#cannot stop thinking about it. he belongs in the heart locket

[draykin2]

[littlemisssquiggles]

Pinehead Headcanons: Oscar's Dreamscape: The Garden of Two Lovers

@miki-13 asked "Okay I know we didn't get a lot of Oscar backstory, but I really do think that after the V8 finale, there's a new avenue to explore with Oscar. Why? Because as far as he knows, his friends, partner and love interest are dead. The people he's grown to care for over the course of V5-8 are suddenly gone. There's no way that's not gonna hurt him, even if Ozpin assures him that they're not dead. Because either way, he's been forcibly separated from them.

Heck, this could actually open up an avenue for him to talk about his own family life and why he lives with his aunt. Not to mention one of his allusions is to The Little Prince and he just arrived in a desert after leaving his Rose behind, and the whole story deals with death in general.

Actually, maybe that's how Oscar gets his semblance/ branches out with his magic! He wants to find the people he loves so badly and refuses to give up on them, that he finds a way to get the void/ communicate with them and possibly find a way to lay the groundwork for bringing them back!

Squiggles Answers:

Hey there Miki-chan. Pardon the late reply but I wanted to reserve my response to this as a new Pinehead headcanon post considering that, ironically, you and I share the same thoughts and theories about Oscar reaching out.

The idea I had is that Oscar would be able to connect to Ruby in the Other World in his dreams. Once again, I return to my old Oscar’s Dreamscape Pinehead headcanon from donkey years ago. Essentially, through his unyielding love for his rose and his deep desires to reunite with her again in some shape or form, Oscar unintentionally creates the Dreamscape.

And what the Dreamscape is is that it is this magical place that transcends reality and only exists through the shared bond between Oscar and Ruby. Picture a shallow stagnant sea that mirrors an endless sunset sky. A perfect blend of the warm embrace of the sun and the tranquil beauty of the moon that paves the path towards a small garden that sits in the middle of this mysterious magical place.

And it is in this garden where Oscar meets Ruby in his dreams and vice versa.

Remember how it was said that the Little Prince fairy-tale ended ambiguously with the reader never knowing the truth of the prince’s fate after he was poisoned by the snake and “went to sleep”.

Some iteration believed the prince to have died and gone back to his home planet in spirit to be with his rose while another interpretation described the Prince returning home only to discover that his rose had died in his absence without him present to take care of her.

Either way, the allusion is that the prince does indeed reunite with his rose but in a manner that is still tragic when you look at it. Going off of that, this is why I love the concept of Oscar connecting to Ruby in sleep with the two meeting and communicating with each other in their dreams through unknown power originated from Oscar. Only it’s NOT exactly a semblance. Nor is it exactly magic either.

One of my favourite quotes from the Lost Fable episode back in V6 is when Jinn described a power much greater than magic that caused Salem and Ozma to recognize one another in their new lives.

“…Call it magic or call it something stronger, but in that moment, the two knew exactly who stood before them…”

In the Lost Fable, Jinn made it seem as if loveis an element more powerful than even the likes of magic; as cheesy as that might sound. So if love is able to transcend life and death to cause two kindred souls to recognize each other in another life in another time time, what’s stopping it from transcending worlds to bring together another pair of kindred souls?

So as corny as this is going to sound, the hopeless romantic in me cannot help but swoon over the thought of love being what creates the Dreamscape and/or brings Ruby and Oscar together in such a place that only they can traverse.

It is a power that was born from Ruby and Oscar’s shared love for one another and desire to reunite with each other and thus it’s a power that only they share together. The Rosegarden in the Dreamscape is theirs.

In the beginning, on the first night the two reunite in their dreams, the Dreamscape was believed to be solely of Oscar’s doing but in reality, it was a special new world that belonged to both the little prince and his true rose alone.

Okay, hear me out with this one. The reason why I’m thinking the Dreamscape was believed to be Oscar’s power alone in the beginning was because when it all started, the Dreamscape mainly reacted to Oscar. On his end, let’s say…Oscar wished so desperately to see Ruby again that unbeknownst to him; the Dreamscape was forged just so Oscar could accomplish his heart’s wish---to see his rose.

Thus, Oscar is able to see Ruby in their dreams and she in turn is able to see and talk to him between worlds but only in sleep. However, that is extent of the Dreamscape through Oscar’s influence. The two can communicate but they can’t physically touch or feel one another.

Because I have this idea of Ruby and Oscar growing closer to each other than they’ve ever been before since they’re able to meet in Dreamscape. However it’s also this painful thing where despite being together in their dreams, they’re still not together when they are constantly reminded that they can’t touch each other.

Like imagine a moment where the two rosebuds are bonding in the Dreamscape, trying to come up with way to reunite together, swapping backstories and secrets about themselves with each other that they’ve never told anyone else only for one of them---mainly Oscar--- to get lost in the euphoria of the moment and attempt to reach out and touch the other person only to be painfully reminded, that they’re not truly there. They’re still separated despite how close the Dreamscape has brought them.

The only time when the Dreamscape is actually able is to make Ruby and Oscar interact physically is when that becomes Ruby’s wish.

Okay, hear me out again.

I have this scenario in my head where Oscar suffers a mental breakdown as a result of being poisoned during an encounter with Tyrian Callows. Remember how Tyrian’s venom caused Qrow to suffer and hallucinate back in V4?

Well picture something similar with Oscar where he falls into a sort of light coma as a result of being poisoned. Let’s say…as a result of the venom, Oscar is transported to the Dreamscape where ALL of his inner demons---the true feeling and fears he’s been suppressing for a long time---suddenly manifest inside this world to torment him and berate him.

And let’s say…on the other end, in the Other World, Ruby becomes worried for Oscar’s well-being when he doesn’t make contact with her in the Dreamscape for some time. And let’s say…due to her connection with Oscar, which became stronger as a result of them bonding in the dream world, Ruby is able to sense when something is wrong with Oscar due to her having a weird feeling in her chest. Almost as if her heart was beckoning her somewhere else. To take her to the person she wanted to see who needed her help. Or something like that.

In a nutshell, Ruby is able to enter the Dreamscape on her own through her connection with Oscar. At first, Ruby mostly relied on Oscar to bring her to the Dreamscape but when Oscar was in trouble, Ruby used their link to take her there as an alternative means.

To make a long theory short, Ruby arrives in the Dreamscape to find the once magical dream world in dark chaos ---basically imagine being on the outside of a tornado.

The Dreamscape had turned into a rampant storm to reflect Oscar’s darkest inner emotions which were spiralling out of control before Ruby’s very eyes.

Remember how in Steven Universe, in the episode that debuted the “Here Comes A Thought” song, remember how Steven’s true feelings about Jasper, Bismuth and his mother started to manifest before him and Connie while they were fused as Stevonnie during training?

Picture a moment like that with Oscar in the Dreamscape where Oscar’s fears take form---at first taking on the appearance of Oscar’s old self dressed in his old farm boy attire belittling Oscar for leaving home to be among people who he didn’t fully believe trusted or even actually cared him---unearthing Oscar’s thoughts and repressed emotions from the events of V6.

Then the Dreamscape manifests Ironwood to belittle Oscar for his repressed emotions from the events of V7. Then it transforms into Salem to taunt and humiliate Oscar over his repressed trauma as a result of being her prisoner during the events of V8 and being tortured.

You get what I’m saying, right? Whatever Oscar has been repressing for so long, the Dreamscape manifests it as a being of spite to through it all back in Oscar’s face when he was most vulnerable. Finally, as Ruby enters the fray, the Dreamscape takes on a new form.

Here’s another concept to toss onto the Fake Rose table. Imagine if…the Fake Rose isn’t another silver eyed warrior or rose-themed person who takes an interest in Oscar.

What if…the Fake Rose is actually a replica of Ruby manifested by the Dreamscape to reveal Oscar’s true feelings and fears in respect to Ruby?

Assuming that you’re an ole-school Potterhead like yours truly Miki-chan, remember the last book/movie?

Remember that one scene in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows involving the locket? Remember how the locket made an apparition of Harry and Hermione appear before Ron to voice his jealousy and inferiority when compared to Harry especially in the eyes of Hermione who he believed loved Harry over him.

Picture something like that with a Fake Ruby Rose---Mocking Oscar over his “childish” love for his rose, as if he actually stood a chance of being with her given the Merge and any other insecurities that Oscar secretly harboured that he’d supressed for so long.

Picture that. Imagine…something like that happening so that it could ultimately lead into Ruby denouncing ever fear of Oscar’s voiced by her fake copy as this rose---the one true rose did her best to comfort her prince.

It’s a moment where Ruby words unfortunately don’t reach Oscar. Thus, Ruby tries to one way she’s always reached out to him. Through a gentle comforting touch. In that moment, Ruby wishes for Oscar to feelher there beside him.

To feel her arms wrapped around him and the warmth of the hug she dared to give him since she wanted more than anything to be able to comfort him through the storm. And for a second time, through the power of love (mixed in with just a smidge of their share magic inherited from the God of Light possibly), the Dreamscape grants Ruby’s wish and Oscar is able to feel her for the first time since they met in the dream world. To feel her arms around him as she embraced him tightly with all the love and care for him she could channel in that moment.

And just like that, all becomes calm as the storm disappeared; softening to a gentle breeze against a beautifully sunlit sky; revealing two hearts embraced; once seperated but now together at long last in the world of their own created from their shared love.

Basically picture the Dreamscape as this magical world brought to life by the love and heart’s desires of two star-crossed lovers separated by fate and lost to two realities. Thus the Dreamscape mirrors the feelings and grants the desires of these two lovers since they are the rulersof said world as its creators. Thus it is a world that is only attainable by them. A world of their own. A world of dreams to grant the wishes of two lost souls in love.

I’d love to go more in depth into this revised Dreamscapeidea of mine for the Rosegarden pair. However for the time being, this is concept that I have in mind and is all that I have to share for now. What do you think?

~ LittleMissSquiggles (2021)

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.15

Jealousy Incarnate

11/09/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 6,639

Warnings: language, angst, pining, fluff, jealousy, confused Peter Parker

A/N: Oh man, I’ve had a WEEK. My pain flared up out of nowhere and then I just couldn’t focus my brain. It was hell to get this chapter out, not because I didn’t want to but I just couldn’t. It rarely happens but I just couldn’t concentrate. Anyway, I hope you like this one. Things are...changing. Let me know what you think! As this story gets so many comments, I cannot reply to all of them but I DO read them all. I will try and respond to some of them. I love y’all so much. You mean the world to me. If you happen to reblog, thanks for helping me spread my work! xoxo

TAGS ARE CLOSED FOR THIS STORY!

You didn’t know you could be this angry. This hurt. This…jealous?

The festering boil that Maggie’s constant mention had brought, you thought, had been done away with.

True to his word, Steve did everything in his power to show you that it was you and only you.

As you’d begun your descent through the castle's pretty dark oak hallways, warm wooden walls lined with portraits and colorful tapestries, you’d almost made up your mind to pull him aside and just give in.

Love him as you were meant to. As you’ve been wanting to do.

You've been feeling less and less apprehensive with his Majesty and you’re just about ready to welcome him back into your bed.

Back into your life, properly. As your husband.

You still need to tell him about the baby too. Another month gone and you still haven’t told him, and your belly is just starting to swell.

You reach down and give it a quick caress over your dress, fingers tracing the delicate and ornate embroidery of the firm black bodice. The orange silk shirt underneath with it’s ruffled and off the shoulder neckline keep you cool in the last heatwave of autumn before true winter comes. Does it snow here? You aren’t sure.

The gray skirt is light weight, flowing around you like a gossamer cloud with only the faintest hints of black thunder within.

Around your neck you’re wearing your locket. Carefully you reach up to fix it as you head for the garden, where you know his Majesty will be.

He goes every day to walk the space, wondering if today will be the day you come down, or so he says.

You’ve tried to catch glimpse of him in the weeks past and you do see him wandering around in the afternoons.

Today you’re sure is the day to forgive him. Truly forgive him. For everything. Today, you and his Majesty can start all over again. Today is the day that your new life begins.

Turning into the garden, your feet stutter as you watch his Majesty walk towards the hedge and flower maze entrance, his wide shoulders relaxed. He has his hands held behind his back, but his face is happy, smiling, not a care in the world it seems.

Not even for you.

Despite his proclamations of coming down here to wait for you, there he goes, walking side by side with a blonde woman who stands taller and firmer than you will ever be. Her body even through the luxurious diamond blue gown she’s wearing is clearly fit and able.

You’re no slouch but her body is ridiculous. Carefully crafted protection. You shouldn’t compare. You shouldn’t do it, but your body is swelling. Your breasts are already growing larger. The fatty places, already soft and jiggly are thickening more.

She reaches out to grab his Majesty’s bicep and gives it a squeeze as she laughs, and he laughs with her.

He’s laughing with her!

You’re not expecting the tightness in your chest at the sight of him smiling and laughing with someone else. Not pulling away when she touches him the way he’d done so many times with you.

You can still remember trying to reach for his hand on your wedding day and he’d quickly pulled his hand out of reach.

You see red and huff. Fed up.

He turns to talk to her but then as you step back, your movement seems to catch his eye.

Quickly as you can, while his smiling eyes are taking a split second to recognize you, you turn and hurry back towards the castle, moving around the garden gate and out of sight, a flurry of voile skirt following in your wake.

You hear him before you see him, heart pounding with betrayal.

Suddenly he’s on you, his hand around your wrist as you turn to look at him, confusion and hurt in your eyes.

“Y/N…” He says in thick desperation that forms a lump in your throat. “You came.”

He smiles. And you hate him all over again.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Come with me.” Nat urges you, moving to pull you up from bed.

“Nat, I’m not even dressed yet.” You complain, moving towards the basin in the corner of your room where you’ve taken to running every morning. Sometimes after midday as well.

This baby is not making your pregnancy easy.

Nat sees where you’re headed and her excitement fades as her brow furrows instead.

“You okay?” She releases your hand and instead wraps an arm around your lower back.

“I’m fine.” You chuckle, pushing her arm away.

She and grandmother have been fussing over you since she arrived, watching your every move, every pain, every dizzy spell.

“Just a bit sick to my stomach. Nothing out of the ordinary.” You assure her and stop by your table instead to pick at your breakfast.

You stare at the jam in agony, wishing you could take a bite of the strawberry delicacy that his Majesty had sent up for you two mornings ago. It was better than the last and you wish you could eat it, but the baby does not like it and so, it sits there. Ignored.

You eat only a bit of bread. Then carefully raise the cup of wormwood and mint tea, suggested by grandmother for its calming properties.

Scrunching your nose, you sip it, and relish when your stomach settles a little. The taste is not exactly your favorite, but you’ll gladly sacrifice your taste buds to stop being sick every five minutes.

“Are you sure? I can fetch Grandmother.” Nat offers, adopting the name you’ve been calling the old woman since she arrived.

“I’m sure. I’ll feel better when I can eat. I’m hungry but at the same time, I cannot stand to look at food.” You sigh, missing your jams and jellies.

“Well, let’s get you dressed.” She hurries over to your wardrobe to look at your dresses and opts for something simple.

A white gown made of flowing light fabric. It kind of looks like cotton but not quite. It’s minimal compared to the other gowns you’ve worn around the castle. Just white. No design. Only a simple ruffle around the neck to accent your bust.

“Why?” You plead without whining.

“Because I have something to show you. Something that you must see. No exceptions. I also have something for you when we get down there.” She offers ominously.

“Down where?” You ask, moving to her as she throws your dress over the back of the opposite chair at your table then holds her hands out and waits for you to stand still to strip you.

“You’ll see.” She’s grinning like a cat, and you’re suddenly terrified.

It turns out to be the garden that Nat wants to take you to.

Fresh air is just what you need, and you find that your stomach settles completely once you’re out in the open space.

“This was a good idea.” You smile, feeling at ease and better than you’ve felt since you got back.

Of course, his Majesty is always on your mind. He’s the whole reason you’ve come back.

He’s the last piece of your puzzle. The reason you don’t sleep soundly.

And yet, he’s your husband. How can someone that’s already yours drive you this mad?

“I’m glad you think so.” Nat smiles beside you, her arm wrapped around yours as she leads you down the familiar path.

The gardens are alive with the end of the season. Dragonflies glisten with pearlescent wings, birds and bees fill the air, whizzing by in the comforting breeze. The sun pimples your skin as you soak it up and your hand subconsciously moves over your still normal tummy, excited to give your baby healthy sunshine.

The air is fragrant. The endless flowers, which you now notice have been left to grow wild, paint the garden in vibrant colors.

He listened. You can’t help but think. Because you’d told his Majesty that your only criticism with the beautiful space is that everything was too well kept. Too structured.

Now the gardens have begun to resemble the wildflowers you’d napped in on rolling green hills back in Malibia.

This garden…most of it anyway, makes you feel like you’re home.

You make to turn to the left, away from Margaret’s pavilion which his Majesty had banned you from using—the only spot in this lovely place that makes you feel like an intruder still…unwelcome—but Nat pulls you to a stop and turns towards the right.

“Let’s go this way. We never go this way.” She insists, forcing her manipulation to sound like genuine pleading. You can see right through her though.

“Because there isn’t anything over there, except a place that I’m not allowed to go.” You sigh and move once more towards the left, pulling your arm from Nat's when she doesn’t move.

You get three steps before there’s a deep sigh. “Wait!”

Stopping, you turn to look at the wily Goddess and she rolls her eyes, reaching into her dress pocket to pull out a thick piece of parchment.

“What’s that?” You wonder, suddenly nervous because you know very well what it is.

“I wanted to see your face when you see it, but I suppose I should just do it his way. Here.” She offers the parchment to you looking disappointed.

“His way?” You repeat, confuse and moving back towards her.

Taking the folded piece, you open it up and stare down at his Majesty's familiar hand.

My Darling,

He begins, and your heart beats crazy.

I understand why you cannot see me. Rather, why you won’t see me. I have done nothing but make you feel as if you do not belong here. Such is my crime.

You frown, hating the reminder.

I didn’t know what you would come to mean to me. How could I when you came out of nowhere and struck me down like a bolt of lightning? I want you to know that I wholeheartedly regret the things I said…and did. You didn’t deserve them. I was a fool. I wish I could take them back. All of them.

Especially our wedding night. My heart is raw knowing that I hurt you that way. I love you. I can’t believe I…

From this day forth, I will do everything in my power to make sure that you know just how much you mean to me.

You’re chewing your lip furiously, anxious and somehow grateful for the words he’s written but only time will tell how well he can keep that promise.

This is your home, sweetheart. You’re my one and only from now until our dying day. Forgive me for making you feel as if you had to compete with someone else.

The funny thing is, you can see the intent behind his words even though he only half means them.

You can tell that he means them in the sense that you are his future. He loves you as his current wife. The woman who will be the mother of his children though, he doesn’t know that yet.

In that sense, he means it, but he also meant every word about Margaret. He loved her to death and when she died, he fell apart. He ceased to function.

She had a part of him that you can never touch. Not in the same way and you feel slightly sad that he feels he must bury that down to make you happy.

He should make you happy just as you want to make him happy, but that doesn’t mean you like the way he’s going about it. You’d much rather he be open with you, no matter how painful hearing about Margaret might be.

Maybe so long as he doesn’t compare you, then you’ll be okay?

I hope this small gesture will prove to you that I mean what I say. I’ve instructed Nat to take you.

You’ve been walking down the pathway towards the opening with the pavilion and suddenly it springs out of the greenery.

You gasp, completely thrown by the fact that Margaret’s red daisies are gone and in their place are what must be hundreds and hundreds of pale pink and peach peonies.

They rustle in the breeze, wafting sweet fragrance towards you threatening to knock you off your feet with how much you want to swoon.

With shallow breath, a gasp of air you hadn’t realized you’d been depriving yourself of, you look back down at the letter.

For the one that I crushed. I am the biggest moron in the twelve Kingdoms.

I love you, Y/N. Believe me or not, it does not change the fact that it’s true. Never forget that I am waiting.

I will wait forever if I must, patiently. Longingly. Desperately waiting for you to love me and this time I will gladly let you.

Yours forever,

His Majesty King Steve G. Rogers

You don’t know what to do. You want to cry because you’re so happy, but you also want to laugh because this letter is everything you’ve wanted him to tell you. You’re angry because it isn’t in person, but you have only yourself to blame for that.

You begged him to stay away and you do still want him to keep his distance. But you wish you could look into his eyes and see if he means these things he’s writing.

“Y/N?” Nat checks, peeking around a small hedge. “You okay?”

You turn to her and nod, smiling lightly as tears glisten between your lashes but do not fall.

“I…Why couldn’t he be like this from the start?” You sigh, looking down at your letter and then looking up at the peonies standing in pleasing contrast against the dark stone of the little build.

Nat sighs. “I think he wanted to.”

You look at her, not believing her one bit. “But…”

“I think that’s exactly what made him mean. Steve has always been one for commitment. For duty and honor and marrying you was not exactly his choice. I’m not saying that he isn’t glad he did it, but the council pushed him to marry quickly. Before he was ready to let go of Maggie.

“I don’t think he was expecting to like you as much as he did. To love you. Truly love you and also still love her. They made promises to each other when they thought that they had forever and then forever was gone. But he still made those promises and ever a man of his word, he tried to keep himself from giving in to you.” Nat smiles at you, reaching over to rub your back.

“So, what you’re saying is that he was purposefully cruel because he was in love with me and didn’t want to be?” You repeat for her.

Nat’s smile turns apologetic and you sigh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I don’t know if I can forgive him, Nat. I have had no experience in love. I was a virgin when we married. I…Thor was my first kiss. My first real one that wasn’t taken by force.” Some of the men of your village were disgusting and only a knife to the throat could deter them. “It should have been Steve. His hands should have been soft and gentle. Instead, he held me down and…”

“He knows that you need time.” Nat assures you. “But do you think you can forgive him eventually? Enough to be with him? To be his wife again?”

You lapse into silence, staring at the romantic gesture before you and notice inside the gazebo a small table has been set up with teas, biscuits, and jams.

Your heart swells, fluttering in your chest as you huff a small breath of delight.

Now that you’ve been outside for a while, you realize how hungry you are and your stomach growls loudly.

“Is he trying to overfeed me?” Your heart grows wary. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

You turn to Nat who shakes her head. “Of course not. No one but Grandmother and I know and we’re not telling anyone until you’re ready. But Y/N, you can’t keep this to yourself for long. The council will usurp Steve if he doesn’t produce an heir. You have just under five months left to announce your pregnancy and have a doctor examine you to ascertain the validity of your pregnancy.”

“I know.” You move towards the pavilion, taking in the tall steeple roof that you just now realize ends in a point made of glass. It gives view to the sky. “I just didn’t want him to love me for the baby.”

“He’s already in love with you.” Nat promises. “Baby or not. He wants you.”

“Will he be happy?” You wonder. “Truly happy? Will he regret that it isn’t with Maggie that he’s building a family? Will he love my baby as much as he would have loved hers?”

Your mouth runs on, asking the questions only your heart knows. Afraid of being second to a memory. Afraid to hear him say those words again, “Maggie wouldn’t-Maggie would-Maggie did-Maggie, Maggie, Maggie”.

“Y/N…” Nat begins.

“It’s stupid to be jealous of her. I know that.” You sit in the small padded seat and reach over to lather jam on a biscuit and take a nice big bite.

No nausea.

“When you’re ready, ask him. And I’m sure he will tell you exactly how he feels about you and your baby. His baby, Y/N.” She reminds you.

You nod. “Our baby.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s just a peek. That’s all Steve wants. Just a quick look.

He knows you came down here because Peter came to tell him.

Peter who has been moping around Steve instead of being with you and Nat as he usually is because you’ve instructed him to stay away too.

He’s right beside him now, walking silently the way the kid does.

His mouth is a different story.

“What did I do? Do you think I offended her Majesty in some way?” Peter asks, gesturing his chest over his pale green tunic. “I understand why she doesn’t want to speak with you or having you around. You were a huge ass to her. But me?”

Steve turns to glare at him, frowning as he turns back towards the smaller hidden pathway that leads to your pavilion.

“What? I didn’t do anything to make her angry.” Peter reiterates.

“No.” Steve sighs. “She might just need some space. Talk about women’s problems with Nat.”

Or tell her about things that you’d done with Thor that you didn’t want to say around Peter?

Even though Thor had assured him that he hadn’t lain with you, Steve wonders.

“You’re sure she never asked about him?” Steve questions your guard and Peter frowns at him this time.

“Why do you keep asking me?”

“I just want to be sure.” He explains. “They spent a lot of time together.”

“Your Majesty, Steve…if she wasn’t in love with you, she wouldn’t be pushing you away right now. She has to really care about you to be pissed enough to give you the cold shoulder. If she were talking to you like normal, then I think you’d have reason to worry.

“If she stops getting angry, then it means she doesn’t care.” Peter nods. “She never asked about Thor. Not to me.”

Steve stares at the kid—at twenty-two he’s not really a kid anymore but to Steve he’ll always be that massively strong little twerp that stole his shield—and realizes that he’s right.

You’re angry. Which means that you still care. Steve smiles and walks on, shifting into a semi-crouch as they get closer to a small opening in the hedge that is hidden behind a well-placed tree.

“Why are we here?” Peter asks, whispering because Steve’s crouching makes everything feel sneaky.

“I just want to see if she likes it.” Steve stops behind the tree, peeking out towards the pavilion.

All of Margaret’s red daisies are one, replaced by large, fragrant, and beautiful peonies in peach and pink shades.

His heart gives a small ache at the absence of the flower he’s associated with Maggie for almost twenty years, but then he sees you, sitting in the pavilion, smiling from ear to ear.

You’re a vision in white. No…more like a cream, with a pale green ribbon around your waist. The ruffles on your neckline accentuate your breasts and Steve’s heart gives a small ache. He wants to have you in his arms again.

Beneath him, beside him, inside you as one but properly this time. Showing you just how much he should have been worshipping your precious body from day one.

You laugh lightly, chuckling at something Nat has said then reach out to grab a biscuit and smear some jam on it.

You take a bite and the sticky pulp smears against your pretty lips.

Steve swallows hard, then his mouth falls open as he gapes at you while you lick your lips clean. Had your mouth always been so tempting?

