see for the one after that. Also we write bad bitch readers in this house 😤 (y/n) woke up from being knocked unconscious and chose VIOLENCE

Taglist [open]: @cathy8taffy @katzurras @grumpyfroggies @captaincyberqueen @itskindofafairything @420-uwu @someweirdshitman @oliviasslut

[rainy-day-gracie]

Damsel in Distress

hi guys !!

Sorry I haven’t been as active, school is kicking my B O O T Y 

This was a traded request from @toomanyfandoms02, Reader is ditched at the Yule Ball, and Fred and George come to the rescue. Also dialogue prompts!

“We are so much cuter than them.” “Are we on a date right now?”

Enjoy ! And I love you all :)

MASTERLIST __

I knew I was stupid for thinking that Cedric Diggory, a Hogwarts champion, would be interested in me for longer than a week.

Cedric’s eyes had been on Cho from the moment she walked in the Great Hall, and after the Champion’s opening dance, he barely even tried to hide his disinterest in me.

“Um, do you want me to go get drinks?” Cedric asked, not even bothering to look at me.

“Sure,” I replied, still holding out hope he might change his mind.

He didn’t. After a while and he never came back with drinks, I spotted him on the dance floor... with Cho. He was absolutely infatuated with her.

My tears were cold on my cheeks in the garden, the chill almost making them freeze on my face. I just felt so stupid, why would the most popular guy at Hogwarts want anything to do with me?

I barely noticed the jacket that was draped across my shoulders, or the two heads of red hair sitting beside me.

“Hello, dear,” Fred Weasley said, taking the seat next to me on the bench.

“You are looking beautiful, even with the tears,” George Weasley added, taking the seat on my other side.

“What do you want?” I mumbled, keeping my watery eyes low.

Fred furrowed his eyebrows. “Why should we want something?”

George nudged my elbow playfully. “We saw a damsel in distress, couldn’t resist.”

I chuckled despite my tears, nudging George back slightly. “Cedric...”

“Yeah, we saw the prat...” Fred said, adjusting the jacket that was draped on my shoulders. “Idiot.”

George took my hand gently from my lap, lacing his warm hands with my cold fingers. “If it makes you feel better, we think you’re a knockout. Cedric must’ve gotten a hex in the eyes, because there’s no way he can see straight.”

A small smile came to my face. “Thank you, but it still hurts. He would rather dance with Cho than with me.”

The twins looked at each other, and some kind of silent message passed between them.

George squeezed my hand, getting me to look at him. “Let’s go dance. My date ditched me for her friends, and I would much rather be with you anyhow.”

“George...”

Fred reached for my other hand. “Yeah, c’mon, dance with us. I can’t let George have all the fun, can I?”

I giggled as the boys pulled me to my feet, leading me by each hand into the Great Hall. Fred smoothly took back his jacket, George setting off to get drinks while Fred guided me to the dance floor.

“Do you even know how to dance?” I giggled as he settled his arm on my waist, his warm hand holding mine gently.

Fred mocked a look of offense. “Do I know how to dance? I’ll have you know, my mother spent the first ten years of Fred and I’s lives teaching us how to dance. Ron was so clumsy that she eventually gave up on him, but George and I remained experts.”

Fred led me around the dance floor, smiles becoming bigger on both of our faces. He was a true gentleman, not saying anything when I stepped on his toes.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

He furrowed his eyebrows, squeezing my hand reassuringly. “Sorry for what, love?”

My smile faded once I saw Cedric’s face, jealousy flashing in his eyes as he wrapped an arm around Cho’s shoulders.

“Hey, look at me, darling,” Fred reminded, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “We are so much cuter than them.”

George reappeared, nudging Fred to the side while handing him the fresh drinks. “Hold these, will you? I believe it’s my turn to dance with the lady.”

Fred gave a frown, stepping to the side as George settled his hand on my waist, holding my hand out to the side. He spun me around the dance floor, holding me much closer than his brother had.

Unlike his brother, he was quiet for a while, almost like he was nervous.

“I’ve fancied you since we were first years,” he murmured, his eyes glinting mischievously.

“Yeah, right,” I said, not believing him.

“I’m being serious, YFN,” he replied. “And... I’m never serious about anything.”

My smile grew, and I guided his other hand to rest on my waist as the song slowed. “George, I only said yes to Cedric because I thought you would never ask me... I’m much happier that you’re my date now than I was with Cedric.”

George’s eyes widened. “Are we on a date right now?”

In a wave of bravery, I pressed my nose against his as we swayed to the music. “I think so.”

For the first time in his life, George Weasley was at a loss for words.

We didn’t speak for the rest of the song, but when the music changed to faster, more rocking music, Fred rejoined us.

I wrapped my arms around the twins as we jumped to the music, thankful that the night had gone wrong.

The night had to go wrong, for everything else to go right. __

Let me know if you want to be added to the Weasley tags! As always, requests are open!

[slippinmickeys]

The Earl (13/13)

This was a labor of love, and I can’t thank you guys enough for sticking with me. For Lin, my science editor, to Fiona and Amanda for beta-ing like champions, you guys were my rocks. Finally, thank you to you readers for keeping up the enthusiasm for this story for far longer than it probably should have taken me to write it. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I do hope its everything you wanted it to be.

To read this in its entirety on AO3, you may do so here. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Mulder, on his horse Hercule at the lead of what amounted to a well-outfitted cavalry, pounded down the stretch of road that led to Harwood Hall, the manse just coming into view. It was all thundering hooves behind him, and he could hear grunts of the horsed men that followed, could feel their thrilled energy at his back, and he was half-compelled to let out the war whoop of his Celtic forebears, riding into battle as they were, ready to save their damsel in distress. If it hadn't been for the generations of genteel decorum bred into him, he probably would have.

The fields lay long on either side of the narrow road, dotted occasionally with sheep and ancient stone fences. The sea shone far to the right and came into the land at an angle, pushing in toward the thumb-sized house like a shining sapphire buttress.

He was armed to the teeth, as were the men with him -- two pistols strapped to his hips and an old but perfectly balanced sword tight to his waist, the sheathed end of it tapping into Hercule’s flank and spurring him on. Walter and his Runner colleague Doggett were each carrying pistols — Doggett carrying an English flintlock blunderbuss in his left hand. Langly, who looked queasy on horseback and was not keeping his seat well, had what looked to be a long flintlock Kentucky plains rifle (said to be favored on the American Frontier), and Frohike, sturdy as a barnacle on his steely grey pony, had the intricately carved handle and stock of a Prussian target percussion rifle sticking out of an odd holster on his back. Byers carried a saber. Mulder couldn't help but wonder what a sight they made rolling along the English countryside at full gallop, their armory glinting in the sun.

As they barreled closer, Mulder could see that the manor itself was not overly large, but had a long fence and tall gate. They would have to get through it just to get on the property. Perhaps riding in like the Roman Legion hadn't been the best idea, but his wife was close -- he could feel it -- and his heart would have nothing but war until she was by his side.

Hercule had energy and heart to give, and Mulder could feel the animal ranging further and further ahead of the inferior horses giving chase behind them. In fact, when he looked back, he could see nothing but road dust and the occasional glint of metal.

Looking ahead, he could now see the house clearly, its brick the color of the sand on the shores surrounding it, and his eye caught movement at the building's entrance. Perhaps the fight was coming to them -- so be it.

He eased back on the reins and murmured a low command to Hercule, who slowed his steps only enough for the cavalry behind them to ease closer, and the figure from the manse -- Mulder could see that it was single figure now, dressed in white -- was moving quickly toward the gate. Perhaps it was a servant who thought Mulder was the post.

He wouldn't give them the chance to discover otherwise.

He pulled his pistol out from his hip and cocked it, skidding Hercule to a halt on the slippery gravel, and throwing himself from the saddle as he did so to land in a crouch in front of the gate. He could hear the other riders pulling in behind him as he rose and raised his pistol to point at the person who had just swung open the weir. He could not yet make out their identity, blocked as they were by the ornate iron lock.

"Stand and deliver," he said with calibrated fury.

And then he saw her face.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Stand and deliver,” said a voice with the steely edge of violence. There was a pistol aimed directly at her nose. It took her only a moment to look past the barrel to the man holding it.

“Mulder!” she gasped, and launched herself at him. His arms came around her with the feeling of home and she allowed herself one brief moment of transcendent euphoria before she pulled away from him.

“Good God, Scully, I-” he fumbled. She had clearly taken him by surprise. The men mounted behind him were all wearing equally shocked looks.

“Away!” she said quickly, “Mulder, we must away!”

Upon the heels of her statement came a calamitous blast, followed immediately by another. The horses threw their heads nervously.

A balding man she didn’t know squared his jaw up and turned his horse away from the house, shouting, “On me!” before spurring away.

Mulder practically leapt upon Hercule’s back and grabbed Scully around the waist, lifting her easily up into the saddle in front of him, and they were away before a third and fourth detonation burst from the house behind them. The other riders, Sir Byers and his associates among them, followed, their horses spurred along by fear. They were barely away when there was an absolutely massive explosion. Frohike’s pony screamed.

Hercule was in the lead, despite having the added burden of a second rider, and rode on, unfazed. After several hundred yards, Mulder slowed the creature, holding Scully tightly to him, and turned the horse to look back on the estate.

There was nothing left. Where once stood a large country house there was now just a smoking crater. Scully felt nothing but satisfaction. She supposed she should feel something for the life that she had taken, but her God believed in an eye for an eye, and so help her, when it came to that man, she did too.

The other riders caught up with them and turned their horses to look as well. The balding man had fine, wire rim spectacles and looked at what was left of the house and then at her, giving her an assessing once-over.

“My lady,” the man said, “you did not, perchance, happen to find munitions somewhere on the estate, did you?”

“As a matter of fact,” Scully said, leaning back into the warm bulk of Mulder, “I did.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

“Well,” said Frohike as he dismounted his pony in front of the stables at Ashford Park, swinging his Prussian rifle over his shoulder, “we’re all dressed up and we’ve nowhere to go.”

A groom helped Scully dismount, then Mulder swung down behind her, handing over his reins, refusing to let his wife get so much as an arm’s length away from him. The other members of the rescue party were dismounting around them, scattering gravel at their feet and shaking hands.

Suddenly, there was a shout from the manor and Suzanne came careening down the steps and running towards them.

“You’ve done it!” she said, skidding to a stop in front of Scully and then wrapping her up in an embrace, “you’ve saved her!”

“Nay,” said Byers, stepping forward, “the lady has saved herself. We were but an armed escort bringing her home.”

Mulder felt a swell of pride momentarily override his intense sense of relief. His wife; intelligent, capable, resourceful. She had described her escape to the men on their slow ride back to Byers’s estate to the impressed astonishment of the horsed collective -- how she used her extensive knowledge of chemistry to escape the small cottage in which she had been imprisoned, how she found stores and stores of gunpowder and munitions in Spender’s stables and used them to ensure that the man never hurt anyone else ever again.

Frohike himself had asked many questions, and with each answer, he would shake his head and look at Mulder, no doubt wondering what the Earl had done to deserve such a remarkable paradigm of a woman.

Mulder wondered that, himself.

As the group began wandering back toward the house, Mulder pulled Scully aside.

“This must all be overwhelming. And I would like to hear all that happened to you -- when you are ready to share it -- but first, I must know one thing: Did he hurt you? Did any of them hurt you?”

She reached up and cupped his cheek, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her hand.

“Not in the way you fear,” she whispered.

He reached up and put his hand over her own, holding it close. “I would take whatever suffering you have endured and make it my own.”

“Something tells me you already have,” she said. She was more right than she knew. “I would like to go to our chambers now, Mulder, and change out of this soiled and ruined dress. And I would like to take a bath. And then…”

“Then?”

“Will you hold me?”

“I can do that,” he said.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Mulder gently fingered the uneven ends of Scully’s shorn hair from where she lay tightly spooned up into his side. It felt so wonderful to be back in her husband’s arms.

“Does it look horrid?” she mumbled half into the pillow they shared. She knew he had loved her long tresses.

“You could never look horrid. It’s actually quite fetching. It highlights the elegant column of your neck. And if I’m honest, I can’t stop touching it.” He placed a soft kiss to the place where her jaw met her neck and she shivered, finally turning to face him.

“Whatever will the ton say?”

“They’ll say ‘what an extraordinary woman is the Countess of Wexford, and what an undeserving wretch she has for an Earl.’”

“Never.” She reached for his face and he kissed the tips of her fingers.

“I should have saved you. I should have done something about Spender, long ago. I never should have-“

She shushed him. “Mulder, I am frequently underestimated because of my sex. For once, I was able to use that fact to my advantage. I don’t ever want to hear you blame yourself for the reprehensible actions of another. You were not to blame. For any of it.”

He reached out and ran his fingers once again through what remained of her hair, looking at her with reverence. She was silent for a moment before reaching up and touching it, too.

“I suppose my hair will have plenty of time to grow out before we attend any events in Town,” she said.

“You don’t wish to return to London?” he asked, his voice a low murmur.

“Most ladies I know retreat to their country homes for the duration of their confinement.” She watched closely for his reaction, and saw it in his eyes the moment realization hit -- they went from confusion to elation.

“Your… your confinement?” he asked breathily. She nodded, smiling.

He grabbed her face in two hands and kissed her soundly, then pulled back the covers on the bed and moved down until his face was level with her abdomen. He lifted her shift until the bare skin of her belly was exposed, and leaned in to place a reverential kiss there, too. His mouth lingered. He whispered something she could not make out.

She felt a rush of yearning wash over her. “Mulder,” she whispered, and he looked up, his mossy eyes connecting with hers. They didn’t have to speak. He crawled his way back up her body slowly and kissed her softly, his weight resting on his hip, one hand in her hair, the other caressing her with a featherlight touch. She felt desire pool between her legs.

He pulled back and nosed his way gently down the curve of her jaw, flicking his tongue slowly as he eased his way along the column of tendons in her neck. Her head fell back on a blissful moan, and she threaded her fingers through his hair, letting the silken softness play about the skin of her hands, wanting to feel him -- all of him -- reveling in having him back at her side, within her grasp.

He drew back momentarily to pull his white lawn shirt up and over his head, dropping it to the floor. The space between them felt like a sea, and she realized in that moment that however deeply she thought she had loved him before she’d been taken by Spender was a pittance. The love she felt for him in this moment threatened to overwhelm her. She longed to feel him against her, inside of her, every unyielding edge and hard plane of him; she wanted to take all that he was and absorb him like water, like air.

She reached for him.

XxXxXxXxXxX

He marveled at her. The soft contours of her body called to him; her pliant skin, her lush, pearl-pink-tipped breasts, her soft seawater eyes. None of which compared to the rapier-sharp intelligence of her beautiful mind. It was like she was moulded from clay by the gods specifically for him. He was a hopeless wretch in love. And now there was a babe inside her belly.

He felt an overwhelming tenderness toward her, at her resilience and strength in finding her way back to him, and he felt himself marveling at the miracle of life they’d created.

He sat back on his haunches, roving his eyes over her, struck dumb.

And then she reached for him.

“I need you,” she whispered, beseeching him, “I need to take you inside of me. Please.”

The blood thrummed inside of him.

He reached down and delicately parted her legs, taking himself in hand and gently thumbing the soft bud at the crest of her sex. She hissed a breath through her teeth and he guided himself, sliding straight home.

Scully reached under his arms with both hands and wrapped them around his shoulders, pulling him tightly to her. He thrust up into her slowly, tenderly, keeping his weight on his elbows, framing her face with his arms.

He could feel her pulse as it beat in her slick sheath and he took a breath, trying to control himself. He wanted this to be sweet, tender lovemaking -- a homecoming -- but with every stroke, he felt more and more desperate for release.

A sob wrenched from her throat and she turned her face into his neck, pressing her teeth into the skin there.

“Mulder,” she panted, her voice hungry with yearning, with palpable, unabashed need.

He turned and pressed a soft kiss to her lips and then leaned back, grabbing her hips in both hands. He began to snap into her with more force, and her hips rose with each plunge, as desperate to meet him as he was to be buried deep inside of her. And then she threw her arms over her head, her hands pushing against the carved headboard of the bed, her head thrown back, and she keened an almost inhuman sound, her muscles gripping him in an endless, pulsing clutch.  

He ascended to a place beyond thought.

XxX

Mulder awoke once again with the smell of lavender in his nose, the soft curve of Scully’s behind pressed into him. He inhaled deeply and pulled her more tightly to him.

He would stay here all week, all month, all year, if he could. But he needed to send word to Henwick Priory that he and the Countess would be arriving soon, and staying for the duration.

He rose and gently extricated himself from around Scully, dressing as quickly and quietly as he could. He was just pulling on his Hessians when his wife inhaled deeply in the bed and rolled over, cracking an eye to look at him with a small smile on her face.

“What time is it?” she croaked, her voice rough with sleep.

