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happytroopers · 3 years

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In Another Life // Jedi! Reader x Wolffe

Uhhh, hi again. As per usual inspiration struck as I was watching tik Tok so I wrote this in one go on my bathroom floor lmao

basically: Reader is a Jedi trying to sort through some unjedi like thoughts about a certain Commander. Very dramatic, definitely needs to hold a damn hand. Jedi.exe stops working at the thought

warnings: mentions of gun/ GSW’s, blood, unrequited(?), two idiots with the combined emotional maturity of grapefruit

__________

Close your eyes... deep breath... don’t think about what could have been... open your eyes...

Upon reopening, your tired eyes examined the inky black void of space through the view port. There was a certain beauty in the simplicity of empty space that gave you some semblance of peace after such a hectic battle- the deep black velvet with pin pricks of pure starlight to interrupt the darkness, the idea of far off systems of planets teeming with mundane life as if other planets weren’t collapsing into war ravaged debris piles.

Once again you closed your eyes again to recenter yourself, another deep breath was lost to the usual dull chatter of the bridge as your lightsaber seemed to weigh down you hip more than usual.

You looked back to the stars, ignoring your own dim reflection in the transperisteel. This time you let your mind wander back to these unbothered planets, much like the one you were born on before being taken to the temple. You didn’t really remember your family- you often wondered if you had siblings, older or younger, were your parents kind, did you take after your mother or more after your father... what would you be doing if your were still with them? Perhaps you’d be in the workforce instead of a War General, maybe married to a someone who had grown up in the same town as you, would you have children?

An unwelcome flash of a well known face caused your mind to run with it. Letting your mind manifest a kind of mental holovid showing you a life you didn’t and could never have.

In this daydream you watched a version of yourself stumble through life, this version softer and more carefree without deadly weapons strapped to you or armor weighing down your light steps. Had this version of you ever even been wounded? Fought any battle? Surely this version of you hadn’t comforted dying soldiers and made tough battle calls, your eyes seemed too bright. Another figure appeared in your mind, even your physical form relaxed, Wolffe, the man you’d come to love despite your determination not to....

Even in this daydream where he was sans armor and unscarred, you’d always be able to pick him out of a crowd. He gave ‘softer-you’ a small smile before gingerly kissing their forehead. They/you relaxed into the gesture even with so many people bustling around- clearly you never had to worry about the consequences of your attachments. Normal people didn’t have to, being in love was a natural as the rivers of Naboo.

The image changed, their was a ring on your finger as your hands cupped Wolffe’s face for a sweet kiss. People who almost looked like you- family you supposed- clapped and cheered as Wolffe escorted you down the aisle. A wedding, normal people get married.

Another image, this time of a large hand rested against a bulbous stomach- your round stomach. Wolffe was smiling proudly before he kissed the top of your head. Normal people have kids.

You smiled softly at the cookie-cutter life you had come up with in a matter of minutes- an entire life planned out with a man you’d never dare tell your feelings to much less act on them. A true relationship, friends, marriage, houses, kids, jobs- no code or regulations, blaster fire or duels... Normalcy.

"What do you see out there, General?" A sudden voice shocked you out of your reverie. You jumped, startled, not used to people being able to sneak up on you. Suddenly your cheeks were red (a new phenomenon since you had met the commander of the 104th) as your eyes met one amber eye and one cybernetic eye- both trying to hide the amusement at your reaction.

"Wolffe, I thought I told you to call me (Y/N)." You tried to keep your tone even as your forced yourself to turn your gaze back to the view port. Allowing him to call you by your name was as far as your were willing to involve him in your forbidden delusions of romance.

"Sorry, si- (Y/N), I...didn’t mean to startle you." He apologized, his tone almost questioning. He truly hadn’t meant to, usually he couldn’t even if he wanted to- typically you could feel his force signature from across the cruiser. "Are you alright?"

"Just too tangled up in my thoughts." You mused, already mentally shredding the daydream as if that would also purge the relentless fluttering in your stomach, "Besides, I should be asking you that. I thought you were in the medbay being treated for a blaster wound."

That was another truth, you were under the impression that Wolffe was injured and probably arguing with whatever poor medic was ordering bedrest. And while the commander’s injury was probably the root source of your silent identity crisis, that was why you were so comfortable creating fantasies in the open space of the bridge- most of the other soldier’s actively avoided any Jedi when they had that vague, aloof face on (for fear of existential riddles and other ‘mystical drivel’ Jedi were known to hand out). Wolffe, however, never seemed to mind approaching you- even if all you had to offer was cheap wit and Jedi proverbs. If you had known he’d won the argument with the medic, you would have gone off to "mediate" in your quarters.

You allowed yourself to give him a once over, noting the bandages peeking out from under his deck officer’s uniform (you knew how much he hated that uniform, so you figured the medic confiscated his armor until he was cleared for duty). Wolffe shrugged, stiffly rotating his left shoulder as if to show you he was fine, "I’ve had worse."

You couldn’t help the half scoff, half chuckle that escaped you before you steadied your gaze back on the stars. You had seen him with worse- in the middle of battle with shrapnel wounds but still clawing his way to victory, stealthily mowing threw droids with a concussion during a rescue mission, blood dripping out a half cauterized lightsaber wound to his eye after you and Plo Koon forced Asajj off of him and he still managed to push through it to yell orders into his comms unit. Yes, of course, you’d seen him with worse, but that didn’t erase the worry you felt when you were informed that he’d been shot in the middle of that day’s battle. It didn’t erase the pain you felt in the force through your connection with him, nor did it erase the feeling of rage and vengeance that you had to push out of your mind for the rest of the fight.

Instead of voicing any of those thoughts, you simply hummed in acknowledgment, contenting yourself with being near him. Even unaware of your affection, his mere presence was calming. As usual, the Commander didn’t mind your silence, giving you the same once over your gave him before mirroring your position. He stood comfortably by your side, eyes searching for whatever you were staring at as he informed you, "I was told that General Plo Koon has been cleared for active duty again, effective as soon as we arrive back to Coruscant."

You nodded calmly, you had been told this too. Your time with the 104th as their interim general was coming to a close. Three months hadn’t seemed like that long until the report had put it in perspective for you- and yet three months was all it took for you to break a lifetime of teaching on the dangers of attachments. Probably for the best that you wouldn’t be around Wolffe on the daily, you could rededicate yourself to the Jedi lifestyle (even if now you realized you had never been quite adjusted to it anyway).

"I’m sure the Wolffe pack will be happy to have him back." Was all you said on the matter. Wolffe nodded before sparing you another glance.

"They will, but they’ll miss you too." He told you. You met his gaze and almost flinched at the amount of sincerity you found there. When he said they, you could only wonder... hope that he also meant he would miss you. The two of you held the stare for longer than you should have allowed with all of the other deck officer’s mulling about- you were sure someone was probably watching and wondering what was going on between the two of you (the answer was nothing, for better or for worse, but the last thing you needed was rumors floating about). As if Wolffe was thinking along the same lines, he cleared his throat before adding on, "They like having you around; they say your not like other Jedi."

‘Other Jedi’ (and you had a few in mind) would have taken offense to that, probably reprimanded the Commander for addressing them so casually followed by a scolding about how it doesn’t matter if the men like or don’t like having them around.

You just breathed a quiet laugh, thinking to yourself, "So they think so too."

Another silence fell over the pair of you, as you both pretended not to sneak peripheral glances at each other. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep those daydreams from filling your head as you stood there. Instead of the viewport, you lowered you gaze to the floor hoping to appear as if your were deep in thought. This kept you from looking at Wolffe’s face, which was probably for the best, but now in our peripheral your eyes landed on his hand. It was relaxed by his side, long fingers idly grazing the seam of his trousers- usually, in his armor, he’d be wearing gloves but in this uniform his copper skin stood out against the gray, dim metal landscape of the bridge. In another life, you’d easily take his hand, see how it felt in yours- was his skin soft or calloused, would your fingers interlock or would your hands press together, would his hands be warm, would he seek out your touch as well? But in this life, you tore your gaze away from his hand- grateful for the long sleeves of your cloak the his your hands as they clenched into fists to ground yourself to this reality.

Before you could completely shove the idea out of your head, an invitation spilled out of your lips, "I’m going to the mess, if you’d like to join. That is, if you haven’t already eaten?"

Wolffe seemed pleasantly surprised at the offer- one you hadn’t made in a week or so after your effort to avoid him when possible (not that he knew that was the reason), "Lead the way, General."

Despite his words, Wolffe, as he always did, kept easy stride beside you. Whereas any other trooper or any Jedi that was younger than you would fall behind you, and any Jedi that outranked you would walk in front of you- he was always directly beside you. A simple gesture, though it was, seemed like a monument- and it was never something he or you asked or talked about. He just fell instep with you because it felt right for him to be there. It was nice to have someone to walk side by side through life with, even for a short time. Sometimes, you’d find yourself instinctively looking up for him even when he wasn’t around- and being sad when you didn’t find him.

"Uh, General?" You vaguely heard as you continued to chew on your lip, not even considering someone was calling to you until it was followed up with a slightly more forceful, "(Y/N)!"

You snapped out of your thoughts immediately at the sound of your name, looking instinctively to your side for Wolffe, but he wasn’t there. Your head swiveled in confusion only to find him several paces back, staring after you. Absentmindedly, you wondered why he stopped as you halted yourself waiting for him to catch up. He didn’t move, instead gesturing to the door he stopped in front of, "... The mess? Isn’t that where we were going?"

Instantly, that pesky flush crept back to your cheeks. You were so caught up in your thoughts about Wolffe the you had not only left him behind, but also forgot what you were doing. Shuffling back to him, you tried to get your voice steady, "Right, right, yes, apologies."

Wolffe watched you carefully as you avoided his gaze, carding the doors open. If you didn’t know him, you wouldn’t have heard the concern in his voice when he asked, "Are you sure you’re alright, gen- (Y/N)?"

You gave him a soft smile and a nod in an attempt to convince him, but he simply raised an eyebrow in return- clearly not swayed by the meager display. Any other day you would have argued with him, assuring him you were ok, but now you didn’t trust your voice not to raise several octaves.

And besides, you most definitely were not alright. Your time with the 104th was coming to a close, and you were trying to convince you slowly breaking heart that it was a good thing. ____

perhaps a pt 2?

#commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #wolffe

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

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Ad Libitum I

Warnings: nonconsensual sex (series, to be warned later on)

This is dark!Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are face with the opportunity of a lifetime, however you might have told a rather big lie to get there.

Note: I promise my other series are still going. I have half chapters I’m chipping away at every day! For now I’ll post the intro to my first Victorian AU.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

‘For the consideration of one, Mister Everet Ede.

After a close and contented reading of your recent piece ‘The Oyster’s Wealth’ in Cornhill Magazine, I write you to present an offer upon your skills.

Your work does show potential and I believe, as an editor and an author myself, it would benefit both parties should I aid you in refining such talent. While your writing does prove adequate and at times, provoking, there is much a young writer might learn from one as esteemed and experienced as myself.

Under the marquee of my own publication, The Asp’s Tongue, and my name, I would extend to you an offer of residence and should it prove productive, a place upon my list of regular authors.

It was only two years ago that my journal opted to discontinue our bursary for writers but it is in my own purview, aside from those of my investors, that young minds require honing and it is upon my own coffers that I do make this offer of sponsorship for your development as an author.

Should you choose to accept, I would expect your arrival upon the first Sunday of June at my estate of Emerald Hills. You will come with all that is required for your education; nibs, ink, paper, et cetera, as well as any personal possessions required for daily existence. Your board will be allotted by manor throughout your residency. Aside from that, you would require only your wit and basic literary competency.

I expect confirmation of your acceptance by the last day of April so that I may have the manor prepared for your arrival. Tardiness in all matters will not be tolerated.

I anticipate a valuable and vibrant professional accord,

Lord Loki Laufeyson, Duke of Wynselm

Founder and Operator of Laufey’s Publishing’

You read the letter once more. The folds of the paper were deep and fragile, the corners curling from your repeated reviews. In the months since its delivery, you had memorised ever curlicue of its script. It was better than any letter of acceptance you’d ever received. The only flaw was the pseudonym across the top. One day, you hoped, it would be your true name that greeted you.

The coach rocked and you caught yourself against the side, jostled atop the hard wooden seat. You shifted in your stiff skirts and peeked out the window. There was still doubt. Still anxiety. You’d accepted the offer without a thought and without much explanation.

What would the great lord publisher think of you? A woman masquerading as a writer? Well, you hoped that he might overcome the shock and uphold his integrity. It was your work he had read. It was your words which had driven him to write. So why should your sex change the merit of your skill?

There was a sinking feeling in your stomach. It was a slim hope you had, truly. You expected him to laugh you back to your measly London apartment like all the other editors you had ever dared face beyond the stain of your inkwell. Had this all been for not? Another prospect dissolved by that feminine curse?

Besides, even if you were a man, the Duke was infamously misanthropic. It was reported in the papers that he hadn’t left Emerald Hills in several years. That he had grown cynical of society, not so much as submitting a sentence to his very own periodicals. So it was with great surprise that you’d received his letter and with greater hesitation. His reputation was not one of a fond patron but rather a unyielding despot.

Yet it was an opportunity you did not expect to ever occur again, so you leapt, without thinking, and now your fear bubbled in your chest. To have come all this way and to be told what you’d always been told. To be denied again. In the flesh, you could not be Everet Ede, you could not hide behind your pen. Perhaps his own penchant for artifice might soften his rigid spine.

The manor stood on the highest hill in Wynselm. The gates were locked and a solemn doorman appeared from a small shed to open them. You pulled the curtain shut, afraid you would be found out before even breaking the threshold. The coach rumbled up the winding and steep path and stopped just before the broad stone steps.

You peeked out as the driver stepped down from his perch. You waited a moment, watching the front doors of the manor. It seemed as if the entire place was dead. Abandoned, even. The driver opened your door and offered his hand to help you down. Though his service was the cheapest you could acquire, his manners suggested otherwise.

He unloaded your trunk as you clutched your valise. You thanked him as he set the heavy luggage beside your dark skirts and you offered him a coin from your purse. He accepted with a toothy smile.

“Should I wait and help you carry it in?” He asked.

You considered the offer. It might be best if he tarried in case you were swiftly dismissed. What would you do if you were stranded here? And yet, you were determined not to be turned away. Your best option might be to force your presence upon this man.

“No,” You answered staunchly and pushed your shoulders back. “You’ve been a great help, sir. You should hurry back to the city.”

“Miss,” He removed his hat. “Good day to you.”

“And you,” You nodded and watched him climb back up onto his seat.

He snapped the horse into action and their hooves clopped around and down the path until you could no longer see them. You gripped your valise even tighter and turned to the manor. The doors suddenly shifted and a man in a plain grey suit appeared. He pushed both open and stood aside as he waited silently.

You heard footsteps from within, the tap of leather sols upon the wood. A lithe figure emerged from the shadows and the sunlight lit his pale skin. His dark hair was pushed back so that his curls gathered behind his head and his high, starched collar made his features seem even sharper.

He stopped sharply at the top of the stairs and blinked at you. He peered around and squinted, slowly stepping forward to descend the steps. He stood straight across from you, a brow arched as he stared you down.

“Are you lost? I fear you sent away your valet much too soon, madam.” He said.

“My lord, Mr. Laufeyson?” You ventured.

He frowned. “Everet is a rather odd name for… a woman.”

“My apologies for my deception but you must understand as an editor yourself, a woman’s name doesn’t sell stories, does it?” You let out a shaky breath. “Not that I think it should matter when my physical attributes have little bearing on my writing.”

“Even so, I do value honesty in my writers. Foremost. A lack of such in life might reflect deceit on paper.” He challenged. “And I am not equipped to house… a woman.”

“Women hardly require more than a man. Often less.” You countered. “You made an offer on the grounds of my work, I accepted on the same. I see no reason why it should be an issue. I am determined, would have to be to have a story published, devoted to say the least, and by your own words, a competent writer.”

“I did not… I was not aware…” He sighed. “You can’t expect-- After being so underhanded… How could… I cannot…”

He cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder at the man in the grey suit.

“I’ve taken two coaches and train. I’ve packed up my livelihood in this trunk, I’ve been nothing but honest other than… my true name. You cannot claim my work as ingenuine nor my intentions. I’ve come here to write.” You declared. “I see not how my sex should preclude me from these matters. Would you argue inadequacy based upon my physical stature after proclaiming me capable previously? Sir, I would argue that should suggest a lack of honesty on your part. Not mine.”

He tilted his head and his chin jutted out in irritation. His slender fingers ran the length of his jacket and fiddled with the button.

“Well, you certainly speak like a writer.” He said. “Very well. We shall see what we can mold out of you.” He gestured to the man in the grey suit. “Horace.” He nodded to the trunk. “But do not think my standards shall bend upon your favour, madam.” He warned as the man came down to lift your trunk, barely able to drag it up the steps. “Oh, and your real name, to begin with.”

You recited your name and he spun without acknowledgement. He preceded the man he called Horace through the doors and you hurried forward to grab the other end of your trunk, your valise clutched in your other hand.

Inside, the large foyer was barely lit by the candelabras in the corners. The chandelier above was dark and dusty. You struggled to keep hold of the trunk as you followed Horace. He set down his end and bid you to do the same.

“Madam, please, I will get proper help,” He waved to the lord of manor, already halfway up the staircase. “You might leave your valise and both will be deposited in your rooms.”

“Thank you, sir,” You said before you turned to hurry up behind Lord Laufeyson.

“Your rooms are in the north wing, mine in the south. You needn’t venture very far from your own. I have a maid in the kitchen who will set out meals and Horace oversees our maintenance and the cleaning servants when they are present.” He began. “You will only be required in the bureau where you will take your lessons.”

“Yes, my lord,” You felt completely out of place. You weren’t used to such an immense house, let alone such a prestigious host.

“Sir will do just fine,” He corrected. “Do you type, madam?”

“No.” You admitted. “I hand write my stories and they are often transcribed by the journals.”

“Mmm, well, then we should add that to the schedule.” He remarked. “I have written out your daily itinerary as you will find in your rooms. “You will wake at six, take your breakfast by the next hour as you will be expected at seven for your first lesson. Lunch will be at noon, you will be permitted recreation at three, tea the following hour, and we shall add typing practice to your evening exercises.”

“Sir,” You said as you followed him.

“This is the bureau where your lessons will be,” He opened a single door. “That…” He looked to the pair of doors at the end of the hall. “Is the library. It will be unlocked during your recreational hour though you might visit the gardens if you choose.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you attend college, madam? I understand they offer schooling for women now.”

“No,” You answered plainly. “I finished public schooling and the rest I did upon my own.”

His eyes strayed in his thoughts and he hummed.

“Well, that sort of discipline is promising, I suppose,” He said. “And you are… unmarried?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, to be expected. A husband shouldn’t allow a wife to live unaccompanied with another man. And yet, an unmarried woman should not allow herself the same discrepancy,” He remanded. “There are proprieties which must be attained. You understand?”

“Sir, I am not wholly unaware of our social bounds. I’ve travelled to write. I haven’t any interest in men to this point and I highly doubt this circumstance should change that.”

He gave a half-chuckle before he caught himself.

“I always found you urban poor had trite mouths,” He sneered. “The factories do allow for unfortunately low association. You lot do sell your morals for a penny.”

“I see no immorality in work,” You argued. “In fact, the poor can rarely afford immorality.”

He looked at you, sternly.

“Let me show you your rooms and you might accommodate yourself to the arrangements,” He gestured you back down the corridor.

Again, you trailed behind him. The walls were lined with portraits, their frames powdered with dust and canvas washed out with age. He must’ve lived a rather small existence in this immense place.

He stopped before another door, his fingers wrapped around the handle then he recoiled. He reached into his jacket and slipped out a key with a black ribbon threaded through its loop. He held it out to you.

“These are your rooms. Keep the time. It is late. At four I expect you to take tea in the dining room. The cook should have it upon the table by then.” He watched as you reached to take the key. “When you are finished, our first lesson shall commence in the bureau. Come prepared with a manuscript in hand. I trust you did not come without forethought, especially considering… well, I shall excuse you to acquaint yourself with your quarters.”

He bowed his head, his spine rigid and straight. He sidestepped you and you listened to his hard soles on the wooden floors. You turned as his silhouette disappeared around the sparsely lit corner, the glow of candles flickering along the columns of the rails that overlooked the foyer.

You unlocked the door, your hands unsteady as your nerves remained riled. You’d overcome the first obstacle but this man seemed greater than any challenge you’d known before. Stiff-lipped editors, boastful male writers, dismissive reviewers; you’d faced every kind of foe.

You shut the door softly behind you, the click made you jump. You were pleasantly surprised to find it the room with the least dust. The windows were open and the curtains were freshly pressed and hung. The bed matched in its tidiness and the roll top desk against the wall was faced with a leather-cushioned chair.

The afternoon sun streamed in enough to light much of the room. Tall candelabras stood on four feet in the corners opposite of the bed. An oil lamp sat on the desk and a smaller candle holder sat on the table beside the bed. A small stool with an embroidered cushion was nestled in the corner and a chair in the French style peered out the far window.

You turned and faced the vast portrait of a man and woman. The former was silver-haired and staunch in his bearing, the woman was seated and gold waves were confined atop her head as a few ringlets framed her face in a style favoured by the previous generations. You tilted your head as you admired the artistry. It was almost as if the elegant couple was truly there before you.

A knock came at the door and you went to it. Horace was there with the man who had opened the gates. They dragged in your trunk and placed your valise at top with overly cordial ‘my lady’s’ in your direction. You wanted to snicker at the undeserved address. You thanked them and they refused a coin from your purse. You were thankful for that as you hadn’t many left.

You took your valise to the bed then returned to the trunk. You unbuckled the straps that held your trunk closed and tossed the lid open. The monstrosity was older than you. You’d bought it used. The lining was torn and most of it gone. You took out the stacks of paper sheathed in leather and rolled up the lid of the desk. You left them there and unpacked your pens and inkwell.

You sat and allowed yourself a breath. You tried to calm yourself. You slowly unwound the strap of the first folder and shuffled through the leaves. There was the story you’d written about the widow left homeless by her dead husband’s gambling debts. The other about the officer who finds himself by a foreign people.

Then there was that one which you had yet to show any. The one which told the story of a woman; a fraud; a liar. She pretends to be a true lady but is found out. She is tried before the county though she never stole nor harmed anyone. Tried upon her birth and nothing more. You tucked that one away and set aside the one about the widow. Nothing so novel but good enough, you supposed.

You reached to your belt and checked the watch that dangled from it. Like the trunk, it was previously owned by another. It made you want to write a story, a fantasy of its former owner. Of how the initials etched into its back had come to be near indiscernible beneath a series of frantic scratches.

