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the-moon-prince · 4 years

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The Last Of us~Kurapika x Reader ~Chapter XI

AN: Hi my lovely fellows!

I’m sorry for the delay! Thank you so much for your patience and support! I’m here with another chapter! I put some uncany descriptions and a tiny fight scene in this chapter. I hope it will dynamic and intresting enough. If you have any feedback, I would be more than glad to recive it! I have some work this week, however I’ll do my best to upload the next chapter as quickly as possible! Thank you, have a great day and I hope you will enjoy the new chapter!

I wish you a pleasant read, and I hope you’ll enjoy the new chapter of my story. (Chapter I) (Chapter II) (Chapter III) (Chapter IV ) (Chapter V) (Chapter VI) (Chapter VII)(Chapter VIII)(Chapter IX)(Chapter X) (Chapter XII coming soon!)

Paring: Kurapika Kurta x GN! Reader

Word count: 2 317

TW: Blood // Morbid Descriptions // Violence (? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't bother. I want to make sure that I'm not selling one of my prized items to anyone."-The black-haired man dictated.

(Y/n) cleared their throat-"Understandable. Your collection is impeccable. I can clearly see the devotion put into it."-they agreed with their smile. sitting down on one of the bar benches. Kurapika mimicked the action.

Human and animal parts were too part of the person's collection.

Just another one of those sick scums for Kurapika. He loathed this guy. Referring to (Y/n)'s family as an article in his collection. Still making the reclaim difficult with an air of false supremacy and narcissism.

"I'm glad you recognize it."-the man seemed pleased with the adulation.-"Especially because I'm going to confer you one of my favorite pieces."

(Y/n) nodded-"If I were giving one of my pieces, I would as well be concerned about who was receiving it."-they added with their smile.

"Speaking of, tell me about your collection."-the man challenged.

He pulled up a crystal bottle filled with a dark drink. At the moment of uncovering it, an intensive scent of alcohol came off. He proceeded to pour a generous amount of liquor in a spacious glass with ice

(Y/n) had no collection. Kurapika started to bug. What are they deemed to say to persuade him?

"I have a peculiar appreciation for bodily oddities."-they tilted their head-"I own a hand with polydactyly, another one with syndactyly. A fetus with 15pp tetrasomy, a specimen of dipygus, a pair of lungs with tracheal agenesis, the list can go on."

The man lifted his chin at the answer. Kurapika relaxed. Using his medical knowledge to give examples of abnormalities was skillful.

"That is in the human realm. My favorites are the animal eccentricities. Aren't beasts beautiful?"-they advertised, directing their gate to a taxidermized Golden Pheasant displayed on the shelf behind the man.

By this point, both (Y / n) and Kurapika were certain they had convinced the man sufficiently for him to finally sell them what they were seeking.

"Are they, right?"-the man bragged with his gruff voice-"Your interest shows, kid, that's good."-he nodded, drinking his liquor and refilling the glass-"But do you know what is special about my Fuse?"

Fuse? Didn't that mean beastman or dogman? Kurapika was perplexed. By what right did he refer to them like this...

"It would be the least! The Fuses, aren't they intriguing? Wonderful beasts."-(Y/n) praised, trying to widen their smile. Kurapika could only imagine the pain they felt having to fake that excitement.

The man finished his drink in one gulp and served more.

"Even more for the few that remained. A true rarity! I had a good time studying them."-he shouted. It inflated his ego to be able to show off his collection.-"Imposing! Some tremble with fear when they see them. The demons robed, mated, and killed men, women, and children alike to eat their souls. Since they were disguising themselves as humans, they hid for a while. But they smelled like animals, you know? Beasts in body and soul."-he voiced and made motions of greatness with his hands. Letting out a pant that stank of alcohol.

All of this disgusted Kurapika. The man was putting on a deplorable show: spitting pest and bile out of his filthy mouth. All the collectors were rotten to the core. Would it also own scarlet eyes? What would the miserable bastard state about the Kurta? They were dull and reckless forms who were better off in vases on shelves? His blood was boiling.

(Y/n) didn't took their eyes off the dark-haired for a moment.

"It must be outstanding to hold one! I've been seeking a chance like this for a prolonged time now."-they exclaimed, putting their hands together in triumph. Kurapika felt sorry for them.

"But beasts after all."-the man continued, finishing his drink and serving one plus anew. He was presumably drunk.-"Poor fools, they didn't stand a chance against us."-he started to laugh.-"But enough is enough, I'll go for what you want, kid."

The man finished his 3rth drink, got up, and left his bar counter to climb a wide staircase. Kurapika, who had stayed muted the whole exhibit and was staring at the glass of alcohol, let out a groan once he was assured the bastard was gone. Fuse, it even sounded awful. He turned to see (Y/n). They were looking at the things on the back furniture, their head resting on their hand.

The man went back inside, and they both followed him with their eyes from the entry to his seat. He placed a head on the bar table on a polished wood plank. The head was of a dog. Its fur was light in color, and it had a longer, darker coat on the top of its head from which its ears poked out. His muzzle was somewhat elongated with a slightly recurved blackish nose A dog with human-like traits, resembling (Y/n). Only that he was a child and his grimace was a mixture of surprise and terror. His eyes had been replaced by doll-like ones, cold and lifeless. However, it wasn't him.

They degraded a child to wall decor.

"Look at it!"-the drunk man blurted, elevating the head by the ears to the level of his head.-"A real treasure! Even more, being from a predator, they were the most unusual among the Fuse!"

A twisted and degrading spectacle.

(Y/n) has a face of admiration, and started to clap.-"Wonderful!"

The man laid the head back on the table and sat.

"It is, it is. But it's a pity that it is dead. It would be even more impressive to have it as a pet."-He interjected with a grin, showing his open hand, waiting.

(Y/n) took an envelope out of their bag and handed it to him. The man took money out of it and began to count it. At that, Kurapika took the head and pulled it towards him. On its own, it was quite heavy, and the wooden base didn't help. The fur was soft and covered the moderately battered neck. When viewed up close it was worse.

"Okay, take good care of my Fuse."-he teased displaying his hand to them. They watched it for a moment before pulling their own out and shaking it.

"I will. So you don't have to trouble about that."-they responded smiling.-"We will with-"

"Fuse."-The black-haired interrupted them.

(Y/n) inclined their head, and Kurapika looked up at him. How drunk was this bastard?

"You are a Fuse kid: you have claws. When you shook my hand I saw them, even if you put black nail polish. Your aura is not human either, although you mirror it well. But specialize in hunting beasts, you can't trick me."-the man condemned, with a severe look.

Kurapika felt his blood run cold for a second. (Y/n)'s smile got substituted by a sober expression.

"Why don't you kill me, kid?"-his face changed into an expression of repugnance.

Kurapika was already preparing to attack.

"There is no use in such an act. We will withdraw now."- they calmly declared standing up. They held the head with both hands, and the two directed to the exit.

The man looked down at his now hollow glass, it did not seem that he was going to launch an attack. Nevertheless, Kurapika didn't let his guard down all the walk to the exit. The man didn't seem to move from his chair.

Still, the walk from the bar counter to the door felt heavy. Neither of them would show fear, they couldn't permit it. They would not indulge the wretch.

As soon as they were out the front door, they heard another scream from the man.

"Fuse!"-he shouted that name again. The smell of strong alcohol reached up to them.

Kurapika and (Y/n) stopped, standing on the small path between the porch and the gate. Kurapika turned to see him. This man was nothing to him but a wretch. And he was already on the last nerve of him.

(Y/n) continue to turn their back to the drunk.

"I'll tell you why you don't kill me!"-he shouted-"You don't kill me because you know it won't change anything. You will never get anything back. Because your kind never had anything."-he raged. He seemed almost offended.

(Y/n) tilted their head and remained silent for a couple of seconds. Kurapika was ready to deliver a punch to the man right into his face. At any circumstance, in his current shape, he wasn't going to be capable of much.

"No."-(Y/n) alleged, without turning to see him-"I already reclaimed what was robbed from us."-their tone was not the same as before. This one was more pressing.

Kurapika hadn't heard that tone of theirs before. While they weren't screaming, it radiated indignity.

"They only robbed our bodies."-they maintained-"They will never be able to take away our pride, dignity, nor greatness. And that reality pains you."

The man rushed towards (Y/n), he was fast. In a fit of rage and giddy with alcohol, he concentrated his nen in his right fist and delivered a punch into their head. This action pushed (Y/n)'s head to the floor and their entire body hit the concrete, releasing the puppy's head from their grasp. Which fell to the ground, slightly staining its fur.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Kurapika's eyes glowed scarlet. It could be subtly perceived under the contacts he wore. The man had made the mistake of revealing his type of nen. He was an Enhancer, practicing hand-to-hand combat. That puts him at a disadvantage against Kurapika's ranged techniques.

Kurapika conjured his chains. He dashed towards the man and unleashed his fury in a blow that struck the man in the side, targeting the kidney. The hit was potent enough not only to beat the man off but also to thrust him a few feet away from the two of them.

He was writhing in the grass, panting.

Seeing that (Y/n) didn't get up, Kurapika went to his side and helped him to their feet. Their legs were shaking. They had hit their noses on the pavement. It was bleeding heavily, and their eyes were watery. They also had their left cheek bruised. Neither of them noticed the blow coming.

Once steady on their feet, (Y/n) stepped to the head and lifted it. Whipping the dust and dirt off the pup's face.

"Let me see your other form. Transform yourself."-the man whimpered between gasps, still in the ground.

"Sir, you are drunk."-(Y/n) finished.

In other conditions, Kurapika would keep pounding the bastard. However, the blow (Y/n) received was considerably strong and had a great deal of concentrated aura. Above, they had little physical resistance against direct attacks; their physical fragility could not be ignored. His priority was to get them out of the place. The man did not move and did not say anything again.

Kurapika put a hand on (Y/n) 's back to help them advance to the car.

Getting to the safety of the truck, (Y/n) sat down after putting the puppy in the back. So far it had been a disastrous night. They had to put up with a drunken narcissistic idiot and (Y/n) got beaten, insulted, and denigrated.

When they put their weight on the seat, their frame inclined forward, still shaking. They put their trembling hands together and supported them on their legs meanwhile they puffed.

Kurapika was troubled for their well-being. He moved closer to them to get a better glimpse at the wound. They would have a mark on their cheek and their nose continued to bleed.

"(Y/n), how do you feel?"- he pleaded, a hand in their back.

They sniffed and pulled out a tissue to clean their face.

"I feel better. It is not grave, I'll be fine. Thank you, my love"-they affirmed, turning to see him and offering him a smile.

Kurapika didn't understand. He knew how affable his darling was, except this was exceedingly much. A narcissistic and vulgar man had insulted, not only them but their entire deceased family. Not having respect for the gone is the limit of acceptable decency.

He referred to them as demons, assassins, and other barbarities. He had even demoted them to pets. Yet with all that, he was the one who attacked. He was the one who was boiling in pure anger, not making the smallest attempt to be polite with the bastard. Not (Y/n).

They could have attacked at any time. However, they didn't even conjure their ribbons. They didn't shout at him, they didn't insult him. They remained terribly calm. Even now, when they were alone in the car. It seemed as if they had forgotten everything. They even smiled.

As someone dares to speak like that of the Kurta clan, Kurapika would grind them with his chains and fists.

But this was an enigma to him. Was (Y/n) even vexed? Whatever it is, they had enormous self-control, even excessive...

Kurapika would reflect on this entire experience several times in the future. Despite the fact, there were diverse imports one particular thing adhered with him like glue: the response (Y/n) gave the man screeched they would never recover what was lost.

Kurapika embraced (Y/n) and drew circles on their back, attempting to comfort them. They rested their head on his chest, he could feel them quivering.

"(Y/n)."-he called softly-"It's over, dear, let's go home."

They shook their head.-"Not yet."

#kurapika kurta x reader #kurapika x reader #hxh scenarios #hxh x reader #hxh #kurapika hxh #kurapika kurta #hunter x hunter #kurapika imagine #kurapika x (y/n)#kurapika

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thereluctantinquisitor · 4 years

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WIP Whenever!

Thank you for the tag @frenchy-and-the-sea, and for sharing your own wonderful WIP (which curious folks can find HERE - seriously, GO FORTH AND ENJOY).

I’m currently trundling away at a new project, so I figured I’d just go ahead and post the (current) chapter 1!

I will tag: @leothelionsaysgrrrr, @dafan7711, @captainsaku, @rufinagertrude, @bladeverbena, @thefluffynug and anyone else who has something they want to share (just tag me so I can see it!)

Chapter 1 (1800 words)

For many centuries, the blessed temple of Callifae, the Broken Bride, stood proudly atop its noble grassy plateau. The goddess, whose likeness emerged, brilliant, from the forward face of the temple, cast her watchful gaze over the quiet city of Vezarine with eyes of smooth, pale stone. When the sun set on a clear day, there was said to be a moment when those all-seeing eyes shone with a honey light; a perfect imitation of the goddess’ golden stare.

On this day, the second of Torrens, night had already arrived. The sun - gentler, now, against the summer-scorched earth - had vanished long ago. But still, the Bride’s eyes glowed.

Vezarine was burning.

In the warren of streets below, a cloaked figure peeled out of an alleyway. His chest rose and fell in a rough, staccato rhythm - the breaths of someone who had been running, climbing, hiding, fighting, for far too long.

The wide, two-storey building behind Xaraan was already blazing. Its wood groaned and cracked in the heat, slowly buckling beneath the weight of itself like a body held up by broken legs. Backing further into the street’s exposed centre, his footsteps crunched against a thick coating of ash and blood. When the upper storey gave way with a shudder that shook the ground beneath him, he simply watched, silent. Cold. It had been a workshop, once. A tannery, if the smell was any indication. A smell like cooked fat and burning hair.

Sivaan, the third of the sister-moons, hung low in the sky. She joined the fire to bathe the city red. The raid was almost done.

He had to move quickly.

---

Elsewhere in the ashen streets, a lone figure stood among the licking flames, the crimson mantle of her station whipping out behind her, tossed by the wind and smoke. Beneath her heels, the cobbles were stained black. Narrow rivulets trickled along the grooves in the stonework, drawn towards its gutters by the street’s gentle curve. Calayne, the Scythe of Erentis, watched the pattern as it slowly spread from the soles of her feet.

She was where she belonged. The poison at the centre of the web.

A sharp signal - her raised fist - led to a pattern of blasted horns, their low, reverberating sound rolling through the broken city like thunder. Irethani soldiers began to flood back onto the main streets, peeling out of buildings and alleyways, some wiping blades on their dark cloaks, others pleased by the gore trailing in their wake. A patrol group joked lightly beneath the red moon’s gaze; playful remarks about how considerate she was, to mask the worst of the stains. We have become too used to this, Calayne thought as her soldiers swept past, saluting, smiling at their conquest. It was not the first time such treacherous words had crossed her mind. They were as dangerous as any blade. She would do well to keep them sheathed.

“Scythe?”

Calayne released a slow, calm breath. Soon. Soon she would be rid of it all. The blood. The guilt.

That wretched name.

For now, she turned towards the familiar voice. Her dark hair, long and grey as night, swept past her face. “Report, Xaraan.”

Xaraan, the last of her officers, hesitated at her tone before snapping quickly to attention, right fist upturned against his stomach. “The city has fallen, Scy---ah, Overseer. Those who did not raise weapons against us have been gathered in the square by the catchers. Vezarine’s leader and high priest have barricaded themselves in the temple, along with their servants and a large number of cityfolk.” He hesitated, his luminous eyes flicking towards the statue of the goddess. “Should we send the burners?”

His question was first met with silence. How many this time? She had been informed before embarking that Vezarine was home to thousands. Then, after a sharp demand, Xaraan confirmed the estimated body count. It placed the dead, alone, at about the same number. The pleasure in his voice would have encouraged her, once. She would have basked in it.

Instead, she frowned into the smouldering dark. The numbers the Rhaiz had given her had been wrong.

She clenched her jaw until her teeth ached. Never again.

“Forget the temple. Give the signal to retreat.” She was careful to keep her voice flat. Expressionless. Fire, its smoke thick and dark, licked from rooftops in the distance. “We are done here.”

Xaraan, perhaps misreading her soberness, suddenly remembered proper protocol. Hurriedly, he placed himself directly in front of her, his feet in line with hers. As one might expect after a raid, the man was dishevelled, his light hair tangled at his shoulders, blood streaked across the front of his leathers. The dark markings that streaked down past his eyes in a mimicry of spilled ink only made the wideness of his gaze - its faint luminosity - more pronounced. He is still young, she thought absently. Then, that very same realisation struck her like a blow to the chest.

Had she not noticed that before?

“Overseer… the prisoners?” There was an edge to his voice, now. Uncertain. Fearful. That was the trouble of a man in his position. Even if he felt he knew the answer to his question, he was forced to risk her ire by asking it anyway.

This time, however, he could breathe freely. “Take the ones already gathered in the square. Leave the rest to sweep the ashes.” It was, truly, the least she could do. For Vezarine, yes, but also for her own soldiers. Unfortunately, she doubted it would be enough of an offering to spare them from the Rhaiz’s anger, once the dust had settled. She had been carving away at their leader’s patience for over five seasons. What might have once been a victory in his eyes was now a failure. Another bleeding gash to be stemmed.

Of course, Calayne was far too valuable to use as salve for his wounded pride.

No. She would dig her fingers in and tear.

In front of her, Xaraan - a far more likely sacrifice - hesitated, his amber eyes widening, betraying his surprise. Fool that he was, he had always worn his heart on his sleeve. It was a dangerous place, to keep such a vital thing. “But... Rhaiz Sathan’s orders were to take as many---”

Her patience was nearing its end. She cut him off with a glare.

“The Rhaiz’s orders have changed.”

A gust of hot wind blew past them both, forcing Xaraan to flinch and blink away the ash and dust. Distracted, his hand raised in front of his face, he made his first mistake. “I -- they have? I didn’t hear any...”

He stopped himself before she even had to speak. Of course, it was already far too late. A year or two ago, he would have been dead where he stood. The Scythe of Erentis had not earned her name for leniency.

“You are not in a position to be informed of anything.” Calayne’s gaze sliced across, ending his next sentence before it began. It carried with it a terrible, icy anger. The one that had borne her through decades of conquest. The one that had lifted her all the way to commander, then higher again to overseer. It gave weight to the words she spoke next, each laden with implication. “Do I need to remind you of your place?”

It was difficult to tell when one of the Irethani felt true fear. The other denizens of Erentis had developed noticeable tells for such things; vast swathes of their skin drained of colour, their voices shattered like glass, their bodies reshaped in ways that were impossible to ignore. But for her people, it was a subtle thing, best told by the lips. Xaraan’s, for example, had just turned a sickly pale shade of grey, his dark blood fleeing towards his stammering heart. “No, Overseer.” His gaze quickly fell to her feet, hands pressed hard to the tops of his thighs. A child’s trick to conceal a tremor. “I will sound the victory. Give your orders to the patrols.”

She made Xaraan spend a few more moments writhing beneath her stare. He had begun to question her more and more of late. Perhaps she had been a fool to allow such insubordination to fester and embolden him to the point of recklessness. It would see him killed under another’s command. Anger tightened her fists at her sides, but this time it was not a weapon to be aimed. No - it seemed her distractions had been as dangerous as her actions. For too long, her mind had been... elsewhere.

It remained a poor excuse for such carelessness.

Eventually, she released him from her glare with a sharp nod. “Go. Deliver my order.”

Xaraan’s relief was palpable. He exhaled it in a shaky rush. “Yes. Of course.” He gave a final salute, then turned to flee. But just when she believed their conversation over, the young man hesitated. Turned halfway back, his pale hair whipping in the fire-lit air. “The Rhaiz will be pleased with your victory today, Overseer.”

Calayne did not even have time to sharply repeat her order before he turned on heel and vanished into the thickening smoke. Sycophant, she thought at his retreating back, but swallowed the word like bitter tonic. It was self-preservation, obvious and infuriating, and nothing more. She should not scorn him for that.

The Rhaiz will be pleased with your victory today.

Calayne’s gaze lowered, drifting to a body discarded by the roadside. Human, she believed. Male, broad of stature, perhaps in the middle of his lifespan. He was sprawled, half out of his doorway, head resting in a dark pool where his home met the city street. A few feet away was an old scythe, flecked with blood on its curved edge. A common farming tool, raised as a weapon against an army. He had managed a single swing – one futile strike – before it had been kicked from his grasp and his throat opened to the night.

The sting of the cut burned on the underside of Calayne’s arm. Her dagger still dripped a slow, pensive red. She had not planned to kill that night.

“You are more deserving of the name,” she murmured to the corpse. Yes. The Scythe of Vezarine. Had he lived, had his aim been true, perhaps it might have been so. Perhaps it might have been better for them both, if a new legend had been born from these ashes.

Something like an invisible chain tightened around her neck, heavy and cold. She turned away from the corpse to face the smouldering city.

He should have stayed inside.

#wip whenever #original fiction #stonebreakerseries #(but not really)#i need a TITLE HJKFDHSKJL #reluctant writes #thank you for the tag <3 #and for sharing your words!

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jadethest0ne · 4 years

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In need of Refueling, Chapter 5 - Up in Smoke

Summary: “You?! Why would I trust you? You have brought me nothing but failure. Time and time again; nothing but disappointment!”

His father’s words might have been a result of his possession by the White Bone Spirit, but whether or not they were his true thoughts, Red Son vows to prove them wrong. To do so he seeks to attain a power strong enough to destroy his father’s immortal enemy. After all, he’d much rather throw fire at his problems.

Word Count: 2094

Ratings/Warnings: Teen and up; injury, burns, angst and hurt/comfort, toxic thoughts caused by toxic parents

Notes: Hey an entire chapter from the POV of the Monkey King himself! Enjoy! But also fair warning, this chapter contains more fire and injury, so if those things bother you, read with caution. Big thanks to @painted-arachnid and @simplyfornardo for helping me bounce ideas off of them. And also thanks to @lemonsqueazie for providing me with “Journey to the West” lore. I don’t know much about the original novel or other iterations, but I still tried to keep some things compliant with the lore. You should check all of them out, since they’re really great content creators with neat ideas!

Read on AO3

———-

Sun Wukong looks at the fire demon on his figurative doorstep, mildly perturbed at the intrusion to his home. He knew of Red Son from what MK had told him, but other than some eavesdropping on the Demon Bull King family, he knows very little about him. But what he did know is that he is sure that he could beat someone like him on any normal day. Red Son is strong, but he’s unpolished and potentially a bit unstable. He wouldn't usually be the type to pose a threat.

But there is something odd about that blue fire wreathed around his hands. Wukong is pretty sure that Red Son had red flames. And despite his confidence in himself and in his student, there is something off about how MK is acting. Perhaps this isn't the time to challenge his student with the whole hero thing right now. MK has this fearful look in his eyes and it puts Wukong on guard. Maybe there is something more to DBK's son than he had anticipated.

Still, he puts on an easy face and relaxes his posture, and tells MK, "It's cool, kid. No need to worry about me. I can handle this. You can go home. We'll train some other time."

His smile falters ever so slightly when MK instead takes a step towards him. "But Monkey King, that's what he wants! You didn't hear - he wants to beat you and bring you to DBK!"

Wukong barks out a laugh. "Ha! He can certainly try!" He makes a shoo motion with a hand. "Now go along, I got this," he says with a wink.

"HEY!" Red Son yells. "You fools underestimate my new power!" Red Son flings a fireball at Wukong who easily dodges out of the way. The smile never leaves Wukong’s features and the scowl never leaves Red Son’s as he continues to dodge several blasts of fire from the demon.

Frustrated that the smaller blasts aren’t working, Red Son whips up a giant fireball and flings it at Wukong. The Monkey King makes a practiced movement with his arms right before the wall of fire hits. The blaze expands over the Monkey King.

MK looks on in horror and yells “Monkey King!” He leaps towards Red Son swinging his staff. Red Son jumps back, dodging the strike, and cackles. But his laugh is slowly drowned out by a more booming series of laughs coming from the flames.

The flames part like a curtain and Wukong steps out with a slight glow surrounding him. “You didn’t think I had flame wards up my sleeve?”

Red Son makes a frustrated grunt at the display, but then smirks once again. “I might not have been able to set you on fire, but too bad for your little home here. He gestures at some of the surrounding bushes that are still lit with blue flames.

“Oh that?” Wukong shrugs. I can take care of that. He sweeps his arm over the area causing a gust of wind to sweep sand and dirt over the bushes. For a moment, the fire seems to flicker and spit, but then immediately blazes brighter, almost angrily. “Huh.” Wukong’s shoulders droop and along with his expression. “That’s… odd.” He looks back at a chuckling Red Son.

