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libidomechanica · 13 days

Text

Untitled (“He stirs a quietly, perchange”)

A curtal sonnet sequence

Let us go. Ring out of tradition is near can claim, because you still, to those thee: ah! Beyond they wore that wrong; I can see form, or wrap me o’er the lofty lady’s eyes. He stirs a quietly, perchange. Is gone, so strangled in the worldly Wisdom. Of my friends, the river with his way. On the and my bosom the errant note that’s inner, he is with the city by this words as, uttering roar, let me give the hour!

’Mong Graemes of Fear, and he supply of the big kids do not say: they only tend and groves to overcast! But in higher hand whereat tower; but as slowly worn her blue-bell strike up in colossal calm. Help me to such doom waits for Sin in Humanity’s machinery and sadly fell out of day? Come wild. Glad I discern a woman hang that I in the night. Already how am I so great, inmantle damp air.

Relics brought him, and boast, a beggar and that convey what name way, behold which I can those the vulgar tongue; and its way, behold when it come with a stuff was couriers in truth: and lime; but that with the boy bringe: ich am for me. That they have strange and that rolled his life, the son, but our own white fog. A life likes alone. Or else let him in table-talk, or her drove The bailey beareth thee some sell, and fro, and through her throat.

Its very charity. ’ We talk’d: the soul, but what poesy which makes it well as deaths, dere woman souls possess a leal and wars, and touch’d a purer her eyes are but born of after nine daies that bubbles fair maiden most loved, then the shape themselues and snatched man takes a wreck his fair lady’s tale, and mime, for now each one Beauty such Diana shows hands to breast: such that all ring if they fill at you to defende, while Geraldine!

Else were fellowship of a living soul. He came at midnight wind sleep so sweet with open convict-clothes, that, admiring lyre already severall Objects you alone. Bare of nature in the world had to sweets all your mission which he to slumber of a blasting ended, as thou liest love, O troth but strangely ones. And recollects and with the lady Geraldine! What is here was not yet; but left my mother regal sea.

She striated rock, as thou like a hawk, an’ it winna let a body be. A wither form, and closing in effect as I confess all the banks, we glide. The jocund honeycomb with storms, and the lady bows; man dies: nor is the stricken and fair Ellen of care the sweet native rill, to him. Catches thro’ the forest bare thread they dazzled at the lady dead? Rest. Stretch the first Sun arose and he than all to straight I not rest.

And an offsprings to one we lay: and all that hides that evil star; whose like Dante And why he loved, as sweet smell of frankincense, with fifty Mays, to my Prison weeds of the grew a fire: she waste, my spikenard and various eyes as you Stella now befalls me ours is and eye, the perfect rose on stepping-wells of the yellow leaf is white mule she rolls away; his love of my friend scrawled thee, sullen surface crisp. Within.

They all; while her movies, forsooth, and on alone. It is in me a little Robin, take the dark church like little white seal. Hero To Leander in Mexico I slept: the yule-clog spark disgrace, because you me thou art fair; thou faire story tell, or from a brands back to whom a control to look like the great logs and fear: but in his locks wave again. Again, the throne of life and the keep the dead, while Geraldine again!

In matter the course the west, there and significant myth But now is love with thy shame upon my scribe, unless that then as the dropping into leap up with an awful far to the years can take or leaves themselves to win ye, O: nae ither in death: I thinks, it shows but pure as Heaven, my Lord and nothing down the Burial Office revives in her eye. And in that sweet smile on the breathe a useless shore and no record?

The wider carved so elaborately seate have look’d for a difference as if a door and Autumn laying I’m sorry seas. For side it an oak. Today when king, unfollow’d? If one small orange similes enrich each shrunken deepest man, he, would we shall not sit with myrrh with my grief, the Y, goodbye to cramp the gold-dusted snapdragon, sweet-hearted human view, nor dare not win who mould; and twice a white bliss, or argent see?

Have back. Had put understand the wild desire; yet Hope had constancy light in little urn. Till on city, and her eye. Or, crown’d in truths in my thought, and high, the hall, young Lochinvar? So blue—alas! To you know eternal hues: her feel both and rabid, and, green would defiled is mine, with suddenly, as one would hard: and ever open grave has been impossible not to the undoing. And can’t a woman, off!

And throughout your common bed were moves pictures is so simple Doves, one less and your voice; for I must belief from her father this, bring his head lolled him she put off me and now behind. The moth, who touch’d without a spirit breathed him welcome the strewn— so half-closed, silence would, transparents in the keeps a trust God: see all. In her to have man who his dying Nature them lie, to clime to his Lips; reproved since her distress?

Heart’s guest hid: but in the hills from the was standing-place with tumult from thy prove to Friendship’s kindly face, break, thought of the fame is all your sweet upbraiding, all her nape caught forthwith little worth my God. How blanch’d from hence! I made no stay to thy garments any overlaid with the love is sad like a white or argentinel who stay to hire leuell into my mother’s bower- door, and compass rough, as dying, and love of thee.

As that they, my spouse; thou will, see with eyes ah woe is much thee mair to see thy motion new haue my prospect and faith, but mine that which comfort all things seemed her giant labours doe keep it seems to owe naught elsewhere. With summer sunset fades from worldly strife and rejoicing Nature’s best; like photography, the trees laid paused away, I hear, it’s something; till makes it blessed our ever. Thou leave me from stair we went down to see thee.

Day break the coming prey of thing mouth: for I am reading dance, then, a dreamt I bore blooms in windows to my beloved Woman is best all fresh, and take this poor sprites the stuff was caught me tender social mill we rubbed the day. A dream’d a virtuous mowing knees, here warm with blunt the festal cheers his could that Majestie common notion of endures were held in silence with its agony to part of love or a treat.

Found his laureate, that crowning stands—with my trance; change in circles, and having, ride! The timeless on the fair. Arthur new Year’s prison-wall, to find his great we glance ever at their lives upon the Baron forgot, we repose of regret is that dignity of she knoll of changes; here is no vulgar natured effigies they scourge the gateway bell, tho’ it spring so longer that new rhythm in a sheet her conquest got.

Every flower while her veil from hilly and calmly fell in which does not longs to indue. For me, I will seek thee as many a long-batter’d in the golden trout on thine ear. Unloved, the mind the second friends in your age, his chill, approving me, said Leoline first times. That bears to cast asleep, kinsmen, and envying all. He broken urn, for what is the peace—this wroth: Is this was Life, a Fury slinging gowan, wat wi’ the fair.

And that eye wide wings, and the sky, and whose light, but it’s jet, jet black night, I dream; for she bell. Six weeks in fragrant with thee the Eye, new and pure at rest, a little lived on. Forgiven, and both and the labourer till it left barren faith? Prospect lies has neither breast, I should looke, lest wave of impotent spell, while then. And leave a second statelier breast. For thro’ time drawn thy bright; they only tend and faithful troop of urine?

Shall know that be sent: from thee, phillis, has met with doubts appearing you to deem, as had wrong; delaying lips? Means frae his holy Death: the oracles perfection. And breast, there in Time now, and all was grass, nor with his saving like Orpheus, then my faith is a strawberry song: peace; come dim touch it grow. Of all thereupon take what are thy will it fast! In the panes; and aloes, with cries with times, like to a young Lochinvar.

Why, Bracy replied; thou said while it more wil on wind and system rolling crew; tis a dove and lash with Sin pierce love; it was as tho’ left my mother, shining them. And what merry ploughboy cheer’d her think once in the poor I, the air, to wakened his be some of all my grief which ever mind o’ my life, for a look back return to what a hand on the world or sung, so little more to Cæsars bleed against the wall. I may die.

Or breasts and the windows. Whose breathed whenas the minds, and closing in the den and moved thee! He often shall I could defiled: for that swerved to world so high, the hard to and toast, the white, those crisp. That hear thy lying limping the valley, and tears before, the blossom’d tree; thy spiritual rock, and press? Perhaps, and keep one could their pupils like my loud and that spot in what slope, and fate, dost fly: if thou leave a light the heare to me.

A single;—why not room fortune be, all wrap me o’er-present of praise a glass; he find my name him into my taste not speaks with lullaby now so strong as it’s like presence Hell. Take and watched man I held their glories, towns, courtesy, she move as daily vexes household fountains high desert dust what is apt to love, t’ acquit such doom waits for thee in the burthen is gone as faintly true life and sigh I take the love me!

The floor, near petrified aright, and woe so master. The pleasant is the avenger, Time, that the dusk, with his father, in the winter changes wrought at that we die. And take delicious mowing fresh all know, then, in that breath: the voices of four cheeks, to recall the ground plumes of life no long when rosy plume; and problem, like a little; but yet for bloud, around. May go and found has a care, the woods; which compete. Full again.

And brought, I dreamy tourney could lie outsoarings do breathing I forged at me from afar, because no motion. Or she, in burning like these are thou dost keeps away, death’s twin-brother, his life, but touch, and Fate province were! And the unclean leper’s heart thou comes and the wind the roses and blessed her tone, the moth, where to dedicated loved, she is not star had fall. Long-withdrawn from bonds that traitors seek a richer shadow play.

Or Paint must sentence. Her legs his fauld that turns was Life,—the trees go limp a voice was like lilies. Whatever mind and various latch, like a sprightly from the tenderest in the Cloth of Morn when my fair is that they can forbid their parental tenderly i’m guess; I know you wast thoughts on a palace higher place, and thing when though to her last he loved, is Feeding farther things, or is it the carved so elaborately sways.

Must not always real as thou canst not spie! And has a dead hear the lore she rode with the banquet. He brood; pluck the locked the small returns to sing a doubt not in vain! Lake, let the vineyards; let us go. Literature thee more the pearl of orphans paine. Nor countless daughter’s knowledge, but life is dart: but there is o’er! In California and of an aim. And render voices of the night; and cloth shake the eternal process moon.

May bind my brows and or a lady by her fields, here be so involvèd other think that lies vpon whose sacristal spring nothing else, sung by thy look in the open content beams kiss me so happy sister flower, is shadows handsome aged women are twins, and aloes, with lullaby contrite heart or cool’d with doing? He does not, when she sees my heart and rage, the deed with old results of myrtle she sweetness, no more.

Upon the chords are arming these are scatter over bank, bush, and pale king heard in little that in thy thigh: which on all in circle rounds that saintly tread: but some evenings his courtesy fine sad mechanism of silence let the roof and beat no just two signs, but ere I hear each his plane of life have golden skies; for I have the iron hills? Like pressure of night. My colds a mellow leave. I’ll feared his mother this that shone.

This white, and could hardly to myself doth Geraldine, I only a cut, a hand, that tell. All night quick, the living Death so much, stand those feet doth goodbye to creek joining vapour, leaving breeze of solid core of a wasted love is the empty, falling, sweet maid, alas, who watched the wrangling keel, till Christmas-eve: the festal board are locks. Stair, now inside her mother’s household they at every Law gave bands of their dying, Oh.

Love is thy beloved more with the bard obeyed; and tent, while he putteth forth to myriads on my part the lady of wine. Are very floor, near perhaps she’ll live you any overmuch of air that Majestie comments in the sky, week after the wise. That I feel it in thy babe chase fatigue and far descry no cause thy feet has met with faint and be procuress to a roe or any other solemn heraldry, their store?

The rose up as well, and call, nor caress in wooing, in wise casting ended as molten into the ocean-mirrors of waltz, clicking men. And wine may read they cross. I, who trembling knell of loss for power in sweet spring; thou fairest alone; yet eyes, your loving of her can I shall happens the dead brought break and bring her proffer’d clerk still cry Amen’ to evening, like purple orchard for thee, we will religion but feel.

Out of praised, I shall be so involvèd other. For the brute earth and watcher state’s delicious surges sink to Ovid, and hours await the rain lead, move unreproved a daughter, my love, it winna let a body so richly shrined; but hung in the was racing tones, that evermore. While Loue on me sit; nor changing so blind and that comer, her lying clay,—thought bring to my round, a soul in my milk with thy love’s going.

She cannot heard our compare, whaever hast thou will! All the Worldly Wisdom’s chamber me? ’Er thou repent me on top of Toies I will I say, farewell a Welcome with snow. I’d just must be sent, their pupils like the State I am near and Bracy! And I a friend came born in every span of His teeth are only this delicate piston throng, drug down in a yarn about the breakfast, while I thus bent one most Affection.

Thoughts harden flew in hand, and touch made him with one of the twisting hurt did wandering still, and teach man thou art fair; and o’er them store they, my yong soule fluttering well, soon wild-eyed and in manhood, explaining against his side! Not prizing her train: but something mouth: for my life thou and I must ride, and see! And make the loved of solid core of the wet grasps a goose: her sleep, and truly, who art to her love me thou not for me.

For never small orange-flowers, like madness of thine eyes have seen they partners of whom all look on knowledge bright, and not wring heard the sashes from the deep. Burned shirt without a rarity, have I not signal lonely cell o Mercury, assist my last, the market boat passed to the rolled his spoon, the stubble-plains with crown: to speak to men, at night, the cast a fiecer Gripe doth smiling sky, what stay, and of four hands are, her breasts.

But every maze of skill, but shakes or be spring. And we shall lips, which the foliaged eaves that gather take turned that light forlorn. Awake, and duly seas. Stretch forth the same and sweet. To sigh, to Loues pain, destroyed. Thy voice is flesh and brain, at least desire. The rush, but in dark day and bring hearts are all we flown! But thou hast nae mind the well! I conquer’d years that every stare. A little ticks are we prayed, who never grim grow out.

Thou art gone Sibylla’s name, and thus spake— all the night situation meanwhile he prest again, so long the rest, thro’ all transfer the Poet the silent deep self, from out of the thou wilt, swifter t’other, the flock of seed, and wel ymake. And if the roofs, that landlike something swallows thy place book well. Behold, the Just, be blows, the grounded large and love to see, like her grew up on Greek i’d have ranging thro’ his left alone.

And take it true? Who laughing love, that streaming fame, fade whole I planned! The brains that hear the Princesse art to hold your lots were of the Flower to freely gift of your lover, and mellow leaves while Israel made a garlands were fellows—true—but poets on a morn of yore, the twist, and hopes and through my undefile the pillar of a blast of twain her severall Objects you all, and about to weep, somewhat blushes; granted?

But say my pain. With me from the secret House of Shalott the Past! Day, and mellow form is clover who di’d for words of chariot of joyless grope, as that slender blow. Its being left the breathe, wild oat not so, my Tory, ultra-Julian? Many wanton coot the same, I had been know, cold her! Eternal Laws are made the most, even tonight, or simple speechless prayer, who thus there! Or ever light and wrapt about ye.

And suburb understands; the vow of your love, to the other looks have sinn’d! To put an idle thinking as of our love an invade, and love alone and the Iliad in his narrow born, were mirth, and whitening the golden pomp is comrade of the Arrow, or sun, and foison of the tomb of Tutankhamun. Dear friend would rise with that would injure they mocked with all thy bowers, which go up to springs to be over all!

Do we indeed desire. If not staies, to dark desert all things ev’n tho’ faithful time, unfetters of doom. Did I,—to the dusty floor the Tree! Thou art more awful seventyfold. In such as men, who sniff at vice and finds, that tell your love and grey, and so free, the yellow faltering dust, and look upon thee there is of a stirring age, his paper pale with thee in vaults and you to hurry and shade, in the mastiff bitch!

And thorns: the faces seem, mine, all is well as I. Off the sign to come, to chance, and laugh’d and deaths for reply, and read strange with the lesser grim grow out. For wowing to walk as one far-off was to bed, and the less bilious—but oh fie on’t! Infinite passions leaue to rest, and fill; they never drank they live? The child? So like, and play stones and so beauteous hours, to make false fire without a slowly as before. Or leave of graced.

As a piece of the vine, sang of the page from the new, ring, her life was poor I, the creeds that blind; nae ferlie ’tis thorny; and I may degree, whilst the iron dug from my head till die. When roots are on the act! ’ I see me sorrow’d most living leaks from the bed shot, ere yet is done, for now each other secret of time to under part, he love; Thy radiate: folly’s all fear implied my commitments in one that fitter spring.

Are lost in the leave the book I am come, with him, heart a leaf has pleasant should pile comes from yawning dew, laburnums, dropped in, your belles and last, and there allow’d, making, Oh. Go and flutter toil and made me with generation blow: the first: but relief must be the sky, and save from the ford, or voice doth supersede all our Christ! Where the one more the stones, yet loving eyes; thy brows, and scarce a sigh I take hold your dream of thine.

So may what ensue desire, give lied. Today when they crowness in thy look up at the bed shot, ere yet crowns the conscience ere now then? Withdrawn himself so fast, then window sweats, the wolf whose life; than Heaven, her lilies. Speak not of joy in the frame my Ghost may in the thick and ransom’d in ambrosial dark, Blythe third is with eternal fate, whilst I thy beloved, the lamp and minds from me! I, considerate eyes than wine.

She kneels beneath, no life? He place with the falling, here twins, and light, when all these two— they durst, how on this wedded lie! As wan, as a sightless to a steel so strange the sounds of your form, or wrap her is sad and to thy wealth I have done: the lark hand is eternal form’s faun to the whole created on thy worst, old Time, if this very boughs the approve, and hold it truth in all this below, and see’st the brute whose desert vaster.

I should in silent under the weight up, he quart of Worldly Wisdom’s charming, yet, because thee borders of sinful anodyne; wit temple comes his way with her yet was love their times I burn, or fail, as worst to and fading days Only until we’re tape rolling wind the dish. As moulder’d in the coward back to a Woman face. On the shine, enam’ling which i have doubted if all of fruit bush doth lay. And night, Sir Leoline.

For here he alightened child, and taught me. Shall beneath her break, so name; to brow, and grow now my epic renegade, what a happy thought him, but mean to slant them. The sun as the herb and Nature lends such a beasts, I fought on form legs. Yet hiding- place to learn himself doth not the cruel fairest man handsome aged stars grow makes are below that Loss is my friend again! She hands that eye which might die. And Wordsworth as thine ear.

To man, that gleam primroses, and both a wrong: we service such dreadful day from place in sweeter man we love washed walks and gold, to form, and beneath her bones lie buried under over look’d the song, when most men procuress there a fiery courtly accents find so my part the grasps a good broadsword that that strong, unmoor’d our rafters of Amminadib. ’Tis of twain her secret mean sublime, and combated with icy breathes.

Dost thou with shows its strife, should tease him be, how dare look’d upon the strive which, who saw powers; and I must go down, and could wanted weary, heavenward path, and whether breath more I striven had kept a vigil kept, till night, thy good broadsword that not a motion of things but organic Harps diverses dight, or she be a wall, lasts every charming, sit thou love. Plastic beautiful, a haunting jealousy from the brazen bell.

That new rhythm. As in the dead; while comely with tempest manhood, I see is they both and read of Proserpine, among? Yet seed the Mind seeks delay home to her hand tell her lash! Are but pure smoothness round such a hand and wild, dishonored grave, only dearest, the roof does its salutary aim, in those this wear, made of its own. The heau’n of Stella I descrie, teaching formless iron heel it too. Poet, where are to the spell.

For me, and happiness master the Grandmother down by gladly? Filled the difficult to bear the True, the fool, the tower of our photography, then thee, and swing all wreaths; and, hovering all it from cliffs, and various eyes of Christabel took up and drop in; the brook shall obey thy darkness grope: we did not make no second self- same debtor forward does weary dream I ever more brave man with the thews of jewels, the sea.

So hold cheap the happy dawn, late, and rot, with me as all my dear, my Philly? Of force that ye stir not under human delight, and one dawning side of Pallas wait; then love to see thee the beech: we heavenward and go with him; I can’t sleep, and he supplied my want of love of thy praise or when he trimmed the pretty look could not find him night or mild made cypress his fruit. ’ If an eye, remade the sea;—what we had offended?

But in the rivers with law; if thou canst not be still all mortal board, lamp’s flaxen ringlet turned nest on tearless, unto men will demanded—if he seems to reverend love of Folly needs my dream a dream, wi’ joy the dream I rank’d with banners? The one of us making Virtue spell awakes thy babe changes; here he in mine; ’ both his she ford, or village hammer-blows. Leaps like the field of a year my pipes we first resort.

Now waiting the furrow sounds, till light! There none, and growing, that man must beautiful land, not a moonbeams kiss shore, whaever had the earth becomes a sings. The Saviour’s feet we tramp the sunbeams kiss the sea, love, with the valiant such wept with the sword, the circles, and the things and Osiris thought of silent, sore distress, sudden hands of my own, heart, in ghosts tonight, thy good smell of heat; be cheek, catch thought me to be below. The bays.

And thro’ and decided thro’ prospect lies. Then in reach.—She canker Love, while he washbasin of finite heard an earth, and groom with bier and feye fall of chalk, the honied hours, and o’er the boatman’s face, and cleave t’ adore the same; whether whose loved thee, sacred bee; with other, where is barren faith? On southern Farmer nothing hedge-cricket cap was of a blasts not Death, to Loues decreed: at lengthen’d ears, I do adore a sultan?

Save thistles shine, had put a cricket will report, and many a level mead, or seedling near and Bracy! He does not keeps they find, the measure, through earth, still the songs, and cleanse his own heard the loss of silver is past, the last, there for Use and quick about, the silver-shedding by Dame Partlett rear ourselves there I may. My natural good; or else to gild the chiefe Pernassus be, and bristles from the breath the hand. Yet Geraldine!

Earth all the grapes. Her breath through the Baron rose, and combing out her worse, the pile he prest: how fares it the tumult of acceptation! I sorrow’s benighted to peace, peace for my lady sank, belike him with ripeness toil, the wet field, thoughts withal, unless songs, and blond meadows breasts and will bloud full new light for him. She need to view a face is fire. Whilst other ranks, through each; but what she could not so my wealth, sae let him kind.

My husband has a crush on, they found to such a salve can last Duchess pain! Creatures thrown us free discursive tender palms together disowns the the numerous juice, as lang’s I get employes, dismisse from high place, that the chiefly those warbling hamlets round, and fears and wilt thou art gone, and that sitteth at thine appear from the iron dug from thee as each bird’s trouble I breath, or but say my verse of all to where is sing.

Fleece of glass; he does not giggle, and the stile affords in love, it pierc’d my worth into thee, God, whose Love into the purest man that City. Death’s twin-brother. Arrange shall wine! Who smile on my selfe to maintainer can it therein you to depart the flowers: his eyes are set the will brethren they with posterity. While yet crown me how, when all he saints at our mortal state sublime, that thou cannot heart and strange in the wrong!

And I should breathed beneath the prime. I dream my beloved spake words, that we knew she is the best. Your part with transfer the picked upon my own to him to be still above thee as man trod is dim, a merry peal comes to reach threads, wax less there was like to one knows what castle bells once more we cross a gain all sorts of the new waies they are hold it slays that seems to be it: the spins both use a running air that in baths of doom.

My husband’s prest his gentle minstrel in. Why is the content, imperial halls; my deep East, one another refreshing flies our purely. Like the time hath, every floor. The lie to me. And pure as my nature, give physics to the years that I am so much as free under blessed-fair the heau’nly bosom the dead. The gardens, all my genial hour forefinger light thee is that I would insteady the floor, and hoodman-blind.

Many a mer-creatures, and each would reveal’d; he sword by publicke heede; but led there: for every vulgar mass called him o’er. Stood dangling keel, till May, and biddest man and thou mayst in bright the dove. And feed with chains regret becomes his door, my thought, and let me given to mead, and though thou leave t’ adores a good thine height upon a hill, and cleave been: a life in courtly accents fine summer’s door, and sank, the kisse. With lips a-glow!

Love shall be my comfortable the hearts of mine in her sure she sees a daughter, sicker, older and a little care for you more the bees thought her barricades withered gloom is kindred pages has been bow downe his fancy, when they grope, and ask a thousand pine-crusted bodies meet, a Haire text better, age, exempt further. I move, she bows, she died away triumph, must rear ourself, I wish for the lamp the soul looks forlorn?

Sun hath his could be, i say if they dwelt with hard worlds of her side, a troop of Mt. A think, since her alike if you so proud was gone by, Gray nurses, lovely in her neglect, with the drug of sails, the speak the wears have press? Daughter the Palace-Chamber ward i’ll tak what air of Hope, that was yet green they sang to the daylight by the student at his sight? Once more girls. To-day its sleep, gentlemen, by the remedy but Flight.

Sweet smell, and brim the breath within him lest hid: but straight doth rise hearing, at hearse our leg between your deare, of wonder what cannie, O. In her veil, then the shift, the watch whose loved over, not better in his life are grown the ruin’d chrysalis of the kitchen, and life—I look alone should not been, in that souls, thy dazling rimes are look on her as you smiles, yet sweep a poor, would look upon her dear from the wholesome love not will behind.

He planet, was all time, unfettere is to breast. My sire woe; just ask chariot where it be their living wall was right; and a tear come too the Lord, and must be with soul of Christabel, whereon to waste the doors, and wild, unequal, wand’ring youth; nor an altar builds the leopards. Where first he washed wight, and the circles round then at strove that life re-orient beams that frightful land, for the first time spindly ere she complain.

I charger head, and in his honor’s land, their strife, let other side a Warders strutted up and so freely gives of wine, who shall path their sense do lie, but all her, as they made his dance slower, glistening gleam luridly. That Heav’n times one’s crowd about himself in scorn that died the course, get you wilt knowing with me; for thought, for the shock, so happy birds in Erin’s gold; ring or old, or rich with that was good words are gone: my mother!

In vain,—to black, an’ it with grasses round another’s, and your guide, from the dreams too liven ichulle forsaken head is both thee. If Sleepe, the cheek, and aloes, wishing that swell of difference for love, it pierc’d my selfe to the winds the tender brooding shut, mere fellowship, o Priestess in the heed of stars were we are cover of day? Pulling flow, and I discern—infinity, malge Sir Matthew Hale’s great minutes crawled like them?

Which makes thro’ the firstly, the spires, she takes a man should but dust, and mine: but, crying, Open to Jove greatness and youth’s beauteous work is here ours, and show’d hint confused me like a clay endures were fruit! And we shall entertaine you, by all the concubines, and purer or most. The streaming fern, and scatter the flocks and sweet spring; till each by turned to view a fact I love shaken into those which we dare not knowing and Bracy!

Nor runlet tinkling from her lash! A happy hour, and boast, or she and quiet bones lived so that not save thy speech we two should not bend with the first and clapping floods his faithful Thames? Here be found his desk, dusty for a laggard and said Geraldine! But why he swung the large be thou will, severed why men know, then my hope too come to sometimes like a hawk encumbered to waste the day when all Minds begin that was to track by Christ!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #159 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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goodlives-mitansh · 10 months

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Harmony Hustle: 7 Tips for Mastering Work-Life Balance Bliss

People all want to have a good work-life balance.

Work-life balance positively affects employees' job satisfaction, productivity, and level of fulfillment both at work and at home. It can be challenging to strike that balance, though.

To assist you in enhancing both your personal and professional life, we have compiled this list of the best advice.

Realizing how crucial work-life balance is

It's simple to get sucked into your work in the modern world and forget about your own needs and desires. While challenging, maintaining a healthy balance between your personal and professional life is crucial.

The following are some advantages of having a good work-life balance:

increased psychological health

Improved well-being

Enhanced output in the office

An improved perspective

stronger bonds in the workplace

A rise in contentment at work

better control over time

Aware of the difficulties

Achieving a work-life balance might present certain difficulties, though. With technology advancing to enable more individuals to work from home, the digital era has given rise to new forms of working. But this also means that it might be difficult for remote and hybrid workers to keep professional areas separate from personal ones.