There was an ormolu clock on the mantle of the bedroom, and Mulder peered at it before coming to sit on the bed next to her hip.

“It’s just past nine o’clock. If you wish to go back to sleep, please do so.”

She stretched, brushing a hand down his arm to thread her fingers through his own.

“I shall rise,” she said, “I’d like to write to my mother and visit with Suzanne. Would you mind calling for Prudence?”

Mulder hesitated briefly, but then rose and pulled the cord. It seemed only moments before the door to their chambers opened.

“My lady!” Prudence came rushing into the room, a joyful look of relief on her face.

“Prudence,” said Scully fondly, reaching her hands out to recieve her.

“Oh, my lady ,” Prudence said again, taking Scully’s hands. She seemed to be overwhelmed with emotion.

Mulder stepped forward. He had not spoken with Prudence since calling her in to meet the Bow Street Runners, and charging off the second she gave them the location of Spender’s Kent estate. The young woman eyed him warily before glancing back at her mistress.

“You need not call the Countess that anymore,” he said calmly to her.

Both women swung their eyes to him; Scully in confusion, Prudence in something close to fear.

“And what should she call me?” Scully asked.

“Sister,” Mulder said simply. “For that is what she is to me.”

“My lord?” Prudence queried.

“Come,” Mulder said, pulling the envelope scrawled with a large X out of his pocket. “I’ve something to show you both.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

EPILOGUE

Several Years Later

The spring air was deeply fragrant, the mossy banks of the ornamental lake a dazzling shade of green. The sun was so bright she sneezed.

"Bless you, my lady," said a gentle voice from behind her.

Scully turned to thank Sir Byers from where he sat on a large blanket spread out on the grassy embankment just under an ancient oak on the north lawn of Henwick Priory. Byers was cradling a sleeping babe -- he and Suzanne's second, little Reynard, named for his Godfather.

Scully turned back to where she had been watching -- peering at the arbor twenty yards away for the child's namesake. Mulder had taken three-year-old Clio into the vast gardens to look for butterflies, but they had been gone near to thirty minutes -- it was likely the child had been distracted by something or other in the terraced space -- she had, after all, inherited her mother's scientific curiosity.

Just as she was about to turn away, she saw movement, and Clio came running out from the garden, her skirts flying out behind her. She wore a gleeful smile and her bright red curls glinted in the sun.

"Mama!" she shouted as she approached, "we found a caterpillar!"

Scully swept the girl up in her arms and pressed a kiss into the child's pink cheek.

"Oh, you must tell me the color! We'll identify it."  

"Papa said it was a Cinnabar moth," Clio said, dropping her heavy head sleepily onto Scully's shoulder. The child had a tendency, like her father, to drop off at a moment's notice and it was nearing time for her afternoon lay-down.

"Oh, he did, did he?" Scully said. Mulder was getting better at taxonomy, but he had a habit of misidentifying the things he classified for their children, if only to get a playful rise out of their mother.

Scully looked for said Papa and found him emerging from the gardens, walking slowly with his hands behind his back, patiently trailing William, the future Tenth Earl of Wexford, who had learned to walk only the month before and was toddling along jerkily, like a sailor in his cups. Scully caught eyes with the boy's father and he grinned at her, the smile crinkling the skin at his eyes.

"I see your father found your little brother," Scully said, smoothing out Clio's pinafore. "Where is your Auntie Pru?"

Samantha had offered to take William along on the garden expedition when the boy began crying that his father was walking away.

"She and Monica are cutting flowers for the picnic!" Clio answered, and turned in Scully's arms, wanting down.

William finally toddled up and flopped down on the blanket next to Byers, and Mulder strode up to Scully smelling of grass and sunshine with an underlying trace of clover. He leaned down and captured her lips in a quick kiss.

"My lady," he mumbled into her.

"My lord," she said, then looked down to see William attempting to dive into one of the baskets the footman had set out for their afternoon picnic.

"O-ho!" said Mulder as he swept up William away from the temptation, throwing the child into the air and catching him a moment later. The boy squealed in glee. "Not until everyone has arrived, little one," his father gently chided him.

In what amounted to rather perfect timing, Frohike, Langly, Suzanne and the oldest Byers child Emma at that moment came tromping down the steps on the north side of the estate, just as Samantha and another woman emerged from the garden, each with an armful of pink tulips.

"Oh, what a lovely addition to our picnic!" Scully said to Samantha's bright smile. She kissed her sister-in-law's cheek.

"It looks like Cli is about to drop off," Samantha grinned.

"No I'm not, Auntie Pru," the child said on a large yawn. To the day, both Mulder and Scully sometimes called Samantha by her middle name out of habit and the children had latched onto the idea.

"Do you want me to take her up to the nursery?" Samantha whispered. Scully shook her head. Samantha had been welcomed into the family without reservation, but at times was still not used to her elevated rank and attempted to do various tasks best left to the staff. It drove Mrs. Paxton batty.

"Sit, Samantha," said Monica Reyes, Samantha's hired companion, who was arranging the flowers prettily in an empty basket, "put your feet up. Have a cup of tea."

Initially Monica had been hired as companion, chaperone and etiquette tutor, drilling Samantha in the ways of the ton , but the ladies were now very good friends and, thought Scully wistfully, perhaps something more.

Mulder set his son down once again on the blanket and came up to Scully, putting his arms around her from behind. "That's good advice," he rumbled in her ear. She shivered slightly. He still had the ability to give her gooseflesh with a mere touch.

"Perhaps I will," she sighed happily, leaning into him.

“Ah, the cavalry has arrived!” said Mulder as the group from the house approached.

“Good company, good wine, good welcome, can make good people,” Frohike quoted, letting go of Emma’s hand. She and Clio -- who had found a second wind of energy upon seeing her friend -- darted off to play on the spacious lawn.

“I count myself in nothing else so happy,” Mulder quoted back, “As in a soul remembering my good friends.”

“Shakespeare is all well and good,” said Langly, whinging ever so slightly, “but can we eat?”

“Champagne first!” Mulder announced, nodding to a footman who had been waiting nearby with the refreshment.

Frohike’s eyebrows rose as he took the proffered glass and he peered knowingly at the lord and lady of the house, who still stood in an embrace. “What’s the occasion?”

“We’ve an announcement,” Scully smiled, and Mulder reached down to caress the bump in Scully’s belly that was just beginning to make itself known.

“I knew it!” clapped Suzanne.

“Again?” gaped Langly.

Mulder winked at his bespeckled friend and raised his glass. “To good friends reunited,” he said, “and the blessing of another child.”

The gathered party raised their glasses in a toast.

Frohike looked up, thoughtful. “A third Wexford babe, and I’ve yet to find a wife.”

“My friend,” Mulder said, pressing a loving kiss into Scully’s hair before looking up at him, “never give up on a miracle.”

THE END

[faulty-writes]

'Tis I - the original Bakugou vs Mirio requester! I have come with another idea, should you choose to accept it: Rescue training. yn is chosen to be the damsel in distress for the exercise. It's timed. Bakugou speeds through the course, is insensitive towards the 'victim', and flails her around like a ragdoll. Bakugou bombs the exercise even though he finished on time. Midnight then tells Mirio to show him how it's done. Mirio literally sweeps yn off her feet during the exercise. Baku is MAD.

[ This turned out much longer than I originally thought. But regardless, I hope you all enjoy the Mario save the Princess vibe. ] 

Midnight smirked as she stood in front of Class 1-A., whip in hand and it was almost eerie how she looked at each student with those piercing eyes of hers. “Is that understood?” she questioned, having just finished explaining the exercise. Apparently, it was a simple rescue mission, of course when it came to any type of training. U.A. was anything but simple, you knew there had to be some catch and sure enough, there was.

“Excuse me!” Iida was the first one to raise his hand and get Midnight’s attention. “Forgive me, but you claim this to be a simple rescue mission, yes?” Midnight’s eyes sparkled with mischief and she smirked. “Correct!” she exclaimed as she pointed her whip toward him and a few of your classmates flinched in response. You watched Bakugou huff and cross his arms, you wondered if he was actually scared of anything.

Considering how odd things have been between you and him lately, well more specifically you, him, and Mirio. “You are to go through the obstacle course, which in this case is a castle. The point of this exercise is to use both your offensive and defensive skills. As well as test your rescue skills, for you see. One of you will be playing the hero and the other the poor damsel in distress!” she declared as she placed the back of her hand to her forehead.

For an R rated hero, she sure tried hard to be an actress. “How will the hero and the one to be rescued be decided?” Iida asked, with his hand enthusiastically in the air. “Hm…” you were standing in the front row and shivered as Midnight’s eyes settled on you. “For the first round, Y/n! You will be the damsel in distress!” you took a step back and your content expression twisted into that of horror.

“What?! Why me?” you questioned, though Midnight ignored you before pointing to Bakugou. “Bakugou will be the hero! Will he be able to save the lovely Y/n on time? Who knows, the rest of you sit back and watch his performance on the screen.” Midnight said as she pointed to a large oversized television that almost seemed to defy gravity as it hovered high above the training ground. Of course, the students would be taken to the observation room which was equipped with several televisions as well as communication systems.

You almost wanted to beg your classmates to stay, Bakugou didn’t exactly seem very compassionate for this type of exercise. Still, you watched as your classmates followed Midnight’s instructions and shyly looked at the ground. This was a little embarrassing, why couldn’t someone else have been chosen to be the rescue victim? Your eyes widened when you heard Bakugou approach you, “Hey, dumbass! Lift your damned head so I can look at you!” he demanded and in a way it both scared and offended you, Bakugou really needed some lessons on how to talk nicely.

Though according to Kirishima, the angry blond did have a soft spot, and when he did speak calmly. It was like he was a completely different person. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to believe that. Yet, somehow you found yourself following his command and slowly raised your head. A shiver ran down your spine as you saw the smirk he was wearing and how his tongue came out to swipe across his lips.

He reached over and grabbed you by the shirt collar, pulling you against him. “Just watch, babe.” you narrowed your eyes at the nickname, why the hell did he call you that? “I’ll finish this course and rescue you quicker than All Might himself.” you gasped when he released you and began to walk away. You turned to look at Midnight who seemed almost as if she were coming off of a high of some sort, she loved youth and drama apparently. “Oh, now isn’t that spicy!? A challenge from the student, can he beat All Might’s record and complete this rescue mission?” she questioned before walking over to you.

“Time to get into position, you’ll find an elevator located on the side of the castle. Go on now so this exercise can start.” Midnight urged as she pushed you, “Alright, alright.” you grumbled before following her instructions, the elevator ride seemed to take longer than you wanted to admit. But once you reached the top you found yourself stepping into what looked to be a circular room. There were bars on the window and only one door. Naturally, you walked over and pulled it, only to find it was locked.

“That’s right.” you jumped at the sound of Midnight’s voice over the sound system. “Our damsel in distress is locked away, there is no escape from the room they are in. Which leaves the hero one of two options. They may climb the tower and try to reach their rescue victim through the barred window or they may infiltrate the inside and break down the door. But be fair warned, villains are around every corner.” Bakugou spread his legs and parted his fingers as small explosions sounded from his palms.

“Pff doesn’t sound like much of a challenge to me!” he declared before rocketing himself off the ground which left behind two large holes. If anything Bakugou was an expert at using his quirk when it came to projecting himself through the air and with multiple “villains” around, which were just more robots that U.A. seemed to like to use. It was an easy task for him to take them out with one solid explosion. Pieces of metal and wire were left in his continued path of destruction.

“Looks like Bakugou made it through the first level, but how will he handle the bigger villains that await him on level two!?” Midnight continued to narrate and you curiously ran to the window to see what was happening, sure enough, you could see the large explosions caused by Bakugou and even make out the pieces of metal that soared through the sky. Was he just planning to blast his way through everything?

Part of you wondered just how many robots U.A. had to replace the ones Bakugou was killing off without a second thought. Your fingers tightened around the bars of the window, “Looks like our rescue victim is enjoying the show! Don’t worry, your hero will come for you soon. That is if he can stand the final challenge.” you raised your eyebrow, final challenge? You gasped as you felt vibrations course through the castle, it was enough to send you off your feet.

“What is going on!?” you questioned as you tried to stagger your way back to the window, grabbing onto the bars as tightly as you could. Though it was hard to stand without your feet slipping from underneath you. Your eyes widened as you watched a large mechanical being come into view. It was at least three times bigger than the castle and in a way, it reminded you of the zero point obstacle you had to overcome during the entrance exam.

But as usual, once Bakugou had a goal set there was no stopping him. You hated to admit it, but that was one of the qualities that you happened to admire about the angry blond. No matter how bad things looked, he always seemed to keep going. “Oh! Looks like he’s going for an air attack!” Midnight said and your eyes frantically searched the sky, but the shadow of the robot made it hard to see as it blocked most of your view.

“Ah!” you cried out when a bright flash came, he really needed to learn how to control his quirk better. “Hah! Not so fucking tough without an arm, are you!?” Bakugou said with a twisted smirk before breaking the robot down piece by piece which seemed to awe and disgust the rest of Class 1-A. “Sheesh, he always goes in full blast. What’s up with that?” Kirishima asked before turning to Kaminari who shrugged in response.

“I don’t know, but you gotta admit. He gets the job done, though I’m not sure if I’d make such a mess,” he replied as he continued to watch the screen. Bakugou was now standing in the pile of what remained of the robot beast. He was panting softly and covered in a light sweat. For a moment, it seemed like he was going to collapse as he took one step forward. But then, he clenched his fists. “Y/N!” he suddenly screamed as he tilted his head up toward the tower.

“YOU’RE NEXT, BACK AWAY FROM THE WINDOW!” he warned before he focused most of his quirk to his palms and another explosion sounded before he flew off the ground, barely scraping by the stone that made up the tower. “YOU BETTER HAVE LISTENED TO ME, DUMBASS.” he growled as he latched onto the window with one hand. You gasped when you saw his figure and quickly pressed yourself into a corner, crouching down with your arms covering you.

It was no surprise what he was going to do next. He let out a loud cry as he reeled his hand back and sure enough, a loud explosion came. You felt the heat of it and the room filled with smoke which made you choke. But Bakugou had successfully melted the bars and though you didn’t hear him enter the room. You nearly screamed when he grabbed your wrist, his grip was a little too tight for your liking. “Come on, let’s go! Damn it!” he snapped before turning to run.  

You stumbled to keep up with him as he decided to take the fast approach and jump through the window. You took note that the bars though now melted had jagged ends that still burnt a light orange. “Uh Bakugou, slow down!” you pleaded and tried your best to break yourself of his grip. But he only laughed, “Scared, are you?” he stopped at the window and turned to face you. “You’re only going to slow me down if you’re like this.” he noted with an angry pout, “So come on, let’s go!” he demanded before roughly throwing you over his shoulder.

You were in disbelief and pounded your fists against his back. “Put me down!” you demanded but he ignored you before climbing onto the window sill. “W-Wait a minute, you’re not going to…” you realized too late and let out a scream as Bakugou carelessly jumped out the window, your nails dug into the back of his costume which seemed to catch his attention. “Your nails are digging into my skin! Stop it!” he demanded and his elbow came to try and jab you.

“Hey!” you cried out, the wind was causing your eyes to water and your hair was blowing around like crazy as you continued to fall. You instinctively let go in an attempt to get away from his elbow. But instead that sent you flying up and you let out another scream as you found yourself free falling. “Dumbass! What’d you let go for!?” Bakugou snapped as he tried to reach out for you, though the gap was too much.

Your panic wasn’t helping as your body spun around and before you realized. You had hit the ground with a loud thud and pain riddled your body causing you to let out a hiss. “Ouch…” you moaned out before trying to push yourself up, however, that’s when the ground began to shake again. “Oh no…” you yelped as you forced your body to sit up, your hand was desperately clenching your ribcage that radiated with pain and made it a difficult task to breath.

However, at that moment it didn’t matter. As seconds later, your breath hitched when a large shadow came and you trembled as you looked up. A scream caught in your throat as the mechanical beast reeled one of its sharp talons back. You knew what was going to happen next and much like before, you seemed to curl into a ball with your arms over your head. Just waiting for the impact that may or may not cause your death.

However, instead, you felt the heat of Bakugou’s explosion as the arm was severed. “Sheesh, can’t you do anything right!?” he snapped as he turned around to face you. Though you looked to be in bad shape, covered in dirt and a thin line of blood was seeping from your nose. Part of you wondered if it was from the smoke you had inhaled earlier.

But Bakugou didn’t seem to care about that and once more roughly grabbed you by your wrist and hosted you over his shoulder. You yelped in pain and hit his back with your fist. Trying to hold in the scream that was threatening to escape but Bakugou just huffed. “If you try escaping again, another robot is going to lock onto you. We need to make it to the exit, come on!” he snapped before he kicked off the ground.