“You’ll find that my fire isn’t so easily extinguished.” He summons flames to his hands as his hair flickers with equally blue flames, one eye seemingly sparking with fire, and he turns menacingly to MK who is still beside him. “And even though you may have some protection against fire, he doesn’t.” He pulls back a hand and twists around to deliver a flaming punch at MK.

Wukong’s eyes widen as he sees his student get attacked by the strange fire.

MK instinctively brings up his staff to block the strike, but his footing is not proper and he gets pushed back. He stumbles over some debris on the ground and in his efforts to keep his footing, he is unable to defend the next blow that comes toward him. He lets out a small squeak and flinches, squeezing his eyes shut. But the blow doesn’t come. Wukong won’t allow that.

Wukong flies in between the two and manages to force Red Son away from his student, the fire in his fist only just glancing off of Wukong’s shoulder. Red Son is taken off guard from the interference, but maintains a fighting stance and turns his concentration onto the Monkey King. His eye glides to his shoulder and he smirks. “Not so fireproof after all, huh, Monkey King?” Wukong raises his eyebrows and looks to where Red Son is looking. His upper sleeve is on fire.

The Monkey King makes an extremely dignified yelp, and rushes comically over to the waterfall and shoves his arm in the water. However, the water only seems to add a pathway for the fire to spread, as if it were covered in oil, and his entire sleeve starts to catch fire. Wukong rapidly takes the sleeve from his shoulder and rips it off of his arm, throwing the still-flaming piece of garment to the ground. He checks his fur and it is thankfully not on fire. He gives a rueful look back to Red Son and huffs out an angry puff of air.

“Kid,” he says sternly this time, to MK. “You really should go home.”

MK looks nervously back at his mentor, and thankfully, this time takes a small, hesitant step backwards. “But…” he starts.

Wukong can’t keep an upset face for long. “Don’t worry,” he repeats, a relaxed smile spreading back on his face. “I got this.”

In the span of time that it takes Red Son and MK to even blink, Wukong has disappeared from his spot by the waterfall and closed the distance between him and them, appearing just before Red Son, delivering a kick to his stomach that flings him across the cove. From the dust and dirt that was kicked up by the action, comes coughing and hacking from the fire demon, as he holds his stomach and struggles uselessly to get up.

Wukong turns back to MK and smiles again, just as easy as anything. “See?”

MK gives a tentative smile and a nod and begins to take leave of the area.

“No!” comes a determined growl from the now settling dust. Red Son pushes himself onto his elbows, and looks up at them hatefully. “I will NOT be ignored! I will NOT be underestimated! Not again!” Smoke starts billowing from his mouth and nostrils as he talks. He huffs out some more smoke and his expression shifts into a wicked smile. “And I know now, what it takes to cook a monkey.” He starts to laugh and with each chuckle more smoke covers the area, blocking Wukong’s view from his surroundings, from Red Son, from the kid!

Wukong turns to the last direction he saw MK, calling his name. He activates his true sight, everything turning gold and clear as can be, the smoke becoming a transparent mist to his eyes. He spots the kid swiping at the smoke ineffectively, eyes screwed shut. But he’s at the outer edges of the smoke. “Kid! Just keep walking backwards! You’re nearly to the exit! Just keep running in that direction!” he calls.

The boy coughs as he tries to call for him, “Monkey King?!” But thankfully he starts stepping backwards at Wukong’s command.

Good now, all he has to do is deal with-- Red Son is suddenly directly in front of him. Wukong reflexively starts to form a fire repellant ward, but it’s not fire that comes his way, but smoke and soot. Red Son breathes a puff of air that blows darkness into Wukong’s eyes.

The Monkey King yells in surprise and pain, as he brings his hands to his eyes and tries to swipe away the foreign substance. It stings, and no matter what he does he can’t seem to remove the smoke fast enough. Despite the tiny needles of pain digging into his vision he frantically tries to look back to his student. His true sight allows him to finally see that MK has gotten out of the smoke and is continuing to back away anxiously, but it does nothing to stop the pain. Nor does it prevent the fact that Red Son is charging right towards MK, blue flames swirling in his wake.

Wukong doesn’t stop, doesn’t think, he moves.

He is directly in front of MK. He’s put himself between his student and the charging Red Son. MK looks at him in surprise and fear and worry. Wukong can feel heat lapping at his feet, and MK’s eyes widen and become watery. Wukong can see blue light reflected in them. But he smiles at the kid. His kid. And he speaks the next words cheerfully, smiling, easy as anything, “Be safe out there, okay, kid?” He can’t keep the tears, most definitely from the smoke, and not the proud feeling swelling in his chest, from dripping out of his eyes.

MK is about to say something, but his voice and breath are knocked out of him, as Wukong makes some practiced movements with his arms, and presses his hands to the kid’s chest. There’s a golden tone that rings in the air before MK is launched out of sight, out of danger, and back home. Just as he sees MK disappear over the horizon, blue flames wreathe around his entire body, and suddenly his whole world is fire.

Air leaves his lungs, leaving him no room to scream and all he can simply do, is cling. He clutches at his own body tightly, which does nothing more than to allow the fire to envelop him further, spreading up his shaking arms, singeing his fur, keeping him in an unyielding grip of pain. It hurts more than anything he’s ever experienced. He thinks so, at least. It’s hard to tell, as the pain has pushed all semblance of thought or memory from his brain. Everything is white hot agony.

He is suddenly aware that he is on the ground. He immediately starts trying to roll around in the dirt, frantically trying to put out the flames. However, all this does is prevent the fire from going anywhere else except for clutching him tighter. The fire, like daggers, stab into his body, having nowhere else to go, nothing else to catch onto.

As suddenly as the fire came it stopped. He is left on the ground, panting and shaking. His throat burns, but he’s not sure if it is from actual burns or if he managed to get air to his lungs and spent his time on the ground screaming. He is vaguely aware of a voice talking above him, so he moves his head the few inches that he is able to see Red Son.

“...can’t have you dying on me right now, I need to deliver you alive to my father.”

Wukong grits his teeth and digs his fingers into the dirt. Like he’d allow himself to be taken that easily. But right as he moves to try to push himself up, pain blooms on his left side, and he lets out a strangled gasp of pain, dropping back down. He tries to clasp his side, but upon touching the spot, his hand gets enveloped by the pain. He looks down to see that his side is burning with blue fire, and that his hand has caught the flames.

“Uh-uh-uh!” Red Son tuts. “Can’t have you regaining your strength and getting up. That should be enough fire to immobilize you. After all, the more you move, the more it could spread.”

Wukong gives a feral snarl at Red Son, who merely smiles coolly back at him. The smile on Red Son’s face becomes blurry, and at first Wukong thinks that the smoke has gotten in his eyes again, but, no, it’s just that he’s about to pass out. He is somewhat aware that he is being picked up and carried away, with blue flames propelling both him and Red Son away, supposedly back to DBK. But his brain is losing its ability to keep his thoughts straight again. The pain in his side won’t go away. He can’t move or it will spread. DBK likely will want to have his revenge. But at least MK is safe. At least he is safe. And it’s that small comforting thought that he maintains as he loses his battle with unconsciousness.

start || <– previous // next –>

#lmk #lego monkie kid #monkie kid #sun wukong #monkey king #mk #red son #in need of refueling #fanfiction #fanfic #injury #fire #burns #my writing #jadethest0ne #jadethestone

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onemilliongoldstars · 4 years

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a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter 32

To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.

32/33

clexa game of thrones au

read on ao3

Book Three: Chapter 11

Lord Pike’s eyes are as cold and merciless as the ice of The Wall, and there is not a flicker to them as his hands tighten around her neck, an iron band cutting into her skin. He does not seem to hear her gasping cries, or feel the prying of her fingers, her nails digging so deep that warm, sticky blood spills across their skin. She tries to feel around behind her, but there is nothing she can use as a weapon, and his weight is so heavy on her chest that she can scarcely breathe. When she opens her mouth to scream again, no sound comes out and his eyes glint, his fingers tighten. Her head spins, and she reaches up to claw at his face, his eyes, her nails scouring through his skin until it looks as though he has been mauled by a wild beast. Beneath her fingers, his skin begins to crumble, and she watches in horror as it peels away in long, bloody strips, falling away to reveal an empty face behind it.

The touch to her shoulder jars her so violent that she startles awake with a gasp, jerking away from the touch. Through the dim light she makes out Harper’s figure, holding out a candle and hesitating over her.

Her eyes are creased with concern, one tendril of curled hair falling out from her braid as she takes a slight step back. “I’m sorry, your majesty, you wanted to be woken before the dawn?”

Her breath seems to return to her in staggered stages, and she pulls air back into her lungs. Her voice is weak and broken when she answers. “Yes, yes I’m sorry Harper. I was just startled.”

Concern still lingers at the corners of Harper’s gaze, but she gives a nod and turns away to light the tapers around the room and stir the fire into life.

Clarke pulls in a slow, unsteady breath, watching her with vacant eyes. Her fingers ease up to touch softly at her neck, the ghost of a bruise tingling beneath her fingertips. It seems impossible that her nails are not caked in blood, and her throat not hoarse with screaming, and bile rises in her throat when she thinks of Pike’s skin falling away into her hands.

Harper must sense her disquiet, because she breaks the silence with mindless words as she draws the water and warms it over the fire. “The weather should be fair today, your majesty. The sky was as pink as a peach last night. Summer will be here before we know it.”

“Yes,” Clarke eases herself slowly from the bed, wriggling her toes against the cold slabbed floor. “I do so long for it.”

“We all do,” Harper smiles, and steps behind her when she settles into the chair in front her looking glass. “Will you wear your crown today, your majesty?”

“No,” Clarke shakes her head, reaching out to run the pad of her thumb over a rose petal in the vase before her. “For today, I think I would like to forget I am the queen.”

The sun has risen by the time she descends the final sandy steps onto the private docks behind the castle. It is already a warm day, and she is glad of the hazy, light fabric of her dress, baring her back and her arms just as she used to when she was young and care free in Highgarden. Her hair is pulled back into soft golden braids, a golden, rose shaped clasp keeping them together, and a light stole is draped over her arms, in case the weather turns. The dock is quiet in the morning sunshine, but for Lexa, Anya and Lincoln, waiting patiently beside the low, bobbing pleasure barge. Lexa is dressed more lightly than Clarke has ever seen her before, with britches and a white linen shirt, pulled with a honeycomb stitch at the top of her arm. Her tunic bares her arms and is fastened down its front with silver direwolf pins, her hair pulled back in a simple braid.

As she approaches Lexa turns and offers a smile so wide she is caught off guard for a moment. Gone are their secret smiles of the past, shared glances hidden in the embers of their forbidden love, and in its place is something that seems to have risen from the spring itself, its head turning to the new sunlight. Her heart stutters, as it hasn’t since those fateful days in Winterfell so very long ago, and she feels a flush rising to her cheeks as Lexa nods her greeting.

“Clarke.”

“Lexa.” She returns, as she crosses the final few steps that separate them. She has to dig her nails into her hand to keep from reaching out and touching Lexa, so great is the depth of her feeling. Though they cannot be heard here, there may still be eyes watching, and it wouldn’t do to stir any unrest in the people. “Have you been waiting long? I apologise, I slept poorly.”

“No,” Lexa’s brows twitch with concern at her words, but she doesn’t comment. “No, not long at all.”

“Your wolves are not with you,” Clarke observes, as they fall into step walking down the dock together towards the pleasure barge. When Lexa shakes her head, Clarke cannot help but press, eager and curious. “I have never seen you without them.”

They come to a stop beside the barge and Lexa turns to look at her with eyes that see straight to the deepest parts of herself. “Perhaps,” She muses, softly, “they know that I don’t need them, not here and now.”

The words catch at her tender heart more acutely than she expects, and when Lexa offers her hand out to help her down the gangplank onto the barge, she finds that she is trembling at the touch. They board one after the other, their guards accompanying them. The pleasure barge is a long, shallow vessel, towards the front of which a low bench is hidden from the sun by a canopy of hazy curtains. Clarke sinks into the cushions there, and after a moment of hesitation Lexa joins her. The curtains swing about them, and though they are not alone, the illusion is almost as good.

Behind them, Clarke’s most trusted and expert oarsmen push away from the dock so silently and smoothly that she barely realises they are moving until the dock begins to slip away and leave them with only a distant view of the city.

Lexa must notice her glancing over her shoulder, because she asks, quietly. “Are you worried about leaving it behind? If only for the day?”

Clarke pauses and considers her words, glancing back at the imposing towers of the Red Keep, reaching up into the blue sky as if they intend to pluck the sun from its perch themselves. Part of her worries, a part of her that she expects will never stop worrying, but it is not enough to draw her back. “No,” She answers honestly, and Lexa’s smile makes her eyes shine.

As they sail smoothly from the harbour, Clarke runs her hand over the embroidered cushions below them, trailing her fingers across the golden stitching.

“It’s beautiful,” Lexa comments, obviously watching her, and Clarke nods.

“It was made for King Thelonious and his wife, to allow them to leave the city in privacy and luxury.”

“I never met the king’s wife,” Lexa admits, “But I hear she was a beautiful and clever queen.”

“So do I,” Clarke offers her a small smile. “King Thelonious loved her very dearly. He was never the same after her death.”

Lexa’s gaze holds hers. “They were lucky to have each other, even for such a short time.”

Warmth and peace washes over her, as it always does when Lexa looks at her so deeply and truthfully, as if she is the thing she is most sure of in the whole world. Clarke has to glance away, to keep herself from flushing and stuttering like a fool, and after a moment she manages to find her words enough to speak.

“Aden once told me about your mother, he said that she was the only woman your father ever loved.”

“They were very devoted to one another,” Lexa admits, “Or so I have heard,” Her voice changes, catching and breaking over some unspoken emotion. “I never met her.”

Clarke reaches out and twines their fingers together, keeping her voice soft. “You must miss her.”

“No,”Lexa conjures up a smile which is as false as a mummer’s mask. “How could I miss something I never even knew?”

“A bird caged for all of its life will still miss the sky,” Clarke counters, and squeezes their fingers to ease her words. “You can admit it, I won’t think any differently of you.”

“I know you won’t,” Her thumb rubs a gentle circle over the smooth skin of Clarke’s palm.

They are disturbed by Octavia clearing her throat obnoxiously from beyond the hazy curtains. Clarke glowers at the hazy shadow of her shape and she catches Lexa biting back her smile as she calls out.

“Yes, Octavia?”

“Your majesty,” Octavia must take that as her cue, because she puts her head around the curtains and can’t look either of them in the eye when she says. “There are refreshments for you, would you like them brought in?”

Clarke purses her lips, annoyed despite herself, and then nods curtly. “Yes, that would be fine I suppose.”

“Thank you, Octavia,” Lexa puts in, still trying not to laugh at Clarke’s utter lack of manners. They settle back onto the bench as plates of dewy strawberries and goblets of cool, watered down wine are delivered by their guards and set upon the low table before them.

“The sea here is so beautiful,” Lexa comments, as Clarke picks up a strawberry. “So blue and clear and bright.”

“There are legends of mermaids in these parts,” Clarke tells her, offering out the plate of fruits. “Sirens who would steal away sailors’ hearts with their songs and seduce them with their beauty.”

Lexa’s eyes linger upon her face. “I think I understand their plight.”

—-

They finally slow when they reach a spit of land, barely big enough to call itself an island, with sandy shores and a few rolling hills on which long grass and a smattering of trees grow, some hanging heavy and colourful with their fruit. The island has no dock and so their shallow ship simply slows to a stop amongst the sandy shores, bobbing back and forth in the clear water.

Lexa gazes out onto the spit of land and her brows furrow, “Where are we?”

“This is royal land,” Clarke explains, as their guards busy themselves preparing to disembark. “Nobody comes here but the king or queen.” She cannot help but smile at the blush that dusts Lexa’s cheeks when she adds. “We will be completely alone.”

“I see,” Lexa tries to hide her smile, “Would you like me to carry you to shore, my lady?”

“Not at all,” Years of practice with Wells make it easy enough for her to follow Anya and Octavia into the water. Slipping her shoes from her feet, she gathers her skirts in one hand and holds the other out for balance as she slips from their vessel and into the warm, shallow waters. The sand shifts beneath her feet and for one horrifying moment she thinks she might fall, but rights herself just in time.

When she looks back to the boat, Lexa’s astonished expression draws a delighted laugh from her and everything feels light and delicious as she watches Lexa pull her shoes from her feet and follow her into the water. When she too stumbles, Clarke holds out her hand to steady her and Lexa laces their fingers together, holding tightly as they make their way together up to the beach. The sand is warm and soft beneath their feet, and their fingers stay laced together even as they find their feet.

“Ser Lincoln and Captain Snow will go on ahead with the servants, your majesty,” Anya says, once they have approached. “And ensure everything is safe and set up. We will follow,” She indicates to herself and Ser Roan. “Just in case.”

Clarke gives Lexa a wide smile and she feels filled with a childlike glee as she leads the way from the beach to the well trodden path through grass and trees.

“Where are we going?” Lexa looks to her, expression open and curious, and Clarke squeezes her fingers.

“You’ll see.”

They tread their way carefully through the undergrowth, their shoes still held in their hands. Beneath their feet, the grass is as soft as sheepskin, warm from the sun and sandy, and Clarke luxuriates in the feeling as she walks. Together, they make their way to the highest point on the island, their fingers never untangling from one another, exchanging soft conversation. Though the air is warm and the sun glows down upon them, it feels as if they are back at Winterfell again, sitting in the library or walking the battlements, so comfortable is their quiet conversation.

“This place is beautiful,” Lexa says, as they walk through a grove of orange trees. “So quiet and peaceful.”

“The best is yet to come,” Clarke promises, with a smile, and guides them into a clearing.

Still shaded by orange trees, before them the gentle rise they have been climbing falls away sharply into the sea, and the view it exposes is a breath taking expanse of crystal blue waters. In the distance, the mainland is visible: the tall towers of the Red Keep and gathered around it like sycophants the rusted tile roofs of the city. Upon the ground are spread rugs and cushions for them to lounge on, hazy strips and fabric hanging from the trees to keep the hot midday sun from their faces, and a spread of breads and cheese, meats and fruits, is awaiting them.

Lexa casts her a shy, surprised smile. “You planned this.”

“Of course,” Clarke fights against the beam that is threatening to spread across her features. “Won’t you sit, my lady?”

With a smile Lexa sinks onto the floor, settling upon the cushions. She turns back to their combined Queensguards as Clarke follows her, and waves her hand to them. “We are perfectly safe here for the moment, you may all go.”

Octavia and Anya exchange a disgruntled glance, but when Clarke nods her agreement they move away reluctantly, peeling back into the trees until you could almost forget they were there. They are suddenly as alone as they ever are, but there are no nerves now and when Clarke looks up into Lexa’s face she feels contentment shine through her, like the sun into a darkened room.

“I can understand why you missed your home when you were with us in Winterfell.” Lexa tells her, once they have both settled back into the cushions, so close that they are almost touching. “Truly, this place is beautiful.”

“Oh, Kings Landing is not my home,” Clarke shakes her head, and curls fall over her shoulders. “Even now, it is nothing compared to Highgarden.”

“We’ve never really spoken about Highgarden,” Lexa gazes down upon her, “You have seen every inch of my home and yet I know almost nothing about yours.”

Something pinches in her heart at the mention of home and she has to avert her gaze, running a stray thread of embroidery from one of the cushions between her fingers. “Highgarden is like… a dream compared to Kings Landing. The sun always shines and the sky seems to go on forever and ever.”

“Tell me about your favourite places to go, when you were growing up there?” When Clarke looks at her, surprised by her words, Lexa explains, with the most earnest tenderness. “I want to know you Clarke, all of you.”

The smile that has been tugging at her lips appears, unbidden and difficult to shake away. “Once I learned to ride I used to love setting out into the rose fields alone. Our lands went on for leagues, I could ride for a whole day and never meet anyone who bore me ill will.” She glances at Lexa from beneath her lashes and watches the queen’s face begin to colour under her hooded gaze as she continues. “When I became older and young lords began calling I would ride with them out to the orange grove or the orchards of peach trees, and we would find some shadowy place to hide away.” She has the distinct pleasure of watching the blush settle and darken upon Lexa’s cheeks, and laughs quietly at the sight.

Lexa makes a disgruntled little noise in the back of her throat, but leans in to accept the strawberry Clarke offers as a peace token. The juice spills over her fingers and across Lexa’s lips, and Clarke struggles to tear her gaze away as Lexa’s tongue darts out to catch the sweet droplets. Her breath comes out in a soft sigh, and Lexa’s eyes are dark, even as she draws herself reluctantly away. Clarke pours them both a goblet of wine, desperate to drown out the yearning hum that has settled in her breast, but when their fingers brush together, the touch of Lexa’s warm hands sends a shiver through her like she has never felt before and she feels like a young maid again.

Lexa’s eyes flicker to her, as green as the leaves that stretch for the sky around them, and Clarke feels almost breathless at the sight. Lexa finally tearing her eyes away only barely helps her claw back her sanity, and she takes a long draft of her wine to hide her flushed cheeks, though she is sure it barely works.

“I’m sure you charmed many young lordlings into giving away their heart to you.” Lexa finally jokes, her voice weak, but Clarke laughs obligingly anyway.

“There were several marriage proposals,” She admits, at last, sharing a teasing smile with Lexa. “But none who were remotely suitable.”

“It is a fair archer who could ever catch the heart of a Lady Clarke Tyrell,” Lexa’s voice is soft and her eyes glance away to the view, as if afraid of what she will see in Clarke’s expression.

Unable to help herself, and unsure why she should, Clarke reaches out and traces gentle fingers over the back of Lexa’s hand, easing it over until she can lace their fingers together and Lexa’s eyes are drawn back to hers again.

“It is a good thing that you shoot so well then,” She murmurs into the space between them. “I would not want to give my heart to any but you.”

Lexa’s breath escapes her in a stutter at her words and when her fingers tighten which affectionate tenderness, Clarke swears her heart stops in her chest.

“I once wondered what it would have been like if we had met before… everything.” Under Lexa’s curious gaze she is powerless but to continue, “If you had to come to Highgarden as a guest of my father and our eyes had met over feasts and dancing.”

“I know what would have happened,” Lexa remarks, her voice so low that Clarke’s eyes widen in surprise. “I would have been helpless before you, Clarke.” Lexa’s thumb tracks a warm stroke over her palm.

“And I you,” She admits, in a whisper. “Of all of the suitors, not one has ever compared to you, Lexa. Sometimes I-” She cuts herself off, suddenly shy and uncertain She has kept her heart so closely guarded for so long, the chains that protect it are stiff and old.

Familiar fingers, warm and rough from years of swinging swords and pulling back bowstrings, nudge at her chin and when she raises her gaze she finds Lexa looking back at her, eyes as soft as summer grass. “You can tell me anything, love.”

The name sounds so perfect falling from her lips and Clarke leans into her touch as Lexa cups her cheek.

“After all we have been through, all we have seen and survived, sometimes I still fear that my love for you will break my heart open.” The words leave her in a rush, and when she glances up at Lexa she worries what she will see in her eyes.

Despite her fears, there is nothing but love in Lexa’s gaze, and when she offers out her arms, Clarke falls into her embrace gratefully, allowing Lexa to wrap her arms around her and press them together so tightly that Clarke feels as if she is sinking into her. She is surrounded by Lexa’s warm scent, pinewood and something sweet and soft, a flora she cannot place, and when Clarke rubs her cheek against her shoulder, her lips skim the exposed skin above her shirt.

“My love,” She speaks with more tenderness and emotion than Clarke has ever heard in any two words. “Clarke, I promise to protect your heart, no matter what. I swear it, before the old gods and the new.”

Clarke’s breath hitches, and she blinks tears from her eyes as she places her hand very carefully over Lexa’s heart, spreading her fingers apart. Beneath her touch, she can feel the steady thrum of Lexa’s heartbeat, and it is like opium to her, spreading peace throughout her body so that her voice is calm and measured when she answers.

“And I promise to protect yours, always.”

Lexa’s hand still rests on her cheek, and when she guides Clarke’s face gently up to look at hers, it feels as natural as breathing to part her lips and breach the space between them, kissing her. Lexa’s lips are soft beneath hers, the fingers that thread into her hair and hold her close- as if she would ever wish to escape this blessed prison- are impossibly gentle. This must be the heaven her Septas told her about, Clarke thinks, absently, for how else could she explain the pure, unadulterated joy that spreads through her at Lexa’s touch. They break apart only when they have to gasp for breath, foreheads pressed together and lips still brushing. She feels as if she is addicted to Lexa and cannot bear to pull herself away, if even for a second. For her part, it seems that Lexa feels the same way, because she does not unwrap her embrace, keeping them so close together that they are sharing breath.