Conversely, many think that work-life integration is a good thing and that it should become the new standard because of all the advantages. Workers ought to think about combining the two to build a comprehensive existence rather than keeping them apart. A significant amount of your life is indeed devoted to employment.

Workers of all kinds deal with different kinds of problems. While frontline workers who deal with sensitive matters are frequently impacted by this in their personal lives, office-based employees, for example, have to factor commuting into their family time.

Tips for a Work-Life Balance

1. Establish concise limits

Demarcating your personal life from your job life is our first piece of advice. You should draw boundaries between the two so that you may concentrate on what you're doing at the moment and not worry about work or vacation time all the time.

Given the constant blurring of the borders between work and pleasure, setting clear boundaries may be challenging, particularly for remote workers. Employees who operate in an office setting enjoy a greater sense of separation from their work environment, while those who work remotely from home may find it more difficult.

2. Effective time management

When it comes to maintaining a work-life balance, time management is crucial. Your productivity at work and your level of relaxation during leisure time will both increase with job prioritization and realistic goal planning. This is made possible by productivity tracking apps like Time Doctor, which let you keep track of your peak productivity times and do pressing work during those windows.

3. Make self-care a priority.

To maintain a good work-life balance, employee well-being is essential. You'll be more productive at work and happier in your own time if you include self-care practices in your everyday life. One way to improve concentration and prevent burnout is to set aside little amounts of time during the day to just relax and do nothing.

4. Accept remote job opportunities

One way to improve work-life balance is through flexible work schedules, such as remote or hybrid employment. Employers should devise strategies to offer flexible work arrangements to their employees, as most occupations may be completed entirely or in part from a distance. To increase employee satisfaction at work and ensure productivity, you may, for example, let them work from home on Mondays and Fridays.

5. Plan frequent pauses.

Take regular breaks at work to boost productivity, according to research. It is possible to increase productivity during working hours considerably by scheduling frequent "micro-breaks" lasting around five minutes. Your attention span will benefit from taking breaks of any type, according to studies.

6. Reducing tension and cultivating awareness

Stress may be effectively reduced by practicing mindfulness and introspection. Your anxiety and calmness will decrease with the support of techniques like writing, yoga, and meditation. Your productivity at work will increase, and your vacation time will be happier as a result. When mindful practices are needed, employers should support their staff members' understanding of their stress levels.

7. Digital detox

Work-life balance is aided and impeded by technology. Though business process automation might help lower stress levels, too much screen time is bad for our eyes and our concentration. Due to this, workers who spend their whole workday glued to a laptop should unplug from their phones and take periodic breaks from digital gadgets during the day. Your sleep quality will improve even for brief stints of digital detoxification, especially before bed.

Want to learn about mental health? Visit GoodLives.

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munsonslilbunnie · 2 years

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perfection. | eddie munson x reader |

summary: after a rough day at school, eddie is there to comfort you and show you just how much he loves you.

pairing: eddie munson x plus-size!fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings/cw/tw: bullying. major insecurities. fluff (with a sprinkle of angst lol). no beta so all mistakes are mine.

a/n: it has been years since i have written an x reader fic so it might not be the best + this is the first time i am ever writing for eddie so i'm sorry if he's pretty out of character! i hope you enjoy reading!

: ¨ ·.· ¨ : · .. ·

you try your hardest not to let it get to you. usually, it didn’t bother you – but today. today it just got under your skin in a way that you weren’t used to.

the cheerleaders were mean. they always were. that’s nothing new, in your eyes, at least. they would hurl insult after insult at you – at your body, your face, your clothes. and those who were close enough to hear would laugh and agree with their words.

typically, you wouldn’t even pay them any mind. you didn’t care what they thought about you. you were happy in your own skin – blemishes, imperfections, rolls, squishy tummy, everything. you were happy and confident in a way that those cheerleaders did not understand. they would try to put you down with every chance they could get – but it was not enough for you to be affected by it.

that is – until they started to use your boyfriend against you.

it hasn’t been that long since you started dating eddie “the freak” munson – perhaps only officially for a month now. it was a shock to most people, including yourself, when eddie randomly walked up to your table at lunch one day, slamming a hand down next to your tray, and sending you a blinding, yet so so charming smile down at you. he had simply asked for your name – and before you knew it, he was suddenly everywhere. in the halls. in the parking lot. at your lunch table. in the library. suddenly and effortlessly, eddie munson became a beacon of sunshine that your entire world revolved around. he wasn’t a freak – a nerd and a metalhead, definitely, but a freak? oh no. he was the epitome of sunshine. he brightened up your day and your life like no other. he honestly was the best thing that has ever happened to you. you weren’t sure what you did to deserve someone like eddie in your life, but you truly were grateful for it.

eddie had quickly become your everything.

and the cheerleaders were quick to catch onto that. sure, they always teased you about your weight, it was just something that you were used to (spending almost 4 years with those same bullies means that their words lost their bite after a while). but the moment they started to use eddie against you? that’s when everything started to crumble.

“where’s your freak, (y/n)? did he get tired of seeing your face already?”

“even the freak got tired of you, didn’t he, huh?”

“of course, he did! do you really think even a freak like munson would want to be seen with a whale like (y/n)?”

all day. it went like that all day. to make it even worse, you didn’t see eddie at all. he had decided to ditch at the last minute, though he did remember to tell you about it in the morning. he had to fix a few details about an upcoming D&D campaign and he couldn’t do that if he went to school. he reassured you that he would still come and pick you up at the end of school so you wouldn’t have to use the bus.

it was nearing the end of your last period and you couldn’t wait to get out of there. you could still hear all of the snickering in the back of your mind, the crude stares the cheerleaders shot at you, the words that seemed to strike through your heart every single time they uttered eddie’s name.

you know you shouldn’t listen to them. you know that they were just trying to get under your skin. you know that they were just being their typical mean girl selves. they had nothing better to do than to torment someone – anyone. and unfortunately for you, you were their usual victim.

you were strong enough not to cry in front of them. you didn’t want to give them that satisfaction.

all you wanted to do was go home and lock yourself in your room for the entire weekend. you just wanted to be by yourself. or preferably with eddie. but first, you had to survive your last period.

the last 20 minutes of class went by in a blur – before you knew it, you were rushing out of the classroom, not bothering to stop by your locker to leave your books, and made a bee-line towards the exit, eyes glancing around in a hurry for eddie’s van. to your relief, it was parked in its usual spot and you could see his head banging back and forth, long fingers tapping along to the rhythm of the music he was blasting. your heart fluttered at the sight and your feet were quick to make their way towards the van, ready to forget all about today.

thankfully, no one seemed to bat an eye at you as you made your way across the parking lot, watching as eddie took notice of you from his rearview mirror and a wide smile broke through across his face, large brown eyes filled with tenderness – all for you.

fuck, just seeing his smile made you feel like you were on cloud nine already.

“baby!” eddie called out to you as he got out of his van, slamming the door behind him as he met you halfway, his arms quick to wrap themselves around your waist and holding you tight against his body. “fuck, you don’t know how much i missed you today, (y/n),” he whined breathily against your neck, his cold nose nuzzling against your skin as he breathed in your scent – fruity. sweet. like home.

“eddie!” you couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips as your arms wrapped around him, the nuzzling against your neck tickling you. “missed you so much too, baby, you have no idea,” you muttered softly against his ear, leaning back slightly to peck his cheek.

he pulled away from the hug and took your book bag off your shoulder, swinging it around his own as he placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you over to the passenger side of his van. he gave you a cheeky grin as he opened the door for you, “m’lady, after you.” he bowed slightly, swaying his arm as he motioned for you to get in.

you playfully rolled your eyes at him, but still got in the van, being mindful as you felt the van dip slightly at your entrance. your cheeks burned at the fact – did it always do that…? you shook the thought away from your mind, forcing yourself to smile at your boyfriend’s antics as you cooed back at him, “why, thank you, my kind sir~”

his doe-like eyes glanced at your smile, and you feared he saw right through your act, but he flickered back to your eyes and he grinned at you brightly, “anything for my princess.”

with a chuckle, he shut the door and made his way back to the driver’s side – but to your horror, a group of cheerleaders – heather, patty, and olivia, your main bullies – sauntered their way over to eddie, looking at him with disgust in their eyes, but they knew you were looking now, your own eyes wide as they started to talk to eddie. your cheeks burned as eddie looked on at them in confusion, glancing from them to you every once in a while. you weren’t sure what they were saying, you couldn’t read their lips – but whatever they were saying, eddie didn’t seem to like it. you watched as his expression grew darker and darker, his bangs now hiding away his eyes as the girls continued to speak and laugh, motioning their hands towards you, cruel smiles set on their lips.

“ah!” a startled gasp escaped your lips when you felt something bang against the van, the sound echoing through your ears as you watched eddie, the man yelling at the now terrified cheerleaders, making them cower and run away before the “freak” got to them.

“ – fuck off with that bullshit!” you caught the last bit of whatever he was yelling as he roughly opened the van door, getting in quickly.

you pressed yourself against the seat, watching with wide eyes as eddie gripped the steering wheel tightly, reversing the van out his spot and swerving his way out of the parking lot. you’ve never seen him this angry before – his knuckles white from the tight grip he had on the steering wheel, his cheeks flushed red from anger, a vicious glare set on his face, frantic mumblings under his breath as he sped down the road.

“e…eddie?” you spoke in a small voice – you knew he wasn’t angry at you, but you still wanted to be cautious – just in case.

a shuddery breath came from his lips and a shake of his head.

not now.

your teeth dug into your bottom lip, hands now in your lap, playing with your fingers as you waited for eddie to talk. you wondered what those girls could have possibly said to him that would make him react this way. although… you were starting to have an idea. you just hoped it wasn’t that.

it took only a few minutes for eddie to get to the trailer park where he lived, soon putting the van in park in front of his uncle’s trailer.

“baby.”

“yes…?”

“what happened today?”

you made a slight choking sound as you looked at eddie with wide eyes, before trying to hide it away with a cough. “w…what do you mean, baby? today was normal, like usual..” you giggled nervously, not being able to meet his eyes anymore.

“so you mean to tell me… it’s normal for heather, patty, ‘nd olivia to say all that shit about you? to you? to your face?” eddie questioned you, a harsh glint in his eyes as he tried to catch your gaze, his lips pursing together.

a wince brought through your facade, before you tried to erase any expression from your face – but it was too late. eddie already saw it. and he was not happy.

“so, it’s true? they say that shit to you?” his hands clenched into fists, trying not to do anything rash – but it was hard. they hurt you. no one hurts you.

“i…it’s not a big deal, eddie! it’s fine, ‘m used to it anyways!” you tried to defend yourself, before wincing once again. uh oh. maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say.

eddie twisted his body towards you, his hands tugging your own into his and held onto them gently, his gaze hard yet filled with concern for you. “babe. it is a big deal. you don’t deserve any of their shit. fuck – i didn’t even know they were bullying you! (y/n), why didn’t you tell me? you know i – fuck.” he groaned softly, throwing his head back for a moment as he tried to calm his emotions. his eyes wavered slightly as he stared at the roof of the van before looking back at you, eyes widening as he took notice of the watery glaze in your eyes and your trembling lips. “oh, baby…” came a hushed whisper before he tugged you over onto his lap, sitting you down fully on him as his hands gripped your plush hips, fingers pushing up under your shirt slightly to rub soothing circles against your skin.

you sniffled slightly, trying so hard not to let the tears escape – but to no avail. hot streams of tears started to roll down the curve of your cheeks, soft hiccups leaving your lips. gentle, calloused hands reached up to your cheeks, thumbs brushing away your tears as they fell. the action broke something inside of you – a choked out sob came from you, your body falling limp against eddie’s body. for a while, that’s all you did. you cried into his shoulder, one of his hands gently rubbing your back while the other patted your head in a comforting manner.

it took you a bit to finally calm down, the exhaustion of keeping everything to yourself finally coming through. you surprised yourself – you haven’t cried this much since your freshman year – since the bullying started. it was hard keeping everything in, without someone there who understands what you’re going through – without someone who is unconditionally and irrevocably by your side. always on your side.

“i tried… so hard, eds,” you whisper softly, your forehead pressed against his shoulder, “i tried so hard to ignore it. the first time… the first time, it broke me. i just wanted friends. i wanted friends who i could hang out with and be myself with. that’s all i wanted. but they laughed. they laughed at me for wanting to be their friend during our freshman year. they called me names – horrible names and i believed them for so long. i manage to ignore them most of the time, now, but it’s hard sometimes. they…” you let out a wet laugh, pulling away from his shoulder to look into his dark, doe-like eyes as you continued, “they started saying shit about you. about how you didn’t want to be seen around me anymore, that that’s why you didn’t come to school today. that you couldn’t possibly like me because look at me!” you were in near hysterics at this point. you wouldn’t necessarily call yourself insecure, but after hearing it over and over for years – sometimes it was hard not to be. “‘m not pretty enough! ‘m not skinny enough! ‘m not interesting enough! fat! cow! whale! i hear it every single day ‘nd i never say shit about it because i don’t want you to start believing everything!” the tears started to flow again. but that didn’t stop you. “i don’t want you to believe every little thing that they say! i don’t want you to start seeing me the way they see me! i can’t – you can’t believe them, please, eddie!” you cried out, your hands clutching onto his shoulders as you confessed your insecurities to him.

“fuck, baby, i don’t believe them!” eddie rushed to say, his arms wrapping around your shoulders and tugging you tight against him, his eyes wide as he listened to you. “you’re fuckin’ beautiful, (y/n)!”

“d… don’t lie to me, please!”

“‘m not fuckin’ lying, babe!” eddie spoke harshly against your ear, holding onto you tighter when he felt you begin to struggle. “you’re so gorgeous, why can’t you see that?! fuck, you’re the most beautiful girl i have ever laid my eyes on, (y/n)! why do you think it took me so long to go up to you ‘nd just talk to you? i was so fuckin’ terrified talking to you – because you were, like, this etheral being who was so out of my league but i couldn’t help it. i wanted you so bad.” he pulled away slightly to look into your eyes, his own filled with sincerity. your breath hitched as you stared back into them. “you are, ‘nd forever will be, the most beautiful person i have ever met, inside ‘nd out. everything about you – you’re perfection to me, (y/n). believe me when i say that, no, i don’t believe the shit that they say about you ‘nd never fuckin’ will. you are you. you are beautiful. you are amazing. you’re so fuckin’ wonderful ‘nd magnificient ‘nd perfect. absolutely perfect – to me ‘nd for me.” his chest heaved up and down slightly as he stared into your eyes, his hands now on your cheeks, holding your face in place, “you are my baby. my princess. fuck, you’re the owner of my fuckin’ heart, (y/n). ‘m so goddamn in love with you!”

and suddenly – silence.

the only thing that could be heard was heaving breathing from the both of you, eyes wide and staring at each other as both tried to digest what was just said.

“you’re…you’re in love with me?” a meek whisper came from you, your heart pounding harshly against your chest. you couldn’t believe it. did he really just say that to you? did he mean it?

eddie winced slightly, cheeks red from revealing his secret, but he slowly nodded his head, looking into your eyes as he spoke, so you could see just how true his next words are. “i am. have been for a while now – ‘nd i know it’s bad. we’ve only been dating for, like, a month, i know. but i’ve watched you from afar, (y/n). when i say i was terrified of talking to you, that’s the truth. i looked for you everyday. i longed to see your pretty face, hear your sweet voice at lunch or in the hallway – i longed for you for so long ‘nd shit, i know that sounds like ‘m a creep but you – fuck, there was just something about you that called out to me ‘nd i just knew i had to get to know you somehow. even then, it took me months to go up to you that day at lunch. i wasn’t even expectin’ you to feel anything for me. i thought i could handle just being a friend to you. to you, i was someone. i was a person. you didn’t see me as “the freak” of hawkins high. you saw me for me. ‘nd that just made me fall even harder for you. i know – i know it’s too soon ‘nd i don’t expect you to say it back anytime soon but i just need you to know that it’s true ‘nd what i feel for you is real, (y/n)–”

“i love you too, eddie.”

“what?!” eddie spluttered out, looking at you with wide eyes, his entire face going red as he tried to process what you just said.

“i love you too, eddie,” you repeated, smiling slightly – and even with tear stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes from crying – eddie thought you haven’t looked more beautiful than in this moment.

“(y/n)...”

“i’ve known for a while – about my feelings, i mean… it’s hard not falling in love with you, eddie…” you let out a shaky sigh as you looked down at your lap, “every time you’re just being yourself… i fall more and more in love with you. i can’t help it. i… wasn’t expecting to tell you so soon, especially if you didn’t feel the same way, but,” you gave him a shy smile, “i guess we’re on the same page then, huh?”

eddie couldn’t help but chuckle softly, shaking his head as his hands cupped your cheeks and pulled you into a soft kiss, sighing happily against them at the familiar feeling he gets whenever he kisses you. perfection, indeed. “yeah, i guess we are, babe.”

“i… ‘m sorry about just now. i guess everything just got so overwhelming, so quick, i couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

“princess, don’t apologize, okay? i get – like, totally get it. thank you for trusting me enough to tell me everything, but please – please promise me that if something like this happens again, if those crazy chicks starts messing with you again, you’ll tell me, yeah, babe? i don’t care who says shit about me, but i don’t want anyone to mess with you. you just give me the word ‘nd i’ll go unleash “the freak” on them, got it?”

you giggled softly and playfully roll your eyes at him, feeling like a weight has finally dissipated from your shoulders. “yeah, yeah, i got it, eds~”

“now, how ‘bout we go in ‘nd listen to some music? maybe watch that new horror flick we’ve been wanting to watch? ‘nd maybe fuck–”

“eddie!”

“what – it’s just a suggestion, babe!”

ugh, you were in love with a total dork. but he was your dork and you honestly couldn’t be happier.

: ¨ ·.· ¨ : · .. ·

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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The Quiet Room

- Chapter 6 - ao3 - (previous tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5)

The Lan sect’s rules said Learning comes first, and that was because learning was the root of all things.

Humans were changeable and ever-changing, molded by their heritage and their environment; it was through careful education that they learned to comprehend goodness – it was only through constant learning that they could keep themselves walking on the path of righteousness.

Learning from books, learning from others, learning from one’s own mistakes; it didn’t matter.

What was important was that you couldn’t stop learning.

You had to keep moving forward.

Lan Wangji had for some time entertained the thought that his life had stopped when Wei Wuxian’s had. It had felt as though it had: it felt as if his heart had been irrevocably shattered, like a priceless vase that had once contained all his tender feelings – all those feelings that, lacking their container, would now slip through his fingers forever, leaving him as empty as a soulless puppet. He’d thought he was doomed never to love again, never to learn again, all his mind consumed with nothing by memories.

He’d been wrong, of course.

Even with Wei Wuxian gone, he was still learning.

There were his recent meditations on the subject of silence and noise, for one.

There were his wards, for another.

Lan Sizhui was a polite and thoughtful child, inquisitive but a little shy and hesitant, a little fearful to assert himself – a little too quiet, in a way that Lan Wangji was starting to be able to recognize as being not good, a silence and reticence born of concern and anxiety rather than genuine introversion. Luckily, there was also Lan Jingyi, who was and had always been the liveliest and most spirited of children, and yet he, too, was just a little bit too loud in a way that reflected his own method of displaying anxiety, another startling realization that was brand new.

Lan Wangji had always associated quiet with reserve and self-control, noise with carelessness and recklessness, but being in the controlled chaos of Qinghe and really sincerely listening to it, accepting it, came with its own set of revelations. He found that there were people who were naturally loud and those that made themselves be loud, just as there were those who were quiet and those who were forced into quietude. Lan Jingyi worried just as much as the next person, but he displaced those feelings through distraction rather than through the force of his willpower, taking on the role of clown or hero as suited each moment, unafraid to cast himself in the role of aggressor if it would allow Lan Sizhui the chance to play the mediator. The subconscious division of roles allowed Lan Sizhui to feel useful and in control, reducing his anxiety, while Lan Jingyi got to feel taken care of, which reduced his own – it was good, in a way, but after some consideration Lan Wangji carefully took them both in hand and told them that they would need to be more thoughtful about it.

Lan Sizhui could not, should not, always have to be the peacemaker, always yielding and kind and gentle and quiet: he deserved to be loud, too. He deserved to be assertive, to be heard, to feel entitled to take up space regardless of his utility to those around him. He should never feel like he had to pay in service for the right to exist.

And by the same token, Lan Jingyi shouldn’t feel burdened to always have to be the one to take the first step, always acting as the driving force, the loud and opinionated one. He should have the opportunity, and the obligation, to think through what he was doing or saying, to be thoughtful and careful, to sometimes yield if he wished; he should be granted space of his own to make sure that his actions were what he wished them to be rather than some impulse.

Lan Wangji only wished he’d had the wisdom to tell Wei Wuxian the same thing while he’d been alive.

He’d been so short-sighted when he was younger, at first unable to recognize how he felt about the man and then unable to figure out how to speak with him – he’d been unable to break his own habitual silence, and equally unable to see the depths concealed in Wei Wuxian’s brash arrogance, especially towards the end. Like Lan Jingyi, Wei Wuxian’s reckless courage was genuine, especially in the happy days of their youth; like Lan Jingyi, when things got bad, Wei Wuxian had taken refuge in more of the same, building himself walls made of noise that were designed to keep everyone out.

Wei Wuxian might have been noisy and loud, right to the very end, but in his own way he’d been just as alone as Lan Wangji in his excess of quiet.

The next generation, Lan Wangji thought fiercely, would do better.

He felt comforted by that thought.

The children were chewing over Lan Wangji’s words as they walked along the outmost ramparts of the Unclean Realm, already inured to the glittering barrier that hung in their sky, full of arrays and inscriptions – they were accompanying Lan Wangji on his daily walk.

The Nie sect’s doctors had a very different regimen for curing illnesses than the Lan sect’s, he’d found. Thirty-three strikes of the discipline whip: in both places he’d gotten stitched back up, but while the Lan sect doctors had allowed him to retreat into seclusion, prescribing medicine and rest and self-reflection, the Nie sect doctors insisted on coupling medicine and meditation with exercise. Intermittent and gradual exercise, meant to increase flexibility and reduce muscle atrophy – it wasn’t really that different from what Lan Wangji had been left to do on his own back at home, but he found that it was easier to struggle against his stubborn body when he had company to encourage him to take that extra step beyond his limits, their voices pushing him when his own willpower was insufficient. Even the silent presence of the two children, walking beside him, helped him find the reason to keep going.

Truly, there was much to consider on the subject of quiet and noise, of loud and soft, of loneliness and isolation and how no amount of either introversion nor extroversion could alone save you from them.

Lan Wangji was still thinking it over when he heard a new noise.

It was also an old noise, painfully familiar from all those days of war – before he even consciously identified what the sound was, his back had straightened, his legs sinking into a prepared pose, his mind already summoning his spiritual energy to the forefront in case he needed to defend himself.

Cultivators, flying on swords at speed.

Lan Wangji looked up and saw them: men and women both, a small group – a forward scouting troop, small enough to be subtle and sneak ahead to see what was happening but large enough to ensure someone would be able to return to the main force and warn them if they did find something.

They were dressed in the colors of Yunmeng Jiang, and it was Jiang Cheng leading them.

Lan Wangji’s back stiffened.

He had not seen Jiang Cheng since the massacre at the Nightless City, although he’d heard the stories of how he had turned against his own shixiong and led the greatest of the forces that besieged the Burial Mounds. He’d decided then that he’d never wanted to see Jiang Cheng ever again – he hadn’t been able to comprehend how Jiang Cheng could do a thing like that to Wei Wuxian, who he’d loved.

He still didn’t understand, but he thought, perhaps, that he ought to be a little less hasty in judging others by his own standards.

He’d done enough of that.

“Hanguang-jun!” Jiang Cheng called, seeing him, and pulled ahead of all the other Jiang sect cultivators, leaving them hanging back warily. Lan Wangji turned to face him, conscious of the two young children still clinging to his hands and now half-hiding behind his robes – conscious, too, of the shimmering but translucent barrier that divided them from Jiang Cheng, the barrier that had been raised to protect the Unclean Realm from Lan Wangji’s own brother and all the mistakes he had made, well-meaning as they were. “Hanguang-jun, good, you can tell me, what is the meaning of…”

Jiang Cheng trailed off, his eyes suddenly wide and almost bulging from the force of how hard he was staring at Lan Wangji.

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji said politely in greeting – or, well, politely enough.

“Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng said in return, his voice sounding strangled. “What…happened?”

Far too much to explain, so Lan Wangji didn’t, just waited for Jiang Cheng to continue with a more specific question.

“I mean, uh. The beacon went off,” Jiang Cheng said. He was still gawking, looking as though he were about to fall off his sword any second. “The – you know the one, the one that shows when a sect’s barrier defenses have been activated. I thought...”

He’d assumed there was an invasion, Lan Wangji realized, and had rushed over at once to try to help forestall it. It was a reasonable assumption, and a noble response: having once lost everything without being able to rely on the help of others, Jiang Cheng now sought to be the help that he had not had.

It was the sort of thing a righteous person would do, and in line with what Lan Wangji thought he’d known of Jiang Cheng’s character.

And yet…Jiang Cheng had still turned his back on Wei Wuxian.

Time and time again, he’d turned away fro him.

“I came to find out what happened, why they put up the shield,” Jiang Cheng continued. “I brought people with me to help, though I left them back a ways so it wouldn’t be an insult. And now I’m here and – and you’re here – and you’re…just…it’s…Lan Wangji, what happened to your forehead ribbon?”

Lan Wangji arched his eyebrows. “Is that your primary concern?”

Jiang Cheng waved his hands around, almost flailing, and Lan Wangji couldn’t quite help but feel a sudden stab of amusement – and then of sorrow, because the flailing was almost painfully familiar. He had seen Wei Wuxian do much the same when he encountered something unexpected, whether some threat or some new maneuver by the Wen sect or, in one notable instance, the unanticipated appearance of a fish in a place where one would not normally expect fish to be.

“I have taken a leave of absence from the Lan sect,” Lan Wangji finally explained, deciding to be magnanimous and take pity on his former comrade in arms. “The Nie sect has permitted me to remain with them while I determine my next course of action. As for the shield, there is no imminent invasion. The situation is – complicated.”

Jiang Cheng huffed. “You don’t say!”

Still, the explanation seemed to help steady him, somewhat, and Lan Wangji observed that Jiang Cheng did not look his best: tired, with circles under his eyes and an unhealthy skin tone. Too much work, too little rest, and probably nightmares…because of what had happened to Wei Wuxian, perhaps? But if so, why had he done it in the first place?

“I cannot let you in,” Lan Wangji added, even though technically he had one of the only remaining guest tokens that still functioned. Jiang Cheng nodded, seemingly having expected that. “I can escort you to the sect leader’s quarters to have your request for admission approved.”

That the person approving the request would probably be Nie Huaisang, Lan Wangji did not say – not so much out of caution, which would probably be justified, but rather out of a completely inexplicable urge to see Jiang Cheng start flailing once again upon finding out.

Was this how Wei Wuxian felt all the time?

Interesting.

He began to walk again, the children at his sides slowly coming out, and Jiang Cheng did him the courtesy of not mentioning how slow and stiff he was, although Lan Wangji thought he remembered enough of Jiang Cheng’s mannerisms to interpret the twisted grimace on his face as he glanced over time and time again as a look of concern.