3:37. You recalled Lord Laufeyson had said tea was at four. Not much longer. Barely enough time to ready yourself for his frigidity. Oh yes, he was the very modicum of Victorian temperance. How very dull.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #dark loki x reader #dark!loki x reader #victorian au #au #fic #series #ad libitum #marvel #MCU #dark fic #dark!fic

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heyyyharry · 3 years

Text

Chapter 13: Last Dance

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which there’s a masquerade ball.

Word count: 3.5k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N aka Peach)

A/N:

GUYS, TRUST ME! LISTEN TO THIS WHILE READING

Also, if you've read my other stories, please let me know in my inbox:

which genre do you think I write better at?

Contemporary romance (Flatmate, My Girl), or Fantasy romance/Historical romance (TCTM, In Another Life), or Fantasy/mystery with romance as a side plot (TCTM2)?

Thank you! :)

Love, Allie.

Harry had sat by the window from when the sun started setting. He watched the shadow at his feet dissolve into blackness, until the stars came out and pallid moonlight washed over the room.

A maid came to light a fire. She asked if he needed anything. He gave her no response, just a flick of his wrist to dismiss her. He could feel her eyes sweep over him as she left. He didn’t care. He knew what the servants in the castle had been whispering about him. People always had a lot to say when they only knew half the story. Which was why Harry hadn’t spoken to anyone since he’d come back. Not even Kenny and Stefan, whom he’d known his whole life. They could sympathise. However, they would never truly understand what he’d gone through.

Though the lake had obliterated all the scars on his skin, he could still feel the pressure of the blade buried deep in his side whenever he thought about the day of the ambush. He’d lost so much since then. Dying and coming back to life only to live like a ghost. Getting his memory back didn’t suddenly make it all better.

A knock on the door disturbed his thoughts. He whipped around just in time as the door creaked open, and Mary poked her head in. Witch, he thought, rising fast from his chair. He remembered being chained up in a cell, and the only thing he’d seen had been her one eye glowing in the dark as she cursed him with her evil spells. He regretted having felt sorry for her once. He should have killed her when he’d got a chance.

“Don’t be scared,” she said, lifting a hand as though she was approaching a prey animal. “I just want to talk.”

“I’m not scared of you,” he told her, his voice rough. “You should be scared because it takes everything in me not to put my hands round your neck right now.”

Mary kept a considerable distance between them as she stopped and swallowed hard. “I’m very sorry about everything you’ve gone through. You know I was forced to do that.”

“No, you chose to do that. You chose to serve Calanthe.”

“I did,” Mary sighed. “I’d lost my sisters. They were all I had. And I blamed Y/N for it. When I came to Calanthe, I was desperate and mourning. But I swear I’m a better person now. I didn’t mean to hurt so many people.”

Harry scoffed, waving towards the door. “You’re not making this any better. Just get out.”

Mary didn’t move. She looked even more determined to get her apology across. “I know I’ve caused a lot of pain for everyone here. That’s not my intention anymore. I just want this war to be over and for everyone to be safe.”

Harry flopped back into his chair, looking out of the window with his chin on his knuckles. If he didn’t acknowledge her presence, hopefully she’d leave him alone.

It didn’t work.

“Something’s bothering you,” she said.

“Yes, I’m still waiting for it to stop talking to me.”

Mary exhaled, ignoring the insult. “It’s the Queen, isn’t it? Because of her bond with the King.” Despite there being no answer or even a reaction, Mary still went on, “I think...it’s for the best, if you just...let her go.”

Harry stiffened. Slowly, he turned to her, appalled. “What?”

“I know you’ll hate me even more after I tell you this,” she said. “But it’s impossible to compete with someone she’s been looking for from lifetime to lifetime. Fate is cruel, but it always does its job. It always brings soulmates back together.”

“I don’t...understand.”

Mary studied Harry with her wide eye, as if she could not figure out why he seemed confused. Then, it occurred to both of them that Y/N hadn’t been completely honest with him.

“She hasn’t told you,” Mary mumbled, more to herself.

“Told me what?”

Harry thought of Y/N’s conversation with the deer before they’d followed it out of the woods. It must have told her more than she’d revealed to him.

Why did his love have to hide the truth from him? Was it because she didn’t trust him? Or because she didn’t think he could handle it? Or was it because she couldn’t believe it herself?

“Then I think you should hear it from her,” Mary said fast.

Harry got to his feet right as she was about to leave. “Tell me.”

Reluctantly, she looked back at him over her shoulder.

“Please,” he added, desperate.

She pondered for a moment before letting go of a heavy sigh. Both of them knew she’d regret this afterwards, and yet she didn’t have it in her to just stay silent.

“All I can say to you is that…” she wet her lip, “Y/N and Lance have a special kind of bond. Two people need years to build such a connection, but those two had already got it when they first met. You may think you understand her, but you’ll never know her as well as he does. And if she ends up choosing you, she’ll probably spend another lifetime missing him.”

Harry was trying to process all that when Mary spun on her heels and slipped out of the room as quietly as she’d entered. The door shut with a soft ‘thud’, and Harry stood there, staring at it with his heart and thoughts racing.

Although he could not make sense of what the witch had just told him, the ball of fear within him grew until his chest felt like it might combust. He fell back into his chair. The moon outside his window was round and high above the empty branches. Harry contemplated it as he recalled the dreams Y/N had told him.

The Moon Lady and the Man in Black.

The witch and the King.

The winter and the crown.

He twisted her gold ring around his finger, agitated. “Fate,” he mumbled to himself.

When the door was opened for the third time, it was Y/N who came in. Harry pressed his lips into a smile, hoping she wouldn’t notice something was wrong. She always noticed. That was the problem.

She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the room before taking him in with a look of concern. “The maid said you’d been here all day. Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m good,” he lied. “I’m just trying to get familiar with all these changes. How was the meeting?”

She stood by the fireplace, folding her arms across her chest and resting her forehead against the wall. “It was...interesting. Soon the news will arrive at Theros, so we’re bracing for the worst. Lance speculated that this was all Calanthe’s plan. She needed a reason to invade the North.”

“She had her most trusted advisor murdered?”

Y/N shrugged. “You don’t think she’s capable of it?”

“We’ve met her, Peach. She’s just a girl.”

“We don’t know her.”

Harry got up from his chair and walked over to stand in front of Y/N. He raked his fingers through his hair and released a sigh. “I can’t imagine her being so cruel and calculated. They’re using her.”

“What do you mean? Who?”

“The Monks. Taking me was their idea. I could vaguely remember them telling her what to do to me. Would you like to hear my theory?”

Y/N nodded, looking intrigued.

“They’ve got her believing that she’s special,” Harry said. “That she’s the chosen one, so she’d trust them and let them guide her. When the war’s over and she’s won, they’ll find a way to get rid of her. They wanted your father, your uncle, and your brother dead. How hard would it be to take down Calanthe?”

Y/N chewed her bottom lip as she averted her troublesome eyes. She seemed to ponder over his speculation for a long moment before letting go of a short breath. “Let’s not speak of it. I’ll discuss it with Lance in the morning.”

Harry knew he was doomed when even the King’s name made his stomach twist. “We can talk about it if you want to. I don’t mind,” he said.

She shook her head. “I do, Harry. I’m tired. I just want to not think about it for a second.” Seeing the bafflement on his face, she smiled and touched his cheek.

“I want to help,” he mumbled.

“I know,” she sighed. “And I’m grateful for your help. I just don’t want to feel like a queen when we’re alone. We can talk about anything, not war and death.”

Harry nodded as he placed with hands on her hips, pulling her in. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He traced the flame’s shadow on her cheek as she smiled, content. He hated that they could be holding each other, and there’d still be plenty of distance between them.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” she said, squinting her eyes. She knew there was more to it.

He took a deep breath. “I need you to be completely honest with me.”

“All right.”

“Do you love him?”

Y/N froze for a second as she blinked blankly. “What? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious, Peach.” He brushed her hair out of her face. “There’s no right or wrong answer. I just want to know how you feel. I’m not good at reading people, and lately I’ve been having a hard time trying to figure you out. I’m not saying this to make you feel bad, my love. I love you. And I want you to be happy so I must hear it from you. Do you love him?”

Harry’s heart thudded wildly in his chest as Y/N worked her jaw for a reply. “I’m afraid of losing him,” she said at last. “He’s become a part of me. Perhaps he’s always been. So I guess I do love him. Just not the way he wants me to. Not the way he deserves to be loved.”

Though that wasn’t the answer Harry had expected or the answer he wanted to hear. For him it could only be yes or no. He was surprised yet not saddened by it. He even felt quite hopeful that she still trusted him to say what she really felt. He might not have all of her now with everything they were going through. However, he could still get her back.

“He’s a good man,” Harry said.

Y/N’s doubtful eyes scrutinised him. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“No,” he chuckled and kissed her forehead. “I love you. And I want you to be happy.”

The corner of her lips raised nonchalantly. “I will be again, eventually. But you do make this living hell a lot better.”

Harry tossed his head back and laughed. Y/N laughed, too. He’d missed that heavenly sound. Why should he believe anything Mary had said? She’d nearly killed him and sabotaged what he had with Y/N twice. So she should be the last person he should listen to.

Right?

“Oh, there will be a ball tomorrow night,” Y/N said, fixing his hair with a big grin on her face.

“Really?”

“Yes. A masquerade ball.”

Harry never liked dancing. However, he knew she did, and so he was excited about this ball. “But,” he rubbed his chin, “is it insensitive to hold a ball after what happened?”

Y/N’s smile faded, making Harry feel terrible for ruining one rare moment of happiness for her.

“George Wallace’s death was a week ago,” she said, her brows knitted. “And the fact that people in court are still talking about it and assuming that they’re in danger is a great concern for me. I need to show my subjects that we’re not living in fear. Besides,” she gave a half shrug, “dancing makes me happy.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, whatever makes you happy, Your Majesty.”

Y/N giggled as she waved off his comment. “Stop teasing. You know you love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Mmmm.” She leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and a breathless guard stuck his head in right as Y/N and Harry jumped away from each other.

“Your Majesty.”

“What?” Y/N breathed, sounding annoyed. Her cheeks were still red, and Harry couldn’t help but smile into his fist.

“His Majesty requested for your attendance,” the guard said.

Y/N immediately looked to Harry. The apologetic stare she was giving him had said it all.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Your Majesty,” he said, took her hand and kissed it once.

“The ball,” she mouthed at him. And then she was gone.

Music swelled as the orchestra was readying for the first number. Y/N watched the queue of stragglers seeking admittance at the entrance, amused by their excitement, which was evident even though their expressions were hidden behind their masks. Some even had painted faces, vying to outdo the splendour of the palace.

“May I have this dance?” A man dressed in dark blue stretched his hand out to Jo. With an uncomfortable smile, she was whisked onto the crowded dance floor. Y/N had noticed that Jo seemed distracted tonight. She’d keep seeking the room for someone. Y/N’s curiosity was piqued. Could it be possible that Jo was looking for Lance? Could something had happened between Jo and Lance while she’d been away?

She pushed the thought to the back of her mind, straining her eyes as she tried to locate Harry among the colourful masks. All of the ladies had found their dance partners. Their dresses fluttered as they twirled like snowflakes in the wind. Where was he? He’d said he’d be here, and he wouldn’t break his promise.

“Why is the prettiest girl in the room sitting this dance out?”

“Lance!” Y/N flinched, pressing a palm against her chest as Lance tapped the back of her chair and flopped down into the one beside her. He was dressed in a fine suit of blackest wool, impeccably tailored to his frame. A dark mask obscured his face from forehead to nose. Tiny jet beads sparkled at the edges.

He offered a quick smile. “How do you know? I’m wearing a mask.”

Y/N scoffed as she rolled her eyes. She was grateful he was being his snarky self and not the person who’d told her he’d loved her two nights ago. Still, those words were all she could hear whenever she looked at him.

“Even Jo’s dancing,” he pointed out.

“Speaking of Jo, I want to ask you something,” she said, fixing her gold mask. Even with a mask on, she still wasn’t able to handle the weigh of his stare. “Is there something between you and Jo? She’s been distracted.”

Lance smirked. “Why do you assume I have something to do with her being distracted?”

“I don’t know. You were probably flirting with all the maids while I was gone,” she joked.

Lance breathed out a casual laugh. “I was flirting with your entire library, actually. In fact, I have another theory–”

“Please. Not here,” she said, pouting. “I’d like to be a normal girl for just one night.”

Lance arched an eyebrow as he eyed her up and down. “Said the only lady here not dancing.”

“You’re obnoxious.” She rolled her eyes, unable to stop beaming.

Lance sucked in a breath. He stood up and straightened his back with a hand stretched toward her. She looked up, amused.

“Dance with me. You’re being embarrassing right now,” he said, glancing at their feet as if surprised to find them staying still.

Y/N gave a nod as she got up, her fingers sliding into his outstretched hand, which was cold and rough yet familiar. For a second, she caught a glimpse of them standing in that cave. The dream in which he’d visited her had felt so real. It’d felt like this. She glanced up to meet his questioning eyes. She reassured him with a tight smile and followed him to the centre of the room.

A new tune began. She snaked her free arm up his shoulder, holding her breath as his other hand came to rest at her waist. She once again swept her eyes across the room for Harry. Her heart sank when she couldn’t find him. He hated dancing. Perhaps he’d changed his mind at the last minute and decided not to join. She’d check on him after this dance.

“My eyes are here,” Lance said.

Y/N jolted, feeling glad that he couldn’t see her blushing. “Pardon me.”

“It’s all right.” He laced his fingers with hers. His hand at her waist was warm and sure. A ribbon of comfort unravelled inside her, and she allowed Harry to be absent from her mind for this tune.

Lance skillfully led her through the familiar steps, his smile bright. “Not bad,” he said, making her laugh.

“Is that how you compliment someone?”

“My apology, Your Majesty. I assumed Northerners didn’t have fun.”

“You’re right.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’m miserable right now. I cannot wait for this to be over.” As soon as she’d said it, she feared he’d take her joke the wrong way. Thankfully, he tossed his head back and laughed. She rarely got to hear Lance laugh, so her heart vibrated with excitement.

“Don’t worry,” he said, tilting his head. “This will be our first and last dance.”

She did not ask what he meant.

As the song came to an end, Lance drew her in, so close she could feel the heat of his chest. Behind the mask, his eyes burned down at her. The crowd broke into applause for the orchestra as they broke apart.

He reached out and pushed aside a loose curl behind her ear. His thumb traced lightly across her cheek. Before she could thank him for dancing with her, he spun on his heels and slipped into the crowd of courtiers.

“Argh!” Calanthe charged, swinging her sword in a furious arc. The soldier cooly stepped into his charge, catching the descending sword with his own. He twisted and wrenched upward with all his strength. The sword flew out of Calanthe’s hand. She grabbed for it frantically, but her opponent snatched it out of the air.

“Enough!” shouted a gruff powerful voice.

Calanthe whirled and dropped the sword to her feet, catching her breath. Vossler, the leader of The Monks, appeared like a phantom. His gaze trailed from Calanthe’s face to her weapon on the ground. He didn’t need to say a word to describe how disappointed he was. She knew that look. She’d received it her whole life from everyone she’d ever met. Ever since she’d taken the throne, no one had dared to look at her like that except for Vossler. He reminded her of her father. She’d give anything to impress him.

“Your Majesty,” he said, dragging the title with an agitated tone. “I told you that sword-fighting was very similar to dancing. You have to feel, not think.”

“I know, I know,” she muttered, bending down to pick up the sword. Vossler kicked it out of her reach before she could close her fingers around the hilt. Her guards drew their swords. She lifted a hand to tell them to stay where they were.

Vossler held her stare as if challenging her to punish him for disrespecting the Queen. She knew she couldn’t. People feared her because they feared The Monks. She hated that. Still, she was the chosen one. Vossler would have no choice but to kneel at her feet when she became the ruler of one hundred kingdoms.

“You can’t rule when even a child could take the sword from you,” he said as if he could read her thoughts.

She lifted her chin proudly despite the fact that her fingers were still trembling. “I’m tired. I’ll practice again tomorrow.”

Vossler regarded her with a raised eyebrow. His lips twitched in a despicable manner. “Very well. You should get some rest, Your Majesty. Get all the rest you need. Why should you worry about a nineteen-year-old, whose best friend is her sword, who murdered her own brother in a duel, brought someone back from the dead, and survived the North Mountain?”

Calanthe was frozen in place, too shocked to react. “She survived?”

“She found the lake.”

“Fuck!” Calanthe screamed into her hands. “The Mountain was supposed to kill her!”

“The witch didn’t tell us the whole truth,” Vossler said. To Calanthe’s surprise, he sounded as calm as ever. She was about to ask him what the witch had been hiding from them when he flicked his wrist, and a servant hurried to retrieve Calanthe’s sword.

“Your Majesty?” he said, his eyes piercing at Calanthe.

The wind whipped by, blowing strands of hair across her face. She bit the inside of her cheek, glared back at the servants who were observing her, making her feel like less than a queen she was.

She took a deep breath, then grabbed the weapon. “Again.”

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles writing #harry styles series #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n

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brief-candle · 4 years

Text

ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢɪᴇꜱ - Inosuke Hashibira

so i got my computer back and didn’t post anything in the meantime because i’m stinky and don’t live up to my word

but i’m gonna finish transferring everything tonight! and then i’m gonna start something kinda new :0

series: kimetsu no yaiba/ demon slayer.

notes: not yandere, inosuke being a child like the child he is, tiny bit of angst, mostly kinda fluffy, most likely ooc.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

It was a cold winter's night at the Butterfly Estate, perhaps colder than even the previous years'. Currently you were in the communal area, chatting with Sumi, Kiyo and Naho as you all huddled by the fire that you'd struggled to light through nearly-blue fingers. Thankfully, you'd succeeded, and soon dropped yourself as close to it as possible without catching fire.

It was without warning that the doors flew open, and Aoi was revealed to you all. Her eyebrows were in their usual position (furrowed) and her lips pursed. She very clearly wanted to say something, something important by her expression, but couldn't seem to find the words for a moment. Her fierce azure gaze was pinned onto you and didn't let go to even acknowledge the others. It was almost intimidating, if you hadn't known her by now.

After a few seconds longer of unbearable silence, you decided to slice right through it with a concerned voice: "Aoi? Are you alright?"

This seemed to work to break her out of her uncharacteristically silent shell, her mouth finally opening for her to speak. She announced your name first, as if you hadn't guessed by now that you were needed, before continuing. "It's Inosuke-san."

"Inosuke?" You couldn't help but repeat, dumbstruck. If she was struggling this much with telling you what was wrong- and this was Aoi, possibly the bluntest person you knew- then what sort of state was he in? Was he injured? How badly? Could he ever fight again?

Was he dead?

You had to hold back from physically shaking your head to clear it of those thoughts, instead choosing to rub your hands together roughly as some pathetic form of comfort. As you rose to your feet, you couldn't help but ask: "What's wrong with him?"

She said no more, opting to beckon you to follow her instead. And you did; as quickly as you could without breaking to a sprint, you took long strides until you were both walking side by side. The tension was thick, silence unbreakable. Although you were both walking at a swift pace with large steps, you didn't feel like you were walking quickly enough. It was like the worst possible scenarios were nipping at your heels, taunting you from the darkest parts of your mind. It was unbearable. The hallway seemed to stretch out to the ends of the universe, the door to the medical wing lightyears away.

But, alas, you reached it. Finally. It only took a few minutes at most, but it was like lifetimes had passed with each insufferable step. Once again, Aoi seemed to hesitate, taking a deep breath and turning to you. Her hand lay on the door, about to open it, as she spoke in a hushed voice,

"Look, before we go in, he's... not really in a good state." Before you could prod her for more answers, she hastily continued, "well, more mentally than physically. He's not in great state physically- he got pretty roughed up on his latest mission- but it's his mental state I'm worried about."

You barely noticed her hand land on your shoulder, only realising it once you'd seen it gone from the door. Your eyes found it on your shoulder a second later, before crawling up to her eyes. They were a deep blue, dark like the depths of the ocean, and the hesitation swimming in them only served to help drown you in your worry.

"In what way?" This time she hadn't been quick enough to stop your questions tumbling out. "What's wrong with him? What happened on that mission?" It wasn't long before the built-up panic you'd been hiding behind silence came spilling out upon your exterior, your voice trembling and tears beginning to well up. You grasped her hand in both of yours, clutching it like a vice, which shook even more than your voice, "Aoi-san, please! I need to know!"

"I..." Her voice failed her once more, visibly shocked at your current state. She almost dragged you away from that door then until you'd calmed down, but then realised how much damage that'd do. You'd probably end up worrying more and more before bursting into the medical wing anyway. So with a deep breath to clear her thoughts, she tried again, "It's probably best for you to see for yourself, but you're going to need to calm down before I let you in."

"I am calm!" You snapped immediately after, definitely the opposite of calm.

"No, you're not." She took your hands in hers and led you a few steps away from the door, "you are not calm at all," you tried to interrupt but only a stern glance from her shot that idea down immediately, "and I need you to be calm before I let you see him; you being distressed is probably going to upset him even more. I'm not saying you can't be worried, but this is beyond worried." Again, you tried to rebuke her claims, only to find that you couldn't. Because you were, in fact, not calm at all- you couldn't even keep up the breathing you'd trained so rigorously to practice even when unconscious. So, with this sudden consciousness of your current state, you finally began to calm down. Your breaths became more even, the tears slipped away from the brim of your eyes and your muscles relaxed. It didn't seem to take long, but you were aware that it definitely wasn't as short as it felt.

When you glanced over to her, Aoi was gone from her spot right next to you. But before you could worry, you heard the door slide open. Your eyes shot over to it, finding her in the now-open doorway and speaking with her usual brash tone,

"Inosuke-san, wake up. It's time for your medicine."

There was no response, which was unusual for him, but there was definitely the familiar whining of Zenitsu again: "Oi Inosuke, come on! At least yours isn't gross like mine is- speaking of which, why's mine always the gross one? This is favouritism! I bet you guys have it out for me or something, always giving m..." you could not care less about his rambling to be honest. He did it every time he came to the Butterfly Estate, whinging about how bad he had it and then creeping on the girls the next.

Classic Zenitsu.

Since you knew he was there, you spared yourself from looking in his direction as you entered the room. By the tone of his voice, you already knew he was bickering with Aoi about taking his medicine and you really did not want to catch his attention. If there was one thing you didn't need right now, it was Zenitsu being a creep with you and then pulling out the crocodile tears when blatantly rejected or arguing with Tanjirou when he (thankfully) intervened.

The corner of your eye harbouring Zenitsu was blacked out by your mind (see no evil, do no evil) as you glanced around for the familiar boar mask. It took a second sweep of the room before you spotted it, covering his face as always. Although the mask was familiar, Inosuke seemed so different from when you last saw him. It wasn't the fresh wounds littering his body, beginning to scar by now, but it was just... him. You would say his stance, but he wasn't standing. It was the way he lay there. Silent, barely moving. If it wasn't for the subtle movement of his torso with each breath then you'd be convinced he was dead.