He’d been fighting himself so hard that he had never given himself a chance to really look at you and appreciate the small details of your body. Now it’s all he sees. The way your hands elegantly curl around a tart. The gentle way you throw your head back and laugh as Nat serves your tea.

He grins when you slouch and then as if you’re remembering you shouldn’t be slouching, you suddenly sit up straight and he can see you chastising yourself silently for the slip.

He’d give anything to move to you and rub your back, assure you that you can slouch and lay back if you want to. Convention is only for when the public can see you. At least in these instances. Tiny things like this…you should be comfortable in your home.

Suddenly, he realizes that you are. Forgetting to sit up straight, laughing in the pavilion, surrounded by the flower and its fragrance that has permanently seeped into your skin and hair. You are completely at ease in this spot and he feels a pain in his gut that moves up along his ribs and into his chest carving out splinters because this should have always been yours.

He made you feel unwelcome…how can he ever make it up to you?

“Steve…?” Peter whispers, and Steve’s head inches to turn to him but when he doesn’t Steve takes the nod as assent to continue. “Do you really love her?”

For a moment, Steve can only stare at you and ask himself that same question. You lay your elbow on the back of the bench and lean your head into your hand as you take a bite once more, staring at Nat as she animatedly recounts some tale.

Your hair falls around your face, the small smile that stretches your lips is angelic. Perfection. Why did he have to wake up to your true charms so late? Why couldn’t he have given in sooner?

“I do.” He confesses.

“Because if you don’t—and you’re just using her so that you can get your heir and keep your crown-” Peter begins.

Steve rounds to look at him so quickly that Peter takes a step back, hands twitching at his side, ready to web his way out of the garden if Steve tries anything.

“There was only one time that I used her. One time. And it was to save Morgana from marrying me. I think I’ve loved Y/N from the moment I saw her standing in my throne room…in that blue dress…looking excited and terrified. And heartbroken when I told her that she could never make me happy.” Steve sighs. “Now she’s the only one who can.”

He looks at you but you’re rising, eyes brimming with recognition and excitement.

Although he can’t hear you, he sees you open your mouth in an exclamation of delight. Calling to someone out of sight.

You raise your skirts and hurry down the steps of the pavilion and hurry towards the hedge path.

Lumbering out of it comes Thor, blonde hair flowing behind him as he rushes to meet you.

The two of you collide and he can hear Thor’s laugh, booming around the space and filling it with his deep chortle. He can’t hear yours, but he can see it in your face as Thor lifts you and turns you around slowly.

Without hesitation, he leans in and kisses your lips. A quick peck that might be in friendship but the both of you shut your eyes and Steve must look away as his chest is cracked open. He wraps his hand around the backside of the tree he’s hiding behind, fingers crumbling away at the bark as he curls his hand around it in a fist.

He tears his eyes back up to the two of you, forcing himself to watch.

All that affection…over a month…

“What did I do?” Steve wonders, trying to see it all through new eyes how he pushed you and neglected you and refused to give you love.

Thor’s got his hands on either side of your waist and he’s looking down at you as if he’s examining your body and Steve hates him again. And himself. Mostly himself.

Thor steps aside and from the path comes a smaller body, thinner, long straight brown hair flying behind her as she races to embrace you.

Morgana.

Tony and Pepper follow a few steps behind but stand back to allow you and your sister to reunite.

“Steve?” Peter checks with worry in his voice. “You okay?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Your Majesty?”

“No.” Steve admits. “I’m not. I have work to do.”

Without another word, Steve pushes past him and heads back up to the castle to finish what he’d started in his office.

If he’s going to win you back, he’s going to have to really try.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re at a loss for words, arms clinging to the teen girl because her own hug is so very tight.

With wide eyes you look up at Tony and Pepper who stand there smiling at you fondly.

You can’t say what you’d like because Thor is here so instead you carefully tuck Morgana’s brown hair behind her ear and coax her head up to look at you.

“Mara…” You coo, happy to meet your sister at last. “I’m so glad you’re finally home.”

“I’ve been home.” She says, half laughing and it’s only now that you realize how distinguished she sounds. How much of a princess she really and truly is as opposed to you… “On the way here, I was telling Thor that I’d only seen you a few times a year so when you offered to take my place as King Rogers’s bride, I was so full of love and gratitude. I can never explain the complexities of how I feel to finally have you in my life once again. Thank you.”

She’s letting it all out, spilling everything in so few words. Telling you that she’s grateful that father found you and that you agreed to marry his Majesty. She’s telling you that she accepts you as her sister and that she understands that where you come from is a secret and she is going to do everything in her power to keep it for you.

You smile at her, hoping it’s with fondness that you do so.

“Tell me everything.” She suddenly gushes, and then slides to stand beside you. “Can I stay with you for a few weeks? Will Steve mind?”

Even Morgana calls him by his first name?

You nod. “You can stay. I’m sure he won’t mind. You’re my precious sister. I dare him to try.”

Morgana laughs, wrapping her arm around yours and leading you back up to the pavilion where Pepper, Tony, and Nat follow.

The next few weeks are full of time spent with your family.

Every day you wake up and have breakfast with Morgana, Thor, or Tony and Pepper until they finally have to leave to deal with kingdom business. Morgana stays. So does Thor. And because you’re not ready for anyone to know about the baby yet, you have to make even more adjustments to your day-to-day life.

Before the castle wakes, Grandmother comes to see you. Often, you’re already up, spewing your dinner into its designated basin. Nat isn’t around this early so it’s up to you to take care of yourself.

Grandmother checks your body, measures your stomach which steadily begins to curve outwards. After a month, your bump is finally large enough to notice, but only when you stand naked or when someone comes to feel it.

Nat does this every day and she has to look for it to feel the hard, little pebble that seems to be growing in your belly.

You’re so happy and it’s dimmed by only one thing.

After lunch you take your reading and writing lessons, and as he always does, his Majesty waits to cross into his council chambers as you exit the large library.

He stops, his eyes devouring the sight of you.

Every time he does it, your cheeks burn, and your neck overheats. Every day he looks bit more tortured.

Finally, after the third week of not speaking with him, he sends word with Nat.

“Another one?” You ask, looking across your room at the vases of flowers that he’s sent. There are gifts still unopened on one of your tables by the window.

They’re lovely, and you are grateful, but you’re starting to think that he may be wanting to buy your affections, so you stop opening them and just stare at the slowly growing pile.

“It’s just him telling you that he’ll be walking in the garden if you ever wish to join him. He’s getting desperate.” Nat’s lips curve into a satisfied half smile.

“Why is that funny?” You wonder, staring at the letter before moving over to your window to try and get a good look at the garden but from this side you can’t see much.

“No one has ever made him work this hard.” She tells you. “With Maggie everything was just decided. They were together one day then they were getting married. It all just fell into place.”

You sigh. “I wanted it to be that easy for us.”

“I know. But I’m glad it isn’t. I think it’ll make you both stronger in the end.” She nods.

With a sigh you turn to look at her, watching her fill your bath.

“What about you?” You demand.

“What about me?” She widens her green eyes, shaking her head as she measures your oils.

“When are you going to stop torturing Bucky and marry him?” You bite.

“Oh, no. Not you too.” Nat gripes.

“You know what? I think that’s a valid question.” A deep voice offers.

In your doorway, Bucky stands with his arms crossed over his chest.

“When are you going to marry me? I can’t keep waiting for you, my scarlet rose. I’m an eligible bachelor. I have many women who would love to be Lady Barnes.” He boasts.

“Oh, is that so?” Nat wonders, eyes narrowed to slits. “Well, then I guess you don’t need me then.”

She shrugs.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, your Majesty. I’m going to go fetch you some more hot water.” She turns and moves past Bucky, nudging him with her shoulder as she passes.

Bucky is speechless, staring at you with confusion as to how his gentle teasing went so wrong.

“What-?”

“You’re really going to just let her walk out after that?” You offer.

“Shit.” Bucky gasps, then sprints from the room after Nat. “Natasha!”

You peek out at the garden again, and this time you can see his Majesty’s wide shoulders and golden head as he waves slowly through the hedge maze in the distance, hands behind his back in contemplation.

Suddenly he looks towards your room and he stops to stare, the two of you sharing in this moment of utter pining.

Will you and he ever be as close as Nat and Bucky?

You rub your tummy and bite your lip.

How long will he wait?

~~~~~~~~~~

“Steve?” The blonde woman calls, and rounds the gate, eyes searching for him.

Steve?! She calls him, ‘Steve’?!

You stare at him, this new revelation painful.

His mouth opens and shuts as he finally sees past his own happiness to see the discomfort in your eyes.

“Oh.” The blonde says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you—You must be Y/N.”

You know damn well that she should be calling you by your title, so your heart grows a little colder and you carefully yank your hand out of his Majesty’s grip.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She hurries to his Majesty’s side and curtsies before wrapping her arm around his elbow as his own brow furrows as you inch away.

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady…?” You wait for his Majesty to speak. He should be the one to introduce the two of you.

She gives his arm a squeeze.

“What?” He looks at her and realizes what’s happening. “Oh, right. Forgive me. This is Lady Sharon Carter.”

Then he hesitates.

You fix your eyes on him, wondering what the uncertainty is for.

“Sharon…” He looks at the blond whose angelic smile is soft and controlled but real and her hand is still around his elbow! She’s a true lady. Like Morgana, so put together and controlled. A golden swan before a dulled brown pigeon. “Sharon is Margaret’s cousin. We grew up together.”

Seriously? Another Carter? This is just perfect.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You tell her, speaking quickly. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Sharon, but I don’t feel well.”

You turn and leave them, storm cloud skirts swishing along your ankles.

You’re inside when you hear the hurried steps that then break into a run before that same heated hand is around your wrist again.

“Wait, Y/N…don’t go.” His Majesty pleads.

As you turn to pull your hand free, his Majesty tightens his grip and so it pulls you closer to him so that you’re standing inches away.

“Release me.” You speak sternly.

“Why are you upset? Did I say something?” He suddenly looks deep in thought, replaying the past ten minutes in his head.

“Your Majesty, please, release me.” You beg.

“Your Maj-? Steve, please Y/N. Call me Steve.” He doesn’t release you. “Why are you trying to leave? You came down finally. Does this mean you’re ready to speak to me?”

And he sounds like he’s finally been put out of his misery. He’s so happy that your heart aches because you made him miserable this past month and you hadn’t anticipated that. You’d only wanted a break from everything he’d brought you. Pain. Humiliation. Neglect.

You hadn’t meant to hurt him in the process.

Once more you attempt to pull yourself free, but he suddenly throws his arm around your waist and pulls you flush against his chest.

“Why are you trying to leave me?” He asks, bringing his voice down low and quiet so that you and he are the only two in the hallway, the castle, the world.

“Did you get tired of waiting for me? Did you need company?” You ask of him, wondering if he’ll pick up on the jealousy you’re feeling. The sting of it is unbearable.

Being jealous of Maggie had been one thing. She’s gone. That blonde…Sharon…she’s right there. Clinging to his arm.

He sighs, a small smile tugging at his lips. The heat of his breath warms your lips and your body melts without your permission. He quickly compensates for the lack of resistance and cradles you closer to his body.

“Oh, sweetheart, no.” He smiles a little more, this time it reaches his eyes and they’re so dazzling in their sparkling blue that you nearly forget that you’re upset about the blonde woman with her arms on your husband. “Sharon arrive late last night. She heard that I was in the garden and came to look for me. I wasn’t expecting her.”

He licks his lips, dipping down to wrap his arms, both of them, around your waist better. He stands up straight pulling you along with him so that you’re standing on your toes a bit to compensate for the difference in height.

“I’ve only been waiting for you, pigeon.” He assures you.

Your heart flutters, stomach tumbles, as he scrunches up his nose.

“I’m not sold on the pigeon name.” He suddenly says.

“What?” You gasp, so breathless that it makes him smile a little wider.

“You are not a pigeon.” He explains. “And I’d hate to jinx us and call you a bird only to have you run off on me again.”

“I won’t-”

“I’d rather not risk it.” He sighs and begins to rock his body from side to side, taking yours with it.

“Your Maj-”

“How about pearl? Can you be my pearl?” He shakes his head. “No. You’re full of beauty and elegance. A true Queen. Noble. Royalty. A diamond? Maybe you’re my gem?”

His words sting because they’re all wrong. You’re not a true queen or noble or even remotely royal. You’d be lucky to be on the same level as a pearl. You’re definitely not a gem.

You don’t know what makes you do it. Maybe it’s because you’ve been in such pristine specimens of the upper-class lady in Morgana’s and Nat’s company? And with Sharon here too?

You’re nothing like these women. You’re nothing. No one. A peasant. A commoner.

“I’m not.” You tell him.

“If you don’t like being my gem, we can pick something else.” He says, not understanding.

“I’m no one, your Majesty.” You continue.

“Steve.” He chastises.

“I’m a peasant. Truly.”

He stops rocking.

“Father…King Anthony found me on the side of the road, helping an old woman fetch her purse from a bog. I’m an orphan. I come from nothing and no one. I’m not his true daughter. He wanted to save his daughter and you, and he begged me to do this for him and I agreed…I’m of no consequence.” Your lip trembles, threatening sorrow as you realize that you’ve told him your last secret.

The only one that matters.

He’ll kick you out. You’ll have to go back to Malibia a failure.

“I’m no one.” You repeat.

His face serious, stern, and those blue eyes boring into your own, his arms tighten.

“You’re a Rogers.” He tells you, so certain that your heart skips a beat. “You’re my wife. My Queen. And you’re my flower.”

He smiles slowly, happy at last with his term of endearment.

“And tomorrow, I’ll throw you the wedding feast that you deserved. I’m going to dance with you and make sure everyone knows that you’re mine. Especially Thor.”

You huff a laugh. Your heart soars.

He leans in towards you, licking his lips as he does.

You shut your eyes.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice floats down from behind him.

His Majesty breathes in sharply, angrily, frustrated, but turns to look at Bucky while gently placing you back on the ground.

“I’ll be right there.” His Majesty assures him, apparently exchanging words with a mere glance, then turns back to you.

“You have nothing to worry about with Sharon.” He promises, caressing the side of your head. “We’ll continue this soon?”

He’s genuinely asking you for your permission and you nod, so stunned at the sudden shift that your mind is reeling.

He leans down to kiss your cheek.

“I will send for you, Lady Rogers.” He smirks, then leaves you to stare after him and Bucky, your legs numb.

[theladyofdeath]

Rags & Riches {16}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: I never realize how much I drop “fuck” until I proofread...ah, oh well. 5 chapters left. Do y’all mind when I post 2 chapters in 1 day? yay? nay? I’ll only do 1 if it’s too much, but either way, R&R will be finishing up, soon.

Enjoy (you know, if possible).

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

One month had passed since they arrived in Hybern.

They had endured one battle, which lasted two weeks. Many of Hybern’s men went down, but a large number perished from their own side, too.

Even when they relaxed at camp, they were always on alert, always kept one eye open.

Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand sat around the fire.

The three of them had created quite the bond, never leaving one another’s side - both in battle, and out. Rhysand had an opportunity to stay away from the front lines because of his title, but he did not. He stayed with Azriel and Cassian, refusing the opportunity without any hesitation. 

“Elain says she should start showing soon,” Azriel announced, the other two looking up from their letters. “She also says morning sickness is getting much worse.” 

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Cassian grinned. “If a little you was growing inside of me, I would probably feel like shit, too.” 

Azriel chuckled. “Yeah.”

Cassian knew that Azriel’s chest ached as he wondered how long he would have to be away. It seemed as if the war had only just begun, but he felt like he had been away from Elain for far too long.

“Any news from Feyre or Nesta?” Azriel asked.

“Feyre says Nesta is being extra bitchy,” Rhysand mumbled. “Other than that, she says she wrote to Elain, telling her to visit soon and their father is finally getting back this week. Oh, and they got a dog. Named him Oswald.” 

“Oswald?” Azriel asked, brows raised. “That’s a….nice….name.” 

Rhysand snorted. “And Nesta?”

They both looked at Cassian, who was reading his letter with narrowed eyes. “She gave me an update on the weather, says it has been raining a lot. I also hear of Oswald, and it is a terrible name, so don’t lie. She said she put a gift in here for me, but there was nothing in the paper.” He looked around for the envelope to put the letter back inside, and once he found it, and opened it up, he froze.

Azriel raised his brows as Rhysand reached for the envelope.

Cassian quickly put it out of his reach. 

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

Cassian put the letter back in the envelope and closed it. “Nothing. A photograph.”

Azriel blinked. “Of what?”

“Hmmm,” Rhysand hummed, leaning back. “Is this photograph of Nesta?”

“You will never know, will you?” Cassian asked.

“Is she nude?” Azriel chimed.

Cassian backed up, toward his tent. “I am going to bid you both goodnight.”

Rhysand howled as Azriel’s grin widened. “Alright. Don’t get too vocal with yourself, no one wants to hear all that.” 

Cassian rolled his eyes as he climbed inside, shutting the tent flaps behind him. He used a match to light his lantern, and his pipe, as he laid back against his blankets, atop the grass. 

He pulled open the yellow envelope, once more, removing the letter and setting it aside as he reached for the other contents. He pulled out a long, silver chain, an oval locket attached to the bottom. When he opened it up, all the tension was released from his body. 

On one side was Nesta, and on the other, was Marigold. Cassian chuckled at the photograph of the horse before brushing his thumb over the one of Nesta. She sat, poised, her chin lifted high. Even in black and white, he could see the intensity of her gray-blue eyes. 

He closed it shut and clasped the chain around his neck, tucking the locket beneath his shirt.

There was another photograph inside of the envelope. Azriel’s guess had not been wrong. Cassian took it into his hands and brought it closer to the lantern, his heart beating wildly. Her hair hung loose around her pale shoulders, reaching just below her breasts, which Cassian admired as he brought his pipe to his lips. Her legs were open, waiting for him, and he suddenly had the realization that someone must have taken such a photo, and wondered how Nesta had swung it without anyone seeing.

He laughed, under his breath, at the thought of Nesta ordering someone around to take a nude photo, only to have it instantly taken away and put in an envelope to ship to him overseas. He turned it over and on the back, it read, I know what you are thinking. Do not worry, Helion helped me with such a project and kept all details to himself. Cassian snorted - knew what he would be thinking, indeed. Then, below, it read, For when you are lonely. At night, this is how I wait for you to return. Hurry back.

Cassian flipped the photograph back over and ran his fingers down the image. She was so beautiful, especially when she was natural, bare. Nothing but the locket in which she sent along, the locket that was now around his neck, covered her skin. The silver oval laid between her breasts. 

He studied her until he could no longer bear to keep still. 

After unzipping his trousers, he wrapped his fist around his cock and began to stroke himself. His head fell back and his eyes fell shut, but the image of Nesta, his Nesta, remained.

~~~~~

Rhysand was eating a bowl of some kind of slop the next morning when Cassian emerged from his tent and stretched.

“Have a nice date with your hand last night?” Rhysand asked, filling his mouth.

“Fuck off,” Cassian said, shaking his head but unable to stop his grin. “Where’s Az?”

“Bringing our letters to the post. They’re going out this afternoon.” 

Cassian nodded, reaching for one of the bowls Rhysand had brought. “Okay, I grew up poor, but even this shit looks disgusting to me...and my standards are fairly low.” 

“At least it keeps us from starving to death,” Rhysand said. “Hopefully.”

Cassian was just about to reply as a bell sounded from the middle of camp. Rhysand quickly met his gaze, his jaw set, as soldiers all around them got to their feet.

Azriel was running toward them, eyes wild. “They’re coming, less than a mile away. We have to go.”

Rhysand swore, dropping his bowl to the ground as Cassian reached for their guns. A moment later, helmets were atop their heads and rifles were tossed across their backs and they were running across the landscape. Once in formation, they marched as one through the valley and halted. Beyond was the battlefield they had already seen, the battlefield in which so many had died around them. Rhysand looked to Cassian on his left. His friend was focused, his breathing even. He had a good shot, if he ever had nerves, he did not show it. Then Rhysand looked to Azriel on his right, who was closing his eyes. Azriel was fast, could dodge anything. Rhysand was not worried about either of them. He would not allow himself to be. They would stick together. They would make it out.

“Stay together,” Rhysand whispered.

The other two repeated, in the same quiet calm, “Stay together.”

~~~~~

“Feyre?” Nesta called, knocking on her sister’s door. “A letter just arrived from Elain. She will be here next week, she says.”

The door was opened a moment later.

Nesta froze.

Feyre’s eyes were red and puffy. “Sorry, I just….” her words trailed off and Nesta pulled her sister into her arms.

“Has something happened?” she asked. “Is Rhysand okay?”

Feyre nodded. “Yes, it’s nothing like that, I just….Nesta, I’m pregnant.” 

Nesta blinked. “Pregnant?”

Feyre laughed, wiping at her eyes. “Yes.”

Nesta smiled, wrapping her arms around Feyre even tighter. “That’s great news. Why are you crying?”

Feyre allowed Nesta into her room before she closed the door. They both sat by the fireplace, on the floor.

“I knew when I last wrote Rhys,” she explained. “But, I did not tell him. Now I feel guilty.”

“Why?” Nesta asked. “Why keep it a secret?”

Feyre nibbled on her bottom lip. “Is it truly better to tell him?”

Nesta’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...would telling him make him happier or just more upset that he is not here?” she asked. “He says he misses me, that all he thinks about is coming home, and if I tell him that I am with child, it would just be more of a burden. I thought perhaps I should wait, until he returns.”

Nesta nodded. “Well, I think you should let him know. He would want to know, considering he tried so hard to impregnate you to begin with.”

Feyre laughed, pushing her sister in the arm. “Perhaps. I do not know the right answer to anything these days.”

Nesta stared at her hands when she said.  “Would you like to know something that will cheer you up? Perhaps make you laugh?”

Feyre raised a brow. “You are going to tell me something that will make me laugh? That seems unlikely.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “In the last letters we sent, I put a photograph of myself inside.”

Feyre blinked. “Why would that make me laugh?”

Nesta could not control her smile as she said, “Because I was not wearing any clothing.”

Feyre’s mouth fell open before she broke into a fit of laughter. “You? Nesta? You sent Cassian a nude photograph?” 

Nesta nodded, her own laughter sputtering out. “Yes. I wonder if he has received it, yet.”

Feyre put her hands over her mouth. “I cannot believe you did such a thing! How was it? Was it awkward?”

Nesta shook her head. “No, Helion took it when he was here last week, in my room. It was actually quite invigorating. I have never felt so….I don’t know. Powerful.” 

Feyre’s laughter died down as she watched the flames. “How very risque of you.” 

“Indeed,” Nesta agreed, then looked at her sister. “I am happy for you.” She nodded toward her sister’s abdomen. “Truly.”

“Thank you,” Feyre said, patting her sister’s knee. “And I am so very proud of you.”

Nesta looked over at her sister and they both broke into laughter, once more.

They were not certain of much lately, but they were certain that when their worlds were full of the unknown, laughter was the best medication.

~~~~~

Cassian had never seen so much blood.

The explosion happened quickly, no one had seen it coming. At the time, Cassian had his rifle pointed at one of the enemy, and the moment he pulled the trigger, as if on que, the ground exploded.

He was knocked on the ground, into the dirt, his ears ringing as he looked around for his brothers.

Rhysand was on the ground a few yards away, but he was already pulling himself up, rifle in hand. 

To his other side, men lay scattered, motionless.

He called out for Azriel, and when he looked back to Rhysand, his violet eyes were wide and panicked. 

“There!” he shouted, but Cassian could hardly hear him. He turned himself around, pulling himself fully off the ground, as he followed Rhysand’s gaze.

Azriel lay still, his gun a few feet beside him, his helmet having flown from his head. He was covered in blood, how much was actually his, Cassian was not certain. 

They were all covered in blood.

Their fellow man’s.

Their enemies.

Cassian and Rhysand ran to his side, sinking down in the dirt alongside him. Rhysand instantly had his back to them both, his gun raised, protecting them. 

Cassian pressed his ear to Azriel’s chest. “He’s still breathing.”

Rhysand gave a curt nod, the only sign he had heard as he pulled the trigger, firing upon any threat coming toward them. 

Cassian found the gaping wound coming from his side and tore open his shirt, where blood was flowing. “Fuck,” Cassian breathed, pressing his hands down on the wound to stop the flow. “Fuck! Rhys….Rhys, we have to get him out of here. We have to get him to medical.” 

“Can you carry him?” Rhysand called, still holding up his gun, not looking behind him. 

Cassian panicked. He was losing blood. So much blood.

He tossed his gun up to Rhysand, who took it and put it around his shoulder without taking his concentration from his own. Cassian quickly pulled off his shirt and tore it into long strips, his helmet discarded. He bundled up a few of the strips and pressed them into the wound, then tied a few together to make it long enough to wrap around Azriel’s abdomen a few times. Once he tied it tight, he nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I can.”

“Okay,” Rhysand called. “Let me know when to walk, I’ve got you both.”

The blood was still pouring from the wound, although not as bad.

With a grunt, Cassian lifted Azriel off the ground, carrying him over his shoulder. “Fuck, you heavy bastard,” he groaned, getting himself into a steady position. “Alright, Rhys, I’m moving!”

Then they both were moving, Azriel unconscious, but his heart still beating within his chest, against Cassian’s back. He was heavy, and nearly Cassian’s height, but Cassian did not let himself think of it as he hurried through the gunfire and around those that were already dead.

“Do not die on me,” Cassian grunted, Azriel’s weight starting to slow him down, “Do not fucking die on me. Elain would kill me if I let you die. Do not die, you hear me? You’re going to be a dad, do not fucking die on your kid!” Cassian yelled, eyes still ahead, blurred with tears but determined. “Do not fucking die on me!” 

Rhysand’s gun fired from behind them. 

“We’re almost to the clear!” Cassian called.

“I don’t see many more from Hybern!” Rhysand called back. 

Cassian could feel the warmth of Azriel’s blood sinking through the shreds of his shirt, onto his own skin, down his arm.