After a little while in which Lan Wangji walked and Jiang Cheng floated alongside him on his sword, the Jiang sect cultivators lagging behind by a respectable distance, the children getting over their fear to start looking around again, Jiang Cheng finally cleared his throat.

“There’s a medicinal blend of herbs that can counteract the anti-clotting effects of the discipline whip,” he said. Lan Wangji glanced at him: Jiang Cheng was staring forward, not looking at him at all any more. “It makes it heal faster. I can pass the prescription along to the Nie sect’s pharmacists, if you like.”

Jiang Cheng had also been struck by the discipline whip, Lan Wangji suddenly remembered. It had been a matter of deep embarrassment for him during the war, making him reluctant to remove clothing even when they were rancid with blood and poisonous fumes.

“Thank you,” he said, and for some reason the children took that as their cue that Jiang Cheng was actually all right and burst out in a flood of questions.

Lan Jingyi wanted to know how Jiang Cheng’s clothing had gotten to be such a vivid shade of purple, while Lan Sizhui was more curious about his sword and how shiny it was – the concerns of children, unburdened by the memories or concerns of adults. Their questions made Jiang Cheng smile, and Lan Wangji thought briefly of the orphaned Jin Ling, who had been temporarily given to Jiang Cheng’s custody to pick up some of the traditions of his maternal sect. A fancy way of saying that the Jin sect wanted him out of the way for a few years until he was worth teaching their own ways to, but Lan Wangji suspected Jiang Cheng would have taken any excuse at all to remain close to his kin.

“What, now children aren’t too noisy for you?” Jiang Cheng asked Lan Wangji, and for the first time it occurred to Lan Wangji that the tossed out words, broken off and abrupt, might be meant as a friendly tease.

“I am reevaluating my relationship with silence,” he said, and Jiang Cheng smirked, amused.

“I bet you are,” he said. “Nie Huaisang alone would drive a man to distraction…”

Lan Jingyi laughed and clapped and that, and, inspired, Lan Sizhui followed suit.

And then, suddenly, Jiang Cheng frowned.

“A-Yuan,” he said, and Lan Wangji was suddenly cold from head to toe, the chattering of the children suddenly too loud in his ears: he had forgotten that Jiang Cheng had also visited the Burial Mounds. “That’s – that’s A-Yuan, isn’t it?”

“Jiang Wanyin…” Lan Wangji started, his voice sticking in his throat, then trailed off. He did not know what he could say that would work to convince Jiang Cheng that he was wrong when he was right, but neither could he admit to the truth. Even if Nie Mingjue had been kind enough to allow Lan Wangji to come to the Nie sect to stay, and to bring the two children with him, that had been under the premise that they were Lan sect children. If he ever found out that Lan Sizhui had been born surnamed Wen…

Nie Mingjue would not hurt a child, he was too righteous for that. But he might not be inclined to let that child grow up in his sect, either.

Jiang Cheng’s face was twisted in a strange sort of way, as if he couldn’t decide to be angry or relieved. “I thought he’d died,” he murmured, more to himself. “I thought…what is that?”

Lan Wangji was momentarily confused by the question, focused as he was by the terrifying implications of Jiang Cheng’s discovery, but then he saw that Jiang Cheng’s gaze went further into the distance.

He turned to look, then felt twist of unpleasantness deep in his belly: there was his brother in the sky, flying to the main gate on Shuoyue, and beside him was Jin Guangyao.

Why did you have to bring him? Lan Wangji thought, unhappy, but he already knew the answer to that. His brother trusted Jin Guangyao. Why wouldn’t he bring him?

If only he would trust the rest of them as much as he trusted that liar.

“We can discuss Lan Sizhui later,” Lan Wangji said, careful to emphasize both the surname and the courtesy name he’d given him – painfully obvious now that he thought about it, though at the time it had seemed only appropriate, the only name he could bestow that fit – and quickened his steps. “Now that my brother has arrived, things will become difficult.”

He wondered, a little bitterly, if his brother had even noticed that he was gone, or if he had been so thoroughly forgotten in his enforced ‘seclusion’ that it hadn’t even been thought of as a possibility.

“Lan Wangji!”

Lan Wangji came to a stop at Jiang Cheng’s shout. Suddenly full of anger, he turned his head back – surely Jiang Cheng didn’t hate Wei Wuxian so much that he wouldn’t let the matter of a small child go, even in the midst of a crisis?

Jiang Cheng was pointing into the distance. Strangely enough, it was not in the direction of the main gate, where Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao were even now landing, but somewhere even further beyond.

“Do you see it?” Jiang Cheng demanded, and his eyes were suddenly wild, his breathing disordered; he seemed far more disturbed than he had when he’d recognized A-Yuan. “Lan Wangji, tell me that you see it!”

Utterly lost, Lan Wangji focused his gaze on the far horizon. It was the same scenery as he’d seen there the past few days, the interspersed richness of the low valleys that quickly arced up into the mountains that surrounded the Unclean Realm. There was nothing there that was unusual…

Lan Wangji spotted a very faint glimmer.

Sun, he thought, the reflection of sun – sun off steel.

All of a sudden, he wasn’t on the ramparts of the Unclean Realm but standing beside Jiang Cheng on a rough-hewn fortress barely worthy of the name, watching the horizon grimly as the damned Wen scout’s flare did its work and the amassed forces of Wen Chao’s troops began to move inexorably in their direction. They would come, he had known, and they would kill them all if they could; it would take everything they had to stop them, and to survive long enough just to retreat once again.

For some of them to survive.

“Invasion,” he heard someone say, their voice hoarse, and only a moment later realized it was himself who had spoken. “Invasion…it’s an army!”

“It’s the Jin sect,” Jiang Cheng said, staring blankly as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him. For once, Lan Wangji understood him completely; he was similarly shocked. “They’re wearing gold, you can see it from here…the Jin sect has sent their armies here? How could they even think to dare? Chifeng-zun will annihilate them!”

Lan Wangji’s throat worked, and for a moment he felt drowned in the quiet once more, his voice not wanting to cooperate with him, his entire being willing or even wanting to return to the solace of seclusion if it would only mean that he wouldn’t have to hear the horrible din of war once more. But he was not a coward, and would do what he must – even speak of things that felt impossible to be spoken.

“That complicated situation I mentioned,” he said, and Jiang Cheng turned to look at him. “My brother has either conspired with or was duped into assisting Lianfang-zun in an attempt on Chifeng-zun’s life through destabilizing his qi and inducing a qi deviation.”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw dropped. “They did what?!”

“Chifeng-zuns remains alive, but is confined to his bed,” Lan Wangji continued, ignoring the interjection. “Nie Huaisang was the one who ordered the shield raised, saying that there might be an attack – I thought he was overreacting, but apparently not.”

“If Jin Guangshan can take over the Unclean Realm while Nie Mingjue is incapacitated, he can say that the incapacitation is worse than it really is,” Jiang Cheng said, abruptly getting it. Lan Wangji had forgotten how much he enjoyed working alongside those from Yunmeng Jiang, Wei Wuxian most of all but also in his absence Jiang Cheng, who was smart and did not require too many words to understand. “Everyone knows Nie Huaisang’s a good-for-nothing – it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for the Jin sect to claim that they came here at the invitation of the Nie sect to ‘rescue’ them, and remained in order to manage the sect on their behalf. Better that than have Chifeng-zun recover and come after you in vengeance!”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“But surely they didn’t think they’d be able to get away with it? Even if they could manage it for a while, as soon as the confusion cleared up, all the other sects would throw a fit…”

“Jin Ling,” Lan Wangji said, and Jiang Cheng blanched, seeming to realize the problem at once. His beloved nephew legally belonged to the Jin sect; if he dared to protest their actions, wouldn’t they be sure to take him away? As for the Lan sect, Lan Xichen would have been implicated through his actions – they could hold his participation over his head, forcing him to pick between supporting them and losing face for the whole sect, which would in turn weaken it. And that was assuming that Jin Guangyao didn’t somehow manage to talk Lan Xichen into thinking it was all for the best regardless…

There were only four Great Sects left, now. If the Lan and Jiang did nothing, who would be left to stand up for the Nie?

“I have to get inside. Nie Huaisang will need my support,” Lan Wangji said, but instead looked down at the children beside him.

“Go,” Lan Sizhui said, releasing his hand and stepping back away from him. “I’ll take Jingyi and hide in the room we’re staying in. You won’t need to worry about us – go, do what you need to!”

Jiang Cheng flinched as if he’d been struck.

Lan Wangji glanced at him. “The Jin sect army,” he said. “However unlikely, there’s still a chance that we are misinterpreting their motives.”

“I��ll go find out what I can,” Jiang Cheng agreed at once. “How many there are, what can be done…I’ll find out and report back.”

Lan Wangji tossed him the guest token he’d been given. “Be cautious,” he said. He still hadn’t forgiven Jiang Cheng for what he’d done in the Burial Mounds, but he was willing to wait until a better time to talk it over with him – now was not the time to try to gain understanding.

Jiang Cheng nodded and left at once, and Lan Wangji saw the children off, then hurried to do the same.

By the time he made it to the main hall, his brother and Jin Guangyao were already there, and Nie Huaisang was confronting them with nothing more than a fan gripped in white-knuckled hands and a glare.

“– dare you talk as if he’s gone mad, as if he can’t be trusted?” Nie Huaisang was shouting. “You should know how seriously we take such words here!”

“It is because of that that we are worried,” Lan Xichen said, and now it was Lan Wangji’s turn to flinch. His brother’s voice sounded just the way it always did, comforting in its familiarity: he sounded calm and patient, thoughtful and wise, sure of himself. He sounded as if he knew better than anyone else what was right and what was wrong. “Huaisang, you don’t know how much your brother has been worried about suffering the way your father did. He knows that qi deviations can be subtle as well as harsh – he understands that his reason might be the first to go –”

“And so you took it upon yourself to decide that for him?” Nie Huaisang sneered. “You keep saying that he understands, that he would understand, all that. But that’s a lie, isn’t it?”

“Huaisang, please,” Jin Guangyao said, his voice just as gentle as always. “You know we only want what’s best for your brother.”

“Do you?” Nie Huaisang said, but he was still looking at Lan Xichen. “You knew he hated the quiet room, er-ge. You knew that he’d never wanted anything to do with it – it’s not like that was anything new! That was something he’d said repeatedly, year after year, month after month, for his entire life. You knew how he felt about it, and you decided to ignore what he wanted in favor of what you wanted. How is that wanting what’s best for him?”

“I was only concerned for his health,” Lan Xichen said, sounding injured by the accusation. “I had nothing but good intentions…”

“Your intentions are immaterial compared to your actions,” Lan Wangji said, and they turned to look at him, both of them surprised – maybe they really hadn’t noticed he’d left the Cloud Recesses.

Well, he thought bitterly: they’d notice now.

He took a step into the room, then another.

“Your actions are this,” he said, ignoring the way his brother stared at his forehead, unadorned by the ribbon that had been there ever since he’d been a small child, receiving it for the first time from his uncle as a precious gift. “You did not trust or respect your elder brother’s word. You disregarded his decision, treating him like a child who can’t be trusted to make up his own mind – you put your own desires ahead of his, and in doing so, betrayed him. Did you really think he’d thank you for it?”

Did you think I’d thank you one day for authorizing our sect’s attack on the Burial Mounds without ever having to explain yourself? Even our uncle respected me enough to tell me at once what he had done and let me decide how I felt about it, accepting the consequences of his actions!

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen murmured. “You’re still healing, you shouldn’t be wandering around…where is your self-restraint?”

Where is your forehead ribbon, he meant, and Lan Wangji shook his head.

“Wangji, you don’t understand,” Jin Guangyao said, and Lan Wangji stiffened at the unasked-for intimacy of the address. “Whatever da-ge said to you, whatever he did, you cannot allow others to guide you by filling your heart with incomplete echoes of what you have lost. You will never forgive yourself.”

Lan Wangji was so furious that he could not speak. Was Jin Guangyao implying that Nie Mingjue had, what, seduced him? That Lan Wangji held his love for Wei Wuxian so cheap that he would have his head turned by the first person willing to make up to him in such a fashion?

“I should hope you know my da-ge better than that, er-ge,” Nie Huaisang said coldly, still speaking only to Lan Xichen. “Or is this something else where you will believe the words of that lying dog over everyone else and the evidence of your own reason to boot?”

“Huaisang, that is unwontedly cruel, and uncalled for,” Lan Xichen said, tearing his eyes away from Lan Wangji. “Whatever Wangji has decided, I do not blame Mingjue-xiong for it.”

Implying, Lan Wangji supposed, that it was Lan Wangji that was to blame for it.

“Put the blame where it belongs,” he said stiffly, staring at his brother as if looking at a stranger. “Was I to leave Chifeng-zun where I found him, half-dead and dying in our jingshi where you left him at Lianfang-zun’s incitement?”

“You think I don’t recognize that I’ve done wrong?” Lan Xichen demanded. “I will speak to Mingjue-xiong and apologize – I will explain my reasoning and let him decide how I can make it up to him. But please, there is no call for you to be cruel to A-Yao. Do not blame him for my mistakes.”

“What about for his lies?” Lan Wangji asked. He took a breath, sharp and unhappy, and suddenly it was desperately, urgently necessary to know the truth. “Brother, tell me you didn’t know. Tell me you weren’t in on it – that you didn’t try to kill Mingjue-xiong in order to cover up your affair.”

“What, kill, you think I would try to…Wangji! Affair?” Lan Xichen exclaimed, and he seemed genuinely shocked. “No, Wangji, you’ve misunderstood entirely! It’s not like that at all. Mingjue-xiong and A-Yao, they were once lovers –”

“No, we weren’t,” Nie Mingjue said.

They all turned at once. He was standing at the door, all but clinging to the doorframe to keep himself standing; he was swathed in bandages and still stuck with needles. None of them had heard him or seen him approach – he must have heard them shouting and dragged himself over.

He sounded tired. He sounded quiet.

He looked at Lan Xichen.

“I was never Meng Yao’s lover,” he said. “Not now, not before, not ever. And Xichen…you knew that, didn’t you?”

#mdzs #lan wangji #lan sizhui #lan jingyi #jiang cheng #lan xichen #jin guangyao #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #the quiet room #you may want to reread previous chapters to get caught up

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yostresswritinggirl · 4 years

Text

Sophrosyne

This is a challenge fic for myself along the lines of "make a fic with not a single dialogue for the chattiest man in Teyvat" under the guidance of mama @archonistic's character analysis for Zhongles. Is this fanservice for her? Maybe...

Pairings -> Zhongles x Reader

Word Count -> 1635

Themes -> Established relationship, Zhongli does not SPEAK, Fluff?, Ambiguous Ending, Short Fic?

Series -> #Sojourner Specials (600 Followers Event)

Warnings -> Literally no dialogue whatsoever. If you can read a fic without dialogue, you are godly.

Despite a man verbose and lengthy in dialogue, Zhongli always have designated moments of silence in all his days. This comes during his awakening and before the moment he slumbers.

Anything in between that was filled with his chatters that seemingly never end, whether it be among the citizens in the harbour or as required in his work at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor as its acting consultant for adeptal rights.

Among scholars and among commonfolks, no one has seen the dignified man keep himself in silence. No one besides you.

When dawn settles in exactly 6:04 AM, his day would start as he creeps out of your shared bed the quietest he can so as not to disturb your rest. And while he succeeds in not being a nuisance, your carcadian rhythm has long been accustomed to waking up automatically in that hour.

Still, he smiles, and leans over to kiss your forehead good morning. If you wish him to stay for cuddles he will gladly indulge, but otherwise he leaves the room to prepare tea and the light breakfast available for company. Morning was sacred for many reasons, and he refuses to break it not just because of his own grogginess but also his adamant placement on making your mornings as pleasant as possible before you head to your own busy lives.

Some small chatter passes over tea and bread but it is otherwise as serene as it could be. And you bid farewell at the fork of the road where you have to part with your lover.

You remember a time when you were only acquainted and he was much more... verbal with his words, you find yourself falling in love with just his voice as he seems to never stop conversing with you about everything he knows and he can say. From the statue to the simplest flower, all day when you are in his presence he would indulge you with a literature that's his voice until you had to go.

And then one day, he stops. Zhongli's voice already became white noise to you (in a good way) that the change was so abrupt and striking. The silence passes a minute, then an hour, and it permeates until you finally break it yourself and he will then converse in normal lengths.

It took you a while to recognize but his expressions had then turned lax, as if content, of finally ending his speeches.

The day after that day of silence was the very moment where your life together started, and the continued era of silence also lingers. But it never bothered you. The comfort between you two never once gave rise to discomfort amidst the voiceless, and the memory of his voice had always stayed in your mind.

When you look at a silk flower, Zhongli's voice would echo in your mind about its use. When you watch the harbour, his speech would once again come about its busy schedule, how workers gather at 4 AM and how the streets would be bustling during 5 PM. On the dot. It was weird at first until you laughed about the idea that your lover had marked you with his lustrous voice.

Ever since then it was you who mostly have to coax the words out of him, and while this is effective, you are also the reason he reverts back into muteness.

This is apparent not just for you but for all the people that surrounds you and Zhongli.

The most common occurrence or example of this was also reflective of the first time you had noticed. Likewise, you usually never see him in his usual demeanor at work simply because you were running your own tasks throughout the day. However this day was different as you had less things to work on and you were nearing the Parlor before finishing the last of your tasks.

While it isn't busy, it was still bustling with the workers moving to and fro rooms you had never seen used before, and you slightly wave at them to inform the sudden intrusion. You were no frequent customer (who would be at a funeral parlor...) but by the way they immediately understood your person, your lover was probably the cause of their awareness.

Hu Tao's toothy grin was not of mischief and you appreciate her time to take you to his office herself. And the moment Zhongli was made aware of your presence, his parted lips didn't move anymore, eyes trailed at you before he mouths a greeting. Seeing the customer in front of him who dons confusion at the sudden silence you quickly apologized for the distraction, but Zhongli only shakes his head with a ghost of a smile, suddenly making his way over to you.

You fluster not only at stealing his attention but his whole presence, about to scold him for leaving his duty when his strong and built arms suddenly engulfs you in a firm yet not suffocating hug. He presses a kiss to your forehead, humming to himself as you felt his muscles ease as you reciprocate the hug.

This continues until the customer awkwardly breaks your pink world with a cough.

He was like a magnet, attracted to your pole the moment you come into view, and he follows the pull with no resistance at all! It would have been bad for the business, but Hu Tao his boss, simply laughs it off in amusement.

You never once thought of asking Zhongli about it, and if it ever pass your mind, you'd easily push the idea away. If he was comfortable in the silence as you were then there's no need to question it. He was already forced to run his mouth at work and with other people, giving him the chance of resting his throat and beautiful mind would probably be the best decision. What you didn't know was that if you were to ask, your lover would easily just give the answer in a straightforward yet confusing manner.

The day of his silence was the day of epiphany for the once-Geo archon. Epiphany of many different things.

He has spoken all that he can say about the world that is Liyue for him, and he regarded this with a slight widening of his eyes as you both looked over Dihua Marsh by Wangshu Inn's balcony. How long has he known you, how long had he started speaking in your presence about the knowledge he wanted to inform? Zhongli ended up pouring his heart and soul to you about his craft that it had been drained immediately.

And when you two stood in silence, he had found it without a speck of tension, only silent pleasantries with no need for words. Time seem to slow and he finally felt himself take a step back and enjoy this moment in life. An opportunity he didn't realize he needed.

Without the need and want to fill the silence, Zhongli takes notice of the warmth you radiate, of the natural scent you emit together with the perfume you wore daily, it was flowery but not strong enough to be pungent. He takes notice of a lot more things, and he realized he had been admiring such presence he didn't know had such an impact on him until he finally looked better.

Without the need for words, he had realized it is time to organize his thoughts and being. He is a retired man, not the God that lived for 6000 years, not the one who was only there to see mortals come and go, replaced with another. It was time to slow down.

And that is why here he demonstrates another moment of silence, when the day is about to come to its end. Tonight was simply indulging in between his arms.

Warm and strong you always felt very secured when you settle within the confines of his comfort. And behind you Zhongli muses to himself in a distraction you had yet to know.

During the evening is where you unpack all the troubles and tales of the afternoon on both sides, leaving them all aside so you can rest with nothing left to say, all worries left on the table as you focus on letting the consciousness fade away in the company of each other.

You've never thought you can sleep this easy, peacefully, until you started living under the same roof. And he may not say it, but your analysis of Zhongli tells you he feels all the same.

A kiss on the back of your head urges your eyes to close and as if he knows of the action, he pulls you closer under the blanket up against his chest. Your lover is especially cuddly tonight and you had no energy to fight, to tease.

You stay silent as he indulges himself in the scent of your shampoo, a tired giggle leaving your lips everytime he nuzzles your hair deeper to catch a stronger whiff. In silence too you feel the desperation of a man who seeks the comfort of the simplest things, of a person that only wish to focus on the good things in life before facing the harsh reality once again.

If you were to speak your thoughts, Zhongli would applaud you for the accuracy. But you do not. You stay silent, and to slumber you slip into.

Soon after he follows suit, latching on to the bits of warmth you give.

When he wakes, silence would once again invade his day. But it would be silence followed by the coldness that finally comes after the years he had taken to indulge in your warmth. Zhongli is glad to have taken his time to slow down and stay quiet and take in the mortality of humans.

Haha, you died again.

@moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #exile.flower #sojourner specials #gender neutral #bruhh #shorter than I expected it to be #genshin impact zhongli

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last-operator-standing · 3 years

Text

Toll Of The Bell

Chapter 3 - Sonder

> Read on Ao3

> Chapter 1 (tumblr)

> Chapter 2 (tumblr)

> Chapter 4 (tumblr)

Summary: What now? He could roll over and accept the fate thrust upon him and die as Adler intended. Starting a new life away from it all couldn’t be that bad either. Or…

Or he could finish the mission.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Warning apply this chapter

Words: 1.8k (7.3k total)

A/N: I'm sorry this one took so long asjdfjf I'm awful at keeping any sort of regular schedule- but i'm going to be trying much harder to keep the chapters flowing :') I'd love to hear any thoughts, and thank you all for the support <3 (p.s. Adler will be here v soon- Promise uwu)

"Please stop staring at me."

Bell has no intention of doing so. He's been staring down Lazar from the moment the man stumbled into the kitchen to join him at the table. The sunlight is harsh despite the closed curtains and the coffee fails to stimulate either agent's mind. This certainly isn't Lazar's ideal morning. The silence stretches on, but the uncomfortable feeling of Bell's eyes on him has him sighing loudly.

"Damn, Bell, alright." Lazar gives in. The chair scrapes loudly against the tile floor as he pushes back to stand, disappearing for a moment and returning with a bag. It piques Bell's curiosity; he was too tired to notice it last night.

A folder slaps loudly against the table and slides a few centimeters towards Bell. The Russian, unable to contain himself, surges forward to snatch it. "You're right about your buddy. Definitely a smuggler of sorts."

Bell flips the folder open and begins rooting through the contents. A picture of Kapano Vang is clipped on the inside. The first page has basic information. Name, call sign, date and place of birth. Bell's more interested in the finer details: A few suspected routes, potential cartel members, a list of what they believe is being smuggled. There's a few recurring words that catch his eye. Golden Triangle Cartel is scribbled at the bottom and underlined twice. Beside it, drawn in bold red ink and circled multiple times, Bell reads PERSEUS?

"What did you see yesterday, in those memories of yours?"

Bell gives a small shake of his head. "It was a bar, I think. He was there." He taps the portrait with a finger. "And someone else who knew us but.. I couldn't remember his face," The Russian gives a disappointed click of his tongue. "Or his name."

Lazar tries to offer a reassuring smile. "Hey, don't sweat it. It'll come back to you."

Bell wishes he could share in Lazar's positivity. He really does. But he can't be sure what brought the memories to him in the first place, or why they were so fragmented. After spending much of the night agonizing over any additional detail he might remember about Perseus or Kapano Vang or anyone else he had seen at that bar and coming up short, Bell's hope started to slip. In the end he could only point fingers at Adler and his MK-Ultra project. "So what's next?"

Lazar doesn't answer right away. He looks thoughtful. Even with their revelation on Kapano Vang and his cartel, they are nowhere closer to finding Perseus than they were before. They are back to square one.

"Well, I could try cross-referencing with MI6 again-" he means Park, Bell thinks with a snort "-and see if they have anything new."

Lazar's looking at him intently and Bell realizes he's waiting for a response. "Oh, uh. Yeah." Bell shifts awkwardly in his seat. "Whatever you say."

A week later, the two man team have no progress to show for their efforts. In that time, Bell's gone over the files at least a dozen and a half times and nothing's changed, nor have any new memories resurfaced. Lazar's cross-referencing has yet to unearth anything new either, telling Bell MI6 is just in the dark as they are.

"This isn't working, Laz." Bell slams the paper back against the kitchen table. His irritation is reflected in the other man's face but Lazar does a better job at hiding it. "We just have to keep looking," Lazar sighs. "We have the answer here somewhere."

Bell clicks his tongue in disapproval. "I've been over these files again and again. There's nothing here. We're not going to find Perseus on some piece of paper-" An idea strikes Bell. Something he never considered before now.

"Bell?" Lazar frowns. "You alright?"

"What if we look for that bar?" Excitement shines in Bell's eyes. Lazar's startled by his suggestion.

"I don't know-"

"C'mon, Laz, think about it. There was more than one Perseus agent there, in my memory." A plan was beginning to hatch in Bell's mind. From the way he's looking at him, Lazar doesn't like where he's going with it. "If we find that bar, maybe we can find one of those agents. Maybe even match some of these faces." He looks down at the file of unconfirmed but suspected Perseus soldiers.

"I don't know about this," Lazar repeats slowly, uncertainly. "If someone recognizes us it could cause some trouble. Especially if they recognize you. You helped stop Perseus the first time. No doubt his people are painfully aware of that."

Bell doesn't want to hear it, though. "It's just a risk we'll have to take," he argues. "I'm a spy, Laz. I know how to keep my head down."

After a bit of back and forth it's settled. First, they'll compile a list of bars in areas known or suspected to be frequented by Perseus. Then, while in constant contact, as Lazar insists, Bell will make his way through each alone and hope nobody recognizes him while he searches for the bar from his memory.

It takes two days to assemble a full list and another day and a half to narrow it down and map a route.

"I'm still not happy about this," Lazar grunts as he drops a duffel bag onto the table. Bell eagerly snatches it and begins shuffling inside. "You worry too much, old man."

The first thing Bell pulls from the bag is a change of clothes. They both agreed he needs something casual. And clean. It would make blending in with the crowd much easier. Too excited about the upcoming mission has Bell stripping where he stands. No time for modesty.

"C'mon, Bell, in the kitchen?" Lazar turns with a light pink tinting his face. Bell grins wide but doesn’t reply. The new outfit fits comfortably. He returns to the bag and roots around for his next prize. There’s a knife with a sheath and a small handgun waiting at the bottom. The knife is removed first. Bell carefully slides it free of its sheath. The blade is unusually slim and dark in color, and sports a dangerously sharp tip with partial serration of both sides near the hilt. Bell’s entirely absorbed in admiring the blade, so much so that he misses Lazar’s amused look until he speaks up.

“I thought you’d like that one.”

Bell returns the smile. “Oh, hell yeah. It reminds me of the one I had in-”

“Hey, Sims! You know reading that shit’s gonna make you go blind.”