Your feet took you to his side before you could even process them moving, hand reaching out to grasp his. Now it was clear he was awake, head turning ever so slightly to see that his hand was taken by you. He croaked out your name, rough and quiet. Those damned tears threatened to spill again.

"Inosuke," you had said back to him, "I-"

"I'm sorry."

It was such a sudden interruption, especially as it was an apology.

"For what?" Your voice didn't tremble even a bit as it did a moment before, filled only with confusion.

"For being so weak."

Inosuke? Weak? You couldn't imagine those words being correlated in any way, never mind from the man himself. It took a moment to even take in what he'd said, and a moment more to realise he's actually spoken them.

"What are you on about?" What he was saying was so unfathomable that it was making you a bit cross. How dare this boy even have the audacity to call himself weak?! The gall! But more than that, the worry from before bit at your ankles again; what had happened for him to think this way? Could you even help him, if it was so bad as to wound his pride this much?

He didn't answer.

"Inosuke." You tried to get his attention, shaking his hand slightly in yours.

He didn't answer.

"Inosuke!" It was starting to exasperate as well as worry you. These opposing feelings began to wage a war inside of you, each one determined to take over. You weren't sure which one you'd prefer to win in this situation, as they could both very easily ruin everything if intense enough.

"Inosuke, look at me!" You demanded- pleaded.

He listened.

"I don't know what happened on that mission, but you need to listen to me here: you are not weak, first of all. You are far, far from it." As you stared into the eyes of that boar, hoping he was looking back, you squeezed his hand, "You're one of the strongest people- if not the strongest person- I know. And I mean every word of that. Now, you take whatever happened on this mission, and you use it to learn and grow; to become even stronger than you are now."

It was a few seconds after your rant that he responded, hand clenching underneath yours. "I couldn't protect him. That's the point of my damned job- to protect people- and I can't even do that!" His voice seethed more and more as he said each word.

"But how many have you saved before him? One, at least, because I'm still here, aren't I?" Well, you hoped you weren't actually some ghost. You could eat if that counted as proof that you weren't, "you can dwell on your mistakes all you want, Inosuke, but that isn't going to help." It was harsh, but this was a harsh world you lived in, and his job was probably even more harsh. It was hard to remember that he was still a child, even with all of those scars and all of the battles he's lived through. The person in front of you, who'd slain more than twice the amount of demons you had done before you retired at the Butterfly Estate, was still growing. He had time to learn, and he must learn, else he will die.

"What will help is learning from this mission- from what happened here. You must use this experience as a stepping stone to growth. If you give up here, then countless more like that man will die. But if you continue, and learn and grow even stronger, then you will save countless more."

"It was my faul-"

"It wasn't!" Quickly you were becoming desperate to drag him out of this state, "It was not your fault! You didn't kill him, Inosuke! It's not possible to prevent demons from killing everyone. One person died to that demon, but the rest of the town lives, don't they?"

There was no response, so you repeated your last two words again. By god, you'd say anything at this point, anything to make him see that he was innocent, strong, brave, et cetera. But he just didn't seem to see it!

"I'm sorry!" Or so you'd thought, until he had reached up and pulled you into a hug, sniffling as he hid his (already masked) face in your shoulder. Immediately, you returned the gesture, rubbing circles into his back between his shoulder blades, murmuring softly as you did so.

"It's alright."

"I'm sorry!"

"There's nothing to apologise for."

Over his shoulder, you saw Aoi and Zenitsu, shocked at the state of his stubborn companion. You lent the gentle smile you'd given Inosuke as he moved to hug you to them as well, continuing to comfort him.

It was hard to remember he was a child most of the time. But in these moments, such a thing was impossible to forget.

#kimetsu no yaiba x reader #inosuke x reader #x reader #reader insert #inosuke hashibira #inosuke hashibira x reader #kimetsu no yaiba

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sgrayonderii · 4 years

Text

faster than starlight

Growing old together was a luxury. Sasusaku AU.

It makes absolutely no sense that the child in front of him is his daughter, yet as soon as she utters a heartbroken “Papa,” Sasuke knows it to be true.

But he doesn’t have time to concern himself with mismatched memories and unfounded theories. The facts are these: someone has threatened his child and his wife has been kidnapped.

In the aftermath, he is so relieved that he writes off his hazy memories of a child barely reaching his knees as a manifestation of his desperation.

---

During his regular check ins, Naruto grumbles that he needs to stay in contact more often. The Hokage waves his arms around in a way that is supposed to be threatening and berates him on proper reconnaissance protocol. “And Sakura-chan is lonely with you gone so long!” he adds in at the end of his tirade.

Sasuke scoffs because that idiot is the last person to be talking to him about protocol with his noodle stained shirt and toppling mountains of paperwork. And he can't help but feel a bit insulted by the implication that his self imposed gag order included Sakura.

She is his wife. His beloved partner and his most trusted confidante. Even if it was technically not related to his mission, he keeps contact with her regularly without fail. Sasuke has never been as good as expressing himself as well as he should, but he knows that Sakura in her endless patience found a way to understand him.

---

Sometimes, Kakashi invites him to lunch.

It is always slightly awkward and spent more often than not in silence. Or in uncomfortable one-sided conversation about erotica.

But at the end of every meal, Kakashi claps him on the shoulder, telling him to not be a stranger with a chuckle. But the laugh never quite reaches his eyes.

“Remember you always have a home here.” Kakashi tells him.

---

At times, Sarada is overjoyed when he comes back. She attaches herself to his side and chatters about nonsensical things that reminds Sasuke of his wife.

But sometimes, Sarada is cold.

She is stand-offish and acts as if he committed another unforgivable sin. She makes snide comments about leaving mama by herself and scathing comments about forgetting his daughter’s face.

Perhaps this is a rebellious phase? Children grow up fast Sakura tells him. And who is he to question her?

---

It is subtle, almost unnoticeable. But there are times at home when things are slightly off.

The apartment always seems to be in need of some repair. Every time he seems to even blink, a new piece of technology seems too occupy their living room mantle. And there are no calendars in the house.

In hindsight, he is sure that Sakura is the first to notice. But Sasuke is a boiling frog and he doesn’t realize until it’s too late.

He should have figured from the relief in her eyes whenever he returns home. Or on the quiet nights when she holds his hand so tight as if he will disappear. He should have noticed from the desperation in her kisses. He should have seen it in the falter of her smile.

And then Sakura starts hiding her appearance.

At first, Sakura brushes it off as a bad haircut she is too embarrassed to show others. Then it’s a particularly bad sunburn. After that an allergic reaction to a lotion from Ino gifted her.

He tries to not let it bother him. But with every progressive visit home, the stronger the illusions Sakura wraps herself in.

He feels like he has not seen his wife in ages.

Until, one day on an unexpected stop home, he catches an unfamiliar middle aged woman in his home. This woman attempts to cast her genjutsu as soon as she notices him but his eyes are quicker. Sasuke dispels the illusion, striding forward until they are face to face.

He reaches out to her but she flinches back. The woman immediately starts apologizing, but Sasuke in between the roaring in his ears and the constricting of his throat, cannot make sense of her ramblings. However in the midst of her panic and his confusion, he does recognize the seal on Sakura’s forehead.

And for him, the pieces finally start falling into place.

So Sasuke asks the question that he has been dreading but never acknowledging, “How long have I been gone?”

---

The further he travels, the more time passes. It is simple physics. It is the law of the universe.

The remnants of Kaguya are far in between and past distant suns. His Rinnegan, his wife theorizes, is like a blackhole connecting two points, compressing space and time in a way that cuts across the cosmos.

Sasuke is a shooting star in the grand scheme of things, where great distances are crossed in a blink of his eye while all he cares about on earth is spinning madly on without him.

He watches as Sakura carefully aligns the hundreds of letters and messages and gifts he sent in the order she receives them.

Sasuke picks up the last correspondence, two weeks ago for him but half a year for Sakura. After a long time when he can finally keep his voice from trembling, he asks “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just didn’t know how to tell you.” Sasuke has never seen Sakura look so ashamed. She covers her face to hide from him but her tears still fall silently. “It would have just caused you more pain.”

“And keeping this from me wouldn’t?!” He is shaking and his Sharingan bleeding. He feels the familiar sting of betrayal. Because of all people, his wife is the person he trusts the most.

But Sakura, despite her tears, speaks calmly. Determined. Resigned. She still does not look at him and he cannot see anything else but her. “If you had known...” she is shaking too now. “If you had known dear, that this would happen every time you go.... Would you still leave?”

And both husband and wife know his answer.

---

A presence like Kaguya’s cannot be tolerated. Even if he cannot watch Sarada grow up. Even if cannot be by Sakura’s side. As long as they are safe in a corner of the universe, Sasuke is willing to sacrifice anything.

It is a habit now to check the date when he returns.

Sometimes only a few weeks have passed. Other times, months have elapsed. But regardless, Sasuke tries to return as much as possible if only for his own sanity.

Those visits home reinforce what he is fighting for. He wants to protect the place his brother died for. He wants to help Naruto who saved him. He wants a world where Sakura can smile and where Sarada no longer has to fight.

But most of all, in the darkest most fragile part of his heart, he knows that in reality he just can not bear losing anyone else.

And eventually, the Seventh Hokage informs him that the last visages of Kaguya are discovered in the depths of a lost faraway planet. The final nail in her coffin.

It breaks his heart to tell his family.

There is no telling when he will return, if he returns at all. And judging by the distance, Sasuke isn’t even sure anyone will be left to return to.

It is a selfish thing for him to ask of her. He should be wishing for her happiness; he should be freeing her from being chained to him. But he asks anyways, because even if it is a lie, Sasuke needs a reason to endure. A quiet request. A promise.

“Will you wait for me?”

Sasuke desperately wants a home to return to and to him, Sakura has always encompassed that feeling.

---

The next time he returns, his mission is complete and it has been a decade since Sarada’s face has been carved onto the mountain.

Sakura’s hair is gray now and her vision is blurry. She has wrinkles under her eyes and her once strong hands are withered.

They are separated by a lifetime now.

I’m home.

“Sakura, I’m sorry for everything.”

But she still smiles for him like she always does. Like she did when they were young and so hopeful for the future. “Welcome home Sasuke-kun.”

---

Nowadays, Sasuke Uchiha is nothing but ghost story. More legend than man and more cautionary tale than hero.

And nowadays, man slightly younger than the Hokage accompanies Sakura Uchiha.

No one knows where he comes from, just that he appears one day and immediately worms himself into the heart of the Uchiha matriarch.

On the good days, the villagers watch the young man walk side by side with the aging woman. Sakura Uchiha speaks more animatedly than she has in years and the young man smiles tenderly at her as if she is the only person in the world.

Some villagers click their tongues in disapproval. They raise issue with the Hokage about how this swindler is taking advantage of the affections of poor old woman. The old woman’s years of loneliness has made her susceptible to his gold digger’s charms.

Others pity Sakura Uchiha. She is a woman from such a humble background who rose the ranks and accomplished so much only to be abandoned by the man she loved. Even if it was unorthodox, they wanted the old woman to have a bit of happiness.

But Sarada Uchiha dismisses these rumors and speculations with a sad smile, merely telling her bothersome citizens to leave the couple alone and let them live in peace.

And this man, who comes out of nowhere like a lone meteor, stays by Sakura Uchiha’s side until the end of her days.

A/N: Another sad one, but time dilation has always been one of my favorite physics/sci-fi concepts. Thank you for reading and Happy Holidays!

#sasusaku #sasusaku fanfiction #ssfanfiction #sgrayonder #now sgrayonderii #sgrayonderii #more angst sorry #one day i'll figure out how to write dialogue #my fics

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

Note

Hey! Could you write the first genuine fight as a married couple between Punk!Jaskier + The Reader (and the makeup of course) please? Thanks so much?

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Punk!Jaskier and Reader Word Count: 1,928 Rating: T Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mycat-is-mylove @mynamesoundslikesherlock @kemmastan @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @amirahiddleston @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @daydreamer-in-training @morelikebyesexual a/n: Writing fights is hard because you have to make sure both people have a perspective that’s somewhat valid but the way they communicate it or some part of it is flawed and then you have to figure out how they can make it right. I’m not sure how well this went but I sure did do the thing.

The only sound that broke the tense silence in the car was the swipe of the windshield wipers and the din of rain beating against the roof. You stared out the window, the words and laughter from earlier in the night still swirling in your mind.

‘Oh well Jask knows a lot about forbidden fruit, eh? Used to be your steady diet.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh fuck, you don’t know? Jaskier used to pull all the married ladies looking for a quick romp with a Rockstar. It became a bit of a running joke.’

You could feel Jaskier’s eyes on you and the wash of humiliation ran over you again. You’d just sat there, slack-jawed and stunned while your husband, the man you’d been with for four years, the father of your child, laughed as if this wasn’t a revelation. And as if your friends weren’t glancing at you a big nervously as the laughter died down and they realized you really hadn’t known.

As soon as the car came to a stop you tore off the seatbelt and booked it into the house. You’d just thrown your jacket on the coat hanger and were turning into the stairs when Jaskier entered.

“Y/N, talk to me,” he pleaded. Oh, now he’d be serious. Now he wanted to talk. How convenient. You continued to climb the stairs wordlessly, cursing your pregnant body for slowing you down as he caught up with you before you could the slam the door behind you.

“Y/N come on, it’s not that big a deal,” he argued. You spun on him, wide-eyed and angrier than he’d ever seen you.

“Not that big a deal?” you echoed incredulously. Jaskier balked a bit under your expression but shrugged helplessly.

“I mean, it’s in the past,” he said.

“I don’t… I don’t even know where to begin with that,” you said with a harsh, humorless laugh.

“Why are you angry?”

“Because I sat in a room with all of our friends who all knew you had this fun little secret and then I got to look like the fucking idiot who didn’t know that her husband appanrently really gets off on adultery,” you snapped. Jaskier’s eyes darkened with hurt and anger.

“That’s not fair,” he argued, “That’s all in the past.”

“That’s what all cheaters say.”

“I am not and will not be a cheater, Y/N. Gods, this is why I didn’t tell you! This is why! Because I knew you’d overreact,” he said.

“Oh yes please tell me how I should be reacting to this, Jaskier, I love it when a man tells me how I should react to things,” you snarled.

“I also didn’t tell you because I’m not proud of the way I acted.”

“Well you could have fooled me with the way you laughed and joked with them! Until they seemed to remember I was there and it killed the mood.”

“Of course I pretended it was fine, I didn’t know what else to do! What did you want me to do? Rend my shirt? Throw a drink in Aev’s face? She was drunk, I hoped we’d just move past it and then we could talk it through,” he explained, exasperation in his voice that only made you angrier and more defensive.

“Ok, sure, let’s talk,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest and fixing him with a dark look. He ran his fingers through his chestnut hair and took a deep breath before leaning against the bureau that sat across from the bed where you’d sat.

“I’m not proud of the choices I made. And I think I have a right to keep those choices in my past. Have you told me everything you’ve done? Every bad choice? Every mistake you wish you could take back?” he charged. You felt the truth in his words but you didn’t care about that, didn’t want to acknowledge it, you just wanted to be angry and make him feel the hurt you felt.

“So, what does this mean, Y/N? Is this going to change how you see me? Am I going to be defined by this forever now?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, tears filling your eyes, “I don’t want to say yes but I don’t know how to just… be ok with this. Jaskier, I should have known. Or at the very least I shouldn’t have found out like that. Gods, just, having all of them know and sitting there like that I just felt like an idiot or like I didn’t really know my husband and I’m scared.”

“You’re not an idiot. What are you scared of?” he asked, crossing the room to sit by you on the bed.

“Look at me, Jaskier. I’m bloated and tired and have acne like I’m going through puberty again. You’ve seen more of my vomit in the last month than I think my parents saw my entire life. I’ve already been worried about how you can find me attractive and knowing that you’ve… well… I don’t know, Jask. On some level I know it’s not fair to judge you or not trust you because you’ve never given me reason but it’s just… finding out, you know? It would have been one thing if you’d told me but just finding out like that… it feels like it was a secret. And that’s scary.”

Your anger abated into something much more painful. A fear and an uncertainty you’d never felt before in your relationship, not even once. Jaskier wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to worry. That he loved you, fell more in love with you every day, that he’d stopped chasing married women long before you met. But they all sounded like excuses and all he could see was that these choices he’d made, these stupid, selfish choices, were going to haunt him forever. And he silently left the room.

-----

“First, I need to apologize.”

Aevryn sat across from you on the patio, an apology basket of baked goods between you and a pair of sunglasses on to try and quell her headache. Jaskier hadn’t come to bed last night and when you woke up he was gone and Aevryn had texted to ask if she could come over to make amends. You weren’t angry with her but you wanted the company so you’d accepted.

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t know,” you said.

“I did, though,” Aevryn sighed, “Or I could’ve guessed. Jask doesn’t talk about that time in his life for a reason and it was shitty of me to bring it up. Being drunk is no excuse.”

You quietly chewed a bagel, not sure what to say, and she seemed satisfied with the quiet acceptance of her apology.

“Was it bad?” she asked, wincing slightly.

“It… yeah, it was pretty bad,” you admitted, “Aev I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“Hey,” Aev reached over and put a hand on yours, lowering her sunglasses so the seriousness in her sea green eyes could be seen, “Jaskier loves you more than anything. He has never and will never do that to you. And for what it’s worth, he’s never done it to anyone he’s with. I know being the Other Person isn’t great but I wouldn’t fuck around and lie for him if I thought he’d hurt you. I know how badly that betrayal can wound. And I know that people can change.”

You glanced at the ring on Aevryn’s left hand and knew she spoke of her own complicated history with her husband. You sighed and nodded.

“I may have said some things that weren’t great,” you said.

“Everyone does in a fight,” Aevryn said simply.

“He didn’t come to bed. And I don’t know where he is. Aev, what if he doesn’t come back?”

The sliding door opened and Jaskier stood in the threshold, a bouquet of daisies in one hand and his guitar in the other. Aevryn quickly stood up, walking over to you to press a quick kiss on your cheek and to snack a bagel before walking up to Jaskier.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he echoed.

They shared a meaningful silence and you watched them exchange some pointed looks, a silent conversation that can only be had between close friends who’ve known each other for half a lifetime. At some point some resolution must have been met because he gave her a small smile and she slid between the flowers and guitar to give him a quick hug before heading out, leaving the pair of you behind to talk. He looked at you a little sheepishly, feeling like a cliché.

“I’ve never had this before,” he explained, “Fights that didn’t lead to a breakup. I watched my parents do it a lot and he always brought flowers after. So, I did that. But he also never apologized. And I don’t want to do that.”

“Jaskier, a lot was said,” you began. He gently pressed the flowers into your arms and you smiled as the memory of watching your favorite movie with him came to mind. You’d spoken the line aloud with the actress, “I love daisies, they’re so friendly. Don’t you think they are the friendliest flower?” Jaskier had been charmed and ever since, on Valentine’s or your birthday or sometimes just because you were having a hard time while he was away, he would send you daisies. He was always thinking of those little things.

“I should have told you,” he said, taking the seat across from you, “Even if it was in my past, that’s the kind of thing someone should know before they agree to be with them.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” you said quickly, “I’m not going anywhere, Jask.”

A relieved look came over his face but he quickly picked up the apology, determined not to follow in the footsteps of his parents who just said enough to quell a fight without actually making amends. He wanted different for his family and he would do what it took, even if it was hard.

“I want you to know, I need you to know that I love you. You’re the person for me, Y/N. And I don’t need to chase the validation or attention or whatever I chased when I did that. And even if I did, even if someday I struggle with those insecurities, I’m going to have you by my side to talk through them with and I would rather have the hard talks with you than have an easy distraction with someone else. Any day. Vomit notwithstanding,” he said emphatically. You laughed and sniffed, a tear rolling down your face that he reached across to brush away.

“I wrote a song, because of course I did,” he said with a wry smile, “Not for the band, just for you. And if you’d like to hear it, I’d love to play it for you.”

“Yes,” you said and then, “Oh! Wait! No! Not until I say this! I called you a cheater and that wasn’t fair. And I should have told you I was feeling insecure and weird about my body and our relationship being impacted by the pregnancy, I can’t expect you to read my mind. So, yeah, I just needed to say that. Now you can play.”

He smiled, standing to cross over and give you a soft kiss before moving back to his seat to play the song he’d written that would be heard by no one but you and Jaskier and your unborn child.

#Anonymous #Punk!Jaskier x Reader #Punk!Jaskier #Punk!AU #Vicious Mockery AU #reader request

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wickedandthedamned · 4 years

Text

Ch.1 Even saints lie

"You bitch"

The man in the bowling hat stared into the monk's frightened eyes as his grasp became even tighter around her throat. His voice remained even and his expression only showed mild annoyance.

"Yoshikage…. Please.. You are hurting me" She managed to croak out. It would not be long until she lost consciousness and she knew it.

"So, I see you ARE trying to achieve sainthood. Thought you would do God's work and 'help' a poor soul pass on to the next plane huh?"

"I was… just trying to…. Help…." There was no use in struggling. The man had lifted her by her throat. Her eyes pleaded as they became glassy.

"Help? Look at me! As you can see, the cleansers did quite a little number on my arm.” He leaned in, and whispered into her ear.

“ There was one thing that kept me sane during my time trying to determine whether you knew about the eggs and that was the thought that maybe, just maybe your arm would fit " He punctuated his sentence by holding up what was left of his severed limb.”

"Please.. You.. Need.. To.. Move.. On……" The world started fading.

Kira stared at her. He could see the color draining from her face as her usually pink lips turned a pale shade of blue. He took a deep breath and let go of the monk's throat allowing her to hit the ground with a loud thud. She loudly gasped for air and proceeded to cough, her throat marked with a large handprint. He crouched down to her eye level and looked at her seemingly unbothered by the sight of her struggling to get life back into her lungs.

"Not your call, Momoko. I think it is for the best if we stop seeing each other. I have enough money to find an apartment now anyway."

He slowly walked away not bothering to look back.

It was a nice day, he thought. It was neither too hot or too cold and the sky was bluer than ever. He stopped by his favorite shop and admired the flowers for three minutes like he did every day.. They had tulips, his favorites. Maybe now that he was going to have his own place he would finally be able to paint them in peace. Yes, that sounded nice. He would wake up at 9 am, do a couple of stretches, and make breakfast while listening to the radio. Later, he would listen to an entire Wagner symphony while painting in his balcony. At night, he would watch the people go by while drinking a cup of tea, hell he may even read that silly book about noseless elephants. Finally, peace and tranquility. That was if things did not go like last time and a 'concerned' tenant started claiming there was suspicious activity going on which sooner or later would lead to him being evicted by a group of 'mediums' with nothing better to do than harass the dead.

On his path, he saw a curled up soul whimpering and attempting to avoid the feet of the living who moved around rapidly, anxious to get home from work. The pitiful sight gave Yoshikage a wonderful idea. He bent slightly forward and stuck his hand out politely.