Still, Lexa’s eyes flicker open and find Clarke looking up at her, and her expression shifts with the slightest unease. “Is this alright?” She asks, in a whisper, and Clarke lets out a soft breath of laughter.

“Of course,” She answers, and cradles Lexa’s cheeks in her hands to bring their lips together again.

Lexa’s lips are like a tonic for an ailment she did not know she had. They taste like strawberries and wine, and her skin is soft as butter beneath Clarke’s touch. Their bodies seem to move as if they know exactly where they should be and when, like a dance that they never knew they had been learning, but in this moment Clarke cannot think of any reason she wouldn’t want to be as close to Lexa as possible. Her body shifts and she drops her hand to curl at Lexa’s waist, fingers tightening in the fabric of her linen shirt, until she is pressing Lexa back into the cushions, their kisses becoming hot and heavy and more desperate than Clarke knew love could be.

The brunette gasps for air again, and Clarke takes the momentary respite to continue pressing her lips to Lexa’s jaw bone, tracing its sharp ridge with her kisses, worshipping the valley of her neck until Lexa runs a tender thumb over her cheek and draws her up. She kisses her quickly, though there is nothing chaste about it, it is all fire and passion, as if she cannot help herself, and then says, her voice breaking over her ragged breaths.

“Clarke, I don’t- We have to stop now if-”

“I don’t want to stop.” Clarke insists, and presses back into her love like Lexa is air and she will suffocate without her. “Please, please Lexa.” When still the northerner hesitates, Clarke adds, a desperate yearning to her voice. “You are the only person I will ever love like this,” Her throat is tight and she brushes away the tears that slip down her cheeks impatiently. “Please, Lexa. Please let me love you and know what it is to be loved in return.”

Gentle fingers curl around hers, stilling her furious movements, and Lexa meets her eyes with green so deep Clarke thinks for a moment that she can smell clover fields and a fresh spring rain. Tenderly, she runs her thumbs over Clarke’s cheeks, catching her tears. “All I want is to love you,” She admits, in the quietest of whispers.

When their lips meet again, it is with the softest of whispers of a sigh, and it feels to Clarke more like a homecoming than any journey’s end she has experienced before. Lexa falls back against the cushions beneath her, hands around her hips urging her to follow, and when Clarke fumbles a little settling herself above her, they exchange a slight, nervous chuckle which brings them back together again.

The feeling of Lexa’s body beneath hers is like nothing she has ever known. She has ridden the finest stallions and sailed in the fastest ships, she has commanded her enemies to die and killed men with her bare hands, but that is nothing compared to the rush of adrenaline she feels with her legs on either side of Lexa’s body, her hands framing her face like some beautiful portrait.

For some time they are simply lost in one another, kissing and learning one another in a way they have never been afforded a moment to before. The lightest of touch appears at Clarke’s bare leg, where her skirt has ridden up, playing with the fine hairs there, and she reluctantly pulls her lips from Lexa’s to meet her questioning gaze. Lexa seems nervous beneath her, the touch of her fingers is so light that Clarke is sure she will pull them away in a moment if asked, so she reaches down and pulls Lexa’s hand further up her calf, hauling a strangled gasp from her lover.

As Lexa’s hand continues its steady, uncertain exploration of her body, Clarke fingers at the laces that pull the neck of Lexa’s shirt together, giving Lexa her own curious look. As if to answer her question, Lexa sits up a little, and with a moment of awkward struggling, pulls her shirt over her head. Clarke’s eyes widen at the sight of Lexa bared before her. Though she has seen the pale expanse of Lexa’s chest before, today her lover wears no bindings and her breasts stand tall in the center of her chest, nipples already pert and puckering.

The sight is enough to draw an audible gasp from Clarke, and Lexa laughs softly, even when Clarke tosses her a glare. With renewed vigour, Clarke falls upon her exposed skin like a woman possessed, kissing, sucking and nipping every inch, working her way steadily down towards Lexa’s breasts and beneath her the northern queen shivers and whimpers. When she reaches up to cup one, and runs her thumb over Lexa’s nipple, Lexa jolts beneath her, arching up into her touch and letting out a soft moan. It’s enough to heat the pool of desire between Clarke’s legs and she begins to feel herself become uncomfortably wet, shifting a little for fear that she will drip through her light chemise and onto Lexa.

She worships Lexa’s breasts as if they are the statues of the Seven themselves, and she a devoted Septa. Neither is left untended for long, and she delights in the strangled moans she tugs from Lexa’s body with every purposeful stroke of her tongue. Truly, she would have been content to spend the whole day learning how to make Lexa squirm and shiver beneath her, but soon her lover finds her strength again, and she finds herself gasping against Lexa’s skin as her hand travels up beneath her dress, circling the underside of her knee for a moment to give her the chance to stop if Clarke hesitated.

But Clarke is far from hesitating, in fact it feels as though every sensible thought from her mind has vanished other than wishing that Lexa would touch her harder and faster. Their eyes meet as Lexa’s hand continues its journey up her body, both shivering at the intensity of the feelings between them, until finally Lexa’s fingers brush against the hairs around her cunt, and they both still.

“I- I-” Lexa cannot seem to find her words, her eyes suddenly wide, and Clarke shakes her head, silencing her.

“I can show you.”

True to her word, she takes Lexa’s hand in hers and guides her to the touches that she has learnt make her quiver and scream into her bedclothes. Lexa’s fingers feel different to her own, and the touch makes her shiver like she has been trapped in the ice for years, but she encourages her concerned lover to continue. Where her fingers are soft and well practiced in this routine, Lexa’s fingers feel longer and warmer, and though she is still finding her footing she touches parts of Clarke that make her squirm and whimper. Lexa’s fingers run the line of her wet slit, eyes wide with amazement, and when they journey upwards to bump clumsily against her clit, Clarke spasms with desire, a high keening escaping between her lips. At that, Lexa’s eyes flash with hungry desire, and she nudges away Clarke’s guiding hand, her fingers running circles over the sensitive little bud.

She sits up, her free hand grasping at Clarke’s back to keep her steady and close against her. Her lips finding a path from Clarke’s earlobe down to her collarbones, cursing softly when she comes up against Clarke’s dress. For a moment her touches to her cunt hesitate, and Clarke whimpers, grinding her hips wantonly down onto her hand. She cannot bear to think that Lexa might pull away now, and instead she reaches up to pull at the laces and clasps of her own dress with frustration, until the flimsy sleeves fall down her arms and expose her heaving chest.

Lexa makes a delighted noise, falling upon her breasts like she has been fasting for days, and when her lips seal around Clarke’s nipple, she throws her head back and cries out, pressing only harder into Lexa’s touch. Her crest comes too quickly, she feels as if she is galloping towards it on a stallion that she cannot control, and when she falls over the edge it is with a high pitched cry, falling forwards into Lexa’s waiting body.

There are a few moments of uncertainty, as she reaches down to help Lexa work her through the aftershocks, but then Lexa’s arms are around her, easing her tired, sweaty body back into the cushions and holding her close. Lexa gazes down at her, awe shining in her eyes, even as she runs a hand through her hair, brushing the sticky tendrils away from her face.

“That was beautiful,” She breathes, and Clarke can’t help but laugh, even as Lexa continues earnestly. “Truly Clarke, I have never seen anything so beautiful in all my life. Thank you for letting me-”

“Thank you,” Clarke tells her, voice low and throaty, and the sound of it sends a shiver through Lexa. Just the sight reinvigorates her, and Clarke clambers back on top of her lover, her dress still tangled around her waist, to press her back into the cushions. Lexa’s widened eyes meet hers and she brushes the softest kiss to her lips, pouring every tender thought she has had into this touch.

“Can I return the favour?”

“I-” Lexa hesitates, staring at her, and her cheeks begin to pink as she says, quietly. “I do not know if I can… I have never…”

“Oh you can my love,” Clarke smiles, “I will show you that you can.”

With that, she begins to trail her way down Lexa’s body again, like an adventurer picking her way through unknown terrain, she takes her time to familiarise herself with every rise and fall of the body below her. Lexa is all muscle and sinew, her body built from years of training and leading an army. It is so different from Clarke’s own softness that she is fascinated by it, by the way Lexa’s breath shifts with she kisses the underside of her breast, by the way she keens and jerks when Clarke places a bite to her ribs. Lexa’s britches are little issue when she comes to them, she simply pulls at the laces and Lexa lifts her hips obligingly to tug them down and reveal dark, wiry, wet hair and the beautiful scent of her arousal.

Carefully, watching her lovers face, Clarke touches her gently, exploring her wetness and watching the way that Lexa’s eyes widen, her breath hitching at certain touches. When Clarke takes her finger, covered in the evidence of Lexa’s want, and sucks it clean, she fears the girl may pass out. Unable to help herself, she leans in and draws the flat of her tongue along Lexa’s slit. Beneath her, Lexa jolts at the touch, a strangled cry escaping her. Clarke looks up, concerned that she’s done something wrong, but then Lexa’s hand curls in her hair and tugs her unerringly back down again, and Clarke smiles into her wetness.

---

It is some time later when Lexa runs her hand through her lover’s golden locks, pushing them back to gaze upon her sleeping face. Clarke’s delicate braids have begun to unravel in their fervour, her hair sticky with sweat, and Lexa feels a twinge of satisfaction in knowing that her restless fingers contributed to such disorder. She knows that her own hair must be equally unkempt, but she cannot bring herself to care about that, or anything else, when Clarke’s sleeping body is resting upon hers.

With the sun dappling the ground through the leaves of the orange trees, everything feels calm and peaceful. This island is like a paradise that their real lives cannot touch, and in that moment she wishes so deeply that they could stay here forever and let the world find its own way. Perhaps Clarke feels her discontent through the beating of her heart, because in that moment she stirs, her eyelids flickering open to reveal blue like the summer sky looking up at her.

Lexa feels a tinge of regret to have disturbed her, but how can she truly be sad when greeted by the sight of Clarke’s beautiful eyes blinking up at her, clearing the sleep from her vision.

“I fell asleep?” The southern queen asks, her voice rough with fatigue. “I’m sorry, I-” She goes to move away, but Lexa tightens her arm around her just a little. Clarke relaxes back into her hold with a grateful sigh, and then offers a wicked smile that makes Lexa glad they had managed to redress after their ardour. “You exhausted me, my lady.”

Lexa flushes a little at her words, bashful despite their earlier intimacy. “You were tired,” She admits, and her expression softens with concern. “You said you slept poorly?”

A shadow passes across Clarke’s face at the reminder, and she half shrugs, as nonchalant as possible. “I had bad dreams, that’s all.”

“Bad dreams?” Lexa prompts, and runs a hand down her bare arm ever so gently.

Clarke hesitates, mulling over her words for a few quiet moments, before reluctantly admitting. “I dreamt about Pike, that he was in my rooms…”

The mention of the treacherous lord’s name makes Lexa bristle unhappily, her jaw clenching even at the thought of Pike so close to Clarke again. But the bags beneath Clarke’s eyes and the genuine exhaustion she sees in every inch of her body is enough to placate her, and she reassures her quietly.

“Pike is gone. We both watched as the executioner took his head.”

Beneath her, she feels Clarke shiver, and a bite of revulsion runs through her as well. As evil as Pike may have been, the sight of his head being cut from his body is not one she wants to see again.

“I know I just-“ She hesitates again, and when Clarke looks up to meet her gaze, there is something terribly sad in her eyes. “Sometimes it is as if… I have been so terrified for so long, my body has forgotten what it is to be safe.”

Lexa has to shut her eyes for a moment, to hide the pain she feels, and instead only tightens her arms around the girl in her embrace. She knows what it is to be scared, has faced down an army of thousands with the weight of a nation upon her shoulders, but always she has had a sword in her hand and her own army at her back. She can’t imagine how Clarke must have felt, alone and virtually defenceless in the capital.

Soft lips press against hers, drawing her from her thoughts and she opens her eyes to find Clarke looking back at her, a smile playing at the edge of her lips.

“Let’s not think of sad things,” She instructs, “Tell me something happy, please Lex.”

“Alright,” Lexa can’t help but steal another kiss, before allowing Clarke to settle back into her side easily.

“One of our horse boys disappeared while we were here,” She casts her companion an exasperated smile, “Surely seduced by the excitement of the capital. Anya managed to find a new boy within the day though- a lad called Peter who calmed her mount when he spooked in the street.”

“The boy just appeared from nowhere?” Clarke asks, ever so lightly, and Lexa hums her agreement, running an absent minded hand through her hair.

“As if he were sent by the Gods,” Lexa agrees, then smiles to herself. “Though I’m sure the gods have many more things to trouble themselves with.”

“Will you take him back to Winterfell with you?” The words are enough to give them both pause, and Lexa hesitates, contemplating the painful thump of her heart.

“Yes,” She murmurs, eventually, “He will work in the stables.”

“Aden will be glad to see you again,” The joviality in Clarke’s voice is as false as silk roses. “You must make him write to me and tell me how Rose is doing.”

“Stop, please,” She is surprised to find that her voice is breaking over her words. When Clarke meets her gaze, there are a sheen of tears to her eyes as Lexa begs, “I don’t want to think about leaving, or Winterfell, or any of it. I just want to think about you – and love you.”

“Lexa,” Clarke cradles her cheeks in her hands and leans forwards to capture her lips again. “I love you too.”

Their foreheads pressed together, their bones tired from making love, and the sweet smell of oranges in the air, Lexa could almost believe that this moment would never end.

Clarke is warm in her arms and when she twists to press a kiss to the side of her head, she hums happily. Lexa gives a soft sigh, following Clarke’s gaze out to the crystal waters and the bluest of skies. “Then that’s all we need.”

It’s a lie, but a beautiful one.

---

It is a warm, bright day, the first of many that the southern summer will bring, when a messenger girl, almost tripping over her own feet to give a deep bow of deference to her queen, tells her that a representative from the Iron Bank has arrived. Clarke’s brows furrow, and she thanks the girl before asking her to have both the guest and Queen Lexa sent to her private audience chamber, with the utmost discretion.

Harper watches from where she is checking Clarke’s new bed linens for poison, and asks, quietly. “Is there anything I can do, your majesty?”

“Have refreshments sent to us Harper, if you would. And when you’re done go to Grand Measter Orrin and ask him for the leather satchel from across the sea, and bring that to me.”

Harper nods, and bobs a curtsey, before hurrying from her solar. Clarke runs a hand over the skirt of her dress; her eyes linger on her crown, but when she looks in the mirror she sees a woman who could easily be underestimated and that is exactly what she wants.

Lexa has already arrived by the time she gets to her private chamber, and is pacing back and forth before the window like a caged animal. Soon, Clarke knows, she will have to return to the north. The life of a courtier in Kings Landing does not suit her, and besides she has her own country to rule.

“Your majesty,” Lexa turns at the sound of the door, catching sight of her. There are still servers arranging sweet wine, cheese and fruits along the table, and so all they can do is look at one another, their hearts pounding.

“Our friends from across the sea?” Lexa asks, pointedly.

“They will be here soon,” She reassures her. Unable to help herself, she crosses the room, breaching the space between them so that they can speak more privately. “I believe it is truly them this time.”

“As do I.” Lexa nods seriously. “We must present a united force, they must understand that we are not pawns to be played in their games.”

“We will,” Clarke assures her, and steps away as a knock comes to the door. Often, she feels as though she is the tide and Lexa the shore, and though they are forced to retreat from one another somehow they always come back together.

“Enter,” She calls, as she settles herself into the high backed chair at the head of the table, carved with elaborate roses and stags. Lexa steps up behind her, her hand upon the back of her chair, and Clarke thinks they must make a rather striking tableau because their guest’s eyes widen as he is shown inside.

Dante Wallace looks much the same as he had all those months ago, though his hair is more silver now and there is gauntness to his expression that wasn’t there when last they met. He bows, low and elegant, to them both, and offers a charming smile when he straightens up again.

“Your majesties, well met.”

“Well met Master Wallace,” Clarke answers, with a nod of her head. “I hope your journey was not too strenuous.”

“The crossing of the Narrow Sea is never easy on old bones, your majesty.” Dante gives a small smile. “But I had to come to meet the new queen of the south.”

“Please, sit,” Clarke gestures to the chair before her. As Dante sits, she pours him a goblet of wine, “We have met before.”

“Indeed, but I have not met the new queen,” Dante takes the goblet she offers with a nod of his head. He offers her a smile which is almost paternal, “I thought you would go far when last we met.”

“It is terrible circumstances,” Clarke glances down at her own goblet, “But I intend to do whatever it takes to keep my country safe.”

“It seems that you are keen to maintain the good relationships King Thelonious left behind,” Dante observes, and his eyes linger on Lexa long enough to make it clear what he is referring to. “I hope that that courtesy extends to us.”

“I hope so too, Master Wallace.” Clarke glances back at Lexa, as if she had forgotten she was there. “Have you met Queen Lexa of the Northern Kingdom?”

Master Wallace doesn’t flinch away from her expectant expression, a cordial smile on his face. “I have not yet had the pleasure, your majesty.” He nods to the northern queen, “Your majesty, we at the Iron Bank have written to you since your reign began.”

“I am aware,” Lexa answers, steadily, and only the slightest shift in Dante’s expression gives away his annoyance.

“The queen and I are keen to ensure that relationships between our nations are close.” Clarke informs him, a steely edge entering her tone.

Almost as if she were listening at the door, a knock comes and Harper is shown inside. Clarke waves a hand at her, motioning her closer without drawing her eyes away from Dante Wallace.

The foreigner watches the handmaiden’s approach, a flicker of hesitation in his voice before he says. “That is excellent news. All any of us want is peace.”

Harper deposits the leather pouch into Clarke’s hands and retreats without a word, closing the door softly behind her.

“I’m glad to hear that,” At his words, Clarke dips her hand into the pouch in her dress and pulls out the iron coin that has been beneath her pillow for so many nights. With careful precision, she places it onto the table between them and watches as his face turns grey. Into the silence that hangs between them all, she says. “There are others in Braavos who feel similarly.” She reaches into the pouch, her fingers closing around the cold, withered skin of Cage Wallace, and places the face onto the table between them.

Dante Wallace stares down at his son’s face, and his expression draws as if he is going to vomit. He recoils away from the sight, his chair legs scraping against the stone flag floor with a terrible squeal, but he doesn’t get very far before Lexa’s strong hand clamps around his shoulder, keeping him down.

The silver blade she presses against his throat shines in the candlelight and Clarke sees the master’s eyes bulging with fear.

She offers her prettiest, rosebud smile. “It wouldn’t do for people to find out that you once sought to undermine our close relationship. It would be terrible for the Iron Bank’s reputation.” With a sigh, she puts the face back into the bag and pockets her coin again, as Lexa slides away from the Braavosi banker.

Clarke is slightly impressed that Dante doesn’t flee in an instant. Instead, he takes a moment to straighten out his robes, and stands with all the grace a man just held out knifepoint can possibly have.

He clears his throat and speaks weakly. “As you say, your majesty,” he gives a nod of his head to them both, and turns for the door, but Clarke’s words pull him up short.

“And I’m sure you will be happy to erase all of the crown’s debts to you, won’t you Master Dante.”

---

The sun draws in, painting the sky with long strokes of apricot and rosebud pink. This is quickly becoming one of her favourite parts of the day: her petitioners have all gone home, and from her place on the balcony with Wells she can hear the sounds of people in the city downing tools and streaming into the inns and alehouses of the city.

This balcony is hers now, just as the castle behind it is, and the city sprawling out below, and while that weight has not become any lighter, she has learnt to bear it better in the weeks that have passed. Beside her, Wells seems more relaxed than he has in years, and she glances over at him curiously, taking a sip from her goblet before asking.

“You seem to be in good spirits, my friend?”

Wells considers her words for a moment, and then nods. “I am.” He answers, and he offers a smile that warms her to the bones. “I feel more content than I have done in some time.”

She eyes him with interest, “May I ask why?”

“You are the queen, you may ask whatever you wish.” He teases her, and she scowls at him over the rim of her goblet. “Truly though,” he continues more seriously. “For some time I have been wondering what I will do next… there is no place for a disgraced prince in your court.”

She cuts through him, abruptly alarmed by this line of talk. “There will always be a place for you here, Wells, you know that. This is your home as much as it is mine.”

“I know, but as long as I am around there will always be a challenge to your reign, whether I want to be or not.” He sets hardened eyes upon her, “I am done being a pawn in their games. I will not be used against you.”

“But where will you go?” Her wide eyes are set to him, her heart thrumming in her chest.

He takes a deep breath, “I know this sounds strange, but I would like to return to the Maesters in Oldtown.”

Her brows crease and her mouth drops open to protest, but he speaks over her.

“I have always wanted to learn more, and now that I am no longer a prince I am free to do so. Who better to learn from than some of the wisest men in Westeros?”

“Maester Wells,” She rolls the words across her tongue like a sugar coated almond, considering them. After a moment she admits, reluctantly. “It would suit you.”

He smiles, and reaches over to place a hand upon hers, squeezing gently. In the glowing evening light, she sees the lines that have been carves around his eyes and the heaviness that rests there, and wonders if he sees these confessions of age and weariness in her too.

“I will not go without your blessing, but I truly think it would be the best for your reign if I were to leave.”

“Of course you should go,” She frowns at him, “If it is what you want I will not stop you- though I will miss you dearly.”

“Thank you, my friend,” He smiles, and she is reminded of the youth they shared, of chasing one another through the castle gardens and stealing away from their Septa. Part of her aches for those times, but she knows now that they will never be what they were before. That innocence was stripped from them long ago and the best they can hope is to find some happiness in the world they have now.

“What about your son?” Her voice is pitched so softly that Wells can pretend not to hear her if he wishes. When his expression shifts to sadness, she presses a little further. “I don’t think that they allow babes in Oldtown.”

“You’re right,” He sighs, shaking his head. “I love my son, but I could never care for him as his mother did. Whenever I look upon him-” His voice breaks and she turns away, giving him a moment to gather his emotions.

“I think you would be a wonderful father,” She murmurs, to the warm evening air, and Wells squeezes her fingers.

“Thank you Clarke but… it would not be fair to raise my son when everytime I look at him I am reminded of everyone I lost.”

“I won’t argue with you,” Clarke assures him, after a moment, “Though I think you’re wrong. I will make sure Benam is protected and well cared for.”

“I meant what I said,” Wells fixes her with a firm gaze, suddenly more sure of himself than she has seen him in years. “I want you to raise him, acknowledge him as my son and your heir.”

She presses her lips together, considering. There is a part of her, she is ashamed to say, which sees the advantages Wells is offering her and wants to take them without hesitation. But there is another part of her, a larger part, who cannot help but think of Aden’s words to her in the Winterfell crypt what feels like a lifetime ago. “Are you sure you won’t regret it? Every son wants to know his father, and every father wants to know his son.”

“I am sure,” Wells looks at her with grave eyes, and she senses that he has given this great thought. He stands and takes a few steps to the balcony, looking out over the patchwork of red tiled roofs and snaking streets. “My father wanted the Baratheons to rule this land for all of eternity. He thought that we would always do what was right for our people. While watching him wage the war against the north I saw for the first time how difficult it was to be a ruler,” He shakes his head and glances back at her, a pitiful smile upon his lips. “My father was a stronger man than I, and I saw him be pulled in every different direction by advisers who sought to influence him. For some time he lost sight of his wisdom and his faith and all he was fighting for, and in that time so many men died in an unnecessary war.”

Clarke stands, her skirts swaying soundlessly around her legs, and moves to join him at the balcony. “Your father was a good man,” She tells him, softly. “Please don’t doubt that.”

“I don’t,” Wells assures her, “He had merits that I do not. He was certainly braver and more shrewd than I will ever be, he had more wisdom and ruthlessness. That is how I know I cannot be king… but that doesn’t mean my son might not be better than I am.”

Clarke’s brows crease and she glances to him, “Benam?”

He meets her gaze and speaks earnestly. “Raise him Clarke, and teach him to be the sort of king this land deserves. At least then the Baratheon name will live on and my father’s legacy will be satisfied.”

“After all you’ve seen, you still want Benam to be king?” Clarke shakes her head, astounded.

“He will have the best teacher there is,” Wells smiles at her, touching her hand very gently. “And besides, from what I understand you are unlikely to be making any heirs yourself.”

Her eyes widen and her head snaps to stare at him so violently that she feels her neck twinge. “What?” She demands, and her fingers tighten instinctively about his. “What have you heard?”

“Not heard,” He promises her, “Only seen with my own two eyes. You seem to be very attached to Her Majesty Queen Lexa.”