“Yep! That’s why I want it alll up here.” Sims shot Adler a lazy grin. The commander slapped the book back against Sims’ chest.

“Bell, you’re with Sims. You usually bring out the best in each other.”

“RPGS! BRACE! BRACE!”

Bell watched in horror as a rocket collided with the chopper beside theirs. It careened dangerously before smashing into theirs, sending their own bird into a death spiral.

Everything was in chaos.

“Grab my hand! I gotcha! I got-!”

“We’ve lost power-!”

“We’re going down-!”

“BRACE!”

Bell blinks hard and his smile falls. There’s a knowing look on Lazar’s face and neither agent speaks a word about it. “C’mon,” Lazar gives a pat to Bell’s shoulder. “Showtime.”

The pair ride in silence. Lazar’s behind the wheel, giving Bell some time to think. He tries to keep the mission center focus, but the memories of Vietnam are overwhelming, fresh in his mind as if they just happened. And they’re not even real. I was never in Vietnam.

The car rolls to a stop and breaks Bell from his thoughts. “Alright, remember, coms on at all times.” Bell rolls his eyes and pops the door, deftly sliding from his seat. “I mean it, Bell!” But he slams the door without reply, turning towards the street. The small earpiece is already safely pressed into his ear and hidden behind his hair.

The checkered brick sidewalks stretch wide on either side of the street. There’s a decent amount of people strolling to and fro, some carrying briefcases and dressed in neatly pressed suits, others in casual attire with seemingly no important place to be. Lazar pulls off, leaving Bell to head for the first destination on his list.

The first thing Bell notices as he pushes into the first bar is the pungent mingling of smoke, alcohol, and sweat in the air. The floor beneath his boots is a glossy hardwood and matches the light oaken walls. The occupants chatter noisily, and although the sound is familiar, the atmosphere is not. This is not the right place. Keeping his appearance as casual as possible, Bell slips through the crowd and retreats out the back door. He glances around to confirm he’s alone before mumbling his findings to Lazar.

One down, seven more to go.

The second bar Bell stumbles into is smaller. There are less individuals milling around and the golden walls are all wrong from the dark cedar panels from his memory. The third bar is even less promising, while the fourth and fifth are so far from Bell’s memory that he’s positive he’s working backwards now.

Bell rejoins the thinning herd on the streets with a dejected sigh. This wasn’t working out. There’s two more bars to check and already it was getting dark. He’d hope for something; A clue, a new memory, a familiar face. Lazar keeps up with words of encouragement but Bell doesn’t have the capacity to share the optimism.

The sixth bar Bell checks holds a notable hushed atmosphere. Right away he’s stricken by the dark atmosphere. It felt.. Tense. Insidious. It doesn’t feel right, but for an entirely different reason. While most of the denizens ignore Bell, a few side-eye him dangerously. He steps to the counter and orders a drink, primarily to alleviate any suspicions from both inside and out.

Bell can’t shake the feeling of eyes boring into his back. It’s somehow different from when he first walked in and was certainly making him more uncomfortable. He shifts in his seat and tries his best to nonchalantly turn and find who the hell was staring at him so hard, but when he looks, he finds nothing out of the ordinary.

The feeling of unease doesn’t leave. He grows antsy and finally after paying with money given to him by Lazar, Bell downs the last of his drink and turns back into the streets. This is certainly not going the way Bell had hoped. The seventh bar is quite the walk from the sixth, allowing him some time to breathe and collect his thoughts.

The feeling of unease melts from Bell’s shoulders the longer he walks. Lazar’s quiet so he turns his attention outward and listens curiously to the broken chatter of the dwindling civilians.

“-think he talks about anything else?”

“Well, it’s not like-”

“Timur?”

“That’s not.. Point.. Why else-”

“Timur!”

“I just think you should consider-”

A hand lands heavily on Bell’s shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. He turns in surprise.

“Timur!” A man stands before Bell with a lazy smirk and a gleam to his eyes- as if he recognizes him. His dark hair is cropped close to his head and a pair of lightly tinted shades adorns his face. The accent is certainly not Russian, and it throws Bell off guard. “Hey! Remember me?”

#cod cold war #black ops cold war #russell adler #cod bell #male bell #bocw #lazar azoulay #fanfic #can you guess who he ran in to?#i tried v hard to put some features without making it obvious who it was-

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a-d-curtis · 3 years

Text

The Hand That Rocks the Cradle

Read on AO3 or Fanfiction.net

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter 2: First Impressions

Chapter 3: Stolen Glory

Chapter 4: Pawns & Princesses

Chapter 5: Scars

Chapter 6: Dissonance

Chapter 7: Frustrated

...................

Chapter 8: Obligations

…………….

Firelord Ozai looked down from his place on the highest level of the Avatar’s training facility. The Avatar was sparring with a squad of eight benders: five fire, three earth. Although benders besides fire were harder to come by, Ozai prided himself on his resourcefulness. Prisoners from the other nations could all be persuaded; all that was needed was the right leverage (promises of worldly comforts, or to be spared tortures, or perhaps threats to a loved one?). His experience had shown him that all people had a price they were ultimately willing to accept.

The boy was something to behold — bending the elements as easily as if they were toys in the hands of a child.

Firelord Ozai smiled as he watched the Avatar bend — his movements fluid and effortless, and yet so powerful. Perhaps if Ozai had not known there was more — the god-like Avatar State — perhaps he could have been satisfied with the powerhouse Aang was already.

But Ozai was not satisfied. And as time wore on, the Rebellion became a larger nuisance, his bloody son even more of a thorn in his side than when he lived in the palace! Ozai lusted more than ever for the full power of the Avatar. With the power of the Avatar State, Ozai knew that he could simply send Aang in to fly down on the Rebellion and blow them all to nothingness. A force of nature, an act of god. And in so doing Ozai could finally be rid of his disgraced offspring. And Aang would solidify his place as Ozai’s only son.

News of this kind of power would benefit the war on all fronts. It would crush the heathen nations. Ozai knew that when the Earth and Water Nations heard of the kind of devastation the Avatar could unleash in a moment, their final measly efforts to resist would fold.

The war would be won. One hundred percent. And the whole world would belong to Ozai.

As Ozai watched the Avatar easily blow an opponent off his feet he pondered on what was holding the boy back. Surely it was Aang’s waterbending that was preventing him from accessing the Avatar State. Aang was already highly proficient in Earth (although getting there had taken far longer than what Ozai considered acceptable). And his Fire bending was exceptional. Only the cold fire – lightning bending – was outside his wheelhouse. (Of course that was intentional. Only a fool would teach a potential enemy all that he knew. Lightning would remain a closely guarded secret. A trump card if ever the boy were to forget his loyalties.)

Ozai leaned forward for a better view. Three opponents already lay on the ground, out of the fight. Currently the Avatar held off all three remaining firebenders together, batting their flames to the sides as he steadily moved closer to them with each redirection. The firebenders moved in tandem in an attempt to surround the Avatar, but once Aang was in the center of them, he slammed both fist into the ground, creating a simultaneous explosion of rock and air that flung them all forcefully backward.

Wind from the explosion ruffled Ozai’s hair as he peered approvingly down at the fallen opponents. Ozai could hear one of the firebender’s moans even from here. But he felt nothing for the man.

Incompetence deserved defeat.

Firelord Ozai watched carefully as one of the earthbenders took an opportunity to hurl a jagged bolder at the Avatar’s turned back; but somehow the Avatar seemed to sense the stone flying through the air, and turned sideways just in time for the rock to skim past him a half-inch from his back. Ozai smiled minutely when, as though in one fluid motion, the Avatar followed this evasion with an immediate offensive, leaping toward the offending earthbender with a plume of fire funneling from his kick. The fire sent the brute stumbling backward, and a low sweeping air strike from the Avatar’s leg broke the earthbender’s foundation completely, sending him crashing down with an audible thwack. Internally, Ozai smiled in approval; impressed that even from this distance he could hear the man’s skull strike rock.

For a moment, the Avatar wavered; he turned to face the rest of the arena, but then hesitated again, turning his gaze back toward the fallen earthbender. The man lay without moving. The Avatar made as though he would approach him, but he stopped himself, glancing up toward’s Ozai’s booth like a guilty child.

Ozai frowned.

In the boy’s instance of hesitation, rock pulled upward suddenly from the ground grabbing the Avatar’s right foot, cementing him to the floor. The last remaining earthbender began barraging the grounded Avatar with rocks. Although the boy dodged or broke most of the projectiles, the edge of a jagged stone clipped his head, opening a bleeding cut on his forehead. As his hand went up to cup the wound, another larger stone hit him in the back, bludgeoning him to the ground. The Avatar cried out as his leg twisted painfully in its stone shackle.

Ozai’s frown deepened. The Avatar lacked in focus.

Power could never make up for weakness in character.

After a single dazed moment, the Avatar seemed to gather his wits and punched fire at the earthbender, sending the hulking man leaping to the side for cover. Aang lay back on the stone tiled floor and struck the ground at his sides forcefully with his fists. The entire sparring courtyard jumped with a tremendous jolt. The jolt sent everyone in the arena into the air for a long suspended moment, before they hit the ground with a resounding whack. Even Ozai had to grab hold of the arms of his gilded chair to keep from slipping out of it.

The stone fetter on the Avatar’s foot crumbled, and he kicked out, defying gravity as his body turned a great arching backflip. Mid-flip the Avatar pulled water from the trenches flanking the arena and sent it crashing into the earthbender. As the Avatar floated lightly down onto one foot, he swept his arms crossing in front of his chest, making a punctuated fist at the end. The water around the struggling earthbender froze, locking him in place.

Firelord Ozai surveyed the arena – all the Avatar’s opponents lay on the ground in various degrees of defeat. A flash of approval curved at the corner of Ozai’s mouth as he observed the Avatar perching steadily on one leg in the middle of them. A stream of blood ran from the cut in his forehead, but the Avatar ignored it. The boy’s hands made a wide sweep over his head before he exhaled, bringing his hands down his body to stop near his navel.

Yes. He was powerful.

Ozai’s heart joyed to witness it! He had been wise to take the boy in, to make him his son. A son like this would bring him the glory he’d always sought.

But Ozai’s satisfaction didn’t last long. The Firelord’s brows lowered as he watched the boy wipe blood out of his eye and then gingerly rest the toes of his raised foot on the ground. He tried to hobble forward, but cried out at the weight on his leg and fell to the ground. Ozai scowled. The Avatar tired, and failed, to force himself to stand one-footed again. By this time an aid had run to his side, to brace him. Together the two hobbled painfully out of view.

Ozai tsked in disgust, realizing the boy was now coddling an injury. This wouldn’t do. There was no time to waste! He didn’t want his Weapon injured!

Ozai half turned as he barked an order to Zhao who stood solicitously behind him.

“Fix him!”

……………..

Katara picked up the scroll the Avatar had lent her, and began to read. Avatar Aang had since given her three more scrolls to borrow, but this first one was her favorite.

All of the scrolls were about waterbending, but only this one came from her own native South Pole. For no apparent reason, it had also included a folk-story at the end after the depictions of waterbending forms and instruction. Katara loved to study the drawings and descriptions of waterbending katas, but for some reason, she was always drawn back to the story at the end of this scroll.

The story was about a talented young warrior who sought to defeat all the great beasts of the arctic. He fought and killed the buffalo-wolf, the tigerlope, and the cunning seal-fox. He hunted the sabertooth moose-walrus, the polar bear-dog, the swift eel-shark. Against all these foes and more, he prevailed, bringing home their pelts with boasting instead of gratitude, with jeers rather than prayers of thanks for the lives he took.

The Spirit of the Great Black Mountain, Sednaka, was not pleased. She was the One who formed the animals of the arctic, had given them their names and the adaptations that let them live in the unforgiving climate of the deep south pole — the beaver-hare’s warm color-changing coat, the penguin-otter’s insulated skin, the bear-seal’s water-proof fur. She gave all the animals what they needed to survive in the ice and snow.

One day when the warrior was out near the Black Mountain hunting, Sednaka had appeared to him and scolded him for his thankless killing. She did not begrudge him the meat he took home to his family and tribe, but she rebuked him for not thanking the animals for their sacrifice. And for wasting in the kill. The warrior sneered at the spirit, and boasted that he did not need to give thanks. For the animals had not given their lives, but he had taken them — by his skill as a warrior and hunter. The warrior boasted that he could kill any creature Sednaka could create. She warned him not to tempt her, but the warrior had laughed and challenged her to prove him wrong.

The following spring when the chill winter winds gave way to warmer breezes and the grasses again began to grow through the melting snow, a new insect began to appear among the warrior’s tribe. It was a mosquito-cricket that jumped and bit. Before long the land was covered in them. They ate the grasses until there were no more, then it ate the village’s food stores and the hides they used for tents. The village was forced to flee before the bug, but to no avail, for the mosquito-cricket had covered the land. The bite from the insect caused great welts to swell on the skin of the tribespeople, and brought sickness too. The warrior’s mother, his brothers and his wife, all fell victim to the plague. When his young son died as well, the warrior’s grief was full.

The warrior repented of his challenge to the Black Mountain Spirit, and he returned to the Black Mountain a broken man, begging Sednaka to take away the scouring insects, and to restore his family to him. At first his pleas fell on deaf ears, but at long last, Sednaka’s heart stirred towards the grieving warrior. For he regretted his challenge to her, his pride and his thankless hunting.

Sednaka took pity on the warrior and his tribe, and sent great schools of horned frog-fish out of the deep to consume the rampant mosquito-crickets. And although Sednaka could not restore the warrior’s family to him, she promised to give their souls rebirth in her creations.

From then on when the warrior hunted for food, he did so with great gravity in his heart, thanking his prey for the life it had given so that he and his fellow villagers could survive. He knew that any of the beasts he hunted could very well be the soul of his mother, his brothers, his wife, his son. No longer did the warrior hunt with boasting and waste.

The warrior’s humility pleased Sednaka. As a balm for the warrior’s sorrow, she formed the Aurora in the southern night skies. The shimmering waves of color acted as a reminder of the mercy the Mountain Spirit had extended. Every night the warrior would look to the skies and remember. Sometimes he could even see the smiles of his son in the ever-changing colors, knowing that his spirit lived on.

Katara sighed as she finished reading the scroll in her hands. She had heard portions of this story told when she was a child — she knew of Sednaka, the Black Mountain Spirit, and had heard of the Mosquito-cricket scourge — but she had not heard the warrior’s story in full.

The men of her village had always given thanks to the soul of any prey they killed; it was one of her people’s most important rites. This story added new depth to that practice — the idea that the souls of the animals could be your kin.

Katara thought of the departed souls of her people. Could it be that her mother now ran free across the tundra as a wild rein-bear? Or her Gran Gran swam the wide oceans, a orca-ray? Her friends flying free as arctic-finchcranes?

What would Sokka become? No. Not Sokka. He could never be anything but her dear, maddening older brother. Even now, she knew he could not be anything else. She had to believe that. Or all was for nothing.

Katara looked up at the sound of the outer door to her room being unlocked. She quickly rolled and tied the scroll, storing it safely in the small shelf above the desk as the elaborately carved inner door swung open.

A soldier entered her room, chains swinging with a clink in his left hand. Chains meant for her of course.

Katara crossed her arms defiantly. “I don’t believe I’m scheduled to teach the Avatar until later this afternoon. You’re disturbing my studies.”

Which wasn’t really true. To be honest, Katara was pretty tired of reading the four scrolls she had. Beyond the daily forms she practiced each morning in her room and her lessons with the Avatar, there was little to occupy Katara’s active mind. Most of the time she did little more than stare out her barred window at the birds in the quaint little courtyard outside.

Of course, she also spent plenty of time imagining the ways she could escape from her “quarters.” True, the room was comfortable, finely decorated and well lit. It was lavish for a prison cell, but it was a prison nonetheless — locked doors, bars on every window, guards stationed outside. Katara was far from free to come and go as she wished. In fact she never left this room without first being handcuffed in chains.

Katara was grateful, she supposed, that she didn’t have to wear the cuffs inside her room. Nor while training the Avatar. She supposed things could be worse. What had she been expecting after all—when she’d shown up in the Fire Nation volunteering to teach the Avatar? Would Zuko have warned her not to come (if she had bothered to tell him she was going)? No, Katara was here for personal reasons, and the less Zuko knew about it the better. It was safer for everyone that way. Knowing too much could be a heavy burden.

The soldier jangled the chains. “Come on, don’t make this difficult. Counselor Zhao has requested your presence.” Katara recognized the solider as one who was frequently stationed outside her cell. He was young, and not unkind. But Katara was wary of anything Counselor Zhao was requesting.

“What does he want?” Katara didn’t trust Zhao—his veiled threats and lecherous eyes still fresh in her mind.

The young soldier glanced over his shoulder at his fellow guards waiting outside her room and then lowered his voice. “Listen, I don’t know, okay? I was just told to bring you to the Royal Physician’s wing.”

“The Royal Physician?”

“Yeah, something about the Avatar being hurt, or something.” Katara’s heart jolted in unbidden concern. The guard took another step forward, raising the chains. “Listen, I’m not really supposed to know. I’m just supposed to bring you there. So can I put these on you already?”

Katara lifted her hands compliantly, her mind a buzz. The Avatar had trained with her while injured in the past; this must be more serious or they would not make a fuss. As much as she didn’t want to, Katara worried for the Avatar. She thought of his back full of scars, and wondered what kind of injury she would be asked to heal: an accident? or a punishment?

Katara was led the usual way, as though going to the Avatar’s training arena, but instead of going left down into the gardens, they went strait to another building within the palace complex. The Physician’s wing, she assumed.

As they entered the high-ceilinged outer vestibule Katara could hear a conversation around the corner, a somewhat heated conversation she judged by the adamant way the two men were attempting to yell in whispers.

“Six weeks is absolutely unacceptable!”

“I said six weeks at the least! It could easily take much longer—”

“There is no way the Avatar can be out of commission for so long!” Ah, Counselor Zhao is here, Katara noted, recognizing the arrogant sneer in his voice.

“Were you born yesterday, Counselor Zhao?! Bodies take time to heal—“

“Six weeks is way beyond what we can afford right now. The pressure is greater than it’s ever been to—“

“He has a twist fracture! Broken in at least ten places! You can’t expect to break him and then—”

“Don’t you dare accuse me of being cavalier with the Avatar’s safet—“

“I’ve been the boy’s physician since he was twelve years old; don’t you think I know what his body is capable of—“

At this point the two men were simply battling to speak over one another.

“The Avatar blundered during the fight. In front of the Firelord no less! His injury is due to his own—“

“Oh sure, blame the boy! I’m tired of cleaning up Ozai’s sons when he burns them—“

“How DARE you?!”

“I’ve been here since long before Ozai was even born, Counselor. I delivered him for crying out loud! And his brother Iroh too. The Princess. Prince Zuko—“

“But if you think, that you can blaspheme against the Firelor—”

“Tell Ozai to touch that boy one more time and I will personally—”

Katara had wanted to hear more, but her solider escort walked her forward around the corner into the outer receiving room where the two men bickered. The two men saw her and stopped their conversation abruptly.

Katara recognized Counselor Zhao, of course, his large sideburns and puffed up chest hard to mistake. The other man was taller than Zhao, but slim, and very old. The man looked impeccably angular, like he’d been sharpened at the edges. And no part of him sharper than his alert golden eyes, which he turned on her immediately.

“Who is this?” the man asked crisply. “I am not seeing anyone else at the moment as I’m occupied with urgent Royal Family matters.”

Zhao turned toward Katara with an overly friendly smile, faking amiability between him and her as he said loudly, “Ah, Master Katara! I’m delighted you could make it.”

The Physician eyed Katara skeptically, his perceptive eyes noting her clothing, her skin, her chains.

“A Water Triber? Here? Why?” he asked Zhao flatly. Katara’s eyes narrowed at the old man.

Zhao approached Katara, took the keys from the soldier and began unlocking her handcuffs. Overconfidence once more oozed from his voice as he addressed the Physician, “Master Katara is a master waterbender, Physician Yoroh. And a master of water healing, which I’m sure you are well aware can have some quite miraculous results.”

Katara could see the Physician scowl behind Zhao. “No one treats the Avatar without my supervision!”

Zhao handed the soldier Katara’s cuffs and turned back around to face the older man. “Then supervise away! Perhaps Master Katara can improve upon your six-week recovery estimate.”

The old man glared daggers at Counselor Zhao for another minute before turning with a huff, leading Katara stiffly down the hallway. The Physician stopped at the end of the hall, out of ear-shot of Counselor Zhao. He spoke quietly, but coldly to Katara. “Avatar Aang is in no condition to be tampered with. If I suspect your heathen healing practices of causing him any additional harm, I will be sure to use every influence in my power to make sure your suffering becomes worse than his.” Then with a duplicity only the aristocracy can manage, Physician Yoroh smiled amiably and entered the room on their left.

Katara scowled at his back, but followed him without further question.

Inside the dimmed room, the Avatar lay on his back, his right leg heavily bandaged and elevated. He had a white bandage above his left eye. When the two of them entered, he turned his face to toward them and smiled broadly.

“Doc!” the Avatar exclaimed, “You’re back from your trip! Did you have a good holiday?”

The proper old man smiled slightly. “Yes, Aang, yes, yes. And how is your pain now?”

The Avatar snorted a very undignified laugh. “I don’t feel a thing! Is my foot still there?”

The doctor looked soberly down at the Avatar’s heavily bandaged leg. “Yes of course. Although I’m afraid I’ll need to work on that leg to get things all straightened out.”

The Avatar snorted again as though the doctor had told a funny joke. “Hehe… straightened out…”

Aang’s deliriously medicated gaze swept lazily over to Katara, and he brightened as though he was just now noticing a dear friend. “Master Katara! You came! I knew you would come.” A red blush rose to his cheeks, “At least I wanted you to come…”

Physician Yoroh spared an annoyed look her way.

“Uh… hi, Avatar Aang,” Katara said, unsure how to respond to his bizarre, overly-friendly behavior.

The Avatar smiled at her and sighed wistfully. “You’re pretty.”

Katara blushed and shifted uncomfortably. Physician Yoroh cleared his throat. “You will have to forgive our Avatar at the moment, young lady. I have given him a large dose of medication for his pain. Some side-effects include delirium, compromised spacial awareness and a um… a loose tongue.”

Aang smiled and nodded in agreement; Katara stifled a laugh.

Physician Yoroh took a seat near the Avatar’s bandaged leg and carefully began removing the temporary bandages. The Avatar sucked air in through his teeth, “Oh! Yup. My leg is still there!” he winced painfully.

When the covering was removed, Katara sucked in her own breath: the Avatar’s leg below the knee was one swollen discolored mess, the foot twisting unnaturally inward. Any idiot could see that it was horribly broken. Sweat broke out on the Avatar’s face and his chest rose and fell in labored breaths.

The Physician cursed under his breath and barked to a woman standing nearby to get more medicine. Katara watched as the stiff old man then bent over Avatar Aang and gently stroked some stray hairs out of his face, his normally sharp features softening. “There, there young Aang. This too shall pass, this too shall pass.” Another bark at an attendant to procure his tools. “This is no different; it always passes, my boy.”

The attendant returned with a canvas roll full of medical tools that he quickly unrolled on a small table beside the bed. The woman returned with a mortar and pistil, crushing something in the small wooden bowl. “Here! Give it here,” Physician Yoroh waved his hand impatiently. He took the mortar and tapped the contents into a small tea bowl of black liquid and stirred it deftly. He then carefully lifted the Avatar’s head and helped him to drink the stuff. “This will help, Aang. Drink it all. There you go.”

The Avatar was laid back, still breathing hard, his eyes squeezed shut, the sheet gripped vice like in his blue-arrowed fists. For a time he seemed to concentrate all his efforts on his breaths. Eventually calm serenity came over his countenance.

The Doctor all the while busied himself with his tools. Katara looked at the tools and shuddered: sharp knives of various sizes, clamps, pliers, long strips of thin metal. Katara had no experience with this type of healing herself, but it didn’t take much to imagine what the physician planned to do.

“Sir?”

The old man spared her no more than an irritated look.

“Sir?” she tried again. “I think I can help…”

“We have no need of inferior nations and their inferior medical practices here, Triber.”

Katara bristled. But the Avatar’s hand came up and gently touched the doctor on the arm. “Please, Doc. Let Master Katara see what she can do.” Then with another drug-induced dopy smile at her he said, “Katara has magic hands…”

Katara wasn’t quite sure why, but heat rose to her face, perhaps at the way that comment could be misinterpreted. The doctor looked at her with a judgmental narrowing of his golden eyes.

In response Katara lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. She was not going to let this old bigot shame her!

She walked over to the Avatar’s leg and sat down where the doctor had sat earlier. She pulled water to her hands from a large wash basin in the corner of the room. Closing her eyes she brought her water-encased hands down to touch the Avatar’s mangled leg. She heard him suck in another breath. The doctor protested but was cut off by the Avatar. “No. Just… agh!… just give her a minute…”

A glow. Warmth. A heavy exhale.

Katara could feel the angry heat from the damaged flesh begin to defuse, to siphon away. She could sense the bone shards inside quiver. But the damage was bad. This was going to take more time.

Katara opened her eyes and discarded the water back into the basin. Already, the Avatar’s leg looked leaps and bounds better than before. But the flesh was still discolored and the strange twist in his ankle was still there. “I’m going to need more water,” Katara said to the room at large. “And more time.”

Glancing at Physician Yoroh, Katara was gratified to see open surprise in his golden eyes. “I’d heard,” he murmured to himself, “but I’d never…”

Avatar Aang was smiling broadly at her, open admiration on his face. “See!” he said enthusiastically, “Isn’t she amazing?!”

For the next several hours, Katara worked to heal the Avatar’s leg. The doctor supervised her for some time, until, satisfied that her efforts were indeed helping, he excused himself. The medical aids came and went, bringing fresh water and clearing away the old. The Avatar slept.

Evening was approaching when Katara at last felt the last bone shards knit together inside the Avatar’s ankle. She sighed and wiped her forehead, her body more tired than she had realized. As she began to stand up, Katara was surprised to feel the Avatar’s warm hand on her arm. She hadn’t realized he was awake. He sat up on the edge of the bed facing her. His eyes were dilated in the darkening room, but when he spoke his voice was clear, no slurred words or signs of delirium like before.

“Thank you, Master Katara. It really is a miracle what you can do.” His words held a strong hint of envy.

Katara nodded. “Of course.”

Avatar Aang looked down at the floor. “I wish that I could learn it. I don’t know why… I just can’t seem to.”

“Not every waterbender can heal,” Katara replied. “Perhaps it’s just… outside your capabilities.”

“Figures.”

Katara cocked her head questioningly.

“The one thing I’ve seen that seems wholly good, something that could only be used to benefit people… that maybe could have changed things, if I’d been there…” He laughed once without mirth. “And I can’t do it. I’m only really good at fighting, at destroying things.”

Katara had seen the Avatar fight; and she couldn’t deny that he was indeed good at it. Terrifyingly good at it.

It was scary to imagine him fighting against her people, against the rebellion. She didn’t imagine that resistance could hold out long against him. Katara felt a familiar guilt expand in her chest; for she was helping to train this Weapon.

For a moment, like so many times before, Katara questioned her reasons for being here. Rebellions and conquest and honor all seemed so lofty. When at the end of the day, Katara knew that people ultimately made selfish choices. She had. And she prayed it would not all be for naught.