"Hello, I am Yoshikage Kira. I too am dead.” He giggled.

“Please pardon my foolishness, but I cannot believe I had not thought about this sooner is all" He coyly held a hand to his face as he gave the most innocent smile to the poor spirit who looked as though ready to start sobbing.

"As you can see, my arm appears to be missing. “ He punctuated his sentence by holding up his stump which was poorly draped with ripped cloth from his green suit.

“I think you can help my predicament.” With his remaining arm he kicked down the soul who began wailing and frantically looking at the living for any kind of help.

“Now, now, please do not scream or struggle. You are going to make my head hurt. It isn't as though you are getting much use out of yours sitting here in this corner all day anyway so I don’t understand why you’re being such a pain."

Kira’s foot pressed down on the other ghost’s head as he hacked away at the poor things arm with his knife.

"There is a house with a couple of dogs down the street and I'm afraid I'm going to have to throw you over the fence if you don't stop causing such a scene."

The way the man cutting his arm spoke scared him far more than the living ever had. Despite his horrible actions, it seemed like this was nothing to this man -no- this monster

"There, see? That wasn't so bad, was it? All done"

Kira dropped the whimpering soul and walked off fitting the new arm into his stub. Surprisingly, the arm attached itself in a matter of seconds and he was able to use it relatively well.

He had spent the last couple of weeks sleeping in the house of a family who had been out on vacation. Unfortunately for him, they were coming back in a day or two so he would have to find a way to acquire his own space sooner than he had hoped. He sighed and glared at the setting sun.

"It's always a hassle figuring out where I will rest"

…...

"Yoshikage!"

The familiar voice called from down the street followed by the clanking of wood on concrete. Oh great, what did she want? Just as predicted, the caller was none other than the monk he had been running errands for. He turned around both amused and exasperated, still hurt about her betrayal.

"Momoko? I thought I made myself clear yesterday."

"Wait! I thought about it and you were right. It wasn't my place to send you to that house. By now you should know I am not a sentimental woman but.. Here.” She dug through her robes and produced a small object.

“Think of this as an apology"

She handed him a small piece of yellow paper with a number scribbled on top and the word "Poveglia" at the bottom. Kira looked down at it then back at her face. It was as expressionless as always but there was a small hint of something Kira could not quite read in her eyes.

“I don't work for you anymore" He announced while continuing to walk forward. The monk sped up and walked in front of him still holding the paper.

"Then think of it as a present from a friend" She pushed the paper closer towards Kira's closed fist.

'Friend'? He thought to himself. He had been working with her for the past three years but he had never thought of her as more than a boss really especially considering her stoic attitude towards him. Yet again she was, in fact, a monk, so that could be dismissed as part of her creed. Oh well.

"Why should I trust you?" He tilted his head and raised his brow. Momoko had to admit he did have a point. She had sent him in a suicide mission fairly recently, after all.

"You will not get what you seek in Morioh. There is simply too much going on but I know someone-"

"Let me guess another one of your 'friends'" Kira rolled his eyes sarcastically.

"I know someone that can help you get the quiet life you want." Momoko glared, she hated being interrupted.

"Fine, but for the record if you are lying to me I will kill you this time. Do I make myself clear?" The tone of his voice let on that this was less of a threat and more of a matter-of-fact statement.

"Fair enough"

"Let me guess I'm going to have to offer my services to your 'friend'"

"A small price to pay for a lifetime of tranquility, is it not?. My acquaintance has a very wealthy client who is looking for something-"

"Do I look like a bloodhound to you?"

"Stop interrupting"

Kira raised his hands defensively and listened on. He knew Momoko Okamoto well enough to know when to take her seriously and despite yesterday's actions, he acknowledged she was someone who's bad side he did not want to be on.

"As I was saying, he has a very wealthy client who is looking for something he has lost. Said item is very heavily guarded by a bunch of inconveniences that need to be dispatched, that's where you come in. They will explain more once you meet with them. In this paper you will find the coordinates to the meetup spot as well as the code word you must say in order to prove you are who you say you are"

"You still haven't told me my reward."

"My friend knows of a place solely populated with people in your state.No living beings to beings to be seen"

"Go on"

"Your reward is enough money to buy a house or apartment in the location of the aforementioned place"

"What's the catch?"

"The meeting place is in Europe"

"Hm"

"I will pay for your travel expenses. You don't even have to take the job just go to the meeting"

"I'll think about it" He opened his palm and allowed the paper to fall on it. The monk gave him a nod and went back to where she came from.

...

In the afternoon of the very same day, Yoshikage Kira found himself in the Morioh Library. It was a Saturday night, there were hardly any patrons which made the place rather pleasant. There he was able to sit down and perhaps figure out additional information on the mission. He could not find anything on the word "Poveglia" but he did, locate the coordinates in the paper. It was a small café on the outsides of Sicily. Kira placed both hands under his chin.

"Italy, huh?"

#kiravolo #kiraboss #yoshikage kira #diavolo #diavolo x kira

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indulgnces · 5 years

Text

hi howdy hello!! i go by jess and this is my first time playing my sweet bb girl, so i’m pumped! more about my girl audrey below the cut!

❛ ( SARAH JEFFERY ) ◈ dude, shut up ! AUDREY ROSE from DESCENDANTS is on screen. their fans swear they’re just DETERMINED & OUTGOING, but we’ve all seen their JEALOUS & STUBBORN side ! according to TRUMAN WIKIA, they’re TWENTY-ONE years old, BISEXUAL, & identify as CISFEMALE ( SHE/HER ). they’re currently a STUDENT & are RELIEVED about life in truman. luckily they have HER DIARY & HER SONGBIRD NECKLACE with them & can visit THE FAIRY COTTAGE whenever they want. penned by JESS.

sooooooooo confession: i’ve never watched a descendants movie from start to finish 😬 I know! crazy considering I’m playing a character from the movies, but like, have you guys ever seen a character and just be like wOW, that is My Type of character? cause that’s what happened with audrey. descendants 3 came out and was trending, and I checked the tag and like was 👀👀👀 to audrey to the point that I watched queen of mean and got HOOKED. caught a replay of the movie and watched all the audrey parts while skipping over the rest. since then I’ve been in love with my girl and she’s been on my mind so much that I’m returning to rp after a small break to play my girl. In preparation I skimmed through descendants 1 & 3, and adurey’s youtube short story so I’m good to GO.

CANON LIFE

“A lifetime of plans, gone. Our family status, gone. Audrey, you were supposed to be his Queen, and you let him slip through your fingers. Your mother could hold onto a prince in her sleep.”

daughter of sleeping beauty and prince phillip, princess audrey has been groomed since she was a child by her grandmother to become the queen of auradon. she’d been friends with prince ben since she was a child, and was expected to marry him when she got older.

grew up used to the finer things of life, and as such, audrey was a bit self-absorbed and spoiled. became the most popular girl in school due to her status and beauty. was cheer captain. finally became romantically involved with ben at some point in high school. life was going exactly as planned.

then ben decided to invite 4 villain kids (vks) from the isle of the lost to auradon, and everything went to shit. the stark black and white, good vs. evil mentality was deeply ingrained in audrey’s psyche, so she was very much AGAINST the idea of any isle kids coming over. convinced the vks were up to no good, she never warmed up to the them, and bullied them (mostly mal) at times. and you know what? she was RIGHT

mal used a love potion to steal her boyfriend, who then humiliated audrey by serenading mal during a tourney match, where audrey was cheering at. no one gave two shits though?? or suspected foul play at all?? they just cheered and were like “ah, cool! our soon-to-be-king has suddenly declared his love for this new vk who’s only been here for a few days! how awesome and totally natural !! “

audrey was still plenty popular by the end of the movie, but her fairy godmothers decided to treat adurey to a spa trip, which turned into an extended trip that required her needing summer school bc she missed so much school (aka why she was absent for descendants 2)

by the time audrey came back in descendants 3, everyone was ALL up mal’s ass crack. ben proposed to mal in front of everyone, serenading her with the SAME song he did in the first movie when he ceremoniously proclaimed his love for mal while simultaneously dumping audrey, and everyone cheered AGAIN for their union. damn thing broke audrey’s whole ass heart. on top of that, her grandmother chastised audrey for her failures in securing ben and basically failing the family.

she also lost her status come d3??? like, at the end of d1, she was still cool as fuck. but come d3 girl is not even being invited to her friend’s birthday parties anymore?? she has no friends?? no one gives two shits about how she must be dealing with everything? and wow does that not help things at all.

that night, in her loneliness and anger, audrey decided to steal the queen’s crown from the artifacts museum. it was a petty thing. she was hurt, and just did NOT want to see the crown she’d envisioned as her own for all her life be placed on mal’s head. she didn’t have a goal beyond taking the crown. however, when she went to the museum, maleficent’s scepter sensed audrey’s emotions and desires for revenge, and revealed itself to her. it’s glow lured audrey to it, fed into her emotions, and bing bang boom, audrey became the ultra fabulous QUEEN OF MEAN

under the scepter's influence, she put half of auradon under a sleeping spell, the other half she turned to stone, then she made ben a beast after he rejected her, and made mal an ugly old hag. she was foiled at the end by mal, and ended up falling under a sleeping curse as a result. with no True Love’s Kiss to awaken her (rip), the heroes ended up getting Hades to use his magic to wake her up.

at the end, she apologizes for her crimes & her emotions were finally acknowledged when mal and ben stepped up and apologized for their inconsiderate past actions to audrey (wELL, they never actually apologize?? they say ‘I owe you an apology” but both don’t like actually say sorry, and that’s 100% something audrey has noticed for sure). she celebrates at the end with everyone else when the barrier is brought down and is last seen dancing with harry hook

POST CANON

totally headcanon that she’s still not 100% happy as she’s shown in the end while dancing around okay

she’s STILL lonely!! she STILL wants those apologies!! she’s STILL lost about what to do with her future now that her whole life plan has blown up in smokes. she’s HURT okay. her friends? abandoned her! ben? abandoned her! that one hurts the most bc after spotting that pic of audrey/ben as children together, I 100% hc that they have been best buds for years before falling into a relationship. and while it’s clear ben was not really ~in love~ with audrey ( i image they ended up getting together bc it was just Expected yknow?), audrey still had feelings for ben. even if it wasn’t true love (she def wasn’t In Love tho she thought she was), she did still love ben. he was her best friend, and the fact that he never came around to apologize to her for humiliating her the way he did after the love spell broke HURT.

also hc that she had to take a remedial goodness class following her stunt

the ending given to her is life a brief showing of her and harry hook smiling at each other all soft like before dancing, which like, i’m game for, but in terms of her actual future, audrey was trying to figure out just how to do life moving forward following everything

TRUMAN

“Tell me it was all a bad dream.”

yeah so I said audrey was relieved about her life in truman? 100000% true!

her life was incredibly sad and lonely before, so convincing her that all that shit was all just a bad dream was an incredibly easy thing to do for the descendants actors okay (im sad for her bc of this tbh)

her life as she knows it: she still comes from a family of high status and money. not technically a princess, but she sure does act like one. believes she was born and raised in truman, but was sent to boarding school at auradon prep since she was a child, where she thrived and grew into a typical Popular Girl (head of cheer team/one of the most beautiful girls), before returning to truman after graduating. basically she believes she had the same perfect life she had before in canon, minus the vks, ben, and the whole fairy tale/royalty stuff (basically everything that ruined that perfect life).

all that other extra stuff, including going all queen of mean and losing ben and being drop kicked by literally everyone, is just POOF, fuzzy memories, bad vivid horror story nightmares! every now and then she’ll witness an engagement, or spot a serenade, and it’ll trigger an overwhelming sense of sadness, but for the most part, she’s content putting her life behind her. her new life is a much happier one. that could totally change once she starts encountering people from her past life again.

only really recognizes her family members as family members, and maybe recognizes some past auradon friends (maybe chad charming as her ex since he’s the only one who didn’t totally abandon her rip)

since “returning” to truman, she’s entered university on the island. she wasn’t sure where she was going with life, but she knew she’s always been really good at drawing and really good at event planning. so in uni, she decided to keep her artistic talents as a hobby and pursue a career in event planning. in pursuit of this, she’s a senior at college, majoring in hospitality management.

PERSONALITY

positive: determined, headstrong, outgoing, self-assured, polite, moral, dedicated

negative: jealous, stubborn, demanding, bossy, petty, close-minded, seemingly mean (tho she doesn’t consider herself mean, okay? she just can come off as mean/rude)

CANON CONNECTIONS

ben & mal: need them both bc they are the ones who hurt her the most so i’d loooooove to play out these dynamics in truman!! they’d be the most Triggering faces for her

jay & harry & chad & uma: underrated audrey ships i’d love to play out bc literally crumbs are given to the majority of these dynamics, and so I want to just...explore them?? three of these 4 are vks and 2 of those 3 are people audrey actively pursued in some sort of ~connection~ at the end of the movies when the Couples got together, and she did that even tho she is very Moral and has confusing feelings about vks, and i just wanna know more!!

TRUMAN CONNECTIONS

yeah this is getting long, so I’m planning on posting a whole separate post in the truman plot tag for these wanted connections!

and yeah! that’s everything on my girl! if you’ve made it this far, you’re the best my dudes!! I’m gonna be on mobile for a good portion of the day before coming on at night, but if you’d like to do any kind of plotting with my girl, just go ahead and hit that like button, and I’ll slide in y’alls dms! ♥

#truman:intro #♦ audrey rose — intro.#intro

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crimsonheart01 · 5 years

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What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.” With Coco 🌷

46. “What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.”

NOTE: Prompts are now closed. Thank you to everyone who sent in their requests.

The bell above the door dinged as it was opened. You sighed and grabbed your pad of paper off the counter. It’d been a long day and you were thoroughly ready to go home, crack open a bottle of wine and take a nice long bubble bath.

You grabbed a stack of clean glasses and a jug of water, along with some menus. You smoothed down your apron with one hand and made your way over to the table now hosting two people.

You unintentionally made eye contact with the young girl looking your way. She was probably no older than 17, but the emotion in her eyes would have you think she had seen more of life than she needed by that age.

You stepped up to the table, forced a smile onto your face and greeted them.

“Afternoon, I’ll be your server today.”

With ease, you slid placed two cups down, handed out the menus and began pouring their waters.

“Anything I can start you off with?” You asked as you set the jug down and reached for your pad of paper.

You plucked the pencil from behind your ear and had it poised to write when you finally looked up and in the direction of the second patron. His dark eyes stared up at you, recognition flashing in them. Your smile faltered and your heart rate sped up.

“Johnny.” You murmured, more to yourself than anyone.

He nodded. You took a deep breath and forced that smile back in place. You shook off the obvious tension and flashed your teeth at the both of them, trying to maintain the bubbly persona you started with.

Johnny took the hint, “I’ll take some coffee.”

He waved his hand in the direction of the young woman and she ordered a coke.

“Great.” You said as you tucked away your pencil, “I’ll be back in a few.”

You sped away from the table and straight through the doors into the kitchen. You leaned against the door as it closed, breathing rapidly. You squeezed your eyes shut and scolded yourself. It had been years since you’d seen him. Years. You never understood how the sight of that man sent you into hot sweats.

You wiped your forehead and slipped back out into the dining room. You meandered behind the counter, being very careful not to look towards his table. You thought back to the last time you saw him. It had been around 5 years outside of high school graduation.

It was a random encounter. In a bar. Where you were drunker than you cared to admit, and you had no idea if he’d been drinking at all. That was the night you admitted your longtime crush on him. In return, he admitted to having always known. Safe to say that confession stalled the rest of the reunion. You didn’t even bother to ask why he never said anything. You could see the dismissal in his expression the moment the words came out of his mouth.

Grabbing the coffee pot, you attempted to shove all your emotions down your throat. You plastered another smile to your face and made your way to their table. You set the coffee mug down, poured it full and reached into your pocket for a couple of milk and creamers.

As you dropped them down onto the table, you asked, “Ready to order?”

You nearly flinched at how fake your voice sounded. It was obvious you were masking your nerves. You internalized everything, hoping that you seemingly remained cool and aloof to them. The young woman he was with ordered without any idea of the obvious tension. When you turned to get Johnny’s order he shook his head and indicated that the coffee was enough. You gave one nod in acknowledgement and then sped away.

As soon as you put the order in, you pulled off your apron and tossed it down on the bench in the locker room. You grabbed your smokes and beelined it out of the restaurant. With tears in your eyes, you lit up and collapsed against the back wall.

You took your time on your break. Lord knew you needed it. You worked too hard anyway. At a shitty diner. You spent the next ten minutes to yourself and keeping your thoughts far away from the man sitting in a booth that just happened to be in your section.

As the dregs of your cigarette were finishing, you snuffed it out in the overflowing ashtray and crossed your arms over your chest. You turned towards the door, noticing a shadow of someone walking around the side of the building but thought nothing of it.

It wasn’t until you heard his raspy voice call out your name that you realized who’d come around the corner. His voice caused you to pause. You had no idea why he’d come looking for you. It seemed unnecessarily rude. Torture, really.

Your knuckles turned white at the force you were gripping the back door with. What he said next was something you never expected in your wildest dreams.

“What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.”

Your mind blanked. It didn’t make any sense. Not after all this time. Not after everything you told him. Not everything he threw to the wayside. His hand landed on your shoulder and you jolted, not expecting the touch. He quickly let his arm fall away as you shuddered from the contact.

You turned to face him, tears running your cheeks and he shrugged. The bastard shrugged. Rage rippled through you. You reached out with both hands and shoved him backwards. His eyes widened as he stumbled back a few steps.

“You’re an asshole.” You cried.

He swallowed at your reaction. He clearly hadn’t been expecting you to lash out at him. You clenched your hands into fists and spun back around, hiding your face. You squeezed your eyes shut and forced yourself to take three deep breaths in. You took that moment to calm down and level out. He kept his distance but never walked away.

Once you had a bit of clarity you finally asked, “Why now?”

As you turned back to face him, you watched as he lifted into another shrug, that further infuriated you, “I’m bad for you.”

“That’s the shittiest excuse I’ve ever heard.” You rolled your eyes, “We’ve known each other since we were kids. Sure, time changes a person, but you’re still that same Johnny Cruz who grew up down the block from me.”

He shook his head, adamant that you were wrong, “I’ve been in and out of jail, been discharged from the military and have multiple kids who barely know I exist. How is any of that good for you?”

You threw your hands up, “You think I care about that shit? If you wanna be a good dad, be one. That’s on you. If you weren’t such a cocky asshole I doubt you would’ve been let go from service.” He cracked a smirk at your tirade and you were determined to ignore it and keep going, “I don’t know why you ever thought I would care. I’d been your friend for as long as I can remember. I would’ve stood by you through everything. Hell, I still admitted I was in love with you after your last run inside. You’re scared, Johnny. Scared that I might just know more about you than you know about yourself. that I’ll be the one who will actually push you to be the man we both know that you are.”

His smirk faded at that last sentence. His eyes flicked down to the pavement and then back up to meet yours. He opened his mouth to speak but you shook your head to cut him off. You didn’t want to hear his lame apology. It didn’t matter anyway.

You whipped around and grabbed the heavy door handle, beginning to pull it open. The second it was wide enough, you attempted to slip through but his fingers circled around your wrist. He didn’t tug, but he left his hand there, indicating to you that he wanted you to stay. You sighed, as you tossed him a glance over your shoulder.

“Let me try?” He asked.

Your breath hitched and you moved to tug your arm away and he let you. You pulled your arm up to cradle against your chest.

He let out a deep breath, “I can’t promise you anything, and I’m sure I’ll fuck it up down the road, but let me try.”

“Johnny,” You started to protest, wanting to let him down.

He shook his head, “I don’t deserve any chances from you but I’m tired of avoiding this. You.”

You scoffed at him. The two of you stood in the back alley, quiet. His gaze penetrated you and you could see a lifetime of hurt and self-hatred. It broke through your anger and even though you had every right to deny him everything; you didn’t want too. All you wanted was to see that smirk again. The one that both excited and infuriated you.

You rolled your lips together, “Fine, but there’ll be conditions.” You watched as his face lightened. He didn’t smile, but you knew that it was close under the surface. You pointed at him, “Don’t you dare think this is going to be easy. I know you, Johnny. I remember you. I’m as stubborn as you are.”

His trademark smirk appeared and he stepped in closer to you. He reached out one had behind you and gripped the back of your head. You smiled, allowing him to pull you forward until your lips met. As you closed your eyes, your entire world exploded. Shivers ran through your spine and fireworks shot through your veins. This was a moment you’d been dreaming about for too long, and thank the heavens it was exactly as you’d always imagined.

When you broke apart, Johnny tossed his arm around your shoulder and tugged the door open. “C’mon. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

You tucked yourself in tighter under his arm and you felt the subtle squeeze he gave your shoulder as you both walked back towards his table. The young brunette saw both of you walking towards her with a satisfied smile on her face.

#Anonymous #crimsonanswers #coco cruz #johnny coco cruz #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans imagines #mayans imagine #mayans mc imagines #coco cruz imagine #coco cruz imagines #johnny cruz imagines #johnny cruz imagine #johnny coco cruz imagines #johnny coco cruz imagine

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drrjsb · 5 years

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Body & Soul: The Endgame Fix “Part One: The Price”

Summary: If you weren’t happy with Avengers: Endgame, here’s your fix-it fic! We start on Monday, October 22, 2023: Eleven days after achieving time travel, six days since losing Natasha, five days after the Hulk Snap, two days since Tony's funeral, and one since Steve went into the Quantum Realm and Old Man Steve appeared.

[Monday, October 22, 2023]

“Five days! It’s been FIVE WHOLE DAYS that you’ve been walking around like this? Just what the hell were you thinking, Bruce?” Dr. Helen Cho swore intensely as she escorted an ailing Dr. Bruce Banner down the Avengers Quinjet ramp to the rooftop at the U-GEN building in Soule, South Korea. The more she saw of the obvious physical damage inflicted by the Infinity Stones, the more the geneticist was getting wound up. This was a complete reversal of their normal temperaments as the healer began to rant at her friend and professional collaborator, and the physicist calmly accepted her chastisement with a sheepish smile and a shrug of his broad shoulders underneath his tailored charcoal gray suit.

His right arm was now out of the sling he’d used during Tony’s funeral a few days before, but it was an obvious mismatch with his healthy left arm. “안녕하세요to you, too, Helen,” Bruce replied with a good-humored laugh. “By the way, this is Princess Shuri of Wakanda,” he said, gesturing behind them with his good hand to the slim, bright-eyed teen who was enjoying a laugh at his expense as she tucked a meter-long cylindrical container under her arm to bring off the Quinjet with her. “I believe you’ve already been consulting over the Internet,” the physicist added.

Helen suddenly flushed with embarrassment and turned to her other visitor. “Oh, my apologies, Princess Shuri. I’m sorry for being so rude. It’s good to finally meet you in person, your highness.”