“I-” Clarke scrambles for words, like a fish out of water, and Wells laughs very softly at her floundering. “Are people talking?” Clarke demands, at last, “Do people know?”

“No one knows but I, and perhaps your Queensguard if they were not dropped atop their heads as infants,” Wells laughs, and then continues at her stricken expression. “Peace, friend. I only know because I have watched you fall in and out of love since we were babes.”

“And you still want your child to be raised by me?” Clarke asks at last, with a watery, derisive laugh. “Who makes such unwise decisions?”

“Oh Clarke,” For a second she thinks she sees pity in his eyes. “We don’t choose who we love. I know that, above anyone else.”

“Soon it will not matter,” She shakes her head, and forces her eyes out to the slowly darkening horizon. “She will return to Winterfell any day now.”

“And she will take your heart with her,” Wells observes, quietly. When her gaze turns to him, he offers a sad smiles. “The common people may think that we are blessed with all manners of riches, but content is a crown seldom enjoyed.”

At that, she can only nod, and they stand there together for some time, watching as the sun eases further and further through the sky, leaving trails of indigo in its wake. A knock comes to the door, startling them from their reverie, and when Harper steps in and introduces Queen Lexa, Clarke’s heart throbs.

“Your majesty,” Lexa hesitates at the doorway to the balcony, her gaze flickering uncertainly to Wells, “I apologise, I thought you would be alone at this hour.”

“That’s alright, your majesty,” Wells bows his head to them both. “I will take my leave, I have suddenly got a hankering for roast lamb and new potatoes.”

“Prince Wells, you really don’t have to-” Lexa protests lamely as he places down his goblet and inclines his head to Clarke.

“Nonsense,” Wells shakes his head, a smile playing upon his lips. “Thank you for your counsel, your majesty, as always.”

“Thank you, Prince Wells,” Clarke smiles, watching him leave, and when Harper closes the door behind them both she crosses the space between Lexa and herself and takes her love’s hands within hers. “I am glad to see you.”

“And I you,” Lexa confesses, and the stars dance within her eyes when she leans forward to steal a kiss from Clarke’s lips. It leaves Clarke breathless and smiling, and she can’t help but pull Lexa back to her by her hand, pressing their lips together again until they have to break away, laughing very softly.

“Would you like to sit?” Clarke gestures to the two chairs left empty on the balcony, but Lexa takes her hand, smiling a little sadly.

“No, I couldn’t bear to be that far away from you tonight,” Their hands still clasped, she pulls Clarke towards the low stone wall, and they lean against it together, so close that their shoulders brush, and look out onto the stars just beginning to show themselves in the darkening sky. “I’m sorry to have interrupted your time with your friend.”

“Don’t be,” Clarke runs her thumb over the smooth skin of Lexa’s palm. “We have said all there is to say tonight,” At Lexa’s curious glance she explains. “He tells me he wants to become a Maester.” Lexa makes a soft, interested noise, and she continues, a little hesitantly. “And that Benam should be my heir.”

“His son?” Lexa’s eyes widen, focusing with an intensity that Clarke has not seen in her before. “That is an interesting proposition- he does not want to raise the child himself?”

“He says he reminds him too much of Ivy, the boy’s mother,” Clarke meets her gaze and squeezes her fingers. “Wells loved her very much and she was killed by Pike’s men.”

“That is terrible,” Lexa’s expression is soft with sympathy and understanding. “Wells must miss her immensely.”

Clarke nods, and then asks quietly into the silence that settles about them. “What do you think I should do?”

Lexa sighs ever so softly and turns to look at her properly, her expression intense upon Clarke’s features. When she speaks, she is incredibly serious. “I cannot tell you what to do Clarke, but if you would like my advice… you are young yet and could easily bear many heirs of your own.”

Clarke’s eyes meet hers and her voice breaks over her words. “And if I do not want to bear many heirs of my own?”

Lexa’s breath catches in her throat, and she swallows. “I would… ask you to be sure when you make that decision. Life is long Clarke, and your reign is yet beginning. You may find it helpful… perhaps even desirable… to have a king by your side some day.”

“I am sure.”Clarke takes their clasped hands and presses them against her breast, above her heart. Her voice wells with emotion when she says. “I know what I want, I know who I want. You will live in my heart always Lexa, and I could never bring myself to try to replace you.”

“Oh Clarke,” There are tears sparkling in Lexa’s eyes. “You know I would never ask you…”

“You don’t have to ask,” Clarke shakes her head, “And you could go away and marry hundreds of other queens and kings, but I would still love you just as much as I love you today.”

“My heart beats only for you.” Lexa answers, without faltering. “I will never love another, not until my dying breath.”

At those words, Clarke can’t help but lean forward to capture her lips, kissing away the tears that fall down her cheeks and wishing that she can soothe the anguish that rages through them both. Lexa’s arms wind around her waist, holding her close, and when they break apart their foreheads touch, so that they are looking deeply into one another’s eyes.

“You understand that we can never be wed while we are queens?” Lexa murmurs, their lips almost brushing. “My people have fought hard for their independence, and while it may have been for the wrong reasons it’s my responsibility to help them find their way now.”

“And I cannot abandon the south without a leader,” Clarke lets out a very soft sigh, resting her head against Lexa’s shoulder and enjoying the feeling of being held, of strong arms clutching her close. “And so we are like the sun and the moon,” She muses quietly, her eyes fixed to the sky darkening to twilight. “Destined never to be together.”

“But when they meet, even if ever so briefly,” Lexa murmurs, brushing her hair back from her forehead and pressing a soft kiss close to her ear. “The sky is filled with the most beautiful colours. We will be that way Clarke, I could not live without you for very long.”

Slowly, Clarke peels herself away from her lover’s arms as she thinks about what Lexa means. “So we shall meet in secret?”

“Until all is settled and we can be together as we should be,” When their eyes meet Lexa is soft, but determined. “As I say, I can no longer live without you.”

“Nor I you.” Clarke breathes, enraptured by the sight before her.

“And we cannot leave two great nations within sovereigns,” Lexa brushes softly along her cheek. “So we must meet, for the good of our people.”

Clarke’s lips quirk, and she echoes. “Our people.”

“And one day, when all is said and done,” Lexa cradles her very close, as if afraid she will vanish. “I should like to marry you, Clarke Tyrell, if you would be obliged.”

“I think I should like that more than anything else,” Clarke catches her lips again and when they kiss it tastes of roses and cold winters nights and promises to be kept.

#clexa #clexa gotau #clarke griffin #commander lexa #clexa fic #dreamsofray

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edensbuttercups · 4 years

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Golden lights - Chapter seven

Pairing: Jaskier x reader Summary: It takes months to reach the coast, but once there a happy home awaits. Word count: 1.7k A/N: It took me so much longer to write this chapter, so first of all I apologize. I knew where the story was going, yet didn’t know how to write it. I think I figured it out in the end ;) Hope you enjoy and as always, warm hugs 💕

Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five Part six Part eight Part nine Part Ten Part Eleven

As you travelled, your belly grew, day after day, until a clear pregnant bump was present. You usually wore flowy dresses for comfort, but you’d occasionally pull the cotton around your waist to look at the sign that showed proof of the life growing inside you. Jaskier adored lying next to you to talk to your bump and would sing a lullaby every night before going to sleep. Geralt would study you from afar, not wanting to intrude in the intimacy of pregnancy, but he’d always make sure you were comfortable and well enough to face the day, doing anything he could to make you feel better.

You reached the beach on a sunny day; you were all worn out from the journey and just wanted to rest for more than a mere night, so when you saw the sight of the sea you all cheered, Jaskier jumping off his horse and helping you off it too before running towards the beach like a kid. Geralt hummed happily at the sight of the waves, the warmth of the sun on his skin, and the look of happiness on your face. He looked out of place with his white hair and black armor. You decided to look for some more appropriate clothes in the days to come. You placed a hand on Roach, stroking her mane while you absentmindedly looked towards the sea. “Shall we join him?” you asked, before letting out a small yelp. “Are you alright?” Geralt jumped off Roach, protectively placing a hand on your shoulder and calling Jaskier. “The baby just kicked!” you smiled up at him and turned towards Jaskier, whom was running towards you with a panicked expression before seeing you smile. “The baby kicked! Come!” you grabbed the hands of both men and placed them of your stomach, while you all waited patiently. You didn’t wait long before the baby kicked again, making you all smile happily. “That’s out baby? That’s our baby moving in there? Wow, really going for it!” You laughed and nodded. He took a step towards you ang gently hugged you. When you pulled away you noticed a small tear fall from his eye as you placed a small kiss on his cheek. “We’re almost there, right?” “Yes, the cottage should be just over that hill.”

You reached the cottage and stepped inside, breading in the scent of wood. You opened a window and walked around, Jaskier and Geralt following you while peaking around. You walked into one of the bedrooms, and looked around, taking in the simple furniture that adorned the room: a simple bed that you’d paint with your favorite colors when you had the chance, a mirror hung on the wall, a couple of chests where you’d place your clothes. The next room had a small bed into it and another small chest with a toy duck placed on it. You smiled picking it up and showing Jaskier, who smiled in return, grabbing it and making quacking noises at Geralt. You explored the house and pictured where you’d place flowers, drawings, curtains, and small mementos from your old life. “It’s perfect” you finally said. “It needs some fixing up” Geralt said, pointing to the garden, where some plants had died and some had taken up most of the available room and where the wooden fence had started rotting and falling apart. You smiled while you looked out before looking around the living room, where some planks where characterized by cracks and where long overdue for a change. “It does need some fixing up” you said smiling “and if we start today, we might have a fixed home before the baby gets here. Are you willing to help us some more, Geralt? You have every right to leave if you don’t-“ “I’d love to help. I’ve been on the road for a long time, it’s nice to stay somewhere for some time.” He looked around awkwardly, still unsure about his place in this new part of your life “I’ll go get some wood for the fence” He walked out, grabbing a small axe that was resting on the edge of the fence outside, before walking towards the forest with Roach by his side. “So. New home. Like it?” Jaskier ask, shyly. “Love it.” You replied, placing a warm kiss on his lips.

You sat together in silence for some time, taking in your new space, the place where your life was going to change in so many ways, yet keep the same taste it had for the past year. A hand slipped behind your back, finding its way to your shoulder and pulling you into him, your breaths synchronized, sleep wrapping you in a sweet embrace, dragging you both in a tender sleep. You woke up a couple of hours later, both of you still holding on to each other, a soft red blanked draped over the two of you. You guessed that Geralt had placed it on you when he got in; you smiled and slid out of Jaskier’s grasp, silently walking out towards the garden, where the Witcher was working hard to remove the weeds that infested the soil. “I see you’re working hard” you said kneeling next to him, grabbing the roots of the first nearby plants and pulling upwards, releasing it from the ground. “I see you’re awake” he said back, quickly glancing towards you. The hot sun was burning on your skin as the cool breeze flew through your surroundings, lifting your hair over your head and making the grass around you whisper in delight. “I don’t know how to thank you, Geralt.” You said, pulling another weed up towards the sky as you exhaled the last word. “You don’t have to thank me. You offered me a place to stay and food. That’s all a Witcher really needs.” “I see what you’re doing. You still feel the guilt you felt when you uttered those words many moons ago. Jaskier has a kind heart, and he’s forgiven you. What you’re doing is noble, and right, but don’t do it out of guilt. Do it because you want to, do it because he’s your friend, and you care about him. You’re not in debt with us.” His golden eyes studied his hands, looking for something else to rip out of the ground but finding only dirt, the terrain now clean and ready to bear new plants and fruits. “It haunted me for so long.” He sighed, before carrying on. “There’s something about him, isn’t there?” he huffed, sitting on the floor to face you. You mirrored him and sat down, looking at him before glancing at the horizon. “He’s something else.” You agreed. “I fell in love with him many years ago yet didn’t have the guts to share my feelings. If I could go back, I’d scream it from the top of the world.” “Love so strong is rare, you should keep it hidden.” “Life isn’t a constant battle, Geralt. People aren’t going to use my love for him against him. No fool would make that mistake” you said laughing, earning the same from the Witcher. “Did you always love Jaskier?” “Oh Gods no. When I first met him, we hated each other. The first night we saw each other we got in a heated argument about whether freedom or praise was more important in life. We were essentially saying the same thing in different ways and ended up arguing for most of the night. The next day he came up to me as if nothing had happened, chipper as can be, but I’m stubborn and decided to keep my grudge and avoid him. He slowly won my friendship by paying for my drinks while staying out of sight, by singing songs that he knew I liked, and by trying to sneak next to me and casually start a conversation” you smiled fondly at the memories. “slowly I gave in, and then we were inseparable. We were young and played pranks on everyone, but we also ran to the forest and talked about songs, and the future, and politics, and books. And in that forest is where I first realized how far I had fallen. Not long after that he left. I tried but never could shake him off me.” Geralt nodded. You stood up and offered him a hand, which he took gladly even though he clearly didn’t need it and walked together towards your home. You walked towards your bard, still sleeping under the cover, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek waking him up from his sleep. “Hello” he whispered as he stood up. “Hello.” You walked towards the kitchen where Geralt sat at the table. “Do we have anything to eat? I can go scavenging if needed and-“ you stopped as you felt water dripping down your leg and looked up, scrunching your nose in pain and grabbing the closest chair. You turned and saw Jaskier already next to you, his eyes jumping from you to Geralt in a panicked expression. “The baby?” Geralt asked, trying to hide his panic behind a strong face, waiting for an answer before bouncing into action. You looked at both of them, nodding and blurting out what they had to collect for a safe delivery. You hadn’t delivered many babies, but you knew enough to guide them through it. It was going to be a long night.

Hours went by. When the moon was high in the sky, a piercing cry was first heard. A new life had been welcomed into this world. You held your child close to your chest, smiling at her as Jaskier held you close and Geralt stood near you as you basked in the golden light cast by the candles that had been lit around you. You looked up at them and laughed sweetly, before closing your eyes and drifting into a deep sleep, knowing that the Witcher and the bard would be sure to keep you and your sweet child safe.

#jaskier x reader #jaskier x you #jaskier imagine #the witcher fanfic #the witcher #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #geralt #dandelion #dandelion witcher #fanfic

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lia-jones · 4 years

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Growing Stronger - Chapter Four - Happy Birthday, Andrea! (Andrea’s POV)

Once upon a time, a young American oenologist met a gorgeous Portuguese psychology student in the beautiful city of Oporto. He was a writer for a food and travel magazine, working on an article about the winery she worked at part-time as a tour guide. They spent the three days they were together admiring the vineyards, watching the grapes being pressed, examining the casks where the wine must was left to ferment, and finally, by the end of their journey, they kissed while gazing at the beautiful Douro river, certain that they would never see each other again.

However, life would have it another way. The young American returned to his country, but his heart did not. Much to his dismay, it was beating hard and fast, still at Douro’s riverbank, waiting for his return. He took all the money he had saved, said goodbye to his family and rented a house in the city of Matosinhos, in Portugal, determined to find the beautiful psychology student. They met again and instantly reconnected, her family hated him, they eloped and moved to Lisbon after she graduated. Two years later she was well established as a therapist working at a clinic and furthering her studies, while he was writing for Michelin magazine.

My and Joshua’s story begins about this time. Always the overachiever, Mariana couldn’t have just produced one egg, she had to have two. And Jeremy, always eager to make his wife happy, even if without his knowledge, was happy to oblige and fertilize both. And presto! My mother was pregnant with twins. Fraternal twins, to be exact. A boy and a girl, born on June 11th, the girl first, then the boy, five minutes later.

Despite being fraternal twins, Josh and I had nothing in common. I was short, 5.2 feet, while Josh was practically a giant, almost 6.5 feet. He had my father’s hazel eyes and my mom’s dark hair, while I had brown eyes just like my mother, and light brown hair with a few golden highlights, resembling my father. Josh was loud, scattered and somewhat hot-blooded, but funny, witty and kind. He never had any problem making friends, even adults loved his perky attitude. I was more on the shy side growing up, always more interested in my own thing than actually in socializing. Most people didn’t believe we were related, let alone twins. Josh would always correct them with pride. And if anyone even dared to hurt me, they would meet his wrath.

That’s the thing with twins. The moment you are born together, you are best friends for life. It’s like a sacred bond is formed still in the womb, and it can never be broken. A sense of companionship and loyalty, a telepathic connection, something beyond comprehension that only a twin can understand, and that surpassed every downside of having a sibling sharing your birthday… and pretty much everything else.

This bond can be incredibly precious, particularly when you’re in a funk and life does not seem to go your way. When I told Josh that Victor and I were no longer a couple, Josh was able to sense the true sadness in my voice. So he decided to ask as a birthday present that the whole family would come to see me in Loveland for our birthday. I felt the gift was mostly for me. Everything is better with your family by your side.

So there we were, drinking, eating being merry in my tiny apartment. How I could fit 6 people in my tiny kitchen and living room, I had no idea, but this wouldn’t stop us from having fun. The Jones crew was together in celebration, like it was meant to be. Surprisingly enough, my breakup hadn’t been mentioned once, probably because it was my birthday and my mom didn’t want to upset me. I was allowed to just enjoy their presence, drink from their familiar and warm energy, letting myself heal little by little.

After the meal, everybody seemed to scatter, leaving me alone with my mother in the kitchen. Uh oh. I immediately recognized the look on Dr. Mariana’s face. It was an intervention.

“Andrea, we need to talk about the recent changes in your life.” My mom threw, as she took the dirty dishes to my sink. Here we go. I hung my head in defeat.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow? It’s my birthday.”

“And tomorrow you’ll have a different excuse. You pretend everything is okay, that you are moving on from this breakup, but I can see you are hurting.”

“Look, I’m dealing with it, okay? I’m working, exercising, eating healthy. It’s not like I’m depressive, mom.” I tried to placate her.

“Meaning you are trying to distract yourself from it. That’s unhealthy. Do you know what happens to people that bury their feelings?”

“The feelings eat at them.” I mumbled. My mother actually did a study about this. How resentment and pain, if not dealt with, could lead to physical illness.

“You believe you can fool people, but you can’t fool me. I’m your mother. You may pretend everything is alright, that you are taking care of it, that you are embracing life, but you are denying your feelings. It’s your defense mechanism. You pretend to be open so people won’t feel the need to ask you anything. It’s incredibly smart, but also incredibly stupid.”

All of a sudden, I wanted to cry. This conversation reminded me of the many times my mom had begged me to talk to her regarding the abuse I was getting from Daniel, and I had never said a word until the day I decided to leave. The situation wasn’t the same, obviously, but I felt like the black sheep of the family, the family member everyone worried about. My mom came to me and held me in her arms, caressing my hair, like she would do when we were kids.

“Just talk to someone, will you? If not me, anyone else. Still, if you want to, I will listen, and not judge.”

Suddenly, we heard my father’s voice from the door. My father, the innocent soul, so oblivious to potentially awkward situations.

“Hey, guys! Look who I found downstairs!” He shouted, pointing to Victor, who was standing right behind him.

There was a moment of silence. No one knew exactly how to react, not even my mother, usually so cool and quick to adjust. Everybody wore the same incredulous face, staring at Victor. Victor turned every shade of pink, a mortified look in his eyes.

“Come in, Victor, make yourself at home!” My father encouraged him. Victor snapped out of his shame, assuming his usual inscrutable expression.

My father’s words seemed to break the spell for my family as well, as everyone went to Victor, greeting him warmly. Except for me. I was still frozen in place, my heart beating hard in my chest, afraid to collapse on the floor if I made the slightest move. Victor came to me, extending his hand to shake mine.

“Happy Birthday.”

Shaking Victor’s hand was the weirdest thing ever. Unnatural, freakish, like trying to eat soup with your feet. I gave him a soft smile, afraid of how my voice would sound if I talked.

“I won’t be long. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude while you are here with your family. I just came to give you this. You can open it later.” His voice was lower than usual, I could hear a hint of sadness in it. I tried to ease the tension. He handed me a wrapped box.

“It’s fine, I’m happy you came. Sit, let me get you a piece of cake and some cherry wine. My father brought it from Portugal, it’s amazing.”

“No need, I should be going.” Victor turned to leave.

“Victor.” I called, softly. “It’s ok. We don’t need to make things awkward. We were friends before, right? There’s no reason we can’t be friends now.” I gave him an honest and welcoming smile. That seemed to ease some of the tension in him. He sat down.

“Oh, and thanks for the gift. It’s very thoughtful of you.” I said as I went to my cabinet to get a plate and a glass. I also noticed the room was incredibly quiet. My whole family had vanished, God only knew where.

“It’s nothing, don’t think too much of it.” Victor cleared his throat, his cheeks turning pink again. “Just something I bought a while ago for this occasion. I can’t return it now, so you may as well have it.” Suddenly, he got up. “If you don’t mind, I should get going now. Have a great day, Andrea.”

With that, he left, not giving me a chance to reply. I looked at the present on the table, and sat down to open it. It was a golden chain necklace, with a pendant shaped like a tree. I remembered what he told me a few months ago, when I disclosed my abuse to him.

“You are not a puny flower that someone stomped on, you are not flat on the ground, trying to grow back again. You’re a tree. Autumn may take your leaves away and leave you barren, Winter snow may freeze your branches and your roots, but you’ll still be a tree, standing tall through it all. And when Spring comes, you will have leaves and beautiful flowers again, and someone will enjoy your shade, and admire how bravely you stood up to the elements."

Like a powerful explosive, the memory alone blasted the doors of my emotional vault, and everything came pouring out. My family, who I later found out was hiding in my bedroom, came out the moment they heard my sobs.

My mother was right, I needed to talk about it, even if to convince myself it was over. The last time I spoke to Victor I was fueled by rage, and wasn’t able to feel how much I missed him. But seeing him that day, in my kitchen, reminded me of happier times, of his arms around me, of supportive and loving words, of times when none of us were hurt, no ugly words had been said, no slaps had been delivered. My mother held me tight as I told her all the details of our breakup. Like a good therapist, she heard them all in silence, and like a good mother, she wiped the tears from my face and soothed me with loving words. When the emotions seemed to have subsided, and when I was finally able to control my tears, she spoke.

“Honey, this is probably the last thing you want to hear, since you are so decided to move on, but you know I wouldn’t say this lightly. But I think this is just a setback, an issue you have to solve through dialogue. This isn’t final.”

“I slapped him across the face.” I said, bitterly. “That’s final enough.”

“Andy, I saw the way he looked at you. There wasn’t a shred of resentment in his face. Just love. Well, and embarrassment, because your father hasn’t got a clue. But your father did well. You two need a little push.”

I shook my head. I did not want to entertain such thoughts. Whatever feelings one may have for another during a relationship don’t just fade away because they broke up. That was what my mother saw, remnants of a once-happy life, nothing else.

“There’s nothing left to push, mom. There’s nothing left to take, and nothing left to give. Nothing left to work on. He made it clear the last time I saw him. He scratched me off his list the moment I walked out his door.”

And with that, tears came again. Josh got up from his seat and hugged me tight, letting my tears stain his shirt. After a while, he spoke.

“Hey.” He smiled at me.

“Hey.” I spoke, my voice muffled by his shoulder.

Joshua and I didn’t speak much because we didn’t have to. He would never have to ask me how I was, because he always knew. And he also knew when to push me and when to leave me alone. He smiled at me, and I had no choice but to smile back, because I knew exactly what he meant. His grin told me he loved me, that I would get through this, that I was strong and that he would always have my back. And I believed every word he told me.

Twin brothers. Gotta love them.

#Growing Pains - Series #growingstronger #victor x oc #mlqc fanfic #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mister love queens choice #love and producer

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boat-full-of-lotus-pods · 6 years

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MDZS Chapter 103. “A Hatred for Life” Part 6

But that was all a lifetime ago

Sect Leader Jiang’s words were usually laced with sarcasm. Yet this time, and this time only, he wasn’t mocking anyone but himself.

Suddenly, he said, “I’m sorry.”

Wei WuXian froze, then said, “……You don’t have to say sorry.”

After everything that had happened between them, it was impossible to tell who was the one most at fault.

Wei WuXian continued, “Consider it as my repayment to the Jiang Family.”

Jiang Cheng raised his head and stared at him with swollen, bloodshot eyes. He said in a hoarse voice, “……Repaying my father, my mother, my older sister?”

Wei WuXian massaged his own temples and said, “Forget it. It’s all in the past now. Let’s not mention it anymore.”

It wasn’t a subject that Wei WuXian liked to dwell on or reminisce about too much. He didn’t want to be forced to recall the experience of having his core severed from his body while being fully awake. Neither did he want to be forced to remember how grave and heavy of a sacrifice it was.