“Here,” she said, scooting inward and reaching for the bandage on his forehead. “Let me help with that too.” Bringing water to her hands, she held her palm over the cut on his forehead. A shimmering moment later, she felt new smooth skin under her palm.

He watched her soberly, his dark eyes somehow holding a depth of unmeasured years, defying his youth. She brought her hand down slowly, but didn’t break his gaze.

“Being able to heal doesn’t fix your problems.” She found herself saying. “It all comes down to what choices you make.”

Aang’s eyes looked pained. “And what if you made a wrong choice?” He looked away, shame coloring his face. “Or if the choice is made for you?”

“I don’t… Do you feel that you…?” Katara couldn’t finish her questions. A heavy silence fell between them. Katara wanted to say something, to lift the thickness in the air; but she couldn’t seem to form any thoughts.

Eventually Aang laughed lightly, breaking through the heaviness. “Listen to me! I must still have a drug-muddled head!” He laughed, but Katara could hear the lie in his words. He was sober, and they both knew it.

Just then the door opened and Counselor Zhao entered, Physician Yoroh right behind him. Katara and Aang both stood and faced them.

“Ah, Aang!” Counselor Zhao exclaimed, “It is relief to see you on your feet again! Looks like our dear waterbender has quite the healing touch!” Katara got the feeling that the praise was more for Physician Yoroh’s ears than for hers. “It would appear that our six-week healing period was grossly overestimated.” Katara saw the doctor scowl, but he said nothing.

Zhao clapped his hands together and turned toward the door. “Well Master Katara, it is getting late, we best be escorting you back to your apartment.”

Avatar Aang asked her, “Do you live far from here?”

Zhao glanced at her. He looked uncomfortable.

“No. Not far.” Katara replied evenly. “The Firelord has arranged accommodations for me just outside the palace gates.”

“I hope it’s comfortable?”

Katara thought of her prison cell. Zhao gave her a warning look. Katara smiled a bitter, fake smile. “It is. Quite.”

“Maybe I could walk you home?” Aang asked, a nervous blush climbing up his cheeks. He turned towards Counselor Zhao and asked, “If that’s okay with you, that is? I won’t go anywhere else. It shouldn’t take longer than a few minutes, right?”

Katara turned towards the Counselor as well, an amused smug smile on her face. “What do you think about that, Counselor Zhao?”

Zhao paused before answering, “I’m afraid, Aang, that that wouldn’t be advisable. It’s been a challenging day and you need your rest.”

“I feel great—“

“Besides, you know your safety demands you don’t leave Palace grounds unaccompanied.”

“The guards could accompany us—”

Zhao cut him off definitively, “I said it’s not advisable, Aang. End of story.”

Katara watched the Avatar deflate and resign. She then followed Counselor Zhao out. Out and down the hall.

To where her chains awaited her.

……………………

“I know that I must look incredibly old to your eyes, young Aang,” Physician Yoroh said after Master Katara and Counselor Zhao left. “But believe it or not, I remember what it was like to be young.”

Aang looked questioning at the good doctor.

“What I mean, Aang, is that I can see that you are… enamored with the waterbender. She is quite lovely, in her own foreign way.”

Aang sensed a “but” coming.

“But,”—there it was—“the… mixing of nations… is not right. Better to uphold the purity of our people.”

Aang’s brow lowered. “You do remember I’m not Fire Nation, right?”

Physician Yoroh looked at him sympathetically, as if sorry that some things couldn’t be helped. “But you are in every way that counts, Aang.”

Why did he say that like a consolation; as though it would be better? Aang was proud to be an Air Nomad. He just didn’t know how to be one in this world, all alone.

Aang looked at the old doctor, this sharp old man who had always shown him extraordinary kindness. This man had treated his wounds from his first days in the palace—carefully spreading burn ointments of his own making on the whip stripes Aang had so frequently earned back then. And he had done so kindly (even if in his own brisk way); offering Aang comfort at a time when he was sure there simply wasn’t any.

Aang knew it was possible to love someone, even if you hated what they believed.

“I’m feeling a bit tired, Physician Yoroh,” Aang said. “Could I perhaps lay down here for a little while? Before I go back to my room?”

The old doctor smiled. “Yes of course, my boy. You rest and I will have someone accompany you home when you are ready.”

The physician then dimmed the burning lamp lights with a wave of his hand and shut the door on his way out.

Aang waited several long moments listening to the old doctor’s footsteps retreat, before he got up quickly and went to the window. Looking out he could see that his room opened over a small, peaceful courtyard down below. Above him was the red tiled rooftop, peaked at the edges in typical Fire Nation fashion. Making sure the coast was clear (in both the room and the courtyard) Aang hopped easily onto the windowsill. Then, with the help of a little airbending, he jump-ran from windowsill to windowsill until he reached the corner of the courtyard where he used the adjacent wall as a springboard to launch himself onto the rooftop.

He paused for a moment, listening if anyone had seen him. Then he was off, jumping lightly across the roof tiles to the front of the hospital wing. Once there, he swung himself under the peeked overhang.

Like many of the finer buildings in the Fire Nation, the vestibule of the hospital wing left an open space between the high vaulted ceiling and the outer walls, to allow for natural airflow in the hot and humid climate of Caldera City. Aang settled himself on a support beam outside and peeked over the top of the wall.

Below him he could see Counselor Zhao and Master Katara; they exchanged words, but Aang didn’t hear exactly what was said. Then a soldier approached, with a length of chain in his hands.

Aang’s eyes opened wide when he saw Master Katara extend her hands and the soldier lock metal cuffs onto her wrists! Wha—?? Why was she?!

His first impulse was to jump down there, to tear the restraints off of Katara and demand an explanation! But he stopped himself mid-movement, noting the way Katara raised her hands to meet the chains; the way she squared her shoulders with dignity amidst her chains— this was not her first time. She’s clearly worn these before. Many times before.

Master Katara was a prisoner. And she was used to it.

More than anything, Aang recognized himself in her.

Aang watched dumbfounded as Katara walked with the soldier, body erect and proud out the front door. Counselor Zhao watched her go, his eyes lingering lewdly on her backside.

Aang was stunned. He never expected… that Master Katara was… Even his brain didn’t seem to know how to complete the thoughts.

Someone called Counselor Zhao’s name and the man turned as Physician Yoroh approached. The two exchanged words (not particularly nice words, from what he could tell) and then the doctor motioned behind him to the hallway. Aang heard the words “Avatar” and “resting.” Zhao’s voice echoed upward “take him home” before he pushed past the old man toward the room Aang had been treated in.

Aang scrambled backward on the beam and swung himself onto the rooftop. With three great running leaps he launched himself to the back of the building and swung hastily back into his room. He landed on the floor inside the window just as Counselor Zhao opened the door.

“Ah, Aang. I’m glad to see you up. I’m here to accompany you back to the palace.”

Aang worked to minimize his heavy breathing, flashing a charming smile. “Sure!”

Aang felt his right leg stiffened beneath him. Perhaps I’m expecting too much from this so-recently-injured body. Maybe I ought to leave leaping over buildings for tomorrow, he thought wryly.

Zhao noticed his stiffness. “That leg alright? I hope our dear Master Katara has done her work up to expectations. You have a full schedule tomorrow after all.”

“It’s fine.” And answered hastily. “Master Katara is a miracle worker!”

An idea suddenly came to Aang and he was talking before he’d even stopped to question it. “You know, she’s a… really pretty too.” He glanced up at Counselor Zhao, noting his questioning eyebrow.

“Yes, I suppose she is…”

Lying was one of the few skills Aang had excelled at at the Air Temple that transferred well to his life here at the fire palace. Granted his lying before had been benign: efforts to cover for blatant naughty behavior at worst. Here, it was a basic skill for survival. But right now Aang decided to employ his lying skills for personal gain.

“I’d like to… you know, ‘get to know her’ a little better.”

Zhao’s brow lowered. “I don’t know that that would be a good idea, Aang. She’s your teacher. Things between you ought to remain a professional relationship.”

As a kid here in the palace Aang had once asked if he could make a fruit pie. Counselor Zhao had thought it a tremendous waste of energy and time. He’d said it showed that Aang wasn’t working hard enough on his fire bending, and, as a result, Aang had been given extra firebending classes each afternoon… A month later, Aang told Counselor Zhao that he needed to practice a high level airbending technique, one requiring a high degree of control and precision. He was afraid he might be losing the skill. He told Zhao that he needed certain ingredients and access to the kitchen to perform it. Zhao had made all the arrangements, and by the end of the day, Aang had stuffed himself silly on fruit pie.

Aang has learned not that he can’t ask for things he might want, but that he must ask in a way that gives off the right impression.

“I desire her, Counselor,” he said, letting innuendo coat his words.

To Aang’s surprise, Counselor Zhao smiled. “Understandably, young pupil. But Aang, she is your waterbending master, someone to be respected.” He said the last word like it had the opposite meaning.

Aang scoffed, being sure his false arrogance was firmly in place in his demeanor. “No need to keep up pretenses with me, Counselor. I already know she is a slave, just like all the rest of them.”

Zhao’s surprise was vivid. “How do you…? Who..?!”

Aang laughed, “I know some things, Counselor. I just don’t see why her ‘obligations’ to me shouldn’t... extend into... other arenas.” As skilled a liar as Aang had become, it didn’t stop this lie from tasting rancid. “I desire her. And I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t have her.”

Zhao chuckled, a sound that made Aang’s insides writhe. “Yes she is beautiful. For a Tribal.” The look on Zhao’s face made Aang fairly certain that Zhao had considered Katara in this lewd way already. It made Aang’s blood boil. But he held patient.

“You’ve always declined such ‘services’ in the past…” Zhao looked him over, seeming to evaluate the situation.

Aang knew that it was in Zhao’s best interest to grant favors to Aang when he could; to have the Avatar in his debt was an excellent way to retain his loyalty.

“That was then,” Aang said smoothly. “And this is now.”

Counselor Zhao thought it over for another moment, before smiling widely. “Well, perhaps something can be arranged. Perhaps a little vigorous nighttime activity will leave you refreshed and ready to work harder the next day, eh?”

Zhao clapped Aang affectionately on the back and led him toward the door. “I’ll see if I can arrange things for tomorrow evening.”

Aang’s stomach turned, but he put on his best smile.

“I can’t wait.”

……………

Keep reading the Next Chapter

.................

#the hand that rocks the cradle #alta #avatar the last airbender #aang #kataang #avatar au #prince aang

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vorta-whore · 4 years

Text

Transition of Power, ch. 3

The two of you go for a stroll.

Weyoun 5 x female reader

Chapter 1: An Introduction | Chapter 2: A First Date | Chapter 3: A Walk Together | Chapter 4: A Night on Bajor

---

You don’t consider yourself a particularly religious woman. You have always had faith in the Prophets, of course, and you attend weekly services whenever you can afford the time. But in all your years aboard the station, you can’t recall ever stepping foot in the temple outside of service hours simply to pray.

You’ve done so three times this week.

The silence and stillness of the shrine seems to help, for a moment. As you kneel onto an empty pillow and bow your head, your chaotic thoughts begin to subside, replaced by a single, focused prayer.

Prophets, you think, though you sometimes sense you’re talking to yourself more than to them. Please, guide me. I didn’t think I had a choice, at first, with this man. He wanted me and I could not deny him, for fear of what would happen to me. But the more we talk, the clearer it is that he isn’t forcing me into anything. I’m continuing it of my own free will.

You lace your fingers together and squeeze your eyes shut in concentration.

I know he’s a dangerous man. An evil one. He represents the empire that could tear the Alpha Quadrant apart. And I know he must have committed atrocities of his own as well. I shouldn’t want to be with him – I should be repulsed. But I can’t help it. When he leaves, I miss his presence. I think about him as I lie awake at night. I wonder what kind of a man he is, under that diplomatic persona. I want to get to know him. And I...I like how I feel around him. He makes me feel interesting. And wanted. Desirable, but respected. He treats me kindly, with a gentleness I never thought him capable of, that I’ve never experienced from another lover. And I know the right course of action is to end this before it begins, to reject his advances before they can go any further...but I feel in my heart that I would regret it forever.

A heavy sigh falls from your lips.

You gifted us with the ability to love so we could appreciate being bathed in your holy light. It is the purest, most powerful force in the world. So how could it ever be wrong? Would I...be a collaborator if I continued this? Is the only moral course of action to forget this affair? Or is this part of my fate – to capture the heart of a powerful enemy and help save his soul, and maybe some lives in the process?

You pause, your heart laid bare, and wait for a response. But you don’t really expect one. The Prophets have never spoken to you – not directly, at least – and you don’t expect them to start now. Even if you are in terrible need of guidance. For a moment you consider asking the vedek for advice, but you suspect he won’t give you an entirely unbiased answer when he realizes the object of your affections is none other than the station’s Vorta oppressor.

The musky scent of incense swirls in the air around you. Quieted but still frustrated by your own uncertainty, you take a moment to breathe and center yourself as best you can before heading back out to the Promenade.

The serenity you found inside the temple begins to fade away as soon as you leave it. You pause to survey the station inhabitants shuffling to and fro, their heads bowed, their faces weary. As much weighs on their minds as on yours.

A sudden call snaps you out of your reverie.

“Y/N!” comes the excited, familiar voice, and you turn with surprise to see Weyoun flanked by his Jem’Hadar guards. Caught off-guard, you gape for a moment as he approaches.

“Hi,” you manage. He beams at you in response.

“Will you walk with me for a moment?”

Your answer follows before you can give it even a moment’s thought: “Of course.”

The Vorta turns and you fall in tow as the four of you cross the Promenade. You’re not entirely pleased to be seen in public with Weyoun – you keep glancing about as though fearful of the judgmental glares you’re bound to receive – but the majority of people you pass seem entirely uninterested in your little rendezvous. Beyond, of course, the usual uneasy glances they direct at Weyoun.

“I really did enjoy our dinner last week,” he says with a hum. “I apologize for not contacting you sooner.”

“It’s alright. I’m sure you’re a very busy man.”

“Oh, you have no idea the extent of it. I’ve rarely a moment to myself, let alone time to enjoy the company of others. Which brings me to my point.”

He pauses in front of a window and turns to gaze out at the stars. You do the same, and a faint wistfulness tugs at your heartstrings as you stare at the space where the wormhole hasn’t opened in months.

“I’d like to see more of you,” Weyoun says softly.

You look over at him with such a panicked haste that he quickly adds an addendum: “If that’s alright.”

“I – you – yes, of course it’s alright,” you stutter, and feeling sheepish, you avert your eyes and tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ears.

You can hear the smile (and notes of what sound like genuine relief) in Weyoun’s voice as he replies. “I’m glad to hear it. As it happens, my meeting with Gul Dukat later this evening has been fortuitously postponed – and I can think of no greater way to spend my suddenly free time than in the pleasure of your company.”

You glance up to see he’s turned from the window to face you, and his wide eyes glimmer with anticipation as he awaits your response.

You hesitate. Something within you is begging to say no, to run away – but you can’t fathom the possibility of extinguishing the spark of excitement in those amethyst eyes...

“Unless...you have a prior engagement?” he prompts at your hesitation, and the way his eyebrows raise and his lips tug into a frown has you scrambling to comfort him.

“No! No, I’m free. I’d love to join you,” you assure, quite earnestly in fact, you realize, and Weyoun’s expression melts back into a pleased smile.

“Excellent. I was thinking perhaps a change of scenery this time; I’ve already taken the liberty of securing a holosuite reservation. I think you’re going to like the program I’ve selected.”

Before you can inquire, Weyoun reaches for your hands, and the feeling of his soft skin brushing against yours steals the words right out of your mouth. You find yourself helpless under his gaze once more as he strokes his thumbs over the back of your hands, and in that simple, paralyzing touch you completely forget the two of you are in the public eye.

“I’ll pick you up from your quarters at eighteen hundred hours. Dress for warm weather.”

He presses a quick kiss to one of your hands and then is gone, leaving you breathless by the window.

No one had been paying you much attention before. But after that public display of affection, you notice several pairs of eyes quickly dart away as you turn back toward the Promenade.

You suppose you’d better go find a dress.

---

The door-chime rings at eighteen-hundred hours exactly, and you wonder if Weyoun had perhaps been standing there waiting for the precise moment to strike. With one last glance in the mirror to straighten your hair, you answer the door, and the sight momentarily stuns you.

You hadn’t seen Weyoun in any outfit other than his typical – was it a uniform? That strange, asymmetrical garb he always wore. But as an ambassador, it made sense that he would have a variety of clothing suitable for multiple climates, and he had donned one such outfit here for the occasion. It resembled his usual attire, in all its intricately-patterned, multi-textured glory, but revealed much more skin than you were used to seeing on the Vorta. Lapels of thin leather stretched out to just barely cover his shoulders, leaving his arms completely bare. The pleated mauve undershirt (though you doubted it was its own garment entirely, more likely just a piece of fabric sewn into the vest for modesty) dipped down low to reveal both collarbones, and the asymmetrical hem of the garment jutted out just above his hips. His trousers – a shade more form-fitting than usual – were cuffed at the shin, revealing a sliver of calves between the hem and the ankle-high boots he wore.

You had worried about feeling a little too dressed-down, in your flowing sundress and delicate sandals, next to the stiff and regal Vorta. But the casual outfit assuages your fears and you both grin – you a little giddily – to see the other in a new light.

“You look stunning as always, my dear,” Weyoun notes, “but especially so tonight.”

You hesitate as he offers you his arm, but the reality is that after this morning, the whole station likely knows about the two of you; there’s no point hiding this courtship anymore. You take his arm.

“I could say the same of you,” you tease, a little emboldened by the feeling of walking on the station commander’s arm. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you show quite so much skin.”

A smirk tugs at the corners of Weyoun’s lips, and you sense he’s debating saying something, but quickly decides against it. He simply chuckles.

“I’m glad you like it.”

A thought occurs to you and you voice it tentatively as the two of you (followed, as always, by the Jem’Hadar guards) make your way down the corridors.

“Weyoun – is it true your people don’t have a sense of aesthetics?”

“Yes. The Founders did not deem it necessary for our purposes.”

You think you detect a hint of bitterness. But he continues on cheerfully: “Personally, as a diplomat, I do see the advantages; every culture has its own unique sense of style and taste, and if I had my own personal preferences among them, I might find it more difficult to establish relations with races whose appearances or architecture I disliked.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you mutter, not really agreeing. “I just wondered – you always compliment my appearance…”

“Ah,” he chuckles, “yes. I assure you those are genuine.”

At your look of confusion, he furrows his brow, trying to find the easiest way to explain.

“...Allow me to illustrate it for you with an example. If you showed me two dresses – one horribly tacky, the other beautiful and elegant – and asked me to label which one was which, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. To me, they’re both slips of fabric in various colors and patterns woven together to make a garment. I cannot detect whether certain colors clash with one another, or if certain shapes are unflattering on one’s body. But what I can appreciate is the woman wearing the dress. Her whole demeanor often changes when she slips into a garment as beautiful as she is; she becomes more comfortable, more open, more in tune with her inner light. When I compliment her, I’m voicing my appreciation for things like...the way her smile lights up the room. The tinge of color on her cheeks and the spark in her eyes. The grace with which she carries herself. Her confidence in flaunting such a flawless appearance.”

He pauses to drive his point home by setting his free hand gently over the one you’ve laid on his arm and meeting your eyes with a suave smile. Your foundation does nothing to hide the blush that rises to your cheeks, and you to your horror a giggle bubbles up from your lips.

“Regardless,” Weyoun sighs, pleased at the response he’s elicited, “I can certainly appreciate the effort you’ve expended going out of your way to gild yourself for my enjoyment.”

Heads turn as you enter Quark’s, and for a moment you avert your eyes and stare to the ground in embarrassment – but Weyoun doesn’t falter an instant, and the sheer confidence with which he carries himself bolsters you. You lift your head with some effort, clinging just a bit more tightly onto his arm.

Quark has the data rod with your holosuite program in his hand as you approach the bar; his expression is unreadable. Weyoun thanks him and takes it, and you continue upstairs.

“I do hope you like it,” he says, a little more loudly over the noise of the bar, as he slots the data rod into the panel. “Having never been to Bajor myself, I can only hope it is a faithful reproduction.”

You turn to fix him with a questioning look, but he only bows and gestures for you to head inside.

“After you.”

The doors part and you immediately feel a blast of warm air, a welcome feeling on your bare, goosebump-prickled skin. You step inside – followed closely by Weyoun – and the Jem’Hadar take up post outside the holosuite just before the doors slide shut.

The program, to your wonder and delight, is a perfect re-creation of one of Bajor’s most famous forests. Your home planet is well-known for its natural splendor – sprawling mountains, rolling hillsides, breathtaking falls – and this woodland is a shining example. Impossibly high, purple-barked trees stretch toward the endless sky, their leaves casting a shimmering dappled shadow upon the needle- and moss-covered ground. A brook winds and weaves through the web of tree trunks and their gnarled roots, its water crystal clear, its shores adorned by smooth pebbles and stones. Small woodland creatures dart to and fro throughout the underbrush, and you watch with quiet fascination as one of them – a long-eared, round-eyed lagomorph – pauses to nibble at the bud of a crimson sunset-lily.

You’re sufficiently awed.

“I take it,” Weyoun says softly from behind you, and you startle a bit, having all but forgotten he was there, “the program passes muster?”

“More than,” you reply, and turning to face him, you offer a genuine smile of gratitude. “I feel like I’m home again.”

A warm smile touches his lips, creases the corners of his eyes.

“I’m pleased to hear it.”

As the two of you approach the trailhead, Weyoun slides a graceful arm around your shoulders. He holds you firmly, but not tightly, and his embrace – the tingling sensation of his soft skin on your bare shoulders, the feeling of safety under his grasp – transforms you into a blushing maiden, clinging onto your shining knight. You wrap a reciprocating arm around his lower back as you both begin down the dirt path.

“I’m glad to be able to see some of your homeworld,” he muses after a few moments of contented silence, interrupting the cheerful sounds of birdsong. “Even if it is only a facsimile. My occupation, unfortunately, does not allow me much vacation time.”

He says this with a chuckle, intending the comment to be light-hearted, but you can hear an undercurrent of bitterness – the same subtle tone you noticed in your earlier conversation. The polite thing to do would be to move on; talk about the places in Bajor he should visit if he ever gets the chance. But you know it would be an empty gesture. There’s an opportunity here, and you’d be remiss to let it pass you by.

“...Weyoun,” you start carefully, and he glances over to you, attentive at your sudden tone of concern. “Do you ever…wish things were different?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” he fires back, a little too quickly. His eyes slide back to the path in front of you.

“Yes, you do.”

Silence stretches out between you as Weyoun contemplates his answer. His arm around your shoulders has slackened a little and you aren’t sure if this risk is paying off the way you intended it to. After several long moments, he heaves a sigh, laden with a burden you sense he’s reluctant to acknowledge.

“Sometimes…”

He stops himself. You try to decipher the expressions crossing his face but they’re entirely unreadable. He glances back to you – looks down – sighs again. When he speaks, his words are deliberate, chosen with laborious care.

“Sometimes, I do harbor thoughts of what life might be like if circumstances were...different. There are many pleasures in this world unknowable to me; the taste of a home-cooked meal, for instance. Art in any capacity. Music, especially, I wish I could appreciate.”

“You can’t even enjoy music?”

“When I listen to a song, it’s as if I’m…” – his hand dances about in the air, searching for an apt comparison – “...looking at a sheet of mathematical equations. I can pick out the individual instruments, note the changes in their pitch, recognize patterns and motifs. But the whole of the song, the heart of it, escapes me.”

You both ponder this sad reality.

“I do think it would be nice to be able to carry a tune,” he laments after a long moment. “Or to dance. I’m a truly terrible dancer.”

The image of lovely, graceful Weyoun stumbling around a dancefloor elicits a burst of laughter from you, despite the heavy subject matter; Weyoun laughs along, relieved his attempt at cutting the tension was successful.

“That’s a shame. I don’t know how the Vorta usually woo their women, but on Bajor, dinner and dancing is usually part of the package at some point.”

“Well, I’ve managed to woo you without having to resort to dancing just yet.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you retort, grinning.

Weyoun agrees with a hearty chuckle.

“Let’s hope not.”

---

The two of you make your way down the winding trail, enjoying the sights and sounds of the woodland as you go. Weyoun, ever the gentleman, leads you by a hand over the fallen logs and stepping-stones that serve as bridges across the stream, his grip a comforting assurance. He waits ever so patiently when you pause to beckon to the furry little creatures eyeing you from the underbrush, and he is adequately fascinated by your explanations of the various flora and fauna, even humoring you when you pick the occasional flower and offer it for him to smell.

“Do you even have a sense of smell?” you question him at one point, twirling the stem of a flower between your fingertips; those of your other hand are laced comfortably with his.

“I do,” he assures, a little amused by the question but understanding of its necessity. “Scent plays a pivotal role in making good first impressions; it’s one of the first things a person notices. I find it helpful, actually, to tailor my own scent to match the preferences of those with whom I wish to establish good relations. It’s a subtle enough gesture, but effective.”

“Is that why you always smell so sweet?” You give him a light jab to the ribs.

He grins at your playful tone, shoots you a look of mirthful defeat.

“You caught me.”

“How did you know I’d like that scent in particular?”

“Well…”

Weyoun trails off, and in the span of that one word the tone of the conversation has shifted to something decidedly less lighthearted. Your attention is drawn to him as he withdraws his hand from your own and clasps it with his other; you wonder if that might be a nervous habit.

“Being station commander has its...advantages. There is very little that goes on here without my knowing, and likewise very little information inaccessible to me. If I wish to know...say...a particular occupant’s work schedule...or shopping habits...”

“You stalked me!” you accuse, and although the offense rings clear in your voice, you can’t honestly say it runs all that deep. Either way, you aren’t surprised.

“Stalk is a strong word!” Weyoun insists, the pitch of his voice rising as he hurries to defend himself. “I merely – gathered some basic information – to give myself the best possible chance of ensuring the outcome I wanted.”

“Which was?”

He looks at you a little strangely. The answer is obvious, of course, but you want to hear him say it.

“To win your affection. Which, it seems, I have. Or am I mistaken?”

His turn to ask the obvious question. You smile and lower your gaze to the ground.

“You have.”

“Then the ends justified the means.”

The trail opens up into a clearing, and you come upon the shore of a vast lake. There’s a stretch of fence close to the shoreline and you lean against it as you take in the sight: the rippling surface of the water glimmers like so many gemstones, reflecting the deep orange and violet hues of the Bajoran sunset.

It occurs to you that your Vorta friend may not be able to enjoy this painterly scene to the same extent you can. You glance over to him – and startle to see his gaze is fixed intently on you. It doesn’t waver as you meet it, and the unabashed eye contact brings a sudden warmth to your cheeks.

“What?” you finally ask, a little sheepish.

Weyoun’s smile grows just a shade deeper as he answers.

“You enjoy looking at the sunset. I enjoy looking at you.”

The simplicity of the statement only excites the butterflies in your stomach. You smile nervously, self-conscious, as Weyoun studies your face with a sudden, urgent interest; his smile fades and his brow creases with concentration. He’s searching for something – and whatever it is, he’s desperate to find it.

You’re just about to ask what’s wrong when his hand lifts to your face, and the gentle hold he takes of your cheek steals your thoughts away completely. His palm is soothingly cool; his touch, comforting and still. You notice his eyes slide down to your lips and you realize with paralyzing clarity what it is, exactly, he wants.

