#she tells the story all the time.. she had already knelt by his bedside and told him it was okay for him to die

[tidepoolalgae]

.

[deathbypufferfish]

~ click here to read the written story while you read this legacy post! It is under the cut as well ~

So many good things happened that night. Getting a fake relationship off your chest, coming out, touching. If only Ilya hadn't tried to kiss him. And if only he wasn't drunk enough that Haru had stop him. Maybe then Ilya wouldn't have run away and maybe then neither of their hearts would be broken. Too many things happened that night.

Full written scene under cut (word count: 1635)

Somewhere in-between Emi’s keg-stand and Joe’s flirting, Haru had lost track of Ilya.

What began as a simple scope around the room had quickly turned into a frantic search and a pit of anxiety in Haru’s stomach. The last time he saw Ilya he was downing his beer with fervor. It was something he had never seen before. He wondered if he had ever even seen him drink in the first place.  Anxious thought upon thought was stacking up in his brain when the most obvious location finally came to mind. His dorm room. 

The tower of thoughts toppled over and a new mixture of emotions arose. Anticipation and excitement. Haru had accepted weeks ago that things between him and the dancer would never be more than friendly, but the feelings he tucked away were hard to keep down. They haunted him at night and filled idle daydreams throughout the day. Imagining scenario after scenario. But that was all they were and all they ever could be, daydreams. He just needed to find Ilya already.

Once down the hall Haru could tell by the dim glow underneath his door that his bedside lamp was still on. He walked in and his hunch was confirmed. Ilya was sitting on the floor, his back leaned up against Haru’s bed, and his shoes were off . He lazily stroked the wooden grooves of the nightstand. Slowly and exaggerated. It was very apparent that he was drunk out of his mind.

“I’m sorry, I was looking at your stuff,” he slurred.

“Huh?”

“I’ve been looking at all your things. Like your pictures…and your books…” He barely spoke louder than a murmur. His fingers still traced the wood as he spoke.

“Oh, um, that’s alright.” Haru didn’t know what else to say. Not a single thing made sense to him right now. Ilya was drunk, in his room, and apparently perusing through his things. That pit of anxiety returned with a vengeance. Ilya finally turned to look at him. His eyes were red. His shirt collar was wet with tears. Haru’s actions came to him so naturally after that.

He let him help him off the floor and onto his bed. There was no protest or drunken apologies. Ilya simply stared at him with an expression that felt so blank and yet so sad. His gaze felt heavy on him. Intrusive even.

He knelt to the ground and grabbed his shoes. Without even thinking, he began to put them back on Ilya. He immediately felt like such a fool, but it was too late. Stopping now would be worse, right? Right? As he tied his laces he dared to take a peek up at Ilya’s face. He was covering his face with both of his hands, but Haru could still see furious blushing on the tips of his ears. He finished tying his shoes as quickly as possible as the blood rushed to his own face as well.

Haru sat next to Ilya on his bed at a respectful distance, and they both sat in silence for an uncomfortable minute or so. Ilya shifted back and forth every once and a while, seemingly always on the edge of saying something. At last he spoke in just a soft enough whisper to hear.

“I’ve never had a friend like you.”

“What do you mean?” Haru turned to look at him, but still found him evading his gaze. Ilya rubbed his hands along the knees of his jeans. Slowly feeling the rough fabric slide to and fro underneath his palms. Haru thought it almost sounded like the rolling of waves along a shore. Every sentence seemed to take him a great deal of time to form and think through. Whether it was the alcohol or nerves, Haru couldn’t tell.

“I mean, I’m close with Katya, but not like I am with you.”

“Well, she’s your girlfriend. Of course it would be different.”

“No, no, it’s not different,” he snapped. “She's not actually my girlfriend.”

Ilya squeezed his eyes shut and clenched the fabric in his hands. What was he talking about? Did they break up? Haru had seen them talking to each other just an hour ago. If he was honest, he hadn’t been watching them that closely. He’d rather not see his unrequited crush talk to his girlfriend, but he would have at least noticed any domestic tension.

The reality of Ilya’s confession dawned on him. They weren’t in a real relationship and maybe never were. They were faking it. When he looked at it under this lens, he realized that they never truly interacted as a couple. Of course, except when Katya would kiss Ilya in front of him. Maybe it was for show. Maybe it was Katya’s disdain for Haru. But Ilya had just confessed that their relationship was never truly romantic. More than that, Haru thought about what this may mean for Ilya’s sexuality.

“Oh…I see.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he whispered.

Ilya finally turned to look at him. They were closer together than Haru initially realized. He couldn’t help but examine every mole, every crease, every detail of his sorrowful, yet beautiful face. It was hard to breathe in such close proximity. The hugs they had shared before felt prudish in the shadow of this intimacy.

He tried to deny it, but he felt as if Ilya was doing the same thing. The way he was leaning in, the way his chest heaved with his shallow breaths. That far-fetched idea of him loving him back felt so tangible all of a sudden. And it was terrifying

“It’s okay. You could have never told me, and it would still be okay,” he whispered back. “I care about you.”

Ilya opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His face was burning red again. His eyes wide and dilated. Haru couldn’t bear it, being so close. It was pure torture. As his stomach flipped and the heat rose in his chest he took his chance and laid a soft hand over Ilya’s.

It was stiff and terribly awkward at first. Ilya had frozen so quickly you would think he would shatter. Haru was wondering if he had made a grave mistake when Ilya’s deep breath interrupted him. In just a moment more he mellowed under his touch, simply letting his hand lay atop his own. For a moment everything fell still. They did not speak, they just sat in each other’s presence. After a while things began to feel tense again, overwhelming even, so Haru broke the silence.

“How about we get you some coffee?” he said.

Ilya was still staring at the floor, but a small smile had crept up onto his stern face. He nodded. Haru stood up and tried to gain his composure before leaving the privacy of his dorm room. Ilya followed suit, but wobbled at his own sudden movement. Haru grabbed his elbow and steadied him with a soft chuckle. Coffee was a requirement at this point. Ilya stared at Haru's hand on his arm and before Haru could even react he found himself in his arms.

Sure they had hugged before, but it was fleeting and friendly. This was something else entirely. Ilya was practically hanging off him, pressing most of his weight into their embrace. He pressed his face into his shoulder and sighed. Haru could have passed out right then and there. This entire night was threatening his ability to stay conscious, honestly. It was worth it, he decided, and pressed his cheek to the top of the shorter man’s head. His curls tickled his nose. It was hard to not think about how much he loved him.

Ilya pulled away only slightly, their faces mere inches apart. He leaned in further. Their lips had only barely made contact when Haru had brought a hand up to his chest. He pushed him away as gently as he could. He was drunk, too drunk, but those words could not get out faster than Ilya's face fell. Complete and utter horror.

”No, Ilya, please wait! I love you, I do!”

It was too late. Ilya bent his head under the weight of his shame. He shoved him off so hard Haru stumbled into the nightstand, knocking the lamp onto its side. He grabbed at Ilya’s sleeve, tears streaming down his face, but Ilya shook him off once again.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

His voice was layered with so much emotion it pierced Haru’s heart like a dagger. It was over. He humiliated him. He had humiliated himself. 

Ilya slammed the door shut in his escape. Haru ran after him, but lingered as he reached for the doorknob. He couldn’t run after him in the midst of the party. It would just have made things worse, much worse. He knew this, yet it took everything in him to not open that door and chase after him anyways. To tell him how much he loved him. How he didn’t want him to have any regrets about their first kiss being a drunk, crying mess. He couldn’t tell if it was the right or wrong thing to do. The heartbreak had crippled any logical thought or reason he could have come up with. It didn’t matter anymore.

He slid down the door as the floodgates opened up. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to even think through the sobs that tore through him. The banging at the door began as Emi shouted at him to move out of the way in-between asking what happened. Eventually he would let her in and eventually he would stop crying, but for now all he could do was lay down and hope he would sink into the floor. Into nothing. Never to be seen again.

[reidyoulikeabook]

Ever Since New York

Ship: Aaron Hotchner x BAU! GN ! Reader

Warnings: Coma, injury, mentions of a character death (Kate Joyner), angst but with a not-so-angsty ending.

Word count: 1k

Request: 'Could you do a songfic with ever since new york with any CM character.'

A/N: I hope this is okay! I got some inspiration from the lyrics so I made this Hotch x Reader, I hope that's alright! :) i didn't tag anyone on my tagslist because i wasn't sure who would want to be tagged!

Aaron wasn’t one for prayer. Not really, he might engage out of politeness. He was never one to dismiss the beliefs of others. But he’d never found much purchase in it himself.

Not until New York.

Not until the bombing that had killed Kate Joyner. Not until the bombing that left him almost deaf in his right ear. Not until the bombing that left you in an induced coma, for going on two months now.

No.

Ever since New York, he’d been praying in spite of the fact he never had before. Knelt by your bedside. He held your hand, clasping it as tight as he could while being mindful of all the wires and tubing. He pressed your joined hands against his forehead, allowing the tears to drip down onto you. As if with his prayers, his begging to a God he didn’t entirely believe in, the water could become holy, healing.

Any minute that wasn’t spent on a case, or with Jack, he was at your bedside. The guilt he felt when he was anywhere else, save perhaps reading a bedtime story with his son, ate him alive.

You’d been transferred to a hospital in Virginia after two weeks, once you were stable. The rest of the team came by too. More often than not, there was some freshly baked good next to your bedside. Penelope didn’t want you to wake up hungry, she said.

Privately, Aaron knew that it was borne purely out of a desire to be useful somehow. The BAU had been better fed this past two months than ever before.

“When will ____ wake up?" Penelope had asked the first time she’d visited.

“We’re not sure,” The doctor had pulled a face, almost wincing.

Aaron knew the prognosis wasn’t good. He was a profiler, and it was easy to see through the doctor’s bullshit even if he didn’t necessarily understand all the medical jargon. His voice cracked terribly, six weeks in, when he had the conversation with Reid.

“Tell me something,” He said, looking at the man perched on the other side of your bed, “What are the chances of waking up after this long?”

“The brain activity is a good indication. They might be able to hear us Hotch.”

Hotch looked away from him, choosing to stare at the ground. The tightness of his jaw made him look irritaited, but they both knew it was a ploy to hold back the tears that threatened the corner of his eyes, “Just tell me the statistics Reid.”

He didn’t mean to be unkind.

Spencer’s voice was softer when he spoke again, “There was no brain damage during the accident. There's no distinct signs of brain damage now. It was an induced coma, so it's different. The longer it goes on the less likely it is they'll make a full recovery. Most severe comas last 5 weeks. The likelihood of waking up after that is 10-25%. But it's only been six weeks Hotch, there's still a good chance. The statistics aren't always right."

"Thank you," He nodded, pressing his lips together firmly.

They might be able to hear you

Choose your words carefully Aaron

There's nothing you can say to fix this

No antidote

Spencer had told him that. That, while it was likely you could hear, it was unlikely anything specific he said could wake you up.

He could try.

He started to talk to you much more after that. Telling you tales about Jack and all the things he'd gotten up to in school. There'd been a class party which had ended in a small mutiny: half the kids had ganged up to steal the cake. While Jack hadn't been a part of the mutiny, he was found under the desk eating a stolen slice with his friend Ben. Aaron laughed when he told it, shaking his head affectionately, "I was just like that as a kid. Always doing things I shouldn't. Maybe you wouldn't believe that now. I think I'm too hard these days."

It was easy. It had always been easy to say things like that to you. It should have been even easier now that he didn't have to profile your response. It wasn't.

***

He didn't need Reid to tell him it'd been 2 months, 1 week, and 3 days when he got the call from the hospital.

"Hotchner."

He was listed as your next of kin. It made sense, given your relationship, his proximity to you at work, how close he lived to you.

"I'll be right there."

His feet carried him out of his office quicker than he could process, the bullpen was a blur and it was only when he felt a tug at his elbow that he turned around. Emily. Her eyebrows furrowed as she took him in, realisation washing over her. She pursed her lips.

"Is it?"

"Awake. I don't know how they are yet. They wouldn't say."

If she caught the way his voice quavered at the last syllable, she was kind enough not to mention it, "Do you want-"

He shook his head, "I need to go alone."

***

The doctor is stood by the door when he gets there. His hands wrapped tight around the clipboard, knuckles basically white. He stares into your room with a glazed over look behind his eyes. He's young, Hotch figures. He can't be used to delivering bad news.

The walk up the corridor seems to go in slow motion once he processes the last part. He can't be used to delivering bad news. His body feels like it's made of glass. Like the verbal confirmation of what he knows in the pit of his stomach might shatter his entire being.

"Agent Hotchner," A different doctor, speaking from behind him, taps on his shoulder, "Agent Hotchner, we moved Agent ____ from this ward."

He turns around, squinting, deciding it's quicker to ask the question than trust his profiling instincts right now, "What does that mean?"

The doctor smiles, "It means ____'s awake. Responsive. On the rehabilitation ward. It's going to be a long road of recovery but the important thing is their brain function appears to be completely unaltered. They were asking for you."

He'd forgotten what it was like to breathe. The weight that's been sat on his chest for 2 months, 1 week and 3 days, the weight he had become so accustomed to, has finally lifted. He takes his first proper breath in 2 months, and allows the doctor to lead him towards the correct ward. He even cracks a smile at one of his terrible jokes. The world has always seemed funnier with you in it.

***

You're propped up when he barrels into the room. Your face lights up into the most beautiful smile, your arms cautiously opening. He darts towards you, stopping himself at the last moment to embrace you gently. He presses a kiss to your forehead.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here."

Your voice is scratchy when you speak, "Don't be. I looked awful. It gave me some time to have a nurse do something with my hair."

You flash a conspiratorial grin at the nurse, Debbie, stood helping the man opposite you out of bed. She returns it fondly, before turning back to her responsibility.

"Are you? Are you feeling okay?"

You nod, "I feel as well as I'm going to right now, I think, all things considered. More now that you're here."

"I missed you so much."

"Tell me something I don't already know. You barely left since New York."

"You could hear me?"

"Sometimes. I think. Was there.." Your voice trails off, your face pinching as you try to remember, "Was there some kind of cake mutiny at Jack's school? Or was that one of the crazy dreams I had?"

He barks out a laugh, "Yes. I told you about that."

"I think I remember. I love you so much."

"I love you too. So much."

His eyes are streaming again, but with relief this time. His silent messages of God are ones of thanks. And when the tears drop onto your forehead, it feels fitting to think of them as holy. Because here you are, squirming to get a better look at him.

Healed. The way he'd been praying for, ever since New York.

[fatefulfaerie]

A Century Apart Part 1/2

Kakariko without the stench of blood in the air was frankly sickening to Zelda’s lungs. 

She had trouble breathing in the air that took so long to clear, that had forgotten the war of a century prior, that was normal to an entire country of people that had become accustomed to a post-apocalyptic Hyrule. 

When she had first arrived here, Link draped as best as she could manage over his horse, she was frankly overwhelmed with nausea, some of it due to her worry at Link collapsing moments after an unanswered question, some of it due to the blood caked on his tunic, and some of it due to her terrible, terrible, stomach twisting guilt for making it here alive. 

It was night now, and the twelve hours that Link spent recuperating in his slumber had felt to Zelda like an entire week. She tossed around a circular slice of orange carrot as she sat with worry twinging her heart. Normally sitting on the floor to eat as the Sheikah were accustomed to would have made her back hurt, but she paid little mind to her back.

Impa cleared her throat, and so Zelda looked up and across the table. The noise was so familiar that she almost expected to see the Impa she knew, in her twenties and incredibly agile.

Yet this Impa had eyes that had aged, eyes that had faded from a red as bright as cranberries to a hazel, a common side effect of Sheikah aging.

“You’ve hardly touched your food,” Impa said, wrinkles and all, her face more spotted and much more round nowadays. “I know the carrots aren’t your absolute favorite but you always used to love when I made Seafood Rice Balls.”

Zelda nodded, and faked a small smile, although it came off as a simple pursing of her lips.

“Yeah, I…I remember,” she muttered quietly as she tore away her glance, looking back down at her plate. The scientist within her knew that she was, in fact, hungry and needed food to sustain herself, yet the princess with her wasn’t quite ready for such indulgence, for such luxury. 

She began with a carrot.

It was soft, obviously well-cooked as her teeth bit upon food for the first time in a hundred years. It was buttered and salted and spiced with something she didn’t recognize, something they wouldn’t have typically served at the castle.

She almost forgot how to swallow as the chewed-up orange mush threatened to trail down her throat, but she gulped the single slice of carrot down nonetheless. 

It felt strange, eating, and it felt strange that it felt strange.

She could tell Impa was watching her eat, especially as she dove the chopsticks into the Rice Balls that, over a hundred years, she forgot she missed.

“When was the last time Link was in Kakariko?” Zelda asked, reacquainting herself with the texture and taste of the white rice, the seasoned fish on top of it, the leafy seaweed around it. She didn’t dare to meet Impa’s glance.

“About a week ago,” Impa said. “He came to restock, as he does occasionally. It wasn’t a long visit, though. I suppose he had places to be.”

Zelda nodded, using the cloth napkin on her lap to wipe away any stray particles of food from her mouth. It was almost an instinct, the way she was trained to always be proper, the way her back was straight were she sat, the way she refused to let herself be and just put her elbows on the table. Paya obviously had no problem with it when she ate earlier. Zelda envied her casual manner, living decades upon decades away from a kingdom.

Zelda didn’t expect Impa to reach out and grab her hand, and thus she almost ripped her hand away she was so unaccustomed to it. Zelda looked up.

“He is going to be okay,” Impa insisted slowly and calmly with eyes aged with wisdom. Zelda had no choicest to truly trust them. “He pushed himself very hard to save Hyrule and to bring you back. I would wager he hasn’t slept in days…and the injuries he ignored, well, it’s about time they caught up to him.”

“S-sorry to interrupt,” Paya stammered. Zelda didn’t even hear her come back down the stairs. “It…it’s Link.”

“What’s wrong?” Zelda asked standing up completely panicked. “Is he okay?”

“Oh gosh I shouldn’t have phrased it like that,” Paya said. “He’s fine, he’s just stirring. You said you wanted to be there when he woke up?”

“Yes,” Zelda said, nodding, her hand lightly fisted at her chest. “Y-yes, of course. Please lead the way.”

He didn’t look any different when Zelda finished the last steps of the stairs, Link coming into view. His face was still terribly scratched up and bruised. The only difference now was that Paya had-and she would have to ask later how a Sheikah could be so stealthy as to wrap a person’s chest without waking them up-dressed Link in bandages to brace his broken ribs. There was a fair amount of blood on the bed from the gash on his leg, but it seemed to be well-sewn up now, the wound cleaned and covered with a fresh bandage. There was also a half-empty bottle of a familiar dark purple elixir, a common painkiller among Hylians. Zelda used to use it for headaches.

She could she the way his blue eyes had begun to shine through eyelids. The room was dark, lighted only with candles that smelled of lavender and honey. It seemed so long ago that they had brought Link in, Zelda suggesting they keep the main lanterns in the room doused so that Link could perhaps sleep sounder.

“Link?” She asked as she stepped forward, the combination of her lack of stealth and her thin brown sandals making the wooden floor creak.

She knelt at his bedside and repeated her query.

“Link,” she said. It was now a whisper, like she was pretending to be the lover she never was to him.

The fatigued hero hummed as he blinked open his eyes lethargically.

“Zelda,” he said, softly in his half-awake state with a small smile. The former princess assumed it was because he knew of her presence before his head rolled over to her and he flipped out with wide eyes. It was as if someone had put smelling salt underneath his nose, the way he bolted upright.

“P-princess! I…” Zelda watched with equal parts awe and glee as he ignored the extremely likely pain in his ribs to fix his messy bedhead. Not to say he was in any way successful. “I’m sorry, I…”

“Link,” Zelda said, in such a soothing way that Link froze immediately. It may have also been because she placed a hand on his cheek. Zelda gently guided him back down to lay on the pillow.

“You look fine,” she assured him. “And you are in no condition to do anything but rest.”

Link’s icy blue eyes pleaded for something Zelda couldn’t place. They looked at her, studied her in a way Zelda wasn’t used to.

“Princess, I…” he began, but his words faltered, as if his intended sentence just walked off a cliff, accidentally ran out of room on the ledge and was now falling and forgotten. “I would like to call you Zelda,” he finally said. “Is that all right?”

Zelda nodded, and had to keep from tearing up.

“Yes,” she said, water making her green eyes shine like emeralds. “I would actually prefer that.”

It looked as if Link had something else to say, and yet he hesitated with a hitched breath. Zelda hesitated too, not what to say, but whether or not it was fair to reveal that she could read him like a book. It was a byproduct of their time together a hundred years ago, a time he may not have any recollection of at all, a time he may even be scared of. It was for those reasons that she demonstrated her patience instead, taking his hand and fooling herself that she was conveying her care with her eyes.

“I remember you, by the way,” Link said.

Zelda shifted slightly. There were so many memories between them and so many things that could be assumed between the memories that she couldn’t help but fear what story he had construed.

“I remember you not liking me,” Link continued, Zelda sighing, opening and closing her eyes with a slight cringe. Of all the things for him to remember. 

But he didn’t stop there.

“I remember you warming up to me and us becoming friends…at least I think.”

Zelda had looked down at her hand, the way her thumb ran up and down his palm.

“Do you remember anything else?” Zelda asked, tilting up her head. Link seemed genuinely out of answers and that’s what broke her heart the most.

“Is there something I should remember?” Link asked. Zelda shook her head.

“No,” Zelda said quietly, detaching her hand from Link’s. “It’s nothing of consequence.”

She moved her hand to his forehead, brushing aside a lock of his dirty blonde bangs. 

“I’m glad you’re recovering well, Link,” she said softly. “I’ll leave you to your rest. We can talk more later if you’d like.”

She stood up to leave but didn’t get far, Link’s hand grabbing her wrist and seizing her heart.

“Wait,” was the word he spoke to explain himself. Zelda turned her head to look over her shoulder. She couldn’t help but be surprised that Link had indeed, meant to grab her, was entreating her with those soulful blue eyes, deep as an ocean and filled to the brim with conflicting emotions.

“There’s more to it than what I remember,” he said. “There’s…well there’s how those memories make me feel.”

“What do you mean?” Zelda said, turning her body but refusing to kneel at his bedside, her cautious heart already shattered enough to not risk being broken even more.

“Whenever I remembered something that happened between us,” Link began. “I would try to draw you, would try to capture your beauty, but the image of you was always fleeting. Sometimes I forgot whether your hair was truly blonde, whether your eyes were brown or green, whether or not freckles dotted upon your nose, your cheeks, what the shape of your face was. But each time I tried to draw you I felt like I was getting both closer to and farther away from perfection.”