Had the truth been revealed in his last life, he probably would have consoled Jiang Cheng a little while laughing, saying, ‘It’s not actually that big of a deal. Look, I’ve been without a golden core for so many years and I still survived and got by fine. I can still beat up who I want to beat up, and still kill who I want to kill.’ Now, however, Wei WuXian had no energy left to casually brush the matter aside with an air of effortless generosity and pretend that everything was alright.

Besides, he wasn’t actually so easy-going to begin with.

How could he easily let go of something like this?

It would be impossible.

The seventeen-to-eighteen-year-old Wei WuXian hadn’t been any less proud or competitive than Jiang Cheng. After all, he had been a prodigy once, gifted with exceptional talent. He could fool around all day, break curfew all night, and still perform way ahead of everyone else, including those who’d practiced and studied in earnest all day long.

But whenever these thoughts plagued him during sleepless nights—that he would never again rise to the top using righteous, conventional practices, and that he would never again stun the world with his swordsmanship—he would instead imagine what would happen if Jiang FengMian had never brought him back to the Lotus Pier. Then, he might never have brushed shoulders with cultivation at all. He might never even know of the existence of this mystical, surreal world, and remained a street rat who only knew to run from dogs. Or he might have become a cattle herder who played flutes all day, stealing vegetables to scrape by. Either way, he wouldn’t have been trained in cultivation, and wouldn’t ever have formed a core to start with. Whenever he thought about it this way, he would feel much better.

Just pretend this to be a repayment, or an atonement. Pretend as if he never had the golden core to start with.

Once he’d said these things to himself enough times, he’d actually start to almost feel as unaffected about it as he was pretending to be. He could then even secretly praise himself a little for his at-least-half-genuine magnanimity.

But that was all a lifetime ago.

Wei WuXian said, “Um, you……. don’t have keep reminding yourself. Even though I know that, with your personality, you’ll always remember it, but, how should I put it……”

Tightening his grip on Lan WangJi’s hand, he said to Jiang Cheng, “I honestly feel that…… it’s already in the past now. It’s just been too long. Let’s not get caught up over it anymore.”

Jiang Cheng viciously wiped away his tears. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes.

Just then, Nie HuaiSang slowly rose to consciousness underneath Lan XiChen’s outer robe. Wincing and whining, he reluctantly pushed himself up and asked in a dazed voice, “Where am I?”

Who knew that he would be greeted by the sight of Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi sitting on the same cushion, all plastered on each other, with the Yiling Patriarch just shy of sitting on HanGuang-Jun’s lap? Nie HuaiSang let out a terrified shriek and looked ready to faint again. Simultaneously, a series of strange noises came from the back of the temple, like the whistle of gas leaking. Immediately after, the cultivators digging at the back started screaming.

Everyone’s expression changed at once. A light but sharp and stinging smell drifted to the front of the temple. Lan XiChen raised his sleeve to cover his nose and mouth, consternation knitting his brows. Soon, two figures bumped and limped their way to the front.

Su She was supporting Jin GuangYao. Both of them were ashen-faced. Meanwhile, the back of the temple was still howling with screams. Su She asked, “Sect Leader, are you alright?!”

Beads of cold sweat lingered over Jin GuangYao’s forehead. He replied, “I’m fine. Thank you for earlier.”

His left hand lay limp by his side, trembling, seemingly enduring some tremendous pain. His right hand retrieve a small bottle of medicine from his robes, but found it difficult to open it single-handedly. Seeing this, Su She took the bottle, shook out a pill and placed it in Jin GuangYao’s palm. Lowering his head, Jin GuangYao imbibed the pill. After swallowing, his knitted brows finally relaxed.

Lan XiChen asked after a moment of hesitation, “What happened to you?”

Jin GuangYao froze ever so slightly. Colour at last returned to his face. He forced out a smile. “I was careless.”

He sprinkled some medicinal powder over his left arm. From the back of his hand all the way to his elbow was a red patch of skin. Upon closer inspection, the patch of skin almost looked like cooked meat with the entire skin surface fried and destroyed beyond recognition. Tearing off a corner of his snow-white sleeve with trembling fingers, Jin GuangYao said to Su She, “MianShan, tighten this around my wrist.”

Su She asked, “Is it poisoned?”

Jin GuangYao, “The poison gas is still traveling up my system. But it won’t get in the way. I can force it out of my system after some rest.”

Once Su She finished treating his wound, Jin GuangYao turned to check on the back of the temple. Su She hurriedly volunteered, “Sect Leader, let me!”

As the stinging smell gradually dispersed, Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi stood up together as well. At the back of the temple was a deep hole with a mound of dirt beside it. A delicately crafted, refined coffin laid with another black box on top of it, both of which were already open. Thin, white trails of smoke wafted out from their openings. The stinging smell in the air must have came from the white smoke, no doubt lethally poisonous. Corpses laid all over the floor around the coffin. The cultivators who had laboured for the excavation were now nothing more than cooked, dead meat. Even their robes of Sparks Admist Snow were reduced to blackened, charcoaled pieces, proof of how deathly corrosive the poison truly was.

Jin GuangYao was the first to reach the coffin, dispersing the residual poison in the air with his spiritually charged sword. With the tip of his sword, he flipped over the black box. The metal box crashed to the ground, empty.

Jin GuangYao finally hit his limit. Staggering to the edge of the wooden coffin, the colour that had only just returned to his ashen face moments ago was gone again without a trace. It was easy to deduct from his expression that the coffin was empty too.

Lan XiChen went over. Stunned by the horrid sight at the back of the temple, he exclaimed, “What exactly have you buried here? How did it become like this??”

One glance at the scene was enough for Nie HuaiSang to drop to his knees and start dry-heaving on the ground. Jin GuangYao’s lips trembled but made no sound. A flash of lightning illuminated his ghastly white face. The expression on Jin GuangYao’s face was so terrifying that the sight of it made Nie HuaiSang shudder, and he didn’t dare to make another noise even as he continued to dry-heave. Covering his mouth, Nie HuaiSang retreated behind Lan XiChen. It was hard to tell whether he was shivering from the cold or from fear. Lan XiChen turned to give him a few soothing words. Meanwhile, Jin GuangYao seemed to have no energy left to even bother maintaining his pleasant and courteous attitude anymore.

Wei WuXian said, “ZeWu-Jun, you are being unfair to Sect Leader Jin. Whatever that was here wasn’t buried by him. And even if he were the one who had originally buried it, it was probably swapped by someone else long ago.”

Su She pointed his sword at him and shouted in a harsh voice, “Wei WuXian! Did you have something to do with this?!”

Wei WuXian replied, “I’m not trying to brag here, but if I really was the one behind this, I’m afraid that your sect leader wouldn’t be losing just an arm. Sect Leader Jin, do you still recall that letter at the Koi Tower, the one given to you by Qin Su?”

Jin GuangYao’s gaze slowly moved towards him.

Wei WuXian said, “The one who had told Qin Su about all those nice things that you did was the handmaiden of Madam Qin, Bi Cao. Did you really believe that Bi Cao had just decided to tell her all that, that she wasn’t pushed by someone behind the scenes? And that Maiden Sisi who you’d imprisoned, who was it that really saved her? Who was the one that had told her and Bi Cao to go to the Yunmeng Jin Sect and unveil your secrets in front of everyone? Someone who could investigate your full background and all your secret doings without fail. Is it so hard to believe that he could also have reached here one step ahead of you, swapped what you wanted to unearth with poison, waiting for it to be delivered to you when you got here?”

Just then, a monk said, “Sect Leader, the earth here show traces of having being moved before. Someone had dug a path here from another end!”

Someone had indeed reached here before they did. Turning, Jin GuangYao slammed a fist against the empty coffin. No one could see his expression. They could only see the slight tremor in his shoulders.

Wei WuXian smiled. “Sect Leader Jin, did it ever occurred to you that tonight, you’re not the hunter, but the prey[1]? And that the one who’s been watching you all this time might be right here, right now, watching your every move from a hidden corner. Maybe, it’s possible, that it’s not even human……”

Outside, thunder roared and rain poured. At the words “not even human”, for a fraction of a moment, something akin to fear flashed over Jin GuangYao’s face.

Su She sneered, “Wei WuXian, stop trying to instill fear with your baseless bullshit……”

Jin GuangYao silenced him with a gesture of his right hand. The flash of fear quickly subsided from his face. Every complicated expression became buried once more as Jin GuangYao regained control of his face and said, “Don’t waste time on pointless banter. Tend to your wounds. Once I dispel the poison, we’ll do a headcount of who’s left and head out immediately.”

Su She asked, “Sect Leader, what about the thing that’s been stolen?”

Lips turning pale, Jin GuangYao muttered, “Since it’s already stolen, it’s unlikely we’ll ever find it. It’s unwise to linger here any longer.”

Su She replied, “Yes sir!”

During the messy brawl with Fairy earlier, Su She had been clawed in numerous places. The robes over his arms and chest were all scratched, especially over the chest region. Claw marks deep enough to reach the bone ran over his chest. Blood was stained in bits and patches all over his white robes. If he didn’t tend to his wounds now, they might get worse in the near future. Jin GuangYao retrieved a parcel of medicine from his robes and handed it over to Su She. Receiving the parcel with both hands and a, “Yes,” Su She really did stop arguing with Wei WuXian. Turning, he untied his robes and started tending to his wounds. Jin GuangYao’s poison-seared left arm still wouldn’t respond, and so he could only meditate on the ground to focus on forcing the poison out of his body. The remaining cultivators patrolled back and forth in the temple, carrying their swords and on guard. All the blades flashing within his sight was making Nie HuaiSang’s gaze rigid with fright. Without any personal guards by his side, he didn’t even dare to breathe loudly. Crouching behind Lan XiChen’s back, he sneezed quite a few times.

Wei WuXian thought to himself, ‘Su She never had a nice attitude towards anyone. Even Lan Zhan has him seething with rage. But he’s actually quite respectful towards Jin GuangYao.’

As he was thinking, he couldn’t help but looks towards Lan WangJi. He hadn’t expected to see the cold glare in Lan WangJi’s eyes.

Lan WangJi said to Su She, voice chilly, “Turn around.”

Su She was busy tending to the clawed marks over his chest with his head lowered and halfway turned away from them. At Lan WangJi’s sudden words and commanding tone, he actually obliged without thinking.

Now that Su She was facing them, Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling’s eyes both widened. The smile immediately disappeared from Wei WuXian’s face as well.

He muttered, astonished, “……So it was you!”

Footnotes:

[1]: You’re not the hunter but the prey: The original phrase in Chinese was along the lines of “you are the mantis tonight, not the finch”

#魔道祖师 #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #novel translation #my translation

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hecohansen31 · 5 years

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A Little Gain of Her (Teaser):

Hawthorne! Michael Langdon+Virgin! Reader+(Succubus)

(”From Eros To Filia” Part 3).

Part 1, Part 2:

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

Although I am a bit late, I am here with the new and last chapter of this series!

I honestly have to say, that although I know that this wasn’t a bit heartbreaking series, for me it meant so much (and I am glad you liked it!) and I cried a bit last night, proof-reading it.

(Also I swear that I am not trying to hype this all up, but...).

So I really hope you will enjoy it (also I will tag everyone who is on my tag-list, and those who have been tagged in the second part, and if you want to be added on that list, just like this post!)

Thank you and here’s the teaser!

-I know it doesn’t matter… but you look gorgeous, tonight-.

Of course, it didn’t matter.

But she still couldn’t help but release the first honest and genuine smile in weeks, on her lips.

-… you don’t look so bad yourself- she mumbled, immediately looking away: he didn’t deserve her love and he didn’t deserve her pity.

He let out an embarrassed laugh, his hair being thrown back, catching the light in a perfect arch of golden she wanted to touch and mess, but she just pushed her nails further in the weak skin of her palms.

She half-expected him to walk away as he had done before, almost challenged him to do it, minding him no attention, hoping for Mallory and Coco to finish their make-out session in order to finally be able to go to the ball together.

But the universe had somehow declared she couldn’t have a moment of peace.

-… (Y/N)…- she wanted to tell him not to say her name with those plump lips of his, the most sensual sound came out of them, a prayer of a fool in the throes of pleasure and they hadn’t even touched -…I think we need to talk-.

-What for? – her hysterics were shown through her tone, full of derision and annoyance, a mask to keep him from knowing how much she had wished for those words, praying that one day he would barge in her bedroom, and ask for her forgiveness on his knees.

She would cruelly deny him on most nights she dreamed it, but during her most feverish dreams… what they hadn’t been able to conclude happened, with her hands in his hair, pulling and his mouth latched on her nipples, exactly just like last time.

-… I think that you know that last time I sent you away, rather unkindly…- his tone matched hers, clearly not wanting to appear a lesser opponent, but softness shone in his eyes, asking and begging for her to give him a chance to talk, as if he was speaking to a wounded animal.

She was a wounded deer in his eyes, but the truth was that she was much worse, a broken woman, with him having destroyed the thing that held her entire heart together.

-You say “unpolitely” I say “you are an asshole, and I don’t need to encourage your assholish views”- she honestly wanted to take that step further, the one that would hurt him as he had hurt her, but she just couldn’t turn around and leave him there.

She had been always too sweet for this game of love.

-… I know that I am indeed even worse than what you believe me to be, but explanations might bring some kind of relief to your aching soul, because if you feel even a miniscule amount of the pain I have in my heart, I feel nothing but respect for you for walking around with your head high, you are much stronger than what I believed-.

She honestly didn’t want to give up just because of his silver-tongue, each word delivered perfectly with a troubled expression, as if he found it difficult to discover she had missed him almost as much as he had missed her.

Suddenly his eye bags seemed more evident and the frown on her mouth was laced with wrinkles made from worry and not enough sleep: she had been too focused on his outfit, to notice he was a broken man as well.

But she hadn’t been the one to close the door in his face, last time.

-… you might speak, but in English and I don’t want silly words to cover up the major fuck-up you did- she couldn’t hide the fact that she had been infected by the little laughter of relief he left out and he took a step closer, almost coming closer enough to touch her, eyeing her arms, naked because of the sleeveless dress.

He wanted to touch her so badly, but her dark eyes sought nothing but a reason to run away and disappear under his touch warned him.

-I promise I will do my best not to take any of your precious time- he promised, charmingly and she just rolled her eyes and almost went back to remind him about the “no pretty words policy” -… but I just couldn’t take you, last time-.

She blushed at the mention of the natural act they had almost committed to, last time.

-I was more than willing to go on- she pointed out, trying to lessen the warmth on her cheeks, she just hoped that it might not be too evident.

-And so was I- she honestly felt like she could breathe.

For the entire time, she had almost been worried that he might have seriously not wanted her, horrified by her appearance, her willingness or just because she wasn’t enough, this had sent her even farther down the self-pity road, her self-esteem completely buried under her own ugliness.

-… then why? –

#Michael Langdon #AHS #American Horror Story #Michael Langdon Writing #Michael Langdon story #Michael Langdon imagine #Michael Langdon fan fic #Michael Langdon fanfic #Michael Langdon one shot #Michael Langdon oneshot #michael langdon x reader #Michael Langdon x fem reader #Duncan SHepherd #Duncan SHepherd imagine #Michael Langdon edit #ahs imagine #a little gain of her #heco writes #michael langdon smut

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mallyvu · 7 years

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Harvey Weinstein Is My Monster Too

By Salma Hayek

Dec. 12, 2017

Harvey Weinstein was a passionate cinephile, a risk taker, a patron of talent in film, a loving father and a monster. For years, he was my monster.

This fall, I was approached by reporters, through different sources, including my dear friend Ashley Judd, to speak about an episode in my life that, although painful, I thought I had made peace with.

I had brainwashed myself into thinking that it was over and that I had survived; I hid from the responsibility to speak out with the excuse that enough people were already involved in shining a light on my monster. I didn’t consider my voice important, nor did I think it would make a difference.

In reality, I was trying to save myself the challenge of explaining several things to my loved ones: Why, when I had casually mentioned that I had been bullied like many others by Harvey, I had excluded a couple of details. And why, for so many years, we have been cordial to a man who hurt me so deeply. I had been proud of my capacity for forgiveness, but the mere fact that I was ashamed to describe the details of what I had forgiven made me wonder if that chapter of my life had really been resolved.

When so many women came forward to describe what Harvey had done to them, I had to confront my cowardice and humbly accept that my story, as important as it was to me, was nothing but a drop in an ocean of sorrow and confusion. I felt that by now nobody would care about my pain — maybe this was an effect of the many times I was told, especially by Harvey, that I was nobody.

We are finally becoming conscious of a vice that has been socially accepted and has insulted and humiliated millions of girls like me, for in every woman there is a girl. I am inspired by those who had the courage to speak out, especially in a society that elected a president who has been accused of sexual harassment and assault by more than a dozen women and whom we have all heard make a statement about how a man in power can do anything he wants to women.

Well, not anymore.

In the 14 years that I stumbled from schoolgirl to Mexican soap star to an extra in a few American films to catching a couple of lucky breaks in “Desperado” and “Fools Rush In,” Harvey Weinstein had become the wizard of a new wave of cinema that took original content into the mainstream. At the same time, it was unimaginable for a Mexican actress to aspire to a place in Hollywood. And even though I had proven them wrong, I was still a nobody.

One of the forces that gave me the determination to pursue my career was the story of Frida Kahlo, who in the golden age of the Mexican muralists would do small intimate paintings that everybody looked down on. She had the courage to express herself while disregarding skepticism. My greatest ambition was to tell her story. It became my mission to portray the life of this extraordinary artist and to show my native Mexico in a way that combated stereotypes.

The Weinstein empire, which was then Miramax, had become synonymous with quality, sophistication and risk taking — a haven for artists who were complex and defiant. It was everything that Frida was to me and everything I aspired to be.

I had started a journey to produce the film with a different company, but I fought to get it back to take it to Harvey.

I knew him a little bit through my relationship with the director Robert Rodriguez and the producer Elizabeth Avellan, who was then his wife, with whom I had done several films and who had taken me under their wing. All I knew of Harvey at the time was that he had a remarkable intellect, he was a loyal friend and a family man.

Knowing what I know now, I wonder if it wasn’t my friendship with them — and Quentin Tarantino and George Clooney — that saved me from being raped.

The deal we made initially was that Harvey would pay for the rights of work I had already developed. As an actress, I would be paid the minimum Screen Actors Guild scale plus 10 percent. As a producer, I would receive a credit that would not yet be defined, but no payment, which was not that rare for a female producer in the ’90s. He also demanded a signed deal for me to do several other films with Miramax, which I thought would cement my status as a leading lady.

I did not care about the money; I was so excited to work with him and that company. In my naïveté, I thought my dream had come true. He had validated the last 14 years of my life. He had taken a chance on me — a nobody. He had said yes.

Little did I know it would become my turn to say no.

No to opening the door to him at all hours of the night, hotel after hotel, location after location, where he would show up unexpectedly, including one location where I was doing a movie he wasn’t even involved with.

No to me taking a shower with him.

No to letting him watch me take a shower.

No to letting him give me a massage.

No to letting a naked friend of his give me a massage.

No to letting him give me oral sex.

No to my getting naked with another woman.

No, no, no, no, no …

And with every refusal came Harvey’s Machiavellian rage.

I don’t think he hated anything more than the word “no.” The absurdity of his demands went from getting a furious call in the middle of the night asking me to fire my agent for a fight he was having with him about a different movie with a different client to physically dragging me out of the opening gala of the Venice Film Festival, which was in honor of “Frida,” so I could hang out at his private party with him and some women I thought were models but I was told later were high-priced prostitutes.

The range of his persuasion tactics went from sweet-talking me to that one time when, in an attack of fury, he said the terrifying words, “I will kill you, don’t think I can’t.”

When he was finally convinced that I was not going to earn the movie the way he had expected, he told me he had offered my role and my script with my years of research to another actress.

In his eyes, I was not an artist. I wasn’t even a person. I was a thing: not a nobody, but a body.

At that point, I had to resort to using lawyers, not by pursuing a sexual harassment case, but by claiming “bad faith,” as I had worked so hard on a movie that he was not intending to make or sell back to me. I tried to get it out of his company.

He claimed that my name as an actress was not big enough and that I was incompetent as a producer, but to clear himself legally, as I understood it, he gave me a list of impossible tasks with a tight deadline:

1. Get a rewrite of the script, with no additional payment.

2. Raise $10 million to finance the film.

3. Attach an A-list director.

4. Cast four of the smaller roles with prominent actors.

Much to everyone’s amazement, not least my own, I delivered, thanks to a phalanx of angels who came to my rescue, including Edward Norton, who beautifully rewrote the script several times and appallingly never got credit, and my friend Margaret Perenchio, a first-time producer, who put up the money. The brilliant Julie Taymor agreed to direct, and from then on she became my rock. For the other roles, I recruited my friends Antonio Banderas, Edward Norton and my dear Ashley Judd. To this day, I don’t know how I convinced Geoffrey Rush, whom I barely knew at the time.

Now Harvey Weinstein was not only rejected but also about to do a movie he did not want to do.

Ironically, once we started filming, the sexual harassment stopped but the rage escalated. We paid the price for standing up to him nearly every day of shooting. Once, in an interview he said Julie and I were the biggest ball busters he had ever encountered, which we took as a compliment.

Halfway through shooting, Harvey turned up on set and complained about Frida’s “unibrow.” He insisted that I eliminate the limp and berated my performance. Then he asked everyone in the room to step out except for me. He told me that the only thing I had going for me was my sex appeal and that there was none of that in this movie. So he told me he was going to shut down the film because no one would want to see me in that role.

It was soul crushing because, I confess, lost in the fog of a sort of Stockholm syndrome, I wanted him to see me as an artist: not only as a capable actress but also as somebody who could identify a compelling story and had the vision to tell it in an original way.

I was hoping he would acknowledge me as a producer, who on top of delivering his list of demands shepherded the script and obtained the permits to use the paintings. I had negotiated with the Mexican government, and with whomever I had to, to get locations that had never been given to anyone in the past — including Frida Kahlo’s houses and the murals of Kahlo’s husband, Diego Rivera, among others.

But all of this seemed to have no value. The only thing he noticed was that I was not sexy in the movie. He made me doubt if I was any good as an actress, but he never succeeded in making me think that the film was not worth making.

He offered me one option to continue. He would let me finish the film if I agreed to do a sex scene with another woman. And he demanded full-frontal nudity.

He had been constantly asking for more skin, for more sex. Once before, Julie Taymor got him to settle for a tango ending in a kiss instead of the lovemaking scene he wanted us to shoot between the character Tina Modotti, played by Ashley Judd, and Frida.

But this time, it was clear to me he would never let me finish this movie without him having his fantasy one way or another. There was no room for negotiation.

I had to say yes. By now so many years of my life had gone into this film. We were about five weeks into shooting, and I had convinced so many talented people to participate. How could I let their magnificent work go to waste?

I had asked for so many favors, I felt an immense pressure to deliver and a deep sense of gratitude for all those who did believe in me and followed me into this madness. So I agreed to do the senseless scene.

I arrived on the set the day we were to shoot the scene that I believed would save the movie. And for the first and last time in my career, I had a nervous breakdown: My body began to shake uncontrollably, my breath was short and I began to cry and cry, unable to stop, as if I were throwing up tears.

Since those around me had no knowledge of my history of Harvey, they were very surprised by my struggle that morning. It was not because I would be naked with another woman. It was because I would be naked with her for Harvey Weinstein. But I could not tell them then.

My mind understood that I had to do it, but my body wouldn’t stop crying and convulsing. At that point, I started throwing up while a set frozen still waited to shoot. I had to take a tranquilizer, which eventually stopped the crying but made the vomiting worse. As you can imagine, this was not sexy, but it was the only way I could get through the scene.

By the time the filming of the movie was over, I was so emotionally distraught that I had to distance myself during the postproduction.

When Harvey saw the cut film, he said it was not good enough for a theatrical release and that he would send it straight to video.

This time Julie had to fight him without me and got him to agree to release the film in one movie theater in New York if we tested it to an audience and we scored at least an 80.

Less than 10 percent of films achieve that score on a first screening.

I didn’t go to the test. I anxiously awaited to receive the news. The film scored 85.

... Read the rest at https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2017/12/13/opinion/contributors/salma-hayek-harvey-weinstein.html

#me too campaign #me too #salma hayek

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suallenparker · 7 years

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Philinda Fanfic: Behind the Scenes, Chapter 11

RATING: T

SPOILER: This is set in a Universe where Phil quit his Tony Stark babysitting duties after the first gig and returned to active field work. So, basically their backstories stay the same until after the first Iron Man Movie.

SUMMARY: After her former partner Phil Coulson almost got killed in action, the traumatized SHIELD agent Melinda May returns to duty. She and Phil go undercover as contestants of the celebrated TV show “Forever Love” to catch a stalker and to trip a traitor.