He suddenly became lighter a moment later, once they neared the end of the valley. Rhysand, with both rifles slung across his chest, said, “I’ll take his legs, you take his arms.”

Cassian nodded, putting Azriel down as gently as he could among the grass. He put his fingers against Azriel’s neck and swore before putting his forearms underneath Azriel’s underarms.

Rhysand took him beneath the knees and they lifted him from the ground, and they hurried, as fast as they could, across the remaining distance.

When they reached the camp, the medical tent was the first to appear.

They brought Azriel inside and a nurse yelled for a table to be cleared. Rhysand and Cassian put him down, then both stepped back to let the nurses swarm him.

“He’s going to be okay, yeah?” Rhysand asked, face paled. “He’s still breathing? He’s going to be okay?”

No one answered him, which only made Cassian ask, louder, “Just tell us he’ll fucking make it!” 

A nurse pressed her hands against the newly unraveled wound as she said, calmly, “Yes, he’s still breathing.”

“That doesn’t answer my fucking question,” Cassian spat. 

Rhysand met him at his side and started to pull Cassian back. “Let them work.”

Rhysand’s hands were surprisingly calm as Cassian turned to him, Rhys’ face covered in the blood of others and dirt, his hair drenched in sweat and wild. 

“He can’t die, Rhys,” Cassian breathed.

“I know,” Rhysand said, taking Cassian’s face in his hands. “I know, alright? So we have to let the nurses work. Yeah? We have to let the nurses work, Cass.” 

Cassian nodded, and Rhysand did not let go of Cassian’s face until his breathing began to even.

A soldier poked his head into the tent a moment later and said, “Hybern retreated. It is done for the day.”

The nurses gave a sign of understanding and the soldier went away. Cassian had not even heard them coming back, had not even heard the shouts of victory from the outside. 

“You two may stay, if you wish, but you have to sit to the side,” a nurse said, the one with her hands against Azriel’s wound.

Cassian nodded as he and Rhysand went to the side of the tent and slumped to the ground. 

Neither of them spoke as they waited. 

~~~~~

Hours passed, the day had gone and turned into night, and he did not open his eyes. The nurses had sterilized the wound the best they could and sewed his skin shut. He had lost a lot of blood. 

Rhysand looked at Cassian every once in a while, but neither of them said a word, neither of them dared. Cassian still sat with his chest bare, covered in filth, dried blood matting his hair to his forehead. Rhysand assumed he did not look much better. 

The minutes were passing too slowly, it was agonizing. Rhysand had killed more than he thought he would have to since arriving at Hybern. The thought was unnerving, but he tried not to dwell on it. He was protecting himself, protecting Azriel and Cassian. 

“If he dies, how would I ever go back?” Cassian whispered. Face glowing in the lanterns that surrounded them. “How could I stand there, in front of Elain, and Feyre, and Nesta, and tell them that Azriel died?”

Rhysand cleared his throat, his gaze falling to his hands where he began picking off the dried, crimson coat. “I don’t know.”

Cassian nodded, eyes empty. “They have a baby on the way, Rhys.”

“Yeah,” Rhysand breathed, not bothering to wipe away the tear that fell down his tanned cheek.

Cassian shook his head, but said no more.

When the silence became unbearable, Rhysand stood and walked to Azriel’s side. His chest was still rising and falling, his wound closed. Rhysand reached up to feel his forehead. He did not feel feverish. 

“Before we left,” Rhysand began, quietly, “me and Feyre tried, for a baby. Seeing you here now…” his words trailed off and he shook his head. “Elain needs you. That baby needs you. Fight for them, yeah?” he used his torn shirtsleeve to wipe at his eyes, his nose. “If you can hear me, you have to fight for them. Because if it were me in your place, and Feyre was pregnant, that woman would cut off my fucking balls.” 

Cassian stood and joined them at Azriel’s other side. Rhysand knew Cassian was thinking of their conversation on the ship. I wanted to give her a baby, to look at, to love, to remind her of me, if I don’t make it back. 

Azriel’s eyes rolled behind his eyelids, and both Rhysand and Cassian froze. 

“Az?” Rhysand whispered.

Azriel’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. He stirred, then groaned, softly.

Cassian and Rhysand said nothing as they watched, as they waited. 

Rhysand thought he would collapse once Azriel’s eyes fluttered open and met his gaze. “Rhys. Cass….”

Rhsyand nodded toward Cassian where Azriel’s eyes slowly trailed to. Cassian stood completely still, as if he were afraid to breathe. 

Azriel let out a breath as his eyes closed, once more. 

But his hands found theirs. One in Rhysand’s, the other in Cassian’s. 

“My side…” Azriel began, as if each word brought him pain, “fucking hurts.” 

Cassian, unable to control himself, began to laugh, and when he couldn’t stop, Rhysand started to laugh, too.

Azriel’s hands tightened around theirs, smiling faintly, eyes still closed. 

That battlefield had been littered with the dead, husbands and sons and fathers who would be no more.

But Azriel would not be one of them.

They promised to stay together.

They would stay together. 

At least, for now.

~~~~~

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @mariamuses @a-happybird @amusicalbookworm @manoncrochanblackbeak @alifletcher2012 @candid-confetti @fandoms-everywhere-united @mis-lil-red@littlehoneyybee @abillionlittlepieces @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @awesomelena555 @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @tswaney17 @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @rhysandsrightknee @gendryaforthemasses @dayanna-hatter @thebluemartini @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @julemmaes @christiashadows @sleeping-and-books @itsme-malin @agnez312 @cat5313 @amren-courtofdreams @chemica @empress-ofbloodshed @islamonna @illyrianbeauty  @sleeping-and-books @queenofxhearts @sleeping-and-books @aedionashryver-wolfofthenorth @queenofillea1 @mynewdreamwasyou @levivlio @hellolenas @burritowithfeels @that-other-pineapple @girl-who-reads-the-books @raghad-50725@musicmaam @rowaelinforeverworld @negativenesta  @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit@sannelovesreading @nerdperson524 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nerdperson524 @mariamuses @gorl-power @booklover242 @rowaelinforeverworld @regular-nessian-trash @izou1204 @aelin-rowan-whitehorn @opheliatheemerald @eversincebeirut @musicmaam @ladybookwrm​ @santas-dwynwen​ @starryandbooks​ @candid-confetti​

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

Oooooo girl I love these prompts!!! For a wild one hows about Robb Stark with genre3 trope2 and locashion7????

A Promise to the Moon

Robb Stark x Reader - 3873 Words - More Freaky Fics

Notes: This is a a dark fic, a Gothic Romance!AU in the style of Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, it features references and occasional quotes from both. I also emulated the writing style (prose and exposition heavy).

The requested prompts were: haunted house/ghost story, memento mori, and a secluded castle/manor. The ghost elements got lost as I wrote it- sorry!

Warnings: a toxic/icky relationship with controlling/possessive behavior (just like the ones in the afformentipmed novels), the word “fuck” is used once, light smut, dated health methods like leeches and bloodletting, major character death. There is no happy ending, Enjoy Responsibly ❤️

- - -

“Let the wind come shake me down! /Deliver me closer to the ground/ I made a promise to the moon.” -Jason Webley

The newspaper advertisement had asked for educated persons of age to apply for the position in person. The grand Winterfell Estate sat desolate among the moors, fog-covered bogs and copses of sickly forests mottled the land and turned the beautiful countryside into a crypt.

The owner and solicitor, a Mister Stark, had requested a tutor for his troubled little sister the estate’s only current inhabitant.

The locket around your neck held your mother’s portrait and served as your only reminder of the life you once lived. Lost in a strange and new place you relied on its familiar weight for comfort.

As you approached the Estate you noticed their family name was carved into the arch above the wooden door. It announced you as an intruder, and your locket confirmed you as an outsider. It made you miss the place you once called home.

The Housekeeper was more than amiable and the child, Arya as you learned she was called, was a verifiable genius. You knew instantly she would benefit from one-on-one specialized instruction. As for Mister Stark, he had yet to appear around the estate- the Housekeeper herself interviewed and appointed you to the position.

The work itself was exhausting and after a week of it, you were desperate for a brief moment of solitude. Arya was never satiated, her thirst for life and adventure outpaced any sort of book work and left you aching from chasing her around.

It was past midnight, the moon already hidden in the vast inky sky when you slunk into the sitting room. You lit the lamps and settled in with one of the many tomes that adorned the room. The pages felt brittle under your fingertips and you turned them ceaselessly.

An accented voice pulled you from the book’s pages, the shock made you snap the book closed harder than you would’ve liked.

“Now what’s a decent sort like you doing out of bed at this hour?”

A man leaned against the entryway, a smile on his face that made you feel exposed and downright sinful. The dark brown of his eyes was mirrored in the curls of his hair which were highlighted with light licks of a scandalous silver that seemed to sparkle under the sparse candlelight.

He smirked and it felt like you were falling through the floor. You could see luggage behind him in the hallway and you wondered why the Housekeeper hadn’t been alerted- and why you hadn’t been warned of such a distinguished intrusion.

“Certainly Sir, you know I cannot answer that,” you said shortly.

You rose quickly, shelved the book, and turned to leave. It was late and the entire situation was highly improper- yet he blocked your path a cheeky grin on his face.

“Have I frightened you?” He taunted you with a wolfish grin, and you felt your face grow hot.

“I am not frightened,” you lied smoothly, “I just wish to retire for the evening.”

He laughed openly seeing right through you. He stepped aside anyway but caught your wrist as you passed. You froze instantly and trembled as he brought your knuckles to his lips. “Goodnight then,” he spoke with a smirk the strange concoction of trepidation and intrigue evident as you pulled away and ran from the room.

It wasn’t until you were secure in your room, your hands clasped over your thundering heart, that you realized he must’ve been your employer whose portrait hung in the very hallway you just ran through.

You struggled to fall asleep, staring up at the ceiling until you thought shapes were starting to appear in the darkness. Yet you must’ve as the next thing you remembered was a burst of light and a loud noise waking you up.

“Oh me!” The Housekeeper wailed, as she announced herself in your chambers the next morning. You winced as she threw open the damask drapes, the sunlight almost blinding.

“I need you to keep Arya on her best behavior today,” she started ranting pulling your clothes out for the day in a flurry, “Mister Stark has returned and the entire west wing must be prepared immediately so I cannot manage the little miss!”

Typically the staff was prepared to assemble his rooms at a moment's notice. The estate’s Master was known to appear and disappear for any length of time at will.

You let the Housekeeper prepare you, and lead you to the same sitting room for your formal introduction. As you entered the room Robb eyed you hungrily and you knew the setting was chosen intentionally.

Embarrassment washed over you as the previous night’s run-in resurfaced in your mind. The only thing you could do was make a heaven out of hell, so you bolstered what confidence you could. No matter how charming and handsome he might be, he wouldn’t win the satisfaction of seeing your unease.

The Housekeeper cleared her throat and shuffled forward, “may I introduce-“

“Mister Stark,” you said smartly cutting her off and gliding forward. You could feel her ire at your break in tradition but knew this was the best way to regain some control over the situation. You smiled coyly and shook his hand with as much indifference as you could muster despite the anticipatory anxiety building in your body.

“Robb, please,” he insisted lightly. He watched you like a cat might watch a mouse and you felt a shiver course through your body as he openly looked over it.

“Is this proper enough an introduction?” The sarcastic lilt to his voice matched his devilish smirk, and you had to admit it was a good look for him.

“You’ll have to forgive me I’m often wary of new faces,” you said sitting across from him, “especially those belonging to nefariously enigmatic gentlemen.”

Robb laughed openly, and in a manic burst of motion took your hand in his. Your heart raced at his slight touch and you tried your best to suppress the smile on your face.

“And how do you find Winterfell? Is she fitting for such a roguish bachelor?”

Your smile faltered briefly, “the estate is beyond magnificent but, I can’t help feeling as if her halls ought to have more life within them.”

Robb nodded to the Housekeeper who still lingered in the doorway, “I do believe that is the first honest answer I’ve ever been given on the subject.”

“It would seem so Sir,” she chirped dutifully.

“Well perhaps I shall extend my stay,” he said a wicked smile spreading across his face as he turned his gaze back to you, “and see what other truths you might impart upon me.”

The Housekeeper made a small disgruntled noise in protest before leaving to summon Arya into the sitting room to formally receive her brother. Apparently, you weren’t the only one to gain her disapproval.

Within the short moment, Robb stood and crossed to stand over you. You titled your face towards him unconsciously, his face close enough to feel his breath on yours as he spoke.

”You intrigue me, ” he said, desire palpable in his voice, ”I will not suffer to let you go again when I wish to become better acquainted.”

You could feel the underlying threat in his words but the temptation to close the space between you eclipsed whatever caution lived in your mind.

You couldn’t explain what drew you to him, despite your better judgment. The only comfort you had was knowing how similarly affected he was by you. Your breath hitched in your throat as he suddenly backed away.

Arya bounded into the room not a moment later, the now frazzled Housekeeper rushing behind her trying to contain the girl. You smiled as they appeared, thankful for the distraction.

The next week was filled with similar close calls filled with double entendres, lingering touches, and companionship like you had never known before. After a month had passed in such a manner it was clear why he was staying- and the house dared to dream that for once he might stay forever.

Like most dreams, it was better left ignored. On another night you strolled under the moonlight along the estate’s often forgotten terraces. Robb held you by the waist as you walked, his grip lower and harsher than would’ve been deemed appropriate. Occasionally, the moon peaked out to reveal a scandalous state of undress on your part, the casual clothes betraying the growing familiarity between you two.

“Winterfell is stunning under the stars, is it not?” Robb glanced at you while speaking and you thought he also looked magnificent highlighted by the cosmos.

You nodded in agreement looking out over the estate’s grounds and gardens.

"You must have become in some degree attached to the house?"

“To a degree,” you answered wryly.

"Arya seems to have become quite attached to you, and I’m willing to wager you to her as well,” Robb continued.

You hummed in agreement, “I believe there is a mutual attachment forming. She’s an extraordinary child."

Robb stopped walking suddenly and turned you harshly in his arms to face him. All traces of levity had melted from his face, replaced with a drastic seriousness you hadn’t expected. “And you would be sorry to part with them?”

You ran your hand over his reassuringly. “I think some part of me will be here always.”

Robb kept a level expression as he continued, waiting to gauge your reaction as he spoke. “Then it is indeed regrettable that Arya must attend a finishing school next year.”

You froze beside him, “next spring?”

Robb nodded solemnly, “I’ve talked it over with her nursemaid and the Housekeeper they both agree you’ve done wonders for her mind but- the decorum benefiting a lady of our station is not something a tutor can impart.”

He paused and spoke then as if he was reassuring himself of the decision, instead of revealing it to you. “So yes, it is imperative she attends a finishing school.”

“Then I must inquire toward other positions,” you mused suddenly afraid the ground under your feet might fall away beneath you.

“Would you be grieved to leave then? I know some schools might permit a lady’s maid to accompany her,” Robb shrugged, “it is the least I could do.”

You tensed and bit your lip, “for her sake I might be able but it is so far away...”

“From what?”

“From you!” You spoke headlessly, finally voicing the thoughts and desires that had grown within you.

“Then I must ask you,” he said hoarsely as if he was unsure for the first time, “forsake neither Arya nor the estate itself, pass through the rest of your life here.”

Your silence unnerved him and you wondered what joke he was playing at. He was by the designation of your employment your superior, he had occasionally offered you crumbs of affection and attention- yet you felt he must know your feelings towards him- and that this was some cruel joke on your behalf.

“Do you doubt me,” he asked when you didn’t answer.

"Entirely,” you said without hesitation. He was too unknown for certainty, too reckless and listless for dependence.

He scoffed openly at your response, "so you have no faith in me?"

"Not a whit."

“Then you shall be convinced,” he hissed gesturing wildly, “have I not treated you as my equal? Have I not entertained your thoughts and whims as I might a dearest friend? Have I not watched you like a man possessed? You strange, you almost unearthly thing,” he gripped your arm tracing the length of it with frenzied kisses, “you will be mine. I shall not suffer your absence in my life!”

You shuddered, a peculiar sob racking through your body as he entreated you.

“I- I cannot answer this,” you cried tearing yourself away, “I cannot choose between my heart and my mind. I cannot see how you love me but rather desire to possess me- and for what love I hold for you, I cannot yet resign my fate so quickly.”

He turned away from you harshly, familiar darkness returning to his eyes. “Then think on these things,” he demanded before stalking away, “I cannot remain here for you to torture me so!”

You could not retreat to your rooms and drop into the soothing arms of sleep, your mind was twisted and confused. What kind of a man manipulated your emotions as a declaration of love? Moreover, what kind of man could confuse love and possession so easily? Your thoughts remained dower as the sleepless night raced on.

As you joined Arya and the Housekeeper for breakfast the next morning you were disheartened to learn Robb had left again.

Two months passed without a word from Rob to you or any persons in his household. Although the grand estate was filled with other employees and your charge- his absence left you strangely cold. But perhaps that was the changing air drifting in from the study’s open window.

“Arya please,” you sighed, “finish the recitation and we can move on for the day.” You rubbed a hand over your temple, your patience growing thin with the young mistresses.

“I don’t want to keep reading boring old books! I want to go outside!” Arya whined as she dramatically closed and pushed the book away from her.

The poor thing had been acting out lately, and it was wearing you down. You sighed and tried to sound as encouraging as possible, “Arya as soon as we finish here I’ll have the Housekeeper scrounge up your play clothes.”

Arya huffed and pushed the stack of books off her desk and onto the floor before crossing her arms belligerently, “I won’t do it!”

“Is that any way to talk to your tutor?”

You looked over at the interruption, Robb leaned against the doorframe with a smile on his face that made you feel as if you were seeing the sun for the first time in days.

Arya shrieked excitedly at the sight of her brother and bolted from her chair to wrap her arms around him as much as she could. She babbled in great run-on-sentences trying to condense the last month without him into whatever fragment of time she currently had.

He listened politely, the entire time his eyes never left yours. “Arya, it is clear to me that you’ll have no capacity for more studies today,” he said, finally looking at his sister, “why don’t you take the dogs and see what you can discover outside?”

Arya howled and ran from the room, you could hear her rapid footfalls and exaggerated cries rousing the Housekeeper and kennel master to her aid.

Then it was just you and Robb. You stood rapidly and all but threw yourself into his arms. You moved without thinking, unsure if you could survive another second apart. He pulled you flush against him, his strong grip threatened to bruise your hips and you didn’t care. You rested your hands against his chest, unable to hide the smile on your face before you kissed him.

“I suppose this means you haven’t been preparing to completely divorce yourself from the estate,” Robb joked dryly.

“No,” you said a little dejectedly, “how could I, knowing you’re out in the world somewhere.”

You looked away from him suddenly overwhelmed, “It was like I couldn’t breathe like my life-my very soul was separated from me.”

You tried to step away but Robb didn’t relinquish his hold on your waist and moved a hand to keep yours on his chest.

“You’ve absolutely ruined me,” he hissed tightening the grip on your wrist, “do you think I wanted to come back? Do you think I want to be here right now?”

“Let go of me,” you gasped struggling against him your face heated with indignation.

For a second the confidence and malice in Robb’s voice faltered, “stay- do not leave me where I cannot find you!”

“But I didn’t go anywhere,” you insisted, “I’ve been right here doing what I was hired to do.” You were trembling, no longer trying to escape his embrace yet not entirely afraid.

Robb laughed darkly and kissed the top of your head, “you’ve bewitched me body and soul, like some heathen wretch. You pulled me back here. You command me when I have no desire to be commanded.”

He moved to grip your jaw and turn your face to look up into his, the image was striking. You looked spent, as if he’d taken you- your body warm and trembling against him, your breaths shallow and rushed.

“If you left this room I would find you,” he whispered his voice low and heady, sending a shiver down your spine. “If you tried to leave this house I’d track you down.”

“Sir, you forget yourself,” you said lowly. Your voice threatening to break as your body responded wantonly.

“Do I?” He laughed darkly and moved to kiss down the column of your neck pulling phantom moans from your lips. His breath fell warm on your neck and you shuddered as his hand released your jaw and traveled to rest at the base of your neck.

You heard him kick the door closed behind you and a new spark of excitement and fear spread through your body.

The slight pressure at the base of your neck made you ache deliciously. You didn’t stop the strangled moan that fell from your lips as his grip tightened and you chose to put whatever doubts you had away for the moment. You wanted it to be you and him without context or strings to complicate what you were about to do.

Robb released you only to tear at your clothes, his hands running harshly over each flash of newly exposed skin until the locket around your neck was the only thing you wore. You wantonly returned the favor scraping your nails across his broad shoulders, savoring each groan that slipped from his lips.

You pressed yourself against him, your bodies skin-to-skin as the tension grew. Each touch was dizzying as if your bodies had been molded to respond to each other. His mouth claimed yours again before biting his way down your neck and you moaned as they bloomed into warm bruises.

“Robb please,” you begged your body no longer content with lingering touches and harsh passes of lips and teeth. You said his name like it was the only prayer you ever learned- the only one that mattered.

Almost tenderly he laid you down across one of the study’s couches. His fingers softly traced the side of your body as if for that second he was truly in awe of your form. He ducked his head to kiss your chest, your locket falling back against your shoulder sending a flash of light across your body.

You impatiently reached and pulled him over you, weaving a hand through his hair as you moved him into a searing kiss. You felt him against you and you desperately hooked one of your legs around his hip urging him forward until nothing separated you.

You lay trembling under him, your grip on his shoulders the only real thing in the world until a ferocious rapping started at the closed door. You both froze hoping whoever it was would move on, instead, you could hear the Housekeeper muttering to herself as the knocking continued.

Finally, she called through the door, “Lady Arya has requested your presence for tea.”

Robb swore and pushed away from you hastily donning his clothes.

“Fuck,” you mumbled grasping wildly to cover yourself as Robb stormed from the room shouting at the Housekeeper the entire time.

Without looking at you she slid into the room, keeping herself turned away as you redressed.

“I do not apologize for the intrusion given the improper extenuating circumstances,” she said tersely, “but we will be taking tea alone as soon as you’re no longer... indisposed.”

“I see no reason why we should take tea alone,” you protested, “Arya would certainly fear something was amiss given our absence.”

She spun to face you her face still composed into a stern line, “it is precisely for Arya’s sake that I am concerned.” You had never heard her voice like that before and suddenly you felt like you were a child again being scolded at primary school without companions to defend you.

It was a trap; that was the only thing you were certain of as you sat across the wisened Housekeeper a pristine tea set between you.

“You are aware Mister Stark is our employer,” she said with a terse smile.

“Yes Ma’am I do.”

The older woman across from you pursed her lips and took a measured sip of her tea. “This has happened before,” she started quietly, “you don’t know what you’re getting into. He is too stern for grace, an unreclaimed creature.”

“He's more myself than I am,” you whispered harshly unable to meet the Housekeeper’s eyes.

“You will ruin this house if you stay,” she hissed reaching across the table to grip your arm. “There will be no going back if you give into him, think of Arya...”

You remembered the darkness behind his eyes, the harsh grip of his hands on your hips, and knew she was just as correct as you were- despite that you could feel the familiar tug in your heart that connected you and knew you couldn’t leave.

Of course, she had seen this passion play before. The ending was known to her, it was written on the estate’s walls plainly for everyone but you and your charge who hoped beyond measure for the happy ending that would not be coming.

Robb spent the next thirteen months within the claustrophobic walls of his grand estate, his venomous temper directed at everyone when they felt too restrictive. But he couldn’t fathom leaving with you there and unclaimed, unwatched, and unprotected.

Your frenzied romance and rushed engagement distracted you to no end. By the time you realized something was wrong your face refused to hold any color, and your entire body ached with pain and fever. The first time he left the estate grounds was to fetch your doctor. But, in essence, it was too late.

“Robb,” you called reaching for him. You struggled to breathe and the contented sigh on your lips disfigured itself into a ghastly groan that made your lover weep.

Your locket dangled from his hands like a rosary and you wondered if that strange blasphemous reverence played a part in this destruction.

Neither the leeches placed along the curve of your hip nor the soft drops of blood let from your arm could prevent the advancing cold that spread in your veins and eventually closed your eyes.

Your strangled coughs stopped, the air in your lungs ran cold and your blood stopped running altogether. The thin red lines flowing from your lips and skin dried and all at once, the bloody affair was over. There was no fanfare, the world didn’t end. Winterfell and her Master remained as they had for the last forty years and would for forty more without you. Nestled into the sparse and desolate countryside your ghost couldn’t even be tempted forth for comfort.

[ravenwritesstuff]

Best Laid Plans (13/?)

Fandom: Frozen (modern AU, no magic) Pairings: Helsa, established Kristanna, Rapunzel/Eugene, lotsa frohana Rating: T for now, M later almost for sure A/N: Meh.

She goes to the bathroom where she had changed originally. 

By some mercy all of her things are still there. She does not know why she thought they might not be, but this day is quickly showing her just how unexpected things can be. Her mouth still tingles from the pressure of his and if she is honest she cannot say it was entirely unwanted. 

Still: this precedent cannot stand. If this event is to go forward she absolutely cannot abide this kind of behavior.

It is distracting. It is unprofessional. More than that it hints at the one thing she has not allowed herself to consider for over two years: a future. 

Hans Westergaard may not want anything from her more than a fling, but she cannot know that for sure. She cannot entertain anything that may have staying power and if his reaction to her is even a fraction of what she has felt when he touches her then they are in trouble.

The first thing she does is breaths. She knows she tends to not do that and that is no good. She must breathe. Breath is crucial to brain function and clearly she needs as much of that as she can get. 

She needs to breathe.

She needs to think.

She needs to move forward.

Her first step of moving forwards is to go to the miniature version of her traveling drugstore in the corner of the gold and marble bathroom, and she immediately starts setting herself right. She cannot get out of her wrap and suit fast enough. Even with the rinse down below she still feels sticky. She pulls out her face and body wipes and gets to work, then the lotion. It is not the type that drenched her skin with cloying scent, but instead offered a delicate perfume that she hopes will remove all traces of the reef and everything after. As she works the cream into her skin she feels her body relax. The familiarity, the sense of routine, slows the spinning world enough that she finally feels like she stands on solid ground.