Every time he took a step, his shoulder dug into your side and caused you more pain. You were in tears by the time he passed through the gate and a little surprised when he actually lowered you to your feet instead of just simply throwing you to the ground. “Well, you still have a few seconds to spare. So you completed the challenge, however.” Midnight walked over to you and lowered herself onto one knee.

She looked you over and took note of your current state which was a direct result of Bakugou’s carelessness. “You defeated the villains just fine, however you were sloppy with your rescue. You were careless when you decided to take the window as a means of entrance and injured your rescue victim. Not only that, but you also failed to ask if they had any injuries prior and you mishandled Y/n. That is, you decided to drag them by the wrist and throw them over your shoulder which is a horrible way to treat your rescue victim, and for that, you fail.” Midnight declared and Bakugou growled.

“WHAT THE HELL YOU MEAN FAIL!?” he snapped, his explosions sounding off. Midnight ignored him and looked to you, “Recovery Girl should be here any moment, after which we’ll be bringing in a special guest to show you all how a proper rescue is performed.” you swallowed and looked over as your classmates approached. Each one of them seemed concerned about your well being, but you couldn’t help but turn your attention to Bakugou who snapped at Kirishima and promptly stomped away.

Muttering something about how this was a stupid exercise. You disagreed and wondered if Bakugou was truly as bad as he seemed. He did put you through hell during the exercise, but was something else bothering him? You weren’t entirely sure, but you felt more or less relieved when Recovery Girl showed up and used her healing quirk to fix your injuries. You smiled, though you were still covered in dirt. At least the pain was gone.

“I was a little worried about you when I saw how Bakugou handled you, I almost wanted to hug you when that final obstacle came. I don’t like seeing you scared, Y/n.” you were too busy looking at your newly healed body that you didn’t notice when Mirio had walked over to you. “M-Mirio?” you questioned, seemingly in shock as you watched him smile at you. He was dressed in his hero costume and his cape blew gently behind him. “Yup, that’s me!” he declared with a large smile as he pointed to himself before offering you his hand.

“Looks like I’m up next to show your class how it’s done, but I’m really happy I get to rescue you, sunshine.” you couldn’t help the soft flush that came to your cheeks as he called you by that nickname. You wondered if he was just being nice or if that nickname was something special. Either way, you took his hand. “Well, well, well, I see you’re already acquainted with our brave hero.” Midnight said as she walked up to the two of you with a smile.

“Oh uh, yeah...we kind of are,” you admitted as you sheepishly rubbed the back of your head before looking over your shoulder. You could swear you felt someone’s glance on you. Turns out, Bakugou had taken a few minutes to calm down before returning. He took note that once more Mirio seemed to be trying to take his spotlight, he partly wondered what the hell you saw in the third year.

It pissed him off that you’d even spend your time with Mirio, he was just playing you for a sap anyway. What third year was interested in a first-year? He crossed his arms over his chest and followed the rest of his classmates back to the observatory room. He was practically glaring at the screen which showed Mirio doing some stretches before taking off. He had a determined glance in his eye, along with a smile that wouldn’t soon fade.

Unlike Bakugou, who blew the enemies to pieces. Mirio was more skillful and careful to avoid making such a mess. Simply phasing through them before cutting their heads clean off. He smiled as he watched them fall to the ground and proceeded to the next level. The higher the level, the bigger the obstacle. But Mirio took them down with ease, that was in part due to the fact he had more experience.

Still, the way he handled the enemies and villains was something to be admired. Their bodies laid in the dust before he reached the final stage which was the biggest obstacle in his way. A hint of worry came across his features as he noticed the large robot was near the castle where you were being held. He needed to make sure you were protected as well as figure out a way to take down the enemy.

“Hey! Down here, big guy!” he called, effectively catching its attention. He could hear the mechanical whirring of gears as its head turned. “Target acquired,” it spoke and stepped toward Mirio, the ground shook underneath its massive weight but Mirio wasn’t intimidated. In fact, he smiled and continued to lead it away from your location. Sure, you were still someone he had to rescue. But as long as this big fella was away from you and you were still “safe” for the time being.

He’d be more at ease. However, once he was far enough away. The robot tried to land a hit, but Mirio was quick. Easily dodging the clawed hand that crashed into the ground, causing dirt and rock to scatter. He then circled around the robot and proceeded to use his quirk to phase through the ground, effectively disappearing from view. He smirked as he came back up and directed himself toward the robot’s foot, punching clear through it and making it off balance.

Once the robot fell to the ground, Mirio jumped onto its back and ran toward its head. Though he had to be careful as the robot squirmed and tried to push itself up once more. Mirio made quick work of disabling one of its arms by phasing through it, but at the last moment. He deactivated his quirk and used his foot to slice the appendage clean off. Then he went in for the kill.

He jumped up and used his legs to create a large dent in the robot’s head. He could see the various wires sparking through the broken metal. But at least it was down for the count. “Thanks for the fight! But, I’m off to save my sunshine!” he said as he waved the dying robot goodbye before making his way back to you. He smirked and phased through the wall of the castle, taking note of the many stairs and low-level robots.

“Hm…” he tapped his chin, debating if he should waste his time fighting them to get to you. As romantic as that would be. He could always climb up the castle like Bakugou had. “Oh, looks like our incredible hero is making a decision, what will he do next? After such a performance, he’s sure not to disappoint!” Midnight just had to comment and you rolled your eyes from your position in the locked tower. Truth be told, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous.

Mirio and Bakugou seemed to be fighting over you an awful lot lately and you weren’t even sure where their affection had come from in the first place or if they actually had feelings for you. Bakugou seemed to be keeping his emotions at bay while Mirio was openly affectionate. If you ever had to make a choice between the two of them, you weren’t looking forward to the fight that would happen. You took a breath and crossed your arms before letting out a sigh.

“Sunshine.” you jumped when you heard Mirio’s voice and turned around. Almost snickering when you saw the way he was hanging onto the window, both hands were gripping onto the bars and it looked like his knees were bent which meant he was pressing both feet against the outside wall. “I’m glad to see you’re okay, are you injured?” he questioned, knowing that was an important aspect of rescuing someone.

After all, you had to make sure your rescue victim was alright or figure out a way to continue the rescue even if they were injured. You tried to bite back the smile coming before answering. “Yes, I’m alright.” Mirio nodded, “Well in that case.” you watched as he phased through the window and stood tall on his feet. His hands were on his hips and his smile was as bright as ever. He truly was the perfect picture of a hero and once more you felt yourself flushing.

Though from the observatory room, Bakugou was practically fuming. Clenching his jaw and his fists were coiled so tightly he was beginning to frighten his classmates. “Uh, heh. Bakugou are you…” Kirishima reached out to try and touch Bakugou’s shoulder but ended up stumbling back when Bakugou glared at him. “Shut the hell up, idiot!” he snapped before Jirou voiced her opinion.

“Sheesh, calm down. What are you so puffed up about?” she questioned before Bakugou turned his glare on her. “Shut it, lobes!” he snapped before crossing his arms over his chest, what the fuck did the third year have that he didn’t? He hated feeling as though he were beat, damn it. He had to figure out a way to win you over and quickly. “Here, I’ll carry you,” Mirio insisted before walking up to you, though you took a step back which made him pause.

He titled his head, “Are you okay?” he questioned and you almost felt ashamed for having stepped back. But you cleared your throat and nodded, “Y-Yeah. Sorry, I was just a little nervous. You’re not going to throw me over your shoulder, are you?”  you questioned and Mirio laughed, almost as if he found your words amusing.

“Of course not, a beautiful rescue victim doesn’t deserve that treatment. I was thinking more of doing this…” he smiled as he approached you and gently placed his arm around you and leaned down before placing his other arm underneath your legs. You squeaked as you found yourself being lifted into his arms and pressed up against his rather muscular chest. You couldn’t help but blush as you looked up at him.

He was pretty handsome, but when he was playing the part of a hero. Somehow, he became more attractive. Was that possible? You weren’t sure, but either way. You found yourself staring at him for longer than you should and Mirio turned his head to look at you. “Here, wrap your arms around me. I would never want to risk hurting you, so I hope you hold on tight,” he said, his voice as cheery as ever.

You nodded, “U-Uh, of course.” you replied before doing as he asked, though you already felt safe in his arms which said a lot. Unlike the tension you felt with Bakugou, Mirio’s positive attitude could put anyone at ease. “Alright, ready? I guess we’ll do the same as Bakugou and take the window,” he said before jumping onto the ledge. He surveyed the area, more than likely that same final obstacle would appear.

However, that was only if the sensors were set off and with you in his arms. He couldn’t use his quirk to avoid them, though he would never risk your safety and leave you behind. Though he could still try and avoid it if the sensors were on the ground. “Oh, what a daring rescue! What better way than in the arms of your daring hero. Oh, youth! I love it!” you almost wanted to roll your eyes, Midnight was certainly excitable.

Still, you wondered what Mirio was planning and you felt his grip on you tighten. “Hold on tight,” he warned before he stepped over the ledge and pressed his feet to the outside wall. He focused his quirk on his feet to keep himself on the right path. Much like before the wind was causing your hair to blow all over the place and you tucked your head into the crook of Mirio’s neck. “Hey, it’s alright. I got you, you are safe. Sunshine.” he spoke gently and it made a shiver run down your spine.

He smiled as he neared the ground and deactivated his quirk, allowing his feet to become solid once more. With his cape flowing behind him, he released his hold on your legs though his arm kept you tightly against his chest. He reached over, grabbing the end of his cape, and used the wind to help him change direction. You held on tightly, your eyes wide as you felt yourself shift. Mirio was now running along the side of the castle, something that surprised you.

Was he just planning on circling around until he got dizzy? It was a silly thought but a moment later, you felt him kick off the castle and go flying into the air. You gasped when you felt his cape wrap around you and looked up at him, even in the midst of the motion. You could see that kind smile looking down at you and soon his free arm came back to hold you, keeping you secure as you two hurtled toward the ground.

You thought you knew what he was doing and braced yourself for the impact. However, Mirio used his shoulder to land and effectively kept you shielded as he rolled along the ground. He got up before you could register what was happening, despite the fact yet another earthquake came. “Uh Mirio…” you said, a tad worried as you clung to the front of his costume. “Just don’t look back,” he instructed, his eyes seemed to be focused on something else.

He knew that there were two options to complete the rescue exercise. One was to defeat all the enemies and the other was to make it past the safe gate which was decorated with the image of Principal Nezu. Mirio was determined to make it to that gate, even with the mechanical beast quickly gaining speed on him. “Come on…” you heard him whisper to himself as he forced his legs to go faster.

At this moment he was your hero and he took that title with pride. Of course, he got a little nervous as he watched the shadow of the robotic arm reel back. More than likely ready to smash both of you, Mirio clenched his jaw. Damn. Well, guess he’d have no choice but to deal with the final obstacle while keeping you safe. “I’m going to protect you, but you have to trust me. Okay?” he said, though you were a little scared as to what was going to happen.

Your arms tightened around him, almost as if signaling he had your okay. He took a deep breath and waited until the shadow of that arm grew closer and used his instincts to time his jump. As soon as he felt that do or die emotion, he quickly dodged and used the arm as a point of leverage. He grunted as he landed on it, you were in disbelief as Mirio ran up the length of the arm and once more jumped into the air.

“You won’t hurt my sunshine!” he screamed before bringing his leg up, though he didn’t give it his all as his foot collided with the robot’s head. You could hear something rattle around, more than likely that kick was just a temporary distraction. “Ah!” you cried out as you saw the ground approach. However, Mirio once more proved he could handle himself and landed on the ground with ease. Still, holding you close though you were beginning to worry about the state of his legs.

Still, he continued on. Much like Bakugou, he held that determination of never giving up. No matter how bad it looked. You were still wrapped in his cape as he passed through the gate and the rescue exercise was finished. “Wow did you see that!? He took care of two things at once! That robot and he made sure to keep Y/n safe, that’s so manly!” Kirishima exclaimed before Bakugou elbowed him in the stomach.

“Shut up!” he snapped before following behind Midnight. He growled as he watched Mirio put you down and begin to receive praise from a few students. Mainly the damned nerd Deku and his gang of idiots. He growled and failed to notice that he was using his quirk, angry explosions sounded from his closed fists which caused a dark line of smoke to seep out from between the spaces of his fingers.

“Uh, Bakubro...you alright?” Sero asked as he walked up to the blond, Kaminari was right behind him. But he looked less brave as he cowered behind Sero. “I’m fine! This exercise was stupid anyway!” he snapped before shoving the two boys aside and stomping away much like before. He hated feeling this way, damn it.

He hated having feelings for you, he hated feeling jealous whenever that damned Togata was around. But at the same time, it made him all the more determined. He’d figure out a way to steal your heart away and make you forget all about that damned third year.

[ilovel0ki]

Burning Light

loki x oc

warnings: blood, war, almost deaths

Writing this has been super enjoyable for me. It's based off of Safe & Sound by Taylor Swift and The Central Wars. I really like the song and it gave me a jolt of inspiration.

Some angst and fluff, with a happy ending

Word count: 3.5k

I'm looking forward to have some of you read it. I know it may not reach lots of people but I do hope it brightens up someone's day :)

Unmistakeable clashing and clanging of swords echoed through the once-peaceful city - which lay in eerie unrest. Warriors strapped in bloodstained armour, which was once a lustrous luminescent gold, rushed around with panic-stricken faces, bringing their injured colleages with them. Their faces unrecognisable - smeared with tainted, crimson blood. Eyes once filled with joy and life had become dull with exhaustion. Even the children could tell something had gone quite wrong as they were being scrambled to safety. How couldn’t they, when only hours before they had been blithely engaging in play. Now they were being dragged into the promised safety of their homes. Still, on this side of town, the situation was slightly better.

Nevertheless, the fact was painfully clear; Asgard was at war.

A war that had only just begun. A war that would wreak just as much havoc as any other, unless handled conscientiously. Currently, that wasn’t going so well. The opposing kingdom hadn’t spoken of a reason to wage this sanguinary battle. They just barged in guns-a-blazing. One could only hope it would be over soon.

In the opposite side of town, the infamous Asgardian army, known for its expertise and experience, was busy and bustling. Healers were tending to those caught in the crossfire while others were getting ready to join it. The warriors were determined; they were trained meticulously for situations like these.

One such warrior was buckling up her hefty armor on her body, following that by trying to tie back her flowing vermillion-red hair. Unsuccessful, she stood straight. Tall, dignified and regal; she was a sophisticated beauty. And she knew it.

In need of help, the girl surveyed her surroundings. Brilliant blue eyes darted to and fro to gauge someone who could possibly help. Then, gleefully, she spotted a familiar face walk by. A very familiar face indeed.

With a hastily thought out plan-of-attack, Ilaire sauntered towards the aformentioned person. Wrapping her arms around him, she sultrily whispered in his ear, “Hey, Loki. Could you help me with my tiresome hair”.

Though Ilaire couldn’t see it, a slow smirk settled upon the trickster’s face. Loki turned on his heel and susurrated, “Darling, you need not put on that act. I would help you if you simply asked, after all have we not been friends since adolescence?”.

Ilaire flippantly nodded in answer as a chesire cat grin took over her face at having succeeded in her task. She flipped around to give Loki better access to her hair. Without complaint, Loki took charge of her fiery silken hair and began to masterfully twist her hair into an elegant yet practical fashion, as if he had done it all his life. In a sort of way, he had. With a raised hand, Ilaire tried - in vain - to pass a ribbon to Loki to tie her hair back.

“Don’t bother, I have already used my seidr to place a ribbon in your hair”, Loki acknowledged, amused. “It’s emerald green, isn’t it?”,exasperated, the warrior questioned with her hand on the bridge of her nose.

Loki chuckled in response.

“Well, thank you anyway”, she said as she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

For a second, Loki’s mask of cold indifference slipped and gave way to something softer, akin to endearment. But it came back up just as Thor’s voice boomed across the army quarters.

“WARRIORS! The next waves must get ready to leave. Wave 32 and 33 get into position in 10 minutes, with Leaders Prince Loki and Lady Ilaire on the frontlines!”.

Centuries ago, Loki and Ilaire had trained together diligently and achieved higher ranks in the army hierarchy together. Both had now been promoted to a Leader position, the second highest position, preceded only by the Chief.

Thor’s information brought a surge of sobriety to the bantering friends as they realised what they were about to go into. They looked to each other, their eyes met and both nodded at the same time with locked jaws and unyielding glares. Synchronised, they turned to their corresponding waves and bellowed, “GET INTO POSITION WARRIORS!”.

A clangour resonated as the warriors began to put the remaining pieces of armour on. Ilaire’s usually welcoming eyes grew dark. Loki’s gaze grew steely. With a grave expression, Thor strode to their area. Without missing a beat, he trapped both Ilaire and Loki in an unwavering hug. It portrayed all of his emotions: distress; fear and concern. As he continued to not let them go, Loki’s choked voice broke out, “Brother, you must let us go”. Reluctantly, Thor pulled back and Ilaire could’ve sworn that his eyes were wetter than before. “Brother. Sister. Be careful. And most of all come back alive,” Thor spoke in a brittle voice.