“No problem, Dr. Cho. Please, just ‘Shuri’ is a lot easier.” She reached up and gave Bruce’s good arm a pat. “This is more important, and you are right to give him Hell for not getting here sooner,” the young woman chided Bruce.

“Just ‘Helen,’ please,” the older scientist said, feeling very chagrined.

“Hey, I tried to get here faster, and you know that, Princess,” Bruce needled the young Wakandan prodigy in return since they’d had to detour for her to pick up her package in Oakland, CA, on the way from Upstate New York to South Korea. Bruce turned to his colleague, “Please, Helen, you’d just gotten back to your family, and there were too many other things going on after the battle at the Avengers Compound to have more than triage done anyway. Thanks to Shuri and her medics, it’s been stable or improving over the last four days, and if you look closely,” he pulled back his blue dress shirt’s collar and bent down for a better view of his neck, “it’s starting to regenerate around the edges of the burn.”

“I could tell that from some of the scans you sent, but let’s get inside the lab, and I’ll judge for myself.” Bruce was just able to fit his oversized frame inside the freight elevator with the two scientists by ducking and crouching a bit. Squeezing through the doors on the staircase would have been worse. When they arrived at the correct floor, Dr. Cho led them into one of her lab spaces where the third generation of “the Cradle” and its related research projects now resided. “I’m sorry for the mess and disorganization. The program and our research agenda continued in my absence, but I’m almost back up to speed.” Bruce noted everything looked as neat and well-organized as it always had in the past.

Helen kept grumbling to herself in both English and Korean as she helped him take off his clothing from the waist up before tackling the protective sheathing and nutrient treatment wrap shielding his right arm. The irony of their character reversal—her anger and his calm—wasn’t lost on him, and he bit his lower lip to avoid smiling too much and antagonizing her. She still shot him a deadly glance. “Don’t you dare smile unless that’s from the pain meds, Banner,” Helen threatened. He doubted there were currently any pain meds involved since they’d never been effective for long after his original “accident” altered his metabolism. He was used to being stoic about it as Banner and irritable when he’d been just Hulk about three years ago. Now that he’d co-integrated, he was enduring it as good-naturedly as he could.

When Bruce had Skyped Helen very early that morning (tomorrow afternoon for her with the 13-hour time difference), her husband Philip had to reassure her she wasn’t being pranked. A much larger and greener Bruce explained to her that while she was gone for five years, he had made peace with his anger-prone alter ego and “merged” with the Hulk. If it weren’t for his voice and facial expressions, she wouldn’t have recognized her old colleague in the new Bruce. Even face-to-face, she was still feeling a bit unnerved by his floor-to-ceiling size, but he was surprisingly nimble and coordinated as he maneuvered around the delicate equipment. She had to admit, especially with the geeky glasses and easy-going confidence, the new Bruce was pretty charming.

The U-GEN staff had brought in a reinforced examination table for Helen to use, so she could examine him since he was now roughly seven and a half feet tall and about 900 lbs. Not as big as his former temperamental Hulk form had been, but this Bruce was now closer to Hulk physically than Banner’s spare 5’ 9” frame. Thankfully, his intellect and puckish sense of humor were as prominent as ever; still, this was a lot to wrap her head around on top of everything else she’d missed in five years. To be honest, having a project like rehabbing Bruce’s arm helped her focus since she was having difficulty fitting back into her own projects that had moved on without her. In cutting-edge science, five years felt like a lifetime. She wondered what Nat thought about this metamorphosis since he hadn’t mentioned her yet, and they’d seemed to be getting so close. They were all definitely going to have to catch up and talk about this later. Right now, the geneticist needed to see what they had left to work with function-wise and determine a course of treatment or make some tough decisions about whether or not to remove the limb. She guessed this was just one of several likely reasons for the Wakandan wunderkind to be involved since she’d reportedly redesigned Sergeant Barnes’ prosthetic.

Now that Bruce’s upper body was exposed, Helen studied the extensive wrapping protecting his arm and shoulder. “Here, may I please assist you, Helen?” Shuri offered as she caught back up to them in the right section of the interconnected areas. She’d gotten a little lost in thought as she’d curiously looked around the cluster of labs on that floor. (She could hardly wait for the tour!) She’d been taking a lot of mental notes since the final showdown at the Avenger’s Compound as she’d met many interesting people.

As soon as Tony’s body had been taken away from the battlefield crater, she’d approached the exhausted Hulk as he collapsed onto his knees in the rubble. It didn’t take a genius to see he was obviously injured and overwrought, but she was surprised to learn he was not the angry alter ego she was expecting, but the good-humored physicist she’d teased about Vision’s neural configuration who was now broken down before her. Bast forgive her, how she’d mercilessly critiqued Banner and Stark’s work on the synthezoid just before the Snap! Now, it felt like a lifetime ago, and so much had changed while she was “blipped.”

On the day of the second battle, Shuri had quickly sent an assistant to look for Natasha Romanoff, knowing that’s who should have been there to share their loss together only to be told by one of the Dora Milaje that the warrior and spy had sacrificed herself before the battle had even started. Shuri had quickly stepped forward and taken charge of Banner’s care on the battlefield. It was devastatingly obvious to her he’d lost the two most important people in the world to him, but she’d be damned if he was going to lose his life or his arm next.

Tents were set up in a field away from the blast crater where the Compound had been. Only a few of the storage buildings and a maintenance facility toward the very back of the property had been spared due to the angle of attack, so the survivors took Bruce and the other wounded there where they still had electricity and running water. Her initial scans showed he had unusual radiation burns, similar to what Stark had suffered. “So, are you the fool or the hero responsible for bringing us all back, Dr. Banner?” she surmised.

“It was a team effort,” Bruce acknowledged, yet he demurred taking credit even after paying such an awful price. She estimated he had paid about 160 pounds of flesh to return half of all life in the universe—including hers and T’Challa’s—so maybe it wasn’t such a bad deal? Of course, that put a lot of people in his debt. She, however, was one of the few in the unique position of being able to pay him something back now when he needed it.

“Joint effort or not, you alone wore the Gauntlet and made it happen. Thank you, Dr. Bruce Banner. You don’t even have to say, ‘You’re welcome,’” she added pertly.

Despite the pain, he’d smiled and nodded. “You are welcome, Shuri. I just wish Tony had let me do it the second time.”

She shook her head. “Even I, who never met Mr. Stark, know he wouldn’t have let you, and it was not your fate.” The older physicist simply sighed and shook his head as the tears started to fill his eyes again. “Whether you like it or not, Bruce Banner, you are the one who is going to survive, especially if I have anything to say about it.” He looked at her and almost laughed through his tears. That’s when she was sure he had some fight left in him. “Besides, who am I going to teach how to make synthetic synapses work properly if you don’t stick around, hmm?”

That had gotten a small chuckle out of him, so she and an assistant had set to work removing the burned purple, grey, and black tech suit from him. The tricky part had been separating it from where the material had melted onto his tough skin, especially the spots on his back and hand where the healthy tissue was starting to regenerate around the fibers. That wouldn’t have been an issue if the uniform had been made out of Vibranium, which she could easily have made to separate or meld with organic tissue by merely adjusting it with one of her Kimoyo Beads. This was a different carbon-based weave that incorporated organic materials with the high-tech microstructures. At Bruce’s suggestion, the healers used their Beads to apply cold and the fibers shrunk enough to be removed with a dental water jet. They were nothing if not resourceful that afternoon. Next, they applied a Wakandan cooling nutrient wrap to disperse the heat and protect the burned tissue from infection. It was no secret that aloe was a major ingredient, and it also had a pretty powerful anesthetic. However, her patient didn’t need to know that. Eventually, he’d slept stretched across four cots.

Continue on AO3, WattPad, or FanFiction.Net

#DrRJSB #Brutasha #NatashaRomanoff #BruceBanner #Hulk #Endgame #post endgame #Endlame #fix-it fic #Black Widow #Hulkwidow #Brucenat #MCU #Body & Soul #Mark Ruffalo #The Price #Shuri #Helen Cho #Science Family

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mdelpin · 5 years

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Shadowlight Week 2019 Prompt: Dusk AO3 | FF.Net

This follows the events after His Own Destiny (Day 4: Command), High Hopes (Day 2: Symbols) and A Scent Like No Other (Day 1: Scents)

It’s Always Darkest...

Summary: They weren't there by choice. Nothing about this was their choice. But defiance leads to worse outcomes. At least they had each other. Kind of. A vague connection, flickering in and out like the dying rays of dusk, hoping for a dawn that seemed just outside of their reach.

Rogue couldn't understand anything that was happening around him. Jiemma was talking about implanting a lacrima into his body. Sting had been beaten in his absence, he'd accused Rogue of betrayal and was now refusing to speak to him. It was as if Rogue had somehow become trapped in some bizarre nightmare he couldn't wake up from. All he'd wanted to do was help a friend, sure he'd known there'd be consequences, but there was no way he could have envisioned all of this.

Sting's words had hurt him badly, and he knew that had been the intent. He'd been lashing out, and it was a testament to how deeply Rogue had unintentionally managed to hurt him. The last time Sting had sounded like that had been right after they'd found out what had happened to the Fairy Tail wizards. He'd broken down then as well, but this time Rogue couldn't help but feel a bit angry too. Rogue thought at the very least he deserved to be heard, after all, how many times had he listened to Sting when he'd tried to explain himself to Rogue? Wasn't he owed the same?

Rogue clamped down on his anger, realizing at this moment it was his worst enemy. He tried to put himself in Sting's place and he realized with mounting horror that Sting had every right to be angry with him. Sting had never shared a bed with anyone else, never let himself be touched by anyone but him or the cats. It was something special between the two of them, and something they both missed since they had been here. All that seemed so distant now, almost like another lifetime.

There had been so many nights Rogue had wanted to use his shadows to sneak into Sting’s room, if only for one night. The risk of being caught was too high, the consequences more than they were willing to bear. Gods, when was the last time they’d been able to hug, or sneak a kiss or even just hold hands? The only touches they’d been allowed in over a year had been in the form of punches and kicks.

And here he had thoughtlessly shared some of those same things with Minerva. He'd been selfish and had both sought out and offered comfort to someone other than his mate and Rogue realized with growing shame that he would be equally upset had the roles been reversed. He could have done things differently, he understood that now. He only hoped that Sting would calm down long enough to let him apologize.

He looked over at Sting and upon seeing the hard set of his jaw he knew without a doubt that his mate had come to a decision. All Rogue could do was hope was that it didn’t involve him.

Jiemma came back into the room and from then on the rest of that night was a blur. He implanted the lacrima into Sting first, and somehow he managed to remain both still and silent throughout the whole procedure, giving Rogue the false expectation that it wasn't going to hurt.

When it was his turn, Rogue wasn’t able to do the same. He screamed bloody murder and almost passed out from the pain. His body felt like it was being ripped apart when the scalpel cut through his flesh. The implantation of the crystal was pure torture as the opening was spread roughly to be able to fit the lacrima inside. His body fought against what it considered to be a foreign body, but the lacrima must have connected with his magic container because the next jolt he felt was from his body attempting to heal itself, much more quickly than usual.

Despite everything that had just happened, Rogue hoped Minerva had been able to find a safe place to stay and remain hidden from her father. As he had just proven, Jiemma was a sadistic madman, and Rogue worried about what he would do to Minerva if he found her.

Once he was satisfied they’d both survive Jiemma had Rufus and Orga help Sting and Rogue to their rooms.

They were given no chance to recover from their impromptu surgery. The following day Jiemma sent Sting and Rufus to find Minerva and bring her back, while Rogue was instructed to spar with Orga. Dobengal was dispatched with another satchel of money to pay the man Rogue had stolen the lacrimas from.

Even through the pain he still felt, Rogue could feel the difference in his magic. His first attack sent Orga flying across the room, something he'd never managed to do before. It was exhilarating, but also scary. Rogue quickly realized he'd have to relearn control of his magic if he wanted to make sure not to hurt anyone, and that was one thing he was determined about. He would fight for Jiemma and Sabertooth in any way necessary to fulfill his duties, but he refused to maliciously bring pain to another.

He continued to practice, both alone and with others, trying to get comfortable with his new abilities. It also helped him keep his mind off Minerva and Sting, who had yet to return, although he had no doubt Sting would find her. Lector had stayed behind, and he and Frosch were nervous, neither able to understand what was going on.

From Lector, Rogue knew that Sting had cried the night before he left and then had refused to talk about it. Knowing that Sting had at least shown some emotion made Rogue believe that he could get through to him if he were just patient.

He often wondered how he could have ended up mated to someone as stubborn as Sting Eucliffe, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. Feelings weren't rational, and the truth was they brought out the best in each other, it was a delicate balance, but Rogue wouldn't have it any other way. He'd just have to have faith that all this would blow over soon and they could go back to the way things were. He desperately hoped so.

Sting and Rufus returned with Minerva two days later, her hands bound in handcuffs Rogue knew all too well. Her face looked like she had been in a rough fight and from the way Sting was looking at his feet, he had a good idea who it had been with. Rogue realized with horror that if Minerva had been the first person Sting had fought with his new abilities, he could easily have killed her.

Minerva stood up straight, her glare defiant as she waited for her father to acknowledge her, and Rogue was relieved to see her spirit had remained intact.

Jiemma struck her across the face hard enough to break the skin and Rogue flinched as he saw blood run in rivulets down her pale cheeks. She didn’t cry out, only stared at her father with a hatred that hadn’t been there before, making Rogue wonder just what had happened in the days she’d been gone.

“Go fetch your things, girl,” Jiemma barked contemptuously. “We’re going to go do some training.”

Rogue wondered what kind of training was involved, in the time he'd been in Sabertooth he'd never seen Jiemma practice with his daughter, and most training was done inside the guild.

For a second Minerva’s facade broke and she looked afraid, but she recovered quickly giving a curt nod and walking off towards her room. Rogue fought the urge to go after her, knowing it would only make things worse.

He could feel Sting's gaze on him, and he met it, but before he could say a word Sting had turned and walked away towards his room. Lector, who had been hiding in the shadows, spared him a sad glance before running after his partner.

Rogue decided he might as well find out what had happened and went off to talk to Minerva. He found her sitting on her bed surrounded by clothing and toiletries but staring listlessly at the wall. She looked up when he knocked on her door.

“What happened?” Rogue leaned against the doorframe, keeping his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“It didn’t go as planned,” Minerva smiled weakly, trying to find some humor in the situation but failing as the tears she’d been holding in finally burst. “I went to see my mother, but uhm it turns out she didn’t want me there.”

"I'm so sorry," Rogue tried to come up with better words, but he was still so overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the last few days that it was the best he could do.

“No, I should have known. I mean, what parent leaves their child behind, right?” Minerva grabbed a tissue from her nightstand and used it to dab at her eyes. “She’s terrified of my father, from the second she saw me she was trying to get me to leave, and I had nowhere else to go. No other guild would take me, they’re all terrified of him too.”

"I was headed back here when Sting and Rufus found me," Minerva shrugged, "I should be apologizing to you, Rufus told me what happened. If I had known my father was capable of going that far, I never would have left."

“Did Sting... hurt you?”

"It's fine, he hit me harder than usual, but he seemed shocked by it. I don't think he really meant to and I'll be alright." Minerva waved away his concern.

"Listen, Rogue, I think it's best for everyone if we just….," Minerva looked at him sadly but with determination, "It's just not safe to have friends in this guild, bonds are a weakness none of us can afford. Getting stronger is the only thing that can help improve our situation."

She turned her back to him, grabbing some items that had been lying on her bed and putting them in a bag. Rogue watched her, trying to keep his feelings under control, but it was too much. In the span of a few days, he’d lost all his friends, save for the cats. He felt the stinging in his eyes and fought it, crying wasn’t going to help anything.

Minerva seemed surprised to see him still there, and she touched his cheek one last time as she walked out the door, "I'm sorry, Rogue."

It seemed getting stronger was the only way to go. If Sting and Minerva were determined to get stronger, he would do so as well. After all, the stronger he became, the higher his chances grew of someday finding his way out of this guild.

o-o

Ironically, now that Sting refused to talk to him, Jiemma was constantly pairing them together. The lacrimas had worked even better than the Guild Master had hoped, amplifying their already considerable magic by order of magnitude at least.

It made such a huge difference that they weren't able to command it as well as their usual magic, and it was too enmeshed with it to be isolated, so the fact remained until they learned to control it they really couldn't spar with anyone else.

Their spars were violent, fighting was the only way they had to communicate at the moment. At first, Rogue had let Sting get some hits in hoping that would be enough for Sting to get past his anger but as it seemed to make no difference Rogue soon began giving as good as he got.

Rogue was awed by how much power they now had at their disposal. They were able to access parts of their magic that they hadn't been aware of before. Their healing had increased as well, allowing them to take bigger hits and fight for more extended periods.

Regardless of how Sting and Rogue felt about each other they still fought well together. How could they not, when they knew each other so well. It was at these times that Rogue could still feel the connection between them and it kept his hope alive.

“Listen up, I just got a notice from the Magic Council,” Jiemma entered the front room of the guild while the members were having lunch holding a notice and showing it to everyone present, “The King of Fiore is planning a contest between all the guilds in the kingdom. The winning guild will be considered the strongest in Fiore.”

Jiemma glared at each and every one of them, "I think it goes without saying that I expect us to take top honors. Or else." He didn't expand on his threat, he didn't have to. They all knew what it meant. Some of the members looked at each other nervously. Jiemma had trained them to be tough, but they had no idea how they would fare when pitted against other guilds.

The guild master placed the announcement on a table and walked back towards his office. Sting hurried eagerly to look at it while Rogue followed more cautiously.

Sting grabbed the paper and read it out loud to everyone there, and Rogue couldn't help the pang in his heart as he remembered the days spent teaching him. Sting must have felt something also cause Rogue could feel his gaze on him. He met it and gave him a tentative smile. Sting returned it with his own shy smile before looking away, and Rogue almost cheered.

Sting had mentioned that each guild was permitted a team of five members to represent them in the events, which would go on for five days. There would be contests as well as fights. The games wouldn't be announced until the event began to make it fair for everyone. It didn't take much to figure out who Jiemma would choose as his team, and this worried him. Neither Sting nor he had managed to improve their control over their newly enhanced magic.

In fact, with Sting's obsession with being the strongest, he could very easily hurt someone, causing all sorts of complications for Sabertooth and Master Jiemma. The games were scheduled for July, they had at least a month to train, but Rogue wasn't sure that was enough.

Leaving his excited guildmates behind he walked purposefully to the Master’s office. Even though the door was open, he wisely knocked. Jiemma looked up from the papers on his desk, a frown marring his face as he saw who it was.

“Yes?” He asked irritably.

“Master, I was wondering if I could make a request.”

“A request? What could you possibly want?” Jiemma sneered.

“I’d like permission to visit the central library to look for books on dragon slaying magic. They might have information that might help Sting and I improve more quickly.” Rogue hoped that Jiemma was smart enough to see the benefits to his plan.

Jiemma watched him closely, Rogue knew the man didn’t trust him at all. This was very much a long shot but one at least worth trying. After a few minutes, he grunted, “You have a week, take Rufus with you, he might be able to learn some new magic while you’re there.”

Rogue bowed his head before leaving the office in search of Rufus. Jiemma's answer had surprised him, that was actually a rather cunning plan. The memory-make mage certainly didn't have much access to new material at the guild.

He found Rufus back in the front room observing the others make wagers as to who Jiemma would pick. Rogue nudged him, “Pack up some clothes, we’ll be gone for a week.”

Once again he could feel Sting watching him as he walked towards his own room to pack, but he didn't say anything. Rogue got his things ready and waited for Rufus outside his room, not wanting to return to the front room by himself.

“So, where are we going?” Rufus asked as he draped his travel bag over his head and across his body. “Is this a job?”

“No, we’re going to the Central Library to do some research on dragon slaying magic. Master Jiemma wants you to use the time to learn some new magic you can use at the Games.”

Rufus smiled happily, perhaps the only time Rogue had seen him do so since they’d met. They walked through the front room and out the door without sparing a glance to anyone, hesitantly talking about books.

o-o

Sting watched Rogue leave with Rufus without even a glance in his direction, and he would be lying if he said it didn't hurt. Sting knew he deserved it, he'd been a total dick since Rogue had returned from his job with Minerva, but as much as Sting tried to tell himself he no longer cared about Rogue it was complete bullshit. Would Rufus make a pass at him like he had done with Sting when they were looking for Minerva? The thought filled him with anxiety.

Where had they gone? When would they be back? Sting wanted to ask Master Jiemma but knew even if the man humored him, he would see it as a weakness, so instead, he found an empty training room and attempted to take his frustrations out on a dummy. He was already covered in sweat when he felt her come in.

“Fancy an opponent?” Minerva approached him slowly, every movement fluid and full of purpose, her voice deceptively disinterested. Her gaze never left him, belying her words and making it seem like she was ready to pounce at any moment. It made the hairs on the back of his neck rise in response to the perceived threat.

“I mean, I’m the one you want to fight,” Minerva smirked at him, purposefully attempting to feed his negative emotions. “Isn’t that true, Sting?”

She was right, he did want to fight her, his anger and okay, jealousy over her familiarity with Rogue had not dwindled, but he also remembered how he'd accidentally hurt her when he and Rufus had found her. It had been the first time he'd tried to use his magic after the lacrima had been implanted in him, and he hadn't been expecting that much of a power difference. Even though Sting had been furious with her, he'd certainly never meant for that to happen. It had scared him more than he let on. Minerva had actually looked frightened, something she’d never done before, and maybe that was part of what this was about.

When she received no response, she challenged, “I think you’ll find me a more worthwhile opponent this time.”

“I thought you were off training,” Sting ignored her taunt and even as he kept his eye on her, readying himself for an impending attack, he stalled for time. He wasn’t sure of the best way to handle this situation.

Minerva was a great opponent, a fight with her could prove challenging and Sting was determined to be on the team that went to the Grand Magic Games. He was filled with the need to show that he was the strongest, even in his own guild. Sting decided to stop thinking so much, he'd never backed down from a fight, and he wasn't about to start now.

“Well?” Minerva eyed him, arms crossed in front of her chest.

Sting got into a fighting stance and shrugged, feigning disinterest, “Sure, if you want a fight, I’ll give it to you.”

Minerva smiled at him, it was the type of smile that promised pain. She ran at him, touching his arm and calling on her territory magic to teleport him inside some sort of dimensional space. Sting felt his magic being sapped away from him and no matter how much he struggled he couldn’t make a hole big enough to get out.

He could hear Minerva laughing at him clearly, even though from his perspective she appeared blurry.

"Get me out of here Minerva, or you'll regret it," Sting growled as he continued to struggle.

“Be quiet, I am the ruler of this space. If I wanted to, I could kill you where you stand,” Minerva disclosed, her voice lowering to a whisper as she watched Sting strain against her magic. “I could take away your air and watch as you suffocated slowly.”

He started to feel faint, and he wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but it suddenly did feel like he was having a hard time breathing.