Her body is hers. Her mind is hers. Her spirit is hers. She focuses on that.

She tells herself this routine has nothing to do with erasing his touch, covering it with additional sensation so she can forget the heat he poured into every inch of her. She tells herself that caressing her body with her own hands has nothing to do with forgetting the imprints he left on her. She reasons that gargling sharp minty mouthwash is to take the tang of ocean salt from her tongue and not the memory of his own intimate flavor. She tells herself that she hadn’t kissed him back.

She wishes she believed herself, but the last point is a lie and she knows it.

Still she comforts herself knowing that if nothing else it reminds her that there is life off of this boat, outside of his initiative. These steps, routines, exist outside of him. The vast majority of her world exists outside of him and would continue to be so for as long as she is alive. It is a victory, she tells herself, to not need him. 

All she wants is to plan a great event. All she wants is to elevate her company to the next level so when she leaves she will know they are set. All she wants is to make peace with her fate and leave her family with the resources they need for success. 

She dresses, glad for the shapeless way her shift floats around her body revealing nothing. She untangles the mess of her hair and combs her fingers through the white blonde mass. The salt from the ocean brings out its fullness and body. Without a blowdryer and a round brush there was no hope of taming it to lay around her shoulders and down her back without it exploding into a frizzy mess. Her fingers deftly create a braid that she curls and pins at the nape of her neck, hiding her scar.

Finally she finds her silver locket and clasps it behind her neck. 

She may have been tempting fate wearing this specific piece of jewelry. Hans Westergaard had taken a special interest in it at the wedding after all, but she knows she cannot simply stop wearing it. It is her most precious belonging and she is not about to allow one over-inflated playboy keep her from exercising what little control she has over her life. 

She straightens her shoulder and swipes on just enough makeup to make her feel like she isn’t a ghost: a bit of mascara, concealer, brow fill, blush, and a swipe of nude lipstick. She has never been a gloss girl. Her fair complexion already makes her look younger than she is. She does not need help in that department, especially since she will never grow old.

The thought slips in before she can stop it but it still catches her breath. It has been easy to ignore for the last two years, but she knows she is chasing the end. Time and fate do not just stop because you turn your eye. She feels them both biting her heels. 

In an act she hopes is fortifying she looks herself in the eye in the mirror. 

She says what she has said for many other days to remind herself of her position, her focus, whenever she felt lost:

“The end is coming.” 

The words bend in a strange way in this space. She has grown used to how they unfurled in the small bath off of her studio apartment where she has often found macabre comfort in her single affirmation. What use has she for self-help mantras and manifestation when science has told her the truth? 

The end is coming, and it is coming soon. She has felt it. It is not constant, but just enough that she recognizes its impending presence. This is when she must bow out and relinquish herself to fate - no matter how cruel. She did not choose this, but it seems the universe did. Who is she to argue with the universe?

Her shoulder rolls back, eyes catching in the mirror, and she cannot delay further. If she does it will result in her heaving herself off the deck into the depths of the ocean and not coming back up and that is not becoming for PR regarding an up-and-coming event planning business.

She must face this.

She considers what she has faced to this point and in many ways is able to convince herself that anything she has encountered between herself and Mister Westergaard is quite small. Perhaps, in many ways, it is. Perhaps this ephemeral chemistry has left them grasping at things that do not exist. 

There is no future and she is fine with that. Yes she may have reacted and even enjoyed the attention of his kisses but that does not mean she must succumb to the succulent pleasure he offers. After all he does not know what he is asking.

She does not have a future. 

She does not know how to tell him that.

So she looks at herself in the mirror and decides that after this event she is done. Of course she will do her best at finishing out what she needs to contractually, but she will not accept any more events. From here on in her purpose will be to transfer whatever authority she has to a new trainee. It is the most she can hope to do for a company that was founded on the fact that she is dying.

Her head shakes, hand gripping pure stone counters veined with what she can only assume is actual gold, and this is her purpose. This is why she is here. If she can keep this event under the guise of E&A Events without ever giving away her position as she has done with everything they have done. Then their business will catapult to the stratosphere of society.

They are ready. She knows they are. They all have the skill and capability to reach the heights she never will, but she hesitates. Hiring. The one thing they have never really done. Kristoff was acquired through dating Anna. Rapunzel and Eugene were acquired through Kristoff and Anna drinking at a bar and forcing Elsa to realize they were the perfect fit for their expanding needs. The intern Sven, Kristoff’s friend, fit in well enough to warrant a staff position if available, but he definitely could not fill her shoes. 

They needed someone who was focused on delivering perfection, someone who would balance out her obsession with black and white solutions, someone who could move them forward when her own desire for being more kept them from actually accomplishing anything.

Someone like Hans. Her own mind betrays her and she takes a breath.

She had not lingered in this bathroom to have her own motivational mirror time accost her so she knows it is time to go. Turning towards the door she sucks a serrated breath and reminds herself of the truth.

All that matters is the deal, the zeros on the bottom line, the chance to upscale the business. 

At least that is what she tells herself as she tries to settle an errant, romantic heart.

Romance. The very word simultaneously makes her laugh and cringe. Of course she had wanted someone to share her life with, someone who didn’t judge or query or laugh. Someone sober-minded, driven, responsible, kind… but she shoves aside that narrative. 

Even at Camp for Those Who Probably Weren’t Going to Make It (not the official name but the name given by her and her best camp friend in the summers spent there) she knows how unrealistic this is.

Love can heal, it does heal, but not when it comes to cases like her.

This is no simple saga of a single broken heart that could be bandaged if the right pair of hands came along. This is her own body declaring war on itself while requiring her to be inside of it but also sit back and watch. The cruelty is not lost on her, but she is prepared. This has been her end for a long time. 

She will watch until the bitter end.

So she looks in the mirror. She squares her shoulders. She tightens the muscles in her back. Though not the tallest woman in the room she is above average and feels that is very much to her advantage. She will take every advantage she can during this negotiation for more than one reason.

After all: what is negotiation other than having the best side of a deal? 

Little does she know that she is about to find out.

….

The rest of the party is back and dressed in their original clothes when she emerges onto the deck where they had first started. She takes stock and if she was not wound as tightly as a child’s music box she may have found the mix of mussed and professional endearing. 

Well, at least where her team was concerned. 

Her sister especially struck a chord in her disheveled pigtail braids, freckles shining on her cheeks and nose from their time in the sun, and her negligence to reapply any kind of makeup. Even in her casual professional outfit Elsa could not help but see her sister as they had been as children. As they had been before - 

That thought is dangerous territory in current company and she reigns it hoping no one noticed the flicker of sentiment (and by no one she means Hans Westergaard). The situation has made it clear that she cannot afford any emotional weakness, no chinks in the armor, and she whips and beats her consciousness to submit to meet what she is so sure they need. 

With an effort she is chagrin to admit she meets Mister Westergaard’s eyes to find them carefully resigned, as if he had to muster a similar effort to meet her gaze. Still the moment her eyes meet his she is struck with a heat she cannot explain - especially considering the distance. She swallows nothing, throat working around the promise of relief that cannot be found in such a simple action. 

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” she says around the lump in her throat, gaze scanning everything. 

The elaborate spread of food and drink menus have been removed and she feels a pang of hunger that makes this discovery a regrettable one. Simultaneously she is surprised she is even interested in food at this moment. Not just because of her racing heart but she hasn’t been hungry in weeks, not genuinely anyway. She knows what that signals, but has been ignoring it. 

Perhaps this is a good sign?

She tightens her core against the burgeoning hope. She is beyond trusting herself. If her condition has gone far enough she really cannot trust her own mind. The idea sends a spiteful fever through her gut, coiling and venomous. Who was she if she could not trust herself, her judgement? 

She pushes at the hunger and levels her gaze somewhere in the middle of the group: “What did I miss?”

Anna smiles in a way that betrays nothing. She is either getting better at masking her feelings or Kristoff really hasn't divulged anything.

“We all just got here,” her sister smiles. “We were waiting for you.”

Elsa does not dare look at Hans for his response to that comment. 

“Well I’m here now,” Elsa squares her shoulders and shifts her attache case in her hands. “Shall we discuss the initiative?” 

The words themselves rest a tang on her tongue, bright as blood, and she is just glad it does not taste like him. 

“Of course,” it is he, his voice smooth and calm as she hoped she had sounded before. “But you all must be hungry. I have taken the liberty to make sure lunch was provided today so we can spend the afternoon discussing details.” 

It is only then that she allows herself to realize that he has lost his sweater from the morning and only wears the crisp white button down that had been hidden beneath. The long white sleeves are rolled to the elbows. His forearms are lean, roped with purposeful strength, and sprinkled with both freckles and thick copper hair. The sight of even part of him reminds her of how much she had seen before and unease descends upon her like a guillotine.

“Certainly,” Elsa nods, aware everyone is watching for her cue. “Thank you for the consideration, but we cannot presume to take so much of your time. I am sure after a working lunch my team and I will have enough to get started on your project. After all we want to provide you with the absolute best services and we are best prepared to do that in our offices.”

“Of course,” Hans Westergaard steps nearer and even at the distance of several feet she feels her calf cramp against the impulse to step back in response. “But you see I plan on being involved through this entire process. It is crucial that I work alongside you and make sure you understand everything you need to know so you can deliver exactly what I want.”

She levels her gaze, steadies her breath, and sees exactly what he is doing. Just as he clearly saw her own tactic a few moments before and she has never met someone to challenge her like this. 

“That is the beauty of hiring E&A Events,” she smiles instead of screaming. “We can accomplish things for you in less time and with less supervision things that many other event planners cannot. That is why we hope you trust us and our recommendations. Once we outline your expectations we will only have to check in periodically to make sure we are on track.”

A shadow of a smile pulls at his lips as his gaze darkens. “And if I want to have a more hands on approach?”

Her breath catches against her will. Her body heats with each memory of exactly what his hands felt like across her frame and that is not part of the deal. It never will be, but she can feel the tension in the air. She can sense her crew’s suspicion rising at this exchange, inferring indiscretion, and she raises an imperious brow in counterpoint. 

“There are no contracts signed, Mister Westergaard. Let’s sort through the particulars and see if we are a good fit.” 

It is the best she can do to diffuse and redirect a conversation she can only describe as wildly out of hand. Still the look in his eye at her phrasing does nothing to settle the rolling feeling in her stomach. His enigmatic gaze tells her nothing but that she is in trouble.

“Lunch sounds great,” it is Kristoff who breaks in. His voice is just a little too eager.

“Yeah,” Anna chimes in too and Elsa cannot help but wonder just what she has gotten out of Kristoff explicitly and what she has read between the lines. “After all of that swimming I am starved!”

Rapunzel and Eugene seem all too happy to acquiesce and she can see Hans Westergaard slip into his perfect host skin. His smile broadens, his eyes get less focused, and he moves his attention from lasering in on her to directing the party as a whole. At least he can read a room - but maybe that is what makes him so dangerous. 

Hans introduces the impeccable brunette that had directed her to the Sunset Parlor. Janet, her name is Janet. Elsa fixes onto that, on the humanness of this woman and how she could clearly care less about Hans Westergaard and his charm and his influence and whatever else he brings to the table as she offers the most gracious of smiles and gestures to Elsa’s crew to follow her. 

The group all goes ahead of them.

Elsa had thought Hans Westergaard would go first but all he does is rock on his toes like a dare as the rest push into the interior of the boat. Elsa’s mind flashes to creamy yellow leather and lush mahogany wood and how if the lunch options were anything like the brunch options she may actually have to indulge (slightly). If this is the challenge he wants to lay down she will meet it. 

She turns and follows the group. In no less than three steps she stopped by a strong hand on her shoulder turning her to meet his watching eyes. They have not quite left the main deck and she has watched carefully enough to know that the reflective glass is keeping them from further chatter of indiscretion. That does not mean she is thrilled to be stopped before she is coupled with the relative safety of going into lunch with her team. 

Still she turns with razor eyes: “Stop it. This is not the right time.”

“Oh? Why do I feel like it will never be the right time with you?” he pulls the easy smile she knows is not his and her stomach turns.

“Stop,” she steps back and his hand drops. “You really have to stop.”

Her spine tightens as she tries to not lean away even though he has not moved closer. The kisses between them still sing. She may not be the most experienced girl at the bar but she knows a player when she sees one and there is no way she is letting him get closer in any way. 

He cocks his head to the side, “why?”

“I understand you are an influential man,” she stares at the third button down his chest, ignoring that the first two are undone, and trying her best to not remember… “But we are, well I am not in the habit of pawning off favors for the sake of business. If I gave you the wrong impression or insinuated what you might expect…”

Her blush cuts her off and swallows. 

His voice is low and soft, “I don’t expect anything.”

That rips her eyes to his. She does not know him, but she knows enough to never trust that sentiment. 

“Everyone expects something,” she replies before she can catch herself and her mind goes double time to make up for her misstep, for showing her authentic feelings.

Even if it is true - even if he is born to an entire line that expects something - that does not give her permission to spew all over him. Still she is not about to allow her company to become the laughing stock of higher society because this man can adapt to any circumstance. There are no stakes for him here as far as she can see.

So she straightens her shoulders and does not back down. His chin lowers, slow grin melting across his face. All he does is shift his weight and she has to keep herself from jumping. What if Anna - ?

“What is it that you think I expect that has you so on edge?”

His eyes are hooded, lips soft, and the heat of their kiss is so near to her memory it would only take the slightest effort to pull it to the front of her mind and make a terrible decision, but she reins it in.

“Honestly I don’t want to patronize you with what we were both privy to,” they hold each others gaze for an uncomfortable breath then: “Before we move forward I need you to be honest about your potential contracting of E&A Events. It must have no ulterior motive beyond your event creation and completion. Tell me that you are hiring us for our collective merit, the event we could plan for you, and not for any other reason.” 

He tilts his head to the side with a smirk, “What other reason could I have?”

She flushes, but not of embarrassment. This time the flush rises from - she hates to admit - agitation. She had though they had been on the same page, that he was actually listening to her, but that seems to be untrue. 

“Are you asking me to suppose that you kissed me - repeatedly - was simply out of some sort of goodwill?”

His grin blossoms in full at that and it fills the room to where her whole body tense to stop a step back though he does not move. Even with feet separating them she can feel the heat of him against her and it is not fair. He rests so easy across the space from her that she cannot help but cross her arms over her chest in resistance to him.

“No. I am fully supposing you understand I kissed you because I find you wildly attractive,” his smile stretches so wide she wonders if it hurts even as it stops her lungs.

“Then this cannot go on,” it is a hard rush of the only air left in her body. The exhalation of this truth gives her space to suck in new air and continue, “while I am flattered there is no version of this story that ends the way you want unless that story ends with my company planning you an unforgettable event and us not getting involved in any way.”

The moment the words are out of her mouth she second guesses them. Her mind goes wild with everything she said wrong or could have said better but she is glad that the truth is at least out there. When expectations are set, she has learned, most parties end up happy. Still as she watches him she cannot quite be sure that rule applies here. 

His hands tuck into his pocket and he rocks onto his toes. It isn't disappointment, but there are shades of that along with other things beneath the surface that she tries to not dissect too closely. Her mind comforts herself with the black and white of the situation. These kinds of boundaries are good and what they need to be professional. She had felt unsettled before because she had allowed gray to shade them. If he couldn’t accept her terms then -

“Well,” his tongue wets his full bottom lip and she can feel the gray slipping back in. “I told you I would kiss you like I would never get another chance. If that is all we get, I’ll learn to live with it.”

He smiles, not his mega-watt-light-the-night-sky-smile, but something softer and more secret. It sends a thread of anticipation up her spine that she cannot unravel. 

Still she takes his words to heart. 

I’ll learn to live with it.

He would have to.

After all. She had.

[ previous ]

[michelles-garden-of-evil]

Episode 45 Review: Bob Costello’s First Episode

{ YouTube: 1 | 2 | 3 }

{ Full Synopses/Recaps: Debby Graham | Bryan Gruszka }

At long last, welcome back to my review series for Strange Paradise, a show increasingly living up to its name. In 1969 PT, the audience for this episode--primarily young people and housewives smitten with Colin Fox--is watching Jacques threaten Alison’s life if Vangie tells anyone about the events on Maljardin after leaving. Meanwhile in our timeline, the story takes a different, more bizarre direction, featuring an allegedly evil rabbit, a bloodied locket that once belonged to Erica Desmond, and an emergency séance that ends in a poisoning.

Now that former Dark Shadows staff member Robert Costello has taken the helm as producer, there will be many changes to the show, including a change in writers. Co-creator and former headwriter Ian Martin is gone now, and in his place we have George Salverson and Ron Chudley. Salverson was a prolific writer for Canadian radio and television, writing (among many other works) a 1949 radio adaptation of Dracula that’s very good and at least four scripts for the 1967 historical comedy TV series Hatch’s Mill[1], which also starred Cosette Lee and Sylvia Feigel and featured Kurt Schiegl as Big Kurt. Chudley was an up-and-coming writer who, like fellow SP writers Ian Martin and Harding Lemay, became better-known for his later work. He is still alive as far as I can tell and works as a novelist and playwright. The resume on his personal website lists a wide variety of works, including a series of mystery novels, one published play (After Abraham), and many scripts for different media, including “over one hundred [TV] scripts, for CBC and independents.” Salverson and Chudley will only write the next five episodes, but one of these (Episode 47) will be among the best of Maljardin.

From now until Episode 149, all episodes will open with new, Dark Shadows-style narrations delivered by cast members. The first, read by Angela Roland (Vangie), is rather vague and--surprisingly--doesn’t recap Holly’s poisoning:

Death lives in this great house on Maljardin, striking as swiftly as a bolt of lightning. Legend says it is caused by the evil of this man [Jacques Eloi des Mondes], three hundred years dead:

But others believe it is something more, like the Reverend Matthew Dawson.

The reason why she mentions Matt of all characters is because he appears first in this episode, lamenting the fact that Alison hasn’t yet verified whether or not his twenty-year-old stalkee Holly survived the poisoning attempt at the end of last episode. “Murder is a three-hundred-year-old tradition here on Maljardin,” he comments, speaking to the portrait which he refuses to believe is animate. “Do traditions ever die?”

“Murder, Reverend Dawson?” Vangie asks, which triggers a discussion of who could have poisoned the wine that Holly drank. Was the culprit her mother who poured it (and whom Vangie and Raxl have identified as a dangerous witch)? Was it Raxl, who filled the decanter? And could Holly have drank the cyanide that Jean Paul took from the lab in Episode 23, which has been missing since? We soon get an answer to the third question, courtesy of Holly’s mother Elizabeth:

Well, that was quick.

“They tried to murder my daughter,” she accuses. “What will they do to the rest of us?”

“They?” Matt asks, confused. “Who?”

“I filled the glass, Raxl filled the decanter, and where was Jean Paul?” She asks about the master of Maljardin with a tone of accusation, evidently suspecting him of playing some role in the attempted murder. This is the first time on this show that one of Colin Fox’s contractually obligated absences has been worked into the plot in a way that makes sense, and I think it’s brilliant. His absence from the second séance provides her with a realistic and believable reason to accuse him of having something to do with the poisoning.

As for what Jean Paul was doing during the events of last episode...

Less realistic or believable, IMO.

He appears to have spent the night rabbit-sitting in his bedroom the whole time while trying unsuccessfully to interrogate it. “What are you?” he asks the Rabbit of Evil, who ignores him because it knows which of them is really in control of the island now. “A creature that cannot exist on this island and yet does exist! My...Erica...”

Raxl cuts him off when she enters the room, bringing tea as a pretext. “The master is not safe with a devil spirit in the room,” she tells him, no doubt wanting the fluffy devil spirit back so she can sacrifice it.

Jean Paul must see through Raxl’s flimsy pretext, given how dramatically he refuses the refreshments she brought. “Leave me, Raxl,” he hisses, mugging for the camera. “I do not want your tea!” Even after she offers to taste it first, he refuses.

Raxl leaves to visit the Great Hall, where she arrives just in time to overhear Elizabeth accusing her of poisoning Holly. After pissing off Elizabeth by giving her the stink-eye, Raxl sends Vangie upstairs to report to Jean Paul with the locket.

Raxl giving Elizabeth the stink-eye.

Elizabeth tries using the look as evidence that Raxl is working against them. Vangie doesn’t buy it.

While ranting to Quito in the crypt, Raxl recaps what she knows about Erica, the locket, and the Rabbit of Evil. She speaks of herself in the third person: “Raxl cannot tell them because they are fools!” This is a new thing, which Ian Martin’s Raxl never did. It’s also the second time this happens in the episode; the first instance occurs in the tea scene. where she asks, “Does the master wish Raxl to taste the tea before he drinks?” I don’t like it. I think referring to herself in the third person makes Raxl sound less intelligent than she’s proven herself to be.

Meanwhile, in Jean Paul’s room, Vangie dangles the sparkling locket like a pendulum before Jean Paul’s eyes:

Vangie: "Jean Paul Desmond…look at the locket…focus on the locket…focus as I swing it back and forth like a pendulum…you are now getting very relaxed…now, Jean Paul Desmond…now you will stop being mean and grumpy as you have been since the capsule malfunctioned…you will go back to being polite and charming like before and stop breaking everybody’s hearts…you will confess your love to Dr. Alison Carr…you will also stop looking constipated…Jean Paul Desmond…Jean Paul Desmond…"

I wish. No, she isn’t actually using it to hypnotize Jean Paul, just showing it to him so that he can inspect it. He verifies that it belonged to her and claims that he “put [it] on Erica’s throat with [his] own hands. I saw it sealed into the capsule with her, with these same eyes that see it now.”

The line above is a retcon. In Episode 4, Erica was not wearing any visible locket when the men from the Cryonics Society insert her body into the cryocapsule. Jean Paul entered the crypt to see her after they had already sealed her in.

“Now, take it, Jean Paul,” Vangie orders. “Feel it. It is real!” She says this as though Jean Paul had just denied it being Erica’s, which is the opposite of his reaction. “I can touch it no more! Take it back!”

She hands it to him and he takes it. Even though he says it’s real and so does she, he still wants confirmation. “Touch it, Vangie!” he begs. “You must! How am I to save my mind? How else am I to know if it is true and real, what I am seeing?”

“Do you doubt your mind, Jean Paul?” Vangie asks, although it’s obvious that’s the only explanation for his command.

“This is the mystery,” he says. “This is the terrible fact I must find out, without this.” It’s not clear what specifically he means by this in either of those sentences. “Vangie, how can you make a contact?”

Not wanting to subject herself to a third dangerous séance on the island, Vangie tells him, “I’m sorry, Jean Paul. The séance is impossible. The angry spirit that came into this house with the locket and the black rabbit is still here, waiting. It can seize any one of us as it seized Holly. I will not do it!”

But Jean Paul insists that she must, or else “how will [he] be able to save [his] mind?”

“How much are you asking?” Vangie demands. “What are you doing to me? What are you doing to all of us?”

Speechless, Jean Paul doesn’t respond. After Vangie leaves the room, he clutches the locket to his chest. “How am I to save myself and my Erica?” he ponders, his eyes wide with terror.

Down in the Great Hall, Vangie vents to Matt and Elizabeth about how she doesn’t want to put them in danger by holding another séance, throwing the box that was on top of the séance table in anger. Elizabeth, remembering that Jean Paul had once seemed “such a reasonable man,” speculates that one of them may be able to reason with him.

Meanwhile, Jean Paul begins to speculate that someone has opened the capsule and continues his attempted interrogation of the very bored-looking rabbit:

Jean Paul: “Who are you? What are you? If I gave you the poisonous leaves here on Maljardin where nothing lives, would you die, or have you lived and dined on this vile island on poison?” Rabbit of Evil: “...”

Jean Paul: *obviously reading Teleprompter* "Or are you innocent? And if you are, then you would die blameless. Or is Raxl right? Was it evil that brought me the locket or good?"

Jean Paul: *unable to suppress a smile at the ridiculous monologue about the cute animal* "And which are you: good or evil?" Rabbit of Evil: *twitches nose cutely*

This scene is the crowning moment of cute on Maljardin, between Colin Fox’s unsuccessfully suppressed smile and the adorable rabbit twitching its nose at him. Eventually giving up on questioning the animal, he sets it back down in the picnic basket and returns to the matter of the locket.

“Yes!” he declares. “I can find these answers if the capsule is opened. And if there’s nothing there or the locket is there,”--he reads the Teleprompter some more--”then this is false!”

After a brief filler scene between Raxl and Quito--in which she, thankfully, is back to referring to herself in the first person--Matt visits Jean Paul in his room. Attempting to reason with him, the Reverend begs Jean Paul to confess if he is responsible for the things that have happened to Holly, between her being pushed down the stairs, the slashed portrait, and last episode’s poisoning. Jean Paul accuses him of plotting with the others on the island to gaslight him, then describes his new, bizarre theory about Dan removing the locket from the cryocapsule when it allegedly failed and dipping it in blood as part of their plot. But how did Dan get the blood? The only possibility, he believes, is that there was blood on Erica. This provides him with yet another reason to open the capsule: to see where and how Erica was bleeding, which he now claims he remembers happening.

Meanwhile, Raxl and Quito meet in their bedroom to discuss the necessity of finding the conjure doll and the silver pin. And the fact that they’re meeting in their room means...

There he is, again: our mascot!

They leave to search in the Temple of the Serpent shortly after, and we get this well-lit shot of the passageway between the crypt and the temple.

Matt returns to the Great Hall and recaps his conversation with Jean Paul to Vangie, who comes to the conclusion that the situation on Maljardin is hopeless because Jean Paul doesn’t know the truth. At the same time, Raxl prays to the Serpent in the temple to tell her if the “woman-child” Holly should die, to which the answer is “yes.” She then orders Quito to “search” (for the doll and pin) and he screams!

Quito screaming, with the moment’s location in the video of Part 3. Even though it’s not technically a line, I’m going to count this as a line flub because Quito is supposed to be mute.

Later in the Great Hall, Jacques speaks to Jean Paul through the portrait, telling him not to open the capsule. “You will learn nothing,” he argues. “You will finish off Erica for nothing. Don’t you think so? All you can learn is whether that machine works. Is Erica’s body perfectly preserved, or is Erica now something else?”