Somewhere along the line, Ilaire had become an honorary Odinson family member. To Thor she was a sister and to Loki, she hoped she was something more. Still, a new wave of emotion passed over Ilaire as she heard Thor call her his sister. She fought valiantly to not be overcome with tearful sobs.

“Do not worry, Chief,” she called him in unbridled affection “We will try our best”, she replied in a hoarse manner. “Don’t miss us too much,” Loki too replied, with a rare smile and a suave salute.

The red-haired warrior clashed her sword on her shield to catch the attention of her assigned wave. “Alright, team! We’ve trained together for 150 years. We will continue to train far longer than that! We must! So go out and show those brutely creatures WHO’S BOSS!”, Ilaire’s battlecry washed over her warriors.

As the gates opened and perfectly formed formations walked out, merciless stony gazes could be seen all around. Loki and Ilaire stood at the frontlines, the wind amplifying their battle-hardened gazes. They both walked on the bloodsoaked ground, unfaltering, with a mission. As they got closer to the first of the aliens, Ilaire slashed at one, sending it accross the battleground. Beneath her feet, alien remains squelched and the air zinged with bloodshed.

The aliens were a sickly yellow with a strange slimy goo coating them. They were of a medium stature. Not too big but not too small. Ilaire had never seen such creatures.

Loki snarkily thought ‘They’re about Thor’s size. Doesn’t seem like this will be too hard’.

All around the two leaders, fights were breaking out and more yellow creatures were going down with them. Soldiers were slashing and punching with unmatched gusto. A pile of miserable dead opponents was starting to build up. Then something strange happened.

Something no one would’ve expected.

Something that shocked everyone.

Something that made perfect sense considering the earlier bloodshed.

The creatures that had been piled on top of each other started to melt and then meld together. It was a ghastly view. Bones shifting and rotting skin stretching. The creatures had melded together to become one mega-creature. A mega-creature larger than the small aliens before. Larger than Thor.

This truth dawned on the fighting forces and panic started brimming. Nothing like this had ever been faced before. It was entirely unprecedented. The Asgardian army certainly wasn’t trained for this. And judging by the drained, feeble warriors taken back to the healers, the other waves hadn’t realised this either. Alarm bells started ringing in Loki and Ilaire’s minds.

Loki’s mind started racing while simultaneously fighting off more of the alien soldiers.

Ilaire was frantically trying to think of a solution.

All thoughts seemed to evade them. The realm’s greatest minds had gone suddenly blank.

Panic was bubbling and almost tangible in the air.

One of the warriors, thankfully, came to the rescue, saving the situation like it was a damsel in distress. “SEPARATE THEM ONCE YOU KILL THEM, THAT WAY THEY CAN’T MOLD TOGETHER!”.

Ilaire let out a much-needed sigh of relief, yet she knew the real battle still remained. With a new plan, the waves started fighting with renewed vigour. After each kill, the creature was picked up and thrown on an empty space. Swords pierced and clanged, blood spattered and the beginnings of victory were starting to be seen. It was so close yet so far. Right within a hand’s reach, yet victory had not yet been snatched.

As Ilaire swerved to fight off another mega-creature, one approached from behind. WIth her eyes on the creature she was fighting, Ilaire did not notice the second creature. Loki’s mouth started to open in warning as he watched in fright. Unfortunately, his warning was a few seconds too slow. The creature grabbed a fallen sword and gashed at the sliver of skin between Ilaire’s chest and back armour with a mighty roar. Then a few things happened in succession.

A breathy gasp left Ilaire’s mouth as her hands grasped at her side, trying to gauge the situation. Her sword had unceremoniously dropped to the floor and lay lackadaisical. Her hands came away covered in her own blood, as more started to seep out. Crimson. Her breaths became raspy as she fell to her knees, head bowed. Several screams could be heard. Two of those were Loki and Thor.

Loki elbowed and slashed his way with an unmatched rage to reach his best friend. His mind was racing with denial, 'It could not end like this. It would not end like this.’

“Get out of the WAY!” he barked with barely held back anger.

Near the army quarters, Thor was making his way out to the battlefield. He would not sit by idly as his family was attacked. It was his turn.

As Thor reached his brother, he saw him kneeling beside Ilaire, undoing her armor and ripping a shred of his tunic to wrap it around her bleeding torso. “Take her to the healers, I will take care of this now,” Thor uttered quietly, yet if one looked closely, the simmering anger under his words was visible.

Then he yelled and charged towards his sorry opponents.

This left Loki. He looped his arms under her knees and shoulders and picked up Ilaire, and began to carry her towards the army quarters. “Love, look at me,” he spoke softly with a tender gaze.

It was getting harder for Ilaire to see by the minute as more blood was lost and her vision was spotting. “I can’t… I can’t,” Ilaire answered. A weak whimper escaped her lips.

“Yes, you can! Just focus on me”

Loki was starting to jog now, in desperation.

Commandingly, a shrill sound reverberated throughout the air. “LOKI ODINSON. WE ARE HERE TO COLLECT YOU. COME WITH US OR HAVE YOUR REALM FACE THE DISASTROUS CONSEQUENCES”.

Everything was going wrong. How could it have gone so wrong? Too much blood spilt and too many lives being lost by the minute.

Ilaire didn’t know what to do with this new command. Loki continued walking with an unreadable look on his face.

Ilaire struggled to keep her eyes open, but she got through until they had reached the healers.

A healer began to assess her; poking and prodding at the wound. Loki’s deperate voice rose, “Do something! Help her!”.

“The salve may take too long to brew. It could be too late for her,” the healer replied with an apologetic gaze.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN! HELP HER! I AM THE PRINCE OF ASGARD AND SHE, A LADY OF THE COURT! THERE MUST BE SOMETHING YOU CAN DO!” Loki hissed.

“Prince Loki, we will try our best but there’s no guarantee”.

Loki growled and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He was mad. He had injured himself too much to be able to use his magic. If only he fought more efficiently, if only he did more - maybe he could have healed her. If only.

After a grueling half hour, the healer gave the confirmation.

A half hour of desperate waiting for the news.

A half hour that seemed miles longer than it was.

Ilaire would make it.

'She's gonna make it'

Loki let out the breath he had been holding and slumped in a chair with relief. He had refused to let her out of his sight. A weary smile took shape on his face and he let out a breathless laugh of joy.

“Prince Loki, take her to the royal chambers and allow her to sleep. Until now she has had to stay awake until her healing was confirmed, in case of her becoming comatose,” the healer instructed Loki.

He walked to the stretcher Ilaire was laid upon and picked her up in the same style again. Ilaire wrapped her arms around Loki’s neck in a hug. “You’re alright,” Loki spoke through deep breaths with a reciprocated hug, rubbing her back to soothe her. Ilaire hugged him tightly. She almost died. She hugged him like it was her last time, because it very well could be. She didn’t want to waste this precious time.

God, Loki was grateful. Grateful she made it. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if something happened to her.

_______

Ilaire was carried to the Royal Palace adjoining to the army quarters. As she was gently dropped on her bed, she spoke for the first time since her attack. She knew Loki would go to the opposing kingdom. He would not wage a war on his own kingdom. “Don’t go Loki,” she pleaded, “I’ll never let you go”.

“Ilaire, I have to go. You know I do,” a tear ran down his face as he spoke the words that would seal his fate. A fate without her.

“Don’t leave me here alone,” Ilaire choked out as hot tears brimed in her eyes. “You’ll always have my spirit. Just think of me,” Loki smiled through the gut-wrenching pain. He really, really didn’t want to leave. But, for once, he wanted to do the right thing. For once, he wanted to earn her friendship.

“Go to sleep, Ilaire. You need it to heal,” Loki cleared his throat before speaking. A protest fought to release itself from Ilaire’s mouth but Loki raised a hand to cut it off. “You know I must do this. There is no use in arguing. I just want you to be safe”, his voice grew hoarse at his last words.

Loki spoke again, “Just close your eyes, the sun is going down. You’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now. Come morning light, you’ll be safe and sound”.

As much as she tried to fight it, Ilaire could not hold off sleep any longer. She wished she could stay awake so that she could convince the love of her life to stay. She wished he didn’t have to sacrifice himself. She wished he didn’t have to go at all. She wished to say and hear so many things that had been left unsaid. But sleep was consuming her. And time was running out. The sand in the hypothetical hourglass was falling at an ever-faster rate.

As her eyelides fluttered, she started to speak, “I lo…,” before sleep consumed her and she trailed off.

She had failed to say those three small words. Three small words. The ones that could’ve changed her life. The ones she will never get to say to him again.

Loki stood and wiped the tears off her face and kissed her cheek, before bringing up a blanket to cover her.

“I love you, Ilaire. I wish we had more time. But we do not. Maybe, one day, we’ll find each other in a another life and live peacefully. Who knows, we could have had a beautiful castle with the most magnificent grounds. Overlooking a view almost as beautiful as you. Or maybe we could’ve had a cottage. On the edge of the woods, next to a crystal clear lake", Loki spoke. He knew as he uttered those words that they will never get to do that now.

Neither heard the words of the other.

With that, he left, making his way back on to the battlefield.

__________

"IT IS I, LOKI ODINSON,” he presented himself. The alien leader made his way to the front. “Goodness, you’re a puny one. Whatever. Chain him, minions”, the yellow leader commanded. Thor watched in shocked silence. But even he knew that this had to be done. The brothers nodded to each other in farewell.

Loki was dragged, in chains, to the ostentatious spaceship of the aliens.

“You have stolen from me, Odinson,” a voice reached him. Loki struggled to remember what he had stolen. There were so many things he had recently pilfered. Then it hit him. He had stolen Maricusan. The most versatile and strong material in the nine realms. This material was used to make the Odinson family armors. And it came from Maricus. The planet known for being deceitful. This meant that their word was false. Unsurprisingly, they were also known for making false deals.

They would not only kill Loki but pillage Asgard too. At this moment, Loki realised he was in deep shit.

A minute ago, he had gone willingly. Now he would fight back. He would fight back to see his brother. He would fight back to see his beloved. With one swift motion, he pulled his hands apart, resulting in the chains snapping with an audible snap. As creatures advanced on him, he kicked and punched while using his clones to distract. Then, through the corner of his eye, he saw an opening in the door, which he managed to slip through.

As he re-entered the battlefield once again, he signaled to Thor. Thor’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of his brother. By now, he too had discovered the yellow Maricusians’ melding properties. The two brother came up with the quickest battle strategy they had ever made and got to work.

____________

In the Royal Palace, Ilaire had woken up. Her sleep was restless and a headache plagued her along with her rampant thoughts. Her beloved was going to sacrifice himself. Or maybe he had done so already. Pain stabbed her heart and tears started to collect in her eyes again. She did not want to be a whiny mess, but what else was she supposed to do? She was helpless against fate.

Sobs warcked her body. Then she saw a glint through her window. She curiously peeked towards it. Then she noticed the ongoing battle. The war was raging on. Now she was confused. Brows furrowed, she looked harder. Then. Then she saw the trademark emerald green and gold. Her heart soared in hope she dared not have.

'Was that Loki?'

She impatiently waited for the man to turn around, biting her nails in nervousness. Sand fell tantalizingly slow in the hypothetical hourglass. Time trickled by leisurely. Never had a moment seemed so long.

It was Loki.

The man was Loki.

A beaming smile broke out on her face as her tears turned to those of joy. She could hear a joyful tune playing in her head. It was a victory song. She felt victorious. She felt victorious for the first time on that horrendous day.

Their eyes met, and their smiles matched. Loki's eyes glinted with affection.

Too weak to join her warriors, Ilaire looked out at the battlefield. Nervously, waiting and hoping. And when the last blow happened, she was lost in felicity. They had done it. They had won. They got through unscathed. Sort of.

Hurriedly, Ilaire raced as fast as she could with her striking injury to get out to the battlefield. She saw Loki and he saw her. He held his arms out and she jumped into them, hugging him ferociously.

“Darling, you should be resting. That is a rather large wound,” he spoke in relief. He was glad to see her.

“You were supposed to die!” she replied.

“Good to know you like me alive,” Loki grumbled.

Like that, the two continued to banter, as Loki walked her back to her chambers, a hand around her shoulders too keep her steady.

When Ilaire entered her room, she started to speak, “Loki, there are many things I wish to say to you. One thing in particular. As I was thinking about possibly losing you, I thought of the things I never got to say”. She paused to gather her breath and to collect strength. She oh-so-very desperately hoped her words didn't come out as verbal diarrhoea.

“I love you. I love you, Loki. I have ever since you picked out that flower bouquet for me. Or when you spar with me. Or when we argue.” She chuckled, “I still keep those flowers preserved because its such a lovely memory.”

She stood with bated breath and nervousness running through her veins.

Loki's face had become softer somehow. His eyes were warm. And when Ilaire realised that this warmth was directed towards her, butterflies collected in her stomach.

“Ilaire, I adore you. I love you with the heat of a thousand suns. Yes, I know that’s cliche. But those are my feelings. You are my beacon when everything else fails. So, I wish to ask you something."

A pause.

Be mine?” he asked with a tender smile and soft blue eyes.

“Say that again,” Ilaire commanded hoarsely.

“Be mine” he smirked.

“Yes,” Ilaire whispered breathily.

Loki rushed forward and gathered Ilaire in his arms, glad to have found his love; his best friend.

“Come morning light, you and I’ll be… safe and sound”

This is what I imagine my OC to look like. Feel free to change as you please :)

Let me know your thoughts and if you'd like me to write something else <3

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XVI

(A/N at the end)

Parts I-XV:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

When Cordelia was just a small girl, her father would play a game with her. Cordelia would run as fast as she could in the yellow shoes her mother just bought her, her arms stretched out from her sides flapping like a featherless bird, towards her father squatting on the ground a few feet away from her. When she’d be nearly to him, she’d leap from the ground with a faith only a child could muster into his waiting hands where he would toss her over his head in the air. There was this moment, when she would be suspended in the air just before momentum died and gravity’s pull dragged her back down, that everything went quiet around her. Everything went still. When all she could see was the horizon in front of her and her father’s embrace below. And she’d come falling back down to earth. A laughing star with a red tail and bright yellow shoes. 

The moment Cordelia’s eyes felled upon James, she felt the weightless suspense of being hugged by the wind just before it released her back to the ground, except no awaiting arms were there to catch her and she came hurtling to the ground.

He looked so handsome— when he ever didn’t, she wasn’t sure— with his dark curls pushed back away from his face and the lingering smile on his lips. He wore gear up to his neck, black except for the silver buckles of his vest strapped across his lower abdomen and the red scarf around his neck. The hilts of his throwing knives glistened in the warm light coming through the window and from the ball-shaped orbs that hung from chains above him, flickering with burning witchlights. The words she’d be rehearsing to herself since the moment she woke up seemed to evaporate like steam from tea out of her mind.

Thankfully, words were no longer necessary as Matthew crossed the threshold of the foray into the sitting room, past James whose his eyes never managed to leave hers, as he said, “You’re awake. Splendid. Things have been awfully dull without your joyful presence.” Matthew grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed a light kiss to both of her cheeks before reaching around her and patting Lucie on the head earning himself a shove into the couch. “Where have you been all morning?” Matthew directed at Lucie.

“That is my business,” said Lucie, smoothing her hair, “and mine alone. Where have you lot been?”

Matthew waved a hand down his body clad in black gear except his was stitched with gold thread that matched the color of his hair. He rested his knee high boots on the coffee table rattling the tray of tea and biscuits, bits of mud flecked off onto the glass. “We were out at the theater enjoying a matinee…”

While their banter continued on, James stumbled towards Cordelia. His foot catching the footstool; his eyes surprisingly never leaving hers. 

Cordelia stifled a laugh and stepped forwards away from the window to meet him in the center of the room. 

“You look,” he swallowed and his hand raised, paused, before he ran it through his own hair, “you look better.”

“Better?” Cordelia ran her hands over the fabric of her skirt. “Well, I should hope so. A few days in a magically induced coma does wonders for ones complexion.”

“I shall no longer be calling you Daisy then,” he said.

Her eyebrows jumped. “No?”

“No,” smiled James. “Perhaps I shall call you Sleeping Beauty.”

“Perhaps you should not,” said Cordelia appalled, having read the French classic in her youth and despising the damsel for being insolent enough to touch the spinning wheel and then not being able to manage herself out of the sleep she put herself in. “I am not a damsel to be woken with a kiss.” 

No, no, she was the prince riding on the mount and climbing the scaffold and fighting the evil that existed in the world. 

The corner of James’s mouth lifted in a sad smile. “No,” he said, leaning forward so only she could hear him. “You never did require anyone’s rescuing.”