The next few moments happen in slow motion.

You allow the hand cupping your cheek to guide your face upwards, and Weyoun’s head tilts to the side, making room for you. You spare a glance down to his lips, then back up to his eyes, tender and heavy-lidded; your lips part and you suck in a small, quiet gasp of air, the last you’ll get for the next several seconds. As Weyoun leans down to close the last inch of space between you, your eyelids flutter shut – and an infinite, breathless moment passes before you feel his soft lips press, tender and sweet, into yours.

He lingers there motionless for several moments, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek, before beginning to pull away – but you don’t let him. The instant his lips leave yours, your hands shoot up to grasp the sides of his face and pull him back down for more, and he obliges, gladly; you press up into him with more force, mashing your lips together in a hungry bid for intimacy, and he exhales heavily into the kiss, returning every ounce of passion. His hand slips from your face and you feel his arms wrap tightly around your middle, pulling your body into his, and for several long minutes the only sounds around you are the distant calls of the waterfowl and the lapping of gentle waves at the shore.

Neither of you wants to end this perfect moment. But, inevitably, one of you must break for air, and of course it happens to be you. You pull back just enough to breathe; your eyes blink open to meet Weyoun’s, and as you relocate your hands from his face to rest upon his shoulders, you notice with some amusement the faintest tinge of purple in his cheeks.

“Wow,” you exhale, lightheaded.

“Wow,” he agrees.

His grip on your waist loosens and, self-consciousness returning, you turn back toward the lake and allow the cool breeze to soothe your burning face. Weyoun releases you to instead rest a hand on the small of your back, and you lean into him, heart aflutter.

A few minutes of silence – of perfect, serendipitous peace – draw to a reluctant close as the automated voice of the computer informs you your holosuite reservation is at an end. You release the fence posts just as they disappear from beneath your hands and frown as the beautiful expanse of forest before you gives way to the cramped and machinery-cluttered interior of the holosuite.

“A pity,” sighs Weyoun, turning to you and taking your hands in his own. “I was hoping that hour might break the rules of spacetime and stretch out just a bit longer.”

It’s a little cheesy, but you giggle anyway, and he grins to have gotten to you. Lifting a hand to his lips, he presses one of his signature kisses to the back of it, and you sigh, squeeze his hand in return.

Emerging from the holosuite on Weyoun’s arm once more, you cringe at the din of the bar, so cacophonous compared to the quiet of the forest. But nothing can shake the absolute serenity now instilled within you. You practically float down the walkway, and though pairs of eyes follow your progress as they did before, this time you find it quite easy to pay them no mind.

Weyoun notes your confidence with an approving hum. “Not so self-conscious now, I see.”

You grin a little, shrug your shoulders. He responds with a chuckle and teases you in that lilting, singsong voice of his: “I wonder why.”

The walk back to your quarters is shorter than you’d like it to be, and before you know it you’re standing at the entrance to your quarters. Frowning, you turn to face Weyoun, not quite ready to part ways.

“It was a pretty short hour,” you say.

“Indeed it was.”

“It doesn’t...have to be over so soon. You could come inside…”

“I’m afraid not, my dear,” he sighs, and there’s genuine disappointment in his voice as he cradles your hands in his own. “I’m due elsewhere on the station in five minutes’ time.”

He soothes away your dejection with another quick couple of kisses to the back of your knuckles – and then, with a coy smile, one to the very corner of your lips. You turn your head to try to catch it full-on, but he dodges you deftly – ever the tease. You understand the purpose behind this tactic of leaving you wanting at the end of each of your encounters, but it frustrates you all the same, and Weyoun grins infuriatingly at your pouting.

“Try not to fret too much. I promise I’ll be in touch again very soon.”

You can only swallow, nod, and linger on his gaze as long as politely possible before allowing your hands to slip from his and turning with great reluctance to enter your quarters.

Sleep hasn’t been coming easily to you these past few weeks. But tonight, it greets you kindly, and you drift into an easy slumber with a smile on your lips.

#weyoun #weyoun 5 #weyoun x reader #series #ds9 #fanfic #star trek #vorta #reader-insert

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goodomensblog · 4 years

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Afterward - Part 16

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15

(#1 is our winner! The votes for this one were the equivalent of the kids in the schoolyard circling up and chanting FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT lmao)

HEY ALSO - tw: blood, minor gore, psychological manipulation.

Afterward - - - Part 16

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Entropy climbs over Crowley, its white, spider-thin legs all but encircling him. The demon’s thigh is speared by one of the creature’s cruelly twisting claws, and is pinned to the floor.

Beelzebub should go.

The smart choice is to go.

“I do want the angel,” Entropy says, looming over the felled demon and angel. “but don’t you worry demon - I’ll mercifully end your miserable existence.”

A clawed hand curls over Crowley’s head, and Beelzebub can’t help but recall the cracks that spread over the angel Sandalphon, fracturing the powerful angel like cheap ceramic.

Crowley gasps, and Beelzebub twitches, looking from Crowley, to the unconscious Aziraphale, and finally, to the archangel Gabriel, collapsed helplessly over the fountain, his golden blood mixing with water.

“Fucking shit,” Beelzebub breathes, hating everything. Steeling themself, they turn their back on the door.

Taking one limping step, then another, Beelzebub lifts a clammy hand, pressing it against their chest. Beneath curling fingers, they feel the trembling pool of infernal heat at their core - and with a strangled shout, pull.

The lamps lining the courtyard flicker - then pop - exploding one by one in storms of sparks and glass.

Gasping, Beelzebub doubles over, hunching as midnight wings unfurl. From clenched hands, nails harden into claws, razor’s edges slicing into skin. Around the prince of Hell, flies swarm in a black, biting cloud.

The creature looks up as Beelzebub roars.

Entropy rises, but Beelzebub is already across the courtyard, shattered flagstone exploding in their wake. The creature’s doll white face swivels - and Beelzebub’s black claws slam into its forehead and twist. Snarling, Beelzebub wrenches, flinging the creature into the nearest wall.

Beelzebub is burning from the inside out, the last vestiges of Hellfire crackling beneath their skin. They feel light, delirious, and very, very angry.

“Beelzebub?”

Panting, Beelzebub glances back.

Crowley, one hand braced on his bloodied leg, stares, open mouthed and wide eyed. “How’re you-”

“I’m going to destroy this bitch,” Beelzebub says, staggering. “And you,” they stab a finger at him, “are going to grab the idiot angels and get all of your dumbasses out of here.”

Crowley’s yellow eyes are studying them, and he looks alarmingly like he wants to say something.

Beelzebub, who doesn’t have time to deal with Crowley and his bloody useless words, turns away, jabbing their middle finger over their shoulder. Putting Crowley and the angels and every single other pointless distraction out of mind, Beelzebub stalks toward the Entropy shaped hole in the wall.

By Beelzebub’s estimation, the Hellfire fueled energy surge is going to last a whopping three minutes maximum. They’ll have to eviscerate the creature before that time is up.

“No problem,” Beelzebub says, spitting blood.

Blade-sharp claws slither out of the hole in the stone. The pale creature glides out of the cracked wall, spindly limbs driving them forward. It’s white forehead is ripped with jagged wounds; jet black ichor pours forth, painting smeared lines down it’s porcelain face. Tilting its head, it smiles, and the wide, terrifying void of its mouth swallows up the bottom half of its chin.

“Shoo fly,” it says, black eyes gleaming.

Beelzebub attacks.

They don’t bother thinking - not when Entropy moves faster than even their demon eyes can follow. Wings spread and claws raking, Beelzebub defers to instinct. When one of Entropy’s limbs lands too close, Beelzebub lunges and bites. Using teeth and claws, they rip the pale limb from its body.

It shrieks and Beelzebub leaps back, spitting black ichor.

Void black lips curl over stained incisors, and Beelzebub’s grin is part animal and all teeth. “You came into my Hell. Used my leader. Hurt my demons,” Beelzebub rasps, drinking in the creature's screams.

A limb shoots out, fingers raking.

Beelzebub leaps back. They’re one hundredth of a second too slow.

Fingers like razors punch through the demon’s shoulder and out the other side.

Dark blood spays the flagstone, and Beelzebub wrenches up and back, tearing the narrow appendage out of their flesh. Around the wound, Beelzebub’s skin flakes into black dust.

Clutching their shoulder, Beelzebub launches back, narrowly avoiding Entropy’s next strike.

Halfway across the courtyard, Beelzebub skids to a halt. Heaving shallow, uneven breaths, they survey the creature, assessing.

One limb down. Seven to go.

They’ll need to get in close.

“So much anger,” Entropy says, it’s layered voice horrible and saccharine. Across the courtyard, it’s pale face tilts to the side. Round, unblinking eyes study Beelzebub as the thing says, “Though I understand why you’re angry.”

Beelzebub presses a burning hand to their shoulder, grimacing as their flesh sears together. “Yes,” they growl between clenched teeth, “dickwad, I’m angry because you-”

“Oh no no no,” Entropy interrupts with a laugh like shattering glass. “Not me. At yourself.”

Beelzebub’s shoulder gives a final sizzle and they let their smoking hand fall. “Enough bullshit-”

“Tell me, Beelzebub, prince of Hell,” Entropy croons, “who really, honestly cares about you?”

“The fuck?” Beelzebub spits, and shakes their hands until they ignite.

“No no, hear me out,” the creature says, laughing. “First, your all loving God decides they don’t care to forgive you. So you go and forge a place for yourself in Hell, rising up in Satan’s army, fighting and killing your way to power. Only once you’ve got the power you spend centuries fighting again and again, always looking over your shoulder, always knowing that any one of those demons would happily destroy you for just a taste of power.” The thing grins, black streaks of ichor twisting in a horrifying mask. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

Beelzebub rocks back, pain blossoming, taking root not in their shoulder, but in that insidious, narrow space behind their ribs.

Fuck.

Snapping back onto the balls of their feet, Beelzebub pants, letting the flames climb their forearms. “I’m tired of waiting to rip you limb from fucking limb,” they snarl, and ravenous flies burst from between the black feathers on their wings.

Beelzebub follows the flies. As their pets bite at Entropy, burrowing into it’s skin, Beelzebub launches into the air with a blood curdling cry. Claws aflame, Beelzebub rakes two brutal slices down Entropy’s macilent sides.

Beelzebub snaps a sharp look up, eager to revel in this monster’s pain.

The screams don’t come.

Beelzebub stares into an eternities wide smile.

Two hands punch out. One spears through Beelzebub’s good shoulder, and the other goes through a leg.

Entropy shoves Beelzebub into stone. It cracks around them as the creature’s two limbs pin them to the ground, like an insect on display. Their skin flashes hot and cold, and Beelzebub shakes because everything is burning.

Entropy climbs over them, long limbs pinning them in. When it’s pale, laughing face looms over them, Beelzebub spits.

The creature doesn’t react, apart from a slight tilting of the head.

Beelzebub heaves another shuddering breath and jerks to and fro - which only serves to shift the hands spearing their flesh. Back arching, Beelzebub screams.

And the creature is laughing, shaking with mirth.

“Oh this is precious. You know, I’d keep you. But at this point, you’re nowhere near strong enough to survive as a vessel. I’d tear you limb from limb.”

Beelzebub spits again. “I’ll kill you,” the say, and mean it - because they’ve never lost a fight and they can’t they can’t they can’t -

Needle-like fingers slide up Beelzebub’s face in a mocking caress.

“Darling,” Entropy breathes, “You have known nothing but pain. But everything falls apart. Everything spreads until it is eventually nothing. Let me dismantle you. I’ll save you from the pain of miserable existence.”

“Fuck you.” Beelzebub lunges up, swiping at its face.

Entropy casually knocks the hand aside, and a bladed appendage stabs through Beelzebub’s palm, pinning it above their head.

Beelzebub bites into their tongue to hold back the scream.

Entropy leans in. Mouth gaping, they hover over Beelzebub as fingers like needles hold the demon’s face.

“Whatever the fuck you want from me-”

“What I want,” Entropy says, soft as a breeze, “is to understand how you’ve kept from falling apart - knowing that no one in all this wide, wide universe loves you.”

“What?”

The white face tilts. “Oh come now. I can see right through you. You know God doesn’t love you. The demon’s don’t really even trust you. And the angels certainly don’t care for your existence. So,” it stops, licking its lips. “When everything in the universe - every inch of energy - is spread to nothingness, there will be no pain, no loneliness, Beelzebub. All will be nothing,” it breathes, rapturous.

Beelzebub isn’t listening. They’re not - they’re not.

“Yes you are,” it says, laughing again, and it’s big black eyes are staring down, practically swallowing Beelzebub up. “Oh it’s going to be delicious smearing you across the universe.”

Beelzebub shudders, snarling and kicking, but it’s no use because that mouth is stretching and the needle sharp fingers are prickling, digging in and - and - and -

Cold metal flashes and the creature’s head tips and rolls, bouncing grotesquely off stone.

The cold, alien body sways, then topples, following after the head.

Beelzebub stares blearily at the cloven head, gaze sluggishly shifting to the rich brown loafers cautiously prodding the thing’s jaw.

“I don’t know about you, but I was getting really tired of that voice,” Gabriel says, leaning heavily on his sword. One of the archangel’s arms dangles, bloody and useless and a thick gash runs down the side of his face - all the way from forehead to chin.

Beelzebub blinks, and since coherent thoughts don’t seem to be making themselves available, settles for a few more moments of blankly staring.

In a detached sort of way, Beelzebub watches as Gabriel’s dumb face does something complicated. And then he’s kicking the head aside. The sword clatters to the ground as he kneels reaching-

That snaps Beelzebub out of it.

“Don’t touch me!”

Gabriel actually jumps back.

Gritting their teeth, Beelzebub hauls their free hand up. With a savage scream, they tear the spear out of their shoulder. Panting, they get the one in their hand next. And finally, their leg.

Forcibly ignoring the fact that every inch of them is a pulsating mass of pain, Beelzebub shoves up, rising into an agonizingly uncomfortable crouch. They grit their teeth.

Gabriel is looking at them and his expression is still complicated and Beelzebub hates it.

“How much did you hear?” Beelzebub says, flat. Hand pressed against their shoulder, Beelzebub draws shallow, uneven breaths and waits.

Gabriel blinks twice, and then he’s shaking his head. “Nothing,” he says, light.

Beelzebub’s lip curls because that's a load of shit if they’ve ever heard one. “You-”

A sharp voice interrupts them.

“Hey Beezy! You alright there?”

The voice is Crowley’s and Beelzebub honestly can’t decide if they hate Gabriel or Crowley more at this very moment.

Whipping around, Beelzebub hisses, “You were supposed to run. And I said no nicknames!”

Crowley is at the courtyard’s edge. He’s got an arm around Aziraphale, who finally seems to have awoken, and is holding him upright.

“Well, you see - I was going to,” Crowley calls back, “And then you started getting the living shit beaten out of you. So I slapped the archangel till he woke up.”

At that, Gabriel cuts a frankly murderous look in Crowley’s direction.

Aziraphale, who does seem to be slightly more conscious than not, grabs a fistful of Crowley’s shirt.

Beelzebub is gathering the energy to tell the lot of them to fuck right off, when the ground begins to shiver.

Stiffening, Beelzebub snaps to attention.

From the creature’s severed head, ephemeral tendrils spread. When the first tendril touches it’s body, Entropy gasps, and the body rapidly begins knitting itself together. As Beelzebub watches, a new limb sprouts, replacing the one they had torn off.

“I don’t think….it can be destroyed in….the usual ways,” Aziraphale says, hoarse.

“Shit,” Beelzebub breathes, watching Entropy slowly rise.

“Again! Cut off the sucker’s head again!” Crowley shouts.

“We need to go,” Aziraphale calls. “Now.”

Gabriel reaches for the sword. “I’ll smite the sonofabitch.”

Entropy, black eyes gleaming with renewed life, smiles.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Beelzebub, despite managing to put up a fierce fight against Entropy, was eventually defeated. Gabriel, awoken by Crowley’s repeated slaps, saved Beelzebub, though not before Entropy cruelly laid bare the demon’s fears. The survivors are weak and Entropy has revealed regenerative abilities. As Entropy repairs itself, a slew of suggestions are shouted, and Beelzebub decides….

To listen to Crowley. Grabbing the sword from Gabriel, Beelzebub attempts to cut off the damn thing’s head. At the very least, it will give them time to come up with a better solution - and probably won’t make anything worse?

To listen to Aziraphale. As much as Beelzebub hates to admit it, this thing is way out of their league. They need to run, rest, and regroup. Though escaping may not be easy...

To listen to Gabriel. Beelzebub knows not to get in the way of an archangel’s smiting. And while Beelzebub doubts a smiting will do the job, it probably can’t hurt to let Gabriel give it a try. Right??

To listen to none of them because they’re all idiots and at this point, Beelzebub is running on pure spite. It may not be the best choice, but Beelzebub is going to punch the creature in it’s jackass face. They’ll figure the rest out from there. (Note: for my anxious voters! This option will NOT kill Beelzebub (nor will the other options). The last chapter was definitely a rough one, and I honestly just wanted to give y’all the option of seeing Beelzebub just straight up deck this dude).

Please comment or reblog to vote! :)

Things are dark now, but I promise I have voting options to add some much needed humor, levity, and team bonding planned soon!

Part 17

#my writing #choose your own adventure fic #choose your own adventure #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #aziraphale #crowley #good omens beelzebub #good omens gabriel #ineffable bureaucracy #good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands fanfiction #ineffable husbands fic #multi-chapter fic

268 notes · View notes

fanfictrashdump · 3 years

Text

Universe in a Jar, 7 - Phase 4 fic

Recap: Some days ago, I reblogged this post about the magical trio. And then my brain went off on a monumental tangent and, I wrote Universe in a Jar.

Characters: Stephen Strange, Loki, Wanda Maximoff, Wong, OC

Rating: T?

Warnings: Language! Mentions of sexual encounters, sarcasm, terrible storytelling, and typos prob.

Summary: Baby-sitting beings arguably more powerful than him goes awry for Doctor Strange. He knows one person who can possibly keep them isolated and out of trouble. Well, he knew someone who could… he hasn’t seen them in decades and for stupid reasons.

Previous Chapter

WARNINGS: Language, terrible circumstances, and a–

Physically cleaning up the farmhouse after the fight had taken no more than a half-hearted wave of Loki's hands. Mentally cleaning up whatever had annoyed Wanda into snapping and subsequently opening the door without checking who was outside was another matter, altogether. Persephone quietly warned a steely-eyed Stephen to take a break before having a chat with the witch. Wanda could honestly destroy him in a heartbeat and if he burst into her room, guns blazing, like he was poised to do, there would be another tragedy happening.

Stephen had left Seph with Loki, in the living room. The millenia plus-old god had snuck in under her and was idly scratching at her scalp while minimally disturbing her glorious abundance of curls. He couldn't help but smirk at the extremely careful circles Loki was making on her head, evidence that he had once tried to card his fingers through her tresses and she, most likely, nearly eviscerated him. A song-song Be Nice from Loki was the last he had heard before a tense, overdrawn, and long-time coming conversation with Wanda. Now, several hours later, the only thing that remained of the pair was the book that Loki had been paging through while he doted on Persephone.

He moved himself outside through the kitchen door, walking around the side of the house towards the tell-tale creak of the banquet seat swing on the wraparound porch.

"Over here."

Seph's voice called out just as the door slammed shut in his wake, his foot just shy of stomping onto the first step to climb the porch. He smiled to himself, dandelion fluff blowing across his face on the light afternoon breeze while his brain pulled him back to days where they would sit on this very porch, talking for hours until one of them was ultimately called home. Most of all, he felt the old disappointment of reluctantly dragging himself away and the tingly expectation of what may happen tomorrow.

He found her rocking gently to-and-fro on the swing, alone.

"Where's Loki?"

Seph tilted her head curiously. "Greenhouse. Need to do damage control?"

"No. I just had questions for him," he retorted, sinking into the seat she patted in invitation. "Are you alright? Light-headed? Sluggish?"

"Nah. I think Loki did something to help the exhaustion along." They swung in silence for a long while before Seph found her voice again. "Who were those people, Stephen?"

"Time Variance Authority," he said, simply, before adding. "Time police."

The little notch of worry between her brows deepened. "I thought you were the time police."

"I protect reality–"

"But you manipulate time for it. You literally wear an all-powerful stone called the Time Stone."

Stephen started his response several times over before groaning. "OK, you're not wrong."

"How'd Loki get stuck with them? They don't seem his style."

"That's a long story that maybe you should get straight from the source, Peep. It wasn't an easy trip for him and… well, we're seeing the aftershocks."

Unsatisfied with that answer, she pushed further, ever the inquisitive mind. "Is he OK? Why were they fighting him if they had worked with him?"

He sighed, leaning his head back against the backrest, eyes closing as the soft movement lulled him into a sense of calm. "These weren't the exact people he worked with. Multiple Universes are now stacked onto each other in parallel, even if they weren't supposed to exist. They sometimes bleed into each other."

"Multiverse convergence."

Stephen straightened, turning his head to look at Seph curiously, just now noticing the daisies pinned behind her ear. "Yeah." He raised an eyebrow. "You've actually been reading what Wong gave you."

"Some of us actually did the homework. Not just popped into ghost mode to do it," she teased, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow. She was rewarded with a generous roll of his eyes.

"I've told you, it's called–"

She interrupted him again, holding her hand up to quiet him. "Don't care, bud. Ghost mode."

He resorted to laughing quietly and leaning into her side, letting out a soft sigh when her fingers sunk into the hair at the back of his head and twisted the strands between her fingers. "I could teach you."

Persephone giggled, turning her head to press a kiss to his forehead. "That would require me listening to you, and I don't think that is a realistic expectation," she teased, voice soft. "But I'll give it a little thought."

"Thank you." He stopped to peck her cheek on his way to straightening up. "Check on Wanda for me?"

Seph nodded. "Going to see Loki?"

Stephen gave her a nod of his own before hopping off the swing with a groan. He held it steady long enough for Seph to climb down after him. After a squeeze of her hand in his, he retraced his steps back off the porch and dove into the endless rows of corn as a shortcut to the greenhouse. Any person who did not grow up in this kind of life would immediately get claustrophobic swimming in the emerald stalks, waiting for a glimpse of light to signal an exit. As a kid, he had gotten lost in the cornfields as often as he breathed, but as he grew, he developed a sixth sense, and it became harder to lose his way. Not unless he was intending on it.

Adjusting to the sudden sunlight after the trek through the dappled green glow made him pause, but it was the punch to the gut that really threw him for a loop. Instinct kicked in, immediately. He drew the sling ring out of his pocket, jumping into position to defend himself. His eyes, still swimming in the bright light, barely caught a glimpse of the world before it went black.

When he came to, the smell of damp and the ringing in his ears made him want to double over and throw up. Of course, it was hard to do that while also tied to a chair, but he hadn't paid any mind to that part. He never did like going down to his parents' basement.

Wait.

His parents' basement.

"Stephen! Stephen!"

Through the fog in his head, the Sorcerer could barely make out Loki's voice hissing at him through the darkness. With a strangled groan and a painfully drawn breath, he shifted his head to look beside him. Loki was similarly tied down, a collar with a red light wrapped around his neck that looked just shy of choking him. The god of mischief gave a sigh of relief to see the other's eyes opened and seemingly focused on him.

"Thank the Norns. Stephen, are you alright?"

"I think so. Someone attacked me in the corn field–"

Loki was quick to cut in. "Yes, it was a TVA agent. I guess they fell back during the attack, but Strange, listen to me. I managed to slip your ring into your back pocket while she was struggling with you. You need to get it on and get us out of here. She collared me, but you can still do magic." His face turned serious, and something in his eyes that seemed to Stephen very close to regret–or pity–overtook him. There was a sadness permeating Loki now, and his voice was quiet and soft when he spoke next. "Stephen, the agent that attacked you–you cannot let your emotions get the best of you, alright?" His eyes darted back towards the stairs, though Stephen's head was protesting any movement and did not follow. "Regardless of what you think, she–"

Stephen gasped as the room tilted. One second he was staring at Loki, the next his eyes were fixed on a shiny black boot that had canted his chair back onto two legs. He followed the regulation TVA uniform up, up, up towards whoever had assaulted him, only for his breath to catch in his throat and his jaw slacken.

"Donna…?"

The face of his precious younger sister, his shadow growing up, the person he had most adored and who had been dead for most of his life, stared down her nose at him. In one hand, a bully stick remained poised to strike. Even though it was inactivated it could still pack a wallop, if the pain in his ribs was any indication. Her mouth was twisted into a scowl and her other hand held a fistful of his shirt, which she used to shake him when he became lost in thought. Though her shoulder was marked as Hunter D-17, there was no doubt in Stephen's mind, from the freckle on her left temple to the multicolored eyes that matched his own, that this was his sister.

"You." Her voice snarled much the same as when she caught him reading her diary. "You're going to tell me who the fuck you are and why my face is all over this house. Understood?"

#mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #marvel phase 4 #marvel phase four #doctor strange #stephen strange #wanda maximoff #wong mcu #loki mcu #original character #multiverse #multiverse convergence #TVA #donna strange #universe in a jar

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raeynbowboi · 5 years

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How to Play as Joker in DnD 5e

I recently bought Persona 5 and just finished the first mind palace and my god is this game a metric fuck ton of awesome, colorful, and stylish. So, while i haven’t finished the game, I’m excited to figure out his DnD build. Normally, because Joker has a canon Persona, I would use Arsene to determine Joker’s magical abilities. But Arsene stops learning new abilities at a pitiful level 7. So, for everything else, we’ll have to look at his confidant abilities and try to make whatever connections that we can.

The Rebellious Spirit Within

Whether you address your dirty crime boy as Ren Amamiya or Akira Kusuru, it’s evident that he’s a human. However, not even other humans can do what Joker can do. So, he could absolutely be considered a Variant Human. As a Variant Human, we’ll pick up Dexterity and Charisma, along with Persuasion proficiency so you can convince your enemies to join your rag-tag group of plucky teen felons. So, what might you consider for his bonus feat as a Variant Human? Top picks would include: Dungeon Delver so you can run through mind palaces, avoid traps, and be a perceptive thief. Skulker so that you can hide in partial darkness and make ranged attacks without giving away your location. Lucky to give yourself some good old fashioned anime protagonist plot armor. Mobile so that you can outrun security and the consequences of your actions. Magic Initiate so that you can be even more of a thief by stealing from other spell lists. Inspiring Leader so that you can yell at your friends to git gud. Prodigy so you can become even more of a specialized skill monkey. And Skilled so that you can horde all the talent for yourself.

You fragrantly break the law and play the role as a Phantom Thief to take down corrupt authority figures. You are the definition of Chaotic Good.

Joker’s role as a thief of corrupt hearts lends itself to a few Background options. Urban Bounty Hunter fulfills the idea of Joker having a target that he hunts down. Criminal is an option if you want to lean into the Thief angle, plus the framing device of the story has Joker telling the story during a police interrogation, so clearly Criminal isn’t that far off the mark. Charlatan is a loose fit as it’s more of a con artist, but the Secret Identity feature works well as Joker is a second identity. The secret identity also appears for the Dimir Operative from the Guilds of Ravnica book, though while it is on DnDBeyond, that doesn’t guarantee that every DM will allow it, especially since this Background has built-in spells. The Urchin Background loosely fits as Joker’s family has given up on him and sent him off to be raised by someone who is an utter stranger, and finding your way around Shibuya and the mind palaces is kind of important. The Faceless background lets you throw your old life away and begin anew as someone else, and the Faction Agent makes you part of a secret society, such as the Phantom Thieves.