“Link,” Zelda said as she shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t either at first,” Link continued. “I didn’t understand why I was so enthralled by your beauty, why the sound of your voice twinged my heart, why the thought of your touch made me feel the warmth of my blood.” 

Zelda knew what he was describing, and she knew it well. It was for that reason that she couldn’t believe his words, that she searched within her lungs for the ability to breathe.

“Link,” she said breathlessly, finally kneeling down. “A-are you saying…?

She couldn’t even finish her question but Link nodded nonetheless.

“Once I realized it was a crush,” he said. “I tried to ignore it, telling myself that nothing in my memories indicated anything more than an obligatory friendship, that it was disrespectful to think in such a way of someone who was royalty, but…” He bit his lip. “No cliff was as easy to descend as the one that dictates love. I fell quickly and I fell fast. It felt familiar too, like something was in ruins inside me but this time, it was simple to salvage, to rebuild and to…” Link chuckled. “I can’t think of another word.”

Zelda was speechless, her mouth slightly parted and her eyes frozen. Link didn’t expect his declaration of love to be so paralyzing.

“I-I guess I,” Link said, continuing in the absence of Zelda’s words. “I kind of got the feeling that you also have similar…” Link looked for another word, but it didn’t exist in his brain “…feelings…” He inwardly cringed. “So I figured I would bring up the subject...but maybe I...shouldn’t...have?”

Zelda was quiet, almost too quiet, before she stood and finally said five words, five words that left Link in the dust of such an anticlimactic response.

“You never talked this much,” she said, before shooting him with green eyes filled with conflict and pity and turning around to walk back down the stairs.

[clevercxs]

Believer - Sigefrid Thurgilson [Ch 4]

[MASTERLIST]

Pairing: Sigefrid Thurgilson x female oc

Warning: nsfw ;)

Word Count: 8.8k

_______________________________________________

Midday rode in on its valorous steed, ridding Beamfleot of the prior night’s grim misfortunes and the fading afterglow of suffrage. 

The sun’s rays, in their curious nature, seemed to peek through the fort’s highest window in an attempt to wake the Saxon princess, who snored away in a blissful, much needed slumber.

Unbeknownst to the sleeping beauty upstairs, tensions had risen amongst the Danes still hungover from the last night’s revelations, who were greeted with a rude awakening upon finding an empty cage in the centre of the hall. Their coveted princess had been intentionally freed and was virtually nowhere to be seen; she was not there, on display, for them to childishly taunt and harass.

Beneath messied curls of raven locks that had fallen over her pale face during the night, the princess’s eyes fluttered open, ever so slowly, and began to take in her new and unfamiliar surroundings. With a wide, breathy yawn that seemed to tug at the corners of her chapped lips, Blædswith carefully propped herself up on two feeble elbows that wobbled beneath her weight. Upon doing so she could feel the entirety of her shoulder ache, and broken ribs shift like creaky floorboards giving way. 

Peering down, Blædswith was taken aback to see herself fully clothed in a woolen, sleeved nightgown that seemed to reach just above her ankles. 

Her memory was a clouded haze, seeing as she couldn’t remember how she ended up where she had awoken; somewhere strange yet all familiar. 

The room was dark and unnerving, though oddly enough felt cozy and inviting to the woman it confined. The walls were of beautifully aged stones, each one telling a story of famous Lords and Ladies past; of victorious songs chanted and arduous battles won. To the left of the king sized bed where she found herself, loomed a stone fireplace stretching towards a high ceiling of beams, encompassing a small kindling fire just large enough to warm the room without roasting the Saxon alive. 

She could hear embers and small logs crackling, bringing a subtle grin to her lips out of its comforting familiarity. Plush fur rugs lined the wooden floor, forming a convenient trail towards the bedroom door carved in unfamiliar runes and other intriguing symbols. 

Overwhelmed by the sudden change of scenery, Blædswith found herself curling into a ball beneath layers of thick fur pelts that had been draped over her sleeping form. Clutching a hand-sewn pillow tightly to her chest, she rolled over to dodge the blinding rays of light illuminating the cavernous room. Glancing up from where she lay still, she noticed the beautifully carved designs in the bed’s wooden frame, and the wrought iron candelabra hanging overhead by a single chain.

It was rather strange to finally be alone, where no prying eyes could violate her every move. For a brief moment, she almost allowed herself a feeling of freedom and joy, only to realize that the room had become her new cage. The only window was barred by thick wooden posts while the door, undoubtedly, was locked and heavily guarded on the outside. 

Sigefrid wasn’t a complete fool to leave his most prized possession unattended and unprotected. Surely, he had learned his lesson, therefore no man was to be entrusted with her safety other than himself, the remaining few he trusted, or perhaps his merciful brother, Erik, whom the princess had already grown fond of.

Anxious, she began running her fingers through the pelt’s thickness, painstakingly trying to recall what happened last night…

While Sigefrid’s hand guided the princess away from the shore by the small of her back, she couldn’t help but stare at the carnage left behind in his wake. It looked as if his traitorous men had been slain by an entire army; dozens of arrows pierced their armored chest plates and their throats had been slashed by, undoubtedly, the blade upon Sigefrid's hand out of pure fury and rage. The limp body of the slave girl whom Blædswith befriended was carried off into the night, and to be forgotten, as if she had never been there.

As Sigefrid and Blædswith trudged uphill towards the fortress, she could feel him pulling her away from where a defeated Hæsten knelt in the dirt - mangled and disfigured beyond recognition. It seemed as if Sigefrid tried to avert the princess’s gaze from such a horrific and gruesome sight - one he was responsible for. 

Blædswith could feel her frightened heart pounding within her chest like a battle drum, somehow in perfect unison with her heavy footfalls.

Though in brief passing, Blædswith witnessed for the first time the extent of Sigefrid’s vengeful brutality - or rather, the aftermath. It was as if Hæsten’s face had been trampled, repeatedly, by the metal-clad hooves of Sigefrid’s black steed. Hæsten’s dark, bloodshot eyes were swollen almost completely shut. His beard, once a curly nest of honey blonde, had been stained a crimson red from thick, oozing streams trailing from his broken nose. Beneath the skin of his swollen cheeks were distinct purple bruises outlining four knuckle prints. Surely, they were left over from Sigefrid ruthlessly pummeling the side of his face, where each blow became more excruciating than the last. Hæsten’s ankles and wrists were bound in coils of coarse rope not unlike a slave fresh off the merchant's ship after a long, godless voyage.

Blædswith peered down at Sigefrid’s hand that had slithered around her lower back, now resting upon her waist just below her tender ribs. To her dismay, his knuckles were split wide open and stained with another man’s blood. As their pace quickened the further they got from the shore, Blædswith couldn’t help but fear for what she had gotten herself into after seeing what Sigefrid was fully capable of. 

Initially, she found herself drawn to the danger and mystery behind Sigefrid’s piercing eyes; seduced by his undeniable courage, god-like strength, and power over those inferior to him, the Lord of Chaos. But after that night, who was to say that he wouldn’t treat her this cruelly if she were to cross him? The fearsome Dane whose armor she clung to for dear life was a damning beast of a man capable of unimaginable acts… that much was clear.

There remained a glimmer of hope within the princess that she would be the exception; the one thing he could never allow himself to do any harm to. She believed him capable of being good, towards her, and hoped it would remain true of him in the end - when it really mattered. Blædswith marveled at the thought of being with a man such as Sigefrid, intimidating and ambitious, yet capable of being gentle towards his one beloved - her.

With the mead hall approaching in the near distance, Blædswith suddenly felt lightheaded, disoriented with fatigue and fear-fuelled adrenaline. The last thing she recalled hearing was the sound of Sigefrid’s voice calling out her name as her knees buckled beneath her and the night faded to pitch blackness with the collapse of her body...

Startled out of her thoughts by an indecipherable uproar of men arguing somewhere in the near distance, Blædswith found herself sitting upright once more, defensively on high alert, after hearing wooden tables and broken chairs being upturned and thrown rather aggressively across the mead hall, below. 

What is going on? Is Beamfleot under attack?

With a stiff groan, she climbed out of bed and shuffled towards the bedroom door, pressing an ear against the carved wood. The princess audibly gasped when she identified Sigefrid’s voice amongst all others, bursting at the seams and fuming like a maddened, rabid dog off its leash. 

“Dear God.” Blædswith gulped as Sigefrid’s tone seemed to grow louder by the minute while Erik struggled to calm him down. It sounded as if a hundred Danes were shouting in a jumbled unison, leaving Blædswith only able to comprehend mere bits and pieces of what was said.

In a panic, the princess frantically searched through every table and desk drawer, tearing the room apart in search for any weapons or weapon-like objects to defend herself with in case Sigefrid were to come for her next. This time, it appeared, Erik hadn’t left anything behind for her. Distracted by the commotion downstairs, Blædswith did not hear the light feet approaching her room, and hadn’t the slightest clue that someone was headed her way until the bedroom door quickly unlocked and swung open. Out from behind the door entered a quaint slave girl trembling in her work shoes, balancing a tray of food in one hand with an assortment of combs and brushes shoved down in her pockets. 

“L-Lady.” She greeted timidly, “I-I am sorry to disturb you. Lord Sigefrid sent me-” The young girl nudged the door closed with the pad of her foot, cautiously walking through the room to place the food down on the nearest bedside table. 

Startled, Blædswith practically jumped out of her nightgown at the sudden intrusion, withholding crude language after she realized how nervous the poor girl already was - out of fear. Her complexion was as pale as a ghost as a result of what was occurring downstairs, and likely whatever Sigefrid had threatened her with.

“What is Sigefrid doing? Downstairs?” Blædswith questioned, crossing her arms over her chest and taking a seat at the foot end of the bed. “Of course, I... have my suspicions.” Her words faded into silence after noticing a rather sharp steak knife conveniently placed beside her meal. 

“L-Lord Sigefrid is…” The slave gulped dryly and began fidgeting with the bristles of a large brush in her pocket, “he is asserting himself, a-after what happened last night. To you. He is upset… he feels he can no longer trust anyone, n-nor protect you.”

Blædswith exhaled sharply, cocking her head to the side ever so slightly. Worried by Sigefrid’s sense of doubt, she questioned, “But he trusts you, does he not? After all, you are here. If you intended to kill me you might actually have a chance.” She motioned down to her shoulder before stiffly rotating it in circular motion.

“H-he does, yes, lady.” She nodded solemnly. “I have no intention to harm you. I have been nothing but loyal to Lord Sigefrid-”

Blædswith, immediately, picked up the steak knife from the tray, reached across her bed, and tucked it beneath her pillow. “I need you to be loyal - to me. You will not tell Sigefrid, nor Erik, that I have a knife. Hæsten still wishes me dead, and this is the only way of protecting myself. Do you understand?” Blædswith leaned in, closing the distance between their faces, thus causing the young slave girl to tremble in fear. She then added, darkly, “If you tell anyone, I shall kill you with it.”

Frantically nodding, on the brink of tears, the slave whimpered,

“Y-yes, lady. I-I understand.”

After Blædswith had been well fed and groomed, the young girl was dismissed so the princess could be left alone to her growing sense of paranoia. Before the slave could reach the door, apprehensive to step foot outside, Blædswith couldn’t help but feel guilty for the way she treated her. “Girl.” She began, causing the young slave to stop dead in her tracks, gratefully. “What is your name?”

Slowly turning to face the princess, she replied shamefully, “I-I have no name, lady.”

Blædswith slowly rose from the bed, strolling towards the beautiful, brunette haired girl cowering before her. “I shall call you Moira. How does that sound?” Blædswith reached forward, tucking hair behind the young girl's ear as she once had, to the first slave she’d met. “It is a beautiful name, for a beautiful girl. Do you not agree?”

Moira nodded humbly, caught off guard by the princess’s sudden interest in her. “I-I agree, yes. Thank you.” Moira then proceeded towards the door, sheepishly asking, “What shall I call you, lady?”

“Blædswith. You may consider me a friend... if you do as told.” The Saxon grinned, now propping herself up on pillows and carefully pulling the fur pelt over her chest. “I can offer you far more than the Thurgilson brothers for your loyalty.”

Moira’s eyes seemed to sparkle with a sense of hope. “I-I shall see you again soon, Blædswith, when I return to tidy Sigefrid’s chambers.” With a courteous bow, she slipped out of the room and back into the realm of chaos instilled by Sigefrid Thurgilson, leaving Blædswith’s head suddenly spinning.

It all made sense, now, why she had slept in a room so breathtaking; so fitting for a princess, even. 

Lady Blædswith of Wessex had spent the night in Sigefrid Thurgilson’s private chambers,

and she doubted it would be the last time.

____________________ ➴  ____________________

With the descendence of evening fall came a sense of tranquility over the land. In recent hours past, the clan’s discord had simmered down as the Danes dispersed, returning Beamfleot to its once habitual state of being. 

Blædswith, after restlessly tossing and turning, found herself buried beneath a mountain of fur pelts and pillows as if she were a child hiding from her parents. The princess stirred uneasily, wondering what would happen to her come dusk. She wondered why Sigefrid had not visited her, though it was likely for the best if he was still tense from earlier. However short-tempered Sigefrid was, Blædswith believed his company was better than none. A sense of loneliness and abandonment had overcome her vulnerable mind after spending an entire day imprisoned by herself.

When Blædswith finally began to drift off to sleep, she could hear the bedroom door knob fumbling as someone struggled to unlock it from the outside. With a loud creak, an unwelcome figure crept into the room and locked the door behind them.

Blædswith could feel her dry throat clench, and stomach coil into a tight, fearful knot. She listened as their footsteps drew near to the bed. Not a word was spoken in greeting, as if they intended to surprise the bed’s sleeping inhabitant. Ever so slowly, Blædswith’s fingers inched beneath her pillow and towards her knife. Her trembling body was otherwise still; frozen, even, as a paralyzing fear surged through her veins like a potent venom. 

She could hear a pair of shoes being unlaced, and sloppily tossed against the nearest wall with seemingly little care of waking her. Something heavy yet soft fell to the floor, such as a fur pelt, before they began high-stepping out of something.

Somebody was taking their clothes off.

Tightly gripping onto the handle of her knife, Blædswith threw back her blankets and sprung to her knees, holding her knife outwards towards the foot end of the bed where her intruder stood completely naked from head to toe.

Having expected it to be Hæsten, or perhaps even Sigefrid, the frightened princess was flabbergasted and utterly appalled to see a bare-chested woman standing before her whose surprised look mirrored her own. 

The two, in unison, gasped like fish out of water.

“Gahhh! What are you doing?!” Blædswith shrieked, turning away from the woman who showed no sense of urgency to cover herself. “W-who are you?!”

“I am Sigefrid’s mistress.” The dark haired woman sneered rather sharply, as if insulted that Blædswith hadn’t heard of her. 

“Bloody Hell.” Blædswith groaned, chest rising and falling quickly with each rapid breath she drew, “Well, I am not Sigefrid! Y-you may…” She nodded with utmost caution, seeing as the woman was easily twice her size. “...you may put your clothes on and leave. Now.”

“Oh?” The large woman chuckled lowly with the shake of her head. “You do not get to bark orders. You are that damned Saxon princess Sigefrid won’t shut up about.” She quirked an eyebrow down at the princess as her lips formed a devilish grin. “But... he will have nothing to talk about if you are gone.”

“Gone?” Blædswith croaked. “I-I do not wish to leave-”

“You will leave, here, when I send you to meet your false God.” The woman snarled, suddenly lunging at Blædswith like a wild cat springing towards its prey, pinning her elbows to the bed causing the knife, her main source of defense, to fall to the floor.

“Shit!” Blædswith gasped, as she began awkwardly wriggling beneath the maddened woman, trying her best to divert her gaze from the Dane’s exposed breasts. Blædswith began kneeing her repeatedly in the gut, crying out in pain while doing so as pain scorched through her own torso. “Get off of me!” Blædswith whimpered, able to free an arm from the Dane’s clammy grasp to strike a fist at the side of her face. 

The bear-like woman seemed virtually unphased. 

“I do not want to kill you!” Blædswith leaned forward, head butting the brawny Dane though seeming to do more damage to herself than her attacker. Blædswith attempted to intertwine their legs together, only to have her shins kicked at until bruises began to form.

“Is that all you have got, princess? You could not kill me if you tried.” Sigefrid’s mistress chuckled menacingly, suddenly taking a firm hold of Blædswith’s throat with both hands in an attempt to choke and suffocate her. With the larger woman’s full body weight atop of her small frame, Blædswith was physically unable to push her off, nor pry her claws from her throat.

“I thought you wanted to be a Dane?” The mistress goaded, watching the color drain from the princess’s cheeks as she writhed and gasped for air. Scorching tears burning trails down her cheeks as she choked on her own sobs. “You are a sorry excuse for a Saxon. For a Christian.” She then dug her fingertips into Blædswith’s freshly cauterized shoulder, causing the princess to whimper and cry out like a dog that had been run over by a cart.

With a low growl, Blædswith managed, 

“I am not a Christian.” 

With her remaining strength, Blædswith wrapped an arm and leg over the nude woman’s back and jerked them both off the bed and onto the floor, causing the Dane to momentarily let go of her throat. Diving away from the bed, gasping, the princess began painfully crawling on her elbows and knees towards the knife, shouting and kicking out behind her like a wild horse after feeling a calloused hand grasp to either of her ankles. 

With a loud cry, and all that she had left within her, Blædswith took hold of the knife once more after continuously crawling forward and being dragged back. Just as the Dane lowered herself towards the princess, hoping to pin her again, Blædswith flipped onto her back and slashed the throat of her assailant with a loud grunt, causing the woman to clutch her gaping wound with both hands as thick streams of red seeped between her fingers. Sigefrid’s mistress fell onto her side, gurgling profusely, as she began to accept her fate dealt by the hand of a Saxon princess.

Blædswith, now hovering above the dying woman, took it upon herself to jab the knife beneath her ribs, driving it up towards the Dane’s gaping throat as if she were skinning a deer, or even performing a reverse blood eagle. 

“We could have lived together... peacefully.” Blædswith grunted, forcing the knife deeper into the woman’s core. “You did this, not me! I never would have wished you any harm!” The princess began twisting the knife as the Dane let out a final gasp. “You killed yourself. Tell that to your gods.”

The light in the Dane’s eyes began to fade, though she quietly managed through airy pants, “I… knew I was… done for when... he… he called out your name…” Her head rolled lazily around her shoulders, allowing her to look the princess in the eyes and whisper, “Blædswith.” 

The Dane fell limp as a dark pool of blood engulfed her massive form. It looked as if she had been mangled and sacrificed to the Pagan gods above. Blædswith opened the mistresses’ large hand, and placed the handle of the knife within her palm before closing her fingers into a tight fist. With a sigh, she whispered, “Valhalla calls you. I will not deny you your gods… even if you did try to kill me. Perhaps, in another life, we shall meet again.”

Crawling away from the fresh corpse, Blædswith found herself crumpled and hunched over against the other side of the bed facing the door. She looked down at her sticky, bloodied hands resting palm up on her lap as a rogue tear caressed the side of her cheek. Her nightgown had been stained with hand prints and smears of red, and the skin of her neck felt raw to the touch as if she had been gripped by the devil himself. 

Sobbing, she feared she would never truly be safe, and never be accepted by the Danes no matter what she does. She worried she would always be a target - always the enemy - even if she has denounced her Christian God. Until she has regained her strength, she will never be able to fully defend herself in Sigefrid’s recurring absence. Angrily, she questioned whether or not he had intentionally, repeatedly, neglected her.

Was Sigefrid testing her? Proving that what he said about her was true?

Not a single guard rushed to her aid. Not even Sigefrid, nor Erik. Blædswith understood they were busy, therefore could not be her caretakers. Most of the Danes she knew weren’t nurturing by nature… however, she had expected the Thurgilson brothers to better protect such a valuable asset - especially if Sigefrid expected her to stay. 

There was something different in the air; something off. There wasn’t a single doubt in Blædswith’s mind that Hæsten was behind the attack. It was likely he dismissed Sigefrid’s guards as he did by the lake, and encouraged Sigefrid’s woman to visit his chambers knowing full well the princess would be there, instead.

Was Hæsten planning, in secret, to overthrow his lords? Or was he simply trying to get revenge on the Saxon princess anyway that he could? Perhaps his plan was to kill two birds with one stone… and that Sigefrid’s hostile mistress was just the first of many to come...

____________________ ➴  ____________________

Shadows filled Sigefrid’s chambers as twilight descended upon the fort. It felt as though the gods above had readied themselves for a blissful night’s slumber after a long day of watching over Midgard and its Danes. 

On the hard wooden floor she remained, even all these hours later. Her hands were stiff with dried blood; her mind, body, and soul numb to the feeling as she stared off into the distance through heavy lids, anticipating someone unpleasant to burst through the door at any moment. She feared she wouldn’t have the strength to resist their advances in her current state of lethargy.

Every so often she swore to have seen Moira, or perhaps the spirit of, the first slave girl she met, lying atop the bed with her fragile hands folded over her chest. Guilt feasted on her insides like hungry Danes supping at the Great Hall. When Moira was no longer there, behind Blædswith’s head, she would see the face of Sigefrid’s mistress. Her ghost seemed to lurk in the shadows of the room’s darkest corners, haunting Blædswith even in death. 

Blædswith ran the backs of her shaky hands over her drowsy eyes. In the end, her own mind; her own guilt and grievances had truly gotten the best of her. 

A gentle knock on the door, followed by the friendly voice of Moira II, seemed to be enough to lift the princess’s spirits as she entered the room with a fresh outfit draped over her forearm. Upon noticing the princess bloodied and on the floor, Moira gasped and immediately dropped the clothes before running to her aid. Once knelt before the Saxon, she began looking her over to see if she had been mortally wounded.

“Blædswith!? Are you alright?” She panicked, placing a small, child-like hand to the princess’s cheek. Moira sighed in relief, feeling a heavy weight lifted off her shoulders as Blædswith nodded ever so feebly. “W-what happened? Who did this to you?”

Raising a shaky arm out to her side like an injured raven preparing for flight, Blædswith pointed a single finger towards the other side of the bed. 

She didn’t utter a single word, for she couldn’t find the right thing to say.

On her hands and knees like a hound, the slave crawled around the foot end of the bed, now following a smeared trail of blood until she found the body of Sigefrid’s old woman - one she knew far too well. 

“Christ almighty.” She shrieked and motioned her hand in the shape of a cross over her chest. That caught Blædswith by surprise - how anyone, let alone a slave - could possibly preserve their faith in God whilst living in Daneland.