The memory of ice cream dripping down her hand, the warmth of the sun on her cheeks, and the excitement of their joined rebellion only moments ago; along with the way that James was looking at her now, like she wasn’t quite real, sent a warmth through Cordelia. 

“Will you be staying in London?” he asked, folding his hands behind his back. “Or will you be leaving for Alicante soon?”

“Staying,” said Lucie from behind her, abandoning her raillery with Matthew to join in their conversation, much to James’s chagrin which he failed to hide from his face. “For sometime, at least until we can recover her memories from the shadow realm.”

“Recover her memories?” asked Matthew, a biscuit crumbling over the front of his gear. “Has she lost them?”

Cordelia slid a glare in Lucie’s direction. Lucie raised her shoulders innocently. “Was I not supposed to say anything? They would have found out eventually.”

“Charles is requesting that we remain in London until my memories of the events return in the case that it provides them with information about Belial,” she said to both boys. “Also, he wants us to remain close in case he attempts an attack on us again.”

“Interesting,” mused Matthew.

“Yes,” said James, his eyes wandered over Cordelia. “How did you lose your memories?”

“No, not that,” said Matthew as he stood and came to stand beside James. “My brother actually did the right thing for once. I find that interesting. Where is Christopher? It seems we may have jumped into another dimension without the help of the book.”

 Ignoring Matthew, James waited for Cordelia’s reply. “I’m not sure,” she said. “The last thing I remember is getting into the carriage with Alastair after I left… after talking with you.”

A muscle moved in James’s jaw and for the first time, he looked away from Cordelia and down at his boots. A fine, ebony curl fell in his face. 

“What book?” demanded Lucie. 

Matthew’s pale eyebrows jumped as he glanced at James. “It would appear as if my impeccable sense of humor has found me in trouble yet again.”

“I’d suggest keeping your mouth shut,” sighed James. “But I fear the words would be wasted and the attempt futile.”

“What book?” Both girls asked.

“Keep your voice down,” said Matthew, glancing over his shoulder, across the room where the door to the dining room led, and then suspiciously at Church curled up on the chair beside the fire. “There are ears everywhere.”

Lucie placed her hands on her hips. “What are you four up to? Tell me. Tell me now or I’ll tell Mam and Pa that you’re keeping secrets behind their back.”

James glared at his sister as he used to do when they were children and Lucie desperately wanted him to be the villain in her live production of her latest playwright or novella. He seemed to be contemplating if Lucie’s threat was legitimate or a bluff. Cordelia knew the truth, Lucie would never purposefully sabotage her brother, but rather learn of his secrets on her own if he wouldn’t reveal them freely. However, scaring the information out of him was a much easier and faster tactic. 

James exhaled and whipped his scarf off his shoulders, casually tossing it on the couch. “If you must know, we are in search of a book that will help us locate portals into other realms.” He glanced at Cordelia. “As well as something that may help us learn how to kill Belial.”

“Portals?” Lucie glanced between Matthew and James. “Like the one at the cemetery?”

“Yes,” said James while Matthew nodded enthusiastically.

“Why not just use the portal at the cemetery then?” asked Lucie.

“Because that would be far to easy and nothing in our lives are ever that simple,” said Matthew. 

“Portals can move or vanish,” explained James. “They don’t stay in one place for long and they’re incredibly difficult to track.”

“The closest one could be in the dreaded Americas,” said Matthew with a look of distaste. 

“We also don’t fully understand how they work just yet,” said James. “We don’t know what realm we would be stepping into, we don’t know what exists in those realms, and we don’t know how to return to this one.”

Cordelia, who remained quiet through their confession, asked, “Where is this book?”

James turned to her and she felt her bleeding heart quicken in response. “We’ve called upon Magnus Bane. We’re awaiting his response.”

“Called upon?” asked Lucie. “He’s one of Mam and Pa’s dearest friends. He spent the holidays with us when we were children. Why not just knock on his door if you needed help.”

“Matthew didn’t want to seem rude,” said James.

“The warlock has blue smoke coming out of his fingertips,” said Matthew in distress. “He is a legend. You simply do not waltz up to a legend’s front door and demand a look in his library. I’ve heard of him turning people into toads for much less.”

“Also,” said James, shaking his head at Matthew. “We need to come up with a version of the truth that won’t have him running to our parents about our plans.”

“You need a lie?” asked Cordelia.

“‘A version of the truth’ he said,” cried Matthew. “We cannot lie to a high warlock. He’ll see right through us like cheap cotton.”

“Use me,” said Cordelia. The three of them looked to her with drawn eyebrows and still looks. “I heard Charles talking to Jem about possible ways of retrieving my memories and Magnus’s name came up, briefly, before Charles denied the help of a warlock even on such pressing matters. We could go to his flat and ask for assistance searching through my mind. James can ask to go into the library while he waits and search for the book. Magnus won’t think anything of it since James loves books.”

The perturbed looks did not evaporate once she was finished. Lucie turned her back to Cordelia, her eyes locked on her feet.

“That’s not a bad idea,” said Matthew, the first to speak. “That’s not a bad idea at all. A much better idea than Christopher’s, who suggested one of us poison ourselves and seek an antidote from him.”

“That was your idea,” said James and stepped towards Cordelia. With the distance between them shortened, Cordelia could see the faint dusting of freckles across his cheekbones. The air carried the smell of him towards her: sandalwood, the leather of his gear, and old books. It was enough to make her sway. “Are you sure, Cordelia? You’ve not been awake for twenty four hours yet. Shouldn’t your mind have time to heal?”

 Jem had mentioned something to Charles about it being dangerous to reach into Cordelia’s mind while she healed and that she should have a few weeks to recover to see if the memories returned on their own without intervention. When Charles didn’t accept his warning, Jem offered the name Magnus Bane knowing that Charles would bristle. It worked. Charles agreed to wait until Cordelia’s mind had time to heal before the Silent Brothers would go prodding through her memories in search of something she, herself, could not see.

But she wanted to be of assistance to her friends now. And if she was being absolutely honest, she wanted vengeance. He’d nearly killed Alastair and herself. He did kill their carriage driver and a dear friend of the Herondale’s. Belial kidnapped her in order to gain access to James and she would not allow it to happen again.

“James is right,” said Lucie. “It’s not safe. You should rest and gain your strength. We’ll find another way to retrieve the book.”

“There’s no time,” she said. “Besides, who knows if waiting will draw the memories out or shut them in tighter. I think the earliest we gain access to them the better.”

Lucie offered her a tight smile and inhaled. “Excellent,” she said, but her tone suggested otherwise. “We’ll wait for Magnus to return with an invitation and then we’ll go.”

“Go?” The four of them turned to find Tessa standing in the foray with Will, Alastair, and Sona behind her. Her eyes danced between them. “Go where exactly?”

(A/N: Here it is guys! Thank you for waiting an extra couple of days. I had a birthday party for my nephew this weekend and it was just kind of a rough week in general, but Sunday I was able to mostly write. It’s a lot of dialogue, but it’s fun dialogue. I hope you guys enjoy it.)

[signsofsam]

Fic: The Night We Met: 3/?

The cost turns out to be rescuing a prince and getting a hit to the head in return.

He comes to struggling, because there are hands on him and people he doesn’t recognize and Chris-he can’t see his son. He’s vaguely aware he’s talking, maybe babbling, most probably screaming, because he can’t see Christopher and he needs to make sure Chris is all right and when some man comes into view that isn’t his son, he strikes with his fist first.

“EDDIE!”

That’s...that’s a voice he recognizes, a face he knows.

Some Notes:

Prompt request fill.

Chapter Two Here.

AO3 Link Here

This is the story I work on when everything else/all the other words aren’t coming. Do I know where it’s heading? Vaguely. Do I know how long it’s going to be? Nope. Sorry ‘bout that. Three

The air smells of smoke.

It’s the one clear thing Eddie remembers from the day his family dies. The air smells of smoke, the Diaz compound has been overrun, and his parents' charred bodies are hanging from the split-open front gate, a warning to all of what happens when normal, everyday people speak out against the brutal group of High Lords that’ve managed to stage a coup against the democratically-elected leaders of Elpaso.

Eddie stumbles through the gate before he vomits.

He’s weary and worn-down; he’s been fighting at the front for years as it was slowly pushed back to the Capitol, keeping his unit alive for  years, and it was all...everything was in vain. There is no longer an army, there is no longer the chance of freedom to fight for, there is no cause to rally around, because the High Lords have slammed their iron fist down upon the Capitol and its people. The final battle ended with a whimper from Elpaso’s army, a final gasp before it completely collapsed, whatever soldiers that had survived scattering back to whatever remained of their families, hoping against hope there was family left.

The High Lord reign has started, and the regime will be a blight on the land, and Eddie...he has nothing left here.

He has a dead wife, murdered in their house when a group of mercenaries infiltrated the Capitol and terrorized its people two years before. Eddie had been on an outpost when it happened; Christopher had only survived because he was small and quiet and the last act his mother did was hide him well.

He has two dead parents, who only wished to call out wrong.

He has his son.

He has his son.

Christopher.

Christopher isn’t here.

“Chris!” he screams, twisting and turning, scanning the remains of the house, the burnt fields, the dead farm animals, bodies of servants, friends who had sought refuge-there is no Christopher.

So he calls his son’s name again, venturing further into the graveyard, until he gets the wall at the edge of the property, and there’s a hole. He pushes through, to the neighbor’s house, and cautiously, sword drawn, heads toward the building.

The door opens, and the neighbor smiles, breathing a sigh of relief. “Edmundo, you’ve come. Finally.”

She pulls him inside quickly, shutting and bolting the door behind her, and then small arms are wrapping tight around him. “Papa,” Chris cries, and Eddie feels like he can breathe again, like there’s one piece of his world that’s still upright.

There’s still a piece of his world left that’s worth the fight.

So he gets them out of Elpaso. It’ll take weeks to get to Angeles, but his grandmother is there; she’ll take them in, he knows. She begged them to come when the threat of the High Lords began brewing.

He’ll get them there, no matter the cost.

--//--//--

The cost turns out to be rescuing a prince and getting a hit to the head in return.

He comes to struggling, because there are hands on him and people he doesn’t recognize and Chris-he can’t see his son. He’s vaguely aware he’s talking, maybe babbling, most probably screaming, because he can’t see Christopher and he needs to make sure Chris is all right and when some man comes into view that isn’t his son, he strikes with his fist first.

“EDDIE!"

That’s...that’s a voice he recognizes, a face he knows.

The birthmark.

Buck.

The man smiles, nodding. “That’s right. You saved me, remember? Even though I’m definitely not a damsel in distress and I totally could have saved myself.” He seems to be speaking to someone else, and Eddie frowns.

“Chris?”

Buck focuses back on Eddie. “Your son is fine. He’s asleep right now, or he’d be with you. Hen and Karen will bring him here just as soon as he wakes back up; he was very tired.”

And Eddie...he can’t quite remember. “Ang’les?” he says instead, frown deepening at the slur of his words, and Buck smiles again.

“Yeah, we’re in Angeles. We arrived back early early this morning, before the sun was even up. You’ve been resting.”

Eddie’s vision is clearing, opening his world to being more than just Buck, and he can see a heavily pregnant brunette woman behind the prince. She smiles when she sees  him looking at her. “We all owe you a debt of gratitude, Eddie, for rescuing my brother.”

Oh-this is Maddie. He remembers Buck talking about his sister.

He remembers the Hunters Kendall sent after her.

He remembers Buck’s leg.

“You’re standing? Your leg-?”

“Crutches,” Buck answers, and Eddie can see them now, as Buck leans on them; he can also see the pain written all over his face. “The surgeon’s going to see to it, but you were waking up and I knew you’d be worried and probably needed to see a friendly face.” There’s a clearing of a throat, and Buck glances back. “Well, that’s my cue. I just wanted to assure you that you’re safe, Chris is safe, and you’re not our prisoner or anything like that. Maddie’s safe, okay? You can trust her; she’s going to help you.”

Eddie nods, because while he doesn’t exactly believe the prince, what more can he do? If they want to arrest him, they’re going to no matter what the prince says; he hopes they’ll let him see Chris first, explain things to him.

Buck smiles, reaching forward to squeeze Eddie’s forearm. “I’ll...I’ll see you then, once I get done. And please, please don’t worry; you are safe now. We’ll protect you.”

[readingfanfction]

Chapter 1: Locked up

My 1st attempt at FanFiction. 

Fairy Tail, NaLu. This one is titled Princesses and Towers, Rated M for later chapters (14 so far, this number might change). 

I’ll apologize now for any mistakes I failed to notice before I posted this ;)

           She was woken up suddenly in the dead of the night, a few hours after the sun began to creep past the horizon, she wasn’t surprised when it happened. The castle had been buzzing with the rumors for months, he did not like having the princess around, especially now that she had started to resemble her late mother in the portraits the king kept hanging around and refused to take down. Layla Heartfilia was a stunning woman, a beloved queen, and a wife that was missed dearly. Lucy never got the chance to meet her mother and form any memories of her, but she understood all to well why her father didn’t want her around. As her father began to plot to have Lucy sent away, the staff around the castle did what they could to save their loved princess. But the king wasn’t as naive as they had hoped and acted early to keep from his plans being ruined.

               Lucy was rushed into a carriage under the cover of the night, hands bound and gagged, she didn’t fight back. She loved her home, the staff, her people, and her mother’s grave, but she was also smart and knew that there was nothing she could do to stop them. She had no magic, no weapons, she couldn’t even try to speak to her father in the hopes that he might come to his senses. The only thing she did have was to not give them the satisfaction of her tears.

               Once they were outside of the castle and past the town, Lucy was freed from her restraints. Her father began saying how this was the best thing for her, how some prince would come and save her from the tower and the two would live happily ever after, how the time in the tower would fix the bad habit she had of speaking her mind. Lucy wished she didn’t have to listen to him spew such lies, but unfortunately for her they were really the only sound as the rest of the world still slept around them. As her father continued to try and convince himself more than his daughter that this was the best thing for her, Lucy gazed out the window. They were heading so far from her home, into the mountains with such a thick and wild forest they had to leave the carriage and continue on horseback. Since they didn’t trust Lucy to not try to run away, they once again tied her wrist and placed her on a horse with one of the nights she didn’t recognize.

               Riding deeper into the forest Lucy did her best to not move much as this stranger knight was easily excited and kept whispering all sorts of things into her ear that made her feel sick. Occasionally his hand would ‘accidently’ brush against her breast or butt, a few times he full on grabbed her and pulled her tightly against himself while whispering something along the lines of “wouldn’t want you to fall off now”. Making her wish she would.

               Along the way they passed what looked like the remains of a forest fire. Charred trees, large claw marks on boulders turned black, thick clouds of ash being stirred up by the horses as the small company made its way.

               “Is it really safe to leave the princess in a tower located in a dragon’s territory?” one of the soldiers asked another in a hushed whisper.

               “There’s no need to worry.” The man holding Lucy declared. “I’m going to encase the tower in very powerful spells.” Lowering his voice and whispering into Lucy’s ear again he continued. “Most of them just to keep you from leaving.” Lucy refused to give him the satisfaction of an answer or any sort of response, bubbling over with her anger she did not trust herself to keep from blowing up and eventually crying.

               The sun was starting to peak over the mountains when they came to a clearing, a large meadow filled with flowers and a tall stone laid tower and a water wheel attached to the side spinning idly in the small river that flowed through the middle of the meadow. Not wanting to run the risk of getting his garments wet, the king stayed  on their side of the river with a majority of their guard while Lucy was taken across the river, the water rising to the horses belly.

             Once at the base of the tower the knight, apparent wizard, that had been groping her the whole ride grabbed a hold of Lucy and lowered her off the horse taking the opportunity to make sure her breast rubbed against his face on her way down and her dress rode up above her knees. The moment she was set down on the grass she awkwardly fixed the skirt of her dress and bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from screaming at the man.

           Escorted inside by the only knight that seemed concerned about Lucy being left here while the molester wizard got to work on the containment spell to keep her locked in the tower. The knight apologized for his part in locking her away and promised to find someone that could break the spell on the tower. Lucy smiled at him, only asking that he does what he can to protect the people of the kingdom.

         Alone. This was never a new feeling to Lucy; she had felt alone her whole life. But this time it was different, she was truly alone now. No longer surrounded by her loving people, no staff of the castle to keep her company. Just her and a dusty stone tower. Reaching to the door she had entered through, her hand pressed flatly against an invisible wall, floating words hanging in the air.

The princess Lucy Heartfilia may not leave the tower less rescued by a noble and brave knight.

         Great. Lucy huffed as she turned away and walked up the stairs. The thought of being rescued by some prince didn’t sit well with her, she may be a princess but that didn’t mean that she liked the idea of playing the role of a damsel in distress that needed to be rescued by anyone.