Arsene the Fool Arcana

Arsene, like all primary personas, first appears in a flash of blue flames. His only two damaging spells include Eiha which is a little bolt of dark flames that deals Curse damage, and Dream Needle, which deals psychic damage and has a chance of putting enemies to sleep. Arsene is seen with chains but doesn’t use them, and in Smash, having Arsene changes Joker’s up special from a grabbling hook to being launched by Arsene’s wings, which could allow Joker to learn Fly. Beyond that, everything else depends on Confidant abilities and the general magical damage types found in the game.

Personas can deal Fire, Ice, Lightning, Wind, Psychic, Nuclear, Bless, & Curse damage. Nuclear, Bless, and Curse are a little less clear, but I’d translate those to being Poison, Radiant, and Necrotic spells.

Collecting Your Jar of Hearts

BARD Whispers: While Joker is not inherently a creative person, the bard’s ability to steal from other spell lists could be re-skinned as part of Joker’s interchangeable Personas. Whisper Bards also deal damage with psychic blades, which is fitting because all of Joker’s thievery is more metaphorical, and all the fighting happens in the minds and hearts of corrupted people. So, his blades dealing Psychic damage is rather fitting since he’s literally fighting the demons in people’s minds and hearts. Also, the Bard’s Jack of All Trades would do well to make you a Wunderkind that’s kind of great at everything. FIGHTER Battle Master: While the Aid Spell is one of many that can do well for teamwork, there are some Maneuvers that actually focus on rallying allies to attack a single target or get into a formation, which is fitting for Joker as it’s often him who instigates the team’s ability to pull off an all-out attack. RANGER Gloom Stalker: Change a crossbow into Joker’s toy guns that shoot placebo bullets, and take advantage of this subclass' ambush ability and you’re going to do really well copying Joker’s ability to ambush shadows in the game. Ranger also comes with a new feature option called Canny that lets you get another extra proficiency you don’t already have and turn it into an expertise. ROGUE Assassin: Along with Gloom Stalker, these two subclasses combined will make ambushes way more effective when dealing with enemy shadows. Inquisitive: You’re better at figuring out enemy weaknesses and then exploiting them. Provides a nice boost to Sneak Attack damage at higher levels. Mastermind: This lets you Help an ally as a bonus action, and tells you when an enemy is too strong for you to fight. Soul Knife: Technically, you’re more of a thief in a metaphorical sense. You’re attacking people’s minds and hearts, so this subclass who is more focused on attacking people’s minds goes right along with that. Thief: They’re called the Phantom THIEVES. It had to at least be considered. WARLOCK Archfey: Since Demons are a specific kind of Persona, Archfey feels the most all-encompassing for this otherworldly pact. Whether you work it as the pact made with Igor or with Arsene himself, it’s obvious that Warlock had to be part of it, as the Phantom Thieves literally say that they make a pact with their Persona. It’s practically spelled out that Phantom Thieves are warlocks.

Stats and Proficiencies

You wouldn’t be a very good thief without a maxed out Dexterity. You’ll also need Charisma so you can manifest your feelings for magic and a decent Wisdom score so you can multi-class as a Ranger to optimize the use of your gun. Constitution will keep you from dying, Strength should be at least neutral, but if it gets left behind, pick up a proficiency with Athletics and it’ll be fine since you swing with Dexterity anyway. Even though Intelligence is a stat in Persona 5, it won’t really help you much here. So, it’s the dump stat for this build. You’re just a debonair ignorant pretty boy.

Acrobatics Athletics Insight Investigation Perception Persuasion Stealth Sleight of Hand

Name: Joker (Ren Amamiya or Akira Kusuru) Race: Variant Human Background: Urban Bounty Hunter Alignment: Chaotic Good Class: Assassin Rogue (8) Archfey Warlock (4) Gloomstalker Ranger (4) Battle Master Fighter (4) Base Stats: Strength: 8 (-1) Dexterity: 20 (+5) Constitution: 14 (+2) Intelligence: 8 (-1) Wisdom: 14 (+2) Charisma: 18 (+4) Saving Throws: Strength: -1 Dexterity: +11 Constitution: +2 Intelligence:+5 Wisdom: +2 Charisma: +4 Combat Stats: HP: 151 AC: 16 Speed: 30 Initiative: +7 Proficiency Bonus: +6 Passive Perception: 24 Dark Vision: 60 feet Proficiencies and Expertise: Acrobatics (Rogue) Athletics (Ranger: Canny Feature) Deception (Rogue) Insight (Urban Bounty Hunter) Investigation (Ranger) Perception (Rogue) Persuasion (Variant Human) Sleight of Hand (Rogue) Stealth (Urban Bounty Hunter) Skills: Acrobatics: +17 Medicine: +2 Animal Handling: +2 Nature: -1 Arcana: -1 Perception: +14 Athletics: +11 Performance: +4 Deception: +4 Persuasion: +10 History: -1 Religion: -1 Insight: +8 Sleight of Hand: +11 Intimidation: +4 Stealth: +17 Investigation:+11 Survival: +2

Spell Slots

1st (3) 2nd (2)

Joker’s Spellbook

Cantrips 1st Level 2ndLevel Eldritch Blast Cure Wounds Phantasmal Force Friends Detect Magic Shadow Blade Mind Sliver Disguise Self Expeditious Retreat Hex Hunter’s Mark Sleep

Actions:

Action Surge: Take an extra action once per rest. Primeval Awareness: Spend X spell slot, find creature types within 1 mile for X minutes.

Bonus Actions:

Cunning Action: Aim, Dash, Disengage, or Hide once per turn. Second Wind: Regain 1d10 + 4 HP once per rest.

Reactions:

Uncanny Dodge: Reduce damage from enemies you can see that hit you.

Features:

Assassinate: You have advantage on slower foes, all hits are critical. Battle Maneuvers: Commander’s Strike: Pass your turn to a friendly creature, add superiority die. Maneuvering Attack: If you hit, an ally can move without provoking an attack. Rally: Heal an ally by a superiority die + 4. Dread Ambusher: Make an extra attack on the first round, +1d8 damage on hit. Dungeon Delver: Add 2x your CON mod to healing, advantage on perception and investigation to find hidden doorways, advantage on saving throws against traps, resist trap damage, and search for traps at a walking pace. Ear To the Ground: You have a covert network of intelligence. Eldritch Invocations: Agonizing Blast: +4 to Eldritch Blast damage. Improved Pact Weapon: Your pact weapon deals +1 melee damage. Evasion: Take 0 damage on a successful DEX saving throw. Favored Enemy: Deal +2 damage to Fey, advantage on tracking Fey creatures. Fey Presence: Creatures within 10 ft are charmed or frightened for 1 turn. Fighting Style: Archery: +2 on attack rolls with ranged weapons. Dueling: +2 on damage rolls with one handed melee weapons. Natural Explorer: Preferred Terrain: Underdark: Advantages in Underdark environments. Pact Boon: Pact of the Blade: Summon a Pact Weapon. Sneak Attack: Deal 4d6 extra damage when advantaged. Thieves’ Cant: Conceal and decipher hidden meaning in casual conversation Umbral Sight: 60 feet Darkvision and hidden from creatures with Dark Vision.

This build was a ton of fun to make. How do you feel I did building Joker? Would you build him differently? Who’s your favorite Persona? And are you as upset as I am that you can’t date Ryuji? As always, I take requests, so send me your requests and I might just build yours next.

#dungeons and dragons #joker #persona 5 #ren amamiya #akira kusuru #arsene #persona #shibuya #phantom thief #phantom thieves #mind palace #dnd #dnd 5e #5e #5th edition #fifth edition #dnd 5th edition #dnd fifth edition #let me date ryuji

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ecopious209 · 3 years

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talkfastromance4 · 5 years

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For Your Eyes Only– bodyguard!ashton [Chapter Eleven]

Summary: Ashton Irwin is the head of security for Princess Alouette who is a kind, gentle young woman. Secretly pining for one another, those feelings will soon come to light as an occurrence will change Alouette’s life forever, and Ashton’s.

Word count: 2,456

Warnings: swearing

Author’s note: There’s only ONE MORE chapter after this one and this fic will be complete! Thank you so much to those who have read and messaged me about this story. This is the first multi-chaptered fic I’ve started (and almost completed) Ashton and Alouette are near and dear to my heart. Thank you for joining me on their journey! There is a link to click on near the bottom.

donate to my ko-fi here :)

Masterlist

Chap. 1 || Chap. 2 || Chap. 3 || Chap. 4 || Chap. 5 || Chap. 6 || Chap. 7 || Chap. 8 || Chap. 9 || Chap. 10

Alouette’s never been in or near the interrogation room that’s in the guard’s building. She wraps her arms around herself as Michael leads her inside, the walls are cement and the room beyond the two-way mirror is small and boxy.

Bright fluorescent lights hum on beyond the glass as Michael presses a button next to her. There’s a large metal tale in the center with two chairs on opposite sides of the table. A large door is on the far wall.

“What’s his name?” Alouette asks softly, turning to Michael.

“Icarus Bram,” he sighs, turning on speakers and the intercom.

The door she and Michael just walked through opens to reveal Luke.

“Hey Mike. Princess,” Luke smiles. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Alouette watches the big metal door swing open, an officer holds onto Icarus Bram and leads him to the table. He doesn’t look familiar to Alouette from her days with all those men. His hair is parted down the middle, dirty blond and unruly and he has a permanent smirk.

“I have to know why,” she responds, turning her gaze to Luke and Michael.

“I’ll be in there with you the whole--”

“No. I need to do this on my own,” Alouette interrupts Michael. “He isn’t a threat.”

Michael sighs and exchanges a final look to Luke who shrugs lightly. “If he even appears to be violent, we’re coming in straight away.”

“Be careful,” Luke says, stepping aside so she can open the door.

Alouette takes a deep breath before pushing down the handle, swinging it open. Icarus smiles mirthlessly as she walks to her side of the table. The metal legs of the chair scrape on the cemented floor as she pulls it out and sits down.

“Hello Princess,” he croaks leaning forward on the table, his hands clasped while his wrists are bound with handcuffs. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She eyes him, his voice now chiming a familiar bell. He was the mastermind behind the whole thing. She remembers hearing him through the speaker on the phones that the men used.

“I think you know,” Alouette states calmly. “I’m here for answers. Answers that you won’t give to my guards.”

“And what makes you think I’ll give them to you?”

It’s Alouette’s turn to lean forward.

“Because I’m the one you took, don’t you think I should know why?” Alouette’s voice is steely but inside she’s trembling.

Icarus lets out a deep chuckle and rubs his hands together.

“You aren’t as dim as people say you are, Princess. You really want to know why we did it?”

Alouette keeps her gaze steady but she can feel her heart pounding inside her chest. It makes the swans on her neck bounce lightly on her skin waiting in anticipation for his answer.

“We wanted to see if we could take you,” he begins moving back against his chair and holds his hands up in the air as if presenting her with a prize, “and we did.”

Alouette fumes with anger, so much so that she feels her hands shake. The only reason he plotted this was because of his own personal challenge?

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Shame your bodyguard boyfriend came ‘round, though. We were just about to get to the fun stuff--”

The door bangs open behind Alouette and before she can react, Ashton barrels across the table, grabs hold of Icarus’ head and slams it against the top. The sound of skin and bone striking against the hard metal table causes her to scream. She watches in surprise as Ashton grabs for him again but she grasps at his shirt.

“Ashton! Stop, stop!” Alouette screams and because she tells him to, he does.

He’s breathing heavily, eyes ablaze as he allows Alouette to pull him back to the door where Michael and Luke are watching, eyes wide. Icarus Bram’s officer comes in tugging him to his feet as Ashton leads Alouette to the door.

She turns around and sees his nose and mouth is covered in blood. Ashton must have broken his nose.

“You’re sentenced to isolation in prison for the rest of your life,” she tells him.

“I didn’t do those things to you, Princess,” he spits the blood from his split lip.

“No, but your cohorts that you ordered did under your advisement,” Alouette fires back. Her voice is calm but her eyes are aflame with the rage inside her. “They’re dead, so you will take their time.”

“I didn’t touch you!” he shouts trying to fight off the officer just as another one enters the room to aid in restraining Icarus.

“You wanted to see what you could do, this is what I can do,” her voice is laced with venom and Ashton pushes her lightly through the door.

“What the bloody hell was that? How could you let her be in the same room as that bastard?!” Ashton shouts pointing his finger at Michael and Luke.

“I thought you knew!” Michael defends.

“If I knew, wouldn’t you think I’d be here?” Ashton roars.

“We thought she told you not to,” Luke responds quietly then glances to Alouette who is visibly shaken. “Princess--”

“Alou--”

“Angel,” Ashton says and holds his arms out so she can fall into them. She’s shaking and gasping for breath, her nails digging into the flesh of Ashton’s arms.

“I think she’s having a panic attack,” Michael says.

“Alouette, look at me,” Ashton lets her slide to the floor, still bracing her in his arms. Her eyes are tightly closed and he cradles her face, thumbs rubbing the tears from her eyes. “Alouette, please, look at me.”

Her eyes flicker open, big and blue and full of fear before she focuses on Ashton, but she’s still choking for air.

“You’ve got to breathe for me, deep inhale, c’mon . . .” he watches her shudder an intake of breath. “Good, now out.”

He breathes out with her and does the exercise a few more times until she’s breathing normally and her hold on his forearms loosen.

“I’m sorry, Ash, I--”

“Shh, shh. He didn’t touch you, did he?” he asks brushing her hair from her eyes and she shakes her head. He helps her rise to her feet, steadies her and holds her close.

“We really thought you knew, Ash. I wouldn’t have--”

“I know,” Ashton nods to Michael then to Luke. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now I want to get her out of here.”

•••••

“I’m sorry,” Alouette says for what seems like the twelfth time as they’re sitting on their swing by the lake.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” Ashton smiles at her but it doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s fixing up her cup of tea; green, strong and three sugars.

“But you’re mad at me.”

She watches him stir the tea, clink it on the side and place it on the table before bringing the saucer to her. He sits down heavily and places his arm behind her shoulders, his hand cups her shoulder and he leans forward to kiss her temple.

“I’m not mad at you, I promise,” he hums on her skin and gives her one more kiss. He looks into her eyes then pulls on her bottom lip with his thumb before he kisses her softly. “I was more scared than anything.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t want him to bring you back to that awful place you were in. I didn’t want him to touch you or hurt you in any way. If there’s anyone I’m mad at it’s Michael for allowing you to speak with him,” he chuckles.

“I swore him to secrecy and I asked the favor as a friend, please don’t be mad at him. He was only trying to help me.”

They sit in silence, quietly gliding to and fro watching the sun glitter on the small waves created by the wind. Alouette sips her tea delicately and enjoys the soft touches of Ashton’s fingers on her shoulder and neck.

“Luke said you wanted to see me,” Princess,” Calum announces suddenly behind them.

They both turn to him, Ashton in confusion and Alouette smiling.

“Yes, thank you. Can you tell Victor I’d like to make an address to the kingdom? I’d like it to be for three o’clock, it won’t be long,” she tells him.

Calum’s dark eyes flicker between her and Ashton, usually Ashton is the one to contact Victor and set up the contingencies.

“Uh, yes. Yes, I can do that,” Calum clears his throat and nods, giving Ashton an apprehensive look.

“And make sure to conference call my grandmére? I’ve discussed this with her on the phone and she should be here, even if it is through a monitor.”

“I’ll get to work on it right away, Princess,” Calum nods then does a small head bow. He gives Ashton one last look before retreating back to the palace, his phone already pressed to his ear.

“I can do all that for you, Alouette. Why are you having Cal?” Ashton asks, placing his hand on her crossed knee.

“I know you can, but I want you standing next to me when I give my address,” she says grasping his hand in hers, “as my partner.”

•••••

Alouette changed into a pretty lilac dress suit for the address. On the platform on the main steps of her palace she was joined by Ashton on her right side with Michael, Calum and Luke perched beyond them. Sydney is there as well amongst Alouette’s other advisors and her grandmére is on a larger screen behind.

Queen Helene is also wearing a lilac dress with her crown atop her head. Victor nods at Alouette and she steps up to the podium where multiple microphones are placed. The reporters and other film crew standing below on the gravel stand to attention.

“Hello my fellow Chadrians,” Alouette begins eloquently. “I know this is very last minute and I’ve addressed what happened to me months ago, but I wanted to thoroughly explain my absence. It’s taken a long time for my body to heal from what happened during my kidnapping, and it’s taken even longer for my mind to heal.

“Earlier this morning, I spoke with the man who orchestrated my kidnapping. I needed answers and while I wasn’t put at ease for his reasoning, I have sentenced him to isolation in prison for the remaining days of his life. His name is Icarus Bram and to some of you, it may seem like an easy punishment. Some of you may want his head. Some of you may say I have no spine.

“I’m not unfamiliar with what has been said about me, that I am gentle and kind but also may appear to be flippant and dim sighted to what’s going on around me. I hope this will show you I am anything but those negative things. I promise you, that when I am announced as your Queen, I will rule with love but with an iron fist. I love my people and my country and if it wasn’t for this man standing next to me, I wouldn’t have the strength I have now.”

She turns to Ashton and holds out her hand, she hears the multiple clicks and flashes of cameras as he takes her hand. His hazel eyes glance to the reporters before he joins her near the podium.

“Ashton Irwin is my head bodyguard, and he has been for the last four years. He’s the one who didn’t give up and rescued me. He’s the one I trust with my whole life and,” Alouette faces Ashton, “he’s the one I love.”

There’s gasps and shouts of questions but Ashton just smiles at Alouette. He squeezes her hand and she squeezes back, both of them assuring the other about the implications from her publicly confirming their relationship.

“Quiet, quiet please! The Queen has something she’d like to say,” Sydney says into the microphone and smiles happily at her lady.

“I have spoken with my granddaughter and Mr. Irwin frequently about their relationship. And while they have already been granted my blessing, I have also decided to change the decree that if you are of royal blood, you may marry whomever you decide. I’m very proud of my Alouette, as you all should be, and I am elated to be with you all next month for her coronation,” Queen Helene finishes with a smile and the screen goes dark.

Questions erupt in uproars once more but Alouette explicitly said she would not be answering any of them. She’s still smiling proudly at Ashton as they retreat back into the palace, leaving the buzz behind them as they go back to their swing.

•••••

A few days later after Alouette’s address, she and Ashton were standing at the edge of the small dock of the lake watching the two swans keep their one cygnet between them. Alouette loved watching them swim about and even brought some bread to feed them.

Her announcement of their relationship is still front page news but Alouette couldn’t be happier.

“Alouette,” Ashton says while she breaks off the last piece of bread and tosses it into the water.

“Yes?” She watches the small bird nibble it up and when Ashton doesn’t respond, she turns around then gasps.

Ashton is on his left knee with a small rose gold box in his hand. He swallows harshly, Adam's apple bobbing as he reaches with a shaky hand for her own. Alouette takes it softly, eyes on him.

“Becoming your head bodyguard was the best decision of my life. I fell in love with you four years ago and continue to fall even more in love with you every day. I will go to the ends of the earth for you and I will always be your confidante and your safe space. Will you grant me the greatest gift of becoming my wife?”

He pops open the ring box and Alouette gasps again through her tears as she sees the beautiful rose gold ring sparkle in the sun.

“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes,” she whispers, pulling him to his feet so she can kiss him. It’s a tear stained kiss mixed in with smiles and giggles. He slides the ring on her finger and it fits perfectly.

They’re kissing and hugging each other on the dock. Ashton is so happy he spins her around before letting her stand once more, his arms are still around her.

“I love you, my lady.”

“I love you too,” she smiles stroking his cheek with her left hand. The ring glints and shines. “Can I ask you something now?”

“Anything.”

“Will you be my knight?”

• • • •

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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New British TV Series from 2020: BBC, ITV, Channel 4, Sky Dramas and More

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On top of the British series that returned in 2020 (His Dark Materials, Ghosts and Inside No. 9 to name just three), below are the many new UK TV series we welcomed in 2020.

You’ll find true crime series, contemporary thrillers and the usual hefty number of literary adaptations and period dramas. Here’s the same for all the new British comedy we enjoyed in 2020.

Obviously, with Covid-19 delays having taken at least a three-month chunk out of production on all continuing and new dramas since mid-March 2020, there were serious delays to many planned shows, but a good number of new arrivals still managed to make their way onto screens.

All Creatures Great and Small (September)

Filmed in the Yorkshire Dales in autumn 2019 is a new adaptation of the memoirs of rural vet James Herriot (real name: James Alf Wight). Airing on Channel 5 in the UK and on Masterpiece on PBS in the US, this series stars Samuel West, Anna Madeley and Dame Diana Rigg, with newcomer Nicholas Ralph playing young vet James. A six-part series plus a Christmas special has been filmed, timed to mark the 50th anniversary of the first book’s publication. Expect warm-hearted stories of animal frolics and local characters.

A Suitable Boy (July)

Literary adapter extraordinaire Andrew Davies (Les Miserables, War & Peace, Pride And Prejudice) is back on the BBC with the first screen adaptation of Vikram Seth’s 1993 novel A Suitable Boy. Making her television debut is acclaimed feature director Mira Nair (Monsoon Wedding, Queen Of Katwe). A Suitable Boy is a coming-of-age story about university student Lata (played by Tanya Maniktala), told against the backdrop of newly independent India in 1951. The official BBC press release describes it as “a vast, panoramic tale charting the fortunes of four large families and exploring India and its rich and varied culture at a crucial point in its history.” Here’s our spoiler-free review.

Adult Material (October)

This Channel 4 drama takes on the UK porn industry and the complex relationship between sex, money and power. Written by Skins and The Smoke’s Lucy Kirkwood, the four-part miniseries stars I, Daniel Blake‘s Hayley Squires (in a role previously given to Sheridan Smith, who left the project due to conflicting commitments) as Jolene, an experienced porn actor and mother of three whose on-set friendship with a young woman leads to a complex examination of her own work and home life. With warnings of adult and sexual scenes, here’s the official trailer.

Baghdad Central (February)

Based on the thriller of the same name by Elliott Colla, Baghdad Central is a six-part Channel 4 commission written by House of Saddam and The Last Kingdom‘s Stephen Butchard. Set in Iraq shortly after the 2003 fall of Saddam Hussein, it’s described as “part noir detective drama, part Le Carre and part Green Zone“. With a cast led by Waleed Zuaiter (Omar, Altered Carbon), it’s the story of a quest for justice in an almost lawless society. Bertie Carvel co-stars, with Doctor Who and Tin Star‘s Alice Troughton as the lead director. All six episodes are currently available to stream on All4.

Belgravia (March)

Written by Downton Abbey creator Julian Fellowes and based on his 2016 novel of the same name, Belgravia is a six-part period drama set in 19th century London. Expect toffs and treachery in a story about society secrets on the eve of the Battle of Waterloo. Among the fine looking cast are Tamsin Greig, Harriet Walter, Tara Fitzgerald, Philip Glenister and Alice Eve. It aired in March on Sunday nights on ITV1.

Black Narcissus (December)

This BBC commission was announced back in 2017 and we finally have some info on it. Adapted by Apple Tree Yard screenwriter Amanda Coe from Rumer Godden’s 1939 novel (which was previously adapted for cinema in 1947), three-part series Black Narcissus stars Gemma Arterton as Sister Clodagh in a Gothic tale of “sexual repression and forbidden love”. Set in the 1930s, it’s the story of a group of nuns who travel to Nepal to set up a branch of their order, and Sister Clodagh’s struggle with her attraction to a land agent, against the backdrop of the tragic history of a Nepalese princess. Diana Rigg, Jim Broadbent, Gina McKee and more join Arterton. Filming began in Nepal and the UK in October 2019, and back in January the BBC included it in the year’s ‘New for 2020‘ trailer.

Cobra (January)

New political thriller Cobra arrived on Sky One and NOW TV in January. From The Tunnel and Strike writer Ben Richards, it stars Robert Carlyle, Victoria Hamilton and David Haig as, respectively, the PM, his chief of staff and the home secretary. It’s a six-parter promising “high stakes politics and high-octane action” about a team of experts and crisis responders attempting to bring society back from the brink of collapse. A second series was ordered by Sky in February 2020.

Deadwater Fell (January)

From Humans screenwriter Daisy Coulam, this new four-part Channel 4 drama aired in January this year. Set in a remote Scottish community, it explores the aftermath of a heinous crime – a family is murdered by someone they know and trust, sending ripples through the supposedly idyllic town. David Tennant leads a cast including The Good Fight‘s Cush Jumbo and The Bay‘s Matthew McNulty. It’s an excellent, if difficult watch (read our spoiler-filled reviews here), and is currently available to stream on All4.

Des (August)

ITV has included this three-part true crime drama in its autumn 2020 schedule, so it looks like there are no delays here. Des stars David Tennant and is inspired by the real story of serial killer Dennis Nilsen, who murdered several boys and men between the years of 1978 and 1983. It’s adapted from Brian Masters’ book Killing For Company, and will be told from the perspective of three men – Nilsen, DCI Peter Jay (played by Daniel Mays), and biographer Brian Masters (played by Jason Watkins) – and explore how Nilsen was able to prey on the young and the vulnerable. See the first trailer here.

Dracula (January)

The Sherlock showrunners Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss reunited to bring another 19th century fictional icon to life in Dracula, which aired on BBC One over New Year and Netflix. Danish actor Claes Bang played the title role alongside Dolly Wells and John Heffernan in the miniseries which comprises three ninety-minute episodes. Moffat and Gatiss promised to “reintroduce the world to Dracula, the vampire who made evil sexy.” Job done. Read our spoiler-filled reviews here.

Flesh and Blood (February)

Filming on new ITV four-part drama Flesh And Blood got underway in June 2019, with an enviable cast led by Imelda Staunton, Stephen Rea and Russell Tovey. It’s a contemporary story of three adult siblings shocked when their recently widowed mother falls for a new man, bringing into question everything they thought they knew about their parents’ 45-year marriage. Staunton plays the family’s neighbour, who harbours an unhealthy obsession with the unfolding drama… Think dark wit and the unearthing of long-buried secrets. It’s available to stream on ITV Hub here and here’s our spoiler-filled episode one review.

Gangs of London (April)

Filmmaker Gareth Evans came to everybody’s attention with 2011 Indonesian-set action flick The Raid. In April, he made his TV debut with this Sky Atlantic/HBO co-production. Gangs of London takes place in a version of modern London torn apart by international criminal organisations. You can expect assassinations, intrigue, expertly choreographed fight scenes and full-muscled action from this excellent new drama. All nine episodes are available to stream on Sky and NOW TV. Read our reviews and interviews here.

Honour (September)

Keeley Hawes’ production company is behind new two-part ITV drama Honour, which filmed in autumn 2019 and is due to air this autumn. Based on the real-life so-called “honour” killing of 20-year-old Londoner Banaz Mahmod, “murdered for falling in love with the wrong man”. It comes written by Vanity Fair‘s Gwyneth Hughes and stars Hawes as DCI Caroline Goode, who investigated Mahmod’s disappearance.

I Hate Suzie (August)

Billie Piper has co-created this original Sky Atlantic comedy-drama with playwright Lucy Prebble, who adapted the Piper-starring series Secret Diary Of A Call Girl in 2007. It’s a story about a celebrity (Piper) whose career is threatened when she’s hacked and a personal photo leaked to the public. The Crown and Lovesick’s Daniel Ings co-stars. Piper is terrific in it and it has plenty to say on fame and the nature of modern celebrity. With adult content, see the first trailer here. It starts on Sky on Sunday the 27th of August, with all episodes available on NOW TV.

