valtsv · 6 months ago
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"Can you guess what it stood for, Mum? [...] It stood for valuable."
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zaina-xoxo · 3 years ago
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Harry Potter headcanons (sad)
That Hermione and Ron always wanted a huge family. Like, 5 children filling a burrow. However, they ended up with only two. Why? Hermione’s torture at the hands of Bellatrix left its marks, and she couldn’t have children after Hugo. Dark Magic always left marks.
That Dumbledore never really left limbo. He stayed there forever, unable to allow himself to move due to the blood he had on his hands, lives he sacrificed for the greater good.
That George dyed his hair blue after the battle in order to stop reminding himself of Fred every time he saw a mirror.
That Grindelwald never stopped loving Dumbledore, and during their final duel, he actually had an opportunity to kill him, but couldn’t gather the will. Dumbledore used that moment to win.
That during Snape’s death, those tears with the memories, were also a sacrifice. Those tears were the memories themselves. So, when he died and went to the afterlife … he didn’t remember the person most featured in those memories, the one they focused on. In death, he never remembered Lily.
After the battle of hogwarts, Dennis Creevey becomes a photographer …. which was what his brother, Colin, had wanted to become when he grew up.
That Sirius willingly fell into the veil, which only kills if you completely were thrown into it. What happened was that half of his body went to the other side, and he was immediately assaulted by whispers of his dead loved ones, especially lily and James. He died with a smile, as he jumped in to his next great adventure.
That for the first fifteen years of his life, what Tom Riddle saw in the Mirror of Erised was himself with his parents in a rich household, in a loving family. All he wanted was to be loved. All that changed when he made his first horcrux.
That Dumbledore’s boggart was himself. And, that it really was him who killed Ariana, something he found out in the afterlife.
When Ron was a little boy he overheard his aunt Muriel talking to her friend that how amazing Ron's elder brothers were. But she called Ron ‘Molly's failed attempt for a girl’. She also said that Ron was worthless and he was no one compared to his elder brothers. Ron had developed insecurities about not being good enough from that overheard conversation.
When Ron left in DH Hermione wrote a letter. Conveying EVERYTHING she felt for him. She was almost certain that she would never see him again. She would never be able to tell him how she felt for him. She kept that letter in her beaded bag. Years later Ron found out that letter. And he cried.
Once during an auror mission Ron was injured badly. He almost died. Hermione didn't leave his side for once. When he was slightly better, Hermione told him that she was pregnant. That was when Ron had decided to quit his job.
When Ron and Hermione were staying at the shell cottage Hermione had a long conversation with Fleur. Hermione told her that there was a huge chance that she wouldn't survive the battle of Hogwarts. She was a muggleborn afterall. So if something happened she wanted Ron to move on with his life. She wanted Fleur to promise her that she would help Ron to move on with his life.
When the flashing green light came rushing at James Potter's way he didn't see death, but was reminded of two pairs of vibrant green eyes staring lovingly at him.
Death works differently in the HPU. Once you die, you have the choice to stay in limbo for as long as you want, or to take the train. You could also become a ghost. However, along with that there’s also the choice of becoming a creature which is the embodiment of death - a thestral. This is why Luna has a favourite Thestral, and why there’s a huge influx of them in the forbidden forest after the battle of hogwarts.
Neville kept visiting his parents. With every milestone that he hit — graduating Hogwarts, marrying Hannah Abbott, being hired as a professor — he made it a tradition to see them. It was not until he visited with a baby girl in his arms, Alice Francesca Longbottom, that he saw a flash of recognition in his mother’s eyes.
The day Harry was born, all the marauders found themselves in St. Mungo���s. Hours later, Remus awoke in his chair just in time to see a black-haired man with a crooked nose regarding the new-born. With a last glance upon Lily he left, seemingly unseen.
As a child Teddy had a huge crush on his Aunt Hermione, and he would often give her flowers and ask her if they could get married someday. Once he grew up, he was commonly teased about his childhood crush on his aunt (not sad)
During the first few years that Severus was teaching at Hogwarts, all of the other teachers were very uncertain of him. They all thought that Dumbledore was mad for hiring him, as they all knew of his reputation as a Death Eater. But eventually he struck up a very playful rivalry with Minerva. They would sit together at Quidditch matches and pass snarky comments back and forth, both of them snorting in amusement. It also wasn’t uncommon to find them sat together in the evenings, having a cup of tea or a glass of firewhiskey. By the time Harry Potter came to Hogwarts, Minerva believed in him almost as much as Dumbledore did. (He often urged Severus to tell her the real reason he defected from the Death Eaters, but Severus always refused.) His hatred of the young Gryffindor was often a point of contention between the two unlikely friends, but their friendship remained strong. It withstood Voldemort’s return and the reformation of the Order of the Phoenix. But in the aftermath of the Battle of the Astronomy Tower and Dumbledore’s death, Minerva was completely shocked and outraged. She couldn’t believe she’d ever befriended him at all and swore she’d never forgive herself for trusting him. During the last year the two taught together she avoided him at all costs, talking to him only when it was absolutely necessary, and when she had to she did so rather stiffly. After the Battle of Hogwarts ended and he was dead, however, she learned the truth about his actions from Harry, who told her about his tragic tale. She cried on and off for days. And the first time she came face to face with his portrait she completely broke down.
Had Fred not died, the twins would have had an overly casual double wedding [and would probably switch places to mess with their brides]
When Remus woke up in Harry’s compartment in POA, he saw Harry giving him the same comforting and concerned look as James. For a moment he thought he was seeing James again. Then in sunk in that his dear friend was dead and it was James’ son.
Teddy saw Sirius’ picture once. He didn’t know who he was, so he changed himself to look like him. It was only when he grew up that he understood why Harry started crying when he saw him.