          The top of the tower wasn’t much to take in, other than the dust and cobwebbed mess left by who ever lived in the tower before her. Books and papers scattered everywhere, filling the tables and spilling onto the floor. The furniture that was sure to had once been an example of beautiful simplicity now covered in cobwebs and creating a cloud of dust that engulfed Lucy when she pat the blanket. Coughing she ran to the window to take in some gasp of fresh air, as she pushed open the shutters they groaned and fell onto the grass below. Her breaths started coming faster and faster as she stared down at the broken shutters, until she could no longer hold back. Her sobs racking her body, tears falling freely down her cheeks, she collapsed by the window as the words hung above her once more.

The princess Lucy Heartfilia may not leave the tower less rescued by a noble and brave knight.

          Unknown to her, something had watched her arrival and was listening to her cries. The creature allowed them into his territory when it heard their conversations of leaving a princess in the old tower. It even allowed them to leave safely when he heard the princess express concern for her people. He was about to go to her, to give her some sort of comfort when she started to cry, to let her know that she wasn’t alone. But he stopped when he heard her giving herself a little pep-talk, suddenly feeling that now wasn’t the time, nor was it his place to interrupt her moment.

[missingartist]

The Witcher’s Mate Chapter Five

I have had an awful week at work! But all your likes and comments have made me feel so much better! Please keep commenting!!!!!!!!!

Requests are open! 

Geralt quickly snatched the women from Jaskier’s arms before placing the young women on what he could barely call a bed. It was a straw mattress lain against the far wall; her body was limp against him as he arranged her body carefully in an attempted to slow the bloodflow. The bottom of her blouse stained a rusty red as the blood slowly seeped from the opened wound.

‘Igni’ With the muttering of the word, a flash of light flickering on the dozen of candles around the room, washing them in a warm glow. ‘Jaskier are you just going to stand there? Grab me a cloth.’ Geralt grunted as he pressed his hand against the wound.

Jaskier pulled a drying cloth from a nearby rake and tossed it at the steely-eyed Witcher. Geralt tenderly soaked the blood with the rag, pressing it the wound to get a clear look at the offending incision. The golden eyes drank in damages. There were five claw marks that left thin veins of red against her porcelain skin, faint and light, they had started to clot, and the bleeding had all but stopped. Above the slivers of red, just above her hip, a weeping gash of blood poured from a gnarled wound. The knife had been blunt, and when the insane Tradi had lunged for her soft skin it tore and ripped. It was not a mortal wound, no organs or arteries damaged but the blood that seeped out of the slash was alarming. Cersi was across the town and even on the back of Roach there was no guarantee that she would not have bled out. Geralt could stitch her up or brand her with an iron to cease the bleed, but even with his mutant eyes, he could not see the damage inside. Even unconscious, her body was so reactive, a slight shimmer of sweat began to develop across her skin, and every muscle was tense.

‘Fuck……’ Geralt pulled back and fished a vial from his pouch.

Uncorking the bottle with his teeth, he pulled back the cloth and tentatively poured the liquid on the bleeding. Swallow was toxic, he had never used it someone who was not a Witcher, but Geralt had been a Witcher for longer then he could remember, and the times he had heard it used the people died horrible deaths, burnt from the inside out. If they did their life was not worth living, driven made or deranged. The two men watched her skin bubble and shift as the wound sealed itself smooth, no rough scar tissue, just an angry patch of red. He let her eye search the area; just a few freckles dotted across her hip. His cat's eyes raced to her face looking for the signs, anything that could betray the damage on the inside. Gradually her body relaxed, melted into the thin mattress, sighing in contentment.

It was only now that he let his eyes scanned her body. The clothes she wore where ill-fitting, hiding a feast beneath. In the commotion, her skirt had racked up bunching around her waist ,revealing smooth shapely legs, thick and chunky thighs. They travelled up under her potato sack skirt to a work of art, her waist was narrow, flaring out to round plush hips. Travelling up her breast stood firm, parting to the side as she lay on her back. Most women wore corsets, but her figure stood proud and firm, unaided but the amour like clothing. Her neck was graceful, swan-like, leading up to her face, her curls swirled around her like a hallow, the light highlighting the gold of her curls. Her face was peaceful but dark circle marred underneath her eyes, and her cheekbones looked hallow, dehydrated. Her beauty was mesmerising but confusing. Geralt was thankful but concerned. He wanted her to survive but he knew there was something, something strange. Nothing he had ever heard of could endure a Witcher’s potion. A less … no it wasn’t possible

‘Hmmm,’ Geralt hummed as he picked up a moth-eaten blanket and draped it over her exposed body.

Jaskier stared over at his friend. The white-haired man was staring down, pensive at the women on the floor. Witcher with a heart he mused. It would be a great song. Or bedding the grateful damsel in distress whom he rescues from the clutches of death. Even better. Jaskier turned his eyes to the man on the floor. The mage, Tradi, he was cold and death, throat cut open, twisted in anger. In his hand there was a heavily ornated journal, it was a deep purple with what looked like peals sown onto the cover and gold thread stitched into the spine of it.

‘Well, what do we have here… he won't be needing this anymore. I could rebind it and put my song it …..I could even have is published. The Tales of the Witcher and the Bard….no the Bard and the Witcher.’ Jaskier pondered as struggled to release the book from the death grip of the corpse. Brandishing in the air in success.

The scent of the pages hitting the air cause Geralt's nose to twitch. A mixture of sour milk, pig and decay. Human Skin. Without a thought, Geralt snatched the book from the victorious Jaskier, inhaling deeply he could smell it now. Some of the pages where old, 30 years at least, and somewhere new, recent, days old. Probably from the victims of the Griffin. A Mage would never use human skin; only the most despised magic was held on human skin. Old magic, evil magic that even Elves feared, not even using it when the humans massacred them.

‘Geralt…. You get the join. A bard cannot live on his art alone.’ Jaskier whined, attempting to reach up to The Witcher.

‘Human skin possess bad magic… igni.’ Geralt growled as the book remained unheard against the fire smell. ‘This must be destroyed properly, in a purifying ritual.’ Geralt bite out as he tucked it into his bag, his eyes training in on the girl.

Jaskier eyes followed Geralt’s. The girls stirred slightly and curled into the mattress; a pained hiss escaped her lips as she grimaced, brow furrowed. The bard's eyes soften, she was a beautiful thing, it surprised him that she would be working in a tavern which was little more than a high-class brothel. Adva looked almost childlike, innocent and sheepish, dressing in rags, making her look frumpy and older. She could be little more than 20, an orphan probably or sold to the tavern as a child, didn’t know anything better and properly wouldn't leave till she died, either and the hands of disease or a patron. But then again he had seen her throw a gigantic ball of water at the monster, powerful enough to stun to allow Geralt to strike the fatal blow.

‘Will she be okay?’ the bard asked.

‘Hmmm’ was the only reply that Geralt gave. As he wiped her brow of a kitchen towel found on the back of one a chair. The white-haired man crammed his bulking frame a ragged chaired she had in front of a large desk. The chair was possibly the nicest thing in the room, soft and padded; it looked like it had once belonged to a wealthy merchant, woven with vivid colours and threads. Settled down into the chair, the thin, timid legs at the bottom snapped causing the base of the armchair to hit the floor with a thud.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the glistening leather of a burgundy book, a journal that was too elegant for a mere kitchen maiden. Pinching it from the desk he examined it at the page it fell open. The words were curvey and neat; one letter flowed to the next if they could be called letters. It was not a language he had ever seen- not Elvish or the Elder language.

‘Fuck’ Geralt growled, wiggling himself into a comfy position and stretching his long let out in front of him as he settled his eyes on the women in front of him, the book lying in his lap.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx When the sun was finally up in the sky, Geralt left the woman sleeping, watched over by Jaskier. Geralt was certain that the Swallow he had used would take to ill effects of her, she slept peaceful and undisturbed even though Jaskier strummed his lute and practised and pondered his new hit. The tavern was now alive with the sound of life; they squeaked and squealed about the sounds of last nights battle. When the sun was high in the sky Geralt, with sword in hand, struck the head of the Griffin ignoring the cheer from the crowd that gathered at the back of the Tavern. The Witcher made his way through the town; no one bothered him, the people cleared a path, the sight of him bloody and carrying a severed head was enough. The guards at Lord Brightwater’s manor stepped aside without questioning him.

The Witcher found the way to his meeting room with ease. The scent of him was robust, old parchment and cheese, but it was mixed with another smell, the smell of Cersi, roses and honey, a sickly sweet smell that lingered in the air, temping. A smell mixed with the salt fragrances of sex. Sure enough, Cersi sat prompt up against a vase stand, looking at the greying lord as he busied himself with the accounts in the same dress as yesterday.

‘I have slain the beast.’ Geralt uttered, dropping the severed head of the mahogany desk, causing the Lord to look up from his papers.

‘A Griffin…you were right.’ Cersi grinned, cat-like as she moved to examine the head.

‘Interesting… it looks like the creature was hit with a water blast of some kind….whats wrong with its eyes’ the mage questioned as she examined it.

‘The price has doubled.’

‘I paid you to dispatch the beast, and you did. I will pay you the agreed amount.’ Lord Fagen gritted out, pulling open a drawer and tossing a large coin purse at the monster hunter, who caught it with ease.

‘Wasn’t as ssimplyas that, the best was being enchanted, controlled to stalk the people of Brightwater. I had to dispatch him to.’

‘Tradi’ Cersi winched as she sat upon the edge of the Lord's desk.

‘You knew?’ Geralt snarled at the sorceress.

‘I had my suspicions. Tradi was alleged to have been dabbling in dark magic, experimenting on his King’s people. The guild could never prove aanything, but it was enough to get removed from court. A mage without a king such a sad thing.’ Cersi shrugged.

‘Didn’t think to mention it before?’ Geralt nostril flared, as he looked at his friend with angry.

‘I didn’t have a lot to go on. Besides, I was quietly confident in you.’ Cersi spoke sweetly, playing with her blonde hair.

‘Hmmm. Doesn’t change a thing, the price has doubled.’

‘It is out of the question. The town has been damaged far too much. We will need every coin to rebuild, better and stronger.’ The lord bit back, acidly.

‘Now now, Fagen. Honest pay for honest work. Maybe we can bargain with Geralt. He is reasonable after all. There must be something that he wants. Or perhaps someone.’ Her tone was dripped in honey, but the inference was there, steel-edged and obvious.

There was silence between the three as they watched each other, ‘Tradi attached Adva. Wanted something from her. I will forgo the payment for Tradi for her. Her… powers would be helpful on the road.’ The Lord stood and slammed his fists onto the desk, enough for the whole room to vibrate at the force. ‘I will not allow you to take here anywhere. She is safe here. Take your money and go Witcher. Before I call the guard.’

Geralt grunted out violent puffs of hot breath. Something primal within him howled at this man; a poncy lord thought he had the power to separate him from Adva. He was never one to be told what to do, especially when it came to women. The magic he felt between them was intense; he didn’t believe it was a soulbond, things were myths, told to doe-eyed girls to give them hope in the bleak futures married to ignorant or foolish men. But he would be damned if he let Adva stay here. The two men inched closer together, centimetre by centimetre

‘Boys enough. Fagen…Love let me deal with this. I know what needs to be done. Go?’ There was an edge in her voice; it was forceful and almost harsh. The Lord slowly left, not before casting the evil eye at him . Awww the things a man in love will do. Geralt mused as the man slammed the door shut.

‘Sleeping with a Lord now? Ordering the poor man out of his own chambers. Hmm,’ Geralt folded his arms, looking down at the women.

‘Fagen is… protective. He was the one who found her abandoned all those years ago. He never had children; I suppose he looks over her in a way.’ Cersi sighed as she stood, brushing her hands over her crumpled dress that had probably spend the last night on the floor, before moving to the desk and pulling out a long dry bit of parchment.

‘Then why not adopt her? Why send her to apprentice at Tradi for him to abuse or to work in a whorehouse.’ Geralt snapped.

‘It is complicated Geralt…Sending her to Tradi was a mistake, caused this nasty situation. You need to take her away… far away. Take this’ Cersi spoke with a tired voice.

The parchment in her hand was a certificate, a certificate of service. Such documents were standard among orphans, women placed in service till they where 25, past from one owner to another. Only when the orphan married or was old enough was the person free, that was why most only lived very short terrible lives.

‘You want to help?’ Geralt was no fool, Cersi was a excellent mage but not without her own motives.

‘I don’t think Brightwater is the right place for Adva anymore. She seems to have outgrown it. You can buy Adva from Vivian, 500 coins should do it, and the young sweetling begins the new life together with an honourable Witcher. How long are you going to deny your bond? Take her with you there isn’t a force in the world that can keep you apart now.’

‘I don’t think Adva would be very happy to find her being sold from one person to the next. I don’t think she had a very good opinion of me after our first meeting. I have known you too long. What are you getting about this?’

‘Maybe not but entwined destinies will stop at nothing. Soul mate is soul mates Geralt, you know better than to mistrust fate. I am merely trying to stop your mistrust of emotions from killing you both. But heed my warning take care of her Geralt or dealing with me will be the least of your worries. Come you need to leave soon.’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx A hot sensation was the first thing she felt. Searing. Groggy, Adva woke, her body ached, and the right side of her body felt tight like the skin was too small for her body. Light pooled through the narrow window and onto a vicious read stain that smears from one side of the room to the next. It looked like…blood. Tradi. God, what had he done? Anxiety rose within her, eeverythingflooded back to her. The gods the glowing-eyed Griffin, the pain, the evil look that consumed Tradi’s features, the knife, the cut. Adva’s hand flew to her side, blood-stained clothing remained but no wound no scratches. She felt the pieces of her knife from Tradi hands; she knew she collapsed. After that, she had no idea.

‘The sleeping beauty is awake; you gave us quite a scare. Never seen Geralt so worried. Watched you will the sun broke in the sky.’ The companion spoke as appeared from nowhere.

‘I…What….Thank you…’ No word would work or seemed appropriate.

‘Jaskier…humbled bard at your service.’ The brown-haired man bowed with a flourish causing her to laugh.

The bard had a kind face, that was permanently smiling, even at the town square he looked happy, approachable, warm; a contrast to his friend. Adva couldn’t help but smile at him. Sitting up she cast her eyes around her room,; bookspulled from shelves, pages torn, most she never got to read, she had been trying to learn the ccommonlanguage, it was hard and so different from what she had been taught, she had been so close, but now it seemed impossible. Casting another glance around the room she spied broken furniture, herbs and potions spilt onto every possible service, it broke her heart a little, she had very little and what she did have was precious to her. Now she had nothing. Her blues eyes fell to her desk; her book was gone, the one thing she had from before, the last thing she had of them, her family. Tradi must have taken it… but the witcher killed him — the Witcher.

The man's voice broke through her thoughts as raised voices filtered through the worm-eaten wood. An argument, she felt the vibrations of the voices rather then what they were actually saying. Jaskier seemed to hear them too, as he inched towards the door.

‘My mother always told me it was rude to eavesdrop, why don’t we go and watch. I bet Geralt is going to cause a fight, he always does. Come on.’ The singer squeaked excitedly as he broke through the door.

It all honestly it was the last thing she wanted to do, last nights events had drained her, but she wanted to know what was going on and if the Witcher had her book. Standing caused her to groan, her side was on fire, red and inflamed, whatever they used worked, skin smooth and as it was, but whatever it was was slow to heal whatever damage was on the inside. Hobbing forward, she braced herself along the wall and down the hall to the main tavern.

It was still early, and few had graced the parlour, the only ones in the room were Vivian, Nesta, Cersi and Geralt. Jaskier perched on the sidelines. Nesta wrung her hands nervously, eyes widening as she saw her, instantly rushing to her, her light irises searching her face before she hugged her close, hard.

‘You must run. Vivian is selling your service to the Witcher. Take this. It not much but all I can spare. Take it an run.’ Nesta whispered into Adva’s ear while pushing a handful of coppers into her dress. Adva pulled back, and eyes wildly followed her friend's frown. A joke surely, but the concern that burnt in Nesta’s eyes was real and true. They were as close as a sister and looked out for each other. Adva would brew potions and balms to help with overactive clients, keep Nesta healthy and pretty and Nesta would mother her, keep away unwanted advances.

‘550 is our final deal’ Cersi spat.

‘It’s a deal of 550 coins. I’ll sign her over. Pleasure, I will be happy to take her back when your bored of her…. She can be a bit of penny pure pants, it attractive in a way but get a little boring after a while.’ Vivian purred and she strolled away, jiggling a coin purse as she went.

‘Cersi! How could you?’ Adva gasped, backing towards the door, wincing as her tight skinned pulled around her healing skin.

‘Adva my dear… I didn’t want you to find out like this. Please understand it isn’t what you think… it will become clear soon.’ Cersi walked over pleading, pulling on of her hand into her own. Snatching her hand away and stood back. Adva couldn’t help it, but she felt disgusted, she knew what happened to most of the orphans who were sold, they would go from one person to the next, most didn’t make it to 25. Slavery was what it was, just because she had no family, she had survived Tradi and she didn’t want to know what was worse than him.