“My father would just replace you with someone else. There’s nothing special about you, Sting Eucliffe, even your magic can be had out of a lacrima, “ Minerva looked at her nails as she spoke, making him feel insignificant.

She dispelled her magic and Sting collapsed in a heap, gasping for breath as Minerva looked down at him, a cruel smirk etched on her lips. “Remember my words Sting, the next time you attack me outside of training, I won’t be so merciful.”

She walked away with a sway of her hips, leaving him staring after her in shock when he heard her mutter, “You don’t deserve him.”

She had taken him out with one attack, just like her father had the first time. He’d never even had a chance to defend himself or retaliate. Shit! Without his strength he was nothing, and she’d made a very valid point, even if dragon slayer lacrima was hard to come by it did exist, which meant anyone, regardless of whether they had magic to begin with, could be just like him.

There was nothing special about him, he was just some punk kid who had killed his dragon and pushed away the only person who’d ever cared for him.

No, that wasn't true, there was one thing about Sting that was special. He was a fighter, he would just have to work harder to get where he wanted. Sting finally realized, he couldn't do that without Rogue nor did he want to. They had always been stronger together.

When Rogue returned, he would find a way to talk to him, away from prying eyes.

A/N: Thank you to @x-thekid for her help with the summary, you are amazing! This will be continued in the prompt: Dawn.

@shadowlight-week

#fairy tail #shadowlightweek2k19 #stingue #ftlgbtales #ft fanfiction #prompt: dusk #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #sting x rogue #minerva orland #jiemma orland #sabertooth #angst #ftfanfics #my edits

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takingcourage · 5 years

Text

A Vision of Sunset

A Desire and Decorum Gothic AU (Part 4 of 4)

All previous parts can be accessed through my Masterlist

Pairing: Harper x MC

Word Count: 4,025

Summary: A mysterious ally has come to Helena’s aid. Chaos ensues, and the fate of Edgewater hangs in the balance.

Author’s Note: My warning about needing to suspend your disbelief is about to become pertinent, dear reader. As a realist, I fully acknowledge that gothic tropes aren’t very plausible -- but goodness, they make for compelling stories! Thanks for reading this far and for putting up with my first attempt to write genre fiction. I’ve had an absolute blast!

Even with her mouth unbound, Helena was still unable to make any sound in that moment. The sight before her rendered her entirely speechless.

Her rescuer, a tall, lean man with chestnut curls, was not the stranger she had believed him to be after all. She still did not know his identity, but the connection between them was undeniable -- a link more tangible than the tenuous attachment of a dream.

He strode into the stables with confidence, hand resting on the pommel of his smallsword as he took stock of the Duke and his men. Their attention drawn by the newcomer’s presence, all three turned away from Helena, their backs stiffening in anticipation of conflict.

“If it isn’t Lord Harry, back from the dead!”

The duke’s words turned Helena’s blood to ice. Her brother, alive? She squinted at the man in question, wondering just how hard she had fallen when she had swooned an hour before. Yet, how else could the familiarity be explained?

“You know me well, Duke Richards. And you will understand that I don’t take kindly to your invasion of my home, nor your assault on my sister.” He turned to Helena then, greeting her with a roguish smile.

She could do little more than stare back at him, agape.

“It just so happens that I’ve been spoiling for a fight,” Harry confided, easing his way toward the three men. “And I think your actions are ripe incentive for drawing swords.”

Fully engrossed by the sight before her, Helena startled at the sensation of sudden pressure on her shoulder. She shifted, catching a glimpse of black jacket in her periphery. Her gasp came involuntarily.

“Shh,” Luke urged her, his fingers working quickly to dissolve the knots that held her fast. “You should return to the house, Helena. Even with Lord Harry here, things are likely to take a nasty turn.”

Before them were the escalating voices of confrontation, though the four men had not yet come to blows.

Despite his warning, she could not swallow back the question that rose in her throat. “How is he alive?”

“There is little time to explain now.” The last of the bands had fallen loosely to the floor, but he still held one wrist between his gentle hands.

Helena turned toward him on the stool, stomach clenching at the sight of the swollen lump at his temple. She raised her free hand to cautiously trace the purpling skin, wincing at the broken skin beneath her fingers.

He continued under his breath, “I only found out minutes ago when he roused me.” He stepped back with great effort. “If you are well enough to run, you should go back to the house.”

“I would fight beside you.”

The tension in his face softened as he noticed the set of her jaw, and his eyes grew tender. “I have no doubt of that, Helena. But if it comes to the worst, I would not have you here to witness it.”

Even as the words left his mouth, their ears were met with the metallic rush of sword being drawn from scabbard. Luke sprang to action, preparing his own weapon as he entered the fray.

Having been freed from her perch, Helena followed close behind. She scanned the building sharply, eager to find anything that she might use as a weapon. Her eyes lighted on a shovel that one of the stable boys had left behind from mucking stalls. The same heady feeling that had overwhelmed her senses as she ran came to her once again.

Helena took the implement from its place against the wall with every ounce of determination that eluded her over the past weeks. Now that her course had been decided, she channeled everything she had into bringing it to pass.

Luke had already pulled the duke’s attention away from Harry, but the two accomplices remained trained on her half brother. Shovel weighing heavily in her grasp, Helena approached the three men, carefully tracking each of their movements.

The taller man lunged toward Harry, but her brother parried effortlessly and answered with an attack of his own. Her eyes narrowed at the short man’s stance. She didn’t know what he was planning, but what he lacked in strength, he made up for in speed.

Fortunately, she shared much the same advantage, and managed to strike down his sword with the head of the shovel before he even realized that she had entered the fight. He tried again to lift his weapon, but she swept the implement beneath his legs, catching him off balance.

He regained his footing, regarding her open-mouthed as she held his gaze with defiance. Helena took a small step back, leading him toward the open floor at the middle of the building. The man took her challenge, abandoning his partner in pursuit of this new opponent.

It occurred to her that, of the six of them, she was the least likely to suffer harm in the brawl. Although she had taken no training in any form of combat, it was unfathomable that the duke would allow her to come to serious physical harm. Therefore, if she wanted to distract this man, she would have to be the one to strike first. It was imperative that she keep him away from Luke and Harry, no matter how much she disliked violence.

Helena shifted her hands to the center of the handle, wary of her opponent’s capable stance. He looked competent -- certainly more assured of his place than she.

How is one to fight with a shovel? Unfortunately, her mind offered no answer to the query.

“Are you Cyrus?” she inquired, remembering the name the duke had mentioned before. She paired the question with a wide stroke at the man’s legs.

He sidestepped and lowered his weapon in defense. “I am.”

“And you have been spying on me?” Helena stabbed toward his chest, allowing ample time for him to dodge the blow.

Cyrus evaded confidently. “The duke paid me to keep a watch on the stables and report back to him.” He lowered the sword by a hair, relaxing his grip under Helena’s keen eye.

Just a little further, she urged herself, taking another step back.

He followed again, eyeing her as if awaiting a response.

“And you were only too happy to do his dirty work for him, I suppose.” Her indignance, having been forgotten in all that had occurred since her conversation with the Duke, came again to the fore. Helena lowered the shovel to her side, but held on steadily with both hands.

He cocked an eyebrow in consideration. “I must say, I got a pretty good show out of it this morning.” The guffaw that accompanied his words proved her undoing.

Forcing down a rush of anger at the man’s admission, she adjusted her grip, bringing her right hand just higher than her left on the long handle. “I’ll thank you not to pry into my business anymore.” Her words were calculated, but the fire behind them left her trembling.

If the man took notice of her movement, he did not react. Seizing her chance, Helena swung with lightning speed, clipping him with the breadth of the shovel’s head. She recoiled at the sound her weapon made on contact with his skull, whispered apologies passing her lips instinctively at the sight of the man who lay before her.

Cyrus, at least, was incapacitated.

She then took stock of what was happening around her. Harry was managing skillfully, though she feared the sweat on his brow was a show of strain. Much to her dismay, Duke Richards was proving an abler swordsman than she had anticipated. Luke kept pace with him without great effort, but she could take little comfort as long as the fight continued. Perhaps if I can sneak up on the duke, I can catch him by surprise...

Just as she was considering her next move, several things happened at precisely the same moment. Mr. Marlcaster stormed in from the side entrance to the stables, his hasty footsteps pounding through Helena’s ears. Harry’s opponent fell to his knees, neck bare before the man who had bested him. The duke, having cornered Luke into an empty stall, threw down his sword and drew something from beneath his coattails.

Helena inched closer to the duke, heart hammering wildly against the hollow of her chest. Rounding the corner of the stall, the beating stopped altogether.

Between his hands, Duke Richards held a pistol trained on Luke.

Mr. Harper faced his opponent bravely, eyes glinting more with anger than fear at his opponent’s boasts. “You were a fool to underestimate me, stable boy. Helena will be mine. I only regret that you won’t be around to see it.”

Helena’s stomach roiled, her temples throbbing with the rush of blood. She adjusted her grip on the shovel and prepared to deliver the hardest blow she was capable of.

“You mangy cur!”

There was a pause before she identified where the shout had come from, and her eyes bulged when they lighted on Marlcaster’s reddened face.

Changing targets, the duke whirled round. “Has the milksop decided to become a real man, Mr. Marlcaster? You always have been your mother’s puppet,” he derided. Helena could not see his face, but she heard the menacing smile in his voice.

“Not anymore,” her stepbrother replied, facing down the older man with steely nerve. His sword was at the ready, but there was too great a distance between them for him to prove any immediate threat.

“It’s a pity. You’d have come out of this much better off if you’d listened to her.”

Marlcaster took the bait, eyes flaming as he charged the duke.

Helena’s warning shout was lost in the deafening sound of flint hitting frizzen.

The space between the spark and the firing was momentary, but it seemed a lifetime to Helena.

In a blur, Luke descended on Duke Richards, his sword passing through the man’s side with sickening ease. The lead projectile sent down a rain of splintered wood from the ceiling, and gun clattered from the duke’s grip as he collapsed to the stone floor.

Ears ringing, Helena dropped the shovel and took several steps forward. Even from several feet away, she could see that the body had fallen into an unnatural position. The features of the duke’s face were twisted in a horrific mockery of the smile that had haunted so many of her nightmares.

Luke stepped in to shield her, enveloping her in his arms as his broad chest heaved steadying breaths.

“Is he…?” Helena managed once her voice had returned.

“The duke will never harm you again,” he promised against her hair. Helena sagged into him, fingers grasping tight against the stiff fabric of his jacket. She forgot the world around them until Harry’s quiet cough reminded her that they were not alone. Too shaken even to blush, she pulled away from Luke and looked to her brothers.

Marlcaster’s face was ashen, his shoulders shuddering with each intake of air. “Thank you.”

Luke nodded solemnly at the soft utterance, still angling himself between Helena and the body. “What are we to do with the others?”

She cringed at Cyrus’s prostrate form. The other man had fared better, it seemed. He was still conscious, at least, having surrendered the fight in Harry’s favor.

“They’re just a pair of tavern goers looking to earn some coin. I doubt they’ve done anything of their own accord.”

Helena nodded, grateful for Harry’s mercy. Looking between her brothers, she realized that Edmund, while shaken, remained entirely unfazed by Harry’s arrival. She could think of only one possible explanation. “How long have you been keeping this secret?”

The surprise on Edmund’s face told her that she had guessed correctly even before the answer followed. “A matter of weeks. I will tell you all, but this is hardly the time or place.”

Before they could converse further, the main door burst open to reveal a bevy of servants. Helena made out Briar’s shouts before she saw her friend’s face. In a moment, the woman was prattling at her side, prodding her arms and legs with fingers inquisitive for signs of injury.

“We must get you to the house, Helena,” Briar insisted against her lady’s many protestations.

Helena tried to find Luke within the crowd, but it seemed that he too had been swallowed by the tumult. Too exhausted to fight further, she allowed Briar to lead her out through the drizzling rain.

Haggard as Helena had felt when climbing into bed, new vigor came with daybreak. The storm of the night before had broken, and streams of mid-morning sunlight illuminated the room around her as she stirred. In spite of all, the dull pain at her wrists was the only trace to speak for the events of the night before.

The memories rushed back to her at once, falling into a pattern that she could only begin to discern. Her brother was alive -- but how? Would he take kindly to her presence or send her back to Grovershire? Would he force her to marry into some other noble house now that the duke was no longer a prospect? Could she still arrange to marry Mr. Chambers if all else failed? Her mind dizzied with questions, and she was grateful when Briar arrived and put an end to her solitary musings.

Harry and Edmund were already seated around the breakfast table when she went to take her meal, but the other women of the house appeared to remain abed. Helena supposed they were still recovering from the shocks that had interrupted their rest during the night.

If her Lady Grandmother’s immediate response was any indication, Helena thought it very unlikely that the lady would ever cease mourning about the duke. Her distress at Duke Richard’s death was unmatched even by her surprise at the appearance of the grandson all had thought lost.

The countess, for her part, had been more caring toward Harry than Helena would ever have anticipated. There had been genuine tears in her eyes when Harry had embraced her at the bottom of the stairs the night before. As much anger as Helena had harbored toward the woman these past months, she could not help but be affected by sight of the mother and son’s reunion.

Brushing a stray hair from her eyes, Helena found a seat across from Harry. The three exchanged pleasantries as she began spreading preserves over a slice of bread. She had to force her hand to remain balanced under the weight of questions that poured into her mind. One, at least, she knew Mr. Marlcaster could satisfy.

“What was the reason for your secrecy?”

Edmund accommodated her after he’d taken a generous measure of tea. “When I found Harry, he was not himself. It seemed foolish to raise everyone’s hopes if they were only to be dashed again. I thought it best to hide him away in the attic, where he could take tinctures and proper rest...although I think you have discovered this already.”

Helena’s cheeks reddened at the revelation. It seemed at least some of her mistrust in the countess had been unfounded.

By turns, her brothers unfolded the rest of the story. Unbeknownst to her, Harry’s body had disappeared after being laid out for burial, but the disgrace of having had body snatchers on the grounds of Edgewater kept the family from calling for restitution. Harry, of course, had not been stolen, but had woken in the night, badly disoriented and confused. A family had taken him in and cared for him in the interim, but his returning memories had prompted him to seek the estate. Marlcaster had intercepted him there little more than a month before and had smuggled him into the house.

“And the noise that I heard two nights ago?” It was the one point of the narrative which remained unanswered.

Harry’s laugh caught her off guard, pleasant as it was to hear. “The sound that brought you to the attic? It was a howl of wind, and nothing more. The attic has always been full of the worst kinds of noises, especially in these storms. It’s a terrible place for a man to recover.” He glared at man responsible for his lodgings with mock severity.

Edmund laughed at the ribbing, and Helena couldn’t help smiling at the jovial exchange between brothers. It was clear that, whatever maladies had afflicted him before, Harry was now well and fully capable of resuming his role as their father’s heir.

Helena looked up to find Harry’s blue eyes on her, radiating the same warmth that she had seen in her father’s gaze so many times. The similarities stole her breath and sent a sharp pang of longing through her.

Harry pulled her back to the present with a half-smile. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to have a sister, Helena. And from everything I have seen and heard, I’m even happier that the sister is you.”

Helena returned his smile, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. She could not have asked for a better welcome, yet so much still felt uncertain. Her left hand ventured to her skirts, fumbling to grasp something that could not change.

“And above all, I want to assure you of your place here. While I expect to be recognized once more as our father’s heir, Edgewater is much better for having you. If you are content to remain with us, I swear that you will never lack for anything.”

Her grip on the coin tightened and she dodged his gaze. As much as she wanted to accept the offer, she could not deceive him. “Your kindness means a great deal…” Helena breathed slowly, uncertain how to continue. “But I’m afraid I am not suited for the life of a noble lady.”

His teacup clinked softly into its saucer, the noise prompting Helena to lift her eyes from the table. “I have seen how often you visit the stables, Helena, as well as how attentive Mr. Harper has been toward you. If I am not mistaken, there is an understanding between the two of you.”

“I had hoped to marry him,” she confirmed.

“I would not turn you away. Either of you,” he specified, boring into her with a meaningful stare. “And if anyone takes offense, I’ll have them thrown into the lake.”

In her relief, words were not enough to affect a response. Instead, she forsook the table and threw her arms around Harry’s neck, biting her cheek to keep the tears from falling. For the first time since her father had died, Edgewater again felt like home.

At evening, she at last had opportunity to find Luke in the stables. Save for the missing length of ceiling beam, all traces of the night before had been cleared away. Still, Helena shuddered at the patch of neatly-swept flagstones in front of the empty stall. Was he really dead? It seemed impossible that so much chaos could be restored to order.

Helena fell into step alongside Luke as he finished turning the horses in for the night. “They all look so content,” she mused, unable to resist bestowing special attentions on Clover. The animal’s soulful eyes went on staring until she produced the desired sugar from her pocket.

“The time outside today has done them a world of good.” Luke nodded toward her horse. “Clover missed you this afternoon. She’s come to expect you.”

“I hated to disappoint her. I did try to get away, but it was as if everyone in the house had been consumed with madness. We were writing letters and talking of social events all afternoon -- everything has been in an uproar.” She stole a glance at Luke, her heart warming as it always did at the sight of him. "Either way, I would have much preferred to be here with you.”

Closing the door to the final stall, Luke turned his full attention toward the woman in front of him. “And are you well, in spite of all?” “I’m better than I have been in many weeks,” she beamed. “I still cannot believe that Harry is alive. Nor that he is so like my father --” she had to cut the sentiment short to keep her emotions at bay.

“I have not had opportunity to know him well, but I will be forever grateful for his aid last night. I do not dare think what might have happened if he hadn’t woken me.”

“Nor do I.” Helena sobered for a brief moment, but was too consumed by her joy to remain so. “I can tell we’re all going to get on very well. I cannot believe that Edmund managed to hide him away for so long without anyone knowing.”

“Aye. And that explains the poison that you found, I suppose?”

She affirmed with a decisive nod. “Now, since it’s such a lovely evening, would you walk with me?” she requested simply, smiling demurely at the curious gleam in his eyes.

Luke brushed an errant curl from her forehead as he considered her face. “Of course.”

It had been so long since either of them had spent time out of doors, that it took some time to adjust to the sensations around them. Helena could never have predicted that a mild, sunny day might feel so unearthly, but the feeling of sunlight on her skin sent a shiver along the center of her spine.

When they came to the lake, she tugged at Luke’s arm to guide him to a seat on the wooden bench. Blue sky stretched before them, dappled with harmless wisps of cloud. The sun itself was making its descent, attended by strokes of the deepest orange that either of them had ever seen. Discerning the trails of vibrant red and purple, Helena laid her head against his shoulder in deep contentment.

“So,” he began, taking her fingers between his own, “our plans have been foiled again. Where shall we go from here?”

“I thought you might have guessed by now,” she teased gently. “Harry will inherit and I will be free to marry you. And to remain at Edgewater, if we so choose.”

Squeezing his hand as she shifted closer toward him, she briefly considered how strange it was that failure could lead to an even better outcome than the one she’d spent weeks hoping for.

His silence lasted but a moment. “We may marry outright? Without need for a marriage of convenience?”

Helena pulled away so she could look him in the face. The setting sun reflected brilliantly against the flecks of green in his eyes, and her heart clenched at the vulnerability of his gaze.

“Harry has given his full support, and the Countess is so pleased to have him back that even she does not protest against it. If my grandmother ever ceases whining about the duke, she may prove upset, but she will hold no power to change it.”

“I never dreamed that we would be given such a chance.”

“Nor I. And I never doubted that you would make good on you promise to protect me, but I never expected what happened last night. You have been my strength through all of this. You are the bravest, kindest, and noblest man that I have ever known.” Her heart was fairly bursting with adoration, words tumbling out with each fresh reminder of why she loved him.

“The night may have had a very different outcome if you had not stayed. Don’t sell yourself short, Helena.”

“It was desperation,” she admitted, fixing her eyes on the dancing hues reflected in the water. She took no pride in her actions, however pleased she was at the outcome they had wrought.

“It was so much more than that. No matter what has happened, you have persevered. You have been through darkness, but you have never stopped burning. Even the fiercest of storms could never extinguish your light.”

Unable to speak through her emotion, Helena captured his lips in a rapturous kiss.

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #desire and decorum #luke harper #harper x mc

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starricksmoustache · 6 years

Text

At the heart of the Ocean: Chapter 1

Here it is, the first chapter! Hope you enjoy! This was especially hard to write, I had some things in mind bu didn’t know how to put it down in words, so if anything seems weird I welcome constructive criticism.

a/n; the reader character will appear in the next chapter!

PAIRING: spartan!Hwiyoung x siren!reader

GENRE: fantasy, angst, smut

WARNINGS: major character deaths, swearing, sex, alcohol

WORD COUNT: 1714

SUMMARY: Creatures of all kinds inhabit the vast oceans, that’s what makes it such a scary place. Curiousness and greed is a curse and lead many to their deaths. Humans became corrupted over time and for that the mighty Gods’ and Goddesses’ of the Olympus created the siren; a mesmerizing womanly creature born to lure and eat those who dare find what shall not be. Men and women both alike have sailed into the Aegean Sea with the promise of riches made to last a lifetime, only to leave their families without a father, mother, sister or a brother.Over the years the people of Greece learned to not sail into the ocean in fear of what the God’s might do. Youngkyun, a man born in a Spartan family was destined to become a warrior since birth. He was by now 19 and ready to serve his king in the army by his father’s side, the general.

The next day Youngkyun woke up with a light headache. Looking to his right he saw a woman, a blanket covered most of her body but considering his own state he’s pretty sure she isn’t wearing any clothes. The more he took in his surroundings, he felt a strong sense of regret; this had been a stupid choice. He hadn’t drank much the night before so he couldn’t blame the alcohol, only his own stupidity.

Sneakily he stood up and put on his robes as well as the armor, except the helmet. Checking the window he guessed that it was late in the morning, his father and Leonidas would, no doubt, be awake by now.

“Ahhh there he is! We were waiting for you to discuss our plans.” The king was obviously skilled since he Youngkyun was there even without turning around.

“Yes sir. I apologize, I got a bit ahead of myself last night. It will not be repeated!” Youngkyun was ashamed but didn’t let it show on his expressions, instead he looked determined like the words he had said were meant for him more than the king himself.

“It’s okay son. Under other circumstances I wouldn’t let my soldiers get distracted but days before war need to be morale-boosting, I can’t have my men thinking about the women he wants to fuck while lives are on the line.” Youngkyun nodded and felt some kind of relief that he hadn’t really done anything wrong, it was just scandalous considering his position and his father.

“May I ask where my father is, I’m guessing he should be here while we discuss strategies?”

“I’m right here, and I see you’ve finally decided to join us. To spare time I won’t even ask let’s just get straight to business.”