“Sigefrid’s mistress intended to… seduce him. She found me instead.” Blædswith croaked dryly with a faint grin, now pressing a hand to her ribs. “She tried to kill me.”

“There were no guards outside your door, Blædswith.” Moira cried, hurrying back to the princess’s side with a look of worry and concern engraved on her face. “Sigefrid ordered them to stay, I-I heard him. I fear they... took orders from someone else-”

Blædswith nodded her head and interjected, “Hæsten is behind this, he must be. He will not stop until I am dead, and rotting at the bottom of the sea. There are many who follow him… I fear he is planning a coup against the brothers, but they are blind to it...” The princess huffed and firmly pursed her dried lips together. “The men Sigefrid trusts are disloyal. I have seen it many times in my short while. I must help him see what he can’t. For if I do not… we may all be killed.” 

Moira rose to her feet and approached the pile of clothing on the floor, scooped it all up in her arms and displayed the garments on the bed as nicely as she could. “Perhaps you can tell Sigefrid tonight. Well, after I-I get you cleaned up. Y-you look as if you slaughtered a pig.” She grinned and kindly helped Blædswith to her feet. 

“What do you mean, tonight? W-what is tonight?” Startled and confused, Blædswith’s thick brows furrowed together, though she found herself staring in awe at the beautiful Danish garb laid before her. 

What is all this for?

“Sigefrid has requested your presence, tonight, for dinner in the mead hall.” With a quick nod, Moira escorted Blædswith to the nearest armchair where she was to wait patiently for her return with a rag and bucket of water - not unlike she had done the night prior, where she waded in the frigid lake water.

“Then I must go.” Blædswith inhaled sharply, glancing towards the door as if expecting another intrusion. “This may be my last chance to warn him before it is too late.” 

Before leaving, Moira retrieved a small, sharpened axe from beneath her shawl that she had looted from one of the brothers. 

“Sigefrid could kill you for this.” Blædswith warned though graciously took the axe from the noble slave girl.

Moira, within feet of the door, nodded solemnly over her shoulder with a kind smile and soothed, “I know.”

____________________ ➴  ____________________

“I do not wish to be humiliated tonight.” Blædswith pouted, running her hands down the front of the apron dress Sigefrid chose for her to wear. She muttered beneath her breath, “I have been tormented enough.”

As a base layer, Blædswith wore a white, long sleeved smock that brushed against her ankles. On top was a shorter, red apron fastened by a string of beads across her chest strewn between a large, silver brooch on either strap - both beautifully engraved in Danish runes. Her feet had slipped into a pair of lace up shoes made of soft, pliable leather. Blædswith’s elongated fingers and narrow wrists were embellished in the finest silver jewelry in the land.

Atop of the princess’s head were three intricate braids running from her hairline to the back of her skull where they were joined by a thin band of leather. While her loose hair cascaded down her shoulders, on either side of her neck hung a single braid that lay against her free flowing locks.

“The brothers will protect you. Y-you have little to worry about.” Moira soothed, approaching the princess from behind to drape a small, light-brown pelt over her shoulders. “You look beautiful.” Moira complimented in awe as she pulled the length of Blædswith’s dark mane out from beneath the fur. 

Stepping in front of the princess in place of a mirror, Moira clasped her hands together against her chest and studied Blædswith from head to toe to ensure she looked as Sigefrid wanted. “You look every bit a Dane, and a-a lovely one at that.” Moira began fiddling with the fur pelt draped over Blædswith’s shoulders, adjusting the brooches upon her chest, and flattening out any creases in her skirt. 

Astounded, Moira chirped, “T-the gods truly favor Lord Sigefrid.”

“How can you tell?”

“Well…” Moira grinned from ear to ear, cocking her head to the side, “Why else would they have brought him you?” With that, the unlikely pair interlocked arms and headed towards the door, only for Blædswith to halt in her tracks.

“What about her?” Blædswith motioned towards the Danish woman she had slain. “We can not just leave her.” She began to panic as the potential consequences for her actions flooded through her mind. Moira quickly shook her head and guided Blædswith to face her, rather than the lifeless body of her assailant. 

“I will take care of Yrsa.” Moira spat the woman’s name bitterly with a hateful snarl. “I never liked her. S-she will be cut up, and served to Sigefrid’s hound for dinner. You have my word.” Moira placed a firm hand to Blædswith’s shoulder as the two exchanged comforting glances. 

“You are mad.” The princess teased with a quiet chuckle. “Thank you.” She couldn’t help but crack a smile as she noted, “He likes his meat well done, by the way.”

Stepping out into the noisy hallway, arm in arm, they strolled towards the staircase. Blædswith could hear the merry laughter, chanting, and singing of jovial Danes downing horns of ale by the minute. To her discomfort she felt their arms suddenly unravel, realizing just how tightly she had been holding on to her escort. “You are not coming with me?” Blædswith frowned. “Why?”

Moira shook her head, and took a courteous step back towards Sigefrid’s chambers. “Y-you must do this alone. I will dispose of Yrsa’s body.”

“I can not-”

“Do you have the axe?” Moira pressed firmly.

Blædswith nodded in defeat, patting the right pocket of her apron. “I do.”

“Then go.” Moira hummed with a shooing motion. “Sigefrid Thurgilson awaits you.” 

Like a moth drawn to candle light Blædswith’s feet carried her to the top of the stairs where she found herself clutching tightly to the support rail, looking down at the night’s festivities that beckoned her. 

Her beating heart drowned out the sounds of Danes laughing and chatting amongst themselves. Those up and about, dancing around like children of the night seemed to move in slow motion.  Everyone around her had come to a halt, paralyzed in time as the world simply stopped. 

All because she saw him - though he had already been looking up at her.

Once engrossed in hearty laughter and storytelling by a large bonfire, Sigefrid’s attention suddenly fell elsewhere, towards the divine woman overlooking the mead hall in all her glory. It took him a moment to realize who had captivated his being; the entirety of his lonesome heart with her ethereal beauty. To no surprise, it was none other than his beloved princess, Blædswith.

Sigefrid’s slowly lowered a cup of ale from his parting lips. His eyes, crinkling in the corners, dazzled with such fondness and desire for the woman he admired so dearly. His bearded lips curled into a wide, toothy smile as he tossed the cup aside and excitedly jumped to his feet. His hand quickly readjusted his armored chest plate prior to greeting the lady of the hour, the eldest daughter of King Alfred.

As she descended down the stairs, fingertips running along the railing, she bashfully looked away from Sigefrid who was smiling like a fool upon her arrival. Blædswith could feel a warm heat beneath her cheeks as virtually everyone in the hall stopped what they were doing to stare in awe. There were mixed feelings - some were relieved to see the princess healthy and alive, while others regretted not killing her, or worse, when they had the chance.

“Lady Blædswith.” Sigefrid greeted ever so charmingly and strolled closer. “What a lovely surprise.” Upon doing so, he noticed the redness of her neck and frowned, exhaling sharply through his teeth at the mere thought of someone laying a hand on what was rightfully his. His brows suddenly furrowed as he took hold of her forearm and pulled her closer. “Who did this?” Sigefrid snarled as those spectating returned to their prior festivities. Frantically scanning her face for answers, he grew impatient when Blædswith remained silent. 

Troubled, Sigefrid rattled her arm and sternly repeated, “Who?”

With the shake of her head, the princess caressed the side of his face and closed the gap between their bodies. “Now is not the time.” She glanced over each shoulder. “Rest assured, they are no longer a threat.” Pushing off of her toes, she rested a hand against his chest and pressed a gentle, comforting kiss to his lips. 

Sigefrid did not fathom how ravenous he had been until he tasted, once more, the sweetest gift from the gods. Pulling her lower body against his, Sigefrid hungrily devoured her lips, fighting the urge to abandon the grand feast he had planned so he could ravish her within the privacy of his chambers. His calloused hand rested at the base of her skull, sending chills down her body as he intertwined strands of her hair between his fingers. Blædswith pulled him impossibly closer by his armor and deepend the kiss, taking his bottom lip between her teeth as a low growl rumbled in his chest. 

Sigefrid chuckled to himself with a wide, boyish smirk, as Blædswith began placing a trail of kisses down the length of his neck, stopping just above his collarbone. A stifled moan escaped through his lips after realizing he’d been holding his breath. His eyes fluttered shut, and his tongue dragged over his lips to savor the taste of hers, all while marveling at his wildest fantasies coming true. 

“I missed you.” Blædswith cooed in his ear before pressing her greedy lips onto his once more, no longer resisting the urges within that she had fought long and hard to suppress. When they parted for air, they found themselves gently nudging one another with their noses - smiling like dumb, lovestruck teenagers.

“Oh,” He chuckled amusingly, “how I have missed you.” He could feel his lower half stiffen uncomfortably in her presence as his heart beat inhumanly fast against his armor. Biting the tip of his tongue with an irresistibly flirty smile, he motioned for Blædswith to walk alongside him towards a long, wooden table seated with Danes challenging each other to eating contests and arm wrestling matches. “Come.” He reached back, taking her hand in his. “I need to wash away the taste of betrayal.” As Blædswith followed closely behind, cheeks flushed and core left aching after the heated moment they had just shared. She felt as if she were floating on cloud-nine, bit buzzed from the feeling of euphoria he instilled within her. 

However, that feeling quickly faded as she cowered away from the looks of hatred and pure disgust she received. Blædswith could hear whispers of her name throughout the hall from those wondering what Sigefrid’s intentions were with the king’s daughter.

“Why is she not in her cage?”

“What in Odin’s name is Lord Sigefrid doing with our princess?”

As they neared the table Blædswith searched for an empty seat, preferably one close to the dark haired Thurgilson brother. Apprehensive, the princess distanced herself whilst Sigefrid continued ahead of her. Noticing her absence by his side, he turned on his heels and frowned. “Is something wrong?”

The princess shrugged sheepishly. “I-I do not see a place for me to sit.” 

“You will sit… with me.” Sigefrid squeezed her hand reassuringly and led her to the short end of the table where two carved, wooden thrones awaited them. Erik, she noticed, was comfortably seated in a third throne at the other end of the table.

“I hope... it is to your liking.”

“I-I do not know what to say.” Blædswith smiled as he helped her to her seat before making himself comfortable in his rightful place beside her. Before he could notice, she plucked the axe from her pocket and dropped it behind the throne. 

She felt safe enough in Sigefrid’s presence, that surely, it would not be of use to her.

The Danish lord couldn’t help but stare, seeing how tall and powerful she sat where his brother had. Once broken and defeated, she held her head high and overlooked those who despise, yet envy her all the same. With a freshly brewed horn of ale now in hand, Sigefrid’s eyes fell to her exposed chest concealing her lonely heart that yearned for him; for their souls to collide as their warm breaths intertwine beneath Odin’s watchful eye. 

Peering across the table, Blædswith fortuitously caught Erik’s attention. The two exchanged gentle smiles as Erik nodded, assuring her that she was safe, and in good hands with his brother. She mouthed a quiet “thank you”, not only for allowing her to sit upon his throne, but for every kind gesture he’s done since they met.

“Two days ago…” Blædswith spoke down at herself, “it was as if I were a caged animal. Scared… afraid. Now I feel like a queen.” The corners of her lips squirmed as she fought to conceal an overwhelming feeling of joy, and finally, of freedom. “Why?” She looked up at Sigefrid with glossy eyes, and a faint half-smile. “We used to hate each other. W-what are we doing?”

Sigefrid leaned towards her, resting an elbow upon the armrest of his throne. He exhaled sharply, “While I have not been kind to you, Lady… I never hated you.” He spoke grimly, lowering his serious gaze that seemed to sparkle beneath the overhead candelabra. “I have learned from my mistakes; my failures as Lord of Beamfleot… and as a man.” Sigefrid reached forward and poured her a cup of ale, offering it to the princess in which she graciously took and drank from. 

Clearing his throat, he leaned in even closer. “I will make things… better… between us. I presume my chambers were to your liking, were they not?” 

“Your chambers were lovely… though a bit lonely.” Blædswith grinned faintly, feeling herself give in to the burning subject on her mind. “Sigefrid… I would not advise you to sleep there furthermore.” The Saxon whispered discreetly in between sips of ale. “It is not safe.” 

“What do you mean?” Sigefrid suddenly shot upright, throwing a half empty horn of ale over his shoulder, nearly hitting a slave girl passing by with a tray of food.

With a heavy sigh, Blædswith chugged the rest of her cup and tossed it aside, too. Carefully choosing her words, she mumbled nonchalantly, “Your mistress did not take too kindly to another woman in her bed.” She could feel the skin on the back of her neck burning as if inches away from a blacksmith’s forge. “She entered your chambers, and upon recognizing me, she... tried to kill me.” Blædswith gently rubbed her throat, grimly recalling when she had been strangled. 

“And… what did you do?” Sigefrid, practically perched on the armrest like a bird, held onto her every word as if it were to be her last. A mixed array of emotions overcame him, from nauseating worry and dread to fear of the worst. His mind couldn’t fathom how his mistress slipped past his guards, so he felt embarrassed and burdened with guilt that Blædswith found out about Yrsa that way, or at all. While he knew his mistress to be short tempered as he is, he never would have imagined her to attack King Alfred’s daughter out of pure jealousy.

“I slit her throat and gutted her like a deer.” Blædswith deadpanned before an unfamiliar slave girl offered her a second cup of ale, in which she quickly drank from and muttered a quiet “Sköl” as she turned to face the hall.

“Sköl.” 

“I am sorry about Yrsa. I tried to reason with her. She would not listen.”

“She was a mad woman.” Sigefrid shook his head shamefully and downed more of his ale. “There were times... I feared this would happen. Not to you, but… to someone.” After a big gulp of ale, he wiped his beard with the back of his arm and shamefully sunk back into his throne, closing his eyes and cursing himself to the gods for neglecting their gift to him.

“Your guards were dismissed from their duties. When your slave came to get me, they had been long gone.” Blædswith stirred uneasily, distracting herself by glancing around the hall. “That is how Yrsa got in.”

“Those men will be dealt with. I can assure you that.” Sigefrid growled darkly through gritted teeth, his knuckles turning white from gripping tightly onto his horn of ale. “They will be slaughtered, like that whore of a woman, Yrsa.”

“You speak of your mistress as if you do not care. Surely you must?”

“Yrsa... was a good hump. She passed the time. Unlike her, it is not your ass I want. It is yourself.” Sigefrid turned towards the Saxon, sitting as his equal, beside him. “If you will have me.”

Blædswith gasped quietly beneath her breath. “If I didn't know better, I would have thought you wanted me to stay.” Teasingly, she quirked an eyebrow as if she couldn’t tell how he felt by the way he held her close - when they exchanged such a moment of tenderness; of love, even. 

“Well, do you?” The Dane teased, excitedly toying with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Do I what?” Blædswith hummed with a faux, innocent pout.

“Know better?” 

Blædswith smiled down at her folded hands resting upon her lap, closing her eyes as a bright smile overcame her lips. “Even despite those who wish me dead or to be sold back to Wessex?” Blædswith then peeled the fur pelt from her shoulders, pooling it behind her.

“Even so.” Sigefrid nodded with a wink. His lips slowly parted in awe as he watched Blædswith rise from her throne, now standing before his knees. She began bunching the skirt of her dress at her hips, stepping over his large boots to place herself deep within his lap; his hands immediately shot to her lower waist, pressing her hips firmly against the front of his bulging pants with a breathy groan. 

Numerous Danes whistled and hollered at Blædswith’s sudden gesture.

“I am giving up everything for you. My family, my kingdom. My crown.” Blædswith pinned his wrists to the throne’s armrests, causing Sigefrid to throw his head back against his seat. She could see him gulp drly; the muscular veins of his neck protruding as he fought every primal urge within him to tear her dress to shreds. “I have conditions.”

“Name them.” Sigefrid groaned as Blædswith began to slowly grind her hips against the mighty Thor’s hammer beneath her. She could feel the muscles of his arms flinching beneath her grasp, knowing full well he was stronger than her and could pry her hands off at any moment. His chest rose and fell beneath his armor as he shifted frustratedly in his throne. 

“I want to be your equal.” She purred in his ear. “I will not be treated like a common whore, or slave. You will not have any mistresses, for I will kill them all. I am all you need.” Blædswith whispered dangerously close to his lips as her knees tightened around his hips. “I am your gift from the gods…”

Sigefrid nodded, panting, “I agree to your terms,” before learning forward for a kiss, only to be stopped by Blædswith leaning back, and ceasing all movement of her body.

“Oh, I am not finished.” She taunted rather seductively, maintaining a few inches between their faces. “I no longer wish to be called lady or princess. I am Blædswith.” She paused, biting her bottom lip to suppress an unexpected whimper after feeling him move against her. “I want to learn your ways; t-to train and fight alongside you, as a shieldmaiden. That has always been a dream of mine. I-I am a Dane at heart.”

“That is… quite the ask.” Sigefrid groaned beneath the warmth of her shifting weight. “It would be an honor to fight; to drink, and lie, beside you. I have wanted this - you - ever since we met.” Sigefrid, no longer able to resist her, freed his arms from her grasp with a loud grunt. She could feel his hand wandering down her lower back, undoing the tie of her apron. “I need you to be mine. No other man can have you.”

“Then take me,” Blædswith pleaded, her tender lips mere inches from his. She cupped the sides of his prickly face with her soft hands and whimpered softly, “Take me as yours.”  With a quick, affirming nod, Sigefrid crashed his lips onto hers, tangling his hand in her youthful, free flowing locks. Tilting her head to the side, he began sucking and nipping at the skin of her neck, leaving a warm trail of bruises down to her collarbone to establish his claim over her. Pushing the sleeve of her apron dress down, he sloppily kissed around her cauterized shoulder, wanting her to realize that it wasn’t appalling enough to drive him away. He wanted her to feel beautiful; wanted and desired despite her wound.

Blædswith took his hand in hers, placing atop her breast for him to knead through her dress. If it weren’t for the room full of Danes surrounding them, perhaps her dress would have been discarded ages ago. “You are not,” she gasped quietly in his ear, “disgusted by my shoulder?”

Flicking a thumb over her swollen lip, he growled, “No.” Sigefrid’s eyes were dark; completely dilated as if he were a predator consuming its prey. He looked up at her as if she were his entire world, his beginning and his end.

How strange, he thought, that in so little time Blædswith, a Saxon princess, could mean so much to him… and she may and never know it. “You could never disgust me.” Sigefrid slid his hand around her arse, giving it a firm squeeze as he made his way to her undergarments, pulling and tugging on the fabric until it tore at the seams. 

He could feel the warmth radiating from between her legs as his fingers neared, only for Blædswith to shake her head and whimper, “No, we can’t.”

“You do not want to?” A confused Sigefrid panted quietly, almost offended that she had denied him entrance to her most sacred body. “I do not understand-”

“Of course I want to.” She smiled with an airy chuckle. “When I give myself to you,” she gently caressed the side of his face as his arms rested around her waist, “I want it to only be us, and the gods, in the room. I do not wish to be in pain, either.” She motioned down to her ribs, which had ached the entire time. “Besides, if we start now, I-I won’t be able to stop in time for the main feast.” She teased lightly, causing Sigefrid’s chest to rumble with laughter. 

“I am not hungry.” Sigefrid chuckled with a sly grin, flicking his tongue over his lips. 

“Of course not.” Pressing her forehead against his, she couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear. “Well, I am starving. After tonight I am not going anywhere. I promise.” Blædswith soothed, tracing her fingers down the length of his arm, until she reached his hand. Taking it in her own, she raised his knuckles to her lips and gently kissed each one. “I have denounced the Christian God. My engagement is invalid…” Blædswith courteously pushed herself off of him, adjusting her straps of her apron and pulling down her skirt to avoid flashing the entire hall. “I am a free woman.”

“Not anymore.” Sigefrid smirked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Before Blædswith could ask what trouble he was up to, Sigefrid blew through a large horn, immediately gaining the hall’s attention. Blædswith was left standing upon wobbly legs, flustered and breathless. Her entire body was flushed pink, nearly matching the color of her apron. Even a half-conscious drunk could look at her tangled hair and know what she and Lord Sigefrid had been up to - there was no keeping it a secret. 

The entire mead hall fell silent, except for a quiet hum of music in the near distance.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, Sigefrid began, “I have something to say, to each of you.” A low murmur rose out of suspicion. “You will now be disappointed to know, that Lady Blædswith of Wessex, here, is now mine.” He couldn’t help himself but to chuckle haughtily. “No man is to touch her. Not with his hands, and not with his tiny cock… unless he wishes to lose it.” As he raised his hand-blade to the crowd, he couldn’t help but smile down at the beautiful woman whose warm hand rested upon his chest - a feeling he would truly never grow tired of. 

From across the hall, the sight of his brother gazing down upon the woman he admired warmed Erik’s heart, seeing as Sigefrid’s gentler side rarely saw the light of day.

“What about our wealth? Our promised glory?” An older, toothless Dane called out, followed by an uproar of support from those standing around him. 

“Blædswith is a great warrior, whom I have grown fond of.” Sigefrid argued with a scowl, glaring down at his followers. “She is far more valuable, than any silver.” 

Blædswith let go of Sigefrid’s armor, and stepped forward to address the room. “I hope it brings you peace, knowing that I am no longer a Christian. I am not your enemy, but King Alfred’s. It would bring me no greater joy than to raid Wessex and pillage my father’s wealth. If you will accept me, as a Dane, I shall reward you greatly.” Blædswith could feel Sigefrid’s chest press against her back as he protectively stood by her side. 

After a few moments of silence, cheering and applause rang throughout the entire hall. Upon Sigefrid’s request, a slave girl brought them each a third cup of ale, in which Blædswith raised into the air and shouted, “Sköl!” 

Immediately following, Sigefrid, Erik, and those in support sang in unison, “Sköl!” and the night’s festivities continued on. Once finished with their ale, the unlikely Saxon-Dane duo found themselves laughing, singing, and dancing to the upbeat rhythm that was sure to play into the early hours of the morning. Sigefrid found himself upon his throne once more, arms wrapped around Blædswith’s waist who sat across his lap. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, playfully nipping and planting kissed along the marks he’d already left. The two swayed back and forth to the music, engrossing themselves in the stories being told at the table before them.

“Sigefrid?” The beautiful woman sitting upon his thighs whispered, running her fingertips over the length of his beard. Sigefrid hummed in response, brushing fallen strands of hair from her ethereal complexion. “I have… something else to ask you...” Interrupting her train of thought, and out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of strikingly familiar face slithering through the clusters of Danes until they reached the table where Lord Sigefrid and his new woman sat enthralled with one another. 

“Why is he here?” She groaned against Sigefrid’s neck, only for the eldest lord of Beamfleot to shake his head with a sigh in defeat.