‘Don’t touch me. I thought you were my friend… I am not going anywhere with anyone.’ Adva hissed.

‘I am sorry. I hope you will not hate me for this. Take this with you. It will help you understand. Please forgive me.’ Cersi pleaded, pushing a book into Adva’s hands.

Adva stared at the book for what felt like ages. The Witcher- A history. Turning her head up again she opened her mouth to speak, to argue, to plead but as soon as her eyes met Cersi’s a cloud of yellow flew out of hands, and she inhaled a lungful of bitter herbs, sour and nasty. The room spun, and her eyelids felt heavy, her feet could no longer support her body. The last thing she saw before her vision fell black were Golden orbs and the fate sound of a voice.

‘Take care of her Geralt. If not for her sake for yours.’

So what do you think???? Let me know your predictions or what you want to see! 

[loopyhoopywrites]

The Last Damsel

As Prince Cedrix approached the base of the latest imposing stone tower, he swore to himself that this would be the last. No more quests, no more towers, and please, please, please, no more damsels in distress.

The first hadn't been too bad, although admittedly he had been twelve at the time, and even his father had been forced to admit that maybe marriage wasn't quite on the cards just yet. The second had fortuitously fallen in love with his younger brother, and what an awkward best man's speech that had been. The third had been a close call, but apparently not actually slaying the dragon was classed as cheating. Cedrix had felt a little guilty seeing the princess cry upon being told she'd have to go back to the tower, but it wasn't as if there was a shortage of princes out there. Someone far more bloodthirsty than him was bound to happen by sooner or later.

The forth, fifth and sixth had all been narrow escapes, and the seventh had only been avoided with flat out lies. Needless to say, Sir Perrin had been rather surprised to find himself bestowed full credit for the heroic rescue when he distinctly remembered volunteering to stay outside and guard the horses, but if his postcards were anything to go by it seemed he was more than happy in his new marriage.

Eight through fifteen Cedrix had escaped by the skin of his teeth, but this was now the sixteenth potential bride he'd been sent to rescue, and quite frankly he was running out of ideas. His only unwed brother was not yet seven, his knights had all be ordered to stay behind, and any hopes for a monstrous creature he could fail to slay were somewhat thwarted by the fact nothing was currently trying to eat him. He waited a while longer, on the off chance that the monster had just been delayed slightly, but the tower remained suspiciously unguarded. Reluctantly abandoning that plan Cedrix tethered his faithful steed, leaving the saddle in place in case a quick getaway was required.

Possibly from the princess herself.

Sword in hand, Cedrix trudged toward the tower's entrance, entertaining the idea that maybe if he hacked at it a while, he could give the whole thing up as a bad job and get back to embarrassing his knights on the training field. To his disappointment however, the door was not only so flimsy it would disintegrate should his sword so much as look at it, it was also unlocked. An unusual oversight, but not enough to make Cedrix lower his weapon. Towers designed to hold princesses rarely skimped on the security, and an open door with no guard simply meant that all the traps would be waiting for him inside. Touching the small scar above his left eyebrow, and making a mental note to watch out for swinging axes, Cedrix closed the door behind him and started on up the winding stone staircase.

His ascent was painfully slow, testing each stair before he put his weight on it even as his eyes scanned the walls for any holes or crevices that indicated he was in danger of being shot, stabbed, set on fire, or attacked by a downpour of baby alligators. To his surprise, he made it to the top unscathed, with the exception of a small yet painful bruise on his right shin where he'd misjudged a step. The stairs ended at a second wooden door, and Cedrix paused, partly to catch his breath but mostly to mull over his so-far unheeded progress. This sort of negligence was uncommon in parents who thought imprisoning their daughter in a tower a good matchmaking scheme, and he dreaded to think what horrors awaited him beyond the doorway.

Preparing himself for the inevitable, Cedrix readjusted his grip on his sword and pushed open the door, only to groan in dismay as the lack of defences became all too clear. The room itself was lovely; full of bookshelves with a curved, open window that looked out across the fields beyond. In the middle of the room, however, on what looked less like a bed and more like a large, oak table, led the princess. Her black hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her brown hands were gracefully clasped atop her pale pink dress. Cedrix couldn't make out her features, but he had no doubt that she would be beautiful.

She was also asleep.

Usually, Cedrix would have laughed at the decisively un-princess-like snoring that filled the room. The fact that rescuing princesses from towers now had a 'usual' was somewhat worrying, but this time Cedrix was too busy figuratively banging his head against a wall to find the funny side. An unguarded tower with a sleeping occupant only ever meant one thing, and it was common knowledge that the only way to wake a curse-slumbered princess was with True Love's Kiss.

Which meant that Cedrix had to kiss her.

Were Cedrix any other prince, this wouldn’t have been a problem. Given, however, that Cedrix was gay, and had absolutely no interest in being any girl’s One True Love, he considered it far from ideal.

Figuring the quicker he got on with it, the quicker he could go home, Cedrix sheathed his sword and strode towards the sleeping princess. Had he not been so entirely focused on how quickly he could complete the somewhat unpleasant task currently snoring in front of him, Cedrix might have noticed the large wooden chest peeking out from behind the open door. As it was, however, the object’s presence didn’t come to his attention until his foot connected rather painfully with one of its corners. As a result, Cedrix found himself suddenly grateful that the princess was out cold, for as much as he didn't want to marry her, he also didn't fancy her watching as he hopped frantically around the room, clutching his definitely-broken toe and shouting a variety of curses that were most unbecoming for a member of the royal household.

"Sorry about that."

Cedrix most definitely did not let out a high-pitched screech of surprise, no matter how much someone would later claim otherwise, and he yanked his sword from its scabbard as he spun around, swollen toe shouting in protest. The princess, now most certainly awake, was sat cross-legged on the table, watching Cedrix with amusement. Cedrix stared back, forgetting the pain as everything he’d previously assumed was suddenly chucked out of the open window.

"You're… not a princess."

"Not last I checked," the man said, running a hand through his long hair as he glanced down at himself, pushing aside the pink blanket to reveal a faded grey tunic and breeches, "Sorry to disappoint?"

“What?” Said Cedrix, too busy staring at the dark-skinned, silky-haired, extremely handsome man in front of him to bother listening to what said dark-skinned, silky-haired, extremely handsome man was actually saying.

“Me. Not being a princess,” said the man, seemingly unbothered by the pale, blond intruder rather unsuccessfully threatening him with a sword, “I imagine you’re rather disappointed.”

“What?” Repeated Cedrix eloquently, before remembering that other words existed, “Oh, no. I’m rather pleased actually.” Sheathing his sword, Cedrix bowed.

“Prince Cedrix Tobius Adriin Cristafer of Ithnia, at your service.”

“I’m Tim,” said Tim, giving a little wave, “Hello!”

“Tim,” Cedrix said, straightening from his bow and deciding he may as well cut straight to the chase, “Tell me, how would you feel about becoming a Prince?”

“Well,” Tim said, trying to remember if gaining a royal title had been one of the suggested conversation starters in the A Hermit’s Guide to Friendships, Volume 3: Introductions and Small Talk that was currently hidden under his pillow, “I don’t think I’ve ever really thought about it.”

“Actually,” continued Cedrix, ignoring Tim’s first answer, “It would be Prince Consort, wouldn’t it. What about becoming one of those?”

“Now I know I’ve never thought about that one.”

“Do,” Cedrix ordered, “Don’t take too long though, I’m expected back at the castle by sundown.”

“I- just hang on a moment…”

“Don’t you have anywhere to sit in here?” Cedrix interrupted, glancing disdainfully around the room and its pointedly missing furniture. He briefly considered the rather precarious looking desk, but settled instead for leaning against the least wobbly looking shelf he could find and coughing to cover up the sound of breaking glass as his elbow dislodged a small ornament. Tim didn’t respond, too busy wrestling with the crazy notion that he’d just been proposed to and desperately wishing he hadn’t passed up that chance to purchase A Hermit’s Guide to Friendships, Volume 4.

“What are you even doing here, anyway?”

Now that, Tim could answer.

“I live here.”

“On purpose?”

“Yes?”

“Why?” Cedrix asked.

“I’m a wizard, living in a tower is sort of a requirement,” Tim said with a shrug. “Plus, once you’ve blown up a house or five you learn it’s safer to live somewhere without any neighbours. Besides, you’d be surprised at how cheaply stone towers sell for these days.”

“I thought wizards were rich.” Said Cedrix, thinking of the dent that had been made in the castle treasury that one time his father had needed a hand with a particularly bothersome pixie infestation.

“Not the rubbish ones.” Tim said with a cheerful shrug.

“A position in the royal household would ensure you more funds that you would know what to do with.” said Cedrix, straightening his back and lifting his chin in a well-practiced expression that he considered “alluring”, and everyone else “slightly constipated”.

Tim just blinked, still not entirely certain if the prince was implying what he thought he was implying. He considered his options, then remembered he was about as good at subtlety as he was at being a wizard and decided to just ask.

“So, let me get this straight-”

“I’m not.”

“Sorry?”

“Straight,” Cedrix clarified. “I’m gay, actually. Just to make that clear.”

“Right.”

“Please continue.”

“Um,” said Tim. He then decided that summed up his feelings quite well, so said it again, “Um. This whole Prince Consort thing. Are you proposing?”

“I thought that was obvious?” Cedrix said, furrowing his brow, “It’s fairly well accepted that rescuing a princess from a tower results in marriage, although why we couldn’t just stick to a bended knee and a shiny ring is beyond me. Far less dangerous. Granted, you’re not a princess…”

“And you haven’t exactly rescued me,” Tim felt obliged to point out, “Given that I live here and all.”

“The point remains,” continued Cedrix, dismissing Tim’s objection with a haughty sniff, “That I made it to the top of your tower, and am now well within my rights to claim you as my spouse. Which, given that you’re the first person I’ve been sent to rescue who I actually find myself attracted to, I am more than willing to do.”

“Right,” said Tim, who was suddenly rather glad that he was still sitting down on top of his table-slash-bed, because his knees appeared to have gone rather weak, “Do I get a choice in all of this?”

“I suppose.” Cedrix said, raising an eyebrow as if the very idea of such a thing hadn’t even occurred to him. Given how those he’d previously rescued had flung themselves at him and had to be practically beaten off with a sword, it probably hadn’t.

“I’m not saying no!” Tim quickly clarified. He might not have been the smartest wizard in the tower, but an extremely attractive prince apparently wanted to marry him, and even Tim wasn’t brainless enough to pass up that opportunity.

“Excellent.” Cedrix, looking extremely pleased with himself and smugly imagining the horror on his father’s face when he showed up and announced he’d found himself a husband, bowed, one hand outstretched toward the door, “In that case, my steed awaits.”

Tagging the tag list @raevenlywrites​ @livvywrites​ @ecritetmort​ - thanks for your interest and support! I really hope you enjoyed it, and I’d love to hear what you think.

To anyone else who made it to the end, thank you so much for reading and I hope you liked it! I’m currently working on what I’m calling the Extended Edition; using an edited version of this as the opening to a novel that follows Cedrix, Tim and two others on a Quest to find The Hermit’s Guide to Friendships: Volume 4. Check out my WIP page if you’re interested!

[asian-hero]

Damsel doing Damage

i’ve been gone for 1000 years so take this dimitri/reader fic where the blue lions are sent to help a village in distress, but little do they know that the villagers can defend themselves

this is a direct product from this prompt list, when I was trying to find some inspiration

When the professor had come into the blue lions classroom with a mission to help out a nearby village who were currently under attack, Dimitri thought it would be just a regular mission, where they’d provide aide and rescue the villagers who couldn’t help themselves. As sad as it was to him, he’d grown used to the difficult missions the monetary would give to them, so having to help out another village would be just another normal day. 

However, when the class had arrived, they expected the village to be nearly destroyed, with those who lived there fleeing for their lives and begging to be saved. Now, while the village itself was destroyed, with houses being caught on fire, many of the villagers, rather than running away in fear, were fighting off the raiders with whatever they had: axes, sickles, and even rakes. To Dimitri, it was rather impressive that these villagers could hold off these bandits with such mediocre items as weapons. 

Shaking his head, he tuned into his professor, who was currently going over their battle strategy and how to cause the least amount of casualties possible. Eventually his professor’s talking slowed, and he was soon ushered onto the battleground to help out. He couldn’t help but feel a shiver go up his spine at how easily he cut down them down, how it was merely second nature for him, almost as simple as breathing. He continued to spiral out of control, his thoughts ushering him to take as many bandits out as possible, and he would’ve forgotten his main task, had not a loud, piercing scream pull him out of his trance.

Once he whipped his head around, the first thing Dimitri noticed was a rather small girl, around the same age as him, being cornered by two large raiders. She held up a sickle in her small hands, protecting her from the incoming attacks from the others. He couldn’t help the drop in his stomach as he watched the larger of the two attackers raise his axe, plunging it down upon her. Before he could even process what his body was doing, he dashed towards the trio, raising his lance in an offensive position. Just as the bandit’s axe came crashing down, it was met by the steel of Dimitri’s lance, causing sparks to fly. Pushing his lance forward, he effectively caused the other to stumble, giving him an opportunity to strike. He quickly disarmed the man and didn’t bother chasing after him as he ran away. 

While watching the first bandit run away, Dimitri failed to notice the second charging for him, his sword swung back and ready to cut cleanly through him. A battle cry rang through the air, and as Dimitri prepared to defend himself, the other stopped in his tracks. Looking down, the two of them noticed the sickle that plunged itself through his stomach. As it was ripped out of him, the bandit crumpled to his knees, the life slowly leaving his eyes. Glancing back up, he noticed the small girl huffing, her weapon hanging low to the ground. Walking up to her, Dimitri put his hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you for your help,” he started, before looking out towards the remaining raiders, “You should escape while you still can.”

Thinking she would follow his advice, he turned his back to run back to the rest of his class. However, right as he stepped forward, he heard her speak:

“Excuse me?”

When he turned around, he was met with an annoyed look on the girl’s face, her hands tightening on the handle of her sickle.

“Pardon my manners, your princeliness, but do you think I’m going to run away while my village is being destroyed?”

Dimitri’s eyes widened, shock crossing his boyish face. He shook off his surprise from her abrasiveness and opened his mouth to speak, “There is no need to put yourself in more danger, we’re here to help.”

His words didn’t seem to calm her, however, as she rolled her eyes and scoffed. “I’m not some ‘damsel in distress,’ you know,” She raised her weapon as evidence, “I’m a damsel doing damage.”

With that, the girl ran back into the battle, not one bit of fear radiating from her. Dimitri stood in place for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Deciding to deal with it later, he threw himself back into the fight as well, doing his best to defend those who were still in trouble.

It didn’t take much longer for the remaining bandits to be disbanded, some running for their lives while others stood their ground until their demise. The professor went and talked to some of the elders of the village while Mercedes and Anette helped out with those who needed healing. Sylvain, Ingrid, and, despite his protesting, Felix, had gone to help fix some of the damage the bandits had done to the houses and fencings. Dedue reluctantly left his lord’s side in order to help Ashe reunite the children with their parents. 

Having nothing left to do, Dimitri decided to look for the girl he seemed to offend on the battlefield. He convinced himself that he wanted to find her purely so he could apologize for upsetting her, but he couldn’t fight off the warm feeling in his stomach when thinking about seeing her again. It was fascinating to him that someone so small could be so strong. Seeing her go from being cornered by two large men to slicing one down sent a flutter to Dimitri’s heart that he didn’t quite understand. 

After a few more minutes of walking, he finally found her, sitting on a nearby tree stump, cleaning her sickle. She didn’t seem to notice him walking closer, in fact, it took him gently clearing his throat to get her attention. As soon as she noticed him, she jumped slightly, her sickle  falling out of her hands and onto the patch of grass beneath her. Looking up at him, she quickly bowed, her face heating up.

“Your highness!”

Dimitri laughed, ushering the girl to rise. “There’s no need for such formalities, after all, you didn’t seem to care who I was on the battlefield.”

He could practically see the steam coming out from the girl’s ears. Bowing her head, she spoke:

“I apologize for my behavior, I don’t know what came over me.”

Dimitri shook his head, a faint smile tracing his lips. “No, you have no need to apologize, rather, I am the one who should apologize to you.”

At this, her head lifted, a puzzled look gracing her face. “What for?”

The prince’s smile grew slightly as he bowed to her. He could hear the whispers from the others, wondering why the Prince of Faerghus was bowing to a commoner, but he ignored them.

“I apologize for upsetting you earlier. I should’ve been kinder when you were already in a worried state,”

He would’ve said more, had it not been for the girl’s hands frantically pulling him back up. When he looked back up, he was met with her flustered face, eyes darting to look at anything but him. Had she been one of his friends, he would’ve teased her about it.

“It’s alright, your highness, truly. You did nothing wrong, I was just being stubborn.”