Once Professor McGonagall was made headmistress, she let Hagrid become a student. Harry saw Hagrid’s Patronus for the first time in his life three years after the war. It was Hedwig.
When Petunia and Lily were little, they would read Alice in Wonderland. Petunia would read Dudley the book, fully knowing he didn’t like it. She was reading it for Harry, who was listening from inside his cupboard. Petunia believed she owed this to Lily.
When Harry was a baby, he didn’t know his own name. Each of the marauders gave him a nickname. (James called him troublemaker.) When he lived with the Dursleys, and they called him a “troublemaker”, toddler Harry would get excited thinking that his dad was going to take him away from these horrible people.
During the Battle of Hogwarts, Nearly-Headless Nick’s head finally came off. Hence, he had to join the Headless Hunt. Thus, Gryffindor needed a new applicant. The new house ghost was a 17-year-old redheaded man and a large group of 12 students were excited to meet their beloved uncle.
When Teddy Lupin was a baby, his color turned into the person he wanted to hold him. Occasionally, it was Harry or Ginny or any other Weasley. But one day it turned pink and he could do nothing about it.
The Marauders used to take turns babysitting Harry, and it became a tradition to pass the baby and say, “You’re it. Good luck.” And the last thing Sirius saw as he fell through the veil was Remus holding Harry, and the last thought that went though his head was, “You’re it. Good luck.”
After Fred’s funeral, George does not return to the Burrow until about a year later. He refuses to go upstairs where his and Fred’s old room is and barely says a word. His hair is some wild outrageous color, cropped short and crooked, and Mrs. Weasley goes into a fit. She loudly asks why he would do that to himself, and is not prepared when he says, “I kept seeing him in the mirror.”
It’s the year after the Battle of Hogwarts. The school is still being repaired and the class size has dwindled down to pitiful numbers. And the Thestrals are so excited about the newfound attention they’d been getting.
Dobby wrote a will in which he sent Harry over 200 pairs of socks, Ron a pair of trainers, and a misshapen hat for Hermione.
No matter what he was doing or who he was with, Harry would always stop and pet any stray dog that he came across. If he could, he would give them any food he had. Eventually he became known as the man with the treats. Not Harry Potter or the Chosen One; just the quiet man with dogbones. When dogs would bound up to him, throwing their paws onto his chest and barking with glee at his arrival, he was reminded irresistibly of Sirius.
At Colin’s funeral, Harry didn’t say a word. He had been to so many funerals recently that pleasantries felt like a waste of breath, and how terrible would it be for him to waste his breath when he was so lucky to have it? He stood silent and watching, and as the last of the attendees left, Harry placed a tiny picture on Colin’s grave, taken by the late boy himself. It was the only autograph Harry Potter would ever give.
On May 2nd, 1998, Hogwarts held a moment of silence for the fallen. Not a single portrait stirred, not a single stair shifted. Even Peeves ducked into a corner and went silent. Then, when the silence ended, millions of different colored sparks took off into the sky.
Tonks is easily excitable and loved entertaining Hermione and Ginny with her Metamorphosis abilities. One day, she found a picture of Harry in Sirius’ room to turn herself into, and ran downstairs to show Remus and Sirius. And it wasn’t until Tonks watched their hearts break that she realized Harry’s eyes were the wrong color.
Harry kept each and every one of the sweaters that Mrs. Weasley had knitted him. One day while cleaning, she saw them folded with so much care in his drawer. She turned to see Harry wearing his newest Christmas Sweater proudly, like it was the greatest honor he could have been given, and she burst into tears.
One day, Harry accidentally calls Mrs. Weasley “Mum” instead of Molly. His face goes bright red, fumbling with apologies, and she (once again) burst into tears.
The first thing Draco Malfoy did after the war was Apparate into Muggle London and march straight into a tattoo parlor. He emerges, his face still bloody and burned, with an arm void of a black skull. Instead, he looks down at the skin covered in flowers and the skull changed into a silhouette of the castle, and smiles for the first time in two years.
George pulls Harry aside:
(“Harry, you’ve died, haven’t you?”
Harry looked up at George and regarded him, careful not to let any incredulousness show in his eyes — he knew all too well of the torment George must be feeling, of the weight in what he was visibly preparing himself to say.
“I have,” said Harry carefully.
George dipped his head; as he did, Harry caught something in his eyes that pained him so deeply, he was grateful George had tried to hide it from him.
“Does it...” George spoke to his shoes, and his voice sounded much older than Harry remembered. “Did... Did dying hurt, Harry? D’you think… that Freddie was in pain when...”
But George did not need to specify. Like he had been smacked right across the face with the words left unspoken, Harry knew, and it was a long time before he answered.
“It didn’t hurt,” said Harry resolutely, like he was deciding it right then and there.“It didn’t?”
“Quicker and easier than falling asleep.”)
When Remus Lupin took the Map from Harry, he sat there for hours, opening and reopening it wrong on purpose just to see the clever insults sprout on the paper. It was almost like his friends, alive and well, were talking to him for the first time in 12 years.
The day Molly Weasley dies, the first thing she sees is a girl with red hair sprinting toward her. She panics, thinking it might be Ginny, but she sees startling green eyes and knows who it is immediately. Lily Potter pulls Mrs. Weasley into a hug and in a choked voice, whispers, “Thank you.”
Harry memorized every name of the 50 Fallen after the war ends. The day he dies, old and surrounded by his children, he repeats their names in his head like a mantra and begs for their forgiveness.
Eleven years later, at Hogwarts, students fill a corridor filled with portraits of those who died in the Battle of Hogwarts. They look for Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and other famous faces, but there’s a blue-haired first year in their midst, trying desperately to remember what his parents had looked like.