“Yes sir!” It didn’t feel weird anymore for Youngkyun to call his father “Sir” or “General”. They had never really had a loving relationship, the love was there, it just wasn’t acknowledged -that was the women's job. Youngkyun used to call him father, he still does sometimes but ever since he officially started training for his position in the army the general had been strict about sticking to the rules and that also meant calling people by their position.

Some time later everyone on the board had gathered and the plans were discussed one last time now that the General was there to review it and come with suggestions.

Xerxes and the Persians had many disadvantages among them their swords were shorter and their armor weaker. The Persians didn’t specialize in war like the Spartans did, but they had one advantage; they were many.

“Men, prepare the horses, we’ll ride when the sun sets. General you shall stay!” Youngkyun had followed the others outside on the kings orders, but under the meeting he had observed Leonidas, he had seemed distracted. Youngkyun then decided to do something so utterly stupid, if he was to be caught not only would he be severely punished but his father would also have to answer to his crimes. Youngkyun was going to eavesdrop on his father and Leonidas conversation. As soon as anyone was out of sight he hid behind a wall. It was hard to hear but he could make out bits and bits of their conversation.

“-we don’t have a choice, this must be done!”

“Leonidas there must be some other way! Just postpone this I’ll take you to Delphi again, the Oracle could be wrong!”

“And wait for what? For Xerxes and his men to keep killing our men and raping our women? My decision is final, it’s either me sacrificing myself or let this great nation fall to the knees of the Persians. I’m telling you this as brothers in arms, I’m giving you the chance to back away - to take your son and run. The Oracle saw the truth and no Spartan is getting out alive!”

“No, I’ll stay.”

“Then it’s decided we’ll ride at nightfall.”

Youngkyun quickly moved away from the door, right now he had to focus on not getting caught.

By the time he could hear the door opening, he was too far away for anyone to suspect him of doing something he shouldn’t . All by himself now, he took in what was said during the meeting. It wasn’t hard to figure out that they were walking into a lost battle, the Oracle of Delphi had seen what was to happen. Youngkyun was scared, not of him losing his life, but for his platoon to be depleted. 300 unsuspecting men were walking right into their demise.

He felt heavy, he knew that he couldn’t say anything. All that was left was to fight for Sparta, his family and himself.

“Men, we have ridden to Athen, we have gathered the Greek troops and we have arrived. My scouts have told me that there’s a pass not far from here, there we will perform our formations and lure the Persians in. Not everyone will come back home, but fear not. As long as you keep faith in your brothers and in the Gods, you will ascend. THIS IS SPARTA!”

“THIS IS SPARTA!” Everyone roared following the kings speech.

The five days they had been riding had been tiring, only stopping to eat and sleep meant having to be on guard 90% of the time and it consumed lots of energy But now they were there, at the pass.

A scout soldier had ridden ahead, he had reported that the Persians were to arrive in half a day. Time was short and they would have to prepare quickly with the little energy left. Having traps placed around the pass meant that they would be able to rest more and not focus solely on battle.

“INCOMING!” A lookout called. Everyone immediately took their place. Youngkyun was in arrow position on top of the hill and together with the others brought out his bow.

“On my signal you will shoot. Aim...Steady…………..SHOOT!” And they did. At least a hundred persians must’ve fallen to the fiery arrows. Once again the commander called for them to shoot. This strategy was effective but the arrows would soon end and that would mean that they would have to fight ‘mano a mano’ with swords and shields.

The arrows did as predicted not last long and thousands of Persians were still incoming. The strategy had been changed by using a few men as bait and locking in small groups of Persians to the small pass.

The king had since long seen that they would be overwhelmed so he had asked for Youngkyun to stay back.

Youngkyun never heard Leonidas say that one Spartan was destined to survive, that his fate waited somewhere else. He had although selfishly, decided to keep Youngkyun from harm without it seeming suspicious.

“Son I need you to lead the Greeks away, this is not their destiny.” he had said. And with a look towards the sky he thought back to what the Oracle had said; when the sun sets behind the highest mountain your time is out.

He turned towards the mountains and there it was, the last rays were slightly visible on horizon.

“NOW! RUN!”

“B- but no I can’t”

“Just obey please. I know you know about my fate, but your fate is to live, now go.”

Youngkyun ran, he ran for his life and he gathered the all the Greeks he could, telling them to retreat and warn their king in Athen.

He was about to turn back around and help the other his brother but was he saw was devastating. The Persians were too many, most of his people had fallen to their swords. In the middle of the battlefield he could see two shadows, the greatest fighters; King Leonidas and his father.

Youngkyun then did something he would forever regret, he ran towards them.

The general could see the familiar silhouette running foolishly out on the battlefield, but his sharp eyes had also caught the bow and arrow aimed towards his son so he did what any father would do.

“LOOK OUT FOR THE SHOOTER!” His warning had distracted the shooter who now had him in his sight instead.

“FATHER!”

It went so fast, the arrow caught his leg and he was down in an instant. Youngkyuns legs went to a stop. His father had been shot in his place. The arrow wound itself wouldn’t be fatal but the incoming soldier sure would. A shout in his direction took Youngkyun back to reality.

“-need to get him off the field! I’ll cover you! YOUNGKYUN!” On shaky legs he took a stance and ran again to his father's aid. Two other soldier helped carry him all the while blocking incoming attacks.

The safest place was the cliff looking down on the ocean. And that's where they put the general down, behind a rock.

Once they were in a safe place the adrenalin had died down and Youngkyun finally grasped the situation; his father would soon die. In fact every single one of them would except himself.

“Son.” Nothing.

“Son, take a look at me.” With a heavy heart Youngkyun looked, he was met with his father looking the worst he ever had seen him. A pale mess is what he had become. The helmet had been removed earlier and there you could see the eyes, not the lively ones he had always known, no these were dropping and threatening to close every now and then.

“We don’t have long, we both know this so I will be clear. Don’t return home, it’s too dangerous. Make your way to Lesbos and tell them what happened here. You then need to make your way to the Olympus. I can’t tell you what you need to do you will know. But be careful. And for God’s sake, I love you son.”

“I love you too father, b-” Youngkyun couldn’t finish his sentence before someone shouted that the Persians were ascending the the hill. The General then stood up despite the wound.

“Just go son, we will meet again when time decides it” And with that Youngkyun was pushed down the cliff and into the water.

The last thing he saw was his father raising his sword .

#sf9 #sf9 hwiyoung #sf9 smut #hwiyoung #youngkyun #sf9 scenario #sf9 fanfiction #sf9 ff #sf9 angst #sf9 fluff #sf9 kpop #kpop #kpop smut #kpop angst #kpop fluff #sf9 youngkyun #kim hwiyoung #kim youngkyun

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patricia-von-arundel · 6 years

Text

Make Weep the Eyes of Day

Rating: Strong T

Summary: There was no slow realization this time, no reluctant acknowledgement. She knew.

TW: graphic scenes of difficult childbirth

The room was almost silent now. Elsa’s labored, desperate breaths were like thunder, punctuated by Alarik’s pleading murmurs, his voice ragged: “Just a little more - push for me, älskling,” had given way to, “Almost there. Almost there,” repeated like a mantra as he worked at the end of the bed, squinting in the dim light. Thick frost blocked the windows. There was ice on the floor, slick underfoot; ice on the walls, daggers hanging from the corners; snow was held suspended in the air, and Anna could see the puffs of her breath, and Alarik’s too. She had Elsa’s head cradled to her chest, rocking her gently, stroking her sweat-dampened hair, trying to ignore the sharp smell of blood, so copious even the frigid air could not fully mask it. At least the screaming had stopped. But it had been so long, there was so much blood - had she ceased her screams because the pain had eased, or because she was simply now too weak? Her face was still drawn, parted lips dry and cracked in air turned moistureless by her own powers, eyes heavy-lidded and glazed. Anna had no idea, now, how aware Elsa was - but still she rocked; still Alarik spoke softly, words of comforting encouragement. "One more," he said. "One more, älskling, just one more, and it will be over." Anna felt Elsa tense, heard her whimper. A moment later, Anna learned she could still scream. There was blood, so much blood.

Six Months Earlier…

This time, Elsa knew. Even before her second missed cycle - she knew. The nausea was worse this time, beginning earlier, hitting harder. She had to leave council meetings and diplomatic negotiations, retreating to the closest private room to bring up everything she had forced herself to eat that day, ice spreading around her fingers on whatever receptacle she had grabbed - chamber pot, bowl, once a vase that was probably worth more than most people in Arendelle earned in a lifetime. Well - it could be washed. She had dizzy spells, too, leaving her lightheaded for hours. She ate toast, which sometimes helped - had Anna suggested it, the first time, or Alarik? She couldn’t remember, and the dizziness and nausea then had been nothing like this. There was no slow realization this time, no reluctant acknowledgement. She knew. There was another baby on the way. And this time there was, blessedly, more resignation than trepidation. She was a few months past her fortieth birthday, Jenny would soon turn four, and Elsa had assumed, once again, that conception was not a possibility. But she knew the symptoms, and she accepted them. She had done it before - Jenny was beautiful, healthy, a handful, and wholly without powers - so, she told herself, surely she could do it again. Yes, she admitted, the symptoms might be a little more extreme this time, but she could manage. Since Jenny was born, her powers seemed to have calmed somewhat. She had noticed and discussed it with Alarik when Jenny was just a few months old. "I suspect it’s due to chemical changes," he said. "Permanent?" She had done her own reading - not as thorough as his, she didn’t have the time, but she knew enough about this to hold up her end of the conversation. "It’s possible. It could be rather like… like the way your brain is theorized to change, to allow you to love your children. A metabolic shift. Your body understands the need to protect Jenny, and so maintains a higher threshold for the need to draw and release power." "That sounds highly theoretical.” He grinned. “Making it up as I go along, darling.” Nonetheless - whatever the reason might be - it remained the case that control came more easily, little accidents and slip-ups less common. It took some time, but she finally allowed herself to believe she would not hurt Jenny. Exhausted, irritated, uncertain and afraid - the very conditions that had always led to trouble were her constant companions, those first few months, but though ice might form beneath her feet, frost climb the walls, a chill permeate the air, none of it ever touched Jenny. And even those lapses were blessedly rare. Jenny had grown, developed her sharp, free-spirited - and occasionally exasperating - personality; learned and thrived. She was interested in everything, fascinated and determined to get her hands on and explore for herself whatever caught her attention. Elsa slowly came to terms with accepting that her wisp of a child was not as fragile as she appeared. "Much like her mother in that regard," Alarik said. "Much like her aunt." "Yes. Her, too." And like Anna before the accident, Jenny accepted Elsa’s magic without question or concern - she had never known anything different. Elsa supposed it shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it did regardless, and turned out to be a pleasant one. Jenny never even asked for it, as Anna once had done, because Jenny had never seen it used in play. Greater magic, by far, in Elsa’s mind, was the occasional, heart-stopping reminder that she was, in fact, the mother of this child. She had always - or at least from the time she had learned the logistics of the whole process - assumed that having children herself would be impossible. Each step of the process seemed, for her, more insurmountable than the last: marriage, consummation, conception, pregnancy, birth. She could hardly control herself in familiar, day-to-day-life. But miracles had happened. And Jenny was soothed by her touch and her voice, came running to her with scraped knees and banged elbows, called her “Mama.” A little older, and there were tantrums, misbehavior, angry outbursts - and she screamed and kicked and cried with no fear that Elsa might hurt her. Which wasn’t to say Elsa always had the same trust in her own control - but it helped. It always helped. And when she realized that another baby was coming, she tried to draw from all those things she had learned, from herself and from Jenny, over the last four years. She told herself repeatedly - she knew she could handle this, from beginning to end. Everything would be fine. There was nothing to worry about. She sat back on her heels, taking deep breaths after, once more, emptying her roiling stomach. One trembling hand stretched out, dissipated the ice that had formed around her. That done, she brought her hand back to rest against the soft plane of her belly - still, for the time being, corseted. She could do this. Nothing to worry about.

Four Hours Earlier… "Elsa? Are you all right?" She turned from the library shelves and smiled - but her hand was still on the shelf, gripping the wood, and her skin was flushed. “Oh, hi,” she said, and quickly added, “Yes, I’m fine.” "Are you sure?" Something about the way she was standing - Anna didn’t like it. It seemed off-kilter. And Elsa, in her eighth month, looked uncomfortable now at the best of times. Though truly, Elsa managed pregnancy with as much regal poise and grace as she always had everything else. Anna was well aware of how afraid she had been, carrying Jenny, and that concern still plagued her, but no one would ever have known it from her careful, calm facade. To see now even a hint of anything else - it was troubling. "I’m fine, Anna." But a moment later: "Perhaps a little tired." "Do you need something? A book, or…?" Elsa offered another fleeting smile. “No, but thank you. I was just feeling restless. I thought something to read might help.” "Can’t find anything?" Anna crossed the room and flopped on the couch, feigning boredom rather than concern. "Jenny recommends the one about the tin soldier." Elsa laughed at that - Jenny had wanted “The Steadfast Tin Soldier” every night since she’d received one of Andersen’s collections the previous Christmas. “I’m looking for anything that is not about lovelorn toys.” Elsa still hadn’t turned back to the shelves, which Anna took as permission to stay - stay, and keep an eye on her. "Where is Jenny, anyway? I haven’t heard howling in the schoolroom." Lessons for Jenny had started a few months previously; she was not taking well to sitting still and focusing for hours on end. "Her tutor took her down to the docks. They’re doing an observation - something to do with naval history, I think?" "Lucky her," Anna said - and meant it. For mid-October, the weather was mild and sunny. "Wish our tutors had done that." "Yes… well…" Elsa looked away, towards the window, and Anna realized what she had said. She opened her mouth to apologize - but at the same moment, Elsa gasped sharply, placing a hand on the distended swell of her stomach. Anna felt the room’s temperature drop. She immediately started to rise, pushing up from the couch, but Elsa’s free hand quickly waved her back. “I’m fine.” She sounded breathless. “It’s… apparently common… this late.” "Did it happen last time?" "No, but…" Elsa was cradling the swell now, rubbing gentle circles over it. "One of the articles I read discussed how… unique… each time can be." "Are you sure? Because I can get the physician, or Alarik, it’s no-" "I’m fine," Elsa said again. Then she softened: "Anna, I remember what it feels like when… when the baby is coming." "You said it’s unique every time." She rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. “Some things, yes. I expect not that part. And we have probably over a month yet.” "Fine." Anna made herself concede defeat with a smile. "I’ll trust you on that. But will you at least find a book and just sit down for a little while?” “Yes, Anna, I will-” Another sharp gasp, and this time she bent almost double, one arm wrapped around her middle, her other hand gripping the back of the couch so tightly her knuckles went white. Anna was up this time, even as Elsa was shaking her head. “Elsa, come sit. Please. Even if this is normal.” "Just… give me a second." There was snow in the air. How much pain was Elsa actually in? She had straightened - mostly but her eyes were squeezed shut; she was taking deep, shaky breaths. “I’m all right,” she said - her voice, too, was shaky. “All right. Just… just a little… uncomfortable.” She was still hugging her swollen stomach, the baby within. She started around the couch, using her hand on the back to guide her - her eyes were still closed. "I’m going to get Alarik." Because Anna had no other ideas about what to do, and she felt terror nudging at her. And to her surprise, Elsa nodded. “I think… that might be best.” She was still inching along. There was ice on the floor. Something was wrong. Elsa opened her eyes. They met Anna’s, and Anna saw how dark and dilated they were - there was a swimming, alien gleam to them. Then Elsa groaned and staggered and started to sink, her fingernails biting into the carved wood of the back of the couch. Anna went around, already reaching for her - and only then did she see the splashes of red, fresh and wet, marring the rug. "Elsa?" Elsa shuddered and fell, her knees striking with such force that Anna could feel it under her feet. Elsa started to go forward, hands reaching out almost sluggishly to catch herself, a strange little whine escaping her. And Anna could see the blood on the back of her dress, running down her legs. Anna screamed for help. Elsa collapsed.

Once, she had hidden her knowledge, denying it to herself as much as to others. Now, she would not allow it: they deserved more than her cowardice. The last time, Alarik had found her half-dressed and trembling, and the acknowledgement was wrenching and painful. That, she also would not allow again. She met him in his lab after breakfast - they breakfasted with Jenny, and that conversation was going to take a bit more planning - clearing her throat to get his attention; he was already bent over sketches, squinting into his microscope. "Hello, darling," he said, glancing up for no more than the space of a blink. "You need to wear your spectacles." "They smear when I look in the lens," he said - almost a whine, petulant, and though he still wasn’t looking at her, she raised a hand to hide her smile. She gave him a moment. He was furrowing his brow, frowning at his sketches, turning to get a different angle. "Alarik." "Yes, darling?" "Can I… can I talk to you for a minute?" He looked up - really looked up, and offered her a wide smile. “Of course you can.” Her control was better, but she still had times when nervous habits precluded trust in herself. This was one of those times - and she twined her hands together, fingers meshed so tightly they gave off a reassuring ache. "I’m… I think… I think it might be time to prepare the nursery again." For a moment, he just stared at her. Then the grin was there - in his lips, his eyes, the lines around them, and he was pushing up from the counter, coming to her, enfolding her in his arms, gentle and warm. He kissed the crown of her head, murmured words she couldn’t catch - she understood “älskling,” but no more - and she let herself sink against him: her bulwark, her love, her strength through every storm. He pulled away just enough to cup her cheek, fingers tracing delicate lines across her skin. His hand was familiar, comfortable, in a way that still, five years into their marriage, surprised her. When she looked up at him and offered a tentative, hopeful smile, she could see the bright sheen across his green eyes, eyes the same color at Jenny’s. The new baby might have those eyes too, or Elsa’s, or Anna’s. Seeing them for the first time - now, she knew what it was like, and she felt a strange little flutter in her chest at the memory. She wasn’t sure if it was from excitement, trepidation, or some mixture of both. "How do you feel?" Alarik asked, as if on cue, and his voice was gentle, concerned. "Drained," she admitted. "I’ve had trouble with nausea." "Toasted bread. And eggs, for the energy." She nodded, though she felt no desire to try to eat anything at all. There was a small favor today already: the food she had picked at and nibbled on at breakfast had thus far stayed where she preferred it to be. For another long moment, Alarik just looked down at her, as if he didn’t know her face just as well as she knew his. Then: “May I?” She nodded. He leaned over her, using his hand to hold her steady, and his lips met hers, warm and soft as they worked against her. It was not a long kiss. It didn’t need to be. When he pulled away, his smile was softer. “Can you believe more in yourself this time?” "I’ll try." His thumb brushed stray hairs from her face. “All anyone can do, darling.” But on that, he was wrong: he had discounted the determination to see success in whirlwind Anna. Anna had always refused to allow “I tried” as an excuse in herself or in others - including Elsa. When Elsa told her, her face lit up, just as it had done the last time - then she crossed her arms, leaned forward, and looked Elsa square in the eye. “I get to be there, this time.” "Anna-" "No. No Anna. You were worried about someone getting hurt. No one did. I want to be there.” Elsa rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “We’ll see. All right?” "We will," Anna said. She was smirking. Elsa made a face at her. But Anna’s expression, after a moment, softened, and she cocked her head. “Are you okay?” "You and Alarik…" Now Anna made a face of her own, sticking out her tongue. “We worry about you, all right?” "I know. And I appreciate it." She managed a smile. "I’m tired, but I’m fine." And that, for the most part, was true. The nausea eased, though she then developed strong cravings, which she had not much dealt with when carrying Jenny. Maybe Alarik was right, and she needed more meats - certainly, her body seemed to long for them, the richer red fare she usually could not easily stomach. The cooks were probably thrilled that their sparing queen had finally developed an appreciation for their skills, she thought. She continued to grow tired easily; maybe no more than before, but she was very aware of it with a young daughter who so looked forward to evening playtime with Mama. She forced herself not to show her fatigue - not around Jenny. Never around Jenny.

Alarik arrived at a sprint, panting, pushing past the maids Anna had no noticed until then gathering in the doorway. “Where’s Elsa?” Gasping for breath, eyes wide and wild and searching. “Is she-“ Elsa was still on the floor; Anna was beside her, holding her hand and telling her help was on the way and at a complete loss as to anything else she might do. Elsa had opened her eyes once, started to speak - then there was a gush of blood, and she shrieked, her hand clenching around Anna’s like a vise. Her whole body tensed, ice spreading around them. Anna ignored it. Since then, Elsa had whimpered and shivered and moaned. She understood much better, now, how Elsa must have felt just before Neta arrived. She didn’t want to know - but she clung to the hope that the outcome would be similar. Alarik fell to his knees beside them, almost as hard as Elsa had done. “What happened?” He was already going to work, lifting Elsa’s arm to find her pulse, putting his hand to her forehead. When he lifted her skirt and saw the blood, his breath caught and a visible shiver passed down his spine. "I don’t know," Anna said. "She was complaining about being restless, and she looked like she was in pain - then she started bleeding, and she fell, and - " Anna bit her lip. But Alarik. just nodded, distracted. He put gentle hands to Elsa’s middle, palpating carefully, but even that was enough to make her whimper and try to twist away. He jerked his hands back, another violent shudder working through him. Elsa’s eyes fluttered open, after a moment focusing on him. “That hurt,” she said. Her voice was a child’s - uncertain and bewildered. "I’m sorry." Alarik’s own voice cracked - and Anna looked away, giving them their moment of naked emotion, though she did not let go of Elsa’s hand. Outside the window, snow was falling. It was thick and heavy and already settling on the ledge. Anna turned back to the gawkers in the doorway. “Go get Dr. Handrigsen. Now. Before it gets any worse out there.” None of them moved. Most were gaping. She felt her temper flare. “Go! All of you! Go now!” She didn’t have to say it again. "He can’t come," Elsa whispered, and Anna turned back to her. "Who can’t, darling?" Alarik stroked her bangs back from her face - the room was frigid, but her skin was beaded with perspiration. "Dr… Handrigsen. His… his wife… she’s in childbed. They sent word… this morning." Alarik’s eyes met Anna’s. She nodded: she wasn’t going anywhere. Except - momentarily - to find someone to go down to the docks and make sure Jenny’s tutor knew to keep her away until ordered otherwise. And Anna’s heart clenched painfully, thinking of how Jenny, before bed, sought out Elsa, usually still at work - and climbed onto her lap, curling and snuggling like a sleepy kitten, Elsa wrapping her left arm around her and continuing work with her right. No four-year-old should lose her mother. And she wouldn’t. Anna wouldn’t allow it. Alarik was leaning over Elsa again when she returned, his hand now cupping her cheek. “I’m going to have to lift you,” he said. “We need to get you somewhere… somewhere more comfortable. Okay?” She nodded, even attempted a smile - but when he slid his arms beneath her, lifted her up, she cried out, her back spasming. The carpet where she had been lying was soaked through with blood, the elaborate pattern drowned in crimson. They made slow, awkward progress through the castle - Alarik taking easy, rolling steps, trying not to jostle; Elsa trembling and whimpering and once more clutching Anna’s hand as Anna trotted to keep up. A trail of frost followed them - and by the time they reached the third floor, it was also climbing the walls. The sleeves of Alarik’s cream-colored shirt were as red as the skirt of Elsa’s dress. It was the same spare bedroom where Jenny had been born, but there was now none of the careful order and preparation Anna had seen then. Alarik carried Elsa to the bed, laying her atop it with the same care with which he had lifted her. She moaned and - no longer clutching Anna’s hand - gripped desperately at the blankets beneath her. Alarik shoved his sodden sleeves up to his elbows, pushed his hair out of his face, and got to work, removing Elsa’s shoes, stockings, undergarments. The last were so soaked with blood Anna could see it dripping. He tossed them away without a second glance. "Anna." He looked at her - and she saw the pure, naked terror in his eyes. "Can you…" His voice broke; he swallowed and tried again: "Can you have someone get a fire going and water sent up next door? I don’t think… I don’t think we’ll be able to keep it going in here." Anna nodded. “Of course.” She ran. Today, her heart would just have to take it.