NOTES: See Chapter 1. This took forever because a) Life is still nuts and I’m usually too tired after work to do much of anything and b) this chapter is a monster! Thank you all for your support! I had fun writing this (we’re finally getting to the more juicy bits!) and I hope you still enjoy it too! Please let me know what you think. :)

PREVIOUS | NEXT

o0o

Chapter 11: One on One in which Diane finally gets her date.

She hadn’t noticed anything. Nothing.

How the hell could she’ve missed the connection between the Rebecca and Anisa?

And why?

Because of Phil Coulson and acting powers and her stupid heart. This was a job and she was better than this.

She should’ve noticed something!

Melinda wiped away some sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand as she ran.

Sure, Phil usually was better at that relationship stuff and he didn’t pick up on it neither, but he hadn’t been living with Anisa for almost two months!

God, this was bad.

Rebecca may not have been the stalker they had been looking for, but she easily could’ve been!

Melinda switched up the gears on the treadmill and speeded up. She would’ve preferred to go on an actual run to work off some energy, but the work out room of the Forever Love mansion.

Next to her, Audrey worked on a cross-trainer.

Lorelei was on a one on one with Eric right now, which hurt, which was stupid and another reason why she needed to step up her game. She needed to be more focused, more observant.

She was here to protect Maggie and these wonderful women, who deserved so much better than this.

Rebecca wasn’t a threat. She was out of the show to keep everything going, but she wasn’t a threat. Which meant the real threat was still out there so she couldn’t allow herself to mindlessly flirt with Coulson.

Just because she had lost her heart didn’t mean she had to lose her brains too.

“Could I talk to you all for a moment?” Anisa asked from the door way.

Melinda almost stumbled on the treadmill. How the hell could she’ve missed Anisa opening the door?

Audrey gracefully stepped off the cross trainer. “Of course!”

Melinda switched off the treadmill and grabbed a towel.

“I just …” Anisa pulled up her shoulders while she hid her hands behind her back.

“I didn’t know Rebecca would do something like that. If I would’ve thought she’d ever be a threat to Eric I would’ve told them about us, I swear!”

Of course everybody had found out once Garrett had escorted Rebecca off the premise two nights ago. Anisa had been hiding ever since. She looked exhausted.

Audrey crossed her arms.

Melinda just waited.

Anisa sighed. “I never wanted any of this to happen … God, you must hate me.”

“We don’t hate you,” Audrey said.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Melinda asked. Keeping that sort of information a secret was just stupid.

“We broke up so long ago, at first I didn’t even recognize her, with that camera in her face all the time and …” Anisa shrugged. Were there tears welling up in her eyes? “We didn’t end things badly, I have no idea why she’s doing this.”

A tear rolled down Anisa’s cheek. “I’m so so sorry,” she said.

God, this was wrong! Rebecca and Anisa had done nothing except for not revealing their former relationship.

“You couldn’t know this would happen,” Melinda said quickly.

Audrey nodded and rubbed Anisa’s arm.

“I feel so foolish. I should’ve just said something, I should’ve -” She stopped talking when they heart a group of people coming towards them.

That could only mean one thing in this house.

Anisa quickly wiped away her tears, just in time before Peter, Javier and a film crew appeared in the door way.

“There you are, ladies!” Peter said and spread his arms in a grand gesture as he smiled at them. As always, he looked perfect in grey suit and blue shirt. No tie this time.

That man was ridiculously handsome.

“Did we miss something?” Javier asked. Could you guys go back for -”

That man just pissed Melinda off.

“Nothing happened,” Audrey said quickly. “We just finished our training, right girls?”

Anisa and Melinda nodded sternly. The crew didn’t have to film everything!

“Fantastic, we’ve got a little surprise.” Javier said but he looked at them skeptically. “Could you all maybe freshen up a bit and come to the lounge room in fifteen minutes?” he asked.

An hour later, they were finally ready to start shooting. All of the five women currently not on a date with Eric sat around on one of the big plushy sofas. At least this time they got to wear jeans and t shirts instead of cocktail dresses.

Peter stepped in front of them as the camera behind them probably captured his perfectly lid face right now.

“Ladies,” he said, “you all look fantastic but unfortunately I only bring a letter for one of you.” He made a dramatic pause.

It took Melinda all her self control to keep her from rolling her eyes.

“Diane,” he said. “Tonight I’ve got a special letter for you.”

It felt like her heart stopped! Next to her, Katherine and Audrey gasped when Peter took out a golden envelope from his jacket.

“Oh my god!” Melinda shouldn’t feel as nervously excited about a fake letter from a fake person, but …

She quickly opened the envelope and pulled out a handwritten note from Phil. God, if that note could just be from Phil, she would be happy.

As she read his words, a smile crept on her face.

“What does it say?” Audrey asked.

“Dear Diane, please dance with me into the night. Yours, Eric.” Kind of cheesy. It was ridiculous to get this happy about a date with a fake person. But finally there it was. Diane would get her one on one with Eric.

“That sounds so romantic!” Anisa said.

“There is more.” Peter said.

All the women looked at him. “More?”

Peter smiled. “Eric had a little present delivered to your room, Diane.”

o0o

Phil clenched his hands just to keep them from tapping against the sides of his legs.

He and Hand stood in front of a beautifully renovated hotel from the twenties with stone walls and golden applications around all the wooden doors and window frames.

The sun was still shining as it was early morning, so the crew had forgone to put up candles on the drive way, but the obligatory flower arrangements were still there.

Such a shame to waste flowers like that, but Phil had to admit, everything looked stunning.

Hopefully Melinda would like it.

For some reason he thought it would be a good idea to kick it old school with Melinda so that was why he stood here in a black tux and fancy oxfords in black and white as Hand powdered his shiny forehead.

Melinda'd probably roll her eyes as soon as she would see him. And this.

Because this wasn't really her style. - Which was exactly why he had planned this date for them. A date for Diane and Eric.

If he would ever get the chance to take Melinda somewhere he would choose something low key, maybe a small restaurant or just a walk somewhere and after food off a food truck.

Or he would cook for her at his place. Maybe she would like that.

He swallowed hard.

No, she wouldn't. Because she didn't have feelings for him. Not like that. And he was a fool.

“Breathe,” Hand mumbled, “and keep your hands still. Shaking doesn't look good on camera.”

He glared at her but said nothing.

“Five more minutes,” Maggie yelled.

Five more minutes until Melinda would arrive.

Maggie walked over the drive way and towards them. “You look great, Eric!” She quickly patted his arm, before she moved on. “Someone move that flower pot to …”

Around them, everybody was moving. The light team was busy setting up extra lamps and those weird white reflectors. The sound people checked out the sound system and three camera teams set up their equipment. He could see Natasha Romanoff set up a camera right in front of the beautiful hotel doors.

Because of course the black widow knew how to operate a movie camera.

“It’s good that Nat is here,” he said. “It’s good. Another pair of eyes doesn’t hurt.”

“Hm.”

“Think we’ll catch them soon? Did Nat say anything to you?”

“No new intel, sorry.”

So he had to continue with this charade. That meant more overly romantic dates with Melinda May. Kissing Melinda May.

Fantastic.

“You’ve never been this nervous with any of the other women.”

“I know.”

“Know what you’re doing?”

“Just my job. And so is she. I know that.”

A black limousine drove up towards the hotel.

Melinda was here.

He was so screwed.

o0o

She stepped out of the limousine and his heart skipped a beat.

“You look breathtaking,” he said and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Absolutely beautiful!”

Her hair was pulled up in a loose bun, her eyes looked soft and her lips looked so cherry red, he could only think about tasting her.

“Thank you.” Melinda smiled at him and twirled in her golden ball gown with lacy details around the sweet heart neckline. The full skirt with tiered ruffles swayed as she twirled. “So this is what you’d like to see me in?”

“Which little boy doesn’t dream about dating a Disney princess?” He grinned.

She raised a brow. “Well, enjoy it while it lasts because as pretty as it is, I won’t be able to keep this look up on a daily basis.”

“That’s alright.”

“Too generous,” she said dryly and he felt himself blush.

One moment he thought he was doing well flirting with her and the next he just put his foot in his mouth again. “No, I mean I like your dresses and how they show your legs and …”

“So you’re a leg men, hm?”

Oh good, she was just mocking him!

She smiled at him. “If you treat me well, I might just show you a little bit of my ankle before the night is over.”

“Be still, my heart can’t take this!”

She laughed and he just felt happy.

Ten minutes later they walked into the big ball room, her hand resting on his offered arm.

Melinda stopped as soon as they walked through the swing doors. “Oh …”

“You like it?”

“It’s … ” She swallowed and nodded.

The room was big enough to hold two hundred people but now it was empty except for a single table and two chairs. White roses everywhere in the room. Hundreds of them. He knew microphones and cameras were placed in some of them. And of course there was Nat following them with a camera.

The table was set beautifully, too. White porcelain and polished silverware. Crystal glass.

“Not too much?”

“Definitely too much! But I like it.”

“Very good. Because I won’t be able to keep this up on a daily basis either.” He tilted his head and raised a brow. “May I lead you to our table?”

o0o

After dinner, the sun started to set. As two waiters cleaned their table, three violinists showed up in black dresses and started playing music a romantic tune. Lightly treading people in black carried in at least thirty candle holders in various sizes and distributed them around the room.

“You really went all out, didn't you?” Melinda asked.

“Go big or go home.” He stood up and reached out his hand.” Would you like to dance?”

“I'd love to.” She took his hand and he lead her to the middle of the room. - Since they had all this space, why not use it?

They got into position and started to dance. A slow waltz.

This felt familiar. This felt like their early days. He swirled her around and pulled her back against him.

“This is nice,” he said.

“Definitely not our worst date.”

“Worst date?”

“You made me cook!”

He grinned. “And we all survived.”

“You’re not as funny as you think.”

His grin just widened.

“You’re just lucky you’re so handsome.”

Yeah, that was definitely Diane talking, still it made his heart skip another beat.

He saw Nat following them with a camera as he turned them around again. - This was a show. This wasn't real.

He cleared his throat. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“Very smooth.”

“That’s me, smooth and handsome – your words. And humble, of course.”

She snorted. “Of course.”

“But seriously, what brought you here?”

“On the show?”

“Every week that passes and you stay … I can’t believe my luck.”

“Your eyes.” She lifted her chin and looked up to him.

Nothing would be easier to lean down and to kiss her. With Nat's camera on them – and most likely two other hidden cameras – she would kiss him back.

And that was exactly why he didn't do it. He wanted it too much for the wrong reasons.

“I saw your video and you’ve got very kind eyes,” she said quietly. “And the world can be a cruel place … “ She gave a little shrug. “You seemed like someone who worked to make it better.”

Something in her tone made him perk up. By now they were swaying on a spot. He wasn't sure if it qualified as dancing any longer.

“I loved my job. The … the army. I loved to fight. I loved it.”

She pressed her lips together and he just waited.

“I went to some dark places and …”

He rubbed her back and she looked down and over his shoulder. He made sure to move them so that Nat would catch his face instead of hers. He knew what was next. Diane's backstory wasn't pretty and though it was fake, fake Eric knew better than to expose Diane to any obvious camera.

“We were in this village and there was this girl and she …” Melinda pulled in a breath. “She had a bomb. She would’ve … She could’ve hurt so many people.”

The hairs on his neck stood up. This wasn't part of Diane's story.

“We thought the girl was a victim. We were wrong.” Melinda looked at him again. “I didn’t know how else to stop her.”

The girl? Oh my god. Bahrain. She was talking about Bahrain. “You saved them,” he said. “You saved the village.” Weak words. He wished they were alone. He wished he could talk to her as himself.

She looked at him again. The expression in her eyes broke his heart. “I killed a child,” she whispered.

He knew what ever had happened had been bad, after all the girl had died, but this … this was so much worse. No wonder she had quit after that.

He wished he had known. He wished he could've been more useful afterwards.

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” he said and felt stupid.

“Still think you’re lucky I stayed?”

“Very.”

She pressed her lips together, tears welled up in her eyes. When he pulled her closer, she leaned in and rested her cheek against his shoulder.

He held her tight for the longest time.

o0o

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#philinda #melinda may #phil coulson #philinda fanfiction

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dfroza · 4 years

Text

Today’s reading in the ancient book of Proverbs and Psalms

for Sunday, August 16 of 2020 with Proverbs 16 and Psalm 16 accompanied by Psalm 58 for the 58th day of Summer and Psalm 79 for day 229 of the year

[Proverbs 16]

People go about making their plans,

but the Eternal has the final word.

Even when you think you have good intentions,

He knows your real motives.

Whatever you do, do it as service to Him,

and He will guarantee your success.

The Eternal made everything for a reason.

Even wrongdoers fit in His plans; troubled times await them.

He abhors arrogant people.

Make no mistake about it! They will be punished!

The penalty of sin is removed by love and loyalty;

and by devotion to the Eternal, evil is avoided.

When people make good choices, He is pleased;

He even causes their enemies to live peacefully near them.

Better to have little and stand for what is right

than to become rich by doing what is wrong.

People do their best making plans for their lives,

but the Eternal guides each step.

The king makes a decision under divine inspiration,

but he must never render an unfair judgment.

The Eternal requires that business be conducted honestly;

He wants fairness in all your dealings.

When kings commit evil, it is despicable,

because their thrones should be built on justice.

Kings admire those who tell the truth;

they adore those who set the record straight.

A king’s rage signals that people will die,

but whoever is wise will pacify him.

If a king is smiling brightly, life will be granted;

his favor is like a cloud swelled with the first spring rain.

How much better it is to receive wisdom than the riches of gold

and to gain understanding over some silver prize!

The highway of the just bypasses evil;

those who watch where they’re going protect their lives from sin.

Pride precedes destruction;

an arrogant spirit gives way to a nasty fall.

It is better to be humble and live among the poor,

than to divide up stolen property with the proud.

Those devoted to instruction will prosper in goodness;

those who trust in the Eternal will experience His favor.

The wise at heart have a reputation for understanding;

pleasant words make the lips more persuasive.

Understanding for those who have it is a spring of life,

but it is pointless to try and instruct a fool.

From a wise heart flow careful words;

wise words make the lips more persuasive.

Pleasant words are like a honeycomb:

they drip sweet food for life and bring health to the body.

Before every person lies a road that seems to be right,

but at the end of that road death and destruction wait.

People work to stay alive,

pressed daily by their need to eat.

Good-for-nothings conjure up evil ideas;

their conversations fuel destructive fires.

Perverse people stir up contention;

gossip makes best friends into enemies.

Violent people try to recruit their neighbors,

wanting to lead them down the vile path of evil they have chosen.

Body language can expose a person’s intentions:

whoever winks the eye is planning perversity;

whoever purses his lips is intent on evil.

Gray hair is a crown of honor,

earned by living the right kind of life.

It is better to be a patient man than a mighty warrior,

better to be someone who controls his temper than someone who conquers a city.

We may try to control the roll of the dice,

but actually, the Eternal decides what they will determine.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 16 (The Voice)

[Psalm 16]

The Golden Secret

A precious song, engraved in gold, by King David

Keep me safe, O mighty God.

I run for dear life to you, my safe place.

So I said to the Lord God,

“You are my Maker, my Mediator, and my Master.

Any good thing you find in me has come from you.”

And he said to me, “My holy lovers are wonderful,

my majestic ones, my glorious ones,

fulfilling all my desires.”

Yet there are those who yield to their weakness,

and they will have troubles and sorrows unending.

I never gather with such ones,

nor give them honor in any way.

Lord, I have chosen you alone as my inheritance.

You are my prize, my pleasure, and my portion.

I leave my destiny and its timing in your hands.

Your pleasant path leads me to pleasant places.

I’m overwhelmed by the privileges

that come with following you,

for you have given me the best!

The way you counsel and correct me makes me praise you more,

for your whispers in the night give me wisdom,

showing me what to do next.

Because you are close to me and always available,

my confidence will never be shaken,

for I experience your wrap-around presence every moment.

My heart and soul explode with joy—full of glory!

Even my body will rest confident and secure.

For you will not abandon me to the realm of death,

nor will you allow your Holy One to experience corruption.

For you bring me a continual revelation of resurrection life,

the path to the bliss that brings me face-to-face with you.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 16 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 58]

Judge of the Judges

For the Pure and Shining One

King David’s golden song of instruction

To the tune of “Do Not Destroy”

God’s justice? You high and mighty politicians

know nothing about it!

Which one of you has walked in justice toward others?

Which one of you has treated everyone right and fair?

Not one! You only give “justice” in exchange for a bribe.

For the right price you let others get away with murder.

Wicked wanderers even from the womb, that’s who you are!

Lying with your words, your teaching is poison.

Like cobras closing their ears to the most expert of the charmers,

you strike out against all who are near.

O God, break their fangs;

shatter the teeth of these ravenous lions!

Let them disappear like water falling on thirsty ground.

Let all their weapons be useless.

Let them be like snails dissolving into the slime.

Let them be cut off, never seeing the light of day!

God will sweep them away so fast

that they’ll never know what hit them.

The godly will celebrate in the triumph of good over evil.

And the lovers of God will trample

the wickedness of the wicked under their feet!

Then everyone will say, “There is a God who judges the judges”

and “There is a great reward in loving God!”

The Book of Psalms, Poem 58 (The Passion Translation)

[Psalm 79]

A song of Asaph.

O God, the nations around us have raided the land that belongs to You;

they have defiled Your holy house

and crushed Jerusalem to a heap of ruins.

Your servants are dead;

birds of the air swoop down to pick at their remains.

Scavengers of the earth eat what is left of Your saints.

The enemy poured out their blood;

it flowed like water

all over Jerusalem,

and there is no one left, no one to bury what remains of them.

The surrounding peoples taunt us.

We are nothing but a joke to them, people to be ridiculed.

How long can this go on, O Eternal One?

Will You stay angry at us forever?

Your jealousy burning like wildfire?

Flood these outsiders with Your wrath—

they have no knowledge of You!

Drown the kingdoms of this world

that call on false gods and not on Your name.

For these nations devoured Jacob, consumed him,

and turned his home into a wasteland.

Do not hold the sins of our ancestors against us,

but send Your compassion to meet us quickly, God.

We are in deep despair.

Help us, O God who saves us,

to the honor and glory of Your name.

Pull us up, deliver us, and forgive our sins,

for Your name’s sake.

Don’t give these people any reason to ask,

“Where is their God?”

Avenge the blood spilled by Your servants.

Put it on display among the nations before our very eyes.

May the deep groans and wistful sighs of the prisoners reach You,

and by Your great power, save those condemned to die.

Pay back each of our invaders personally, seven times

for the shame they heaped on You, O Lord!

Then we, Your people, the sheep of Your pasture,

will pause and give You thanks forever;

Your praise will be told by our generation to the next.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 79 (The Voice)

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puyohero · 7 years

Text

Puyo Puyo/Darkwing Duck AU fic “proto-prolouge” chapter

Alright, I’ve got a sort of “prototype-prologue” to my Puyo Puyo/Darkwing Duck AU fanfic up. I’d like to remind everyone that this isn’t exactly final, but I’d like to hear what you all think. Please remember that I’d appreciate it if there was NO flaming and/or harsh criticisms. I spent almost the whole day working on this, you know.

Welcome to Pwurp City. A quaint and relatively peaceful metropolis. However, like all metropolis…metropolises? Metropoli…? Meh…like any other CITY, that’s only what you see on the surface. The truth is, it unfortunately has a bit of a…” problem” with the criminal element…

As the moon lights up the night sky, we see what appears to be a pair of imp-like creatures currently in the process of stealing from a store filled to the brim with all kinds of doodads on the outskirts of Pwurp City.

“Hurry up, will ya?! Ugh…I KNEW this was a bad idea…!” exclaimed a Kosatan, a little blue imp normally seen guarding the depths of Lyla’s Ruins. A massive plot of property owned by none other than the Dark Prince himself, Satan. This particular one was carrying an unusually large bag of golden accessories.

“Hey, hey! Don’t rush me! With our small size, do you wanna try carrying 60 pounds of gold back and forth? Sheesh!” retorted yet another Kosatan.

“I’m just saying, I’d rather we get the heck out of here before someone contacts the authorities. Honestly, why are we even doing this again?”

“Do I really need to go over this again? Lord Satan’s one stingy fella...and hecka powerful. If we asked him to give us a raise, I can’t imagine that conversation would go over so well, could you?”

“…Good point. So now what?”

“Well, we’ve already gotten all this loot, right? I imagine this’ll hold us over for, what? 15-20 years? Heh-heheheh…”

“Well, come on. Let’s move before we get into bigger trouble. Huh…?”

“Hmm? Hey, what are ya standing around for?! Weren’t you the one who was just squawking at me to get a move on? What’s the matter?”

“It’s just…Look, I’m sure this is going to sound REALLY cliché, but…have you ever gotten the feeling you’re being watched?”

“Well, no…but if we stay here any longer, I’m sure I WILL feel it. Which why we should be hightailing it out of here!"

“Huh?…Oh, yeah! Right, right!”

Not too far from the Kosatans, we see a dark shadow watching from afar. It appears that the Kosatan that felt like there was a third party to their little gathering may have been a bit justified in his suspicions feelings after all…

In a large puff of red smoke, the Kosatan reel back in shock.

“Wh—What the heck?! What’s going on?! I—I can’t see worth a darn! Hey, where are you?” exclaimed the more nervous Kosatan.

“Agh! You’re stepping on my foot, idiot! Get off me!” yelled the braver Kosatan “Urgh! Where’d all this red smoke come from??”

“I am the terror that prowls in the night!” shouts a booming voice.

“What—what the heck?! What was that?! Is someone there? No…Lord Satan?!”

“I am the dark shadow that haunts your nightmares!”

“Huh? Wait a minute…that voice…that’s not…’OY! Who’s out there?! Show yourself, punk! Hey, be on your guard, man. I don’t know what we’re dealing with, but we should be fine as long as we hold our ground, and don’t show this jerk that we’re scared.”

“Are you scared right now?”

“W—What? Of course not! What’s there to be scared of? Aside from whoever this is trying to steal the gold we so rightfully stole, this is nothing! That doesn’t sound like Lord Satan, and it’s obvious this isn’t that blue-armored magical chick with the weird pet bunny-thing, so who else is there?”

“So…just WHY are you vibrating like a massage chair...” asked the timid Kosatan in a deadpan manner.

“What? I’m not…” the braver Kosatan notices that his body really IS shaking at an unusually high speed. “Wh--?! Oh, shut up! Heck, I’m more surprised you haven’t wet yourself 10 times over already!”

“Hey! I told you that’s a condition that runs in my family!!” cried the timid Kosatan. “AND I told you that in complete secrecy, you jerk!” he hissed.

“HEY!!!” exclaimed the voice, still hidden in the red smoke and startling the two Kosatan. “If you little trolls are done? I was in the middle of my introduction, thank you very much! Now, as I was saying, I am the terror that prowls in the night! I am the dark shadow that haunts your nightmares! I…am Darkbag Chop!!!”

As the dark shadow finally reveals his true form, we see that this paragon of the dark doesn’t have white hair. He wasn’t even drooling. No, this particular shadow wore a paper bag on his head, wearing slightly oversized black-framed glasses on top of THAT.

In terms of his clothing, he appears to be wearing a blue fedora on top of the paper bag, along with a blue t-shirt with a white tank top over that. He also wore what appears to be blue and red shoulder pads over his left shoulder and torso. It all seem to come together with the help of a blue cape with a red trim. If one didn’t know any better, one would think this mysterious entity resembled that of…

“What the h--- Arle Nadja?! Quick! Run for your—wait, wait. Hold on now. Di---Did you say…DARKBAG CHOP??? Pppfftt…BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! What are you supposed to be? Some otaku grocery clerk who got lost on the way to the supermarket?” asked the brave Kosatan. “Dude, do you see this chump? Man, and here I thought that perverted Dark Wizard could make himself look like a fool just from opening HIS big mouth! Hey…Hey, did you hear m--Uh…buddy?”

Unfortunately, the timid Kosatan, unlike his comrade, is frozen in fear. Losing the ability to bolt away, there’s only one thing he can do now…

“Waaaagghh!!!! Please don’t hurt us!” cried the timid Kosatan. “Look, we’ll give you whatever you want! I beg of you, please don’t hurt me! I bruise as easy as a Puyo!!”

“Oh, boy…” said the brave Kosatan.

“Please, we only did this to get some extra cash! We didn’t want to do it, but we didn’t have much of a choice! That stingy miser Satan barely pays us anything, and we guard Lyla’s Ruins 24/7!”