James Potter lost both of his parents at once. The news was delivered to him by Professor McGonagall with Sirius by his side, but James was in denial. He kept insisting that she was lying, and it wasn’t until Sirius broke down into tears that James knew, and it broke him.
Crookshanks was the Potters family cat mentioned in sirius' letter and escaped godrics hollow after Halloween and managed to find the magical menagerie. He found hermione and stayed with her because harry was only allowed hedwig and Ron already had scabbers. This is why he was especially angry towards Ron, due to smelling his masters betrayer on him, and didn't run away from sirius’ grim form.
Hedwig was a guardian angel. Hedwig is smarter than most owls and other animals in the magical world, often appearing to harry when he needs to write a letter. Female snow owls like hedwig are mostly white but they have grey marks and spots on their back wings, hedwig is portrayed as a white male snowy owl. White as an angelic being perhaps Perhaps? Perhaps hedwig was sent by his parents as a guard and friend to him, its why hedwig didn't want anyone else adopting her.
Dementors come from the death eater who were thrown into the Veil. Ever wonder why the veil of death is barley used? After the souls escape to the after life the bodies of those who enter become husks of their former selves, hungry for souls. Unmasked before thrown in with only the cloaks on their backs.
Four years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Molly Weasley was busy preparing food for Ron’s birthday. She mistakenly barked to George, “Get that chicken out of the oven, Fred!” George silently whispered, “Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother?”
JK Rowling has revealed that Lily Potter was pregnant was her second child when she was killed. Even worse, she had convinced James to make Snape the godfather of the child.
At Luna’s wedding, the whole of the front seats were reserved. Harry went up to her at the end of service and asked, “Luna, who’s sitting there?” Luna smiled her usual smile and said, “Right. They did sit here in a spiritual way I suppose.” She pointed the seats one by one, “Right, that’s for my mother, those are for your parents, that one is for Sirius, that one is for Professor Lupin, that one is for Tonks, then Mad-Eye, then Fred Weasley, then Professor Dumbledore, and then Professor Snape. Right then, bye!” Harry had never felt so touched before.
The reason Bellatrix was so wretchedly insane and slavishly devoted to Voldemort was that she lived for the promise that one day, if she did enough, someone might say “I love you” back. I know that she doesn’t deserve this but for love… wow Bellatrix.
When Harry and Ginny went to search for a house to live in they found an apparently perfect house, Ginny loves it, but Harry rejects with a clear excuse about it being too big for them. Ginny doesn’t notice Harry’s fixed look on the Cupboard under the stairs.
Before the Horcrux hunt, Ron and Hermione decided, that if either of them had to choose between saving each other's lives or Harry’s, they had to choose Harry for the sake of the world. No matter how painful it would be for them to let go of each other.
Sirius and Remus saved memories for Harry. Remus left them for Harry in his will, when Harry got a hold of them he got to see a part of James he never got to see in Snape's memory.
After the battle of Hogwarts, Neville went to visit his parents to tell them about it. After he finished, his mother, who normally spoke nonsense, smiled and said one word: “Proud”
On November 3rd 1981, Sirius Black sat alone in a cell in Azkaban softly singing: “Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Sirius...” whilst tears streamed down his face, wishing he could go back in time.
Mr. and Mrs. Potter, James and Sirius were out in public together one sunny afternoon. The elderly couple was talking to someone with that someone asking, “Oh, are these your sons?” Sirius turned beet red and becoming utterly flustered. Mr. Potter simply smiled and says, “Yes, they are.” With Mrs. Potter nodding proudly in agreement. Never once did they think to reply in any other way.
Harry as a preschooler drew two blond blots and a big black blot with a little black one standing a bit further away beside them with “My Family” scratched over the top and presented it to Uncle Vernon who ripped it apart and threw it away right in front of him.
When Harry and Ginny were married they moved to a house in Godric’s Hollow. After Lily was born and got older, she would visit her grandmother and namesake's grave everyday and leave lilies.
Harry Potter died at the ripe age of 101 surrounded by his loved ones, when he opened his eyes again he returned to the place he parted from his old mentor many years ago, but it wasn't Albus Dumbledore who greeted him at the station this time around. Standing a few feet away from him where a young couple patiently waiting for the son they were ripped away from so long ago to take him home and Harry Potter, the boy who lived, went gladly.
After the war, Minerva McGonagall went into a spiral of depression. It was brought on by watching so many students grow and die before her eyes.
At Ginny’s wedding she danced with George twice so it would feel like she was dancing with Fred.
After the second Wizarding War, everyone who died was given a chocolate frog card. When Teddy Lupin was on the train going to his first year of Hogwarts, he got the cards that had his parents on them, and it was like they were sending him off themselves.
These made me cry when I read them, I just can't :(
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megashadowdragon · 3 years ago
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Love is the bane of honor
I think Aegon's role narratively is "don't put all your faith in perfect kings", especially not a kid. It's all about the pressure of being a hereditary ruler, the pressure of duty, of others' expectations being placed on a child solely due to his birthright, and of a life sacrificed to duty.
"He is here. Aegon has been shaped for rule since before he could walk. He has been trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes, he speaks several tongues, he has studied history and law and poetry. A septa has instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith since he was old enough to understand them. He has lived with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. Tommen has been taught that kingship is his right. Aegon knows that kingship is his duty, that a king must put his people first, and live and rule for them."
What Varys has said is all about Aegon ruling for others. That implies serious self-sacrifice. But is Aegon truly fit for this? Note how Varys never speaks of love, it's all about Aegon being raised to fulfill his duty, and one that has been placed on him based on his supposed birthright by others, which to us readers is uncertain to begin with and could even become uncertain to Aegon himself at some point.
"Jon, did you ever wonder why the men of the Night's Watch take no wives and father no children?" Maester Aemon asked.