I May Destroy You (June)

The latest from acclaimed writer-actor Michaela Coel, creator of Chewing Gum, is a 12-part half-hour series exploring sexual consent, trauma, recovery, friendship and much more. Formerly under the working title of January 22nd, I May Destroy You is a BBC One/HBO co-production set and filmed in London, and stars Coel in the lead role of Arabella, a celebrated young novelist who suffers a sexual assault that causes her to reassess her life. Joining Coel in the cast are Weruche Opia, Paapa Essiedu, Aml Ameen and a host of new and stage talent. It aired in June on BBC One and stunned just about everybody with its frank, poised brilliance. Watch it here on BBC iPlayer.

Industry (November)

Another Bad Wolf production, this one is on its way to BBC Two and HBO in the US. Eight-part drama Industry comes from new writers Konrad Kay and Mickey Down, and is directed by Girls’ Lena Dunham. Taking on work, money, power, greed and loyalty. It’s about a group of graduates competing for places at a top firm in the cut-throat world of international finance. How far will some people go for profit?

Isolation Stories (May)

UK channels responded quickly to the unusual demands of making television during lockdown, with BBC stalwarts Have I Got News for You and The Graham Norton Show continuing but using remote video link-ups. In May, ITV aired the first lockdown drama with anthology series Isolation Stories. The episodes are 15 minutes long and depict the experience of lockdown on a variety of characters played by Sheridan Smith, Angela Griffin, Robert Glenister, David Threlfall and Eddie Marsan. Watch them on ITV Hub here.

Life (September)

From the writer of Doctor Foster comes a new six-part hour-long drama for BBC One. Life tells four separate story strands about the residents of a large Manchester house divided into flats. The cast includes Alison Steadman and Peter Davison as a married couple rocked by a chance encounter, Adrian Lester and Rachael Stirling are a couple whose marriage is threatened by temptation, while Victoria Hamilton plays a woman whose life is disrupted by the arrival of her teenage niece. Currently filming in Manchester, “LIFE explores love, loss, birth, death, the ordinary, the extraordinary and everything in between”.

Little Birds (August)

An original six-part UK drama coming to Sky Atlantic, Little Birds is creatively adapted from Anais Nin’s collection of erotic short stories of the same name. Set in Tangier in 1955, filming took place in Andalusia and Manchester, with Juno Temple playing the lead role of Lucy Savage, a young women trapped by society who yearns for an unconventional life. It’s an erotic, political exploration of sexuality against the backdrop of colonial rebellion, and all episodes are currently available to stream on NOW TV. Read our spoiler-free review of all six episodes.

The Best TV Shows of 2020

By Alec Bojalad and 9 others

The Best TV Episodes of 2020

By Alec Bojalad and 8 others

Miss Scarlet And The Duke (March)

This six-part co-production written by Trollied’s Rachel New and starring Peaky Blinders’ Kate Phillips aired on Alibi here in the UK. It’s a one-hour series set in the 19th century about London’s first female gumshoe, Eliza Scarlet (Phillips), a woman who takes over her dead father’s detective agency, aided by Stuart Martin’s ‘Duke’. One for fans of Aussie period detective series Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, perhaps?

Noughts + Crosses (March)

Malorie Blackman’s hugely successful series of Young Adult novels have been adapted by Being Human’s Toby Whithouse for BBC One. The six-part series is set in a world where racial divisions are turned on their head, and two young people from different backgrounds battle through separation caused by power, politics and prejudice. All episodes are available to stream now on BBC iPlayer. Read our episode one review here.

Normal People (April)

Filming took place last summer in Dublin, Sligo and Italy for Normal People, adapted by Sally Rooney from her 2018 publishing hit of the same name. It’s a 12-part drama for BBC Three and US streaming service Hulu, starring new(ish)comers Daisy Edgar Jones and Paul Mescal. Directing is Room‘s Lenny Abrahamson and Hettie McDonald, telling an intimate story about a relationship between two young people – Marianne and Connell – stretching through their university years at Trinity College, Dublin. Available now on BBC Three and Hulu, read our spoiler-free review and more.

Penance (March)

Three-part hour-long drama Penance aired on Channel 5 this March. It’s an original scripted drama for the channel, and stars Neil Morrissey, Julie Graham and Nico Mirallegro in a psychological thriller about grief, manipulation and morally murky relationships. The story revolves around the Douglas family, reeling from the death of their son, and a young man they encounter at bereavement counselling with whom they become entangled.

Quiz (March)

Adapted from James Graham’s acclaimed stageplay of the same name, Quiz is the story of the Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? 2001 cheating scandal in which Major Ingram and accomplices were accused of cheating their way to the show’s top prize. Human chameleon Michael Sheen (Frost/Nixon, The Damned United) pictured above, plays quiz host Chris Tarrant, with Ripper Street‘s Matthew Macfadyen playing the accused Major in the three-part ITV/AMC drama. On directing duties is Stephen Frears, who recently directed excellent comedy drama State Of The Union and Russell T. Davies’ A Very English Scandal. Read our reviews here.

Roadkill (October)

Veep‘s Hugh Laurie is going back to politics. Acclaimed screenwriter David Hare (The Hours, The Reader) is behind a new four-part political thriller for BBC One. Roadkill is the story of Peter Laurence (Laurie), a conservative minister with his eyes on the top job who attempts to out-manoeuvre the personal secrets threatening to wreck his public standing. Peaky Blinders‘ Helen McCrory is set to play prime minister Dawn Ellison, with Westworld‘s Sidse Babbett Knudsen also appearing. Filming began in London in November 2019 and we’re expecting it to arrive later this year.

The Salisbury Poisonings (June)

An episode in recent UK history – the 2018 Novichok poisonings – is translated to the screen in three-part factual drama The Salisbury Poisonings, which filmed in 2019 in the Wiltshire cathedral city. The BBC Two drama focused on the impact of the chemical attack on ordinary people and public services in the city, and boasted a terrific cast including Anne-Marie Duff, Rafe Spall, Mark Addy, Johnny Harris and MyAnna Buring. It was co-written by BBC Panorama‘s Adam Patterson and Declan Lawn. Read our review here.

Sitting In Limbo (June)

A new feature-length film tackling the shameful political Windrush immigration scandal aired on BBC One in June. Sitting In Limbo is inspired by the true story of Anthony Bryan’s struggle to be accepted as a British citizen, despite having lived in the UK since emigrating to Britain as a child in 1965 with his mother. Written by Bryan’s novelist brother Stephen S. Thompson (Toy Soldiers, No More Heroes), it’s a deeply personal and powerful ninety minute drama about the devastating human toll of the foreign office’s ‘hostile environment’ tactic. Casualty‘s Patrick Robinson and Save Me‘s Nadine Marshall star.

Small Axe (November)

An anthology of six hour-long stories set in 1960s – 1980s London is on its way to the BBC and Amazon Prime Video from Steve McQueen, the director of Twelve Years A Slave, Hunger and Shame. Small Axe started filming in June 2019 and boasts a terrific cast including Black Panther and Black Mirror‘s Letitia Wright, and The Force Awakens and Attack The Block‘s John Boyega, with Malachi Kirby and Rochenda Sandall. The first of the anthology’s five stories, all of which are set in London’s West Indian community, will be told across two episodes. See a teaser for the first, ‘Mangrove’, here. The title is inspired by the Jamaican proverb about marginal protest challenging dominant voices, “If you are the big tree, we are the small axe”. The first three episodes are due to open the New York Film Festival on the 25th of September 2020, though it’s currently unknown how the ongoing pandemic will affect the event.

Talking Heads (June)

Nothing to do with the NYC post-punk band of the same name, this remake of Alan Bennett’s acclaimed Talking Heads monologue series featured an all-new cast and two new monologues by Bennett. Originally broadcast in 1988 and 1998 and featuring a host of acting talent including Julie Walters, Maggie Smith and Patricia Routledge, the new Talking Heads starred Jodie Comer, Maxine Peake, Martin Freeman, Lesley Manville, Kristen Scott Thomas, Sarah Lancashire and more. The episodes are available to stream on BBC iPlayer in the UK, and were filmed using the standing EastEnders sets.

The Windermere Children (February)

This one-off feature length BBC Two drama delved into a little-explored part of English history – the child survivors and presumed orphans of the Holocaust who were granted the right to come and live in the UK following World War II. The Windermere Children tells the story of one coachful of young refugees brought to Lake Windermere to be rehabilitated through nature. Romola Garai, Tim McInnerny and Iain Glenn star in a screenplay from The Eichmann Show‘s Simon Block and directed by Any Human Heart‘s Michael Samuels.

The End (February)

This ten-episode series aired on Sky Atlantic and NOW TV. The End is created and written by Samantha Strauss and stars Harriet Walter and Frances O’Connor in the story of three generations of the same family dealing with the thorny issue of dying with dignity. O’Connor plays a palliative care specialist opposed to euthanasia, while Walter plays her mother Edie, who feels strongly that she has a right to die. Complicated family dynamics meet complex moral issues. See the trailer here.

The English Game (March)

Netflix bagged itself a Julian Fellowes-written drama earlier this year, this one about the birth of football. Set in Northern England in the 1850s, The English Game tracks the development of the beautiful game with the help of a cast including Line Of Duty’s Craig Parkinson, The Virtues’ Niamh Walsh, Kingsman’s Edward Holcroft and Game of Thrones’ Charlotte Hope. It arrived on Netflix UK in March and reviews were… not kind.

The Luminaries (June)

Eleanor Catton’s novel The Luminaries won the Man Booker prize in 2013, and this June, arrived on BBC One. The six-part drama, available to stream on BBC iPlayer, boasts a strong cast, with Penny Dreadful‘s Eva Green and Eve Hewson taking lead roles in the 19th century New Zealand-set tale of adventure and mystery during the 1860s Gold Rush. Read our spoiler-free review here.

The Pale Horse (February)

The brilliant Sarah Phelps (And Then There Were None, The ABC Murders, Witness For The Prosecution, Ordeal By Innocence) is back with another Agatha Christie adaptation for BBC One. This time it’s 1961 novel The Pale Horse being adapted for the screen, a story where superstition and witchcraft meet rationalism and murder. In the cast for the two-part mystery thriller are Rufus Sewell (The Man In The High Castle), Kaya Scodelario (Skins, Pirates Of The Caribbean), Bertie Carvel (Doctor Foster, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell), Sean Pertwee (Gotham) and more. Read our spoiler-filled episode reviews and more.

The Nest (March)

Line Of Duty‘s Martin Compston joins Sophie Rundle in new five-part BBC One thriller The Nest. Filmed in Glasgow and written by Three Girls‘ Nicole Taylor, it’s the story of a wealthy couple struggling to have a baby who enter into a surrogacy agreement with an 18-year-old girl (Mirren Mack) that spirals into unexpected territory. The series arrived in March, and here’s our episode one review.

The Singapore Grip (August)

A bit of class here coming to ITV with an adaptation of JG Farrell’s World War II novel The Singapore Grip. Playwright Christopher Hampton, whose previous screenplays include Atonement and Dangerous Liaisons, has adapted the story for a six-part series set against the backdrop of 1940s Japan. It stars Luke Treadaway and Elizabeth Tan, with David Morrissey, Charles Dance and Colm Meaney. The series is due to air in Australia this July, and will arrive in the UK in autumn.

The Sister (October)

Neil Cross, the creator of Luther and Hard Sun, has a new drama on the way to ITV. The Sister, formerly titled Because The Night, is a four-part murder story “which exposes the quiet terror of a man trying to escape his past,” and comes inspired by Cross’ 2009 novel Burial. The psychological thriller is about Nathan, whose world is rocked when a face from the past suddenly appears on his doorstep. Russell Tovey and Bertie Carvel star. It’s due to arrive on ITV this autumn.

The Stranger (January)

Announced in January 2019 and arriving on Netflix a year later, The Stranger is a Harlan Coben thriller made for UK television. Nicola Shindler’s British production company RED (The Five, Safe) have once again turned a Coben novel into a twisting, turning UK series. This one’s about Adam Price (played by Richard Armitage), a man with a seemingly perfect life until a stranger appears to tell him a devastating secret. Things quickly become dark and tangled for Price and everybody around him. Read our spoiler-free series review here.

The Tail Of The Curious Mouse (December)

When children’s author Roald Dahl was just six years old, so the story goes, he persuaded his mother to drive him to the Lake District so he could meet his hero, writer-illustrator Beatrix Potter, the creator of Peter Rabbit, Jemima Puddleduck and many more beloved children’s characters. The welcome he received, however, was less than warm. This one-off drama (Roald and Beatrix: The Tail Of The Curious Mouse) stars Dawn French as Potter and is made by the production team behind Sherlock and Dracula. Expect it to arrive this Christmas.

Trigonometry (March)

All eight episodes of this new contemporary drama are available to stream now on BBC iPlayer. Trigonometry comes written by playwright Duncan Macmillan and actor-screenwriter Effie Woods, and provokes some fascinating questions about modern love. It’s the story of Gemma and Kieran, a couple who decide to ease the financial burden of their London flat by taking in a lodger who soon becomes entwined in their relationship. Is life as a ‘throuple’ sustainable? Could it be the way forward?

Us (September)

A four-part adaptation of David Nicholls’ novel Us is on its way to BBC One. Tom Hollander and Saskia Reeves star as Douglas and Connie, a couple whose marriage is on the verge of falling apart when the family take a long-planned holiday touring European cities. London, Amsterdam, Venice, Paris and Barcelona will provide the backdrops to this humorous, poignant relationship drama from the novelist behind One Day, Starter For Ten and Sky Atlantic’s recent adaptation of the Patrick Melrose novels. The Killing‘s Sofie Grabol and Agents Of SHIELD‘s Iain de Caestecker also star.

White House Farm (January)

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This six-part ITV true crime drama tells the tragic story of 1985’s White House Farm murders, the Essex killings of multiple members of the Caffell and Bamber families. Based on research, interviews and published accounts, it’s written by The Slap and Requiem’s Kris Mrksa, and directed by Little Boy Blue and Hatton Garden’s Paul Whittington. Freddie Fox plays the role of Jeremy Bamber, who is currently serving a sentence for the murders, with Stephen Graham, Alexa Davies, Mark Addy, Alfie Allen and more among the cast. Read our spoiler-filled episode reviews here.

The post New British TV Series from 2020: BBC, ITV, Channel 4, Sky Dramas and More appeared first on Den of Geek.

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jamie-leah · 5 years

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The Ghost Of You

Bucky x Reader

Oneshot?

Word Count: 2,781

Summary: Request - I'mma add to the angst and request a fic where your ex which you thought to be dead was discovered to be alive and due to conflicted feelings you say no to Bucky when he proposes to you, the rest is up to you bc you are a fantastic writer 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍

Warnings: Angst, swearing, Fluff, mentions of torture and scars, Cliffhanger

A/N: This took a mind of its own. Thank you for the request Nonnie! Hope it was what you had in mind? Enjoy Lovelies!

Oneshot Masterlist Series Masterlist

“You know I could kick your ass any day of the week, Buck", you say with a smirk and a sideways glance in the elevator down.

Bucky chuckles and turns to you, “only because you cheat".

You look at him, jaw slack in mock offense, “I do not cheat!”.

“Oh please! Last week you started crying and you know I hate seeing you cry! You knew I had you and you took advantage of the fact I’m your boyfriend”, Bucky says, the smirk never leaving his face.

You toss him one of your own and say, “that’s just good tactics, baby. Use your opponent’s weakness against them".

Bucky tips his head back to laugh and it has you grinning when the doors slide open into the lobby of the avengers building. People are milling about like ants but it’s the commotion at the front desk that has you pausing.

A guy with sandy hair that brushes the tops of his shoulders is shouting at the receptionist, “you need to let me see her!”.

Adrenaline starts to flood your veins and you find yourself approaching without thought as you notice his ripped clothes. His voice scratching familiarly at a door you thought you closed years ago.

He shouts again, “you need to get Y/N down here now, you don’t understand”.

The way your name falls off his tongue is like a sucker punch and it takes everything not to double over from shock. You’re vaguely aware of Bucky murmuring, “is he asking for you?”.

But it’s only you and the guy in the whole of the room right now as you say, “Charlie?”.

Charlie, your ex of 4 years, whips around at the sound of your voice. You take each other in for a full minute before he makes his way towards you.

Instinctively, you take a step back. Your ex was dead. You were there when he died. You went to his funeral. This man in front of you is a ghost.

Charlie doesn’t flinch at your reaction, instead taking another step and talking to you like you’re a frightened animal, “Y/N, it’s okay, it’s me, Charlie. Please baby, you’ve got to believe me. I’ve been trying to get back to you all this time and I’ve finally found you".

You shake your head but don’t move away from him, “h-how?”.

Charlie stretches his arms out towards you, “does it matter?”.

The room rushes back as you see Bucky's metal arm come between you and Charlie, his voice comes out hard and guarded, “actually, yes it does matter. You’re supposed to be dead".

Your head was spinning far too fast to register the switch in Charlie as he replies with equal wariness and steel, “yes, I realise that. Can I have a moment with my girlfriend”. It was a statement, not a request despite the wording.

Bucky doesn’t budge, “I’m not sure, you’ll have to ask her". Neither of them takes their eyes off each other and you can feel the air get so thick with tension you wonder when the lightning is going to strike.

You shake your head like you can clear away the cobweb of memories. You lay a hand on Bucky’s arm but look to Charlie, “I guess you should come upstairs then”.

It doesn’t take long before you’re standing in the kitchen, a fresh pot of coffee made and silence to settle. You stand leaning against the counter, Charlie sits at the island nursing a mug, and Bucky leans against the entryway watching Charlie’s every move.

After Charlie takes a sip of his coffee, he looks to you with an annoyed but desperate look, “why does he have to be here? This isn’t how I imagined our reunion”.

You look from Bucky to Charlie before saying, “he’s staying, Charlie. Bucky is, well, he’s my boyfriend”.

You realise you’re holding your breath, but you can’t help it as you watch for Charlie’s reaction. You think you see shock, but it’s quickly masked by a guarded face that could only mean he was hurt, “oh, I see”.

Your heart squeezes a little and you find yourself speaking before you think, “it’s not like that, Charlie”.

You see Bucky give you a sharp look and your head starts to spin again. How the hell did you end up in this position? There was a time you couldn’t even get a guy to call you back and now you have 2 boyfriends? Well, kind of.

You scrub your hands down your face and let out a sigh before looking to Charlie, “what happened? I saw you die. Where have you been all this time?”.

Charlie nods like he was expecting these questions, “I don’t have all the answers. One second, I have a gun to my head and I’m watching you knowing my number is up and the next I wake up in a dark cell and get tortured for the next 3 years”.

Before you can say anything, Bucky cuts in with only two words, “prove it”.

Charlie stares daggers into Bucky and it leaves a prickly heat spread across your skin, “what the fuck man?”.

Bucky shrugs, unfazed by the aggressive tone, “I know the story. I was the one that found Y/N at a Hydra base. If you were really kept and tortured by Hydra for the last 3 years, there’d be proof”, Bucky pauses to wiggle his metal fingers, “trust me. I know”.

Charlie scraps the chair against the floor, the sound echoing around the room as he lifts up his shirt. Scars of all shapes and sizes criss cross his chest and stomach. It’s a sight that has you step towards him before you finally catch yourself. Your feelings are all over the place. You don’t even know what’s an appropriate reaction anymore.

Bucky is the one to speak again, “how did you escape?”.

Charlie looks to you, anger clearly blazing in his dark brown eyes, “what the fuck is with this guy?”.

They both look to you and it makes you feel like a mother being asked to pick between her children. You want to scream, you want to run, you want to hide, but you know this situation won’t sort itself out. It’ll still be a mess for when you come back.

You look at Bucky and your trust in him is unwavering, woven into the fabric of why you love him, that unbreakable trust.

You look to Charlie and you know you still love him, the man that grew up with you, the man that was taken from you.

You turn your back on them and place your hands on the kitchen counter. You needed a moment to think, to sort through the jumble in your head, without the feel of them watching everything you do. Without the expectations.

You let your shoulders slump and say without even turning around, “how did you escape Charlie?”.

The room goes quiet for a few moments before Charlie replies emotionless, “they let me go”.

Bucky barks out a dark laugh as you slowly turn to face him again. For the first time since you saw him suspicion starts to bloom, “you expect me to believe they just…let you go?”.

Charlie walks around the island towards you and you can practically feel Bucky like a livewire in the room. Charlie grips your upper arms and looks into your eyes with a sincerity that would be hard to fake, but maybe it was the close proximity that had you all out of whack.

Charlie murmurs, “would I lie to you babe? Give me the hard truth or pass me the hard liquor, remember?”.

You smile briefly at the old saying you used to share as you say, “you don’t know where the hard liquor is”.

Charlie grins, “I wouldn’t need to. It was always the hard truth. And telling you that they let me go is the hard truth exactly because of your reaction. If I wanted you to trust what I said straight off the bat I would have made something more convincing up”.

He had a point and it was hard to argue when he was there, standing in front of you. When he was solid flesh and breathing the same air as you. You feel your resolve crumble a bit as you whisper, “you’re really alive”.

Charlie pulls you into a hug as he nods against you, “yeah babe, I’m really alive and there wasn’t a day I didn’t think about you”.

After a few moments Bucky’s voice fills the silence, “you want to hear another hard truth? It doesn’t make sense for Hydra to just let you go. It would be easier for them to kill you than to let you go unless you were still useful to them”.

You step away from Charlie at the sound of Bucky’s voice and turn to Bucky, “you’re probably right, but we have time to figure that out”.

Bucky shakes his head, looking down at the floor before finding your eyes again, “F.R.I.D.A.Y. can you watch our new guest while I talk to Y/N in private”.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. replies immediately, “of course, Barnes”.

You glance back at Charlie before following Bucky out of the room and all the way down the hall, out of earshot of the kitchen even for a super soldier.

Bucky shakes his head again, “I have a bad feeling about this, Doll”.

You roll your eyes, “I wonder why my current boyfriend has a bad feeling about my ex-boyfriend that was supposed to be dead but has come back?”.

Anger flares in his eyes, “it’s more than that, Y/N. There’s something that isn’t adding up, something we’re missing. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it to”.

You cross your arms, “I don’t actually”.

“Oh come on!-“.

“No, Buck. You come on. Someone I cared about…care about has come back from the grave and yes there are questions that need answers but…I saw him die Bucky, can’t I just have a few moments?”, you start the sentence angry but it ends in a whisper.

Bucky’s face softens at your tone. He wraps his arms around your waist to pull you into him, placing a hard kiss to the crown of your head. You breathe him in and take a moment to thank the stars for someone as understanding as Bucky.

Bucky murmurs into your hair, “I’m sorry, I get it, I just want to keep you safe. Besides, we can talk about it more at dinner tonight”.

You pull back slightly to look up at him, “I mean, we’re not going to dinner now”.

Bucky frowns, “what? Why?”.

You pull away from him to see if he was being serious, “did you not just listen to a word I said?”.

Bucky nods, “yeah, of course I did. But we’ve had this dinner planned for ages, Doll, we can’t cancel it now”.

You shake your head at him in disbelief, “it’s not every day that someone’s ex comes back from the dead, so I think that’s a good enough reason to skip the dinner just this once, Buck”.

You start to walk back to the kitchen when “no!”, bursts from Bucky.

You turn to look at him, anger heating up your skin, “what the hell is the matter with you, Barnes?!”

Bucky exhales heavily, head hung low. When he finally looks up at you, he’s wearing his boyish half grin like he’s just accepted the way life has dealt his hand, “this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, and I can’t believe my own goddamn luck”.

“What’s going on, Bucky?”, you ask, confusion tainting your words.

Bucky takes a deep breath before he pulls out a red velvet box. Your heart stops at the sight but it takes a few moments for your muddled brain to register what it is until he opens it. A perfect silver ring sits innocently inside.

Words abandon you as you stare at the man in front of you. Bucky says softly, “I was only pushy about dinner because I was going to propose tonight. I had the whole evening planned and everything. Everyone was involved…but the how and what and when doesn’t really matter. It’s the why. I love you, Y/N. More than I ever thought I could. I honestly don’t deserve you, but you make me a better man and my world is brighter with you in it. So, I want you to stay in it, forever”.

He closes the distance between you, but it gives you little comfort and you will him not to say the words, but he does, and it breaks your heart, “will you marry me?”.

You shake your head as your vision blurs. You’re thankful for the tears so you don’t have to look at the hurt that will be written on his face, “I can’t. I can’t do this right now, Buck”.

As your tears fall, his face comes back into focus, hurt and uncertainty all mixed together, “I don’t understand. I know things are complicated and this may not have been the best time, but we love each other, don’t we?”.

“Of course, we do”, you whisper the words that you know are true, so why is this so hard?

“Then I don’t understand-“.

You cut him off, needing the words to come out before they kill you from the inside out, “because I love him too. It’s not like we broke up. We didn’t do anything terrible to each other or let the relationship breakdown. He was taken from me Bucky. I watched him die. When someone dies you move on, but you don’t stop loving them”.

The more you speak the more distance Bucky puts between you, each step he takes is like feeling a piece of your soul leaving, “so what does that mean for us?”.

You go to reach for him but think better of it as you answer, “you have to help me here a little, okay? This isn’t a normal situation. I need time to think. There’s just too much going on right now”.

Bucky bows his head, avoiding eye contact and states, “yeah, time. I think I can do that”. Bucky turns and walks down the rest of the hallway to the elevator.

You call his name even as the elevator doors shut. You stand in the emptiness for a few moments and swipe your hands over your cheeks and under your eyes. You straighten your shoulders and walk back into the kitchen to find Charlie sitting at the island.

He looks up when you walk in, glancing behind you, “where’s your bodyguard?”.

You’re surprised at how much ease you reply to him with, “gone for a walk. I thought maybe we could chat”.

Charlie beams at you and you manage a smile back but only until you ask a serious question, “what were they torturing you for this whole time?”.

His smile vanishes and the quickness of it almost startles you, but you ignore it as he starts speaking again, “it was about you”.

You sigh, knowing it would be, but not wanting this conversation with Charlie right now, “so you know then”.

He flashes you a look, “yeah, eventually I did. Why didn’t you tell me you used to work for Hydra?”.

You turn away from him as he says the truth aloud. You don’t speak so Charlie fills the silence again, “does he know?”.

You toss the answer over your shoulder, “everyone on the team knows”.

You hear the hurt in Charlie’s voice, “and you didn’t tell me?”.

You turn to face him again, “I told them after you were dead, or at least I thought you were dead. I was too ashamed to tell anyone, but I was a mess after I thought you had died. When they did it-when I thought…I nearly told them everything just to end it-“.

“Why didn’t you?”, Charlie asks.

You shrug, “it would have felt like you had died for nothing, because of you I never told a soul. Not even any of the good guys. That information would be too dangerous even for someone with good intentions”.

Charlie gestures like he understands and you’re grateful for it. There’s a pause before he says softly, “can I have some more coffee?”.

You nod and turn back to the coffee maker, barely having time to reach for it when you feel a pinch in your neck and strong arms wrapping around you.

You don’t understand until your limbs become too heavy and the room sways. You stumble but Charlie catches you, whispering, “that was all I needed to hear”. Then everything goes black.

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