With a large cup of ale in hand, a disfigured Hæsten took one last gulp and let the cup fall from his fingertips, now rolling under the table. Before Blædswith, or even Sigefrid could properly react, he looked between them and slurred, “Sigefrid. Blædswith? What did I miss?”

_______________________________________________

A/N: Well Hæsten, it’s safe to say you missed a lot - lol. Sorry for the long wait for this chapter, but I hope it was worth it! 

I’m contemplating whether or not to add real smut to the story... 👀

🏷 Tags: (hope I didn’t miss anyone!)

@inforapound @cheapcakeripper @wildwren @metall-and-dust @eclipsedbymyheart @henrycavill19 @aesirharvorsson @finantheagile @onesaltyhunter @wessexcrown @destinysall @lauwrite1225 @lumxnously @chlomidgard @dagonet-ironside @marv-llous @littlebirdgot @curlyrat @beesbrains @godricsvalley @alina-exe @lazypeachsoul

[for-the-ninth]

I'm really curious about "The Boy Who Braids, He Dreams in Red" :D

@musetta3 wanted to know about the same one!

So my first DA game was Inquisition, and like a lot of folks who played that one first, I was charmed by Cullen's bumbling romance (esp after Solas smashed my stupid little heart). My last foray in creative writing had been elementary school, and I'd never written fanfic at ALL, but when I was rambling to a friend about how I wanted more of that romance, they suggested I try writing about it and I did!

The longfic I'm working on now actually had about 40 chapters of a completely different iteration already written. It was initially very soft and saccharine, and an outlet for the romance I craved in my own life at the time. I remember reading about Cullen's misdeeds not long after playing Inquisition, and feeling frustrated that others' perception of his character was so different from the character I knew in DAI. He struck me as a tortured soul, someone who wanted so badly to be good! When I read further and watched scenes from previous games, I knew I wanted to write a solid redemption arc for him, if for no other reason than to align the character in my head with the one on the page. Then that good ol' depression hit, and I stowed my story in a faraway folder and left it collecting virtual dust for almost two years.

I picked up where I left off and wrote a few more chapters, but something didn't feel right. The characters and their stories had time to marinate in my daydreams, and they'd grown more complex than what I'd written. Shielan wasn't a soft sweetie in search of romance, and Cullen wasn't able to earn her forgiveness as easily. My writing skills also improved, and when I went back to re-read those early chapters, I didn't feel they were reflective of what I'd learned. I tried editing and re-editing until something clicked, but eventually I realized the best option was for me to start fresh. Most peoples' eyes bug out of their head when I tell them I scrapped a 40 chapter fic but I'm so glad I did because my story is better for it (and I'm a better writer for it too!)

I'm glad y'all picked this one, because although I'm a wee bit sheepish about it's syrupy sweetness, it gave me the chance to see how much my writing has improved and to appreciate the complexity I've added to my characters since I first began. Anyway, thanks for reading my monologue! There's a snippet of the writing itself under the cut for anyone curious.

I'm very into the dark, brooding but good-of-heart archetype, and I leaned on this heavily in the first iteration of this fic. In this chapter, we have a classic bed-sharing scenario, and the also classic nightmare comfort scenario smushed into one.

***

Everything was steeped in crimson. The shapes, the people, the demons and their screams, all of it red. His throat felt tight and sore as though he were being choked, skin prickly and hot. The nightmares came regularly, but this one was particularly brutal. He shook in his sleep, mumbling and cursing under his breath. As the nightmare progressed his voice grew louder and drew the attention of a sleeping Shielan.

She sat up in bed and lit the candle next to her, taking a moment to let her eyes adjust. Once they'd focused she could see the commander shivering beneath his blanket. She reached for a tin of water nearby and felt around inside the bedside drawer for a piece of cloth to dampen. Cloth in one hand, candle in the other, she climbed down from bed and knelt beside him. His arms were making bigger gestures now, vocalizations becoming more frantic. Just as she moved to press the cold cloth against his forehead he shot up. One arm reached back for his blade but she caught it firmly.

"Cullen!" she barked.

His eyes flew open and he gripped her shoulders tightly, struggling to catch his breath. He willed himself to speak or move, but his body refused, paralyzed by fear. She spoke to him in hushed tones, told him he was safe and everything was alright.

"I've frightened you," he breathed. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," she replied.

She found the cold, damp cloth and dabbed at the beads of sweat that had formed over his furrowed brows. Cullen took it from her hand and gave his face a rough scrub. He was still shaking, his chest heaving as it tried to take in even breaths. Shielan passed him the tin of water and he downed what was left in one smooth gulp. He turned to face the opposite wall, leaning against the bed and letting his head fall back, eyes closed.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Not exactly," he replied, massaging his temples. A splitting headache had begun to creep up through the back of his skull.

"You should try to go back to sleep, perhaps in your bed this time."

He nodded, and they climbed in, one after the other, rearranging pillows and blankets to suit their new shared space. His headache was getting worse, and he was exhausted, but too anxious to sleep. Shielan could feel the tension coming off him, the pain he was projecting onto the atmosphere. She pivoted to face him.

"I can help," she said, taking his face in her hands before he had the chance to protest.

It was cool and crisp this time, the current emanating from her fingertips. He closed his eyes and shivered as relief made its way through his bones, down his spine, settling into his chest. Breaths came and went a bit easier now and he started to feel more steady.

"Thank you," he said.

Although the spell had run its course, her hands had not yet left his face. He opened his eyes to meet her gaze, and her heartbeat quickened. Her own breaths had become ragged now, and her palms started to sweat. The urge to move closer to him was overwhelming, but she felt stuck.

Cullen wrapped his hands around her wrists, letting his thumbs caress the soft skin on the tops of her hands. A tentative smile spread across his face, cheeks red again. He pulled her hands from his face and held them in the air as she weaved her fingers between his, interlocking them in a gentle hold. She braced her shoulder against the headboard and he turned his body to face her, releasing one shaky hand and bringing it up to stroke her cheekbone. A sigh left her lips at his feather light touch. She leaned forward and he followed. They stopped when their foreheads touched, each feeling the other's breath tickle their face.

***

And yes, I am going to leave you hanging, because I still haven't written Shielan and Cullen's "real" first kiss yet, and that is the one I want you to see!

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: This chapter is Gen, no smut at all. 

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter.

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 3/16 (all chapters)

“Good evening, Listeners! It’s 7PM on this fine Wednesday night and I hope you all are doing a-o-kay!”

Hizashi leaned back from his mic and pressed the cheer button on his soundboard.

“Tonight it is my absolute pleasure to announce a brand new segment to our show! I have a guest in my studio tonight. Please raise your hands, paws, flippers and/or wings for (Name), my lovely colleague from UA!”

He waved to you and you leaned forwards towards your own microphone.

“Pleased to meet you everyone,” you said, Hizashi clapping boisterously in the background. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”

“Cute, so cute!”

His excitement was contagious and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“(Name) is a very special guest,” he said, pushing the ‘ooooo’ button on his soundboard. “She’s the guidance counsellor at UA. (Name), why don’t you tell the listeners a little about what you do?”

“Well, the welfare and wellbeing of our students is of course our top priority at UA,” you said, “and so my role is to ensure these needs are being met. If they’re feeling pressured or struggling to find agency opportunities or simply unsure of their futures…”

“Of course,” said Hizashi. “Now, Listeners, (Name) has kindly offered up her time for this new weekly segment, which I’m going to call ‘Support Mic’. If you, my wonderful listeners, or anyone you know have a problem and require a sympathetic ear, please send them anonymously through my website or texting service and (Name) and I will advise to the best of our ability. Sound good, (Name)?”

“Yes!”

“Alright then, we’re going to take a short break and after that we’ll go through your submissions,” said Hizashi, bringing up the next song on his playlist. “If you can’t join us, please enjoy your evening, PLUS ULTRA!”

“PLUS ULTRA!” you echoed and Hizashi laughed out loud.

“So CUTE,” he cried out, before muting your microphones and playing music. He pulled off his earphones and you did the same, reaching for a glass of water.

You were now two months into your job at UA and the time had flown by. You had transformed your office into a space that felt more like your own and familiarised yourself with the names and faces of just about every student at the school. The previous guidance counsellor had been a woman in her eighties, retiring as opposed to taking on a new role and as a consequence your resources and day to day activities needed updating to reflect the modern climate.

None of it would have been possible without the help of your colleagues. Even Shouta, who had said at most half a dozen words to you since leaving your house, had sent the rather more vulnerable students in your direction.

The agony aunt segment was your idea and Hizashi only too happy to include it in his regular radio show, with the caveat that you bought him a beer the next time you went to the izakaya.

Truthfully, you didn’t expect very many requests to come in, so it came as a complete shock when you refreshed the website and found thirty had already arrived in the first two minutes.

“P...Plus Ultra,” you murmured.

━

Support Mic was only a half hour segment, but you could easily have gone on for so much longer. Hizashi had done nothing but coo over you since you left the studio.

“Waaah, (Name), you were a natural!”

You had been so very nervous before the broadcast. You’d expected to stumble over your words or get no questions at all. In the end you answered so many questions and talked so much that it felt like you had swallowed a bucketful of gravel.

“Thank you,” you said, packing up your purse, “for having me, I mean. That was a lot of fun.”

“Did you want me to drive you home? It’s getting late.”

“No, it’s fine, I don’t live far.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” said Hizashi, “see you to-morr-ow, sweet listener!”

You waved goodbye and continued up the street, reaching into your purse for your train pass, only for your blood to run cold when you realised it wasn’t there.

Shit

You rummaged through packs of tissues, chewing gum, pepper spray and more to no avail.

“Where is it,” you mumbled, grabbing your miniature torch and shining it on the contents.

You thought back to the last time you had seen it, when you arrived at work that morning. You had dropped your purse down on your desk when you saw Hizashi arriving and hurried after him to verify your studio appointment. It must have fallen out then and you sighed, turning the other way to go back to UA.

━

As a kid you had always been afraid of the dark. You were the one who squealed at ghost stories during sleepovers and had to hide your face during scary movies.

You liked to think that you had gotten braver as you got older, but that was far from true. You still didn’t like taking late night trains or watching horror movies with your friends. You definitely didn’t enjoy walking the empty corridors of UA.

Pull yourself together, (Name)...

It’s just the school. No one’s here. No one can-

Somewhere in the distance, you heard a door slam.

“Ofuckofuckofuckofuck,” you stammered, picking up your pace and rushing off in the direction of your office. Your shoes clattered against the hard floor and you were sure you heard a second set in pursuit.

You threw yourself into your office and closed the door behind you, immediately rushing to crouch under your desk. Someone, or something, hovered outside. You could practically see the newspaper headlines: Guidance Counsellor Found Dead in Violent Attack .

Every cloud had a silver lining, you supposed. You could see your train pass on the cabinet.

Whoever was outside your office rattled the handle and then stepped inside and you clapped your hands over your mouth to stifle any sound.

What could you do? None of the teachers were around and your quirk wasn’t suitable for fighting. Suddenly, you wished you had agreed to Hizashi walking you home. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to do something. You weren’t a teacher or even a pro hero, but you couldn’t sit by and do nothing.

But what could you do?

The intruder’s footsteps grew closer and you reached for your purse, frantically digging through it for pepper spray. Even if you couldn’t fight off this assailant, you could disable them just enough to get away and raise the alarm.

You tightened your grip on the can and released the cap with your thumbnail.

It was now or never.

You bolted out from underneath the desk with a screech and sprayed the intruder with a faceful of pepper spray, causing them to cry out in pain. You covered your face and ran for the door, only to fall flat on your face, arms and legs bound. You struggled against the bindings, rolling over onto your back to get a good look at your attacker.

H..hUH?

You didn’t know what you had expected, but you definitely couldn’t have predicted the sight before you. It wasn’t an intruder...it was Shouta and he was desperately rubbing his eyes and cursing. The material binding you was his scarf.

“Sh...Shouta?”

He paused, lifting an arm from his face and squinting down at you. He took in the sight of you, frozen on the floor with your arms and legs bound in place and sighed, returning it to its regular state.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, getting back to your feet, “I thought-”

“What the hell did you think you were doing?” he snarled.

“I thought you were a villain!”

“That’s really not the problem here,” he said. “What are you even doing here?”

“I...I forgot my train pass,” you said, wringing your hands. “I’m sorry. I should have just bought a new one.”

Shouta continued to rub his eyes with a groan and you reached out for his arm.

“Come with me,” you said, “that’ll just make it worse.”

You weren’t a hero, but there was something you could do.

━

You guided him to the empty staff room and murmured yet more apologies as you turned on the lights. Shouta curled up on the couch, rubbing his eyes and cursing under his breath.

You stole glances as you ran a cloth under the tap, chewing your bottom lip and feeling more than a little bit guilty.

“Here,” you said, squeezing excess water from the cloth and walking back to the couch. “This should help.”

You knelt down beside him and dabbed the cloth over his eyes as gently as humanly possible, wincing at the sight of how red and puffy they had become. You’d never used pepper spray before and almost certainly used far too much.

Shouta groaned in discomfort the moment the cloth touched him, but remained perfectly still.

This was the first time you had been alone since the reset and you found yourself tongue-tied.

You had slept together twice now, yet you still found it difficult to read him. He was the human embodiment of still waters and you had no doubts that his innermost thoughts were as much of a tangled mess as your own. He was just better at hiding them.

The morning of the reset, you had given up on sleeping. You were unable to stop thinking about the man in your bed; the man you thought you would never see again but would have to see almost every day.

You hadn’t been able to sleep after that, instead putting in a load of laundry and getting an incredibly early start on breakfast. When Shouta rolled out of bed at 6am, you had washed and dried his discarded clothes and folded them on your bedside table, as well as putting together an enormous breakfast and fresh pot of coffee.

“So,” you had said as he rubbed his eyes. “The reset.”

“Yes,” he said, dragging on his shirt and giving it a confused sniff. “Tomorrow is day one.”

That was the last he said on the matter and the longest conversation you had had in months.

Until now, of course.

“Does it still hurt?”

You sat back on your heels and lowered the cloth onto your lap, watching as Shouta squeezed his eyes shut and then, very slowly, attempted to open them. He immediately seemed to regret it, for he flinched and began to squint.

“I’ll get more water, just a-”

You moved to stand up, only for him to take hold of your arm.

“Why would you try and confront a villain without help? You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“I wasn’t going to fight,” you said. “I was going to raise the alarm.”

“Oh, and then what? You’ve exposed yourself to the villain without knowing what their quirk is. They could have set you on fire or gassed you or something.”

“I…”

You weren’t a student, he wasn’t your teacher, yet somehow it felt like being in detention.

“I don’t know,” you said.

“You need to be more rational in these things,” said Shouta, closing his eyes again. “Running head on into danger gets people killed.”

You were quite glad he’d closed his eyes. You couldn’t stifle the smile breaking out across your face.

He wasn’t angry at you at all. Stern, yes, though only out of concern for your safety.

“Good job I had a big, strong Eraserhead around to protect me,” you said, booping his nose with the cloth before getting to your feet. You expected him to protest, but he stayed silent, barely moving even as you ran the cloth under the cold tap.

“You’re not a pro hero,” he said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then why are you here...in a school for pro heroes?”

You switched off the tap and squeezed excess water from the cloth.

“Are you questioning my credentials, Professor Aizawa?”

“Not particularly,” he said. “It’s important to know the strengths and weaknesses of your team.”

“You could have looked at my file, you know.”

“Too much hassle. I wanted to ask you in person.”

You returned to the couch, cloth in hand. You got the impression that this was a test. Perhaps he already had looked at your file and was suspicious of you as a result. You wouldn’t blame him in his position, given the nature of your quirk and role in the school. He cared about the students far more than he would ever let on.

“Well,” you said, dabbing his eyes. “It’s true I’m not a pro, but I do have a quirk. It’s not… a particularly conventional one, though.”

Shouta stayed silent, waiting for you to continue.

“My quirk is a lie detector,” you said. “I can force people to tell the truth.”

“How do you activate it?”

“I say a little phrase.”

“Show me.”

He squinted at you, watching your body language. You were familiar with this dance; people learning what your quirk was and immediately wondering if you had used it on them without them realising. You got the feeling it ran deeper with Shouta. He wasn’t as interested in seeing your quirk as how comfortable you were using it on other people. Were you the type to proudly abuse your power? Did you take it lightly?

In truth, you weren’t comfortable using your quirk. Not at all.

“Tell me,” you said, goosebumps breaking out across your skin at the activation. “What’s your happiest memory?”

“There was a roof,” he said, without a moment’s hesitation. “My friends were there-”

You chose that question as you had believed it would be harmless. The horror in his eyes as he realised what he was saying, though, made you wonder if you had made a terrible mistake.

He clamped his mouth shut, eyes shining red.

You realised your skin no longer tingled. He’d erased your quirk.

“I…I’m so sorry,” you said, immediately overwhelmed by guilt. “I didn’t-”

“It’s fine,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’ve given it back now.”

It wasn’t fine, though. You had seen enough to know that. You clenched your hands in your lap, all too aware of the water soaking your skirt.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, unable to think of anything more coherent.

“Answer my question,” he said, far more gently than the first time. “Why did you come to a school for pro heroes?”

You thought about the scars on his body; the flash of horror at what should have been his happiest memory.

“Because,” you said, “heroes are more likely to get lost.”

Shouta glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and you blushed, worried you had said something embarrassing. He reached down into your lap for the cloth and placed it on his face.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “You should go home.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, “I still have some stuff to do.”

“Can I at least make you some coffee?”

“Nah.”

You reached for your purse, albeit reluctantly, making sure to check and double check that you had your train pass. You couldn’t believe how much chaos it had caused.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything? I can get you some candy from the vending machine.”

Shouta had rolled over onto his side with his back to you and waved you away.

“Don’t think too much about it, just go.”

The school corridors didn’t seem so scary on your way out. The shadows didn’t seem quite so dark, nor your footsteps so loud. You were too distracted to truly pay attention, racking your brains for some way to make it up to Shouta. Perhaps you’d bring him lunch one day or make him his favourite snacks. Hizashi would know the kinds of things he liked to eat. You decided to ask him in the morning.

The lights were still on in the 1-A homeroom and you peered inside as you passed. From the looks of things, Shouta had been in the middle of marking. That wasn’t what drew your attention, though.

In his haste to leave the room and investigate the commotion, he hadn’t bothered to switch off the radio on his desk, instead leaving it to play to itself. Hizashi’s voice was more than a little distinctive and you knew within seconds that it was his show.

“ Now then, listeners, it’s time for our nightly poll! Tonight is a really difficult one, submitted by user rokstar88. When reborn into your next life, would you rather have no hair on your body at all or be completely hairy, like a yeti? Results are in after this short break.”

[lovingmyselfcore]

i can go anywhere i want just not home

A fic based on My Tears Ricochet!! Highly recommend listening to the song while reading. Very angsty, it's if something happened and Aelin was forced out of Terrasen and had to fake her death. So yeah. I'm working on my Illicit Affairs one so that should be soon? No promises

**Not beta-read or anything we die like men here and I think I'm allergic to editing after 8pm so I can't be blamed if it's really bad

“Do it,” She spat, staring up at him - at all of them. Rowan was the only one who met her eyes, he didn’t flinch away from her, he never flinched away from her. Until recently, at least. There was a sort of comfort in knowing that she was horrible enough that Rowan Whitethorn had finally flinched.

She felt that achingly familiar lick of flame, starting at the base of her spine slowly curling up, lighting the hollows in her spine and bones, in her soul.

Something must be smoldering in her eyes because Rowan shifted, almost imperceptibly. Only being his mate and carranam did she recognize it for what it was. He’d shifted enough to have placed himself between them. Between her, Chaol, and Dorian.

With a bitter laugh, she spat again, “It’s come to this? You’re protecting them from me!” Her voice got shrill.

“Fireheart,” Rowan started but she cut him off.

“No. No. Don’t. You. Dare. Call me that.” It took all her years of training in hiding herself, of becoming other people, that allowed her to keep her voice steady.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to curl up in her massive bed, half sprawled against the comforting warmth of her husband, with Fleetfoot resting in her lap and a good book in one hand, the delicious chocolate hazelnut cake an elderly woman in town had learned to make just for her in the other. She wanted to go home.

But home was a long way from here.

Dorian shoved forward, elbowing past Rowan, ignoring Chaol’s muttered warning, and stopped once he and Aelin were nose-to-nose.

“We didn’t want to do this.”

She just hummed, not backing away from him.

Those flames still curled, ready for her to wield.

“This is better than the alternative,” Chaol spoke up and she and Dorian both moved to look at him.

She arched a brow and schooled her face into that indifferent arrogance she knew made nearly everyone see red. “The alternative? What was the alternative to forcing me to flee my kingdom I have fought so hard to keep and fake my own death with only,” She jabbed a finger at each of them, “You three knowing the details of what happened.”

“The alternative was taking away the fake part,” Dorian said, cold water to match her own burning flame.

She started, and against her better judgment, looked at Rowan. “You were going to,” She swallowed and tried very hard to ignore the agony in his gorgeous eyes. “Kill me?”

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think anybody voted for that.” Dorian offered.

“Voted?” Her voice went shrill again and she saw Rowan twitch. “You all voted on what to do with me?”

“You couldn’t stay in Terrasen anymore, not after what you did, so yes. We voted.”

“And you three are the lucky bastards who have to force me out.”

“Force is only needed if you decide to fight us, Aelin,” Chaol said.

She ignored how pointed the words were, how they angered those festering embers.

“So Lorcan didn’t volunteer? I was sure he’d be the first to want to force me out of my own home and fake my death.”

“Nobody volunteered, Aelin. Nobody wanted this to be the way it went.”

“Hmm, well it seems someone did. Since we’re here, and all.” Her voice dropped low and she was suddenly talking only to Rowan. “Was what I did so unforgivable that you don’t love me anymore?”

He couldn’t look at her, this man, who used to look at her like the stars were born in her eyes, now couldn’t look her in the face. “I’ll always love you, Fi-” He cleared his throat, “Aelin. Don’t ever think I stopped but-” He looked like words had become too hard and merely stared at whatever his eyes were fixed on, somewhere behind her left ear.

Chaol and Dorian were both looking anywhere but at the two of them.

Looking at him in the dying sunlight filtering through the web of branches formed from ancient oak trees, the way his eyes glittered, the hard lines of him all highlighted, and his hair ruffled from the autumn wind, her resolve broke. She took a step, then another, then she was running. He caught her, swept her up, and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

It was oddly reminiscent of a time long ago, in Adarlan. That, however, was a reunion. This was a goodbye.