Obvious foreshadowing is obvious.

Ignoring him, Jean Paul retreats to the crypt, where he grips the capsule and cries, believing he must open it but fearing for Erica’s safety. Raxl finds him there and begs him to open it and let her die naturally, not just so he gets his answers, but also “so that she may have eternal peace with the god that you denied.”

“Are you, too, suggesting that I am mad?” Jean Paul asks.

“Open the capsule, do not open the capsule. If madness is to come, it may come right away," is her cryptic reply.

Jean Paul crying on the capsule from the episode’s final scene.

While not as good as the other Salverson and Chudley episodes to come, Episode 45 shows promise in its focus on Jean Paul’s descent into insanity. Once he realizes that the locket was Erica’s, he constructs a ridiculous conspiracy theory involving his enemy Dan removing it while tampering with the capsule and somehow getting blood on it. He feels tempted to open the capsule despite the danger to her frozen body, and now must choose between risking her permanent death by opening (what Raxl wants) and keeping it shut despite his mounting fears that the uncertainty will drive him mad, so that Jacques can resurrect Erica. The script has its issues and there are some amusing bloopers, but the first episode produced by Robert Costello is engaging and suspenseful, leaving the viewer with questions about what will happen and be revealed in Week 10.

Coming up next: The Bad Subtitle Special for Week 9, followed by two theories about Jean Paul’s new fears regarding Erica and the locket.

{<-- Previous: Episode 44   ||   Next: Episode 46 -->}

Notes

[1] Hatch’s Mill makes for an interesting footnote in SP history. In addition to sharing one writer and three actors in major roles, Peg McNamara (aka Peg Dixon, the first Ada Thaxton) and Patricia Collins (the first Huaco des Mondes) played minor roles in one episode. A scathing 1968 review by critic Douglas Marshall provides the most detailed description of Hatch’s Mill available for free online.

[three-houses-text-files]

byleth/dimitri

c-s support + paired ending + night of the ball

Dimitri: Thank you for your help the other day, Professor. Please, allow me to express my gratitude by taking you to dinner.

>It was nothing.

D: Nonsense. Your guidance was magnificent. Just what I'd expect from a professor at this esteemed academy.

>I would be delighted.

D: Fantastic. Please think about what you'd like to eat. After all, such magnificent guidance must work up quite an appetite.

D: I've studied swordsmanship for some time, but your mercenary skills are something else entirely. D: Speaking of which, there's...another question I must ask you. D: Were you reconciled with the reality of battle from your first foray? With...the killing part, I mean.

>I hadn't the luxury of questioning it.

>No. It's never easy.

I see.

>And you?

D: No... I do not carry that burden well. I doubt that will change, no matter how many years come and go. D: The first time I led on the battlefield, I was sent to quell a rebellion in the west. D: It was not a difficult fight. The enemy was not well-trained and their morale was low. D: A swing of the lance, and your opponent falls. A flash of your blade, and a path opens up. That's the sort of battle it was. Easy...right?

>You did what you had to do.

D: That's one way to look at it.

>What caused the rebellion?

D: The noble family from that area sought to seize the throne after my father's untimely death. D: The leader of the rebel army was defeated and the rebellion quelled. This was at the height of the post-war period. D: I recall coming across a dead soldier's body. He was clutching a locket. Inside was a lock of golden hair. D: I don't know to whom it belonged. His wife, his daughter...mother, lover... I'll never know. D: He was a soldier. An enemy. Someone we had cut down without hesitation. D: But in that moment, I realized he was also a real person, just like the rest of us. D: Of course, we cannot stand idly by and allow anyone to commit senseless acts of violence. D: Yet in dispensing what we call justice, we take the lives of cherished family members. Beloved friends. D: Killing is part of the job, but even so... There are times when I'm chilled to the bone by the depravity of my own actions.

>It's normal to feel that way.

D: Is it? Perhaps you're right. I pray that you are.

>I've felt the same way.

D: That you feel the same way is more comforting than you could know.

D: Professor? May I speak freely? D: When we first met, I thought of you as someone who felt no strong feelings about killing your enemies. D: I could never trust someone who kills without batting an eye. My heart won't allow it. D: But after speaking with you and getting to know you better, I can see you're not like that. D: Now I know, with all my heart, that I can trust you. Thank you for that.

——————————————————————————————

b

D: Perfect timing, Professor. If you don't mind, I have a favor I'd like to ask of you.

>What's the favor?

D: It's in regard to sword training. Not for myself, but... Well... D: To be honest, I've been teaching swordsmanship to the orphans at the monastery for a while now.

>How unexpected.

D: I must agree. Frankly, I'm not great with children.

>How did that come to be?

D: Some of them saw me sparring with the knights one day. D: They started pestering me to teach them. They were so earnest... I couldn't help but oblige. D: There's much I wish to show them, but due to my own studies and training, I'm afraid my time is rather limited. D: Which brings me to my favor. Your swordsmanship is unmatched. I hate to ask this of you, but... Would you consider lending me a hand?

>You can count on me.

>You leave me no choice.

D: Thank you, truly. I am in your debt. And I always repay my debts, I'll have you know. D: All of these children lost their families and homes to war or illness. This may sound a bit arrogant, but...I feel it's my responsibility to help them. D: I lost my parents without warning too. In that way, we're the same. D: In Duscur, I lost my father, stepmother, and closest friends. I didn't have many allies at the castle after that. D: In truth, I had only Dedue for companionship.

>Have you no other family?

D: I'm afraid not. My birth mother fell ill and died shortly after I was born. And my uncle... suffice to say we don't get along.

>Is there no one else you can trust?

D: I once had people I could confide in. Family, friends, instructors, even the royal soldiers.

D: But they were all taken away from me four years ago. D: Ah, but there were those outside the castle walls I was close to. Such as Rodrigue!

>Rodrigue?

D: Heh, pardon my rudeness. I meant Lord Rodrigue. He is my father's old companion, and the father of Felix. D: On the occasions he would visit the capital, he'd take me out hunting or on long horse rides. D: While Dedue is like a brother to me, Rodrigue is more like a second father. D: It might sound ridiculous, but...he's the kind of man I hope to become one day. D: Someone who helps others... Someone who can reach out and save a lost soul. D: Oh... Please accept my apologies for boring you with my life story. D: In any case, don't forget your promise, Professor. I'm counting on you.

——————————————————————————————

a

D: …

>What are you doing?

D: Sleep evades me, so I thought I'd get in some extra training. I was just about to finish.

>Still training?

D: Indeed. But I was thinking about ending it here.

D: Perhaps it is the gloomy weather, but I am feeling the sting of wounds that should have healed long ago...

>What wounds?

D: The injury I got when that girl stabbed me after the battle at Gronder. D: Her eyes were filled with revenge...just as mine once were.

>Who was she?

D: I don't know... But I have a guess.

>...

D: Ah, I suppose I haven't told you about that yet.

>What are you talking about?

D: I was attacked inside the monastery the other day. It caused quite the uproar. D: The ones who attacked me...were some of the youths we taught swordsmanship to, once upon a time.

>Are you OK?

D: Of course. I could capture the lot of them with my eyes closed.

>Why did they do it?

D: It seems they were raised by a group of thieves who we put down five years ago. D: I heard Lady Rhea took custody of them, claiming that the children were innocent. D: I have taken so many lives...and with each one, I face hatred. D: During the last five years especially. My life was not so different from that of a wild beast... D: And that young girl's brother... At some point, I must have... D: That is why I thought it only natural that someone would retaliate someday. D: Because I hated, because I stole, and...because I killed. D: But with those children, it's different... We drew our blades with the best of intentions, only to hurt them in the end.

>I suppose this is yet another thing we will just have to live with.

D: I feel the same way.

>It's part of the job.

D: Yes...

D: As one who chose to fight, it is my responsibility to confront this anguish and the true nature of war... D: Until the day my life comes to an end.

>It is mine as well.

D: Perhaps...

>We can confront it together.

D: Thank you...

D: You know, Professor... There is something that I only recently realized. D: I never knew it could be so...comforting to have someone standing by my side...

——————————————————————————————

s

D: Come now, my friend. You must stop staying up so late. Tomorrow is yet another early morning. D: Then again, I know that matters little. You cannot sleep, can you? Neither can I, of course. D: I... I want you to know I am sorry for making you do so much when your battle wounds aren't even completely healed yet.

>And what of yours?

D: Do not worry about me... My shoulder has healed nicely. I still have some numbness in my hand, but it should not hinder me too much.

>It's awful.

D: Well, I am truly sorry. I only ask that you do not overexert yourself.

D: But I am afraid our burdens will only grow in number. I hope you are prepared for that.

>...

D: It is a lovely night... Is it not? D: How many years has it been since I was kept awake by hopes for the future, rather than by nightmares of the past...

>Nightmares?

D: I have had the same nightmare for nine long years. A nightmare in which I am constantly tormented by those who have died... D: They ask me why I have not avenged them... Why I got to live, yet they had to die... D: No matter how many corpses I piled up for them, in the end, their voices only grew louder. D: Voices loathing me, calling out to me... Their inescapable death cries ringing in my ears...clinging to my soul... D: Even now, I can always hear them. I am certain I will be hearing them until the day I die. D: But I will not cover my ears. I will go on living...and their voices will serve as a warning. D: As a king...and as a wretch who claimed countless lives...I will build a Kingdom where the people can live in peace. D: I am sure she would laugh and call such talk foolish... But I wish to change this world in my own way. D: Well, Your Grace, things will be busy from now on. Our first order of business is tomorrow's coronation. D: Once a professor and student... Now an archbishop and a king. How very far we have come.

>We're still the same.

>Only our titles have changed.

D: That is true. To me, you will always be the one who guided me so kindly. My ally through all. My beloved... D: Yes...my beloved.

>Dimitri...

D: Listen... There is something I wish to give you before the coronation. Give me your hand. D: ... D: Please... I beg of you. Say something! D: If you do not wish to accept it, please just tell me. If so, I will face the truth and walk away.

>That's not it at all...

D: What is this?

>I love you, Dimitri. Marry me.

D: You beat me to it... D: ... D: Yes, I see. Right. In that case, let us exchange them, shall we? D: Your hands... Now that I hold them within my own, I see how small and fragile they are. D: These hands that have saved me countless times... Thank you, my beloved. D: Your kind, warm hands... May they cling to my own forevermore...

——————————————————————————————

paired ending

Paired with the end of the war, the joyous marriage of Byleth, the newly-appointed archbishop, and Dimitri, the newly-crowned king of Faerghus, gave the people of Fódlan much to celebrate. The two were devoted to improving life for the people and to seeking greater wisdom in order to reform the government and the church from the inside out. As leaders of church and state respectively, at times they engaged in heated debate. Even still, when enjoying a long horse ride or a quiet evening, they were not as the world saw them, but rather two adoring spouses, desperately in love. They remained as such for the rest of their days.

——————————————————————————————

night of the ball

D: It’s quiet here, isn't it, Professor? D: That reminds me. Do you know the legend associated with the Goddess Tower?

>I've heard it.

D: Is that right? You don't strike me as the sort to enjoy stories like that.

>I'm not concerned with such things.

D: Just as expected.

D: They say that wishes made in this tower will come true. I wonder who came up with such a silly notion.

>You don't believe it?

D: Legends are legends, nothing more. I doubt there are many who really believe that wishes can be granted. D: The goddess just watches over us from above... That is all. D: No matter how hard someone begs to be saved, she would never so much as offer her hand. D: And even if she did, we lack the means to reach out and grasp it. D: That's how I feel about her. D: In any case... I suppose there's no harm in passing the time with silly legends. What do you say, Professor? Care to make a wish? D: We are here on the night of the ball. Why don't you try wishing for something?

>After you.

>I can't think of anything, so go ahead.

D: A wish of my own... D: I suppose my wish...is for a world in which no one would ever be unjustly taken from us. Or...something along those lines.

>That's a great wish.

>I'll wish for the same.

D: Thank you, Professor. Although, at a time like this... D: Perhaps it would make more sense for me to wish that we'll be together forever. What do you think?

>...

D: ... D: Haha! Well now, Professor! You must admit I've improved in the art of joke telling.

>That's cruel.

D: I'm sorry... I guess that was rather thoughtless of me.

>It didn't sound like a joke.

D: ...

D: Honestly... I do regret saying such a thing. Please think nothing of it. D: I've blurted out irresponsible things like that to my classmates. Promises that we'll see each other again and the like. D: I have no business making such promises for the future. D: There are certain things that I must accomplish, even if it means risking my life. I may not even have a future to promise to someone. D: ... D: We should head back soon. D: It's rude of me to keep you all to myself. D: Shall we, Professor?

[fftwister]

Byleth/Dimitri C-S Support

I went to bed after posting the Byleth/Claude support chain, so I don’t know if other supports are online or not. However, a few folks requested Dimitri and Byleth’s support chain, so here it is for clarity’s sake. Major spoilers below regarding what Dimitri’s deal is (+general BL route and Byleth spoilers). Be wary, this too gets really fucking long.

Dimitri: Perfect timing, Professor. If you don't mind, I have a favor I'd like to ask of you. Byleth: What's the favor? Dimitri: It's in regard to sword training. Not for myself, but... Well... To be honest, I've been teaching swordsmanship to the orphans at the monastery for a while now. Dialogue Tree:

A: How unexpected. B: How did that come to be? Dimitri: (A) I must agree. Frankly, I'm not great with children. (B): Some of them saw me sparring with the knights one day. They started pestering me to teach them. They were so earnest... I couldn't help but oblige. There's much I wish to show them, but due to my own studies and training, I'm afraid my time is rather limited. Which brings me to my favor. Your swordsmanship is unmatched. I hate to ask this of you, but...Would you consider lending me a hand? Dialogue Tree:

A: You can count on me. B: You leave me no choice. Dimitri: Thank you, truly. I am in your debt. And I always repay my debts, I'll have you know. All of these children lost their families and homes to war or illness. This may sound a bit arrogant, but...I feel it's my responsibility to help them. I lost my parents without warning too. In that way, we're the same. In Duscur, I lost my father, stepmother, and closest friends. I didn't have many allies at the castle after that. In truth, I had only Dedue for companionship. Dialogue Tree:

A: Have you no other family? B: Is there no one else you can trust? Dimitri: I'm afraid not. My birth mother fell ill and died shortly after I was born. And my uncle...suffice to say we don't get along. I once had people I could confide in. Family, friends, instructors, even the royal soldiers. But they were all taken away from me four years ago. Ah, but there were those outside the castle walls\nI was close to. Such as Rodrigue! Byleth: Rodrigue? Dimitri: Heh, pardon my rudeness. I meant Lord Rodrigue. He is my father's old companion, and the father\nof Felix. On the occasions he would visit the capital, he'd take me out hunting or on long horse rides. While Dedue is like a brother to me, Rodrigue is more like a second father. It might sound ridiculous, but...he's the kind of man I hope to become one day. Someone who helps others... Someone who can reach out and save a lost soul. Oh... Please accept my apologies for boring you with my life story. In any case, don't forget your promise, Professor. I'm counting on you.

B Support

Dimitri: Thank you for your help the other day, Professor. Please, allow me to express my gratitude by taking you to dinner. Dialogue Tree:

A: It was nothing. B: I would be delighted. Dimitri (A): Nonsense. Your guidance was magnificent. Just what I'd expect from a professor at this esteemed academy. (B): Fantastic. Please think about what you'd like to eat. After all, such magnificent guidance must work up quite an appetite. I've studied swordsmanship for some time, but your mercenary skills are something else entirely. Speaking of which, there's...another question I must ask you. Were you reconciled with the reality of battle from your first foray? With...the killing part, I mean. Dialogue Tree:

A: I hadn't the luxury of questioning it. B: No. It's never easy. Dimitri: I see. Byleth: And you? Dimitri: No... I do not carry that burden well. I doubt that will change, no matter how many years come and go. The first time I led on the battlefield, I was sent to quell a rebellion in the west. It was not a difficult fight. The enemy was not well-trained and their morale was low. A swing of the lance, and your opponent falls. A flash of your blade, and a path opens up. That's the sort of battle it was. Easy...right? Dialogue Tree:

A: You did what you had to do. B: What caused the rebellion? Dimitri (A): That's one way to look at it. (B): The noble family from that area sought to seize the throne after my father's untimely death. The leader of the rebel army was defeated and the rebellion quelled. This was at the height of the post-war period. I recall coming across a dead soldier's body. He was clutching a locket. Inside was a lock of golden hair. I don't know to whom it belonged. His wife, his daughter...mother, lover... I'll never know. He was a soldier. An enemy. Someone we had cut down without hesitation. But in that moment, I realized he was also a real person, just like the rest of us. Of course, we cannot stand idly by and allow anyone to commit senseless acts of violence. Yet in dispensing what we call justice, we take the lives of cherished family members. Beloved friends. Killing is part of the job, but even so... There are times when I'm chilled to the bone by the depravity of my own actions. Dialogue Tree:

A: It's normal to feel that way. B: I've felt the same way. Dimitri (A): Is it? Perhaps you're right. I pray that you are. (B): That you feel the same way is more comforting than you could know. Professor? May I speak freely? When we first met, I thought of you as someone who felt no strong feelings about killing your enemies. I could never trust someone who kills without batting an eye. My heart won't allow it. But after speaking with you and getting to know you better, I can see you're not like that. Now I know, with all my heart, that I can trust you. Thank you for that.

A Support

Dimitri: ... Dialogue Tree:

A: What are you doing? B: Still training? Dimitri (A): Sleep evades me, so I thought I'd get in some extra training. I was just about to finish. (B): Indeed. But I was thinking about ending it here. Perhaps it is the gloomy weather, but I am feeling the sting of wounds that should have healed long ago... Byleth: What wounds? Dimitri: The injury I got when that girl stabbed me after the battle at Gronder. Her eyes were filled with revenge...just as mine once were. Byleth: Who was she? Dimitri: I don't know... But I have a guess. ... Ah, I suppose I haven't told you about that yet. Byleth: What are you talking about? Dimitri: I was attacked inside the monastery the other day. It caused quite the uproar. The ones who attacked me...were some of the youths we taught swordsmanship to, once upon a time. Dialogue Tree:

A: Are you OK? B: Why did they do it? Dimitri (A): Of course. I could capture the lot of them with my eyes closed. (B): It seems they were raised by a group of thieves who we put down five years ago. I heard Lady Rhea took custody of them, claiming that the children were innocent. I have taken so many lives...and with each one, I face hatred. During the last five years especially. My life was not so different from that of a wild beast... And that young girl's brother... At some point, I must have... That is why I thought it only natural that someone would retaliate someday. Because I hated, because I stole, and...because I killed. But with those children, it's different... We drew our blades with the best of intentions, only to hurt them in the end. I suppose this is yet another thing we will just have to live with. Dialogue Tree:

A: It's part of the job. B: I feel the same way. Dimitri: Yes... As one who chose to fight, it is my responsibility to confront this anguish and the true nature of war... Until the day my life comes to an end. Dialogue Tree:

A: It is mine as well. B: We can confront it together. Dimitri (A): Perhaps... (B): Thank you... You know, Professor... There is something that I only recently realized. I never knew it could be so...comforting to have someone standing by my side...

S Support

Dimitri: Come now, my friend. You must stop staying up so late. Tomorrow is yet another early morning. Then again, I know that matters little. You cannot sleep, can you? Neither can I, of course. I... I want you to know I am sorry for making you do so much when your battle wounds aren't even completely healed yet. Dialogue Tree:

A: And what of yours? B: It's awful. Dimitri (A): Do not worry about me... My shoulder has healed nicely. I still have some numbness in my hand, but it should not hinder me too much. (B): Well, I am truly sorry. I only ask that you do not overexert yourself. But I am afraid our burdens will only grow in number. I hope you are prepared for that. ... It is a lovely night... Is it not? How many years has it been since I was kept awake by hopes for the future, rather than by nightmares of the past... Byleth: Nightmares? Dimitri: I have had the same nightmare for nine long years. A nightmare in which I am constantly tormented by those who have died... They ask me why I have not avenged them...Why I got to live, yet they had to die... No matter how many corpses I piled up for them, in the end, their voices only grew louder. Voices loathing me, calling out to me...Their inescapable death cries ringing in my ears...clinging to my soul... Even now, I can always hear them. I am certain I will be hearing them until the day I die. But I will not cover my ears. I will go on living...and their voices will serve as a warning. As a king...and as a wretch who claimed countless lives...I will build a Kingdom where the people can live in peace. I am sure she would laugh and call such talk foolish... But I wish to change this world in my own way. Well, Your Grace, things will be busy from now on. Our first order of business is tomorrow's coronation. Once a professor and student... Now an archbishop and a king. How very far we have come. Dialogue Tree:

A: We're still the same. B: Only our titles have changed. Dimitri: That is true. To me, you will always be the one who guided me so kindly. My ally through all. My beloved... Dialogue Tree:

A: Yes...my beloved. B: Dimitri... Dimitri: Listen... There is something I wish to give you before the coronation. Give me your hand. Byleth: ... Dimitri: Please... I beg of you. Say something! If you do not wish to accept it, please just tell me.If so, I will face the truth and walk away. Dialogue Tree(? There’s a lot of responses here, I don’t know who says what)

A: That's not it at all... B: What is this? C: I love you, Dimitri. Marry me. D: You beat me to it... Dimitri: ... Yes, I see. Right. In that case, let us exchange them, shall we? Your hands... Now that I hold them within my own, I see how small and fragile they are. These hands that have saved me countless times...Thank you, my beloved. Your kind, warm hands... May they cling to my own forevermore...

*Note

Checking through the zip file, Dimitri doesn’t have a final bit of dialogue with Byleth like Claude does in his ending, as the next text file after the S support is his dialogue for a moment after the ballroom dance, and the following files being Claude’s supports. It’s possible the dialogue might be in the ZIP, but I don’t know for sure.

[shuuos]

amber and buttercups

UH SO I AM WRITING AN ACTUAL FIC WROW

i didnt know ao3 had a waiting list to get an account??? so ill post this there..... eventually. for now it’s gonna b right here tho so that’s........ neat...... ill try to post new chapters every friday but given that i am Not the Fastest Writer Ever i’ll probably b off schedule for the first few chapters until i get the hang of this!! anyways, enjoy this sparsely edited first chapter that was supposed 2 be longer buuuut i decided to save the rest for chapter 2

the undertangled au belongs to @izadreamer​ !!!

update: it’s on ao3 now!! if you’d rather read it there ;)

chapter 1 - once upon a time

Frisk

In their short life, Frisk would say that they’ve been through… a lot of weird stuff. Honestly, there’s nothing that can surprise them at this point.

Or that’s what they thought. Turns out the universe loves proving them wrong.

They have no idea where they are, except that it is dark. *The void? Chara suggests calmly. The thought makes their blood run cold. They know what happened to Gaster - will it happen to them, too? Can humans even be erased, the way monsters can?

Chara doesn’t seem to notice their fear, though, *How did we get here? I do not remember falling into the CORE.

“*That - that’s not funny.” A bad taste rises in their throat, and they swallow it down. Void or not, they don’t want to throw up here. Just the thought makes their heart pound. *I am sorry. Chara says, but they say it in that voice they use when they’re not really sorry, but feel like they need to say it anyways. Frisk doesn’t call them out on it, though. They probably didn’t mean to scare them - they’re friends, after all.

Instead of answering, they stand up. Their legs feel weird, like they’ve been sitting too long. *Somehow, it seems there is a solid surface underneath you. Try walking forward. They carefully do so, relaxing a bit each step. It’s comforting, the thought that they’re not going to fall. “*I’m gonna look for a way out,” Frisk tells Chara.

It’s hard, though, when everything is black. They’re doing less looking and more flailing their arms around wildly. From inside their head, they can hear Chara laughing at them. Better at them than their scary jokes, though. So they go on in what they hope is the right direction (because they don’t know what they’ll do if it isn’t.)

Chara stops talking after a while, like they’re thinking of something. Frisk pretends not to notice. It’s a bit too quiet without their chatter, though, and it scares them a bit. They wind up the music box in their locket, and listen to the song. It makes them want to cry, but better that than going crazy from how quiet it is.

*Frisk… Chara says suddenly. Frisk doesn’t like the way their voice sounds, but it’s not enough to stop them from walking. *Frisk, they say again, sounding even more worried now. They still don’t stop walking, because they want to get out of here right now.

*Frisk, there is no-!

Instead of ground, they step right into - a hole? Off a cliff? They can’t really tell. But that’s not important because they’re slipping and they can’t catch themselves, can’t keep themselves from falling. Again.

There’s nothing they can do now except for wait to hit the ground. Is there even any ground in the void? Or are they going to keep falling until they die? Would they be able to die here?

Falling in the void is strange - it feels less like falling and more like they’re floating. Like the girl from that movie Alphys likes, the one about a floating kingdom. It’s not a good comparison, though, because they’d love to be in that movie and they hate being here.

*...is that a light? Frisk can’t see it, but they feel it burning them up. Then they see it. It’s bright, brighter than the sun, and it’s growing. It eats up the darkness until they can’t see anything but white.

And eventually, that fades, too.

Varian

Varian is hauling equipment to his lab when the sky bursts into light.

It blinds him and leaves his head pounding, as if someone is hammering a nail into his skull. By the time it’s over, he’s gasping for air, hoping it’ll be enough to ward off the nausea.

Above him, there is a small silhouette, stark against the bright blue sky. At first, he thinks it’s a meteor, but as it descends, he can make out hair and clothes and oh god that’s a person. He watches as they crash into the trees and land with a dull thud.

And just like that, the trance is over. Everything processes at once - therewasalightandthenacometpersontheyfelltheyfell - and he’s not sure what to do now. The scientific part of him is screaming to look, because whatever that was, it definitely wasn’t natural. As if that wasn’t incentive enough, there’s a tugging sensation in his stomach, like something’s pulling him towards them. Weird.

Ruddiger jumps on his shoulder, shooting him an apprehensive look. Varian gives him a quick pat and mutters, “It’s ok, buddy, this’ll only a minute.” He’ll go in, see who it is, and then go get help if they need it. And they’re going to need it, because scientifically speaking, they’d at least have a few broken bones, if they’re lucky.