Jon shrugged. "No." He scattered more meat. The fingers of his left hand were slimy with blood, and his right throbbed from the weight of the bucket.
"So they will not love," the old man answered, "for love is the bane of honor, the death of duty."
We have here the literal kryptonite to Varys' expectations.
Aegon is still young and we have no indication he has any experience with women other than being raised by a septa, which considering the faith's tenants has served the opposite interest.
Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature
Arianne, a very intimidating woman, is coming to push herself onto Aegon, yet Aegon's entourage believed the support of Dorne was expected due to their existing blood ties to Aegon, not thanks to a new union between Aegon and a Dornish princess, a union which would also alter Doran's current plans which did not factor in Aegon at all.
A union to Aegon, from Doran's perspective, might also cast uncertainty into the master-strategist's mind; what will Dorne do when the real dragons come? And what if Dany's entourage sends a letter to Dorne along with Quentyn's body, telling them the prince was burned by the dragons he tried to steal? Would Arianne and the Sand Snakes believe it at all, especially if Arianne is trying to put herself between Aegon and Daenerys?
Daenerys on the other hand is preferred by Connington, who says the prince must hold off on any marriage as she may yet come, and he holds no found memories of Elia Martell, which might tarnish his view of Arianne no matter how "healthy" she might appear:
A bride for our bright prince. Jon Connington remembered Prince Rhaegar's wedding all too well. Elia was never worthy of him. She was frail and sickly from the first, and childbirth only left her weaker. After the birth of Princess Rhaenys, her mother had been bedridden for half a year, and Prince Aegon's birth had almost been the death of her. She would bear no more children, the maesters told Prince Rhaegar afterward.
"Daenerys Targaryen may yet come home one day," Connington told the Halfmaester. "Aegon must be free to marry her."
"My lord knows best," said Haldon. "In that case, we might consider offering potential friends a lesser prize."
Pushing lesser prizes onto Dorne is unlikely to be well received, chiefly by Arianne herself.
Connington is trying to shield the prince from doubt:
"I like the sound of that. My army." A smile flashed across his face, then vanished. "Are they, though? They're sellswords. Yollo warned me to trust no one."
"There is wisdom in that," Griff admitted. It might have been different if Blackheart still commanded, but Myles Toyne was four years dead, and Homeless Harry Strickland was a different sort of man. He would not say that to the boy, however. That dwarf had already planted enough doubts in his young head. "Not every man is what he seems, and a prince especially has good cause to be wary … but go too far down that road, and the mistrust can poison you, make you sour and fearful."
Yet Connington is joined by Tyrion's proposal, even if unknowingly, to wait for Daenerys:
"You do not need to win," Tyrion told him. "All you need to do is raise your banners, rally your supporters, and hold, until Daenerys arrives to join her strength to yours."
Tyrion sold the idea to Aegon as follows:
"I told you, I know our little queen. Let her hear that her brother Rhaegar's murdered son is still alive, that this brave boy has raised the dragon standard of her forebears in Westeros once more, that he is fighting a desperate war to avenge his father and reclaim the Iron Throne for House Targaryen, hard-pressed on every side … and she will fly to your side as fast as wind and water can carry her. You are the last of her line, and this Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a rescuer. The girl who drowned the slaver cities in blood rather than leave strangers to their chains can scarcely abandon her own brother's son in his hour of peril. And when she reaches Westeros, and meets you for the first time, you will meet as equals, man and woman, not queen and supplicant. How can she help but love you then, I ask you?"
The temptation is that of a mother figure and a rescuer who would fly to him like the wind, her brother's son, a boy becoming a man. Similarly, agreeing to this would place trust in his father-figure's plan. There is reassurance in taking this road, the one of parents he never had.
One way or another, Aegon must chose, at a time when war rages. But there is much room for doubt to keep him undecided, and if word reaches them that Daenerys has hurriedly flown away on her Dragon, could it be that Tyrion and Connington were right? Is the Mother of Dragons flying to the prince as fast as wind can carry her?
Aegon might hear the echo of Tyrion's words:
"Your father knew the dangers of being overbold."
The prince stared at the playing board. "My dragon—"
"—is too far away to save you. You should have moved her to the center of the battle."
Wait, and wait, and wait, but the war does not.
The death of duty
As the pressure mounts on Aegon to either keep on waiting for Daenerys or secure an alliance with Dorne, will Aegon break? And more importantly, if he does, how?
What if this is exactly what happened with Rhaegar? What if Rhaegar buckled under all the pressure that was on him? From prophecies to the duty of kingship.
"Lingering here will never bring it any closer. The sooner we take our leave of this place—"
"I know. I do." Dany did not know how to make him see. She wanted Westeros as much as he did, but first she must heal Meereen. "Ninety days is a long time. Hizdahr may fail. And if he does, the trying buys me time. Time to make alliances, to strengthen my defenses, to—"
"And if he does not fail? What will Your Grace do then?"
"Her duty." The word felt cold upon her tongue. "You saw my brother Rhaegar wed. Tell me, did he wed for love or duty?"
The old knight hesitated. "Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know the prince was very fond of her."
That answer from Jorah is fairly clear; Rhaegar married Elia out of duty, and maybe a hint of prophecy for all we know. He did not do so out of love.
Remember, Rhaegar thought he was expected to become a warrior. So we have another self-sacrifice for duty's sake:
"As a young boy, the Prince of Dragonstone was bookish to a fault. He was reading so early that men said Queen Rhaella must have swallowed some books and a candle whilst he was in her womb. Rhaegar took no interest in the play of other children. The maesters were awed by his wits, but his father's knights would jest sourly that Baelor the Blessed had been born again. Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, 'I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.'"
And there is another hint that Rhaegar may have wanted to move away from the pressure of ruling, although a subtle one that remains to be cleared up:
Prince Rhaegar shook his head. "My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert. He wants you close, so Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour."