Tears streaked down her face and he held her closer; as if trying to further commit all of her to memory. “I’m sorry, Rowan.” She whispered.

“I know. I am too.”

She pulled away first. He wiped her tears away with painstaking gentleness and kissed her forehead, “This may not be the end.” From his tone and the way he was looking at her, he believed it as much as she did. Which is to say, this is the end. “Promise me you’ll stay alive.”

She nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Take care of Terrasen for me. They need you.”

He nodded, his hands still resting on her face, making no move to leave. “Where will you go?”

She shrugged helplessly, “Maybe I’ll bring Lillian back. I don’t know. I’ll just stay in the shadows for a few centuries, try and build a life where nobody knows me, nobody knows Terrasen.”

He nodded again and slowly dragged his hands from her face. She was the one that was ‘dying’ but he looked ready to keel over himself. He took a few unsteady steps backward and stooped to pick up a backpack they’d brought. He tossed it to her and she caught it easily, slinging it along her back.

She turned and looked at Dorian and Chaol, biting her lip. She wanted them to hurt, she wanted them to feel the betrayal she felt. Not a sting, no, she felt like she’d been stabbed. And as someone who had been stabbed many times before, she felt confident in her analogy. But they were her friends, once.

Make them hurt a voice whispered deep from inside her. She clenched her fists and felt the flames bubbling up.

Aelin. Rowan. In her head.

She breathed in deeply and nodded to them once, they nodded back. She acknowledged the pain in their eyes with not a small amount of satisfaction.

She took off sprinting into the forest and didn’t look back.

~~~~~~

They were walking back to Terrasen, they’d let Aelin off at the border.

“Rowan,” Dorian laid a hand on his arm, “Are you-”

He shrugged the young king off and shifted, taking to the skies, as far from them, from anyone, as he could get.

“We made the right decision, right?” Dorian’s voice was so strained it cut at Chaol’s heart.

“Yeah, yes. This was the right choice. The only choice.”

He nodded, but Chaol could tell the doubts lingered. As long as Aelin was out there, on her own, free but never allowed to return home, the doubts would always linger.

~~~~~~

Her knees buckled not far from where she’d taken off running from the three of them. She flew forward, throwing her hands out and scraping her palms along the rocks as slid to a stop. She tried to breathe, ragged, shaking breaths, as she tried to calm her mind. The world blacked-out around the edges and a whimper fell from her mouth. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t fucking do this.

A weak scream ripped from her throat and she dug her hands harder into the rocks, they sliced her palms open, warm blood trickling into the grass.

She tried to wrangle the fire, she tried to use the tactics Rowan had taught her what felt like lifetimes ago, but just like it had which led to her being here, she couldn’t control it.

It didn’t explode like she thought it would, it bubbled. Like lava in a volcano, it bubbled out of her, hot smoldering fire, trickling down her face like tears, tracing lines along her body like blood. It covered the grass around her and spread, her cry was futile. It burnt straight through some of the ancient oak trees, bringing them down and melting them entirely into the earth.

Despite the chaos around her, despite that first anguished cry, she knelt in the dirt. Wind ripped her hair away from her face as she burned the world around her, nobody could say Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius went out gracefully.

~~~~~~

Despite the initial burning at the border, no sign of Aelin had surfaced. He had to give her credit, the woman knew how to disappear. The thought sent an ache through him, intensifying what was already there.

He’d been like some kind of ghoul, Lorcan and Fenrys traded shifts watching over him, making sure he bathed and ate. Someone always sat at his bedside with him, waking him when the nightmares took him. Nightmares that Aelin was still held captive by Maeve. When they resurfaced, the first night his hand had shot out, seeking a warm body that wasn’t there. He’d flown into a fit of panic until someone had brought someone in. One of the women, Elide, maybe? They had calmed him enough to tell him Aelin wasn’t with Maeve. They weren’t in the war anymore. He remembered where Aelin was. That he didn’t know where Aelin was, only that he had sent her away. In some ways, that hurt worse.

Most of them had moved into the castle and would stay until most of Terrasen, until Rowan, settled enough to be left. Most of them were Lords and Ladies, however, so they alternated. One week Elide would stay at the castle, the next week Lorcan would. The same went for Aedion and Lysandra. He knew it hurt them, being separated like that, but they never once complained. Rowan hadn’t entirely been paying attention when they had decided how Aelin’s ‘death’ had happened, but they’d fabricated a story and spread it. Today was her funeral, nearly a month after she had left - since they’d made her leave - and Terrasen’s people had been in mourning ever since. They would be for a long while, but not nearly as long as Rowan would be.

He wasn’t sure what woke up, it wasn’t even dawn, but his eyes fluttered open. He oriented himself with what - who - surrounded him. Fleetfoot, that damned dog, was at his feet. She hadn’t taken Aelin’s spot, as if hoping she would be back. There was another animal asleep near the foot of the bed, on the floor, Lysandra or Fenrys, and he watched their chest slowly rise and fall and matched his own to it. His heart had been racing. Maybe that’s what woke him, an unseen nightmare.

He crept past the sleeping figure, probably Lysandra then, not as attuned to his every move like he knew Fenrys was.

He slipped out onto the balcony and was struck with the memory of the time Aelin had woken him and he had found her staring with tear-filled eyes at the Kingsflame blooming across those rolling hills.

He surveyed those same hills, the sleeping town below, and leaned forward, bracing his hands on the railing until he was close to tumbling off the edge and stayed there in silence for a long while before speaking. “Damn it Aelin!” He was nearly sobbing, he had no idea when the tears had started. “Why didn’t you stay? Why didn’t you fight harder? Gods,” He broke off and slumped down, unable to speak thanks to the sobs wracking through him. “Please stay,” He nearly whimpered. “I know it’s too late but please, Fireheart, I need you. I need you.”

He fell asleep there, on the balcony, soothed by the beat of his heart. A beat that sounded suspiciously like an echo of Aelin’s fingers dancing along the pianoforte, drawing out a sound she commanded while quietly singing a lullaby she had told him her mother sang to her when she couldn’t sleep.

His eyes closed and he could’ve sworn her voice carried on the wind, that lullaby, followed by a nearly inaudible, “I love you, Rowan. I love you.”

~~~~~~

Half the time she slept in the forest like some kind of wild animal, the other half of the time she disguised herself and found some disgusting tavern to sleep in. She had no idea where she was anymore, she was just wandering aimlessly. She was currently sitting on the roof of one of said taverns. It reminded her painfully of her days as an assassin. She stared up at the stars, unblinking, the night wind was cold and stung her face but she was past caring. Up here, she took off the glamour, becoming Aelin again.

“Do you miss me, buzzard?” She asked the stars. “I hope you miss me as much as I miss you.” She shook her head and laughed angrily. “You became everything you didn’t want to, didn’t you? You bastard.” Her voice was getting louder with each word. “To whatever end? Right.” Angry tears streaked her face for what was definitely not the first time. “I’ve listened around enough that I learned my funeral is tomorrow.” She didn’t even know what she was doing anymore, besides pacing on a roof and shrieking at the sky. “Maybe I’ll stop in, I’ve always wanted to see my own funeral.” She jabbed an angry finger at a star she had deemed was Rowan’s stand-in. “I hope you make it worthy of me, you bastard. Gods, I hope you know me enough to make it as me as you can.” She blew a kiss at that star and something in her cracked, “I love you, Rowan Whitethorn. I shouldn’t, not anymore, but I do.”