Bile rises in his throat as he realizes they could be dying. Could be dead.

Nope, nope, he is not going to think about that. He’s just going to focus on seeing what happened right now, that’s all. He can worry about that later. Besides, he can’t deny that he isn’t curious, and what kind of scientist would ever deny his own curiosity?

Not him, that’s for sure, he thinks to himself as he follows his gut into the tree grove.

The first thing Varian notices is the blood. There’s not that much - just near their head, but it’s still enough to make him feel woozy. Ruddiger digs his claws into his shoulder, reminding him what he’s here for, and he takes a deep breath. He doesn’t recognize their strange clothes. Must not be from here, he thinks. They’re small, too; just going off of their height, he’d say they’re about half his age.

Between their arms, something flashes bright gold, catching his eye as he stumbles back a bit from the sheer amount of blood.

He has to get his dad, a doctor, anyone. He can’t - he wasn’t expecting so much blood. He‘s prepared to run when a sudden cold overtakes his wrist, as if someone with icy hands was grabbing him. *The bleeding is superficial, a voice whispers in his head, leaving will only make it worse.

But they need help-

*Then help them! You cannot let anyone else know that we are here!

Varian can’t tell if they are his thoughts or not, but he finds himself being pulled towards the child nonetheless. Ruddiger hops off and scampers to their side. He bats at their head, and they shift slight in response. He watches with baited breath as they lift themselves up, limbs shaking. After a moment of struggling, they somehow manage to get into a sitting position, tucking their legs underneath them.

How-? A glimmer of pride, one that is not his own, rises up in him, and the icy grip holding on to him vanishes. At that moment, the child turns their unfocused eyes on him - well, in his direction. They blink once, twice, and slur in a strange accent, “*…Kara?”

Their face is bloodstained in a way that makes his stomach churn, so he tries to focus on their eyes, which are glowing even redder than the apples he feeds Ruddiger sometimes. Huh. That’s… weird.

For a moment, the two just stare at each other, though Varian can’t really tell if they’re looking at him or in his general direction. Then, for some reason, they reach for him with outstretched arms. They kind of look like Ruddiger when he wants to be held - wait.

“You… you want me to carry you?” The thought is foreign, absurd, and he’s pretty sure moving them is a bad idea, but they don’t really give him a choice. Ignoring his protests, they lean forward and slump against him. Blood sluggishly leaks from them all the while, staining his clothes.

What’s he supposed to do now? He’s not some kind enough of… childcare expert! He’s the opposite of a childcare expert-!

*Oh my god, just carry them! the voice snaps. He readily obeys, slipping an arm under their legs and lifting them up. They only feel about as heavy as Ruddiger, much to his surprise (are kids supposed to be this light?). As if summoned by his thoughts, the raccoon chirps, holding a broken locket in his hands.

A deep sadness resonates within him, and Varian is startled by it. He’s never seen the thing before, why is he so upset at the sight of it?

Regardless, he allows Ruddiger to store it in the apron pocket, and picks up the broken pieces. From what he can tell, it’s not the actual locket that’s broken, but a music box inside of it. He is relieved; machinery isn’t difficult to fix, as long as you have all the right pieces.

Ruddiger hops on his shoulder and he stands up, his legs only slightly cramped. After a moment, he decides to head directly to his lab rather than try to pull a cart while carrying a child and Ruddiger. He’ll come back for it later; there’s no reason for anyone to try and steal the materials.

. . .

The voice was right, Varian thinks idly as he wraps thick bandages around the unconscious child. Other than the gash on their head and a few cuts on their hands, they’re completely fine. It’s more like they happened to stumble in a particularly rocky area than fell from the sky.

They passed out sometime while he was carrying them, which he only figured out when he laid them down on the table. God, he immediately assumed the worst with how limp they were then.  He just hopes they don’t fall off somehow.

Whatever he had been hearing back there, and he knows he heard something, has gone silent. Quite frankly, he’s relieved. It was really starting to stress him out.

“Ruddiger!” Varian calls as he stumbles to his work-desk. “Tell me… when they wake up, ok?”

With a sigh, he slumps over the scattered papers in a dead faint.

Chara

Chara watches with amusement. The human boy seemed to be aghast at the sight of blood, but they did not realize to this extent. The raccoon - Ruddiger? - stays seated next to Frisk, watching the boy anxiously.

*It is alright, Chara tells it gently, you can go with him. “Ruddiger” stares at them instead. They blink, and remember that their locket is still in the boy’s possession.

They do not feel comfortable with Frisk knowing it is broken, and they say softly, *Actually, could you help me wake him up?

[mister-tom-a-dildo-lover]

How do you feel when people call Voldemort dumb, cartoonish villain? Do you think he is?

They only paid attention to Movie!Voldemort. In the films, every character is dumbed down considerably. On my main blog, I am doing a re-read of the HP series and am keeping everyone up to date with my observations. I have observed a lot.

Vernon is 10X worse in the books. Easily talking of beating Harry, hating Harry, and expressing no remorse over the thought of him dying. He’s made to be a joke in the films. He is in fact, very abusive and love to lord that fact over others.

Ron is 10X smarter in the books. All of his quotes were given to other characters in the films or just left out. He was regulated to an attempt at comic relief in the film.

Book!Myrtle talks of trying to kill herself after being chased off from Nick’s Deathday Party. She’s more playful in the films but in the movie she has tantrums all the time.

Voldemort monologues in the books, but it also shows his thought process. Limited time in the films means they cut out a lot of his character and the way he thinks.

In the films, things were changed/cut to conserve time. In the books however, there is more depth.

Tom Marvolo Riddle: I Am Lord VoldemortBlood Status: Half-Blood(in denial)Born: 31 Dec 1926Died: 2 May 1998Birthplace: Wool’s Orphanage, LondonTalents: Parseltongue, Powerful Magic, CharismaMother: Merope Riddle née Gaunt - PurebloodFather: Tom Riddle Sr. - MuggleHogwarts House: Slytherin - Head Boy

Notable Happenings in his Childhood/Teen Years:

The Great Depression.

WWII - leads to him witnessing the aftermath of The Blitz. As well as perpetual bombings of London long after the Blitz ended.

Magical War - Grindelwald lording over the magicals all over the world.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was conceived through use of a Love Potion. His mother, in an effort to permanently escape her abusive father and brother, who were in prison for the time being, decided to dose the Muggle she obsessively fancied. She then forced him to marry her, take her to London, and have sex with her.

Over time she began to feel guilty, but waited until she was far along in her pregnancy before releasing Tom from her influence. She had hoped he would at least stay for the baby. However, he didn’t(nor should he have had to). He fled in a panic and she had nothing to her name but the Slytherin Locket, which she pawned off in Knockturn Alley in hopes of getting something to live off of. That didn’t work much either.

She managed to give birth to Tom Marvolo Riddle in an orphanage and died shortly after naming him after his father and her father. She also made a wish for him to look like Tom Sr.. She ‘died of a broken heart’ that in my personal opinion is a load of bull since she forced herself on someone and has only herself to blame for the situation she was in.

Now TMR grows up in the orphanage where people think his oddly named mother was a circus performer since she was so hideous(thanks to inbreeding) and had no man with her. Tom grows up being able to do things others cannot and believes himself to be special.

Like other magical children who show natural aptitude, he wasn’t liked. Much like Hermione Granger wasn’t. He was smart and studious, and poor children who are fighting to get adopted out of a mediocre hellhole during the Great Depression, aren’t going to like that.

He had altercations with some of the children. The matron, a drunkard, blames him entirely. He is framed to be a delinquent, kind of like how the Dursleys had everyone thinking of Harry. And he is a child who grows to hate people who treat him terribly just because he isn’t their definition of ‘normal’.

When he finds out he has magic, he ends up revealing that he can speak to snakes. A teacher, who is supposed to be impartial but who took the words of a woman who inhaled multiple glasses of gin while complaining about how unnatural Tom was, decided to treat him like a monster on the brink of snapping any day. Because of a language. He never told Tom what it meant either.

Tom is a hard worker. He is sorted into Slytherin which is known for treating those who are not Pureblooded, terribly. And with a non-magical name like Riddle, he was probably disliked for a time. And he worked to gain the favor of his professors, save for the one walking on eggshells around him of course.

He begins to collect prominent Slytherins and makes his little group, the Knights of Walpurgis.

In his 6th Year, he opens the Chamber of Secrets after searching so long for information on his ancestry. Marvolo was a magical name, and he somehow learned of Parseltongue being a Slytherin Family trait. So he researches and studies, and finally finds what he’s looking for, though is unhappy to find that his mother was his magical parent. After all, she was weak and died. Why didn’t she save herself and decide to leave him in such a horrible place?

And during these years, he develops a fear of death. But how and why? People scared of dying, are usually faced with a near-death experience, or are made blatantly aware of something dangerous that can cause it. Take a look back at the ‘Happenings’ during his childhood. Muggle war. Blown up buildings. Thousands of people dead. Him being forced to go back to that every summer thereby putting his existence on the line.

These are what created Lord Voldemort. This is his history. A magical orphan growing up in WWII in the thick of the danger, while the world is going through a Great Depression. These experiences shape him.

Orphans cling to anything they own, which helped make him possessive of his belongings. And keeping things from kids who bothered him, isn’t a bad thing in my opinion since I did the same when people tried bullying me. If you didn’t want your hat to get ruined/taken, you shouldn’t have punched me in the face, simple. Keep your hands to yourself.

Tom Riddle as a character has nuance. But he lost his mind with the Horcruxes. He made so many that we see a vast difference in the Tom from the Diary - who has the largest soul piece - and Voldemort from GoF and onward. Looks aside, he starts getting repetitive, and a little frantic in action. He doesn’t plan things out. Why?

Horcruxes eff you up. He made 7. He’s operating on the smallest sliver of his soul and he looked like a scaley cosplayer gone wrong. The whole point of DH was to show how bad Horcruxes are and when you compare Diary!Tom to DH!Voldemort, they are massively different. Both possessive and obsessive, but still vastly different.

Voldemort ends up as a shriveled up baby-look-alike at the end of DH, never to leave Limbo. Horcruxes did that to him. Mutilated him terribly. He went mad because of his own foolishness.

Now do I think that Rowling could have done more with his character? Yes. But book Voldemort has a very interesting background, and the beauty of it, is that Rowling alludes to much in her books. She doesn’t spell everything out for the readers, and expects you to read between the lines.

So for those of us who have been in situations like Severus, Harry, or Tom’s, we see what is wrong with their childhoods and understand better. We pick up little things.

Take Harry for example. There are people claiming he wasn’t abused by the Dursleys, but then the books show him being locked in his room, bars put on his window, a cat flap placed on the door, and Petunia conveniently only feeding him and Hedwig one can of soup a day for 3 days in a row. Or how Harry learned a lesson all abused kids learn early on. [Don’t ask questions!] For those of us who’ve been through things like that, it sticks out for us.

Voldemort is an example of what went wrong in the worst way. He, Severus, and Harry are examples of the same thing going in three different directions. Voldemort got into Dark Magic and became obsessed, losing himself as he happily drowned in it. Severus got into Dark Magic and realized he was in too deep but it was too late to save him. Harry got into Dark Magic, realized it wasn’t good, and chose to stop thanks to the examples of the two before him, warning him away.

We are supposed to juxtapose Harry and Voldemort. Harry being on the one end of the spectrum and Voldemort being on the opposite end. ‘It’s our choices’ and all that rubbish.

[LIGHT]—-|—-[DARK] 

Voldemort, while not as detailed as I think he should have been toward the end, did what his character was supposed to. And that is to prove that absolute power demoralizes.

He is not cartoonish, though he is a drama queen and an attention seeker. But in the words of Sherlock Holmes, ‘the frailty of genius, [John], it needs an audience’.

[talesfromthefade]

"I gave you everything!" for DWC? Cheers!

Orana, Fenris, & Garrett Hawke (Background Fenhawke), for @dadrunkwriting

It’s truly not on purpose. Once, when she had lived with Hadriana or even the Pavus household towards the end, keeping a keen ear for whispers and the goings-on had been a necessary means of self-preservation and survival. It isn’t like that with the Hawkes, though it took several months after so many years with a vastly different experience to become more accustomed to it and not always looking over her shoulder or cowering when she was called upon. She pays attention now, because despite herself, in spite of experience that suggests she should know better, she’s come to care for them. For Garrett, for his sister, and their friends, some of whom under different circumstances, she could even see becoming her own. Regardless, Garrett seems happier, hopeful, these last few days in a way she realizes she’s missed. So when she comes back home from yet another successful trip by herself to the market a few weeks later to find Hawke looking worried and talking quietly with Aveline and Fenris in the study she’s not really trying to eavesdrop, she’s just… concerned. She resolves herself to make the group of them a plate of something or other since they’re sure to be hungry when a name she’s neither heard nor spoken in years stops her dead in her tracks.

It can’t be the same one. Varania isn’t that unusual of a name. Is it, Orana wonders. She forces herself to prepare a plate for Hawke and his company, rather than continuing to listen with some difficulty. It isn’t her business, and she won’t betray Garrett or Sonja’s trust by prying like this. Not when the pair of them have been so kind to her.

She should just let it go, but the possibilities keep her up that evening. Could it be her? Is that even possible? But why now? What could she want? To take her back home with her? Would she even want to go? Once upon a time, such a thing would have been a dream for the young elf. It’s been so long now, however, and so much has changed since the last time she’s seen her sister. She’s forgiven her. Varania was young. She, even younger. Nothing but a burden to her. But sharing blood doesn’t necessarily follow that they will have anything in common with one another, that they might get along. Orana knows the life she’s had in the time since they last saw one another, has Varania’s been the same? Better? Worse? She doesn’t know, and the not knowing is maddening.

It takes a little work, not yet having worked up the courage to take Varric up on his offer of visiting him or coming out to a night with the rest of the group at the Hanged Man, but she finds her way to the tavern the following morning when her need to know finally gets the better of her, and stops only a few feet inside of the door to stare at the red-haired elven woman who sits waiting at a nearby table bearing an uncanny resemblance to the portrait of a much younger girl she carries in the locket at her neck.

“Varania,” she whispers, eyes wide, voice full of equal parts hope and disbelief.

The older redheaded elf looks up, looking puzzled as the face she meets clearly isn’t the one she had been expecting, then studies Orana with a kind of dawning comprehension and what can only be described as revulsion when she finally takes stock of it all, including what the other elf is wearing.

“I thought you were dead,” Varania manages finally shaking her head, though unspoken in the air between them Orana swears she can hear the words her sister doesn’t say- that perhaps she may have wished or hoped as much was true. She doesn’t remember much about Varania, she was so young when they were separated after all, but she’s always liked to think that Varania had loved her, in her own way. That perhaps she had only parted with her sibling in the hopes of giving them both a chance for a better life. It seems, however, that the decision was far less charitable or difficult for her than the younger elf has often liked to imagine.

“Hawke,” Orana hears from behind her in a familiar gruff voice that makes her jump in surprise. “What is your servant doing with my sister,” Fenris demands softly. Sister, Orana thinks, mind reeling once more. Fenris is… But that would mean, Orana thinks, whipping about in an instant to study the white-haired elf with new and wide eyes.

“It really is you,” Varania says, looking up at Fenris.

“Varania? I… I remember you. We played in our Master’s courtyard while Mother worked. You called me-”

“Leto,” Orana whispers at the same time as Varania, wide eyes shimmering with tears as she watches their exchange, temporarily forgotten, all eyes on the other two. A trembling hand reaches up to clasp her locket. All this time, right under her nose, she thinks stunned. Her family was within reach, Fenris- or Let, he was here with her all along.

“That’s your name,” Varania continues, though her voice rings somewhat solemn, nothing like a sister happily reunited with a long-lost sibling, much less two of them.

“What’s wrong? Why are you so…” Fenris asks as Orana and Hawke some to the same conclusion together. This, whatever it was supposed to be, isn’t a happy family reunion.

“Fenris, we have to get out of here, it’s a trap,” Garrett says, eyes wide with concern, nervously scanning the room for which direction the threat will come from.

“Ah, my little Fenris, predictable as always,” taunts an older man as he begins to descend the steps behind Varania with a small retinue of thugs, hired swords for extra muscle.

Fenris freezes. The sensation of a fist punching through one’s chest, of grabbing a heart and that momentary squeeze just before it’s ripped out, while intimately familiar to many of his attackers in their final moments, is not one the elf knows first-hand himself. He imagines, however, that it feels something like the terrifyingly icy chill that runs through his veins and the way both his breath and pulse seem to stutter as Danarius makes his way towards their small group, all smiles.

This is a dream. A nightmare. The trap he’d rightly feared when Hadriana first offered information on his sister in an attempt to bargain for her life. He should have known better, after years on the run, after what happened with the Fog Warriors… Sentimentality, attachments are simply too dangerous.

Large green eyes suddenly dart to the tall man beside him as Hawke scowls up at his former master, stepping up beside, though carefully not in front of him. That, Fenris is positive, takes a conscious effort on Garrett’s part. Not simply to rush forward and lay himself down in front of whatever waits for him. Danarius is his demon to face. Hawke is here, just as he’d asked, just as the man had promised him he would be, but he’s leaving the decisions in Fenris’ hands. Fenris can feel the slight tug at his markings to indicate his companion is pooling his mana, readying himself to strike, and another sudden wave of cold rushes over him.

Could Danarius draw from them as well? Use them somehow against him? Against Hawke? Could he turn him somehow? Order him to kill Garrett?

No. Gauntlets bite into his palms where they curl into tight fists. No, whatever Danarius may have planned for him, whatever he does, whatever he says, he won’t hurt him. Not any more than he has already done, Fenris thinks, correcting himself with the thought of their single night together, of Garrett’s gentle pleas for him to stay and work through it with him. He should have, it’s all too easy to see that now. He should have stayed. Should have gone back. Should have said something, put an end to this dancing around one another, long before now, when it could very well be too late. He’d waited instead, and so had Garrett and the thought of all the time wasted sees his gauntlets digging a little deeper into his skin. Regrets will get him killed, but anger… the anger he can use.

“I’m sorry it came to this, Leto,” Varania offers, shaking her head.

“You lead him here,” Fenris snarls angrily, as Orana’s eyes widen once more. No. No, Varania, she thinks. Orana has never seen or heard about his likeness, but there seems little room for doubt as to who this man with his clipped Tevene accent can be. Fenris’ former master. The Magister who marked and left him forever scarred. Can it really be possible that she would care so little for both of them that she would do such a thing? It’s disappointing, certainly, but not entirely beyond belief that she would be less than pleased to see her. Orana’s always been aware of, always known that not everyone would understand or accept her rejection of the body and gender she was born to. But she cannot fathom any offense that would justify this…

“Now, now, Fenris,” the Magister all but purrs with a simpering smile. “Don’t blame your sister. She did what any good Imperial citizen should.”

“I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius! But I won’t let you kill me to get them,” Fenris snarls.

“How little you know, my pet,” Danarius laughs. “So this is your new Master, then? The Champion of Kirkwall. Impressive.”

“Fenris doesn’t belong to anyone,” Garrett interrupts defensively.

“Do I detect a note of jealousy,” the Magister smirks, eyes glittering with amusement. “It’s not surprising. The lad is rather skilled, isn’t he?” Orana won’t pretend she knows what sort of skills that Danarius might be referring to, but she doesn’t like the Magister’s tone or the way his eyes sweep up and down Fenris in the least. Neither, it seems, does Garrett if his trembling fists are any indication.

“Shut your mouth Danarius,” Fenris snaps, the markings over his skin suddenly bursting to life with electric blue light the way she’s only ever had the occasion to see once before now: when he had been fighting Hadriana’s men, the day they’d saved and freed her.

“But who is the spare, I wonder,” Danarius muses, turning to Varania, temporarily brushing Fenris and Hawke’s simmering rage aside.

“Cayden,” Varania replies, in a tone that makes it clear even speaking the name is a source of disdain and disgust, and Orana looks away. She’s not used or heard that name in years. Doesn’t want it. It isn’t hers. Isn’t her. Varania’s wrong. She’s not Cayden, because she’s not a boy, Orana thinks desperately, fighting the urge to flee or to hide. The secret is out now. Fenris, Hawke, all of them will know the truth of it. Will hate her, mock her, discard her the way Varania, Halward, and Hadriana had.

“Really,” Danarius asks if anything seeming to become all the more delighted at the present turn of events unfolding before him. “You surprise me, Fenris. I thought you became my pet to free your sister and mother, to keep your baby brother from ever knowing bonds, but now you have him wearing a dress and doing what? Sweeping floors and fireplaces?

“What,” Fenris demands, looking alarmed, eyes darting between a tearful Orana, an impassive Varania, and his still smirking former master. “You told me he died,” Fenris accuses, glaring at Varania with such a look of concentrated anger if the elf were a mage would surely cause the other to spontaneously alight with flames.

“And so he did. We neither of us have a brother anymore. I had no way to know that the freak lived, let along somehow would have found his way here.”

“You mean, you didn’t bother to ask or look. You didn’t care about anyone but yourself,” Fenris seethes.

“Fenris,” Orana squeaks as the elf turns his penetrative gaze back on her once more, clearly still trying to catch up and take it all in. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t. I overheard her name at the manor and came to see, but I was just curious. I didn’t really think, and I would never help to give you back to him. Please, believe me,” she pleads softly, shaking her head, eyes wide, tear-filled and desperate.

“Mmm, touching as this little family get-together is,” Danarius interrupts, drawing the group’s collective attention back to him once more. “You and I have a boat to catch little wolf. But perhaps we should take the whelp back with us as well. What do you think, Fenris? I’m sure there’s room enough for a slip of a thing like her, and we could… work out a way for her to earn her passage.”

“Not a chance, Danarius,” Fenris hisses, hackles raised and shaking his head as he unsheathes his large broadsword.

“The word is ‘Master’,” Danarius corrects with a put-upon sigh.

“I’m going to enjoy wiping that smirk off your face,” Hawke replies, one hand already reaching for the stave at his back, the other cupping a small ball of flames, the tips of it licking at his fingertips.

For a moment, Orana thinks of running. This can only end now with someone dead, and she isn’t sure she can bear it if she has to watch another person she cares about being cut down. But she cannot simply leave them all to whatever their fate might be either. Not if there’s even the slightest chance that she can help them- her newfound, and her newly rediscovered family. She’ll die for them if the occasion calls for it, she thinks, heart picking up to rapid hard thumps against her ribs, even if none of them might do the same for her.

Fortunately, no one is expecting any kind of fight from the meek-looking serving elf. Possibly Danarius’ hired swords mistake her for one of the Hanged Man’s servers. SHe picks up a nearby chair and brings it down over the head of one of the mercenaries with a yell and as much force as she can muster, bringing him crashing to the ground, out cold before he can get to Merrill who is busy flinging spells at another one of them. She grabs a knife from a nearby table, and with an angry shriek, charges headlong at another who is about to jump Fenris from behind. The pair of them slam into the wall opposite and tumble to the floor, the dull blade- probably meant for little more than cutting break sinking into the mercenary’s unprotected neck from the force of her charge and their collective fall. He reaches out, attempt to choke her even as blood pours from him and is dead within moments, it having struck an artery, but Orana pulls the blade free and continues to stab at him with bruising force, still shrieking, needing to be sure, until Merrill comes over to her, and wrestles the knife from her hands, pulling her gently into her arms, and offering hushed and soothing whispers of reassurance. It’s alright. It’s over the other elf promises.

Distantly over Merrill’s shoulder, she registers Fenris lifting Danarius up by the collar, body still glowing from his markings as he dispatches the man that brought him so much suffering and has dogged him for so many years, before turning to their sister where she crouches against a nearby wall.

“I had no choice, Leto.”

“Stop calling me that,” Fenris demands, closing the gap between them.

“He was going to make me his apprentice. I would have been a Magister.”

“You sold out your own brother to become a Magister? And what about Orana,” Fenris asks fiercely, the young elf in questions head snapping up in surprise from where it had been resting against’s Merrill’s chest, fear-driven fury giving way to exhaustion as the adrenaline fades. “You sold our little sister into chains,” Fenris growls again, staring in disbelief and burning hate at his twin.

“She was our brother, Fenris,” Varania corrects.

“She is our blood,” Fenris insists, ignoring Varania’s correction, and Orana is torn between wanting to disappear or weep. SHe never wanted this. Any of it. It had been such a relief to live these last few years as she has done. Lonely at times, certainly, but free to be, to dress and act as the woman she’s always felt she was. Now the lie, the whole world, feels as though it’s crashing down around her. They all know, she thinks panicked, thoughts echoing loudly in her head. Where will she go now? WHat will she do? She’s earned a wage, living with and working for the Hawkes, but it’s hardly enough to begin again, entirely on her own. Could she really go back to being a slave again? But Fenris is defending her. He’s using her name and acknowledging her as the person- as the woman she’s always presented herself to be with him, and she’s choking on emotion because she’s lost the sister she thought she had, but not everything. Fenris is still the loving and protective big brother she always thought and hoped he might have been. Still cares and wants to protect her, even now he knows the truth, and it takes what seems a monumental effort to hold back the sob this revelation brings. Merrill seems to sense it too, rubbing gentle circles across her back as they all watch the exchange with interest.

“I did what I had to do,” Varania replies without remorse. “You have no idea what we went through. What I’ve had to do since Mother died. This was my only chance.”

“And no you have no chance at all,” Fenris growls, advancing on her.

“Fenris,” Orana gasps, her voice still hoarse from her earlier shouting.

“Wait,” Hawke interrupts a little louder as Varania takes to pleading with him to make her brother see reason. “Don’t kill her.”

“Why not,” Fenris demands, rounding on the mage. “She was ready to see me killed. Orana too,” he adds with a snarl. “What is she to me other than one more tool of the Magisters?”

“This is your family, Fenris. Your sister’s as much a victim as you were.”

“Elf… Fenris,” Varric interjects cautiously, no doubt thinking of Bartrand. “Don’t. It won’t help. Trust me.”

“I would have given you everything,” Fenris whispers brokenly, shaking his head. Varania backs away a little further until she hits the wall, but Fenris turns his back to her. “Get out,” he orders bitterly, not even turning to watch as she races for the door. But she stops, hesitates on the threshold, speaking even as he keeps his back to her.