Jaime's anger had risen up in his throat. "I am not a crutch. I am a knight of the Kingsguard."
"Then guard the king," Ser Jon Darry snapped at him. "When you donned that cloak, you promised to obey."
Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime's shoulder. "When this battle's done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but . . . well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return."
But love is the bane of honor, the death of duty:
"Swords win battles," Ser Jorah said bluntly. "And Prince Rhaegar knew how to use one."
"He did, ser, but . . . I have seen a hundred tournaments and more wars than I would wish, and however strong or fast or skilled a knight may be, there are others who can match him. A man will win one tourney, and fall quickly in the next. A slick spot in the grass may mean defeat, or what you ate for supper the night before. A change in the wind may bring the gift of victory." He glanced at Ser Jorah. "Or a lady's favor knotted round an arm."
So I posit that the fear of it all frightened Rhaegar into the arms of Lyanna, who similarly ran from a duty imposed on her in marrying Robert, and as the war began to rage on both escaped away from it all to the Tower of Joy.
Kill the boy and let the man be born
Many wonder what Arys Oakheart's narrative point was. He is a good example of a man who struggled between love and duty.
You know I have no other woman. Only... duty.
Which led him to his death:
Arys, my sweet knight, why did you do it? You should have yielded. I tried to tell you, but the words caught in my mouth. You gallant fool, I never meant for you to die, or for Myrcella...
I believe that as history seems to so often repeat itself in the world of Ice and Fire, Aegon will flee into the arms of love. But whose' love?
Come break of day, they were off again. Elia Sand led the way, her black braid flying behind her as she raced across the dry, cracked plains and up into the hills. The girl was mad for horses, which might be why she often smelled like one, to the despair of her mother. Sometimes Arianne felt sorry for Ellaria. Four girls, and every one of them her father's daughter.
Elia Sand, who bears the name of Aegon's mother, is similar in more ways than one to Lyanna Stark.
"We will see about that." Valena wheeled her big red around and put her heels into him, and the race was on, through the dusty lanes of the village at the bottom of the hill, as chickens and villagers alike scrambled out of their path. Arianne was three horse lengths behind by the time she got her mare up to a gallop, but had closed to one halfway up the slope. The two of them were side-by-side as they thundered towards the gatehouse, but five yards from the gates Elia Sand came flying from the cloud of dust behind them to rush past both of them on her black filly.
"Are you half horse, child?" Valena asked, laughing, in the yard. "Princess, did you bring a stable girl?"
"I'm Elia," the girl announced. "Lady Lance."
Lyanna was also a horse-rider:
Arya was breathing hard herself then. She knew the fight was done. "You ride like a northman, milady," Harwin said when he'd drawn them to a halt. "Your aunt was the same. Lady Lyanna."
And she was literally said to be "half a horse"
Horses … the boy was mad for horses, Lady Dustin will tell you. Not even Lord Rickard's daughter could outrace him, and that one was half a horse herself.
And similarly to Elia, Lyanna could fight:
"Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it.
And we have this in Bran's vision:
Now two children danced across the godswood, hooting at one another as they dueled with broken branches. The girl was the older and taller of the two. Arya! Bran thought eagerly, as he watched her leap up onto a rock and cut at the boy. But that couldn't be right. If the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself, and he had never worn his hair so long. And Arya never beat me playing swords, the way that girl is beating him. She slashed the boy across his thigh, so hard that his leg went out from under him and he fell into the pool and began to splash and shout.
Elia can joust, and we all know that the Knight of the Laughing Tree is believed by many to have been Lyanna:
"I am almost a woman grown, ser," she responded haughtily. "I'll let you spank me, though... but first you'll need to tilt with me, and knock me off my horse."
"We are on a ship, and without horses," Joss replied.
"And ladies do not joust," insisted Ser Garibald Shells, a far more serious and proper young man than his companion.
"I do. I'm Lady Lance."
Arianne had heard enough. "You may be a lance, but you are no lady. Go below and stay there till we reach land."
Note the point earlier where Elia surprises Arianne by racing ahead of her? It is a very tempting hint that Elia will steal Arianne's place and become Aegon's love interest, one no one is pushing on him. Her playful and courageous nature might attract him, comfort him at a time of incredible pressure, just as Lyanna may have with Rhaegar before.
But Rhaegar in the end found his courage, and went into battle. He killed the boy to let the man be born. And died.
"Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?"
"That is the only time a man can be brave," his father told him.
But the question, what bravery will Aegon be pushed into?
"Your father knew the dangers of being overbold."
I won't theorize on what Aegon might throw his courage at here, as the above might bring enough down-votes on its own. I'll just say that Elia, the lance-wielder, has a strong connection to Aegon already:
"Vengeance for Oberyn and Elia."
"Prince Aegon was Rhaegar's heir by Elia of Dorne"
"You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children."
TLDR: Aegon's and Elia Sands' story parallels Rhaegar and Lyanna's, and will end tragically. “
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hushedhands · 4 years ago
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Challenge 79
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For @tardis-23‘s voting challenge, I wrote a little retrospective of Lenore and Xavier’s relationship so far including a couple of dates. I wanted this challenge to feel like a chai latte: a little spicy, very sweet, and warm all the way down!
Lenore woke up the morning after the six month anniversary of her first date with Xavier to the sun peeking through the window shades on her eyes. She turned her head and there was Xay, fast asleep, absolutely glowing in the morning light. If she was any kind of artist, she’d memorize every detail and recreate it for him later because he had absolutely no idea what it was like to wake up next to him in the morning. Like waking up next to a work of art. She couldn’t wait for those brown eyes to flicker open and catch the morning light too.