She pulled her glamor back on and jumped down from the roof, landing on her feet with practiced ease. “Let’s see if I can make my own funeral, hmm?”

~~~~~~

It was as outrageous as Aelin would have wanted. Everyone was miserable, even those within the inner circle who knew what had really happened. Most everyone was here, except for all the royals within Erilea, and every other land Aelin had touched.

Music flourished from every corner, musicians from all over had come to play pieces for her, in honor of her. It was like some kind of twisted wedding, the way everyone turned when the royals entered. The leaders that Aelin had not known as personally entered first, stopping individually to give impersonal speeches about her. Then Galan entered. He knelt before the basically-shrine honoring her. “You were one of the greatest Queens this world has ever seen, cousin.” He cleared his throat, “You were so much more than all your titles give you credit for, and that’s saying a lot. You were so full of life and energy and,” A broken laugh. “Fire. You burned bright, Aelin. And now that you’re ash, we’re ash too.” He cleared his throat again and stayed kneeling next to the other leaders, murmuring words meant only for him and his cousin.

Manon entered next, she knew the truth but despite that, her eyes were rimmed an angry red. She stood next to Galan, “Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius.” She went silent for a moment before sinking to her knees. Everyone gasped. Family knelt, but other than that no leader, especially not a witch, knelt. “You-” She broke off and bowed her head, curling her hands into fists at her side.

When it was clear Manon wasn’t going to finish, Dorian entered. He knelt beside Manon (cue another gasp) his mouth moved, but it was only for him and Aelin. The goodbye he hadn’t had the chance to say in that forest.

Nesryn and Sartaq strode in, Sartaq didn’t speak, but Nesryn did. Her voice carried, unwavering. “No King or Queen is perfect, but Aelin was pretty damn close. She and I were never the closest but,” She hesitated and Sartaq reached for her hand, “She believed in me. She never looked down on me because I was human, and wasn’t in any huge position of power, and that faith in me never changed even when I became,” She gestured at her and Sartaq, at her dress, “Aelin mattered in a way that not many people have ever mattered. She will be remembered, for her fire and power, for what she’s done, but also how she has a soft spot for dogs and chocolate,” A few wet laughs, “How she loves music and theater, how kind she is to everyone.” The crowd nodded their agreement, there wasn’t a soul that wasn’t crying. “You did it. You made your mark.” She bowed her head and it was clear she was done.

Rowan was last, Goldryn in his hands. He laid in with pain-staking gentleness at her shrine. He stepped back and opened his mouth as if about to speak. His fingers fiddled with the ring on one finger. The ring Aelin had given him that he hadn’t taken off. That he would never take off. “Damn you,” He said finally. “Damn you, Aelin.” He bowed his head to hide from the crowd and someone moved, Elide. She came up to him, murmured a few quiet words, and led him to kneel next to Sartaq. She waited a few moments before returning to her spot.

The music rose as everyone knelt, heads bowed, before their dead Queen. It was ghostly, the way they knelt in total silence, besides their tears. Aelin was going to haunt everyone, for a very, very long time.

If anyone had been looking, they would have seen a female figure in the trees, slipping away as quietly and quickly as she could, tears flowing freely at the love everyone held for her.

“Goodbye,” She whispered. Well, looks like she could make a graceful disappearance after all.

[gingerwritess]

In response to your pre-dating idiots call!!!! PLEASE expand on what Loki said in "so there's this girl" about pretending to hate reader!!! I'm in a very angsty mood!!! Also good luck with ur studying

here’s a long ol fic for some predating idiots developments! lots of foreshadowing and implications, oooo…

part 14, masterlist (Loki’s happy ending) in bio :)

―   ―   ―   ―

There’s really nothing left to like about Loki.

He’s mean, he’s cold, he’s vindictive, manipulative, calculating, blackmailing you for your generousity.

Luckily, he’s leaving you alone.

Sometimes you’ll wonder if Loki thinks he has your memories of him, that he successfully ripped himself out of your mind—you find yourself checking, every once in a while.

Eyes closed, you’ll lean back. Focus.

Jagged cuts, barely scabbed lashings, pale skin stained red…Loki flinching away from your touch with such a wince of pain you may as well have sliced him open again.

The memory is definitely still yours. 

It’s stayed on through the weeks, in your new office and devoid of any fake-boyfriends and blackmail threats—which makes for a fairly quiet work life.

Since the discovery of Loki’s double, security in Stark towers has tripled. Now you can’t go anywhere without an escort, you’ve been gifted a new taser, and you can call yourself personally aquatinted with the Avengers—though that might be your least favourite parts of the day.

They’re nice, you guess, but trying to keep up your story when Tony Stark and the Black Widow are grilling you with questions only gets harder by the minute.

To make matters worse, they’ve been asking about your little faux-boyfriend, too. You had to settle on a backstory, how you met, what he did before Stark Industries (which you vaguely remember him mentioning shield), all without speaking a word to the god in question for the past three weeks.

As far as you’re concerned, you fake-broke up. But like, for real.

You don’t want to see him. You don’t want to talk about Laing, or Loki, or anything that’s ever happened between the two of you, but they bring up the day you met and almost killed him, they ask you if he threatened revenge, if he hinted a second attack, and you say no.

Over and over, you say no.

At this point, though, you are pretty certain that revenge isn’t Loki’s motive. You’re not quite sure what could be taking its place, but bloodlust or pure “evilness” aren’t options anymore. If they were, he wouldn’t still be treating his patients as Dr. Laing, and he certainly wouldn’t have just stopped and knelt next to the thin woman sitting in front of the Tower, hugging a small boy to her chest.

Yourself on your way to work, too, you immediately duck back around the building on the corner, not wanting him to know you’re watching. Whatever he’s doing, this is all Loki…well, Laing. Not trying to keep up another cover or impress anybody, right?

He speaks too quietly for you to hear from your distance, but the mother, you guess, has tears in her eyes as she cradles the coughing boy and pleads with Dr. Laing.

Loki stands, and your heart twists. Of course he’s leaving her there, her and her child all alone. You curse yourself for being surprised.

You’re about to march out there yourself and demand that Loki take them in, threaten to rat him out if he doesn’t, but before you can, Loki’s back by her side, holding out a hand to help her to her feet.

Your jaw drops.

Loki—Laing, or whoever the hell possessed him—carefully takes the little boy from her arms, laying a hand over his forehead and saying something to the mother with a soft smile.

A smile you’ve never seen on either of his faces.

Still quietly talking to the mother, he takes them to the elevator, casting a wary eye around the fairly empty lobby as you hurry to keep up with them. With a split second to make your decision, you run through the doors after them.

Loki gives you a tired, incredulous look. 

“What floor?”

“Same as you,” you reply with an all-too-cheery smile.

He doesn’t seem too happy to have gained your company.

The elevator ride goes by in an uncomfortable silence, the wanted criminal holding a sick child and offering his mother a few strained smiles while you watch on, trying to comprehend what the hell is going on. 

Luckily it’s over soon, and you quickly turn the opposite way from the strange little trio, pretending to go the other way before turning around and sneaking after them to Laing’s office. 

If you’re not careful, your assigned guards are going to come looking for you. Technically they were supposed to meet up with you the moment you arrived on premise, but today, you’d rather see what Loki’s up to on your own.

The strange little trio is already in the room, the little boy laying on the examination table while Laing looks over him. That’s strange, but the strangest part is the fact that he’s still smiling—at the mother.

She’s slowly breaking down, you can tell. 

You can’t look away, peeking through the window to the exam room as Loki sits the boy up, trying to console the mother as she drops her head to her hands, shoulders shaking.

Loki steps away from her and looks right at you.

“Come in here.”

Startled, you jump away from the window and hurry to the door. “Need any help, uh, Doctor?”

He just grabs you around the arm and drags you outside.

“Let go of me—”

 “I need you to distract her,” he whispers, and surprisingly lets go. “The boy is sick, I can’t help him without a bit of my own help, but she can’t see.”

“O-okay.” You blink at him in shock. “That’s it? No scheming, you’re just helping them?”

Loki sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “They can’t pay. I’m not going to let her child die when all it would take it a wave of the hand. Will you help me?”

You try not to let the shock—and blatant disbelief—show on your face. 

“Sure…”

“Just comfort her,” he tells you, ushering you back to the room. “Keep her distracted and please, please stop her crying.”

The woman looks up when you enter the room, her eyes bloodshot and tear-brimmed. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, and Loki quickly returns to the boy’s bedside.

You plaster on a friendly smile and sit down next to her, drawing her attention towards yourself. 

“Is this your son? Lo-Laing will help him, don’t worry.” 

She nods, and you see Loki moving out of the corner of your eye to cover what he’s doing. “He’s been getting worse and worse, and no one will see us,” she explains quietly. “Dr. Laing is the first person to help us, y-you’re very lucky to be with him.”

“Oh, no, no,” you laugh, wishing Loki would hurry up. “No, we’re not together, I just work with him.”

“Still.” She smiles, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I can’t thank you enough.”

You’re quite sure what to say to that. Of course, she has no clue who she’s really dealing with, and for a split second, you nearly forget, too.

No murderous sociopath would be handing a freshly-healed little kid a lollipop, right?

He certainly looks the part, smiling and ruffling a hand through the kid’s hair, standing there in his lab coat with a stethoscope around his neck, lifting the little boy off the table to run back to his mother.

“Get him something to eat,” he tells her with a smile, a fake, phony little smile, and you can’t help but stare when he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of bills. “Here. He needs food and rest, as do you, and if anything else seems off, you know where to find me.”

By the time Loki has escorted them back down to the lobby, you’re left alone in the exam room, trying to make sense of what just happened and trying to decide what on earth to do with this information.

That was…helpful.

That was unlike Loki, that’s for sure.

When he eventually returns to the room, you’re still sitting there, waiting.

“Did you want a candy, too?”

You don’t respond, staring as he trudges around the room, prepping it for the next patient. 

“I assume you haven’t forgiven me.” He casts a quick glance over to you, getting nothing in return. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t forgive something that went into my mind to play games, either.”

“You didn’t do anything to me,” you remind him stiffly. “I still remember everything I saw. Someone hurt you, you have scars to prove it, and I still know that.”

“You compromised my cover.”

Shaking your head, you can’t help but laugh. “I didn’t compromise you, you blew your own cover. You’re weak, aren’t you?”

“What does that matter to you?”

“I’m trying to understand what’s going on, because as far as I can tell, you’re not who you’re pretending to be. Can’t you just explain what happened to Thor? He’s your brother, I’m sure he—”

“I am not hiding from your little heroes,” Loki snaps, slamming the cabinet he was rifling through shut. “They are the least of my concerns, and I’d much appreciate if you would leave them out of our interactions completely.”

You give a small huff of annoyance, crossing your arms with a pointed glare. “I don’t believe it, sorry. If you were really some crazy serial killer, you wouldn’t have just helped that lady and her kid.”

“Maybe,” Loki/Laing sneers, “I was luring them into my trap. Maybe that’s what I’m doing to you, hm? You certainly can’t seem to get enough of me.”

“No, I think you’re scared of something.”

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Laing smiles back, holding the door open with a sweep of his arm.

“You’re running from something, you’re hiding from something,” you continue, a small smile of your own playing at your lips. “Aren’t you?”

Backed into the hallway but trying to stay one step ahead of him, you stare at him expectantly as he furrows his brow, no doubt annoyed beyond belief that you keep pressing the subject.

Maybe he was about to answer you, but now you’ll never know—one of your guards comes running to your side.

“You’re supposed to tell us when you’re coming in early,” he huffs, hastily pushing back the visor on his helmet. “I can’t read your mind, okay? You’ve gotta work with me here.”

Loki straightens up, an unamused glaze passing over his visage.

“Sorry,” you tell your guard, eyes never leaving Laing’s. “I sure wish I didn’t have to be escorted everywhere, thanks to some emotionally constipated god.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“Maybe he should go to therapy,” you reply smoothly. “Let someone help him for once, tell someone the truth.”

“Maybe you should stay away from him,” Laing growls—your guard, Marcus, steps a little closer as Laing advances towards you, voice dropping. “Maybe he’s unstable, and maybe he has a target on his back that could level your planet, and maybe he’s nothing more than a monster that needs to be disposed of before anything worse happens.”

You blink.

That came out of nowhere.

Laing sighs, slipping back into his office. “Stay with your, ah, guards. Don’t ask anymore questions.”

“You can’t tell me—mmf!”

Laing just smiles, and you catch a glimpse of Loki in his sad eyes as you involuntarily spin on your heel and hurry away, leaving Marcus scrambling to catch up.

This isn’t the first time that he’s had to watch you walk away; it’s a sight all too familiar to him.

Even from the distance now between the two of you, he catches a glimpse of the taser hanging from your belt, the gun strapped to your guards back, the one in his hands, and when you reach the elevator, unable to stop walking, two more guards join the group.

Good, he reminds himself, good, good.

You glare back at him in the doorway, mouth stopped and feet moving by Loki’s hand, and a wave of relief crashes over him.

You look annoyed.

Disgusted with him.

Angry.

―   ―   ―   ―

“Tell me a bit about your father.”

“Which one?”

Loki rolls over on the crisp, white bed, a grin on his gaunt face. 

“Whichever you feel more connected to,” the therapist replies. 

A pen clicks and clicks again, and Loki sighs.

“He’s a horrid man. He hates me, I hate him. It’s simple enough, doctor, he never loved me.”

Thor points at the screen. “I believed that.”

I might, too, you decide.

“Do you blame your father for some things that have gone wrong in your life?”

“Yes.”

It’s a quick, short answer that needed no thought.

“Can you elaborate?”

Loki crosses his ankles, stretching to lay his hands behind his head with a content little hum. “Well, if he had paid more attention to me, I wouldn’t have attacked this poor town, that’s for certain.”

The therapist seems stunned by the sudden confession.

“Wasn’t it obvious?” Loki continues, eyes fluttering closed. “I did this for him. I want him to see that I am the worthy son, I can conquer worlds and be a greater king than he, and he will hold nothing in his heart but respect for who I am.”

“I believed that one, too,” Thor says again. “That one made sense, but only if I assumed the worst.”

“Do you think anything from these sessions is true? Anything that his clone said?” Mind spinning, you stop the video player and remove the hard drive, unsure if watching Loki’s therapy tapes had helped in any way or not.

Currently, the scales are tipping towards not.

“It is unlikely,” Thor sighs. “My brother is a skilled liar, he twists your words and manipulates the truth to bend to his will…most of the time, you never know if you are even truly speaking to him, or just another illusion. Just as this now shows us”

“Do you believe any of that?” 

“I want to,” he answers truthfully. “It is simple. It makes it easier to take him back to the Allfather for punishment, if we could only find the serpent.”

“I don’t,” you mumble under your breath, then stop, unsure if you should really let those words actually leave your mouth. 

Thor gives you a sideways glance and you curse yourself for saying anything.

“Do you find him attractive?”

You drop the hard drive to the floor with a loud clatter. 

“What?! No! No,” you laugh, quickly stooping to pick it back up. “Of course not, why would you say that?”

“You seem to have faith in him,” Thor carefully replies, still eyeing you suspiciously. “Or at least an acute interest. Why do you want to help him?”

“I’m…” you pause, needing to think for a moment.

To an extent, you suppose he’s right - you want to have faith in him. You made a judgement call when you first met him and tried to kill him, only to accidentally find yourself tangled further in his webbed plan than you’d care to be. 

Some days, Loki makes you think you made the wrong judgement, that maybe it wasn’t him, that maybe he’s suffering in a different way than most assume, that maybe he’s more than he lets on.

That maybe he’s been forced into playing the villain in his brother’s story. 

“Curious,” you finally answer. “I’m curious. He’s weird, a-and gods are still kinda new to our world, so…I’m curious if he’s really who he lets on to be.”

Thor nods, brow furrowed and deep in thought. 

“Though it’s pretty tough to find anything out about him when he’s missing,” you quickly add, remembering that you really shouldn’t have as much access to the god as you do.

“I understand.” Thor gives you a small smile, a mild comfort. “Be wary of him, won’t you? I fear he uses people to his advantage, mistakes their kindness for strategy.”  

A flood of memories to support that cloud your mind, and the rest of your walk back to your office finishes in silence.

You are curious. There’s something off about this Loki character. Just from the small bits of him you’ve seen, the way he pushes you away, the clear evidence he keeps hiding, something about him screams out to anyone who will listen.

Screaming for help, you’re nearly certain.

“He is dangerous,” Thor says once you’ve reached your office again. “He is powerful. And I fear we’ve hurt him past the point of repair.”

“I doubt it,” you smile, giving the god a reassuring squeeze on the arm. “He’ll come back. He’s your family, right?”

Thor just smiles, wishes you a good day, and walks away.

―   ―   ―   ―

fuel the writer?

feel free to send me ideas!!

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

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[itisannak]

Calm after the storm (Michael Clifford Fluff)

Summary: (Y/N) has a panic attack & Michael is there to comfort her The plot revolves around the reader experiencing a panic attack, so if you feel uncomfortable reading something like this, please revise my Masterlist to find a story you might like (Request) (Words: 1.2k)

(3rd Person's POV) The day passed slowly for Michael; he went to a promo interview, then to the studio, then to a meeting. He couldn't wait for the moment he would walk into their house and he would see her pretty face. This part of the day has been his favorite ever since they started living together; he comes home, they have dinner and chat, before cuddling on the couch, mumbling sweet nothings at each other.

He parks his car in the garage, smiling already. He feels so at home in her presence, even though he has just reached her proximity. He feels like she is someone he can let every guard down with completely like he can be himself truly. He gets in the house, leaving his keys on the island near the door before looking for her. The house is oddly quiet, which throws Michael off his rhythm. Usually, he finds her singing, listening to music, or watching something on the TV. His favorite this far has been when he catches her singing along to his songs. Man, it makes him glow with pride. He looks for her in every room in the house, calling her name a couple of times, but it ends up in the same silence as before.

She hears him call her name as he approaches, which only makes her chest heave more. She doesn't want him to find her in that state, but her body refuses to move. She truly is petrified, unable to move from her spot to do anything before Michael walks in and finds her sitting on the floor. She is gasping for air, which makes his chest feel heavy with worry. He kneels by her side, trying to find a way to calm her. "(Υ/Ν)... Baby... What is happening?" He asks her, looking at her in a state of shook. (Y/N) shivers, mumbling something that is completely incoherent for him. "Honey, try to take a breath... Come on, breathe with me." Michael is familiar with panic attacks, he has experienced them first hand in the past. He keeps her face in his hands, instructing her on how to circulate her breathing; drag it in until your lungs expand, hold it for a few seconds, then breathe out until you deflate. (Y/N) looks at him as she breathes, with tear-glazed eyes and cheeks stained from her morning makeup that is now smudged. It is eating him alive to know what caused his girlfriend to break down, but he knows that what matters the most right now is calming her down. He stays knelt in front of her, holding her face for the time it takes for her to breathe steadily and stop crying. "Good... Let's go sit somewhere comfortable. Ok?" He suggests, taking her hands in his and running his thumbs over her knuckles.

Silently, he helps her up and helps her walk out, guiding her to their bedroom, where she seats on the ottoman in front of the bed. Michael kisses her forehead softly, handing her the box of tissues that was set on the bedside table. "What happened, my love?" He asks her in his softest voice. He is trying his best to soothe her, keep her as calm as possible. She stays quiet for a minute, forcing herself to repeat the breathing Michael instructed her a few minutes before, wanting to avoid falling into the rabbit hole again. "I screwed up at work... Really bad..." She replies, a sob coming from the chest as she lets it out. Michael kisses the back of her hands, in an effort to distract her from her trigger as she talks about it. "I am sure we can work it out. Tell me what happened." He assures her, making her nod her head. "We have a meeting tomorrow. I was supposed to make a report, but I screwed it up. I analyzed the data wrong, so the review is all fucked up... They are going to fire me..." She whimpers, feeling tears welling in her eyes. Michael wipes his thumbs over her under eyes, leaning in to hug her. "We can fix it. We will go over it together. I know I am not much help, but you can use me as a soundboard. No one is going to fire you, baby. You can fix it, no need to panic." He cheers for her, but she shakes her head at him. "It is needed for tomorrow morning. And I have to send it for printing. There is no time, I fucked up." She replies, and Michael brings her head to his shoulder. "It is 7. We have time. And I can print it for you when you are done. I have seen you working, you are like a machine. If anyone can do it, it is you." He assures her, smiling at her softly. "And even if you don't make it on time, at least you will know you gave one last fight." He pecks on her temple, making her sigh. "It might take all night..." She mumbles under her breath. "Then I'll stay up all night to make sure you are alright." He states, rubbing his hand up and down her arm. "You will do that for me?" She asks, placing her chin on top of his shoulder. "For you? Anything." He replies, kissing the tip of her nose. She laughs softly, her face still a little blotchy from crying. But to him, she is the most beautiful woman, still. "Now, go take a shower, freshen up, rinse the day away. And I will go order us some food and make us some coffee." He says, his smile now spreading as he pushes some curls away from her face. "You are an angel." She whispers, standing up from the ottoman after she leaves a peck on his cheek. It makes him feel warm, watching her go back to her usual fluffy self. "Go. I am ordering pizza." He scoffs, making her giggle.

Michael was right; if anyone could make it happen, it was (Y/N). She finished at 3:15, and if she wasn't so tired, she would be dancing on top of the tables.

Michael put her to sleep, practically having to carry her as she stubbornly insisting on staying with him while he was making the copies. But as stubborn as she is, he is equally determined to take care of his partner. So, he made the copies and put them in order, leaving only the binding part for the morning, which he knew had to be done with the company's official binders.

He took himself to bed, finding (Y/N) cuddling up to his pillow. He smiled at the sight, slipping under the covers and bringing his body to spoon hers. She truly looked calm while asleep, which made him have a peaceful sleep. The calm after the storm finally came, and it made everything feel right in their world again.

My Masterlist

[jancmalandra]

Moominpapa Steps Up

On healthy relationships and families

Just before sunrise on Friday morning, Moominpapa made his way to the cliff overlooking Moominmama's flower garden and waited until the sun fully illuminated it. Over the week that Moominmama, Snork Maiden, and Little My had been gone, he had made it his personal responsibility to care for the flowers and keep the garden weeded. He looked down at the portrait of Moominmama that the flowers created and breathed a sigh of deep love. This garden was the best gift that he and the rest of the extended Moomin family had ever given Moominmama. Even so, it was still a small token of how much they all loved her.

Moominpapa went down into the garden and picked two of every kind of flower in it and wrapped the stalks up in red and white wrapping paper, after the colors of Moominmama's apron, to make a lovely bouquet. When he got home, he found that Moomintroll and Snufkin had already brought out the picnic tables and dining room chairs and set them up right in front of the veranda as usual. Moomin and Tayberry had put the tablecloth on the tables and set out the place settings. They both wore party dresses, makeup and sun hats. Tayberry wasn't used to wearing dresses, and she had required her sibling's help to put on the makeup, but she was determined to look her best for her mother and grandmother on this special occasion.

"Thank you so much, all of you for all your help this week! Come on! Let's all head for the beach!", said Moominpapa, who was becoming more and more excited and emotional as the time for Moominmama, Snork Maiden, and Little My to return drew nearer and nearer. Moomintroll, Snufkin, Tayberry, and Moomin all stayed close to Moominpapa's side as they headed out, to offer him moral and emotional support.

They were soon all standing on the beach just a little bit away from the boardwalk that lead up to the bathhouse, staring at the door in anticipation. When they had found The Adventure still moored to the boardwalk last Friday, they realized that The Hobgoblin's Hotel must have transported Moominmama, Snork Maiden, and Little My somewhere, probably somewhere very special.

The door to the bathhouse opened by itself and there was a blinding flash of light, and suddenly Moominmama, Snork Maiden, and Little My were walking down the boardwalk towards them. Moominpapa ran up to greet his beloved wife, knelt down on one knee, and extended his bouquet of flowers towards her. She took it with a big smile on her face and held it to her snout and inhaled the blend of fragrances from the different flowers deeply.

"Mama.", said Moominpapa, "I would rather never write again than ever hurt your feelings or make you worry for me. You're the greatest adventure I ever had and I can never express how much I love you adequately. I hope you can forgive me now and keep on forgiving me forever, because I'm going to fail to be the Moomin you deserve again, and a lot sooner than I want to think about."

"And I'm going to try too hard and do too much and forget to take care of myself and then blame you again.", said Moominmama, "We were always perfect for each other because we know how imperfect we are, and we know how to forgive each other. Well, I see you brought everyone with you! How did you all get on this week?"

"Perfectly, grandma!", said Moomin, "You should have seen the way grandpa took care of the house, and your garden, and us! Dad, Snufkin, Tayberry and I helped, of course, but he took full charge! You'll be amazed at how good Moominhouse looks! Come on, you can start to tell us about your vacation on the way! We're going to prepare a special outdoor breakfast once we get there!"

"Well, to start with, we went to Mars.", said Moominmama, "We reunited with the Martian we rescued when he crashed his flying saucer in Moominvalley years ago. He had three children of his own, and they gave us a mailbox to send letters to them and get letters from them (at this she held up the Martian mailbox). Now, I want you all to understand that I will be the only one to touch it. I will keep it near my bed to keep it safe. So, there will be no more roughhousing in our bedroom, is that clear? If anything were to happen to it, I don't know what I'd...." Her voice broke and she shed a tear. Moominmama had very few strict rules that governed Moominhouse, and no one would ever think of breaking any one of them because it would mean breaking her heart.

The walk back to Moominhouse was a lot more subdued than Moominpapa had intended. Moominmama went into Moominhouse on her own and everyone else waited for her around the picnic tables. She went up to her and Moominpapa's bedroom first and gave the Martian mailbox a place of honor on her bedside table. She breathed a sigh of relief and headed back downstairs with a flower vase for her bouquet from the third floor storage room. She went into the kitchen for water and saw the ingredients for the breakfast they were about to have spread out carefully on the kitchen table. As she set her bouquet of flowers in the vase out on the parlor table, it really struck her all of a sudden how clean and inviting Moominhouse was. She couldn't have done a better job herself.

When she walked out of the veranda door, she had a broad smile on her face and tears of joy in her eyes and the somber atmosphere suddenly vanished and her whole family gathered around her for a big group hug.

"Papa, you did this all for me?", asked Moominmama, "It's wonderful! Do you want any help in the kitchen?"

"Nonsense, my dear!", said Moominpapa, "You should just relax and enjoy being pampered!" He led her to her seat at the head of the table, then he and Moomintroll went back to the kitchen to prepare the grand breakfast. As they waited, Snufkin played a brand new dance song on his harmonica and Moomin and Tayberry performed a special dance together to it. Moominmama's smile kept getting bigger, and her joyful laughter flowed freely as the celebration of the three women's return kicked into high gear. Moominmama, Snork Maiden, and Little My told the story of their time on Mars over the wonderful pancakes and fruit dishes Moominpapa and Moomintroll had prepared. They had even managed to bake Moominmama's legendary carrot cake with buttercream icing for dessert. It was one of the best parties that the Moomin family had ever thrown.

The End

[deathbypufferfish]

Not like I am with you - a puffer legacy short story

Somewhere in-between Emi’s keg-stand and Joe’s flirting, Haru had lost track of Ilya.

wordcount: 1635

What began as a simple scope around the room had quickly turned into a frantic search and a pit of anxiety in Haru’s stomach. The last time he saw Ilya he was downing his beer with fervor. It was something he had never seen before. He wondered if he had ever even seen him drink in the first place. Anxious thought upon thought was stacking up in his brain when the most obvious location finally came to mind. His dorm room. 