“You said you didn’t ask for this, but that’s not true. You wanted it. You competed for it. When you won, you used the boon to have Mother and I freed.”

“Why are you telling me this,” Fenris demands turning to face her. It’s a story he already knows, Orana having shared it with him in the markets when they had bumped into one another just weeks ago, he just hadn’t known then that the story was also his.

“Freedom was no boon. I look on you now and I think you received the better end of the bargain. You thought you were saving us, but you left us,” she accuses.

There’s silence that follows after Varania leaves, the group taking the time to take stock and collect themselves, taking in the mess of bodies and blood strewn about them.

“I thought discovering my past would bring me a sense of belonging,” Fenris says softly after a while, shaking his head. “But I was wrong. Magic has tainted that too. There’s nothing for me to reclaim. I am alone.”

“That’s not true,” Merrill interrupts with a pointed look to the younger elf she’s still cradling in her arms before Orana can speak, taking her by surprise not following up with an argument in defense of magic and mages instead.

“It doesn’t have to be-” Orana offers cautiously, eyes still full of tears. “Maybe I am not exactly what you expected, but… I care about you, Fenris. I have well before today. Before I knew you were my brother. I would even if you weren’t.”

“You… fought for me,” Fenris asks suddenly taking notice of the blood that stains her arms and front of her dress. “But you don’t- You could have-” he protests suddenly looking fearful. “Are you alright,” he asks concerned, quickly striding over towards her.

“I’m fine. I think. Most of it is his,” she gestures to the merc slumped dead against the wall a few feet away, and Merrill nods in confirmation. She’s not the same level of healer that Anders may be, but it seems the younger elf has managed to avoid any serious injury in the scuffle. “You saved me. Fought for me once before I was even born. How could I do any less? I couldn’t let him take you, let him hurt you again,” she offers in quiet explanation.

“For all the good it did,” Fenris huffs bitterly. “You don’t think… that I- abandoned you somehow,” he asks, clearly still thinking of everything Varania had said when she left.

“I never thought that,” Orana assures him, shaking her head. “I have only ever wished you well and happy,” she promises, one hand gesturing towards the locket at her breast, not daring to touch it with her bloody hands. Fenris’ shoulders slump a little.

“You’re not,” he admits finally. “-What I expected,” he clarifies. “But you are more, not less,” he offers softly with a shake of his head towards the door their sister ran through, as Orana bites back another sob, an ocean of emotions threatening to overwhelm her, most significantly, relief. “I know we have a lot to talk about. I- I may need a little time,” he admits to her finally, sounding slightly apologetic. “But I am glad you are alright,” he says sincerely.

Orana nods, smiling weakly.

“We’re here for you too,” Hawe offers softly, gesturing towards the rest of the group that came with him. “I’m here, Fenris,” the mage assures him meaningfully, and Fenris tilts his head, looking torn, sad, large green eyes heavy with grief as a hand slowly reaches out to cup the other’s cheek before he can think better of it or stop himself, hand and his gaze sliding away when it seems to become too much.

“You heard what Varania said. I wanted these. I fought for them. I feel unclean, like this magic is not only etched into my skin but has also stained my soul. And now this,” he says looking at the prone body of his old master where he lies broken and bloodied on the floor. “Let’s go. I need to get out of here.”

[iseutz]

Chapter three

I don’t know if you ever owned a first generation cell phone. They were huge. Mine was a Motorola with a pull-out antenna; it was as big as an intercom receiver and its ringtone was deafening. It made us jump on our seats and pull from each like we were caught red-handed. I glanced at the dashboard clock as I frantically rummaged through my belongings in my bag: 8.05. Late enough for my mother to start panicking.

-Mom? Yes, I’m coming. No, I’m almost there, but it’s raining and there’s been an accident on the road… no, mom… mom, I’m fine. I just had to wait until they cleared the road. Of course I stopped the bike to answer to you. Yes. Yes. Mom, the sooner you hang up, the sooner I will be home. Ok? Ok, laters.

-Wow – Julian said. – That was a nice save… or not?

-Damn! Damn! I was such a moron! – I was punching the air in frustration. –Why did I come up with the accident bullshit?

-Because you are late and needed a good excuse?

-I told her I’m on my bike!

-Oh.

-What am I gonna do now? Even if they don’t notice tonight, how am I supposed to get to school tomorrow? They will find out for sure!

-Ok, don’t panic- he took me by my shoulders and made me turn towards him. – It’s gonna be fine: I will drive you home, then I will go back to my house, take your bike, shove it in the back of the car and park it at your place. Easy-peasy.

-No way. I cannot ask you-

-You’re not asking, in fact: it’s my idea. And it was my fault: I have torn you from your family to force you onto alcoholism… except it was my family and you ripped the beer from my helpless hands.

I couldn’t help but smile. –Thank you, that’s… thank you.

-Forget it. Now, how far are we from your place?

-A couple of minutes, more or less.

-Good. Because now – he wiggled his eyebrows at me. –We need to soak you up.

-Come again?!? – My ears were probably glowing red by that moment.

-You cannot go home nice and dry after supposedly spending that much time in the rain – he replied, fumbling with a handful of CDs. – Don’t worry, I’ll keep you company. But we need a proper soundtrack… ah, there you are – he inserted the CD and selected a track, then he jumped out of the car.

Hey, hey, hey, hey Ooh who…

I watched him get around the car and come to open the car door on my side with a bow.

Won't you come see about me? I'll be alone, dancing you know it baby

-Julian, what-

-Shhh. Come out and dance – he jumped a step away and spun, water sprinkling from his fanning coat. I crawled halfway out of the car.

-Simple Minds? Really?

-You sure are stiff for someone so young- he reached for my hands and pulled me out. –There’s no better song for dancing in the rain! – The storm was so loud we had to scream against it. – Apart from Singing in the Rain. And I left that record home – he made me pirouette under his raised arm, steading me with one hand as I clumsily tried to maintain balance. Julian wasn’t much of a dancer, but he was graceful in an oscillating way. Me, not even that, but I put effort nevertheless, stomping my feet in puddles, spreading my arms under the deluge.

-Why are we doing this, again?

-Oh – he answered, flipping wet hair from his forehead. – Because we are young and we believe we’ll never die. But mostly because you need to look wet and this is more funny than simply stand and wait. Ready? Here comes the grand finale! - He put a hand on my back, grabbed my right wrist with the other  and dipped me so low my ponytail brushed the ground. I squealed and he laughed as the music faded out.

Then he pulled me up, of course, against his chest and all noises faded under the rumble in my ears. The hand on my back slid around my waist, his arm enclosing me. My eyes were at the level of his collarbone; I saw his throat pulsating as he swallowed. I tried to look confident as I found his gaze. He smiled slowly, reading my bluff. He was handsome, towering over me, hair slicked back by the rain. He let go of my wrist, brushing a finger up to my neck; a little electric shock followed the trail. The car stereo played a song I didn’t know as his long hands cupped my face once again and I closed my eyes, clutching at his t-shirt.

His lips touched mine for just a second: -First time? – He whispered against my mouth.

-First time – I confirmed. He smiled; I felt it.

-I’m honored.

He was a sweet kisser; then he was a passionate kisser; then, an exigent kisser. He gently leaned my head back to ease into the kiss, his tongue soft and his breath smoky as mine; he sucked my tongue in his mouth as if it was delicious and my legs turned into hot jelly. I clung onto his shoulders to keep from falling, from drowning, from dying and he pulled me close, bending because he was so tall. He licked lightly my upper lip as I gasped for air and sealed it with a peck.

-Little raccoon -  he smiled.- You can come to rummage through my garbage anytime you want.

-I… am so wet! – I blurted out and regretted immediately. Julian burst out laughing. He gestured me to get back in the car while I blabbered about the rain to regain some pride, in vain.

We didn’t talk much on the way home; it didn’t take long, anyway, and it’s not easy to casually make eye contact with a man who literally turns a blind eye at you. He drove humming to the music playing, a small smile on his lips. I made him pull over before my house, in case my father was surveilling the driveway from the window; it wouldn’t have been the first time.

-Here we are, then. Go. Run home before you catch a cold, I’ll bring the bike in no time.

I gave him the keys to the locket. – Thank you. And… be careful.

-Never- he grinned. – And it’s been a pleasure.

I picked up my bag from the car’s floor. Kiss me, I kept thinking. Kiss me once more, kiss me goodbye, just… kiss me again.

-Selendri.

I turned, heart racing, but he was just lending me a packet of chewing gums.

-Oh, thank you – I took one. –Uhm, where can I throw away the envelope?

He took it from my hand. Then, he took my hand.

-Come here.

And then I was in his arms, both of us frozen and drenched in water and his mouth found mine, a thin gleam of white teeth showing below his lip. I sucked at that lip like he had done with mine, I licked underneath, where the skin was unbearably smooth; he bit my lip and I buried my hands in his hair. He did the same and pulled gently away from me.

-Not enough time for a proper goodbye. You have to go, and I have a bike to deliver.

[followmetoyourdoom]

Helpless // Chpt 7 - Sweet Kisses

The Runics travel to Ephedia and Mephisto comes face to face a very distraught Iris.

Read it on ao3 or below:

It took a further half hour for Praxina to finally get going and even then they were held up a further five minutes as Hugo said goodbye to his wife. To do so he floated up into the air and shouted across the courtyard, "I LOVE YOU DARLING, STAY SAFE!!"

Acherontia called back, "I LOVE YOU TOO DEAR AND I WILL DON'T WORRY. COME BACK SOON!!"

"I WILL!"

"I'LL BE WAITING!"

"GOOD B-"

Praxina made a gagging noise. "IT'S ONLY TWO DAYS FATHER!" she shouted up. "CAN WE JUST GO ALREADY?"

Acherontia waved from the window and Hugo slowly floated to the ground, blowing kisses at her. Ati made a show of catching them and blowing her own back. The charade would have continued in a never ending loop had Praxina not grabbed her father's leg and pulled him down to the ground and towards Mephisto and her bag. "Let's go, Romeo."

"BYE, MOTHER!" Mephisto called, waving at Acherontia with a smile on his face.

"GOODBYE, DEAR! MAKE SURE YOU ARE POLITE AND RESPECTFUL TO THE EPHEDIAN QUEEN!" she reminded him, "THINK BEFORE YOU TALK!"

Mephisto laughed, "WILL DO, MOTHER!"

"AND PRAXINA! MAKE SURE YOU TALK TO-"

"THE YOUNG PRINCESS OF XERIS, YES I KNOW, I WILL!" Praxina promised, vowing to at least try as she'd said she would. She owed her mother that much; after all, she just wanted her to be happy like she was.

Acherontia grinned, though none could see it. "I LOVE YOU TWO, MY BABIES."

"MOTHER!!!" the twins whined at the same time, at twenty very much offended by being called 'babies'.

"MY BABIES!!!" she shouted loudly for all to hear. "I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!"

The twins hid their faces, they loved their mother but she embarrassed them so easily. Regardless, they finished off their farewells, each with an I love you too, see you soon, with an additional one from Hugo.

Then the three Runics stood in a circle holding hands, belongings in the middle, and activated their magic. In a flash of green and red, they were gone.

Ati watched as their magic glows faded away and absentmindedly twiddled with the heart locket around her neck. It had been a gift from the twins for her 30th, when they were eight years old. An engraving on the outside read: Mother's Love Is the Heart of Our Family, and inside held a moving picture of the four of them together, smiling happily out of the locket. After a while, Mephisto and Hugo would giggle at each other as they pulled faces, then Praxina would roll her eyes, but join in, and Ati would laugh loudly at her family's antics. Then it looped around back to the start.

Generally speaking, Acherontia was not the sentimental type, but this locket was one of her most prized possessions. Whenever she was apart from her children or Hugo, she'd look at the contents, listen to the young free laughter, and, more than likely, shed a tear.

They grew up so fast.

One last look to where her family had disappeared in a flash of green and red, and she turned her back on the telepoint. She had some business to deal with.

Another green and red flash and Hugo and the twins arrived in Ephedia where the sun was already slowly setting. They appeared just outside the gates, making the guards that stood watch there scream and jump out of their skin. They were evidently new to the job.

"Gentlemen," Hugo said pleasantly as his children snickered behind him.

The guards scrambled to stand up straight. "W-what is your business here?" they both asked at the same time, then frowned at each other.

Hugo raised his eyebrow. Definitely new.

"Prince Mephisto," he presented, gesturing for his son to step forwards. "Of the Runic royals, here to ask for Princess Iris' hand in marriage."

Once again, the guards shared a frown.

One opened her mouth, perhaps to deny them entry, but both were startled once again as Iris herself teleported in front of them. Was this teleporting business going to be a continuous thing? They'd only taken the job because of the Queen's persuasive words.

"Princess Iris, these three were-"

"MEPHISTO!!" she flung her arms around him, twirling him around so his back was to the guards. "Watch yourself," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper, "things have changed."

Giving her a quizzical side glance, Mephisto returned her hug. Behind Iris' back, Hugo gave his son a thumbs up, while Praxina raised an eyebrow at Mephisto's expression. He conveyed his cluelessness without speaking, earning him an eyeroll. Of course he has no idea, Praxina thought, typical.

But before Mephisto could stick his tongue out at his sister, Iris pulled him back around and led him between the two still slightly nervous guards, through the gates of the castle.

Praxina sighed and, with a wave of her finger, levitated the cases through by her side.

Hugo followed shortly after, flicking a gold coin up in the air for the guards to squabble over. "Here, buy yourself something," he cheerily threw over his shoulder. "May I suggest a fresh pair of underwear to replace the ones you soiled when we arrived? Toodles!"

The guards stared at him, outraged, before eyeing each other up and diving for the coin.

Iris led the group through the castle, chatting here and there about where the amenities were, rushing slightly as she went. "The dining hall is to your right and breakfast is at 7am. Good luck catching it, I never do. But brunch is at 11am so we're good on that front. All main meals are spaced four hours apart actually, and there's often smaller ones in between; so if you're ever hungry, you won't be for long."

Both Mephisto and Hugo were very glad to here this particular news.

"If you'll follow me up here, your rooms will be in the east wing. The west wing is out of bounds to everyone except my parents, the last person that tried to test that got thrown out that window," she pointed. "Luckily I learnt how to fly pretty early on in life."

The three Runics exchanged looks. The only place out of bounds in their castle was the kitchen to the two men, otherwise they'd eat them out of house and home.

Iris stopped in front of a double door and opened them. "Your room, my love." She pushed Mephisto through the doors and gestured at the room further down the hall and the one opposite it. "Praxina, yours is on this side; King Runic, yours on the opposite." She started to back into the room, closing the doors slowly as she went. "Get settled in and we'll see you for dinner in the dining hall at 7pm. Have fun, bye bye!"

The doors slammed shut, leaving father and daughter with many questions. Which they voiced at the same time.

"I guess they're not wasting time then."

"Something isn't quite right here-" Praxina's eyes went wide and she slowly turned to Hugo. "Father! Ew, gross. My room is right next door and- oh gods no." She shook the disturbing images from her head. "Just. No."

Hugo raised an eyebrow, "I meant getting to know one another face to face."

"Oh." Praxina turned red. She promptly hurried to her room, quickly separating up their luggage and dumping it in front of each person's door. "Haha, so did I of course yes," she lied, fumbling with the door. "Well I think the Princess has an excellent point, time to get settle in." She finally got the door open. "Good bye Father," she said rather shrilly, "see you next year!" And with that she was gone.

Shaking his head, Hugo walked into his own room, actually taking his luggage with him into the room, unlike his two children.

As he turned to close the door, he noticed Praxina's arm snake out of her room to grab the one bag she'd brought. "Forgetful when stressed," he murmured to himself, "just like her mother."

Meanwhile, Mephisto's was still left untouched in front of his bedroom door.

On the other side however, the Runic Prince was hastily trying to calm Iris as she paced frantically.

"-gone missing and the council is questioning me and I do not know what to do! I am meant to be the planet's Queen soon and I have no idea what I am doing or how things are going to turn out or-"

"Shuuush, it's okay, it's okay." He gently grabbed her shoulders and sat her down on the bed next to him. "Now, tell me again - slowly - what happened."

Iris nodded and twiddled her thumbs. "Javina, that is the Voltan Queen's sister. Her…" she frowned and tried to remember how many siblings Queen Emilia had. "I think her third sister? I am unclear on the number. But yes, Javina, she has gone missing. Just poof! Into thin air."

Mephisto put two and two together. "And the council expects you to find her."

"In a way… Or at least they want me to do it to prove myself, or to make up for the You Know What. However there are no clues, she was a delight to be around so no enemies, and the Voltans already looked around for her in their kingdom - Auriana is devastated, she was her favourite aunt. But, if you ask me, she probably got lost in the forest and was attacked by a pack of beezdingles; but I cannot say that of course."

"And Auriana is…?"

Iris blinked. "Oh. Of course, you do not know. Auriana is Emilia's daughter, fourth in line, and she is also one of my best friends."

"Alongside Talia," Mephisto put in, happy to know this detail.

"Yes." At this Iris' eyes seemed to well up. "Talia, who is still nursing her mother because of what I did… Both of my best friends need me and," she sniffed as she felt a lump at her throat and tears finishing forming, "and there is nothing I can do." She broke down completely, crying into her hands until Mephisto pulled her towards him, letting her cry on his shirt. "I'm useless," she whimpered.

Mephisto gently lifted her chin up and wiped her eyes. "Hey… look at me. You are not useless. Whoever made you feel like that is wrong. They are wrong and I will put them right-"

Loud shouting outside the window cut him off.

"Here is your chance," Iris said dully, head dropping once more and letting her pink locks cover face.

Mephisto frowned and stood up, marching to the window and peeking out through the curtains. His features contorted to a snarl as he saw a group of Ephedians with torches and crystal weapons marching towards the castle, their eyes full of fury.

"Iris…" Mephisto said steadily, fists clenched, "why is there a mob outside?"

"They are early today…" was Iris' only reply.

Another glance showed they were heading for another part of the castle - the royal quarters. "What do they want? Why didn't you tell me about this in your letters? How often are they here?"

Iris took a deep breath and joined Mephisto at the window, staring out at the flickering fire meant to burn her. "They want the council to take away my right to the throne, they say I am a danger to everyone and thus should not be queen. I did not tell you because I knew you would act as such, I did not want to worry you." She turned her back on her people, her enemies. "And they are here every night, Mephisto, okay? Every. Single. Night."

Mephisto's heart broke as she began sobbing again and he rushed to take her into his arms, hugging her tightly.

"I do not know how much more of this I can take," she mumbled into his shirt. "Maybe they are right… maybe giving up the throne would be best for everyone."

"No," Mephisto said firmly. "They are not right." He swayed gently, stroking her hair. "You are a wonderful, sweet, and kind person. You've made mistakes, but then so does everyone else. I know you'll make an excellent queen, the best queen there's ever been."

Iris smiled sadly, "You know, some might see that as treason against my mother."

He pulled back to look at her. "I don't care." Then he lead Iris to the bed, gently sat her down, and walked back over to the window, opening it wide. "DID YOU HEAR THAT?" he shouted out to the crowd, drawing the attention of a few. "MY FUTURE WIFE IS GOING TO BE THE BEST QUEEN EVER, THE BEST QUEEN ON THE ENTIRETY OF EPHEDIA! AND IF YOU LOT CAN'T SEE THAT THEN I FEEL SORRY FOR YOU!"

He slammed the window and curtains shut and nodded his head smugly, and Iris couldn't help the giggle that escaped her mouth.

How had she ever doubted her love for him?

"And you shall be the best king," she whispered, taking his hand as he joined her on the edge of the bed, "my future husband."

Mephisto's heart fluttered as it had when he'd written those same words in his letter and he placed a gentle kiss to her fingers. A tiny gasp from Iris and he kissed her wrist, then the inside of her elbow, her shoulder, her neck, her cheek…

Her lips.

The latter came oh so hesitantly and with a feather's pressure, just a mere brush of their lips, nothing more, nothing less. A ghost of a kiss.

Their first.

Iris sighed happily and leant her forehead against his, her thumb brushing his bottom lip as her hand cupped his face.

Mephisto leaned into her touch. "I've dreamt about this you know," he whispered, "kissing you, holding you close, loving you until my heart overflows."

Words failing her, Iris pressed her mouth against his once more, harder this time, her hand shifting behind his neck to grab his hair so she could pull him closer, moving her legs around so she was kneeling up on the bed, gaining a height advantage over Mephisto for once.

Testing the waters, Mephisto parted his lips and Iris followed suit.

Their kiss turned slowly and steady once again as they experimented and explored, finding out what worked for the both of them.

Breathing became heavy and lustful, and hands roamed sneakily.

Iris nipped at his lip and Mephisto felt a pleasant shiver run down his spine. With a low growl he picked Iris up and moved her further onto the bed, diving down after her and pressing his face against her neck, breathing her in and kissing from her her ear to her collarbone leaving faintly cold patches of skin. Then he continued his path downwards.

It wasn't until Iris started moaning in pleasure that there was a knock on the wall behind the bed frame, quickly followed by: "YOU HAD BETTER NOT BE DOING WHAT I THINK YOU ARE DOING. NOT WHEN I AM RIGHT HERE."

Mephisto sighed heavily, hanging his head in annoyance. "Maybe try NOT LISTENING IN!"

"I HAVE. YOU DO NOT MAKE IT EASY."

Iris pulled away from Mephisto. "Maybe we should stop, we do not want to get ahead of ourselves after all."

"Very well," he conceded, sitting up away from Iris, then glared at the offending wall.

"Although…" she murmured, not quite ready to stop yet, "on the other hand we cou-" Iris didn't even get to finish her sentence before Mephisto was kissing her again, pinning her to the wall.

On the other side of it, Praxina was flushed beetroot red. The sibling embarrassment was big enough to overcome even her desire to be the one to make Iris moan like that.

A desire she pushed from her mind as soon as it reared its head.

Let it go, Praxina, she told herself sternly, pacing the room, for Mephisto's sake let it go.

Eventually she couldn't stand to be alone with her thoughts or the noises from next door and went to knock on her father's door, checking to make sure he'd gotten settled in alright. After a few moments of silence, Praxina took it upon herself to open the door and raised her eyebrows at what she found. "Seriously, Father, already?"

Hugo was sat at the comically small vanity, tiny feather quill in hand and a piece of paper full of pretty cursive writing, My Darling Queen Ati written lovingly at the very top.

He looked up at Praxina as she leant against the door frame, then looked back to his letter. "I miss her," he said quietly, pouting a little. "And your mother greatly enjoys my letters whenever we are apart I'll have you know."

Praxina shook her head, but she was smiling. Her parents were so lucky they had each other and loved each other as much as they did. Her mind drifted to the Xerin Princess she was meant to meet. "Father… do you know where the infirmary is here?" She shuffled her feet, "Or if the Xerins are still here? And stop grinning!" Praxina spluttered as she saw the corners of her father's mouth twitch.

"I'm not grinning!" he said, grinning. "I'm just happy you're making an attempt."

"I always make an attempt," she muttered.

Hugo pressed his lips together to stop himself from grinning anymore. "Usually not while blushing like a teenager," he quipped.

Praxina groaned and turned to face the door. "Father!!!" She began slowly banging her head against the door until Hugo stood up and gently pulled her around to face her, moving her hair out of her eyes.

"I'm just saying, it's nice to see you interested. But no, I do not know where the infirmary is. Ask Princess Iris."

"Iris is… busy doing something."

Hugo frowned. "Maybe ask your brother then?"

"That's who she's doing," she deadpanned, looking anywhere but her father.

Blinking rapidly, Hugo did a double take. Then, "Well that was fast." He nodded wisely, rubbing his chin and the tiny patch of green hair there. "I have taught him well."

"FATHER!"

"I guess we were both right, you did say-"

Praxina made a noise at the back of her throat. "Please do not tell me what I said. I… I shall have a wander round to find the infirmary. Continue with you soppy letter."

"No no," Hugo insisted, "I'll come with you."

And although she was very tempted to ask must you?, she accepted his company and waited for him to roll his letter up and stick it underneath the bundle of clothes stacked in his suitcase. More than likely he wasn't going to unpack before they went back home.

As they left the room, Iris and Mephisto appeared across the hall; the latter picked up his case and went back in to drop it off, while the former ushered Praxina and her father over.

"There is to be a royal banquet in a few minutes," Iris informed them, subtly patting down her skirt, "the Queen has requested everyone be in attendance." She paused for a moment, then her eyes went wide. "My apologies, but I have only just realised. King Runic where-"

"Call me Hugo, Your Highness," he interjected, smiling warmly.

Iris nodded. "Then you can call me Iris." She cleared her throat. "But yes, exclude my obliviousness, but I have only just noticed the lack of Queen Acherontia. Is she arriving later? Tomorrow perhaps?"

Hugo peered at Mephisto as he rejoined the group. "You didn't tell her about your mother?"

"I uh, I got distracted."

"Ah." Hugo fought to hide his snicker, especially when Mephisto glared at Praxina, recognising the traitor immediately, furious she'd told their father.

But Iris was too focused to be embarrassed. Besides, they'd only kissed, despite what Praxina thought she'd heard. Well, mainly only kissed. Iris cleared her throat, stopping the silent conversation going on between the twins. "Acherontia has not gone missing, has she?"

"Oh no no, Mother is fine," Mephisto hurried to reassure her, knowing another missing royal was the last thing she needed. "No, she's just staying in Runic."

"Ah I see," Iris bit her lip. "That… complicates matters." She turned to Praxina, knowing what she was about to ask would be a lot, all things considered. But there was no other way. "You will have to officiate Mephisto's proposal in that case. Not the marriage," she hurriedly added, "my mother attends to that. But you will have to act in place of your mother when Mephisto puts his proposal forward to my mother."

Hugo furrowed his brow, "Are you sure I can't-"

Iris shook her head. "I am sorry Ki- Hugo. But it must be either the queen or her next in line."

"Very well," Praxina said gruffly, determined to be professional about this. She had stood in for her mother before, she could do it again. This was practise for when she became queen after all, it would be useful for her.