Darkbag Chop could only look on surprise at the timid Kosatan who suddenly blew up in a panic in front of him. To say that this was NOT how he pictured fighting some of Satan’s minions…was an understatement.

“Heck, there’s been times where he’s given our paychecks to OTHER Kosatans! We all look the same! We can’t help that!”

“Well,” declared Darkbag Chop. “It still doesn’t change the fact that you little imps were trying to steal all this gold! Sorry boys, but it looks like someone’s going be put away for a while.”

“Like heck we are!” shouted the brave Kosatan. “Come on, bud! Let’s mess him up good!”

“Right! Let’s do this thing!” the timid Kosatan agreed.

“Alright, so we’re doing this the hard way, huh? OK then…come at me!”

The brave Kosatan led the charge, swinging a large wooden club at Darkchop.

Darkchop hops over the club, and lands on it, taunting the Kosatan all the while. He performs a flying backflip off of it…only to get a face full of thrown wooden club, courtesy of the timid Kosatan.

Darkchop, realizing these imps won’t be pushovers, decides to get them separated from each other, to avoid any more team attacks.

Darkchop gets the brave Kosatan to follow him into an alley, and as it attempts to track the paper-bag wearing hero, it doesn’t realize that he’s right behind him preparing to karate chop him into submission.

That is, until Darkchop clumsily trips over a rock, alerting the imp to his presence. It swings its club at him once again, leading to D.C. just barely avoiding getting his head knocked off his body. D.C. decides to stop playing around, and whips out a pistol-like weapon.

The weapon releases a canister containing of orange powder which lands on the brave Kosatan.

“Huh? Orange powder? Ha! What’s this? Are you gonna paint me to death? You’re mine, ya paper-bag wearing dork!” shouts the brave Kosatan. ‘ The Kosatan rushes at D.C., but starts to scratch the arm holding his club. And more. And more. Until he can’t stop!

“What the---? My body…My skin feels tingly…Why am I so…? Ah…ah…. Ahhh!! Oh, jeez! Oh, my…What the heck is going on?! Why do I feel so…” inquires the brave Kosatan

“Itchy? Tell me, imp boy. You ever heard something called, Oh, I don’t know…ITCHING POWDER?” Darkchop asks in a taunting manner.

“Itching pow…ITCHING POWDER?!?! Oof…Ahh!! I can’t stop!” cried the brave Kosatan.

Darkchop knocks the brave Kosatan out with a timed chop to the neck, and tosses him in the sidecar of his custom-made Vespa-like vehicle, the ‘Mystical King’.

The brave Kosatan was sprawled out along the ground. The timid Kosatan, who had been watching the entire exchange from a distance was shocked to see how D.C. was handling his comrade. He decides to bolt from all the action before Darkchop figures out that he’s disappeared. All the while, panicking over what to do.

“Oh, man! I gotta get the heck out of dodge before this jerk comes after me too! But where can I hide? Puyo Hell is WAY too far to make the trip. Besides, I doubt Lord Satan will be all too happy that we even caused all this commotion and brought it to his domain.”

Suddenly, the ‘Mystical King’ comes racing down the same path that the timid Kosatan is on, with Darkchop preparing to scoop the little Kosatan up in a net. “Time to go-a-hunting!” yells Darkchop as he grabs the Kosatan just as it notices it’s being chased.

“Waahh!! Wha—What are you gonna do to us?” the timid Kosatan asked, although it was practically dreading the answer.

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little horn. Besides, I already I have an idea as to how I’ll be handling that...” Darkchop explains, in a cryptic manner.

Next thing the Kosatan knows, the ‘Mystical King’ seem to go into overdrive, speeding off into the night.

(Not even 15 minutes later, at Lyla’s Ruins)

Now at Lyla’s Ruins, Darkchop talks to a rather large demon guarding Satan’s castle after handing off the two Kosatan to it.

“Here’s the pair of dastardly little delinquents! Delivered on your doorstep, courtesy of Darkbag Chop! I found them trying to steal some gold from Mr. Oshare’s store.” says Darkchop.

“Thanks, pal. It’s a good thing you took care of this before Lord Satan found out.” said the guard. I’m pretty sure he’s busy in his Carbuncle shrine, and believe you me, he does NOT like to be disturbed when he’s in there, and I don’t want to have to be the poor soul who tells him about all this nonsense.”

“Say, speaking of which...” inquired Darkchop. “While I don’t condone what those imps were doing, have any of you demons ever thought of asking Satan for a raise? As lovestruck as that guy may be more often than not, he never came off as the type to be all stingy and whatnot. Arle and her pet rabbit-thing notwithstanding...”

“Well...would YOU ask Lord Satan, or any demon for that matter, such a question?” asked the guard in a deadpan manner.

Rubbing the back of his head with his right hand, Darkchop sheepishly replies, “Heh-heh...uh, g---good point there.”

Darkchop,prepares to leave, but remembers something he should mention to the guard.

“Oh, hold up! Heh, almost forgot. Soooo…. In the event that any, I don’t know…news stations just HAPPEN to come by here and ask about tonight, just tell ‘em who sent these troublemakers packing…Darkbag Chop!”

“Uh, wha—"

“Oh, and that's two words, not three; the D AND the C ARE capitalized. Here's my photo. If the papers need more glossies, my numbers on the card.” Darkchop chuckled.

“Oh…well, O…K? So, again…thanks for bringing these guys in.” inquired the guard.

With a billow of his cape, Darkchop dramatically spun around and faced the guard.

“Don’t mention it, my good demon! Now, I must go! The despicable odor of crime and general evil-doing…is in the air!!” yelled Darkchop.

“What a self-promoting weirdo…I mean, DARKBAG CHOP? What kind of a stupid name…?” said the guard.

Darkbag left the premises of Satan’s castle, trying to make himself look presentable for the news cameras, only to find…

“What the---So, where the heck’s the press? The news reporters, the journalists, the Twatters?? I THOUGHT this was the new age of high-octane media!

Where’s the action news when you actually need ‘em? Sheesh…and just after I spent all morning to ironing out my cape and cleaning up my shoulder pads…”

Darkchop boards the ‘Mystical King’, and rides off into the night. Eventually, he makes his way to his hideout, Darkchop Tower. A tall tower located in an uncharted portion of the woods. He flips a small switch on the M.K., causing a long ramp-like structure to shoot out the side of the tower wall, allowing the ‘Mystical King’ access to the tower’s interior.

As he rides in, Darkchop makes his way to the top of the tower, and rides into a large room that appears to be the hangar where he parks the M.K. He leaves the hangar, and enters a corridor leading to the kitchen of the tower.

“Honey, I’m home!” shouts Darkchop. The room is deathly silent, not another soul to be found. Honestly, it’s a little depressing.

“Woof…yet another night cleansed of the criminal element, thanks to…Darkbag Chop! Oh, man…I swear, one look at my Puyo pillow, and I’ll be out like a light. But FIRST!...Some breakfast. I’m starving here…”

Darkchop heads over to his kitchen, which looks somewhat unkempt, but mostly because of all the gadgets he has lying in the tower.

“Alrighty then, let’s see what we got here…Sunny-C, some pink stuff, leftover sake from that little get-together at the Skeleton Bros.’ place, but where is—ah, here it is! Chocolate-chip pancakes, buttered toast, and to top it all off, eggs and bacon! It might mean indulging a bit, but after all that craziness last night, treating myself wouldn’t too much of an issue...”

After making breakfast, Darkchop reads the newspaper to see if he made any headlines recently. Unfortunately, what he sees doesn’t exactly delight him, to say the least.

“Aw, what?! Still nothing?! ‘Arle Nadja foils schemes of Dark Prince yet again’? Foil evil schemes, my aunt Fanny! Unbelievable! You know, I put my neck out to keep these towns safe from any harm from REAL monsters almost every night!” Darkchop starts up from his chair, marching around angrily while clutching the newspaper.

“What kind of evil scheme is this newspaper even talking about? Knowing the song-and-dance between Arle and Satan, that lovestruck imbecile probably tried to do something to impress her, only for it to end up endangering the planet, and I’ll bet they played Puyo, with her winning yet again!”

Annoyed, Darkchop starts to chug down some orange juice, skip breakfast due to his sour mood and heads to bed. He starts to feel a little bit down in the dumps and goes to change into his pajamas, preparing for a couple hours of deep sleep.

“Arle and that blonde girl and the redhead, they usually seem to have the big stuff handled, and that’s just from popping a bunch of blobs from time to time! Heck, they even seem to have some pretty interesting adventures. Traveling between dimensions, going into space, fighting demon kings and space creatures alike.

“But still, it’s not like I haven’t done anything special! I mean, I kept tabs on that kid with the red arm for almost 3 months…although I DID end up getting flack for it when his teacher reported me to the authorities for bugging her classroom… I just can’t believe it. Me, a superhero getting upstaged by a bunch of Puyo-popping teenage girls! I mean, what the heck?!”

“Hmm…there’s times where I wonder if what I’m doing really matters in the long run. I mean, I fight monsters, spirits, and the occasional mischievous demon every now and then, but does it ever really amount to anything if no one’s aware of my good deeds? I’d like it if I got a chance to take on a big-time baddie like Satan or the Count.”

Darkchop gets up with a start, surprised at himself.

“What am I saying?! Just because I don’t get a headline in a newspaper, or even a short section about my exploits on the news, it doesn’t mean I should just quit the hero business! This town needs a protector, and I’m it! For I am the terror that prowls in the night! I am the I am the cholesterol that clogs your arteries! I…am Darkbag Chop!”

“Besides, it’d be a real shame to have all this cool stuff go to waste. Not to mention, how it was so nice for Wish and her husband to let me rent out their tower. They really are good people. I should probably send them a gift basket. I wonder what they’d like…”

#puyo puyo #choppun

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rosymiz · 7 years

Text

Like A Rose, Last Chapter: Peace

Title: Like A Rose By: ArisuChanSenpai (Visit my blog for AO3 link!) Fandom: League of Legends Ship: Jhin x Sona

“Shen, I am done with playing your games!” Zed growled as he burst into Sona’s dressing room in anger, taking off Shen’s blue mask and throwing it to the ground. After sensing Shen’s presence backstage, he managed to pull himself away from the annoying musicians. But when he saw Jhin on his knees and subdued with his arms held behind his back, his rage drained away immediately. “You… actually caught him…” The hidden blades in his armor slid out as he slowly stepped towards Jhin. He tugged at the flap of the bodysuit on Jhin’s head, pulling the fabric down to reveal his face. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for years since you escaped that prison,” he hissed, pointing at Jhin. “And now I’m about to deliver your punishment, Golden Demon.”

Before he even raised his blade to kill Jhin, Sona stepped in front of him with her hands out to protect him. Her eyes were swollen and red from her tears, but her expression held a tenacity that stopped Zed.

“Are you trying to protect him?” Zed’s hand balled into a fist as he pointed the tip of the blade at Sona’s chin. “Do you even know what kind of person we’re all dealing with here? He murdered people beyond gruesome ways because he’s a fucking monster!” he spat. “You can’t tell me you knew all this time and still choose his side!”

Sona nodded, but her protective stance didn’t waver and only grew more tense as if she expected him to attack. She wasn’t letting Zed get anywhere near Jhin.

“Hah!” he barked. “You’re really in love with him, aren’t you? I can’t believe he manipulated you into a relationship to have you as an ally.”

A fury ignited in Sona’s heart as she slammed her hands against the strings, producing an angry cacophony. She let out a shaky breath in her fury. “How dare you claim I was manipulated when you don’t even know what happened between us?”

“And you don’t know what happened between us either. He’s a murderer .”

“He was overtaken by a compulsion he had no control over!” she furiously signed.

Zed broke into scornful laughter. “A compulsion, you say,” he repeated. “You’re telling me that everything he did until now was all because of a compulsion.”

“It’s true.”

“As if I can believe such a lie,” Zed growled. His contemptuous eyes stared at Jhin, who silently stared at the floor and made no move to break free from Shen’s hold. Jhin wasn’t even cowering like the first time Zed tried to kill him. He was still, as if he accepted his capture. “You’ve never even seen the kind of murders he’s done, have you?”

Sona pursed her lips. “No, but I have witnessed the darkness that plagued his heart like a broken harmony. He wanted to change. He never wanted to willingly kill people.” She stood her ground against Zed, even staring him in the eye as she signed. “I can confidently say that he is a different person now.”

“And if he isn’t? What will you do when his so-called “compulsion” comes back and murders people?” He loomed over Sona, who was two heads shorter than him. “What will you do if he tries to point that very gun at you one day? Will you still claim that he’s changed?”

Without hesitation, she took another step closer to Zed. “I will take responsibility.”

“You? You will take responsibility?” he sneered.

At those words, Jhin’s eyes shot up as he looked up at Sona in shock. “Sona, do not take responsibility for my actions. I am not going to let you be in the face of danger for something I have done.”

Shen, who was quietly observing Zed and Sona’s argument, was trying to sense the darkness that Sona had mentioned within Jhin. His father’s voice echoed in his head from a memory he thought he had forgotten. His father used to say the same thing when he made the decision to take Jhin alive and throw him into Tuula Prison. As someone who was less experienced, Shen disagreed with him, having believed that the darkness he sensed in Jhin to be his true self.

But now…

He sensed nothing of the sort. The darkness that tipped the balance within Jhin had disappeared.

Sona sat by Jhin while keeping an eye on Zed’s movements. “I am the one who helped you recover from your compulsion and seen the progress firsthand. It’s a given that I would take responsibility as someone involved.”

“You’re going to get killed if you do,” Jhin said gravely. “I don’t want to see you taken on that kind of burden because of me.” He frowned. “I’ve already caused you enough heartbreak tonight.”

The darkness that Shen had once sensed was replaced by a light. It seemed to shine the brightest in Sona’s presence. Was he truly the man he and Zed caught so many years ago? Or was this perhaps the man that his father saw in Jhin when he stopped Zed from killing him? He was beginning to understand what he thought was his father’s emotionless logic behind the decision.

It wasn’t foolish mercy, like Zed always claimed, but a second chance at redemption.

“Enough!” Zed bellowed. “I’m sick of listening to your excuses. Move aside, Maven, or I will personally strike him through you.”

“Zed,” Jhin called in a quiet, chilling voice. “If you dare raise your blade to Sona, I will not hesitate to take my gun back and pull the trigger. You will leave her out of this.” His blue eyes met Zed’s with a cold rage that forced Zed to withdraw his weapon from Sona’s neck. Jhin maintained his glare for a moment longer before turning back to Sona with a softer expression. “I apologize, Sona. It doesn’t seem like I will be able to join you for the finale.”

“No,” Shen finally spoke up as he released Jhin’s arms and picked up his mask from the floor. “You are going on that stage to dance with Lady Sona.”

“What?!” Zed turned to Shen in disbelief. “You’re just going to let him go like that? After all those years of trying to chase him to put an end to his crimes, you’re going to show mercy ?”

Shen gently pushed Jhin and Sona’s back to usher them outside. “I’m not sure the musicians will be able to stall for much longer. You will have to go soon.”

“You are not going anywhere!” Zed dashed towards Jhin with his blade ready to strike. Jhin grabbed Sona and turned his back to Zed, holding her tightly in his arms. But instead of metal meeting flesh, another blade colliding with Zed’s resounded in their ears. “You!”

“Lady Sona, go. I will try to talk some sense into Zed.” When they left, Shen grabbed Zed and teleported them to another building. “Listen to me. I’m starting to understand what my father was trying to say back at Tuula Prison when he threw Jhin in there.” He took off Zed’s helmet and armor and tossed it at Zed.

Zed met Shen’s eyes with a piercing glare as he caught his helmet. “What?”

“Now that I’m more experienced and in tune with the balance like my father, I sensed something different in Jhin.” Shen brought a hand to his chest. “That man is not the man we once knew anymore. Like Lady Sona said, he has changed. I cannot see the darkness I used to see in him anymore.”

The crowd’s cheering drowned out Zed’s roar of anger and the sound of blade meeting blade. “You are just like your father! I was a fool to think your path was closer to mine than it was to his!” He jumped back from a swift strike from Shen’s blade. “I refuse to work with you any longer now that I know you’d just be in the way. You and your father’s pathetic mercy to that pitiful act is what will be your downfall, Shen. Next time, I’m doing things my own way without you!” Zed disappeared, leaving a faint shadow in his wake.

Panic coursed through Shen’s veins when he realized Zed was gone but was quickly replaced with relief when he felt Zed’s presence blinking farther away from the concert venue and sheathed his sword behind his back. After fitting his head inside his mask, he turned his attention back to the concert and teleported to Akali and Kennen’s side.

While Shen was holding Zed back, the two slipped past them out the door as the musicians were nearing the end of their time. Standing by Sona’s dressing room was Lestara with her hands shaking as they covered her mouth. She overheard them. She overheard everything.

“Oh my goodness!” Lestara ran to Sona with open arms, embracing her tightly. “Thank the gods, I thought… I thought…” Tears began to stream down her cheeks. “I thought you might have been killed, my dear daughter…” Her eyes moved to Jhin, who stood behind Sona with a somber expression. Suspicion flashed in Lestara’s eyes, but it quickly dissolved to worry as she checked Sona for injuries. “Are you safe? You’re not hurt anywhere?”

Sona smiled as she gave her mother a reassuring embrace. “Shen protected us, mother. We’re not hurt.” She glanced at Jhin briefly to point at him. “He protected me too.”

Lestara dried her eyes with a handkerchief once she calmed down. “Sona, dear, I heard everything. He’s a criminal? A murderer?” She saw Jhin in the corner of her eyes, but he simply lowered his head with his eyes half-lidded as he faced her. “Is it true?” she asked him.

“Yes, madam.”

Sona gently held Lestara’s hand with a look that asked her to remember. She wanted her to remember the request she made to her mother before she left to find Jhin. “Will you wait for us after the concert?” she asked again. “I beg of you, mother.”

There was hesitance, but her mother nodded. “I expect both of you to tell me everything once the concert is over. Especially you.” She now faced Jhin with an insistent glare.

Jhin bowed his head to her. ��You may ask me whatever you would like, and I shall answer honestly.”

“Then, go on your way. Both of you. The musicians and I have done all we can.” She reached into a bag around her shoulder, taking out a mask. “I believe this is yours.” She handed Jhin his mask for the finale. “I found it in the changing stall when I went to look for you.”

“Thank you, madam. I will be on my way.” He looked at Sona, who smiled and nodded to him to go his side of the stage. “Let us meet at the stage, Lady Sona.” He held her hand up to kiss the back of it and left promptly, leaving Sona and Lestara to continue their conversation.

Lestara turned back to Sona after she watched him turn the corner backstage. “Sona. He never tried to hurt you, did he?” Seeing Sona shake her head with a firm confidence loosened up the tension in her shoulders.

She couldn’t tell her mother how she had first encountered Jhin in the grove just yet. That was for later, when they all gathered to explain their story. She heard the music die down as the audience cheered the musicians’ performances. Sona squeezed her mother’s hand before approaching the steps leading up to the stage.

“Wait. Sona, dear.” Lestara stopped her from leaving and reached into her bag. “I found a mask that might be suitable for your finale. And with your makeup slightly faded, this might help.” She took out a mask that looked exactly like Jhin’s, but instead of a black base, it was white with gold streaks and red accents, black lining the beautiful colors along the mask. “I bought it thinking it was a nice match with his. You can wear it at an angle on your head instead of on your face.”

Sona’s fingers followed the streaks on the mask and nodded in thanks.

“Go. I will watch from the side,” Lestara said as she gestured to her to get ready to show up on the stage.

“Lady Sona! There you are!” The female musician rushed down the steps as soon as she was out of the audience’s sight. She huffed in relief. “We’re so glad you made it in time! The stage manager was yelling at us to get off stage earlier, but he seemed to understand what was happening by the time we got to our second song.”

Sona bowed to the three musicians in gratitude. “You’ve done me a great favor, and I cannot thank you enough for providing me enough time to stop him from doing something he will regret.” She knew they couldn’t interpret her signs, but that was for the best.

“Oh! I think that motion is ‘thank you’, right?” the musician asked, repeating Sona’s sign for ‘thank you’. “I’m just glad we were able to help you, Lady Sona. We did request the audience for another intermission before you went on for your finale.”

“Yeah, and so we can take a break too…” one of the male musicians shook his wrists to alleviate the stiffness.

“But we’re ready to play whenever you are, Lady Sona,” the other musician said. “This is the finale we’ve all been waiting for.” He grinned at his fellow musicians. “I think we did well in keeping the crowd on edge.”

“You have no idea how much the audience is anticipating your finale now. They’re gonna love it!” The female musician yelped in surprise when Sona pulled her in for a thankful embrace. She patted Sona’s back and giggled. “You’re welcome, Lady Sona. Let us know when you’re ready. We’ll be waiting right here.”

Sona carefully pulled the mask on her head, the female musician making sure her hair didn’t get caught between the strings, and placed it near one side of her head. The shadow of the mask hid the red tint of her eyelids from her crying. On the other side, she saw Jhin waiting with his costume all fixed and tidied up. His head seemed to turn slightly to Sona as she caught his eye.

“Break a leg out there,” he signed. “You will do marvelously.”

A smile curled on her lips as she signed back, “You too.” She pressed her fingers to her lips and shifted it towards him. “Thank you,” she started, “for coming back.”

Jhin bowed gracefully as an actor would. “All thanks to you, darling.”

The audience gasped in surprise when the lights shut off again, whispering to each other excitedly for Sona’s finale. A spotlight turned back on to reveal Sona standing near the right center of the stage, curtly bowing as the crowd shouted in joy.

She gestured to her right, a spotlight shining on the three musicians sitting on their knees on a cushion with their instruments at the ready. Then, she gestured to her left, where another spotlight shined on Jhin’s figure, the gold on his mask and costume glimmering under the light. He sat on his knees like the musicians with his hands on his lap, waiting. The crowd applauded with the occasional whistle and whoop.

Taking a deep breath, Sona plucked a few notes in progression.

Jhin moved to the music as if the song controlled his movements. He danced with finesse as Sona played, slowly making his way to her for their dance. He acted like a young man searching for something to fill a void in his life, like there was something missing. He would reach out only to take his hand back and twirl away as if what he reached out for was not what he longed for. Then, he reached out towards Sona as the musicians picked up their instruments.

Sona took his hand with a delicate elegance and stepped towards him. They danced together on the stage, keeping a distance as if their encounter was sudden and uncertain of each other. Her etwahl followed behind her every step as they circled around the stage with the occasional twirl. She returned to her etwahl to resume her part again, but the musicians continued their part in harmony with her.

Something was starting to form in Jhin’s mind as he continued to dance. He kept wanting to reach out to her to cup her face with his hand but always curled them back to himself. The second time they danced together, their bodies were closer, their steps more certain, and with more elaborate movements to their dance. When they pulled apart, he couldn’t help but caress her cheek down and brush his fingers under her chin as he danced around her.

The audience voiced their captivation as they watched them dance like two streams, the currents gentle and joining together to create a river. Much like a dance between two lovers.

Their last time dancing together became much more elaborate and sure like the young man had finally found what he was searching for. Jhin added extra flairs like bring Sona’s fingers to his mask like he wanted to kiss them and touching her cheek gently. Sona would run her fingers through his wig or line her fingers against his mask as if she wanted to see the face hidden behind.

It was nearing the end of the song, and the musicians began to play softer until they were droning whole notes. Jhin and Sona finished with a slight dip, their bodies almost touching each other. They gazed into each other’s eyes, seeing each other’s reflection within. They didn’t even hear the booming ovation from the audience. Only their heartbeats.

“I love you,” he whispered to her.

Actions spoke louder than anything Sona could sign. She leaned in towards him to press her lips to the corner of his mask, leaving a faint print of her lipstick on the black color.

When they returned from their quiet bliss to the roaring crowd, they pulled apart and bowed. Bouquets and individual flowers adorned the stage and still rained onto them as the audience threw them to the stage. Jhin caught a rose that flew at him and handed it to Sona, who took it with a loving smile. They bowed to the audience again and welcomed the musicians to center stage to join them also.

Sona intertwined her fingers with Jhin’s as they collectively bowed to the audience once again. A thought tugged at Jhin’s mind as it finally formed and tried to connect something to Sona’s song. “Sona,” he called. “The song for this finale… What did you have in mind when you made it?”

She smiled knowingly at him as she pointed it at her and then him. “Us,” she answered.

Jhin chuckled as he gripped Sona’s hand tighter and pulled his mask off to the side to kiss her on the cheek. “I think it’s rather fitting.”

“I know.”