The tower of thoughts toppled over and a new mixture of emotions arose. Anticipation and excitement. Haru had accepted weeks ago that things between him and the dancer would never be more than friendly, but the feelings he tucked away were hard to keep down. They haunted him at night and filled idle daydreams throughout the day. Imagining scenario after scenario. But that was all they were and all they ever could be, daydreams. He just needed to find Ilya already.

Once down the hall Haru could tell by the dim glow underneath his door that his bedside lamp was still on. He walked in and his hunch was confirmed. Ilya was sitting on the floor, his back leaned up against Haru’s bed, and his shoes were off . He lazily stroked the wooden grooves of the nightstand. Slowly and exaggerated. It was very apparent that he was drunk out of his mind.

“I’m sorry, I was looking at your stuff,” he slurred.

“Huh?”

“I’ve been looking at all your things. Like your pictures…and your books…” He barely spoke louder than a murmur. His fingers still traced the wood as he spoke.

“Oh, um, that’s alright.” Haru didn’t know what else to say. Not a single thing made sense to him right now. Ilya was drunk, in his room, and apparently perusing through his things. That pit of anxiety returned with a vengeance. Ilya finally turned to look at him. His eyes were red. His shirt collar was wet with tears. Haru’s actions came to him so naturally after that.

He let him help him off the floor and onto his bed. There was no protest or drunken apologies. Ilya simply stared at him with an expression that felt so blank and yet so sad. His gaze felt heavy on him. Intrusive even.

He knelt to the ground and grabbed his shoes. Without even thinking, he began to put them back on Ilya. He immediately felt like such a fool, but it was too late. Stopping now would be worse, right? Right? As he tied his laces he dared to take a peek up at Ilya’s face. He was covering his face with both of his hands, but Haru could still see furious blushing on the tips of his ears. He finished tying his shoes as quickly as possible as the blood rushed to his own face as well.

Haru sat next to Ilya on his bed at a respectful distance, and they both sat in silence for an uncomfortable minute or so. Ilya shifted back and forth every once and a while, seemingly always on the edge of saying something. At last he spoke in just a soft enough whisper to hear.

“I’ve never had a friend like you.”

“What do you mean?” Haru turned to look at him, but still found him evading his gaze. Ilya rubbed his hands along the knees of his jeans. Slowly feeling the rough fabric slide to and fro underneath his palms. Haru thought it almost sounded like the rolling of waves along a shore. Every sentence seemed to take him a great deal of time to form and think through. Whether it was the alcohol or nerves, Haru couldn’t tell.

“I mean, I’m close with Katya, but not like I am with you.”

“Well, she’s your girlfriend. Of course it would be different.”

“No, no, it’s not different,” he snapped. “She's not actually my girlfriend.”

Ilya squeezed his eyes shut and clenched the fabric in his hands. What was he talking about? Did they break up? Haru had seen them talking to each other just an hour ago. If he was honest, he hadn’t been watching them that closely. He’d rather not see his unrequited crush talk to his girlfriend, but he would have at least noticed any domestic tension.

The reality of Ilya's confession dawned on him. They weren’t in a real relationship and maybe never were. They were faking it. When he looked at it under this lens, he realized that they never truly interacted as a couple. Of course, except when Katya would kiss Ilya in front of him. Maybe it was for show. Maybe it was Katya’s disdain for Haru. But Ilya had just confessed that their relationship was never truly romantic. More than that, Haru thought about what this may mean for Ilya’s sexuality.

“Oh…I see.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he whispered.

Ilya finally turned to look at him. They were closer together than Haru initially realized. He couldn’t help but examine every mole, every crease, every detail of his sorrowful, yet beautiful face. It was hard to breathe in such close proximity. The hugs they had shared before felt prudish in the shadow of this intimacy.

He tried to deny it, but he felt as if Ilya was doing the same thing. The way he was leaning in, the way his chest heaved with his shallow breaths. That far-fetched idea of him loving him back felt so tangible all of a sudden. And it was terrifying.

“It’s okay. You could have never told me, and it would still be okay,” he whispered back. “I care about you.”

Ilya opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His face was burning red again. His eyes wide and dilated. Haru couldn’t bear it, being so close. It was pure torture. As his stomach flipped and the heat rose in his chest he took his chance and laid a soft hand over Ilya’s.

It was stiff and terribly awkward at first. Ilya had frozen so quickly you would think he would shatter. Haru was wondering if he had made a grave mistake when Ilya’s deep breath interrupted him. In just a moment more he mellowed under his touch, simply letting his hand lay atop his own. For a moment everything fell still. They did not speak, they just sat in each other’s presence. After a while things began to feel tense again, overwhelming even, so Haru broke the silence.

“How about we get you some coffee?”

Ilya was still staring at the floor, but a small smile had crept up onto his stern face. He nodded. Haru stood up and tried to gain his composure before leaving the privacy of his dorm room. Ilya followed suit, but wobbled at his own sudden movement. Haru grabbed his elbow and steadied him with a soft chuckle. Coffee was a requirement at this point. Ilya stared at Haru's hand on his arm and before Haru could even react he found himself in his arms.

Sure they had hugged before, but it was fleeting and friendly. This was something else entirely. Ilya was practically hanging off him, pressing most of his weight into their embrace. He pressed his face into his shoulder and sighed. Haru could have passed out right then and there. This entire night was threatening his ability to stay conscious, honestly. It was worth it, he decided, and pressed his cheek to the top of the shorter man’s head. His curls tickled his nose. It was hard to not think about how much he loved him.

Ilya pulled away only slightly, their faces mere inches apart. He leaned in further.

Their lips had only barely made contact when Haru had brought a hand up to his chest. He pushed him away as gently as he could. He was drunk, too drunk, but those words could not get out faster than Ilya's face fell. Complete and utter horror.

”No, Ilya, please wait! I love you, I do!”

It was too late. Ilya bent his head under the weight of his shame. He shoved him off so hard Haru stumbled into the nightstand, knocking the lamp onto its side. He grabbed at Ilya’s sleeve, tears streaming down his face, but Ilya shook him off once again.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

His voice was layered with so much emotion it pierced Haru’s heart like a dagger. It was over. He humiliated him. He had humiliated himself. 

Ilya slammed the door shut in his escape. Haru ran after him, but lingered as he reached for the doorknob. He couldn’t run after him in the midst of the party. It would just have made things worse, much worse. He knew this, yet it took everything in him to not open that door and chase after him anyways. To tell him how much he loved him. How he didn’t want him to have any regrets about their first kiss being a drunk, crying mess. He couldn’t tell if it was the right or wrong thing to do. The heartbreak had crippled any logical thought or reason he could have come up with. It didn’t matter anymore.

He slid down the door as the floodgates opened up. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to even think through the sobs that tore through him. The banging at the door began as Emi shouted at him to move out of the way in-between asking what happened. Eventually he would let her in and eventually he would stop crying, but for now all he could do was lay down and hope he would sink into the floor. Into nothing. Never to be seen again.

[imagineteamfreewill]

Consort - Part 3

Title: What You Need

Pairing: Goddess!Reader x Dean

Word Count: 2,690

Warnings: Slight angst

Summary: Dean meets his assigned handmaidens and spends time with Y/N, including exploring outside the temple for the first time.

A/N: This is part three of Consort. Feedback makes the world go round!

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There were three temple women in Y/N’s chambers when Dean woke up the next morning. Y/N wasn’t there and the handmaidens seemed more relaxed. He’d never seen them before and he frowned a little, sleepy and confused. He was sure he’d met all the women in the temple. 

Slowly, Dean sat up and rubbed his eyes, yawning. Before he could do anything more, the three handmaidens rushed to his bedside. One of them pulled the blankets down his legs as another opened the heavy curtains that blocked sunlight from entering.

Dean squinted. “Wait, wait. I can do it on my own,” he grumbled, swatting at their hands before they could pull the blankets entirely off of him.

“This is our duty, Dean,” the third handmaiden said. Her voice was gentle and Dean stilled at the sound. “This is how we’re supposed to serve.”

“At least tell me your names. If you’re required to serve me like you serve Y/N, then I want to at least be able to treat you well.”

The three women exchanged wary glances before nodding.

“I’m Rosalie,” the first woman told him. She gestured to the other two women and continued, “That’s Joanna, and that’s Bethany.”

“I used to have a friend named Joanna,” Dean replied, sadness filling him. He looked down at the blanket that was still covering one of his legs. “I haven’t seen her in years.”

The room fell silent as Rosalie, Joanna, and Bethany watched him for a second, then went back to their work. The fire was soon stoked with logs, despite the fact that Dean was still pretty sure it was magical, and he noticed that Bethany was holding a fresh set of clothes for him.

“Would you like to dress now, Dean?”

Dean tore his gaze away from the folded garments to meet Joanna’s eyes. She smiled encouragingly and reluctantly, Dean nodded. He climbed out of the bed and stretched. Once the kinks in his neck were gone, he reached for the clothes.

Bethany shook her head and stepped away. “We’re supposed to dress you. All you need to do is undress so we can take your clothes for washing.”

There’s no way I’m letting anybody dress me, Dean thought, grimacing. I’m not helpless.

The three women exchanged another silent look before Rosalie spoke up. “If you ask Her for a dressing screen, I’m sure she will provide,” she told him.

 Dean nodded, but stepped away when Bethany moved towards him again.

“Please let us do our work,” Rosalie pleaded. “She’ll be back soon.”

It dawned on him after a moment that they were afraid of Y/N, and though they pitied him just as much as the other temple servants, they were afraid of what he could do to them through her.

Dean frowned and looked between them. “I’m not going to hurt you, and Y/N— She won’t hurt you either.” He cursed himself for using Y/N’s real name but continued, “You’re safe with me. I’m still a servant here, just like you.”

Rosalie shook her head and glanced at Joanna, who gave her a barely-there nod, then turned back to look at Dean. “She’s manipulating you,” she told him, her voice quieter than before. “I can already tell that it’s working.”

“Who’s manipulating me?”

“She is,” Rosalie repeated. “She manipulates all her consorts.”

The three women passed the clothes amongst themselves and Dean undressed, hoping that if he did what they wanted, they’d keep talking. 

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“She has strange abilities. Her consorts fall in love with her and they do her every bidding. You need to be careful,” Joanna warned. “Guard yourself.”

They’d clearly dressed people before; their fingers barely even touched him as they slipped clothes on over his limbs and closed fastenings in silence.

Were they the handmaidens for the consort before me? Is that how they know all this?

Before he could ask them any more questions, the women were gone and Dean stood by himself beside the bed. He was confused, but he pushed away the questions and tried to focus on the things that were in his control. Y/N’s powers were completely out of his control, but hopefully she would grant him the dressing screen. No one had dressed him since he was a little kid, and that had been his mother. Rosalie, Joanna, and Bethany were strangers, and though they held valuable information for him, Dean wasn’t sure he could do that every day.

“Good morning.”

Y/N’s voice made him jump. Dean hadn’t even heard her enter the room, but when he looked up, the doors to the chambers were already closed and Y/N was standing at the foot of the bed with a smile on her face.

“Good morning,” Dean replied. He forced a smile for her benefit.

“How are you feeling? It’s good to see that you’re awake and dressed,” Y/N said. 

“I’m well.”

The room fell silent for a moment and Y/N’s smile faded. Finally, she spoke up again and said, “You were uncomfortable with being dressed by the handmaidens.”

Dean was surprised, and it must have shown on his face because Y/N chuckled.

“I’m well aware of peoples’ emotions, Dean. You don’t have to hide things like this from me,” she said.

More like I can’t hide them from you, Dean thought as he turned to make the bed. It was already made—the three women must have done it when he wasn’t looking—and he aimlessly smoothed the fabric before dropping his hands back down to his sides.

“Come, Dean.” Y/N gestured for him to follow her to her vanity. “Do you have another story for me?”

“Of course,” he answered. Dean thought quickly as he followed her, then took the brush from her outstretched hand.

Y/N undid her braid in silence before looking over her shoulder at him. Her eyes glittered eagerly. “Well? What’s it about?”

Dean couldn’t help but smile at the excitement in her voice. “Turn around and I’ll tell you,” he said.

Still grinning, Y/N turned back around and placed her hands in her lap, and Dean had the thought that she looked like an excited child. He began to brush her hair with long strokes, being as gentle as possible as he started telling her a story he remembered from his childhood. It was one that his mother had told him often, and though the thought of her made him sad, Dean knew that Y/N would love the story. By the end, she was so wrapped up in the characters’ plight that she didn’t even notice that he’d finished brushing and braiding her hair long before and had since been idly standing behind her.

“I want to hear that one again sometime,” Y/N said as she swivelled in her chair to face him. She frowned when she saw him standing with his hands at his sides. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Only a little while,” Dean shrugged. He wouldn’t admit to her that his feet were starting to ache and the cuts from the day before were making shivers of pain run up his spine.

Y/N made an exasperated noise and stood, guiding him over to the edge of the bed. “Sit. Let me see your feet.”

Dean obeyed, sitting back far enough for her to be able to see the soles of his feet without contorting too much. Y/N let out a sigh and he felt her shift the bandages, then remove them completely. She stood and cast him a stern look as she rounded the bed to get something from her trunk.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Dean. Your wounds are still tender,” she scolded.

“I apologize. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me,” Y/N said as she knelt again and began to wrap new bandages around his feet. “I just wish that you would have more care for yourself. I need you to be healthy and happy.”

Dean didn’t answer. Y/N finished wrapping his feet in silence, then stood and reached out a hand for him. He took it and allowed her to help him stand. She didn’t drop his hand once he was upright, and Dean’s cheeks warmed at the thought that maybe she’d just helped him as an excuse to hold his hand. The warning he’d been given that morning slithered into his mind, however, and he quickly dropped her hand just as soon as he’d taken it.

Guard yourself, he heard Joanna say.

“You’re still afraid of me,” Y/N sighed, and Dean focused back on her. Her eyes were sad and his chest tightened at the sight.

“I’m not—”

“I can sense your emotions, Dean, and we’ve already discussed what will happen if you continue to lie to me.”

Her words from earlier kept Dean from apologizing again. Instead, he simply nodded, and Y/N smiled in response before reaching out and taking his hand. She squeezed it gently and then began walking, moving slowly until he moved alongside her.

“Where would you like to go, Dean? The library? The gardens? The baths?”

Confused, Dean stopped before they could go any farther. “What?”

Y/N smiled gently and squeezed his hand again. “This is your home, Dean. You can go wherever you’d like, as long as I’m with you. There’s a lot to explore here.”

The doors opened on their own as she and Dean neared, and he let Y/N lead him out into the hall without another word.

“We can go to the library tomorrow,” Y/N said. “The gardens are beautiful today, and the sun is shining. I’m sure it’s been a long time since you’ve had fresh air…”

Y/N looked back at him for confirmation and Dean nodded slightly. He was sure there was longing in his eyes as she led him through hallway after hallway. All of them looked identical, but eventually they arrived at a set of doors bigger than any other he’d seen inside the temple. Sunlight shone brightly through the cracks around the outside and he felt his heart lurch at the sight. He hadn’t been outside since arriving after his Culling, and now that his opportunity was here, he almost couldn’t believe it.

“Come,” Y/N urged as the doors opened. She dropped his hand and stepped out into the sun, stopping to turn her face upwards towards the light. 

She looks beautiful like this, Dean thought as he looked her over. He watched from inside as Y/N dug her bare toes into the grass and took a deep breath. Her shoulders dropped as she exhaled, then looked back at him.

“Are you coming? You can enjoy this too, Dean. It’s been created for us to enjoy!”

“I haven’t been outside in a long time,” Dean answered. 

“All the more reason to enjoy it,” Y/N replied.

Carefully, Dean stepped out onto the grass. It was soft beneath the parts of his feet that weren’t bandaged, and the sun warmed his skin almost instantly as he squinted to see the rest of the garden. When he looked over at Y/N, she was smiling up at him and her eyes sparkled with joy. It was clear that she enjoyed being outside.

She doesn’t look like she could hurt a fly, Dean thought as he watched her. Is this who she really is, or is she just trying to manipulate me like they said?

“Would you like to see my favorite part?”

Nodding, Dean slipped his hand into hers so she could lead him. Y/N’s smile grew even wider at the action and she walked with him across the large lawn until they’d reached the far edge of the gardens. A thick line of forest bordered the grounds. Trees taller than he’d ever seen stood proudly, and ferns, grass, and moss, covered the ground in a heavy carpet of green.

Y/N ventured closer, dropping Dean’s hand and leaving him standing on his own. She trailed her fingers along the trunks, staying silent as she walked along the treeline. Darkness waited beyond the outermost trees and uneasiness settled in Dean’s stomach when he realized that he had no idea where the temple was. He had no idea what could be lurking in these woods, and if it was something dangerous, he’d be responsible for protecting Y/N. 

“Y/N?” he finally called.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Please come back. I’m not strong enough to protect you if you get hurt.”

Y/N stopped. “Protect me? Protect me from what, Dean?”

“From—” Dean searched for the words, gesturing vaguely. “From whatever’s out there. I don’t know how to protect you. I’ve never been trained as a guard.”

Y/N smiled softly and stepped away from the trees. She made her way back to where Dean stood and took both his hands in hers.

“I wouldn’t have chosen you if I didn’t think you were capable of keeping me safe, Dean.” She squeezed his hands and stepped backwards, taking him with her. “Now come. Meet my forest. There’s nothing here that can hurt either of us.”

She led Dean to the treeline and placed a hand on one of the trees. Dean did the same and was surprised to find that the tree thrummed with energy underneath his palm.

“They’re… not regular trees,” Dean said after a moment, looking over at Y/N in surprise.

She smiled and shook her head slightly. “No, they’re not. These trees provide the people of Camor with the plants and resources they need to survive. They’ve been here for millenium, and tending to them is part of my duties.”

Amazed, Dean watched as Y/N parted from him, slipping through the thick forest and brushing her fingers against the trunks as she walked. He could feel the energy and the life coming from the plants all around him, and the feeling of excitement that came with that energy reminded him of his childhood in Lawrence.

Y/N turned around, breaking Dean out of his thoughts. “You enjoy the forest, too. You’re relaxed here.”

“There is a forest near where I grew up,” Dean replied, leaning against the closest tree. “My younger brother and I used to play in it. We would have sword fights and climb the trees, and when it rained we would look for animals and bugs by the river.”

“You have a brother?” Y/N asked. She came closer, her dress trailing through the dirt and getting caught on the plants as she walked. She ignored it and settled on a large rock nearby.

Dean nodded. “Samuel. He’s only a few years younger than me.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Sometimes,” Dean answered, his voice softer. “I miss all my family sometimes.”

Y/N nodded slightly and looked up at the canopy above them. “I apologize. I will try harder to keep your days filled. I only wish for you to be happy and healthy here, Dean.”

That’s not what I need, Dean thought. I don’t need more distractions.

After a moment, Dean gathered up the courage to tell her that. Y/N stared at him, tilting her head in confusion.

“Then what do you need, Dean? I can provide you with adventures and things to do inside the temple and in my gardens. Is that not what you want?”

“I need…” Dean stopped. He didn’t know what he needed. He knew what he wanted—he wanted to go see his family again. He wanted answers and he wanted to know what would happen to him now that he was Y/N’s consort.

Y/N stood and gave Dean a comforting smile, then held out her hand for him once again. “It’s okay. You don’t need to answer me now. Come, let’s eat. I’m sure you’re hungry by now.”

And she was right, Dean realized as he took her hand and began the walk back to the temple entrance. He was hungry. 

Maybe she knows what I need better than I do.

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• - 𝑀𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 — ♫

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Pairing : Agedup!Hajime x fem!reader

Genre : Songfic, angst

Warnings : swearing, verbal abuse, mentions of alcohol consumption

Word count : 2,867 words

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“YOU REALLY ARE SUCH A PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT YOU KNOW THAT, HAJIME?” She roared out, absolutely fuming.

“Baby, please. We can talk about this.” You tried to coax her and calm her down.

“TALK ABOUT WHAT? YOU BEING SUCH A FUCKTARD? I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS SHIT. YOU ARE SO FUCKING USELESS.” She stormed out, grabbing her keys from the little bowl by the door and making it fall, crashing into a million broken pieces.

You knelt down and picked up the broken pieces carefully, letting out a heavy sigh.

‘How many times has it been just this week?’ You felt empty and numb.

Getting up, you drag your feet through the floor to get to the kitchen. You dispose of the broken pieces and grab the broom to clean up whatever you couldn’t pick up, throwing the ceramic shards away before heading back into your bedroom.

You stood there for god knows how long, just staring at the picture frame on your bedside table.Your lips pressed together in a thin flat line. You want to cry so bad but for some reason, the tears just wouldn’t fall.

‘How many times do I have to feel like this?’ The thought runs through your head.

You walked over to the little table and picked up the frame, sitting down on the bed and running a hand on the glass.

“So I guess I never really knew you, huh? God sure knows I fucking tried to.” You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head.

You moved to lay on the bed, hand still clutching onto the picture frame. The memories of the past six years flood through your mind and you feel your heart twist and turn in your chest. Pain and sorrow ruled these memories, more than love should have. Your eyes close momentarily as you remember the day you two first met.

— — — — - .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. - — — — —

𝙰𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚡 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘.

“Woah.. who is she?” Matsukawa whispered out as she walked in.

You could care less about who just walked in to be honest but your friend's reaction had you curious. So, you looked up and lo and behold. The loveliest woman on earth just walked in through the doors, looking a bit lost. She locked eyes with you and you could see her plump cheeks turn pink.

“Oh, shit. She’s coming over.” Matsukawa sounded like he was panicking.

“Uhm hi!” Of course she sounded like an angel. “I’m new and I’m a bit lost. Is this pre-calc?” She asked.

“Yeah. You can sit with us if you want to.” You said cooly.

And so she did. She took the free space next to you, slowly getting close. You were blindsided by her beauty and you were instantly addicted to her.

— — — — - .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. - — — — —

Now here you were. ’Maybe you should’ve just kept your head down. Maybe if you didn’t talk to her. Maybe if you didn’t meet her gaze. Maybe-‘ You grimaced, eyebrows knitting at your thoughts.

‘How many more times do I have to go through this?’ The feeling of misery ran through you.

You had this feeling, the feeling that you two could do this but deep down inside you knew. You were foolish and in hindsight, it was so painfully obvious.

Your phone lit up and you were graced by a drunk message from her. You unlocked your phone and stared at the message.

”JUST SO YOU KNOW, I NEVER FUCKING LOVED YOU. IN FACT, I FUCKING HATE YOU.”

A heavy pang echoed through your heart. You locked your phone and put it on silent before leaving it face down under your pillow. Your eyes closed and you tried to sleep. To forget for even just a moment that your life was pure hell.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚢. . .

You fixed your tie as you finished telling them what happened. Clearing your throat as you take in their reaction.

“Holy fuck. Where did you find this girl?” Your lawyer gasped in disbelief, reading the text that was sent to you the night before.

“I don’t know. We were young and well, young people fall in love and it’s with the wrong people sometimes.” The look on your face says it all. “Sometimes some mistakes are made but that’s alright. It’s ok cause you can think that you’re in love but at the end of the day, you’re just in pain. And in the end I know it’ll be better for me cause that’s just the moral of the story.” You said mournfully, the ring under your eyes was dark and heavy.

Your lawyer pats your shoulder. “You need some rest man. Just stay away from her for now, yeah?”

‘How am I going to get through this?’ The pain rushes through you, making your head hurt.

𝙰 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛. . .

You find yourself sitting on the living room couch with her sitting mere inches away from you. The room was uncomfortably quiet. From the corner of your eye, you could see her open her mouth then close almost immediately.

You found yourself scoffing as you looked around. A sweet and sour memory flashing in your mind.

“You know, I find it funny how my memories of us have turned into bad dreams. We were such a wild couple that I didn’t even realize that it was turning so volatile.” You look at the walls that surrounded you, a half smile pulling at your lips. “Do you remember when we painted this house? It was just like how my grandparents did it and a lot of people including me thought it was so romantic but of course that was all on the surface. We fought the whole fucking time and you know what, I should’ve seen the signs.”

‘How can I go on living without her?’ The thought popped up in your head for a moment.

She huffed, crossing her arms under her chest. “Tch. Not my fucking fault were falling apart. That’s all on you. You failed me, you good for nothing manchild.” She got up and went to your shared room.

She emerges from the room thirty minutes later with a bag and you instantly assumed she had packed some clothes. She sets the bag down on the floor and burns holes on the back of your head.

“If you would just listen to me, we wouldn’t be the way we are now.” Your head hangs low and you stare at your hands. “But you know what. Some people make mistakes and that’s alright. I know it’s going to be ok because you can think that you’re in love but in reality you're just in pain. That’s ok, you want to know why? It’s just better for me. And I think that’s the morale of the story.” You curl your hands into fists, your nails digging into the skin of your palms.

“Well maybe if you would’ve just taken care of me like you said then none of this would be happening right now. Good for nothing shit face! I’m fucking leaving. Don’t ever get in touch with me ever again.” She steps out and slams the door shut behind her.

As soon as she left, you felt your lips quiver. Was it really your fault? Maybe, you did promise her a good life. A life that she deserved.

— — — — - .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. - — — — —

𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚡 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚘. . .

You took a deep breath as you waited for her to enter the room. Tooru, your best friend, stood next to you.

“Relax Iwa-chan~! Relax~” He patted your back to help you with your nerves.

“But what if she says no..” You sighed in defeat.

“Iwa I don’t think she’ll say no. Do you see how she looks at you?” Tooru shook his head.

“But-“ You were cut off by the sound of the door opening.

There she was, standing wide eyed at the doorstep. She greets everyone as she walks closer to you. Her arms slinging over your shoulders as she engulfed you in a warm embrace. You felt so at home and so complete.

“Welcome home, Princess.” You whispered in her ear.

She gave you a small smile, not saying a word. Your heart raced a million miles an hour with just her looking at you. Just then she flashed a smile of irritation but you brushed it off since you didn’t know what it was for. You finally looked her straight in the eyes as you racked your brain for the right words.

“I know you just got here but there’s something important I want to ask you.” Your voice was a little shaky but you were still able to mask how nervous you were with a strong front.

“What is it, love?” Her head tilts over to the side, eyebrow cocked up.

“Will you marry me?” The question came out almost a whisper.

All you could hear was the loud thumping of your heart. Time seemed to have slowed down. You watched her reaction to the question. Her eye twitches but you didn’t know why, it only twitches like that when she’s not in the best of moods. Her mouth is slightly open, eyes blinking slowly. Then you decide to speak up.

“Listen, I know it’s.. sudden.. but. I love you so much. I promise to take care of you. I promise to give you the world. I’ll always be here for you. I don’t mind if you can’t give me an answer now. All I know is that I want you and I want to spend my whole life with you.” You took her hands and kissed her knuckles with gentleness.

The room was quiet and it was deafening. Everyone was watching you and waiting for her answer. You swallowed dryly. Then you see the corner of her lips jerk.

She went to hug you again and whispered in your ear. “You’ll keep those promises right?” You nodded. “Then yes. I’ll marry you.” She answered.

You had felt so ecstatic and alive at the moment while all she felt was disdain but you didn’t see it. No, it’s not that you didn’t see it but you chose not to even though it was written all over her face.