Iris smiled in thanks, and Praxina cleared her throat. "Is there any chance we could visit the Xerin Princess after dinner?"

"Talia will be at dinner," Iris said slowly, "as well as Laina, the Xerin Queen."

And it was going to be awkward.

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

My life story, Part 42

I was beginning to have a poor attitude towards society in general. I had always been a little off, a girl who walked around imagining things that weren't there, dazing off, obsessing over small interests, talking to myself just a little. I had been bullied in small ways, belittled by teachers and abused by my family, but I had more or less kept this sense of innocence about me. I think late 2004 was the year that I became resentful. I used to keep a journal for instance, and I would chronicle the lives of my fellow students, noting if they had had a rough time that I had noticed, or if they were dating someone. I never dehumanized anyone, no matter who ridiculous or mean to me they were as a person. This was starting to change around then. I would see society as this towering feeling of oppression, and the people around me as one choreographed mass of human-tools, sucking up whatever was given to them, be it the top 20 radio hits, television shows, what people wore or dressed like, religion, political parties. It seemed homogeneous and empty to me now, and people around me were smiling slaves working for whatever force it was that Zack had always told me about. It was baffling to me that I had once been somewhat taken in. I had never of course succeeded in fitting in because I was already been too weird to belong to these people truly, but I had more or less gone through my entire life unquestioning.

It was hard for me to smile. I truly felt alone and opposed to almost everything around me as I walked down the halls. There was a thick skin between me and everyone else. I had been shamefully open with high school jocks who had always looked to making me perform my silly ideas out in the open. I had always trusted that the world made sense, your friends were really your friends, society was mostly good and also not worth thinking about, and the latest fad was popular because of it's merit alone. Now I was guarded, and slightly on the attack if anyone intruded my space, and willing to tear anything apart to find something not to like about it. I suffered from black and white thinking, and a need to dismiss people, places, things and ideas without truly studying them. The things that were good were almost religious to me in nature, my aesthetic taste had transcended to a moral objective truth. The bad was corrupting, evil and by it's very existence, an insult to me personally and everything I loved and found worthy of defending. I didn't see a lot of middle ground.

As I am much older now, I know my way of thinking at the time was largely due to fear and a lack of trust. I was beginning to develop a set of defense mechanisms, and one of those defense mechanisms was a very oversized ego about my own opinions and what I liked and what moved me being better than the fake feelings that were sold to the masses. I didn't think I was great or anything personally – as I was very insecure in all reality, and I would not say that it really developed into true narcissism in the DSM sense. I was giving myself certainty I believe. I was setting up an enemy to confront my own pain really. The modern world was too confusing and I was rejecting it in some way to embrace a cultish tribal feeling against the rest of the world as a whole. The enemy was some force that I didn't understand. It seemed to dictate the lives of every seeming adult I had ever known, and every aspect of the society I lived in, and yet it didn't have a face. Zack of course, in his cliché' things he had read or heard called it The New World Order. So I blindly clung to that feeling of an impending need to cling to the art I held dear, in much the same way a Christian might cling to their faith and be willing to die for it.

The only person that I emotionally felt open to was Zack. And I was bent on keeping him around. But I had chased him away. I had some luck with him after I had used Noah to make him jealous and then changed my mind, but in a sense he never quite sat at the lunch table with us. I remember one day quite vividly. Zack and the rest of us had snuck into the small seldom used basketball court. Zack had taken his shoes off. He was talking about love, and about how loving people was the one thing that the freemasons couldn't stop us doing. He talked about how he had this deep painful and profound love for everything in the entire world. I admired him, and wished I could be more like him. He somehow convinced me to take off my shoes and hippie dance with him. And then he told me, looking me straight in the face, that 'Everyone deserves to be loved, Renee'. I really felt blown away by this statement. It kind of tore down the defenses I was making. And it felt good, even for a moment, to escape from the inner prison I was living in. The notion that everyone deserved love rehumanized everyone. The hordes of mindless jocks and popular girls no longer seemed like empty shells, but uncertain souls trying their best to maneuver and often stumbling through life trying to find meaning and love in some form just as I was. Of course, Zack was also the same person who  told me that the entire school had been replaced by robot replicas. I had never bought into it, much as it seemed right to agree with whatever Zack believed. So I cannot entirely verify that Zack knew what he was really talking about. But I held onto that statement, and for many years of my life, I think it kept me sane, and I held it near to my heart, like a psychological locket I wore under my clothes.

There was also a day where Zack introduced me to a very strange and odd technique for 'waking yourself up' when you were beginning to feel like you were dying inside and becoming 'one of them'. He walked out of the school, ran and leaped as high in the air as he could and forced himself to land on his knees. He threw his entire body into it. His knees were scraped and bloody and stung. At first I was hesitant, but I took a deep breath and did the same thing. We must have looked insane to onlookers. We started doing it over and over again till our knees were bloody. Sarah tried it but didn't care for being in pain, and Samantha probably thought we were morons. There was something addictive about the pain of jumping and falling. You were throwing yourself to the winds, using yourself as a weapon and at the same time accepting that you were your own weapon. The stinging pain was surprising and addictive. Both of us had bloodied knees by the end. There were times when I wondered if Zack was trying to start a cult. He talked about the world very much like a cult leader at times, and liked creating barriers between the world and a small following.

Ava showed up midfall one random day. She now had a license and wanted to drive around. She took me in her car and instantly put on Manic Monday by The Bangles and driving the car in sharp circles till we were both sick. Typical Ava. We were all mad about the war in Iraq, but none of us understood why. It just seemed like something an evil corrupt group of powerful men decided on arbitrarily. Honestly, I was mad for the sake of being mad. I didn't care about war on a grand scale, nor could I really comprehend it. I just felt strangely against it at the time. Ava was probably more aware of what was happening than I was. She had a friend named Emily with her, who was a quiet mousy girl. Ava, Sarah and I got in her new vehicle. She bragged about her never ending gas card. She could basically drive around however she liked, with nothing stopping her. We got in her car, and throughout the afternoon, went through our town, and all the neighboring towns looking out for Support Our Troops magnets. I guess we felt that stealing these magnets was the ultimate act of defiance against the government. I think we stole twenty or more. The only time any of us got caught was when Emily got caught. They called her to come to the car, and she got chewed out. But she was small and mousy and they chastised her but left her alone.

In history class one day, one of the classes I paid no attention in still, I was randomly called upon in front of the class to explain what I thought what the government was for. I immediately told everyone that the government was there to push people down and make them subservient and submissive to the real masters of the world. Mr. Bradley looked at me surprised. He told me I was wrong, but seemed amused overall. The rest of the class looked at me like I was crazy. At some point, a preppy girl named Mary stood up and explained that people like me didn't belong in America. She said that if I didn't like America, she would like to see what they would do to me in Saudi Arabia. I was annoyed, but I didn't get much of an opportunity to defend myself. But this was by and large how people in the school felt about me. If I didn't like it, they would just assume that I disappear.

At this point in my life, I was very invested in my sort of self-righteous atheism. I think this is probably fairly common with first-year atheists in middle and high school. It wasn't enough to have my own personal developed sense of the world – I had to make sure others knew they were wrong in their faith. I still have retained many of the beliefs I had back then, but honestly, half of my reasons for not believing in a higher power were more based on a mistrust for church, and an incredibly limited historical look at Christianity specifically. I knew next to nothing about Islam, Judaism, any of the beliefs of Asia. My thinking was so all or nothing in those days that I scoffed at anything that didn't hold up to my version of reality, or didn't seem obvious to me. Basically, I was beginning to turn into Ayn Rand, though I didn't know who she was at the time. This is why, in the present, I kind of understand why some people gravitate towards objectivist thinking, towards believing in 100% free will, anarcho-capitalism, and a more traditional libertarianism (I was never a tea-party or Obama is a Muslim type of person). I have retained nearly nothing of this former belief system of mine, and I chock it up more to having to personally try to rationalize what I had personally grown up with. You don't want to believe that the world has failed you, or that the people in your life have let you down. There is a strange satisfaction in believing that you are 100% in control of your own destiny, that your life doesn't belong to anyone else but you – unaffected by society or anyone around you, and that if everyone behaved as free and openly selfish creatures than there might be something honorable to derive from that.

The truth about it was that I was actually dealing with a combinations of realizations about the world, and an enormous amount of emptiness and grief. It was easier and more favorable for me at the time to see the world as an eat or be eaten kind of world, where my value was only as good as the amount of my own dreams that I could make happen. It was easier for my to divorce myself from being a victim in any way. It also made it a lot easier for me to judge other people and condemn them when they did and said things I didn't agree with. It was a way to keep myself guarded from trying to love and understand others. And honestly, the only thing that I held dear that I kept an open mind about was that one time Zack and I hippie danced and he told me that everyone deserved to be loved. It undid the belief, but I couldn't seem to live on the day to day with that understanding. It's a tall order for anyone to buy into for one, and so much easier to live in a world where you can dismiss the pain of others as being self made.

So in history class, I sometimes, in a very arrogant manner, would question and harrass Mr. Bradley, about his Christianity. He was of the belief that the world was only 6000 years old. He went to church every Sunday and had always been very religious. It was obnoxious on my own part. I wasn't trying to learn anything new, as much as I was demonstrating that I was smarter than him, and could mentally overpower him. I tried to tell him that religion was invented for people like him to be ruled over. I at times accused him of being a puppet of those in power. I mocked him, and eventually made jokes that he was secretly cheating on his wife to date a man. It was incredibly rude of me. He took it well all things considered. I eventually pissed him off though, and he called me up to his desk one day and told me to knock it off. Which I definitely had coming. It would have been one thing had I paid attention in class and known to question what was being taught in that class. I could have used our lessons in history to question his logic on bigger things, in a respectful manner that would have given us both something to take home and think about in a bigger context. But attacking him because of his religion, however scientifically in the dark his beliefs were, was really messed up on my part.

I still was babysitting more than ever. I started seeing my position in a different way however. For the last several years, I had helplessly fallen into a sense of distress, self pity and resignation about what my parents forced upon me every weekend. But at fifteen I started seeing my position as a blessing in disguise. One of the realizations that came to me was that Allison and David were people. I hadn't really treated them like they were, but I was beginning to clearly see that now. Secondly, I felt excited that I might have the potential to mold them into cool people. I looked over my empty childhood, mostly siphoning through bad music, movies, styles, searching for something meaningful and falling short always – lucky when I found a small seed of something valuable in the garbage of the mainstream. I had no one to guide my thoughts or beliefs. My father and mother didn't think people had many layers and didn't acknowledge any of us as individuals outside of their understanding. They had no concern or curiosity for what any of us kids believed or what we felt about things personally, or how they impacted us. My father had some strong opinions and he would often tell us about it, but this was very much a one sided discussion. I started seeing myself as being responsible for improving Allison and David's life.

I also started seeing this as a power grab, mainly against my father. He had belittled me and pushed me down in any way he could and made me feel like nothing. There were elements to how he knocked me down that I would never recover from, but  I could start taking the power back in increments and he would not even know. His kids could slowly become decreasingly his children and more my own. All I really had to do was befriend them and gain their respect. Before this time, I had never been able to appreciate or differentiate the difference between fear and true respect. For my father, he saw no difference. For both of them really – mother and father, this rule held/holds true. They would do what they could get away with. They had no respect for anyone save themselves.

But what they did seem to respect was anything that put fear into them. And likewise, when either of them wanted to feel loved or validated, they would do something mean. They were criminal in this sense of the word. And it was strange, but even with all the influence they had over me, even underneath my own power trips, I had more class and benevolence towards the world. I saw the beauty in being kind when there was nothing to be gained. I could see the value in being patient and open – even when I was having difficulties getting by without my own personal closed off nature. Obviously, I still retained some of their opportunism, but I didn't generally see my friends and family as tools, even when I considered myself to be some kind of libertarian. It was strange, but there was something about that previous year that had really opened my eyes. I understood how to love people because that person was who they were and not because they offered me anything. I appreciated what pain had taught me and the finer details of what it meant to be a person. I accept that the world wasn't meant to be easy. And unlike them, I quite defiantly decided to live my life with a sense that I was going to try to be honorable.

I also saw the value of making friends out of both Allison and David so that I could have friends. I wanted to include them in my struggles, and perhaps this was a little selfish, but given they were growing up in the same homes that I was growing up in, it felt necessary to start seeing the three of us as being able to help one another out in some way. I wanted to reach them emotionally and make them understand me. I didn't want to admit it, but even with Sarah, there were things I just never felt understood for. She didn't seem to care about anything. She didn't get mad, or feel motivated. She loved dreaming about being a rock star, but what I wanted to see was anger and passion and I saw very little of that. Sarah had this void in her personality, and she often times would cave to whatever felt easiest. She was more interested in being comfortable than making her dreams come true, and she wasn't as readily ready to fight for a cause like I was. It bothered me, but at the same rate, she seemed to understand me in a way that people can't understand about themselves. Like, she seemed to perceive when I was going to feel hungry, or how I was feeling even when I myself didn't quite know. But in other ways, she simply didn't seem to understand. And that's what I felt Allison and David could be good for.

I started reading to them every night. I started to read A Child Called It one day to them after school. I remember reading it in one go. I knew the book, having read it a year previous, and the story was very painful and sad. Allison and David's faces were both streaked with tears by the end of the evening. Especially David, who was particularly sensitive. I warned them about never trusting authority or the government in any way. This did little to no good naturally, since I didn't know what the heck I was talking about and believed every website I came across that had some conspiracy theory to spread. A lot of it was lies. Some of it was downright detestable. I really just didn't know. In an attempt to 'see through the bullshit' I was myself just as naive as I had been before, and maybe even more so.

One thing that was most memorable was my starting a  home tape of something I called The Clown Show. Allison had this karaoke machine with a tape deck in it. It was the same one used to tape I'm A Big Man that summer. There were knobs that I could control my voice with. I distorted my voice to where I sounded like this clown voice. It wasn't quite male, nor was it quite female. It sounded like me and it didn't. I was able to create this weird echo, and I was this character, a clown, who ran this fucked up insane talk show that you could listen to on a weird broadcast that was hard to get on an AM station. I had this insane chanting audience, and I made these awful dissonant jokes that I would laugh at. I wanted it to be creepy and upsetting, but not like an overt and obvious killer clown in a cliché sense. It reminded me an awful lot of what Tim and Eric sometimes was if you watched Adult Swim late at night. Or more specifically, it reminds me an awful lot like the work of this really bizarre lo-fi musician that has been around since the 70's named R. Stevie Moore. I really could never explain that to anyone unless they listened to it, and it's incredibly unlikely that anyone would know unless they heard. There is a lot of random singing, random vintage commercials, psychotic sounds. Very strange tape music.

Allison and David were several characters. I had David make these weird impromptu car commercials, Allison would sell soap in a soft voice. Then I would have them be guests on the show. I would interview them for the audience, and they would come up with these insane answers that they perceived adults would say. David was Billy Idol, except he clearly wasn't. And Allison was Britney Spears. Then they would sing a song that Allison or David made up on the top of their head that they perceived a musician like Billy Idol or Britney Spears would sing. I made these tapes, and I would show them to people. Most of the time people said it made them feel really empty, disturbed and slightly nauseated. They were funny, and horrifying at the same time.

Zack and I were just starting to get close again. It had only been about six weeks or so since school had started. I had managed to drive him away, had to contend with his girlfriend for awhile, and then had to win him back. I seemed to be doing it. I came to this sense of calm about him. I just had to accept that I was still very much in love with him and always would be. I wasn't going to worry about the future, or worry about the attention I was being given. I was simply going to love him, for whatever that was worth. I had to forgive him. I had to forgive everyone. I was not going to give up my own sense of identity, but I wasn't going to try to hurt him to prove something petty to myself about who I was. I was going to expect nothing, and just be happy to have him around.

And then one day we were in health class. He sat next to me and scooted his desk up next to mine. Earlier that day he had come to me and explained that there was a school assembly last hour. He wanted to make sure that I was sitting right next to him. I was very happy. It felt like maybe things were going back to normal. So in health class, we were just waiting for the bell to ring and the intercom to sound so we could go to the gymnasium together. I remember people looking over at us strangely, perhaps judging us as the class freaks, trying to figure out if we were dating. I felt this soft sort of confidence inside.

Then the intercom came on and we all assembled to the gym. As Zack and I were walking together, Cody Smith – Ava's ex (It might be worth mentioning that the Smith household left him in Kendrick even though they had moved), came up to Zack and told him to come with him. Zack looked at me, and then looked at Cody. He smiled and told me to save a spot for him. I felt really rattled and confused. I went into the gym and saved a spot for him, but as everyone piled in, Zack didn't show up. I looked around. And then I spotted him, though just barely. He and Cody, were running out the back door by the boy's locker room, going out the secret way through the weight lifting room. Zack had been quickly convinced to skip the assembly. And he had forgotten all about me. And I had this really bad feeling that he was never coming back to school again.

Two weeks went by, and he didn't come to class. There was no word of him at all. Samantha knew nothing. Soup hadn't heard anything. I kept telling myself that he was just skipping for a few weeks like he had last time, but something about this felt a lot different. For one, he had been seen skipping the assembly, and if he returned they were waiting and ready to put him in several days of suspension. So why would he even want to come back? Secondly, he had just turned sixteen and he was legally able to leave school now. He never liked school. He liked playing music and smoking pot all day. So why would he want to be here?

I had troubles smiling. Noah was now talking to me all the time. He was friendly enough and I liked him. But he was incredibly engaged in trying to get my attention now. He wanted me to read his Invader Zim comic books, and I didn't really get into them. He wanted everyone to listen to Ween. I didn't like Ween that much. He wasn't pushy or anything. But he bothered me for some reason. And I mostly just missed Zack. I started comparing Zack to Noah, and finding that Noah annoyed me. I felt like Zack had been taken away from me and been replaced by this other person. I didn't want Noah. I wanted Zack. Eventually, one day at lunch break, as I was sitting in the parking lot, Zack and his father drove up unexpectedly in his father's red pickup. His dad didn't look too happy. But he was there to sign Zack out of school. Zack was quitting for good. He ran to us briefly, but his father didn't want to wait around. He was only able to explain what was happening, before he was called back to the truck and they drove away.

I was despondent and I felt empty. It was one thing when I had felt betrayed, or broken. But this was another thing altogether. I was somehow going to have to make it through life without him. Somehow, a big portion of my life had just floated away, and left this big empty space. I avoided everyone around me. I was short tempered with Sarah when she asked what was wrong. Noah came up to me at one point and offered me chewing gum and tried to be nice to me in a very Meyers-Briggs INTP kind of way. I took it resentfully. And yet, the world went on, and for the most part nobody paid too much attention. Nobody really seemed to understand what I was going through. And I had set it up that way. I hadn't been honest about how I felt. Which was of course what kept me safe, but also kept me trapped.

PART 41 - http://tinyurl.com/y84kmttv

PART 40 - http://tinyurl.com/y8aj6kmq

PART 39 - http://tinyurl.com/y97vprft

PART 38 - http://tinyurl.com/ycr7la8q

PART 37 - http://tinyurl.com/y8trssqd

PART 36 - http://tinyurl.com/y9ygq9q8

PART 35 - http://tinyurl.com/ya5xhe2f

PART 34 - http://tinyurl.com/yc6y4p69

PART 33 - http://tinyurl.com/y87449dz

PART 32 - http://tinyurl.com/ycetanep

PART 31 - http://tinyurl.com/yae3o4rd

PART 30 - http://tinyurl.com/ybht9aul

PART 29 - http://tinyurl.com/ybfcr9j2

PART 28 - http://tinyurl.com/yagdlo47

PART 27 - http://tinyurl.com/ydcj5fgf

PART 26 - http://tinyurl.com/y73nvl73

PART 25 -  http://tinyurl.com/y6v6pgoj

PART 24 - http://tinyurl.com/ycak5d8r

PART 23 - http://tinyurl.com/yac6sk3g

PART 22 -  http://tinyurl.com/yat6cfnw

PART 21 -  http://tinyurl.com/y783egno

PART 20 - http://tinyurl.com/y8jskymt

PART 19 - http://tinyurl.com/rfhbms8

PART 18 - http://tinyurl.com/ycrznrwk

PART 17 - http://tinyurl.com/y77unlng

PART 16 - http://tinyurl.com/yadpsv8c

PART 15 - http://tinyurl.com/yb3lt6k5

PART 14 - http://tinyurl.com/yb4cfedq

PART 13 - http://tinyurl.com/yalanq9s

PART 12 - http://tinyurl.com/yc79mw94

PART 11 - http://tinyurl.com/yc9qhj84

PART 10 - http://tinyurl.com/yb734w24

PART 9 - http://tinyurl.com/yc2t6vfw  

PART 8 - http://tinyurl.com/ybl37utq

PART 7 - http://tinyurl.com/ybvo283g

PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu

PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am

PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg

PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx

PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2

PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8

[carpetheotherfandoms]

Lotus.

Avatar the Last Airbender.

My take on Pema and Tenzin coming together. Their first meeting, Pema’s transition to the Air Acolytes and Tenzin’s choice to be with her and not Lin.

Lotus II Lotus III Lotus IV

Enjoy.

She was standing alone in her room after finishing writing out her packing list and thoroughly explaining to her parents why this was the path she had chosen. She couldn’t count how many times she told them they couldn’t change her mind like they had tried so many times before. But as she was packing up all the items she had chosen to bring with her in a small box on her bed she felt heaviness in her heart. 

The rest of her belongings were to be stored in boxes in the attic since, as she was told, one cannot join the Air Acolytes and continue to have a profuse number of material belongings. She took a deep breath and re-examined the items she wanted to keep with her, items that would soften the blow ofleaving everything she had ever known. 

There, tucked neatly in the box was a photo of her family from the last birthday celebration they had shared, a small locket her grandmother had given her when she had first confided in her that she wanted to leave the big city to live on Air Temple Island and finally the flyer from the Air Nomad exhibition she had attended months ago that was given to her by a young man, Tenzin.

The butterflies in her stomach came back suddenly and she pursed her lips.

‘Stop it Pema.’

It was absolutely insane to think that a man like that, soft eyes, a warm smile. Someone whose parents were two of the greatest and most famous benders in the world; one of them being the Avatar for crying out loud, and who happened to be dating the toughest police officer she had ever laid her eyes on, would even consider some silly non-bender. She shook her head at herself and continued to put her belongings in boxes to distract herself from replaying the moment she met him in her head but it wasn’t really helping.

“Pema the doors are opening!”  

She turned her head at the call of friends; they had been standing in line all morning waiting for the doors of the museum to open. Republic City was hosting an exhibition to highlight the importance of continuing Air Nomad culture and inviting everyone to see what the nation was like over one hundred years ago. Avatar Aang and his youngest son were the only air benders in the world so Pema could see why it would be so important to them to bring benders and non-benders alike to share their long lost culture.

The line began to move and as she began to climb the steps she could see a man covered head to toe in blue tattoos standing in traditional air nomad clothing greeting people upon entry. He was very tall and had this beautiful bright smile that made her stomach lurch forward. The closer she got to him the faster her heart raced, she had never felt like this before and really didn’t know what to do.

When she reached him at the top whatever he said to her went in one ear and out the other, she was too busy staring at him to realize that he had handed her a pamphlet and she had been shuffled inside. When she entered the grand entrance of the building she was blown away by the beauty of it all. Everywhere she looked was an ancient painting or piece of scripture that highlighted many different aspects of life as an Air Nomad, she stood right in the center of it all and just breathed it in.

“It’s quite beautiful don’t you think?”

She turned to see a young brunette woman in water tribe regalia looking up at the painting of the Eastern Air Temple she had just been so intently staring at.

“Yes the ingenuity and creativity of the Air nomads is unbelievable, I would love to visit the temples someday,” she turned to face the water bender beside her and stuck out her hand, “My name is Pema, it’s nice to meet you.”

The woman grabbed Pema’s hand and heartily shook it, “Likewise Pema, the name’s Kya.”

As soon as her name left her lips Pema’s mouth dropped, “You mean like the Avatar’s daughter Kya?”

The young woman simply laughed and nodded her head, “I’m surprised you know my name, most people only really care for Tenzin, first true airbender to be born in a century and all that mumbo jumbo. I guess it helps looking like a carbon copy of my mother though, huh?” Kya swayed her head in the direction of her parents.

Pema had been too busy gawking at the paintings above them to notice the Avatar standing a few feet away deep in discussion with his wife and a few other worldly officials.

Pema had never seen the Avatar in person before but he looked much more normal than she had anticipated. He was wearing an outfit identical to the one she had seen on Tenzin but he was much taller and had a beard. His arm was extended behind his wife, whose head just reached the top of his shoulder, and his hand seemed to be absent mindedly playing with her dark brown hair which cascaded beautifully down to her back to her waist. Katara similarly had her arm wrapped around her husband’s waist and whenever she laughed she seemed to place her other hand on Aang’s chest and wholeheartedly smile up at him.

“They look so in love,” Pema was still looking intently at the couple when Kya let out a chuckle, “Oh yeah, the honeymoon stage never ended for them.”

Pema spent the afternoon walking around the museum with Kya, she was filled with information about the Air Temples and Pema learned quite a lot about her time at the Southern and Northern water tribes learning, as her mother did, healing techniques.

As early as Pema could remember she had never been away from Republic City, there were her few trips to the earth kingdom with her elementary classes but nothing compared to what Kya had had the opportunity to do. Kya was in the middle of describing the difference between how airbenders practiced healing and waterbenders did when someone called out to her.

“Kya, mother has asked me to come get you, don’t ask me why, I didn’t ask.”

When Pema turned she saw the young airbender who had handed her the pamphlet scooting towards them on a bubble of air. As he approached he jumped off and reached out his hand, “Hi, I’m Tenzin, nice to meet you.”

Kya rolled her eyes at her brother, “No need to show off Tenzin,” then Kya turned towards me, “I’ll come back when I’m done with whatever my mom needs, I’m sure Tenzin would love to chat your ear off about the exhibition wouldn’t you little brother?”

Tenzin’s cheeks went slightly red with Kya’s teasing and she walked away before he could open his mouth.

To be continued ...