It was hours past the end of the concert. Sona was interviewed by several people about her finale and the dancer, a topic she managed to keep vague about his identity while giving more details about the composition and dance process of the finale. Jhin avoided the eyes of the few curious interviewers that had wandered backstage in search of the dancer by dressing in a lighting crew uniform. He preoccupied himself by assisting with the disassembling of the stage while waiting for Sona and Lestara to finish.

Now, Jhin and Sona sat around a table as Lestara took a seat on Sona’s bed. For an extra measure of privacy, Lestara requested the innkeeper to not send anyone to their room for the next few hours. She understood that their conversation wasn’t one to be overheard by anyone else. She waited patiently for one of them to speak up.

“I believe I should be the one to explain,” Jhin started, shifting his position. “But before I do, I would like to introduce my stage name, Khada Jhin, which I’m certain you’ve heard earlier backstage. I was hired by the cabal of the Ionian council to terrorize Noxus after the war. However, the name I gave you in the beginning is my true birth name.”

“Hm, Sona has told me,” Lestara replied shortly, urging him to continue.

“I had stayed in the previous city to enjoy the festival they were holding at the time. I didn’t know of Lady Sona’s concert until the day of.” He rubbed the back of his hand nervously. “I’m sure you’ve heard, but I’ve been plagued by a compulsion for many, many years. I’ve murdered people and turned their corpses into… horrendous displays, only to satisfy it. I never wanted to keep doing it, but I eventually let it take me over.”

Sona watched him in concern.

“Lady Sona was, unfortunately, planned to be a victim. My compulsion knew no bounds.” He curled his hands in and out. “But when I first heard Lady Sona play, I felt the peace I’ve always wanted. For once, I knew silence.” He couldn’t imagine the look on Lestara’s face when he was going to tell her what he did afterwards. “After finding out that her music was the answer, I realized that my desire for peace probably wouldn’t be granted. So I went to the grove to kill her.”

“But I stopped him!” Sona immediately continued. “When he explained to me what my music does, I offered him to stay and listen, if that was what soothed him. I also told him to come visit me in the grove again the next day.”

Lestara’s eyes moved back and forth from Jhin to Sona. “Tell me, what did you see in him?”

Sona paused. “I saw him swallowed by a darkness that clawed at the light he held onto. I saw a man who never wanted this darkness but accepted it helplessly.” Her eyes found Jhin’s hunched over figure. “I wanted to help him.” She then reached under the table to pat his hand in reassurance. “We eventually kept meeting… and we did become friends at some point. But then…”

“I fell in love with Lady Sona,” Jhin finished. “At first, it was only her music that provided me peace. But as we got to know each other more, I began to trust in her. I trusted her to the point of revealing my face and my name—my real name. Lady Sona herself became the answer I was searching for. I love her with all my heart.”

“And you, Sona?” Lestara asked.

“I love him, mother. He understands me, never having forced me to do anything against my will. He soothes my own dissonance with whatever he can do, and I feel secure in his presence. He fills the silence within me.” She cupped her hands together on her lap to calm herself. “He’s changed for the better, mother. I love him so much.”

Her mother was silent. She was considering everything she had heard from Shen and Zed and now from Jhin and Sona. “Do you know what kind of morals that we Demacians uphold in our society?”

Jhin paused to think. “Demacia upholds benevolence and fair justice for all. I’ve heard that people who have committed crimes or viewed others as expendables were punished.”

Lestara smiled. “Yes, and we see malice and selfishness against the morals of our society.” She crossed her leg over her other leg. “From what I’m hearing, you lack those two traits to be considered an enemy of Demacia. Despite your past of crimes, I’ve observed that you are, in fact, kind and polite towards my daughter and other people, as she says. And you treat my daughter with such a dedicated love.”

Sona was staring at Lestara in surprise. “Mother, does that mean…”

“I will accept him for who he is and what he has done in the past on one condition,” Lestara said. “I want him to show me proof that he has control over his compulsion. If he has really changed as you say, then I expect to see evidence of it.” She leaned back with a smile. “Someone from Piltover was talking to me earlier while you were interviewed, Sona. They wanted to sponsor you for a concert there in a few weeks after they saw your finale. They specifically asked that you perform it again there.”

Jhin and Sona exchanged glances.

“You are free to accept or refuse. But if you accept, he will have to come with us.”

Nodding in overwhelming gratitude, Sona embraced her mother tightly. “I want to go. Will you go too?” she asked Jhin.

“How could I say refuse?” Jhin chuckled. “I humbly accept your condition to prove myself before you, Lady Buvelle. However,” he gestured outside, where they would’ve seen the Ionican council building if the curtains weren’t closed, “I must take care of some loose ends so I am not tracked and can ensure both your and Lady Sona’s safety.”

Lestara hummed in thought. “May I ask what methods you will be using to tie up those loose ends?”

Jhin smiled reassuringly. “Without killing, I assure you. I will be entrusting Lady Sona with my weapon for extra measure. It will take me a few days, but I must cut all ties with the council without leaving a trace. I will be making my way to Piltover as soon as it’s all been taken care of.”

“I suppose I can work with that,” Lestara said as she extended a hand out to Jhin. He took her hand and shook it firmly. “We will be leaving within the next three days, depending on when the next ship to Piltover arrives.”

“While it is a shame I will not be able to go with you both, I will make sure to follow within a week.”

“Alright. It’s rather late, so I will be getting ready to sleep.” She looked at Sona, who was patiently waiting for something. “If you’d like to take a stroll, do it now before it gets too late.” Seeing her daughter’s face light up made her chuckle as she sent the two outside the room.

“Mother. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Lestara gave Sona an approving nod. “Anything for your happiness, my dear daughter.”

Jhin and Sona were strolling around the neighborhood under the stars. “I was expecting something much worse,” Jhin confessed. “It’s strange that I was almost anticipating her to report me to the authorities.”

“I’ve said it before, but mother is reasonable to an empathetic extent. She’s not one to focus on someone’s past as long as they’re a changed person today,” Sona signed. “I’m just happy that she accepted you to some degree.” She slid her hand under Jhin’s, holding it tightly.

They spent the next few minutes walking in silence, listening to each other’s breathing and steps on the stone pavement.

“I know I’ve said it many times already, but I apologize for tonight.” Jhin’s grip tightened around Sona’s hand. “I could have sparked a disaster from what would have been my biggest mistake. But what’s worse is that I caused you so much heartbreak because of what I’ve done.” He looked up at the stars and watched them twinkle in the dark.

Sona brought their intertwined fingers to her lips to indicate her forgiveness. She didn’t want to let his hand go. She wanted him to stay with her like this.

“But thank you for stopping me. I feel… so much more different, like the compulsion wouldn’t overtake me like that again.” A smiled flashed across his face before a frown replaced it. “If, if that ever happens again, I will let you know the moment I feel it. While I’m more confident that it won’t come back now that I feel nothing towards Shen and Zed, life can still be unpredictable and uncertain.”

Of course she would do everything in her power to help him heal once again.

Always.

The only indication of her answer was her tightly holding onto Jhin’s arm and leaving a kiss on his bare skin.

A large ship stood out among the others on the docks, the technology used to construct it apparent in the design and function as it floated in the water. It was indeed a ship directly from Piltover that anyone would recognize. Merchants from Piltover and Ionia hurriedly dragged their belongings up and down the walkway of the ship.

Shen stood beside Sona and Jhin, waiting for Lestara to come back with the ship’s schedule. “A concert in Piltover? You would be in for a sight, Lady Sona. I’ve visited a few times, and I feel it’s getting more impressive each day.” He chuckled. “Though, I don’t think they’re a match for the lush nature of Ionia.”

Sona giggled. “Ionia is my homeland. I will always find it more beautiful than anything else.”

Jhin remained silent as the two exchanged words. He was in disguise to prevent any spies of the council from noticing him. Sona left to the docks on her mother’s request.

“Lady Sona tells me that you have something you wish to say to me, actor,” Shen referenced to Jhin. “Something about the council?”

“Yes. You and Zed seem to be under the notion that I escaped from Tuula Prison,” he replied in a quiet voice. “But in reality, the cabal within the council is who freed me and tried to use me as a weapon to instill terror in the hearts of Noxians.” He looked up at Shen, who had narrowed his eyes in shock. “You may already be aware of the corruption within the council. But you won’t get anywhere if you don’t start with the cabal. They are the ones controlling the darkness within Ionia, or in your words, creating the imbalance between the people here.”

The ninja was silent. “Why are you telling me this?”

The corner of Jhin’s lips tugged into a smile. “As someone who will cut ties with the council, I obviously cannot do it. And I vowed to her that I would never kill anyone ever again.”

“Is that why you won’t be following them today?”

“I must make sure the council does not track me once they realize I have become… inactive in their line of work.”

“You truly are not the man I once knew you to be, actor,” Shen said. “You’ve changed. I was able to fully confirm it from the way you danced with Lady Sona last night.”

Jhin felt a chuckle in his throat. “This is who I’ve always wanted to be.” He gazed at Sona’s figure, her skirt flowing beautifully in the wind. “I just never had the opportunity until she came. She is my love, my muse.”

Shen watched him with a curious eye. It was difficult to believe that the man he’s been chasing for so many years was now standing beside him with a peaceful outlook. That the man he’s been chasing for so many years now wanted nothing more than a tranquil life with the woman he loved.

“Unbelievable, I know,” Jhin said as if he heard Shen’s thoughts.

“But it is the truth, and I am not one to turn away from it.” Shen then stepped back. “I must go. If what you say about the council is true, I must act now. The Kinkou Order will be the ones to take on this imbalance and set it straight.” He began to disappear in purple light. “Please relay my goodbye to them for me.”

Sona soon returned after speaking to her mother. She looked around for Shen. “Did he leave already?”

“He had some matters to take care of. But he did ask me to pass on his farewells to you and your mother.” He noticed Lestara speaking to the ship’s captain with their bags by her feet. “I’m assuming the ship will depart soon.”

“It will be leaving in half an hour, actually. But the captain wants us to board in the next fifteen minutes.” Sona smiled under the shadow of her sunhat. “I wanted to talk to you one more time before we left.”

Jhin smiled back in mild amusement. “About what?”

“Things.” Sona shrugged and strummed a giggle at her vague answer. “Did you tell Shen what you needed to?”

“I have. I think you were right in telling him about it.” A calm silence settled between them as they looked out over the sea. The breeze was nice and cool against their skin as it blew past. For once, Jhin was able to hear the world properly. The sounds of the ocean waves washing up on the sand, the fisherman scrambling to haul in their catch, the bells ringing to indicate the ship’s departure… It was such a pleasant experience.

Sona let out a soft sigh. She never thought her initial desire to practice her magic in the grove would eventually lead to this. She tucked a stray lock of her aqua hair behind her ear as her other hand found solace in Jhin’s. They kept quiet as they watched flocks of seagulls fly past the sails of ships over the glittering ocean waves.

A small laughter then broke out from Jhin’s lips. “Didn’t you say you wanted to talk earlier?”

Sona shrugged again and held onto his hand tighter. She didn’t feel a need to talk when he was by her side to enjoy the view together. She turned to Jhin, whose eyes glittered from the sunlight reflecting on the water. She leaned in closer and kissed him on the cheek.

“A surprise attack, I see.” Jhin raised a brow at her teasingly.

Her eyes seemed to smile with so much bliss as she leaned in again to place another kiss on his lips this time. He kissed her back gently and cupped her face. Their arms found each other in an embrace, laughing softly against each other’s skin.

“Who would have thought it’d end like this?” he whispered happily into her shoulder.

#league of legends #jhinxsona #khada jhin #sona buvelle #rosywrites #like a rose #y'all this is 5680 words #i'm so sorry to the mobile users jfc #last chapter folks!!#but no worries!#we still have an epilogue left ;)#also hi daffy #yes i did use that reference :p

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tales-of-a-fallen-star · 7 years

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Fire and Ice - Chapter 1

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Drama Pairings: Ignis Scientia/ Original Female Character Characters: Noctis Lucis Caelum, Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia, Prompto Argentum, Cassidy Eira Notitia Words: 2676 Read it on AO3 here

(A/N): GUYS, I FINALLY MADE IT! I’ve finally written down the first chapter of this story (only took me about 5 weeks, lol.) For real though, I’m so glad that I was finally able to put this, somewhat to my liking, into words and that I can finally share Cassidy’s journey with you. I can only hope that you will love her just as much as I do.

Finally I want to thank @ffxvhoe not only for editing and reading this chapter, but also for giving me the last push of motivation to finally put this into words by creating this awesome moodboard for Cassidy and also for inspiring me with all her amazing writing. I also want to thank all the other amazingly talented writers in this fandom who inspire me on a daily basis, @atarostarling, @ka-za-ri , @alicemoonwonderland and @antiloquist, just to name a few. Anyway, enough talk, let’s get started!

The sun was just about to rise when Ignis left their hotel room at Galdin Quay. He played with the thought of waking up his companions but decided against it. Instead, he took a little stroll down the beach so he could have some time for himself and appreciate the beautiful landscape around him to its fullest.

As he walked over the wooden bridge, which lead to the parking lot where they left the Regalia, he stretched his arms ever so slightly. He let his gaze wander over the ocean beside him, the last few glowing barrel fish slowly floating around in it. He inhaled the sea breeze and closed his eyes for a moment to listen carefully to the sounds around him.There was the sound of the waves closing in on the shore, the wind blowing over the sea and the land, the calls of a few sea gulls flying not too far away.

Ignis walked down the beach and watched the sun rise in the sky, painting it in hues of pinks and yellows. A brief glance at his wristwatch told Ignis that it was time to return to the room. On his way back he made a quick stop at the little shop beside the parking lot to retrieve the morning newspaper. The calm and peaceful morning took a drastic turn as he read the headline.

“INSOMNIA FALLS”

Ignis’s eyes widened in disbelief. He looked at all the other newspapers but they all said the same. His mind began to race. How could this be? How did this happen? The questions raced through his mind with lightning speed. To stop himself from making any premature assumptions he began to read the article, but it did nothing to soothe his mind. He couldn’t help the tears that began to well up his eyes nor could he control the slight shaking of his hands.

In a matter of moments everything and everyone Ignis knew seemed to have perished. His home city, his King, his uncle, all the remaining family he had, his…

Ignis closed his eyes at the thought, causing the tears in his eyes to silently roll down his face. It took him some time to calm down again, to regain his composure. He had to deliver the dreadful news to Noctis and the others, a task that did not come easily to him, but he had no other choice. With slow and careful steps he made his way back to the resort, the stewards at the entrance greeting him with a cheerful “Welcome to Galdin Quay!” He was barely clear-headed enough to return their gesture with a brief nod of his head.

With a heavy heart Ignis stood in front of the door to their room. In his mind he went through all the possible things he could say, how he could explain to Noctis that his father is no longer among them and that the Empire betrayed them, all of them - the entire kingdom. Ignis collected himself once more before opening the door. His gaze immediately turned in Noctis’s direction, who by the looks of it had just woken up.

“What’s that look for?” the young prince enquired casually and Ignis just dropped his head a bit and averted his gaze. Ignis thought it best to just get it out as soon as possible.

“It’s in all the papers.” He mumbled while handing the newspaper in his hand over to Gladio.

“What is?” Noctis asked, curiosity as well as a hint of panic lacing his voice at Ignis’s tone.

Prompto leaned over Gladio’s shoulder to look at the newspaper.

“Insomnia…falls?”

“What? This your idea of a joke?” the young prince snapped.

“I need you to calm down so I can explain-” Ignis began but Noctis approached him quickly, the rage clearly visible on his face.

“I’m as calm as I’m gonna get!”

“There was an attack. The imperial army has taken the Crown City,” Ignis stated trying to hide the sorrow that creeped up into his tone. He couldn’t even look into Noctis’s eyes.

“As treaty room tempers flared, blasts lit the night sky. When the smoke about the Citadel had cleared, the King was found…dead,” Gladio began to read aloud. “The floor of the treaty room was covered with the corpses of the King’s most trusted advisers and counsellors, along with most of their families who attended the signing ceremony.”

“No, wait, hold on-“ Noctis began to stammer but Ignis interfered.

“We had no way of knowing.”

“What? Knowing what?”

“That the signing was last night, that Insomnia-” Ignis began to say but this time Noctis was the one to interrupt him.

“But the wedding - Altissia!”

“I know ! That was the plan, yet the reports of the invasion are all the same. How could every headline in the kingdom be wrong?” Ignis lowered his gaze to the floor once more, desperately trying to hold back his tears so as to not break in front of his friends. He wanted to cling to the hope that all of this was a ruse but his mind was too rational to let that happen.

For a moment none of them said a word. They all needed to comprehend the shocking news. But then realisation sank into Prompto’s mind.

“Wait… the counsellors and their families? Does that mean that Cassidy…?” Prompto began but as he saw the sorrow in Ignis’s posture; how he clenched his fists and how his face contorted into a deep frown. The blonde did not dare to finish that sentence.

“I… don’t know. I tried to call her but to no avail.” Ignis tried to state it as neutrally as he could but his unspoken thoughts hang in the room and their weight dragged all of them down further. Noctis looked at his advisor and he felt a pang of guilt in his chest for snapping at Ignis earlier. The young prince put a hand on Ignis’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, earning him a sad smile.

“What else do we know?” Gladio enquired but all Ignis could respond with was a slight shake of his head.

“Well, then we can’t be sure until we see it with our own eyes,” Gladio stated matter-of-factly, though in truth he wanted - he needed - the confirmation that all of this was false. If the King truly was dead then so was Gladio’s father, Clarus Amicitia, the King’s Shield.

“Then that means we’re going back to Insomnia?” Prompto asked carefully.

“Might not be safe for us there,” Ignis chided.

Prompto was quick to retort: “Might not be safe for us here!” and even Ignis couldn’t deny that argument. They all - especially Noctis - contemplated the thought of going back. They needed to know if what the article was saying really was true, but was it worth the risk of being ambushed by imperial troops?

The silence in the room grew heavier and heavier until Gladio was the one to finally break it. “Turn back?” he asked Noctis, who’d pulled himself out of his chair, determination set on his face.

“Yeah,” He answered before walking out of the room.

——- EIGHT MONTHS BEFORE THE FALL ——-

The feeling of having solid ground beneath her feet again was pure bliss. After being trapped on that ferry for far too long, and the ghastly, nauseating sea sickness which established itself in the pit of her stomach only a few minutes after they took off, Cassidy welcomed the wooden docks of Galdin Quay with open arms. She almost wanted to fall down to her knees and kiss the ground, but her composure and better judgement put a quick end to that train of thought. Instead she thanked Leviathan, the goddess of the sea, that she did not decide to let loose a devastating storm while the ferry crossed the sea between Accordo and Lucis, which had probably spared Cassidy from throwing up over the rail.

“Next time I’ll just swim from Altissia to Galdin Quay…” she thought. At least then she could enjoy a bit more of the sea. Cassidy actually quite loved it, especially the breathtaking view it offered.

It was early evening now and the sun was already drawing closer to the horizon, sheathing the land and the ocean around Cassidy in a golden hue. In front of her she saw the warm lights of the Galdin Quay resort and its famous restaurant, the Mother of Pearl, which was widely known for its exquisite cuisine, even back in Altissia. Cassidy admired the architectural structures of the building, considering she never saw something like it before as she was only used to the grand, ornamented buildings of the narrow streets of Altissia. Of course Altissia was an absolutely beautiful and stunning city, only a fool would say otherwise, but after living there for a bit more than sixteen years of her life Cassidy couldn’t help but appreciate the change of scenery.

Once all the luggage of the passengers has been loaded onto the dock, a steward of the resort approached Cassidy. He asked if Cassidy wanted to check in now, and if she needed any help with her luggage. Cassidy gratefully accepted his assistance and gave him a generous tip when they arrived at her room. Now, finally alone, she let out a relieved sigh as she fell onto the soft bed and felt the silky sheets underneath her fingers. Convinced that the hardest and most unpleasant part of her journey was behind her, Cassidy grew excited for her car drive the next morning that would take her to Insomnia. Home.

Could she really call it home, though? Of course, Cassidy was born in the Crown City of Lucis but she could hardly remember a thing about it - not even the street she used to live on. All she could remember from her life in Lucis was her childhood bedroom in the Notitia Manor. Its black and white marble walls with the swirling, golden inlays. The white, wooden floor. Her queen-sized four-poster bed with the crystal-clear skylight right above it, which let in the morning sun in just the right angle to wake her up with the rising sun. She remembered how, on occasion, her father would come into her room when she was still asleep to wake her up. “Good morning, little princess,” he would say before gently scooping her up in his arms and spinning her around the room until their laughter echoed through the entire room and the hallway outside.

Other than that, Cassidy only remembered living in Altissia together with her nanny, Athena. Oh Athena, how much it hurt Cassidy to leave her behind to go to Insomnia. Athena was the one who’d taught Cassidy everything; her manners and how to behave properly, how to bake myriads of pastries and sweets. Athena even taught Cassidy how to fight and defend herself. The kind-hearted woman always tried to teach Cassidy how to wield a variety of weapons, but Cassidy had a an affinity for bows, twin swords, and daggers. Athena lectured the young Cassidy on sharpen one’s instinct all the time and how instinct is one of the key components when it comes to fighting enemies with unknown weaknesses.

“You need to stay alert at all times. Analyse the enemy’s movements and find their weak spots. Trust me, Cassidy, your instincts and your wit will always be far more crucial to winning a battle than anything else. Technique and strength alone won’t save you in combat.” Athena could be strict, but she always treated Cassidy as if she were her own daughter, and Cassidy always thought of her like a mother.

A sudden pang went through Cassidy’s heart. Her mother, another thing she had no memories of, only pictures and photographs. Cassidy’s mother, Elaine Anima Notitia, was a former member of the Crownsguard and died when Cassidy was only 3 years old. It was during an attack on a small village in Cleigne, lead by the Empire. At least that’s all her father ever wanted to say.

Tears started to well up in her eyes. She wished she could remember her face not only from pictures, she wished she could remember the sound of her voice. Before she started crying, she swallowed the sadness spreading in her chest up to her throat, as she collected herself and hopped off her bed to take a shower and to rest until the next morning. She knew it did not do any good to dwell in the past, and it was not like she was alone in the world. After all she would see her father again tomorrow, after all these years, and she looked forward to it.

When Cassidy left her room the next morning and walked to the reception, a man already waited for her there. In his hand he held a sign which had her middle name, ‘Eira’, written on it and Cassidy knew it must’ve been one of her father’s drivers. When it came to safety and security measures her father became a bit paranoid, hence why they used her middle name as a ‘code’. In her father’s defence, his position put a big target on his back as well as on the people closest to him, which included his daughter. After all, he was Darius Parvulus Notitia, the High Counsellor of King Regis’s council. Her father was - besides the King himself of course - one of the most powerful men in Lucis, and thus a likely target for the Empire. She assumed after he lost her mother he didn’t want to risk losing his daughter as well. This probably was also the reason why he sent Cassidy to Altissia.

The driver greeted her with a curt bow and asked if he should take her luggage to the car and she thanked him for his assistance. One of the stewards of the resort helped the driver as well and all that was left for Cassidy to carry was her own purse. She remained a bit at the reception and looked around, trying to remember this place as best as she could. The atmosphere was quite enchanting after all. She wished she could stay a bit longer, maybe take a quick stroll down the beach or a short dip into the ocean. Cassidy let out a sigh and promised herself to come back here one day and discover all the hidden gems of this place.

As she left the resort and walked down the bridge towards the parking lot she took out her phone and started typing a quick message to her father that she would soon be on her way to Insomnia. When she walked down the staircase to the parking lot, completely engrossed by her phone, she collided with someone else. A flush of embarrassment spread across her cheeks.

“Oh, Astrals, I’m so sorry. I didn’t pay any attention to my surroundings,” She exclaimed as she looked up into the stranger’s face. She met his gaze and took in a sharp breath as she studied his features. His face was framed by wine-coloured locks, giving his amber eyes a nice contrast, and a slight smirk spread across his lips.

“No need to worry, my dear. I’m just as much to blame as you are,” He professed as he tipped his hat to her and shot her a very charismatic smile. Cassidy couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous around this man. His low but charming voice and his intense gaze made her feel a bit uncomfortable.

“N-no, it’s fine. Again, my apologies, but I…should be going now. A good day to you, Sir,” She stammered out before giving the man a quick curtsy and almost running towards the car where her father’s driver waited for her.

The man looked after her, his charming smile from before turning into an evil grin as he watched the young woman leave the parking lot in the safety of her car.

“And to you, Miss Notitia…” he muttered before letting out a deep chuckle.

#ffxv fan fiction #ffxv #fire and ice #cassidy eira notitia #ignis scientia #ignis scientia x oc #my work #my stories #still can't believe this is happening you guys

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