Lenore usually woke up first so she often got to see him this way. It was fair though, because she was usually the first to sleep and that’s when Xavier got to stare at her in the moonlight. She’d never thought of herself as the kind of person who falls asleep first with someone else in the room, but Xavier had this way of making everything inside of her go quiet. Just like she made everything inside of him spark like electric currents. Electrons flowed from her to him and he flickered to life. Or so he said. Electrical engineers had a strange way of flirting.
Lenore stretched her back and rolled over so that her body was facing his. She slinked an arm over his waist under the warm covers and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. She could feel the moment he returned to her from his dreams, when his lips responded and he slid his own hand across her bare stomach, teasing her ribs with the pad of his thumb.
“It’s early, Lenna.” he complained, but he wasn’t mad at her technique.
“Not that early, Xay.” she challenged. “We missed the sunrise.”
“Hmm.” Xavier didn’t seem to mind. He pulled her closer and kissed her again, completely uninterested in time.
Time was the thing Lenore was most interested in, though. “We have all day.” she murmured against his mouth. “I don’t want to miss it.”
“Who’s missing it?” he challenged her with a wicked smile.
It wasn’t very often that they got to spend a whole weekend together with no homework or exam revisions or projects to distract them from each other. Lenore refused to spend it all in bed, avoiding the sun. But she could afford to spend a little longer in bed.
Everything about the past six months had been a whirlwind for Lenore. She hadn’t thought she was the kind of girl to get a silly crush on a boy, but from the moment she’d laid eyes on Xavier for the first time, he’d dominated her thoughts in a way that would have dropped her grades at school if she hadn’t done something about it. He was just that cute.
And then they’d started talking. And then that crush had become more.
Before being swept off her feet by Xavier, Lenore thought that sappy, gooey, stupid love was only for movie characters or gorgeous wealthy, entitled princesses. Adrienne was the most likely candidate to experience it in real life, because her genetics were a mix of the most powerful man in the world and a woman who had basically won a beauty pageant to become his bride. Addy inherited looks and wealth, and anyone in the world would trip over themselves for the chance to date her. Fairytale love was her birthright, so no one was more surprised than Lenore when Addy’s relationship with her first boyfriend crashed and burned just as Lenore’s relationship with Xavier really caught fire.
She kept the details to herself to avoid rubbing salt in Addy’s wounded heart, but Lenore was stupidly, idiotically, unreasonably in love with this man, and she was done trying to fight it.
She still remembered their first date, getting to know one another over milkshakes. Lenore learned all about Xavier’s family: all astoundingly good people, it turned out.
“How do you not hate the royal family, I just don’t get it.” Lenore had asked, shaking her head. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like the Brat.”
Xavier had chuckled at Lenore’s nickname for the Princess of Illéa.
“But even so… you lost your dad so that she could have hers.”
Xavier had been asked this question before, but he paused to think it over so that he could give Lenore her own unique answer, “I only have one memory of my dad. Nothing special, we were just playing outside. I have a dozen memories of the King treating me and my mother like family. He’s a good man, and I’m proud of my father for saving his life. I don’t hate Princess Adrienne for that, it’s not her fault.”
“I guess hate was the wrong word… maybe resent? I mean, they get your tax dollars and your father? That’s too much.”
Xavier tried again, “Lenore, my dad guarded the King since he was still just a prince. He knew him and Queen America very well. The anniversary of my dad’s death is right before Addy’s birthday. Think about it… the rebel attack that killed my dad came just weeks before the queen gave birth. I’ve thought a lot about what my dad must have been thinking in the split second before he died, when he made the decision to sacrifice himself. Sure, I think he wanted the King, his friend, to have the chance to meet his child the way my dad got to meet me. But mostly, I believe he was thinking of me. I think he wanted King Maxon to be in charge of the country where I grew up, and to be able to teach his heir to be a kind and thoughtful ruler too. If it wasn’t for my dad, Addy’s life would be totally different and none of her brothers and sisters would exist. I don’t hate the royal family, my dad is the reason they’re alive today. They’re basically my responsibility, like plants or pets.” he’d laughed.  
Lenore rubbed her face to hide the fact that she was laughing too. When she emerged she decried, “I just don’t know that Brat-face is worth such a sacrifice.”
“Yes you do.” Xavier pushed back. “Even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t be your calculation to make. A lot of the men in my dad’s generation were drafted into the service. My dad volunteered. He wanted to dedicate his life to preserving the Illéan royal family because he believed in Prince Maxon. That’s exactly what he ended up doing, and you and I both know he was right. King Maxon is extraordinary.”
“We shouldn’t have a monarchy though.” Lenore had mumbled into her milkshake, and Xavier had laughed again.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” he’d rolled those gorgeous eyes at her, completely unfazed by her treason, and that was the moment she knew. She was in way over her head with this boy. 
But how could she make him like her as much as she liked him? She came back with her own story, “My big brother voluntarily enlisted, just like your dad.”
“Really?” she had his attention. Good.
“We haven’t been at war since he was just a baby, but my parents remember the terror of the New Asian war really well. They were so scared when he told them he was enlisting, but I wasn’t scared. I was furious. Why should some stupid man in a stupid golden hat get to decide on a whim where my brother goes and what kind of dangerous things he does? It was ridiculous. But it��s like you said, it wasn’t my calculation to make. Only he gets to decide what his life is worth and how he wants to spend it.”
“How is he?” Xavier asked. It was the kind of question that carried extra meaning between military families.
“Good. He loves it, the big old stupid head.” Lenore had grinned. “He’ll be home for a visit from Fort Eisner in a few months. If you play your cards right, maybe you’ll get to meet him.”
And Xavier played his cards very, very right.
Lenore met his mom over dinner one rainy night in Angeles, and then he joined Lenore for a road trip home to visit her family when her brother returned on leave. Had she ever expected to introduce her whole family to a boy she’d only been dating for a few months? No! 