— — — — - .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. - — — — —

You got up from your seat and fished your phone out of your pocket. Deciding to call your mother to tell her the news. After a few rings, her voice boomed out of the little speaker.

“Hajime? What’s wrong?” It’s as if she already knew but how could she not.

She saw how much you were suffering in this relationship but you blinded yourself with love. You spoke finally, not realizing the tears suddenly pouring down your face. You sobbed into the speaker of the phone and all you could hear was your mother trying to comfort you.

“Just where did you find this woman, Hajime?” She spoke up. “You never realized just how toxic she is. We noticed how the light in you slowly got diminished the longer you two we’re together. Don’t think I don’t know about how she talks to you. I’ve heard it and she treats you like garbage which you aren’t.” Her voice was soft but her words were sharp. “She calls you useless when she doesn’t even work. You have given her everything and you have been providing for her for the past six years. All she’s ever done for you was bring you down. Hajime, my son, Please. Let her go.”

‘How could I ever stop loving her?’ Your heart twisted in your chest.

You laughed without amusement. “I’m sorry, mom. I just fell in love with the wrong person. You know young people fall in love with the wrong people sometimes. And I guess I was the fool who fell.” You hiccuped, wiping the tears off of your face. “I just made a mistake that’s all. And I think that’s alright, yeah. It’s ok. I just thought that this feeling was still love but I guess it’s just pain. In the end it’s better for me cause I learned and that’s just the moral of the story.”

She nodded although you couldn’t see. She reassured and comforted you one last time before she hung up. Your arm slid down, loosely holding onto your phone. You just sat there, head resting on the couch as you stared at the ceiling. There was nothing there anymore. All you were was an empty shell of a man. You were too numb to feel anything, so you just sat there for hours.

You got knocked back into reality by the loud banging on your door. You turned your head ever so slightly, just staring at your door before it burst open. Then there stood your best friend. He was angry for some reason then it clicked in your head. ‘Ah, She must’ve gone to him.’ You sighed as he stomped towards you. He took a good look at your face and his heart dropped. All that anger dissipated into worry.

“Iwa.. chan?” He knelt in front you as he studied your expression.

“Oh. It’s just you. Tooru, hey.” You said so monotonously, void of any feeling whatsoever.

“Hey. Are you ok? You look like shit.” He stood up, resting a hand on his hip. “She came to me you know.”

“Uh huh.” You stared at your hands, looking at the little lines that ran across your palm.

“Iwaizumi Hajime.” He tried to get your full attention. “Get yourself together man. Don’t let her tell you this shit.” He grabbed your shoulders and shook you.

You slowly lifted your head to look up at him. Tears were once again, flowing hot and heavy down your face. A sob escapes from your mouth as soon as you fully realize who was standing in front of you, everything finally coming back to focus.

“Oikawa? Wh-What are you doing here?” Your voice was weak, mimicking how you felt at the moment.

“She came to me again. Is it really over?” His voice was lined with concern.

“Did she really say that? If she did then I guess it is.” Your heart felt like it was getting stabbed by a million daggers.

“Are you.. are you going to be ok?” He tries to read your emotions but all he could see from your face was years worth of pain and suffering. “H-hey you’ll be fine! You’ll get through this!” He tries to reassure you.

‘How can I just forget her?’ Your eyebrow twitched.

An exasperated sigh left your mouth as you shake your head, chuckling without any sort of humor. “You know they say that it’s so much better to have loved someone and lost said love rather than not having to have loved at all.” An image of her flashes through your head.

Tooru clicks his tongue, crossing his arms and looking at the picture of you and her hanging on the wall. “You do realize that, that could just be a load of shit, right? So this I What I’m going to tell you. He bends down and puts his hands on your shoulder. “As humans, sometimes we make mistakes and that’s alright, really. It’s ok.”

“Yeah, I know. I thought I was in love but I guess it was just because I was engaged. I hung on to a dying relationship. I made promises I couldn’t make. And that’s my mistake.” You close your eyes for a second, wiping the tears away.

“Ok but you know! That’s alright! And it really is ok. In the end, wasn’t it for the better? Now it’s just the moral of the story.” He gives you the biggest possible smile ever.

‘How am I going to go on normally now?’ You worried.

You tried to smile back but you failed. The tears you dried came rushing back, turning you into a big sobbing mess. Your best friend now sat beside you, rubbing comforting circles around your back.

“Hajime.” He sighs rather heavily. “Let me ask you a question.” He patted your back, leaning back onto the couch and looking up at the ceiling. “Was there ever a time that you were able to live without her?”

The question made you freeze. You never whipped your head so fast to look at him. “What?” It was all you could manage to say, not understanding the question he had asked.

“You heard me.” His expression was unreadable until he looked back at you. “I’m asking because I can hear your thoughts clearly. You don’t have to wonder how you could ever live without her because you already have. From the moment you we’re born to the moment before you met her, you have a life outside of her. I know it’ll take awhile for you to move on but you have to start now.” He looks at you earnestly. “Now come on. Why don’t we start by cleaning out everything that reminds you of her, huh?”

He pats your back again, standing up then turning to help you up. His words play on repeat inside your head as you start to refresh your life and find your peace. And maybe, hopefully one day, to find someone who you’ll be able to call your other half.

——————————————————————————

[just-dreaming-marvel]

FIFTY SEVEN - THE DAY EVERYTHING FELL APART: PART 2

LEGACY: A Tony Stark Daughter Story

MASTERLIST

< previous

Word Count: 2,550ish

Summary: Bailey’s world continues to crumble around her. (Warning: there is one long gif sequence, but nothing like the last chapter.)

“What? How?”

“I don’t know the details but they should be arriving soon.”

And with that, the woman walked away and I heard another jet approach. I watched as it landed and some of the med team ran up to met it. The bomb bay door opened and they rolled Rhodey out. Nat and Vision followed close behind. I stood there, not knowing what to do. Tony slowly made his way out of the jet. His left arm was in a sling and the area around his right eye was bruised. I wanted to run up, hug him and punch him at the same time. But I stood there. Not being able to move. He looked over and saw me. 

I knew whatever went down wasn’t good. He started walking over to me but I ran through the doors into the Med-Bay before he could get to me. Nat stopped me as I went through the doors. She grabbed a hold of me and forced me into a hug.

“What happened?” I whispered into her neck.

“It wasn’t good.” She whispered back. I tried to hold back the tears as I heard the doors behind me open and close.

“Can you give us a minute?” Tony asked. 

Nat pulled away, looked me dead in the eye, and said, “We’ll talk later.” She walked away. I couldn’t force myself to turn around.

“Bailey—“ Tony started.

“I don’t want to hear it.” The tears began flowing, out of my control.

He walked in front of me. “Let me explain.”

“You drugged me! You did exactly what you promised never to do!” I cried. “You took away my choice! Multiple times now! You did what HYDRA did to me! You—”

“I was trying to protect you! And I’m glad I did because if what happened to Rhodey happened to you… I wouldn’t have been able live with myself.”

“I don’t know how you can live with yourself now. I trusted you.” I took a deep breath to try to stop crying and calm myself. “Where’s Sam, Clint, Wanda.. and Steve? Where’s my family?”

“Sam, Clint, and Wanda are in the Raft prison.” Tony paused. “Rogers and Barnes escaped in a quinjet.” They escaped in a quinjet? What I saw was real? 

“In prison? Escaped? What does that even mean? What even happened? Steve is our friend! And I lov— They are all my family! I don’t believe that Bucky did what you are saying he did! Why didn’t you stop when I asked you too? You destroyed my family!” I began turning away and Tony grabbed my hand. 

“Wait—”

“I can’t do this right now, Tony.” I heard him gasp a little as the tone in my voice was hard and cold and he let my hand go. “I…. I-I saw it all. In flashes, in bits and pieces, but now I’ve put it all together. I thought they were just nightmares. I had honestly hoped they were all nightmares. But whatever you gave me must have messed with my powers and I saw what happened. I saw everything.” I began walking away, but stopped and turned my head to glance over my shoulder before continuing on. “When you earn my trust back, that’s when I’ll call you dad again. Until then, don’t expect much from me.” 

I stormed off to my room, slamming the door. My family just got torn apart. And I witnessed it, without even being there. Three of them were in prison and Steve was on the run. I kicked my bed with my full strength. It slid and hit against the wall. The pictures that were on the wall fell down. I grabbed the first one I saw. It was a picture of my first Christmas with Tony, really my first Christmas ever. Pepper had secretly taken it of us while we were opening presents. We were so happy. I threw it against the wall. The glass shattered. I did that with five other pictures until someone grabbed me from behind and forced me to turn around. It was Nat.

“What are you doing?” She asked worried.

“Tony drugged me, Steve left, the others are in prison, Rhodey’s injured…” I screamed. “They both broke their promises and now my family’s torn apart. I’m left with no one! Again!”

She pulled me into a tight hug. “Bailey…” 

I knew that tone, especially as of late. I shoved her away. “You’re leaving too.”

“They’re coming for me. I helped Steve and Bucky get away. I disobeyed the Accords, which I signed. I have to go before they come and arrest me.”

“Then leave! Everyone leaves me eventually!” I yelled. I turned and punched the wall. My arm went all the way through it. “I’ll just be here in this prison!”

“Bailey,” Nat spoke softly, “Bucky did not do what they all think he did.”

“I know that! Why do you think I went to Bucharest?”

“You went to Bucharest?” Then it hit her. “You were the one in the suit— It doesn’t matter.” She shook her thoughts away. “Bucky didn’t bomb the UN, but he did do something…” She paused.

I looked at her and could see the worry in her eyes. “Nat?” She avoided my gaze. “Nat, what did Bucky do?”

“It’s not my secret to tell. I know Tony will find out soon, no matter what happens. It’s your job to help him through it. You need to help him forgive.”

I shook my head, “Not after all—“

“Bailey!” She gripped my shoulders. “He will need you. Please. Do this for the rest of us. You need to forgive him. Yes, he’s made some mistakes, but he’s not the only one. I made mistakes in this and so did Steve. But Tony is your father and is trying his best. He’s your responsibility now. Please help him.” She hugged me. “I’m so sorry… Love you and please take care of yourself.” Then she ran out.

Another one gone. I looked down at my right arm. All the scrapes from going through the wall had healed. But there was dried blood. I decided I didn’t care all that much and I headed down to the Med-Bay to check up on Rhodey. He was in surgery. I went up to the viewing area and watched.

“He’s lucky,” one of the Doctor’s said, “he’s only partially paralyzed. It could have been a lot worse.”

Partially paralyzed? How did it all get this far? I shook my head and set it in my hands. I began rubbing my forehead, trying to get my massive headache to go away. After Rhodey got out of surgery, I waited at his bed side and was told that he wouldn’t be able to walk again. I tried to look for Tony but Tony was no where to be found in the compound. I could have asked SARAH or FRIDAY to find him, but I realized that I didn’t actually care. I waited by Rhodey’s bed side with my laptop. I decided to make use of this time. I started applying to colleges. I put my name as Bailey Stark but didn’t list anyone as my parents. I put Happy down as my emergency contact on all of the applications. I decided that if anyone asked if I was related to Tony Stark, I would tell them that he’s a distant relative. 

When I wasn’t working on applications, I was sketching braces for Rhodey to wear. I was determined that he would walk again. I sat at Rhodey’s bedside for a day and a half. I would go to the bathroom and food would be waiting for me on my chair. I didn’t know who was bringing it but I was thankful. When I did get some sleep, scenes of Tony, Steve, and Bucky fighting in a bunker played across my mind. 

 I wanted to believe that it was a nightmare, but after what happened the last couple times, I knew that was probably not the case. I was eating dinner and finishing up my last application when Rhodey finally woke up. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his head turn towards me. I looked over and smiled. 

“Hey there, sleepy head,” I teased as I leaned forward and pushed the nurse button.

He smirked and looked around the room. “Whe-where’s?” His voice was hoarse. He swallowed before he tried to speak again. “Where’s Tony?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really cared to find him in the last day and a half.” A nurse walked in, noticed that Rhodey was awake and turned back around. The nurse came back with a doctor. “I’m going to go down to the lab while they talk to you. I’ll be back.” I squeezed his hand.

As I grabbed my stuff and walked out Rhodey said, “You need to forgive him, Bailey. He only thought he was doing what’s best for everyone. This is all bigger than you.” 

I kept walking. I was making my way to the lab when I noticed a quinjet land. I watched as the back opened and Tony stubbled out. His suit was wrecked, like the arc reactor was crushed, and he was bleeding. I dropped everything and ran out the doors.

“Tony!” I ran to him. He grabbed a hold of my shoulder to steady himself. As he did that, I noticed Steve’s shield laying in the jet. “What the hell happened?” 

“He left me there to die..” Tony slowly said. “Just like his friend killed my parents.” We started walking towards the building.

Again, it wasn’t a nightmare, it was real. Everything I had seen was real. “What? Who are you talking about?”

“Rogers and Barnes.” We went through the doors and I sat him down on a chair. 

I knelt in front of him and started to take the suit off of him. I could tell he was angry and in shock. His anger was rolling off of him in waves, weakening me, but I continued on. “Tony, what exactly did Steve and Bucky do?” I really didn’t need to ask that. I already knew, but for some reason I needed to hear it from him.

“I know that Barnes didn’t bomb the UN building. But him and Rogers were keeping a bigger secret from me… from us.” He took a deep breath as I took his gauntlets off. “Barnes killed my parents…. He killed my mother.” I stopped what I was doing and just looked at him in shock. That’s what Nat was talking about. It was also the one thing I hadn’t seen. “I got angry. We fought. Rogers and Barnes ran.” I finished helping him out of the rest of the suit in silence. “Aren’t you going to say something? Anything?” He finally asked.

“No.” I answered. I moved to the chair next to him. “I really don’t have anything to say.”

“Did…” He took a deep breath. “Did you see what happened? Like… Like you said you did earlier?”

I nodded and then whispered, “Yes.”

He took a harsh breath in. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” I shook my head and changed the subject. “Rhodey made it out of surgery. He had just woken up before you landed. He’s paralyzed from the hips down. He can’t walk.” A tear streamed down my face. I wiped it off and looked up at the ceiling. “I started sketching some braces for him to wear, so that he might be able to walk own his own again. If you want to look at them, you can. I also applied to a few colleges while you were gone. I ended up putting my last name as Stark.” I saw him quickly look at me. I looked at him back. There was a hint of hope in his eyes. “But I didn’t list any parents. Until I trust you again, I don’t think we should tell people that I’m your daughter.” I stood up. “I’m sorry about what happened Tony. I really am sorry.” I walked away.

When I reached my bedroom, it was put back together. I walked into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a train wreck. I smelled myself and realized that I didn’t remember the last time I showered. I quickly turned the shower on and locked my bedroom door. I got into the shower and cried. I wanted to be there for Tony, but he needed to know that I wasn’t okay with what he did. I wasn’t okay with anything that had happened in the last week. And that I can’t forgive something like that quickly. I also missed Steve immensely and was wondering what was going through his head. I sat on the floor of the shower and just cried. I wanted Steve here with me, to hold me, kiss me, comfort me. I wanted to call him right now so that I could figure out where he was and to go to him. But I was also angry at him for leaving me as well. For breaking his promises. I finished showering and got my pj’s on and jumped in bed. I tossed and I turned, worrying about everything and everyone. 

When I finally fell asleep, a had a nightmare. This time I knew it really was a nightmare. I was back at the HYDRA facility, chained to a table in one of the labs. People were surrounding me, cutting me, poking me, punching me. Trying to see how fast I’d heal. I was screaming until I heard a muffled yell and everyone stopped. They all backed away as a dark figure walked over. I didn’t get to see the face before I woke up. I was breathing heavily and sweating profusely. My head snapped towards my door when I heard the door nob moving.

“Bailey? Bailey, are you okay?” Tony’s worried voice sounded loudly outside the door.

“I’m… fine…” I called to him, my voice trembling. I was trying to hold back my tears but failing miserably. 

“Are you sure?” He tried to open the door again. “Sweet— Bailey… Can I come in? Please… Just let me check on you and then I’ll leave. I’ll make it quick. I’m just worried.”

I thought about it for a second. I wanted his arms around me to comfort and calm me. But at the same time, I didn’t want him anywhere near me. He had a part in tearing my family apart. One of the reasons Steve left was because of him. Yet, Steve also had the chance to take me with him. I needed both those men, but I also needed to prove that I could deal with this all on my own. 

“No. FRIDAY don’t let him in.”

“Yes Miss.” FRIDAY replied. I laid back down and curled up under my blankets. 

“Bailey, please. I just need to know that you’re okay.” Tony pleaded through the door.

“I’m fine!” I shouted. “Just leave me alone!” Of course that was a lie, I was anything but fine.

next >

[yayninjabob]

Update 1/20/21

It's been swell having my freedom again now that I'm covid-free.  I'm not going anywhere or anything.  But things like gardening in our backyard, taking my dog-kids Fable and Riot on walks, cuddling with my wifey on the sofa and watching netflix or whatever, and just being able to cook again for myself in the kitchen... I've missed all of it so much.  So much in fact that I've been slacking on editing more than I should, whoops.  SORRY, GUYS.

But I did finish up all my rewrites yesterday FINALLY so the new chapter is nearly done.  All that's left is another swoop of editing and maayyyybee swapping out this one scene I have for another that I originally had planned for 13 instead.  So give me a day or two to decide what feels best for the story while I start tinkering with 13 a bit.

So basically I'm stepping away from 12 today to work on the scene for 13.   Depending on what I decide to do with that scene, I might finish chapter 12 tomorrow night after work, or I might need another day after that.  But I don't think so.  I'm already like 90 percent sure on what I'll probably end up doing lol.   Just gotta write this up first to be sure and it will EASE my perfectionist mind.  Once that's done, then it's final editing and formatting stuff which takes me usually a day or two.

Alright that's just a really wordy way to say I will have CHAPTER 12 up this SUNDAY, JANUARY 24TH.  PROMISE GUYS.  

I feel so bad it's been so long since our last update that I'll share one scene with you guys from 12.  I mean, if you’re checking this blog you're probably looking for an update, right?  Well for now, I hope a little sneak peek will suffice until Sunday.

Personally, I think it's kind of a cool sneaky peeky because honestly it doesn't really give away much of the plot of the chapter and still leaves the suspense of where we last left off pretty much.  SO.  If you wanna read a little bit of 12, here's scene #3 for you guys early.  If you want to avoid it and remain pure, I’ll see you Sunday I guess lol.

Uh... heads up, it's got some gore lol.  A creepy little horror comedy scene, really.  One of my personal faves of the chapter, too.  PLEASE ENJOY.

SNEAK PEEK:  Chapter 12, Scene 3 under the cut....

scene 3

The green Powerpuff lay in the dark unable to sleep.  Even though the teenager had turned out the light hours ago, there was no stopping the never ending loop of the night which still replayed over and over within the young hero's mind.  Buttercup had done nothing but tossing and turning in an attempt to try and find rest that night, and had managed to kick away all of the bedding and sheets.  Laying upon a bare mattress and still hopelessly waiting for sleep with eyes shut tight, there was a sudden faint knocking sound heard coming from within the bedroom.

Buttercup sat up in bed with a jolt the moment the sounds began in the dark.   Immediately the Puff's emerald eyes fell on the door to the bedroom closet.  The door to the closet was shut, but the noise was definitely coming from behind it.  Buttercup watched the door intently, while silently and cautiously moving towards it.  With super hearing activated, the Puff listened to the sound of something rustling about inside, and as the young hero crept closer and closer, there was a rotten, burning stench in the air.  Buttercup reached for the closet door's handle and opened it.

"Where is it?  Dude, it's gotta be somewhere around here!"

Buttercup blinked at the blood soaked kid for a moment before a look of annoyance came next.  The sixteen-year-old Puff watched as the thirteen-year-old apparition  dug around the heap of dirty laundry that littered the closet floor.  The kid had her back turned as she knelt upon both knees over the large pile of laundry and searched frantically for something.   Buttercup groaned, still holding the closet door open, "Oh no....  What are you doing here?  Dude, really, I'm just trying to get some sleep tonight and you showing up now just isn't-"

"Where is it?!" the kid jumped onto their sandy wet sneakers and began to search the shelfing within the closet, "Where the fuck is it?!"  As the thirteen-year-old removed an old snowglobe from the shelf and tossed it carelessly over her shoulder, Buttercup caught it and glared at her.

"Where's what?!" Buttercup snapped at herself.

The kid stopped suddenly and slowly glanced over her shoulder with her ghostly, opaque white right eye.  "Where's the mask?"

"Oh," Buttercup's angry expression softened.  "...It's... gone...."

"...Oh...."

"...Yeah...."

As Buttercup reached over her to return the snowglobe to its spot on the shelf, the kid turned round to face them.  "Can't you get it back somehow?"

The green Puff sighed deeply and floated slowly back over to the bed, "Nah, Dude..." Buttercup reclined upon the bare mattress again, "I think... I think that shit's over now....  I mean, shit's getting pretty serious now that Mojo knows about us.  I'm hoping it all works out tomorrow, and he's really not gonna make me do something fucked up in return for his silence, but... even if he does keep his word..." Buttercup shut both eyes and yawned, "It's just gettin' way too risky, Dude...."

"Huh..." the kid stood at the teenager's bedside, "I thought we were just startin' to have some real fun...."

Buttercup's eyes remained shut, hoping the illusion would go away soon.  "It was fun while it lasted...."

"Sucks, Man....  Say, you got anything I can eat?  I'm fucking starving, Dude-"

"Dude," Buttercup interrupted with annoyance, "Why are you here?"  The green Puff sat up in bed once more and looked towards the kid and saw that she had made her way across the bedroom.  The blood soaked child stood in front of Buttercup's dresser, staring at the pair of birds that sat within their cage.  Her back was towards Buttercup, but Buttercup could see that the kid suddenly gripped something shiny in her right glowing green, acid burnt hand.

"Same reason I always drop by," the kid answered with her back still turned.  The apparition turned her head slightly, and even in the dark Buttercup could make out the devious glint of a small, sly smile as she still gripped whatever was in her hand.  "I'm here to help you out, you know... since you got nobody else, right?"

Buttercup continued to stare at the kid, but chose to remain silent.  The green Puff watched as the illusion returned her attention to the birdcage, and with her left, seared bloody hand, she reached for the cage's small door and opened it.  Both Snot and Pus instantly tried to dart away from the sizzling glowing green acid drenched palm that reached for them, but the kid easily managed to yank the fluttering green bird from the cage.  Buttercup's eyes widened in shock as she watched the kid cut into the squirming, live bird with a shard of glass, slicing the helpless creature straight down the middle.  His yellow companion fluttered about within the closed cage behind them, squawking loudly as the kid raised the green bird to her lips and began to slurp loudly.

All the green Puff could do was look on in stunned silence as the kid continued to suck the blood from the slowly dying bird.   As many times as the green Puff had received a "visit" from their former, "dead" self, this sort of thing... was definitely new.  As Buttercup continued to watch, the green Puff tried to keep in mind that what was being witnessed... could definitely not be happening.

The kid used her tattered black jacket's sleeve to wipe away the fresh blood-stache from her face, before turning to Buttercup.  "Did ya want the other one?"

The green Puff shook their head.

"Suit yourself," the kid shrugged and tossed the dead green bird over her shoulder, before she repeated the same act with the yellow bird next.  

Buttercup still could not look away.  "Dude... what the actual fuck...?" Eventually, the Puff's green eyes drifted slowly back to wear the discarded dead green bird's drained body lay on the floor of the room.   There was a gust of wind and Buttercup watched as the wooden floorboards of the bedroom and the dead bird began to blow away like strange particles of sand.  The green Puff rose from the bed mattress as it next faded away into the dark atmosphere around them.  "Ah, shit, no wonder..." Buttercup laughed a little nervously, "I'm dreaming...."

"We're dreaming," the kid added as she stood beside herself with a grin.

The green Puff glared briefly for a moment at the unwelcomed tag-along before looking around once more.  The once empty black void that was the adolescent's default dreamscape had changed as of late.  It was still a mostly desolate land, but no longer shrouded in total darkness.  Now, the sky shook with thick, dark and thunderous clouds which boomed with a growing, green electricity inside them.  The fiery green light that crackled within the black storm clouds illuminated the land with an eerie green glow.  The earth was cracked and dry and as the storm ahead continued to boom above, the windy weather of the vast wasteland kicked up the sandy dirt around them.

"Well, whaddya  know?  Ya changed up the place, huh?  I like it!" the kid grinned as she cupped one bloody beaten hand over her brow and looked about the dreamscape.  The thirteen-year-old turned back around and saw that she had been left behind as the green Puff continued to float on ahead without her.  "Yo! Wait up!"

The green Puff carried on without stopping, moving towards a large, distant shadow in the east.  After several minutes, the kid managed to catch up, loudly wheezing and gasping for air as she tried to catch her breath beside the casual floating Powerpuff.

"Dude! I told ya to wait up!" she socked Buttercup on the shoulder with a bloody, bruised fist, "I don't have my ghost powers in this dream world!"

"What sorta sense does that make?"

"I dunno!" the kid threw up her hands, "You tell me!"  the kid paused to cough a little, splattering the dirt with blood.  She wiped at her mouth with her tattered sleeve, as she walked quickly beside the Powerpuff, "Here, I'm just like you were when Goody-Goody left ya behind on that island!   Weak and human-y and useless and burning alive!  You remember?"

The green Puff glared at the kid for a moment before muttering, "Yeah.  I remember."

"So, where we goin' anyway?"

As the two approached a tall arched golden gateway, the green Puff stopped and turned towards the kid.  "No way.  You ain't comin' with me, alright?  Why don't you run off somewhere else, and I dunno... play."

"Why?" the blood-soaked kid strained her eyes as she tried to peer through the thick golden bars of the gate. Besides only having one functioning eye, there was a dense mist in the air that made it difficult to see. "Where are we- Oh-" she stopped as her vision focused on a short redhead walking her pet Pomeranian through the garden.  "Her?" the kid laughed a little, "Dude.  What do you see in her, anyway?   Like... do you like gettin' bossed around, or is it the big boobs, or-"

"Shut up," the green Puff rattled the gate a little to get the kid's attention once more, "Look," the skinny teen's scarred hands grasped the kid by her hooded jacket and spun her to her left, "Go that way, alright?  You'll find Ace's place and have a good time."

"OK, cool!" the kid thankfully agreed, "Which building is it?  That one or that one?"

"What are you talkin' about?  There's only one other build-" the green Puff stopped mid sentence, noticing for the first time a tall silhouette in the distance.

The thirteen-year-old watched as the green Puff shot off for the tall structure with a flash of green light.  "Shit!" she started to chase after on foot, "Wait up!"

As soon as the structure came clearer into focus, the flying teen halted mid-air, "The water tower...?"

For a while, the green Puff remained suspended in the sky, watching the tower intently from afar.  As far as the hero could tell, there were no signs of anyone there, but the scene still felt too ominous.  It was several minutes before the teenager worked up enough courage to continue forward.

Touching down on the metal landing of the water tower, the structure was so high up in the eerie green atmosphere that the darkened mist was especially thick and overpowering even for superpowered vision.  The green Puff gulped nervously, walking cautiously around the platform, tense and ready for anything.  Both green eyes glowed as they searched around the labyrinth of the thick metal beams that supported the tower's massive water tank.   As the teenager reached the railing on the other side, far below could be heard the desperate wheezing and coughing of a struggling thirteen-year-old attempting to climb the tower's ladder.

"Oh, Man!" the kid shouted from below, "I don't think I'm gonna make it!  Dude... a little help?!"

The teenager sighed before zipping downward to retrieve the kid from halfway down the ladder.  The green Puff carried her back up to the metal landing and set her on her feet, but the kid instantly collapsed onto the floor, panting heavily from exhaustion.  

"You know..." the wheezing thirteen-year-old spoke between hard breaths, "That's hard enough... without powers... but climbing really sucks... when your hands... practically have no skin..." she sat up and coughed as she struggled to climb back onto her feet.  The kid stood silent for a while as she watched the green Puff continue to intently search around every metal beam of the platform.  "So what's up?" the kid finally asked after a while.  "What're you lookin' for?"

The green Puff came to the center of the landing, and turned to look back at the kid, wearing a somewhat disappointed frown.  "Nothin', I guess."