He nodded, noting that they would’ve gone in circles if he’d continued to apologize. “Well, I’d still like to thank you, then, miss?”

“(y/n),” She said, smiling.

“Miss (y/n),” He repeated, his smile mirroring her’s.

Right before he could say anything else, someone had called her name, asking for assistance. Looking back at the prince, (y/n) frowned.

“Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, your highness. Thank you for coming to help us.” She bowed one last time before hurrying off to where she was needed.

Dimitri let his eyes linger on the spot where (y/n) stood for a little longer. He was both grateful and disappointed that she was gone. Grateful, for the fact that she wouldn’t see his bright red face, and disappointed because he didn’t know when he’d be able to see her again.

Sighing, he began his walk back to his group, as they’d probably be ready to head back. He looked back towards the area where she stood one last time, before leaving. Perhaps he’d see her around Garreg Mach sometime, to come and pray to the goddess.

In the meantime, he’d go to the cathedral every free day to see if she’s there, waiting for him as well.

[the--sad--hatter]

My Big Fat Fake Wedding (Steve x Reader)

WARNINGS - IMPLIED, REFERENCED SMUT, STALKING. 

PAIRING - STEVE ROGERS X READER

I combined several requests to make this because my brain is sleep deprived and hopped up on energy juice and it seemed like a good idea. 

 8: “Oh no… there’s only one bed… whatever shall we do?” “You do realize we are dating right?” – With Steve

 9: “I know you like to make an entrance but that was ridiculous.” – With Steve, Bucky and Sam

 7: “Are you masturbating in there?” “It’s my electric toothbrush!” – With Bucky and/or Steve

My Big Fat Fake Wedding (1/2)

It all started with a simple, run of the mill mission. A group of bank robbers, clad in ridiculous rubber masks. It was hardly an Avengers level threat until one of the robbers shot green flames from his hands and suddenly the police decided that it was above their payroll and frankly, you didn’t blame them. So a small group of Avengers went in, rescued the hostages and took down the robbers. It went smoothly and was over in seconds.

 But it changed everything.

One lucky paparazzi managed to sneak a picture of Captain America, chastely kissing the lips of the Woman who’d punched the flaming robber in the face. Steve had been proud of you, and a little turned on. He’d slipped up, kissing you in public. Suddenly the word was out and the whole world knew about the First Avenger and his Bad-Guy punching, Avenging lady love.

 That was when the letters started.

  Everyone thinks he’s the Golden Boy, but he’s not good enough for you. Nobody is.

  You’re mine. Not anyone else’s.

  I know you play the hero but I see the darkness in you. It matches the darkness in me.

  Will he ever know you the way I know you?

  Will he accept you the way I do?

  They somehow made it into your fanmail and even Tony and Natasha were drawing a blank when trying to trace the sender. Whoever he was, he wasn’t ready to step out of the shadows, choosing instead to remain unseen but not unheard.

 “I can’t believe I have a stalker!” You said.

 “You’re not really famous until you have a stalker.” Clint agreed.

 “I know! It’s so cool!” You crowed.

 Steve stopped his pacing to shoot you a look of disbelief.

 “I mean creepy. It’s so creepy.” You amended quickly.

 “Please take this seriously. Please.” Steve begged and you made a zipping motion across your lips.

 “Cap relax, she’s not the first Avenger to have a stalker and I doubt she’ll be the last. Even if this weirdo crawls out of his basement to try and get to her, he has to get past all of us and you to do so. Even then, if he pulls all that off, he has to face her.” Natasha pointed out calmly.

 “She’s right, he’s just some creep with a crush. Chances are he’ll never act on this and if he does, he won’t get near her.” Sam agreed.

 “Why am I the only one worried about this?” Steve snapped.

 “You aren’t.” Bucky said, crossing his arms and glaring at you.

 “Down boy.” You said, smirking at the brunette super soldier and while his face remained impassive you saw the amusement in his eyes.

 “How about this. We’ll up security on her for a while, she can wear a tracker, take one of us with her when she leaves and we’ll have all her fanmail sorted through before it gets here.” Tony offered.

 “Do I get a say in this?” You asked, raising your hand.

 “No.” Steve said straight away and when everyone winced and backed away from you he realised his mistake.

 “Uh, I have an urgent… thing. Away from here.” Clint said and bolted, mostly everyone following him until it was only you, Bucky and Steve left.

 “Sorry pal, you’re on your own here.” Bucky said apologetically, slipping out of the room.

 Steve shot him a look of betrayal  before he looked at you warily.

 “So you wanna tag me, keep me under lock and key?” You snarled.

 “That’s not what I meant.” Steve said.

 “Really? Because that’s what it sounded like Captain. You think I’m so helpless and fragile that I’m in terrible danger from a fanboy.”

 “No.”

 “I’ve been looking after myself a long time, I can handle Hydra, Aliens, Inhumans, and Super Soldiers if I need to. I’m not now nor have I ever been helpless and you don’t get to ride in on your white horse and play Prince Charming to my damsel in distress!” You raged.

 “IT’S MY FAULT!” He shouted, breaking through your anger.

 “What?”

 “I kissed you. You were so fierce, so irresistible in that moment and I slipped up, I kissed you. I outed us and now there’s someone sending you these horrible letter because of what I did. I know you can take care of yourself, it’s why I lo… admire you so much but if something did happen, if he so much as left a tiny bruise on you then I would never forgive myself.” Steve said.

 His eyes were bright and shining, pleading with you to understand. He had all but fallen to his knees in desperation for you to hear what he was saying and you did, you heard it. You uncrossed your arms and flung yourself at him, his arms catching you automatically and his head lowering so his lips met yours. You melted into the kiss, into the feel of his warmth.

 As much as the apple pie comparison was a cliché when it came to Steve, it was accurate. He was comforting, familiar and delicious with just a touch of spice and heat. Enclosed in his arms, pressed against his chest and his lips moving in perfect tandem with yours always gave you that deeply content feeling in your soul and lit a fire in your blood.

 “Do whatever you have to do to keep me safe Steve.” You whispered against his lips.

 His fingers threaded through your hair, cradling the back of your head while his other hand pressed into the small of you back and he kissed you again, pouring all the unspoken love between you into it.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

 The letters kept coming. At first they were every couple of weeks, the weekly, then every few days until there was a new letter every day. They always carried the same message, that Steve Rogers was unworthy and you didn’t belong with him. They grew more detailed, more frenzied and dangerous in tone until the day they went too far and it wasn’t Steve that snapped, it was you.

 “I don’t care how difficult he is to find, I want everyone on this. I want this sociopath found.” You demanded, slamming the latest letter down on the table.

 Bucky stood behind you on your right side, like a dark shadow. He was the first person you had gone to when the letter arrived and his anger, while quieter and more sinister than yours, was just as potent.

 Your stalker had crossed a line, and a big one. He was no longer satisfied with just insulting Steve, leaving thinly veiled threats. He had written a manifesto, a detailed plan on the grisly ways he wanted to kill Captain America while you watched, as a punishment for your ‘bad judgment’. It was so sickening, so horrific that while Bucky had been reading it, you had been in the bathroom, throwing up.

 “We’ve tried everything, looed into every avenue and lead. Whoever he is, he’s really good at hiding. There’s nothing we can do to track him down.” Natasha said apologetically.

 “Then lets stop looking for him and bring him to us.” Tony suggested.

 “Yes!” You said snapping your fingers and pointing at Tony.

 “You and Cap have been dating for a while now, don’t you think it’s time you two kids tied the knot?” Tony suggested, smirking at you.

 “No!” You said, your eyes going comically wide.

 “Wait, no. That could work. We plan a public wedding, make a big deal out of it. It might just push this guy over the edge and bring him into the open.” Bucky said from behind you.

 You glanced at Steve who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meeting and was now refusing to meet your eye.

 “Do it.” He decided, standing up.

 “What?” You yelped.

 “You told me to do whatever I had to do, so I’m doing it.” Steve said, still refusing to look at you.

 “Steve…”

 “It’s a fake wedding, we just need to put on a show to lure him out. Stark will take care of it, put on a big affair. He won’t be able to stand by and let it happen and then we’ll have him.” Natasha reasoned with you.

 “You really want to do this?” You asked Steve.

 He clenched his jaw tightly and nodded once.

 “Fine. Fine, I guess we’re getting married.” You snapped, storming out of the room.

 “Wait up.” Bucky called after you when you were halfway down the corridor.

 You looked over your shoulder and saw that he was alone. You scoffed loudly and carried on walking.

 “I know you’re not happy about this but neither is he. Steve doesn’t want a big fake wedding. It’s got to be killing him to do this but he’s doing it anyway, not because he was threatened but because you were.” Bucky snapped and you slowed down and turned back to face him.

 “He hasn’t even told me if he loves me, I don’t know if he does. And now I’ve got to marry him? To trap the physco who is threatening him? I’m allowed to be upset about it Buck and it shouldn’t be you chasing after me, it should be Steve.” You said, leaning against the wall and sighing heavily.

 “Want my advice?”

 “No.”

 “Don’t wait for him to say it. Wait for him to show it because Steve Rogers has always been better with actions than words.” Bucky suggested.

 “I know but…”

 “But?” Bucky asked.

 “He’s Steve. How can I believe he loves me when I’m so clearly not worthy?” You asked honestly.

 “You’re not Thor and he’s not Mjolnir. It’s not a case of being worthy and even if it was, you’re far too good for that punk.” Bucky said, smiling at you.

 “AW Buck, that was clever and sweet. Two characteristics nobody expects from you. You wanna sit down? Need a nap? Your brain must be hurting.” You quipped.

 “See if I’m ever nice to you again, sassy little shit.” He grumbled, stomping away.

 “Hey, old man?” You called after him.

 “What?” He snapped.

 “Wanna give me away?”

 He stopped dead and looked back at you, shocked. There was a flicker of joy in his eyes before he masked it with a scowl.

 “Fine, but I don’t do returns.” He said harshly, thought there was a flicker of a smirk on his face.

 ~~~~~~

 Over the next three weeks, Tony and Pepper went all out and put together the most over the top wedding that had ever been planned. Notices and invitations were sent, announcements were put in the newspaper, Pepper cornered you and dragged you to a dress fitting.

 “It’s a fake wedding!” You insisted.

 “But it has to look real. So you need a dress.” She told you.

 “As long as I can move in it and it has pockets, I’m good.”

 “You want a wedding dress with pockets?” Tony asked in confusion.

 “Yes…”

 “Why?”

 “For knives, chewing gum, my phone.”  You listed.

 “Fair enough.” He said with a shrug.

 Throughout the whole three weeks, Steve used any excuse he could to avoid you. Somehow, you were never in the same room as him alone. He was perfectly polite and caring when he saw you, kissing you on the cheek and smiling at you adoringly. Yet as soon as it was just the two of you, he would suddenly have something urgent to take care of. It was breaking your heart and you were sure he was pulling away.

 If it wasn’t for the flowers, the chocolate’s, the muffin basket and the little texts you would have been convinced you were over.

 Finally it was the night before the big ‘fake’ day. The whole team was whisked away the large estate in The Hamptons where the sting operation was going down.

 And Steve could avoid you anymore.

 “The Master bedroom, for the happy couple!” Tony announced, all but shoving you both through the door and slamming it closed behind you.

 You and Steve looked at each other awkwardly before you broke first and looked away first, checking out the bedroom.

 “Oh no… there’s only one bed… whatever shall we do?” You said dramatically and jumped onto the bed, striking a ridiculous pose.

 “You do realize we are dating right?” Steve asked you, looking befuddled before nervous.

 “Do you not want to share a bed with me? I can sleep on the floor.” He offered quickly, turning red.

 “Are we dating Steve? Because I haven’t seen you in weeks.” You said bitterly, fluffing a pillow up and settling back on it.

 He tentatively came and sat on the edge of the bed next to you, his back to you.

 “When I was young, I believed I would meet a girl and marry her. Then I always got sick and I thought no girl was gonna marry a guy who probably wouldn’t even survive the first year of marriage. When I met Peggy, I thought about it again but then I went into the ice and when I came out the world was different, I was different. So I put those notions behind me again. Then there was you and all those thoughts, they started popping up again and I didn’t know how to deal with them. I’m actually finally getting married, to the girl of my dreams. But it’s a sham.” He said softly.

 “Just because the wedding is fake, it doesn’t mean we are.” You told him, blinking back tears.

 “Is it something you want? I know not everyone does these days.” He asked, his shoulder tensed.

 You sat forwards and leaned on into his arm, pressing your lips to his bicep and lacing your fingers with his.

 “I want you Steve. We’ve barely begun and I don’t know where we’re going yet, but I do want you.” You said.

 He turned his head to look at you.

 “Do you mean that?” he asked.

 “Wholeheartedly.”

 For the first time in weeks he kissed you again and you felt complete. You felt at home. When he undressed you and kissed every part of you, you fell deeper into a state of bliss and when he took you into his arms and made love to you, your soul soared.

 ~~~~~~

 Even fake weddings were stressful and your wedding dress seemed to be glaring angrily at you from where it was hanging on the back of the bathroom door. You dabbed the concealer that you had begged off of Wanda onto the faint lovebites on your throat and sighed, gripping the edge of the sink tightly, trying to calm down. You felt like you were on the verge of a panic attack and all the noise and people had been getting under your skin so you had kicked everyone out, choosing to get ready alone.

 You pinned your hair up in a sort of messy but looks messy on purpose, tousled kind of look. Your make up was done, hickeies were covered, hair was styled… all that was left was the dress. You fidgeted and meandered, checking your reflection in the mirror again, looking for something to fix. You convinced yourself there was a stain on your teeth and pulled your toothbrush and toothpaste out of your toiletries bag. Just as you were starting to wonder if you even had any enamel left on your pearly whites, you heard the bedroom door open and let out a frustrated moan at the thought of interaction.

 “Are you masturbating in there?” Bucky asked bluntly through the door.

 “It’s my electric toothbrush!” You called, switching it off.

 He pushed the door open and glared at your fluffy bathrobe while you glared at his whole person.

 “Shouldn’t you be wearing something a little more bridal and less slumber party?” He asked.

 “Go to many slumber parties do you?” You asked, immediately giggling at the mental image of Bucky having his hair braided and watching Clueless while eating Ben and Jerry’s, face mask on and pink nail polish included.

 He rolled his eyes at you and plucked the dress off of the back of the door, tossing it at you.

 “Get dressed.” He instructed.

 “Make me.” You said childishly.

 He raised an eyebrow at you and took a menacing step towards you.

 “Ok, Ok, I’ll do it!” You yelped.

 “Good girl.” He said, patting you on the head and leaving the bathroom while you scowled after him.

 You pulled your robe off, muttering insults under your breath while you stepped into the dress. You yanked the door open and Bucky immediately snorted.

 “What?” You asked in a panic.

 “Steve’s going to have an asthma attack when he see’s you.” Bucky sniggered.

 “He doesn’t have asthma anymore…”

 “You’re about to bring it back.” Bucky said.

 “You know what, I’m taking that as a compliment.” You decided, turning around and gesturing to the zipper on the back of the dress.

 Bucky got the hint and stepped forwards to zip you up.

 “Really though, how do I look?” You asked seriously.

 He turned you around and put his hands on your shoulders to make sure you were looking at him when he answered.

 “Worthy.”

 ~~~~~~

 “I’m going to kill Stark!” You announced.

 You were waiting outside the hall where the ceremony was about to be held. Steve, your guests, The Avengers, they were all waiting just beyond the doors for the ‘wedding’. It was really happening, and then you had happened to glance up to the ceiling.

 “You might want to save it until you’ve killed Thor.” Bucky warned, watching the side door intently with his head cocked to the side as he listened to something that you couldn’t hear.

 You traced the elaborate set up along the ceiling with your eyes until you found the release mechanism. You glared at one of the staff.

 “You there, stand next to that rope and no matter what, do not, under any circumstances, let anyone pull it!” You ordered.

 You were so stressed and adamant that the poor girl immediately scurried over to it and stood in front of it trembling. At the same moment, Bucky suddenly released your arm and dived to the left.

 That was when all hell broke loose.

 A goat, an actual goat came bounding around the corner, bleating loudly. The girl guarding the rope jumped in fright and suddenly everything happened in slow motion.

 The doors swung open as the first notes of ‘Here Comes The Bride’ Were played by the string quartet Tony had hired, the girl lost her balance and instinctively grabbed the rope to break her fall and yanked it down. One thousand red, white and blue balloons fell down from the ceiling, showering you and floating through the open doors. The terrified goat wriggled out of Bucky’s arms and bounded away, skipping past you and straight down the aisle.

 You stood there, in shock as the whole ceremony stared at you.

 Clint was the first one to laugh, followed by Tony.

 “I know you like to make an entrance but that was ridiculous.” Sam shouted at you, from his spot next to a very awestruck Steve.

A/N This was getting stupidly long so I had to split it into two parts!