But that wasn’t the only thing she’d underestimated: she’d had no idea how much she was going to hate her roommates by the end of the semester, so much that she spent almost every night at Xavier’s studio apartment just off of campus instead. Living with her boyfriend? Who was she??
And now that she was used to falling asleep in his arms and waking up next to him in the morning, she never wanted to go back.
She’d expected to spend her twenties and thirties single and focused on her career, and then maybe settle down with someone once she had met some of her other life goals. But if this boy was crazy enough to propose to her, Lenore knew without a doubt that she’d say yes. And she’d only known him for six months. What was wrong with her? 
By the time Xavier and Lenore made it out of bed, the restaurant they were going to was done selling breakfast. They settled for an early lunch before heading to the movie theater for a matinee showing of a classic science fiction movie. Lenore liked the metaphors about society and Xavier liked the special effects. Afterwards, they went grocery shopping for his apartment together and he promised to cook something extra special on the night she would have to stay late on campus to meet with her study group, so she’d have something to look forward to.
How could she tell him that he was what she looked forward to?
When the groceries were put away, they got in his car and went for a drive north, through the back roads, looking for changing leaves. Along the way they found a lookout with a perfect view of the sunset and all the bright little stars that burst forth after dusk. Lenore felt like one of those stars; she’d always been burning, but now she was bright.
She fell asleep on the ride home.
The ride back to his studio apartment.
The ride home.
She was ready for the morning, when she could wake up to that face again.
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skywalkerbc · 6 years ago
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Ya got any good zutara fic refs?
I don’t read many zutara fics, but I spent the last couple days trying to re-find some ones that I read a while ago for you, so here you go :)
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i’m still here by owedbetter
“You see me.”
And somehow, that makes all the difference.
~
you have the sun, I have the moon by mithrilstarlight
Zuko chooses differently in the catacombs beneath Ba Sing Se. Katara’s proud of him for it, even if no one else believes that he’s really changed.
This is basically a season three rewrite because Zutara.
~
there are worse things i could do by orosea
She thinks of how this must be so easy for Sokka, to be married at home, to someone of his culture. She has nothing against Princess Yue, the sickly girl is kind, and frankly, far too good for Sokka. Which is the problem. Sokka is in love with her.
And what does Katara get? A marriage to a firebender. Thrown into a country she doesn’t know, like fish carcass, to the nephew of the Fire Lord.
For her tribe, she tells herself.
~
Surrounded By Ice by HopelessOwls
Zuko is sent to the Northern Water Tribe for his exile and finds that exile is not as bad as he thought it would be, thanks to his new friends.
~
Day 3 - Memories by etanunu
Canon-divergent: “The more she dreamed, the more she learned about the boy whose soul is tied to hers. Sokka’s pretend soulmate may have been a princess whenever he talked about her, but her soulmate was actually a prince. And though she knew she had to hate him, Katara couldn’t. He was just a boy.”
~
Sunrise by lewilder
The days go on and on, and even if she feels more comfort from the moon, Katara learns to cherish the promise of each new sunrise.
~
The Best of Me by LarirenShadow
The night before his eighteenth birthday Zuko wraps a bandage around his left wrist. He has a country to run and no time for frivolous things. It will make everything easier if he waits. Zutara Soulmates AU
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Divergence by orphan_account
“I can help,” she says. It’s her first instinct to say it, with no ulterior motive, nothing fueling her aside from the bone deep need to do something.
**have to have account to read
~
oracle bones by orphan_account
The foreign, pictorial characters that bracelet Zuko’s left wrist have never been covered in any of his lessons. He cannot read them.
And then he turns thirteen, and his father burns his wrist along with his face.
**have to have account to read
~
Even So by lewilder
A hundred years after Avatar Roku stops the Fire Nation’s attempts to take over the world, uprisings begin again in the Fire court. After the battles, the new Fire Lord, Zuko, seeks to reaffirm old alliances and looks for a bride from the Southern Water Tribe. Zutara, AU.
~
Fire On The Ice by Dyce
Lu Ten survives the siege of Ba Sing Se, and Iroh returns home to depose the usurping Ozai. Determined that no more sons or daughters will die in war, he begins peace negotiations with the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes…. offering Zuko and Azula, his secondary and tertiary heirs, as marriage-pieces. Zuko is offered to the Water Tribe… specifically, to Hakoda and his daughter Katara. Mild smut.
~
such selfish prayers by andromeda3116
Katara’s ambition, so long set aside for the good of others, breaks free and sets fire to her soul. Or, Katara has a vision of her canon future, casts it aside, and becomes a world-changing politician instead.
~
Our Fortunes Together by NonDeGuerre
Ozai has a plan to finally end the hundred-year-long war and secure the Fire Nation’s power over all four elements. It starts with marrying Zuko to the daughter of the Southern Water Tribe chief.
~
Lovable by LadyCharity 
Zuko knew that he could not save Azula. He could only try to forgive her. Fittingly enough, those two were one in the same.
**Mainly about Zuko and Azula but it still has background Zutara
~
A Life, Together by Lykegenia
A series of oneshots inspired by the prompts for Zutara Week, all fitting loosely into a single timeline where Zutara happened. Expect lots of fluff, lots of cute, and maybe just a touch of angst. Rating has gone up because there’s also some violence.
~
Beads of Fate by TheGrumpyStargazer
The Fire Nation wins and as punishment to both the losing countries and to his disgraceful son, Crown Prince Zuko must take a foreign wife. A failure wife for a failure prince. Katara sacrifices herself for the safety of her people and enters the deadly world of the Fire Court. She can tell something is off with the royal family, but doesn’t know just how true her suspicions are or how to save more than just herself.