When she was approaching her sixth month, Elsa asked Alarik to help her explain it to Jenny – he had a knack, it always seemed, for explaining things in a way Jenny could understand. She listened to him, where with Elsa she seemed to quickly grow fussy and fidgety. Sitting on a chair with both parents facing her, however, she just looked concerned. “Did I do something bad?” Elsa felt the catch in her chest – emotions running high regardless, Jenny only exacerbated them. She smiled, hoping it would be reassuring. “No, you didn’t do anything at all. We just need to talk to you.” “I only called Master Bieker stupid because he keeps calling me Princess Johanna.” Elsa could see the tension in Alarik as he struggled not to laugh. “We’ll talk about it later, Eldig. We wanted to tell you now…” He trailed off, letting Elsa have the moment. She leaned forward, across her knees. She wouldn’t be able to do that for much longer. “You’re going to be a big sister, little one.” “Huh?” “Mama is going to have another baby,” Alarik said. “How?” Now he did laugh. “The same way we got you.” Jenny’s face wrinkled, brow furrowing as she attempted to process the idea that she, too, might once have been gotten. Elsa vaguely remembered similar concerns, though she had been younger than Jenny when Anna was born. There had been an unspoken fear, she recalled, that she might be sold, as they had sold her father’s horse when he got a new one. "But why do you want another baby?" Jenny asked. She cocked her head, considering. "I’m pretty good. Sometimes.” This time, Elsa couldn’t help laughing, too. “It’s not a replacement, it’s… it’s an addition. Like Aunt Anna is my sister.” Jenny nodded. “Your parents probably wanted Aunt Anna because you have too many rules.” This time, Alarik had to leave the room to try to regain control of himself. Overall, Jenny’s thoughts on the matter of a new brother or sister appeared rather muddled. There were times when she seemed excited and hopeful, asking questions and digging through her toy chest for “baby stuff” and asking if she could choose a sister instead of a brother. Elsa – at Anna’s suggestion – helped her feel the baby move, and the wondrous look on her face was worth Elsa’s own mild discomfort at the idea. But at other times, Jenny was more fractious than normal; small mishaps and the mildest scolding sent her into tears, and tears much more often than usual became tantrums. Elsa couldn’t handle her then, physically or emotionally, and was usually forced to retire to somewhere private, a place to cry herself. A failure of a mother now to one child – how in the world was she going to handle two? After a particularly bad night – Jenny losing her temper over the vegetables at dinner, the temperature of her bath, being sent to bed early by her nurse as a result of her earlier behavior – Alarik sought out Elsa in her private study, where she was trying to read through parliamentary briefings and to ignore the sheet of ice beneath her feet and the chill in the air. He closed the door gently behind him and took the chair in the farthest corner of the room, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together, waiting patiently until she was ready to acknowledge him. She knew perfectly well he would sit there until she did. She looked up, willing the tears not to fall and the cold to dissipate. Somehow, she managed both. “Jenny’s fine,” he said – without preamble. “She’s asleep. She’s just tired, darling – it’s probably the strain of lessons. They’re still new and strange to her.” Elsa nodded, though she could not fully believe that was all it was. “Do you think… think she’ll… get used to the idea?” She didn’t mean lessons. And Alarik knew it. “Did you?” Elsa thought back, though the memories were fragments, tattered at the edges: her fears, her uncertainty, her parents’ concerned eyes and lowered voices. She knew now it was then, just before Anna’s birth, that her father began in earnest to seek an explanation for Elsa’s magic, and suspected the concern in both her parents had come from wondering if this second child, too, would be the same. When Anna was born – free of her sister’s taint – Elsa remembered being scared of the fireworks and shouts of revelry from the city, but also feeling the new baby was quite boring, really, just sleeping and eating and crying. Also, she remembered thinking baby Anna often smelled bad. It had taken a long time – two years? Three? - for Anna to grow to become a friend, a partner in mischief, but - “Yes,” Elsa said. “It took awhile, but I got used to it.” “Same for me,” Alarik said. “And it will be the same for Jenny. She’ll be fine, darling.” Elsa tapped her fingers absently against the desk, feeling wistful. “It’s just so hard in the meantime…” “Of course. It’s hard for me, too, but I know you have…” She smiled at him. “Jenny’s not the only one with emotional cliffs to fall from.”

The screaming began as Anna, too desperate to find a servant, was building the fire up in an adjacent bedroom. She stiffened and looked up, hardly aware of the match in her hand guttering out in the frigid wind that swept through the room. Outside the window, snow pelted against the glass, hard and rapid. But louder, by far, was the endless, agonized sound of Elsa in pain. Anna had been able to hear, last time, from her place outside the door: the murmur of voices, sobbing, and Elsa’s two final, sharp cries. The sound now was nothing like that – it spoke instead of excruciating pain and fear, a desperate prey animal feeling the delicate skin torn from its back, death imminent and inescapable. It seemed to go on for longer than human breath could possibly last, finally ending on a jagged, raw edge. Anna saw her match was out, struck another, returned to work. She piled on more kindling than was probably necessary, not wanting the fire to die, and left the room at a gallop – only to feel her heart jerk and leap as another scream tore the air. She stopped then, one hand on the wall and the other held to the tightness in her chest, trying to breathe deeply, slowly, despite the terror she felt for Elsa. She had to help her sister. She took the back stairs as quickly as she dared, down to the kitchens, ordering water be sent up and heated, immediately. Though the screams were blessedly silenced this far away, no one looked surprised – news traveled fast among the castle staff. Halfway back up, she could once more hear Elsa’s cries of agony. They were shorter now, but only a minute or two must have passed between each one. Anna tried to hurry, but climbing steps was difficult at the best of times. Alarik hadn’t asked anyone to send for the midwife. The realization hit Anna at the top of the stairs – so hard she had to grab the wall, a wave of dizziness gripping her. It must be the baby, so had he just forgotten? Or was he assuming neither Elsa nor the baby would make it? It couldn’t be. He couldn’t. Couldn’t. Anna almost went to ask someone to find the midwife regardless, but she had already seen what was happening outside the window: the world had turned white, sleet and snow and wind wracking the city. There was no way for anyone to find the midwife, much less bring her safely back to the castle. “Mama?” The voice was thin and frightened and unusually childlike, but Anna recognized it instantly: “Neta!” She looked surprisingly childlike, too, for a girl of almost 17 and taller than Anna by several inches. “Is Aunt Elsa okay?” Anna shook her head. “She’s… she’s probably having the baby.” But Anna had to remind herself: Neta was not a child anymore, needing to be coddled and protected. “It’s too early and Elsa is… she’s having a difficult time.” “Do you… can I help?” The look on her face said that was the last thing she wanted to do – but she asked anyway. Anna felt her breath catch. She said, “Actually, you can. Jenny’s been out with her tutor. When she gets back… keep her downstairs. And busy – keep her busy.” Neta nodded, serious as Kristoff over his sled. “All right.” And she was gone – and as Elsa’s shrieks rent the air, Anna wished she could go, too. Instead, she turned, back down the corridor – almost running again. She had to kick the door to break the ice around it. The floor under her feet was slippery and translucent. But inside, it was worse. The bed, the curtains, the chairs – all were frozen solid, icicles hanging like daggers. The snow in the air swirled in the captured wind, and the walls were coated in still more ice, cracked and fragmented and an unsettling blue-grey in what little light made it through the coated window. “The fire’s going, water is coming up, and Neta is going to keep Jenny,” Anna said, but Alarik hardly looked up. He wasn’t even bothering with the hair in his eyes now, all his attention focused on Elsa. And Elsa herself was clearly beyond communication – her skin, pale at the best of times, was a chalky grey, her eyes hooded and glazed. She was trembling, her hands limply curled around frozen clutches of blanket. Her eyes flickered briefly toward Anna as she approached the bed, but there was no focus, no recognition. “What can I do?” she asked. “Just-” But Elsa’s body went rigid, her back arching, and she screamed again, raw and desperate. More ice spread beneath her hands – thick and jagged and uneven – and the wind whipped up so hard and fast Anna grabbed the bedframe to keep from falling, caught by the force of it. When she looked down at the bed, Alarik seemed oblivious – he was using the blankets, stiff as they were, to try to stanch the renewed flow of blood. Anna did the only thing she could think to do – she sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, slid an arm beneath Elsa’s taut neck, and waited for any sign from Alarik that she was needed. Despite the cold, his face shone with perspiration. Elsa, shuddering and gasping, fell back against the bed once more. “Just a little more, älskling,” Alarik said. “Just a little more. You’re almost there.” If Elsa understood, she gave no sign.

Alarik was rubbing a gentle, careful hand over the skin stretched across her swollen middle, murmuring softly in Swedish at the nape of her neck, his other arm bent upwards to stroke her scalp. She could feel sleep overtaking her, finally – she was desperately ready for it, a few hours of obliviousness. She was trying to convince herself it was all right to relax, to believe everything was fine. She was weeks now from birth – the midwife’s estimation was six or seven, and Elsa was reminded that the fatigue and discomfort were going to get worse before getting better. Added to that, the niggling fear, ever-present, of the birth itself. It was going to hurt, it was going to be hard, she was going to have to once again fight for control through all the pain and fear. She knew how selfish it all was – but not how to rid herself of the shameful feelings. But there was more to it than that, this time – more than left her uneasy and afraid. She had been bleeding – not a lot, but enough that she had mentioned it to the midwife, who advised more sleep and less stress, neither of which Elsa was likely to accomplish, though she had agreed to try. She had also been suffering pain in her back – not the normal, throbbing ache she remembered well from carrying Jenny, but sharper, deeper twinges that made her gasp and clutch, unable to prevent ice sliding beneath her feet, the palms of her hands. She had admitted these things, finally, to Alarik, and had eventually then found herself here, his lips whispering half-audible words against her neck, his hand almost feverishly warm around her stomach, the child within. Elsa could feel the baby move, and knew Alarik must, too. His fingers stroked, so gently – and Elsa told herself to sleep. But sleep eluded her. The whole castle must be asleep – all of Arendelle. They were safe in their beds, she hoped without cares or burdens, sleeping as Jenny did: deep and comfortable. Elsa’s job was to take care of them, every one of them; there were so many more for whom she was responsible, so many more than just Jenny and this child yet to come. It didn’t matter that she had been in this position now for more than half her life, or that she had known almost since she was the same age as Jenny that it would be the case: there were still nights when the realization of the burden overwhelmed her. She didn’t want it to be Jenny’s, or that of the child still inside her, should it be a boy. It wasn’t a fair weight to place on such narrow little shoulders. What if she died in childbirth, or later somehow failed to see her heir grown to adulthood? She knew Anna would step in, Alarik and Kristoff and even Neta – but none knew, truly, the weight of the crown. There was no way to win. Elsa trembled, rolled her hands into stiff fists. Alarik laid a gentle kiss against the base of her neck. “Sleep, darling.” His voice was thick – she was keeping him awake, too. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Hmm?” But she just shook her head. “You should sleep. You’re exhausted. I’m okay.” His hand moved down her side, so his arm was wrapped around her swollen belly. “Everything will be fine, darling.” He kissed her neck again, and she tried to bring herself to believe it as she listened to his breathing lengthen and even into sleep. He was so warm against her – too warm, really, for her comfort, but she wanted him there anyway. It was a long time before she was able to sleep. She did some reading, when time and mental energy permitted, and tried to figure out the troubling new symptoms, the blood and the pain, unable to accept the midwife’s dismissal. But even the most brutally honest of the books and papers they had collected during her time carrying Jenny had little to say that seemed pertinent – only that symptoms in the same woman might vary greatly from one pregnancy to the next. She tried to convince herself that might be all that was going on – after all, she had experienced more nausea and fatigue this time, too. As the last month or so approached, she found herself entranced by Jenny in a way she hadn’t been since Jenny was a newborn: watching her gallop down the hall or across the courtyard, waves of red hair flying; watching her relax into sleep; watching her eyebrows contract and her lips purse – it made her look like Alarik – as she dipped her pen and painstakingly practiced writing her name. There was always a blotch of ink on her J, and Elsa let her finger touch it, staining the tip with black. Her daughter had left that ink on paper. Hers. It still set her heart beating faster, and the new baby must have been able to feel it – it moved and kicked, and she put her clean hand carefully against it. Yes, she feared, again, the pain of birth, the possibility of something going wrong. But it was also possible – she allowed herself this much – perhaps even likely, that in four years, she would watch another beautiful child writing his or her name, running through the castle, falling to easy sleep each night. She allowed herself that much.

Anna didn’t know how much time had passed, how long they had been in this icy room as Elsa screamed and struggled and lost what little control she had left. Anna held her, cradled her, because there seemed to be nothing else that might help – but she wasn’t going to leave. Not this time. Not now.

Her determination, though, was irrelevant – no one asked her to go. Alarik seemed hardly aware of anything but Elsa; Elsa herself was beyond speech – beyond, Anna feared, much conscious thought at all. She hadn’t spoken since Alarik carried her from the library. The wind was screaming outside the window. Anna didn’t know if Jenny and her tutor had made it back. But Master Bieker was smart enough to find shelter in the city, if it came to that. Jenny would be fine. But would her mother? Alarik seemed to have given up on stopping the bleeding – the whole lower half of the bed was soaked – and was focusing instead on getting the baby out. The only sign that Elsa was still conscious: her attempts to follow his instructions. Considering her clear agony, Anna thought it was almost cruel, any awareness at all. “One more, älskling,” Alarik finally said. “Just one more, and it will be over.” And Anna could feel Elsa tensing, preparing herself, waiting for that painful urge to push. Her scream now was hoarse and ragged, tapering off to a desperate, whimpering pant. Then even that was gone. She arched, taut and high, eyes squeezed shut and mouth falling open, determined, in effort. The wind, inside and out, stilled, snow hanging wherever it had been tossed – as if the air itself had frozen. Alarik was bent over the bed, working beneath the blood-soaked skirt of Elsa’s dress. His face was strained, his eyes too bright. Anna could feel Elsa’s tension, the painful shudder that rippled through her. She gasped and cried out, her hands now clutching spasmodically at the frozen blanket beneath her. She jerked – then went limp and still, dead weight on Anna’s arms. Anna lowered her back to the bed, her own arms trembling. There was more blood, and something else, more than one thing, it was hard to tell, everything was red and wet and -

“Water,” Alarik said. His voice was a croak. “I need water.” Anna ran for it, ignoring the thick layer of ice beneath her feet. Someone – bless their wonderful servants! - had left a large pot of water over the fire in the adjacent bedroom, to warm it. She used a pole handle to hoist it off, poured a bowl of cold water in to make the whole safe to use, and threw the quilt from the end of the bed over her arm, just in case, before hauling the pot up and back to Elsa’s room. Her heart was pounding and protesting again – she ignored it. Rest could come later. Alarik was still bent over the bed, but as Anna put down the pot and quilt, she finally made it out – the tiny, curled, cyan-skinned baby he held across his splayed hands. It moved feebly – none of the lusty, healthy cries and wriggling that she remembered from Jenny – but still, it moved. Alive. The baby was alive. “Get it clean,” Alarik said, his voice curiously flat. “Elsa… I need to…” Anna took the baby, never hesitating. A boy – it was a boy. She dipped the quilt in the warm water, going to work clearing away the mess of birth from the bruised-looking skin. The baby scrunched his face, but he still didn’t cry, just lay against her arm, painfully small and feather-light. She held him against her chest; the room was still so cold. A blanket, or clothes – he needed to be kept warm. “Do you have…” But she stopped when she saw the look on Alarik’s face. She would find one herself. “I’ll be back,” she said, though she doubted that either of them heard her. She cradled the baby close. His eyes were open, and he turned his head against her chest, seeking warmth. She took him to the nursery, the room that had once been her own, hers and Elsa’s. The bassinet in the corner, the rocking chair, the trunk full of tiny clothes – all waiting for this little boy. Jenny had offered her own old favorite, a worn, well-loved stuffed rabbit with button eyes and piebald fur. Those button eyes watched from the chair as Anna gathered blankets and swaddled the tiny new baby. It had been the better part of two decades since she had done this, but it came back to her quickly enough. The baby was asleep before she finished wrapping him. He looked a little better, she thought, his skin a bit pinker, his face relaxed. He was so small, though – so small she could almost have carried him across her own hands. “Be okay,” she said softly. “Elsa needs you. More than she’ll ever admit.”

Finally, Alarik knew there was nothing more to do. He had done what he could, and when the doctor arrived, perhaps there would be more – but it wasn’t his place. He had failed her.

The blood had slowed to a trickle, more akin to what might be expected in the aftermath of childbirth, and for that, he was grateful. He didn’t want to try and move her, to risk another hemorrhage, so he had done the best he could, pulling carefully away the soaked blankets and tucking clean ones beneath. Even that much made her moan and grimace. She seemed to be sleeping now, her chest rising and falling with breaths that were shallow but even, and the ice coating the room was beginning to melt. It was over. He had done what he could. And with nothing left to occupy him, the guilt and despair took hold, squeezing around, the familiar, crushing vise. This was his fault. Elsa was dying, she couldn’t lose that much blood and survive, the baby would die too, might already be dead, Anna hadn’t come back, and -

He had to get out. Had to get away from the stench of blood, the drip of ice from the eaves, the woman he couldn’t save in the bed before him. The woman he had sworn to love and protect for the rest of his life. He pushed up and away, stumbling on legs gone to sleep, joints that no longer responded quickly; he went to one knee, icy water soaking through the cloth of his trousers, ignoring it as he ignored the stiffness of dried blood on his sleeves. The corridor was quiet; it was empty, no one would ask questions. He had to get away. “Alarik?” Anna’s voice – strained and afraid, and he forced himself to turn and look at her. She had wrapped the baby in blankets, keeping it warm. It was still alive. “Where are you…” Anna’s eyes widened. “No. No, Elsa – is she - ?” He shook his head. “She’s asleep.” “Where are you going then? Go back to her, I can get it, whatever it is, what do you need?” Kindness in her voice – concern. She hadn’t realized yet. He wanted to be gone before she did. But it was already too late – her eyes narrowed with realization. “You can’t leave her. Elsa needs you.” “I did this!” It was out before he could stop it. “She wouldn’t be in there if not for me. If she dies, Anna, I killed her.” He turned away, but didn’t leave, wasn’t sure he could leave, his legs suddenly so weak they were hardly capable of supporting him. For a long, painful time, all he could hear was his own ragged breath. Then Anna spoke softly: “I was mad at her when I found out.” “What?” He looked at her again; she was looking to the baby in her arms. “When she told me she was expecting again. I was so angry, so… so jealous. I always felt like she got everything, when we were children, and now it was happening again. She could have another, and I couldn’t.” “That’s not-” “I know. But it still feels like… like I might have caused this to happen, by feeling that way.” “That isn’t possible.” She looked up at him, offered a rueful smile. “I know. And you know what else I know? Elsa blames herself that I won’t ever have another. And I hate that. She never meant to do it.” “It’s not the same.” “Of course it is. It’s exactly the same. It’s… it’s consequences of trying to just… live your life. Things happen, sometimes awful things, but you can’t let them define you. You know where that road leads. So does Elsa. And she’ll never forgive herself if she’s the reason you go down it again.” He could only stare at her – at her, and at the tiny life asleep in her arms. A boy. A son. Elsa’s son. “Go back in there,” Anna said. “I’ve got the baby.”

The light was too bright, sun reflecting off the glimmering facade of a room of melting ice. Elsa squinted – her eyelids felt too heavy, her mind muddled and fuzzy. This wasn’t her bedroom. But the hand against her cheek: warm, callused fingers; the voice murmuring her name – those she knew well. She found the strength, somehow, to turn her head, to let her eyes meet his. He looked as exhausted as she felt, his face drawn and strained, but he smiled for her: “Hello, my darling.” “Hi.” Her own voice surprised her, hoarse, an ache in her throat. He stroked her hair back from her forehead. “How are you feeling?” “I’m…” More than her throat hurt – there was a deep, throbbing ache across her abdomen, spreading down between her legs. She had known that pain before, when - “The baby.” She felt panic grip her, making it hurt worse, making her gasp. “Alarik, the baby!” He had her shoulders, gentle but firm, holding her down. “Elsa, stay still. Please, darling – you’ll start the bleeding again. Just try to relax. Please.” “But-” There was bleeding, yes – she could feel it, sticky and hot between her legs. Her head was swimming. “Here.” Anna’s voice now – and then there was Anna herself, bending closer, and Elsa could see the tiny bundle in her arms, impossibly tiny. “You have a new son.” Elsa could feel the tears on her cheeks, though she didn’t have the strength to truly cry. She reached out with one trembling hand, touching the downy skin of his cheek. Then the dizziness took her once more.

Each evening, Jenny came to the doorway – as close as she was allowed to get. “One day, Mama,” she said.

Then: “Two days, Mama.” Careful considering – that was so very like Alarik. She had been promised a chance to see her new baby brother, and somehow conflated that with the changing of days. Elsa focused on much smaller units of time: trying to stay awake for a quarter hour. Holding the baby for five minutes without exhaustion overwhelming her. Coaxing him to nurse long enough to ease the pressure in her swollen breasts, to fill his tiny stomach. When he ate, she felt something almost like hope – for him, and for herself. Hope that both of them might pull through. “Three days, Mama!” “Thank you, little one.” Counting the days – each one seeing him growing stronger, each day brighter than the last. Outside, Elsa’s snow had melted. Alarik said the days, for mid-October, were warm and pleasant. He took the baby gently from her arms when he finished suckling, letting her cover herself, her fingers still clumsy, but improving. The smile Alarik gave his son lit up his whole face. “Have you thought of a name?” There was hope in that, too – a name to one day know, a name to learn to write. “Jenny did,” Elsa said, thinking of her declarations from the doorway. “Jenny?” Elsa nodded. “Dag. His name is Dag.” Alarik smiled down once more – down at their son. “Hello, Dag.” In his voice, too, Elsa heard hope.

#frozen #frozen fanfiction #shardsverse

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