~~
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hamliet · 5 years ago
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MXTX Ladies’ Week: Girls, Goddesses, and Ghosts
After writing about Scum Villain’s female cast here and MDZS’s here, it’s time to write about Heaven Official’s Blessing’s female cast... which is actually smaller than the other two in quantity but imo, in quality, is far greater. Most of the women do not die, and several have fantastic arcs. They’re allowed to be kickass, to make their own decisions, to be morally flawed, to be extremely feminine, to be emotional, to be ugly, and to even be villains--and the whole while, the story depicts them with empathy.
So let’s start with the mortals. This is again more a ramble than a direct meta. 
The Humans:
Me, skipping happily into TGCF, immediately loving one character, and her dying like ten chapters in:
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Yes, I’m talking about Xiao Ying. I also realize I said that most of TGCF’s female characters don’t get killed off, so I’m not leading off with a convincing argument (she is the only one who really does). 
Little Ying’s role in the narrative is as a parallel to Xie Lian and a way to introduce the main themes of the story, which her arc encapsulates. A teenage girl who is noted to be physically unattractive, she’s introduced to us praying to Feng Xin for protection. The god who she prays to for protection from whomever is stealing the brides comments cruelly on her appearance, foreshadowing how corrupt heaven is, and Xie Lian quickly realizes that someone has tried to humiliate her already by cutting a hole in the back of her skirt, hinting at the theme of human cruelty and suffering. He is kind to her, and in return, she helps him prepare for his undercover mission to catch the bride thief, showing the the answer to her prayers is through her own work and kindness, and the connections she makes (with Xie Lian in this case).
The reader quickly learns that Little Ying might not be physically beautiful, but she has a beautiful heart, taking care of a scarred ghost who lives in the mountains (Lang Ying). Yet people turn on her and scorn her when she tries to protect Lang Ying, because humanity is often cruel to their own, and an orphan girl who is unattractive is a target. Yet, unlike the rest of the crowd gathered by the house where all the brides have been stolen away to, she wants to help. But her attempts to help, to save everyone, get her killed, and it’s noted that they do not actually help. 
Softly, she said, “I feel as though my entire life, there weren’t many days where I lived happy.”
Xie Lian also didn’t know what to say, and gently patted her hand. Little Ying sighed, “Oh well, forget it. I might just be someone……born unlucky.”
This is something that repeats in Xie Lian’s arc as well: he often winds up hurting where he tried to help (as with Jun Wu, too), and sacrificing oneself is looked at, as it is in MDZS, with nuance in TGCF. Little Ying did not need to die. There’s a futility to human suffering in TGCF: it doesn’t bring a purpose, it isn’t glorious, and it doesn’t always make someone a better or worse person. It just is. 
Yet it’s also worth noting that the story is asking: when society treats you a certain way because of things you cannot help, such as gender, appearance, and economic status, what power do you have to decide your fate? The answer is what brings comfort to Little Ying in her last minutes: she’s not alone. Xie Lian stays with her as she dies. Little Ying, too, made an effort to make sure others were not alone (Lang Ying). Suffering is unbearable, but if you’re not alone, there is comfort. 
The Demons: 
Two of the demon ladies are fantastic deconstructions of female character stereotypes: the crazed ex (Xuan Ji) and the evil seductress (Jian Lan).  
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(remember this meme? it plays into the crazy ex trope too)
Xuan Ji is the scorned woman who murders brides to vent her frustration at the world (and at Pei Ming, the lover who abandoned her). She is Little Ying’s counterpart in the first arc, in that while Little Ying is a Xie Lian parallel, Xuan Ji is a parallel to our main antagonist, Bai WuXiang, in that she’s determined to take out her misfortune on literally everyone around her. But she is in genuine pain, which the novel takes care to note:
Under her long hair, her tears started to fall as she said, “I’ve waited for him for centuries, what important matter does he have? Back then, in order to see me, he would cross half of the border in a single night, so what important matter could he have now? So important that he wouldn’t even be willing to see me once? An important matter? He doesn’t actually have one, right?”
It’s not portraying Pei Ming as a poor sad victim here; on the contrary, his treatment of Xuan Ji is condemned. She betrayed her army for him, and he doesn’t like her because, in many ways, he comes across as a chauvinist (at first. This is later unpacked too, but that’s for another meta). 
 “General Pei does not like strong-minded women, and Xuan Ji’s natural disposition is strong-willed. This is why they could not stay together for long. General Xuan Ji was unwilling to let go, so she said to General Pei that she was willing make sacrifices and change herself. Thus, she voluntarily abolished her martial arts and broke her own two legs. In this way, she did the equivalent of breaking both her wings and tying herself to General Pei. Despite all this, General Pei didn’t abandon her. He took her in and looked after her, yet, he still wouldn’t take her as his wife. Because General Xuan Ji’s long-cherished wish could not be fulfilled, she killed herself in hate. Not for any other reason, but only to make General Pei feel sad and aggrieved.
Again, harming yourself for the sake of someone else is not presented as a good thing in TGCF. The story does a good job of pointing out that both sides can be at fault; there isn’t a black and white, one is evil and the other good situation in the story. Because Xuan Ji then won’t give up and makes it her mission to torture and humiliate Pei Ming, which she does the former and tries for the latter on numerous occasions. Yet the conclusion to their arc is Pei Ming finally telling her: 
...it was Pei Ming who abandoned Xuan Ji first, this female ghost also killed countless after, trying to kill them time and time again... looking like this, she was a little pitiful.
Pei Ming looked back at her, and in the end, he only said, “Xuan Ji, it’s time you wake up.” 
“Wake up what.” Xuan Ji was confused.
“That you’ve become this way, I’m part of the reason, but a majority of it is by your own decisions. You’ve done so much but you can only move your own heart, I’m a steel-hearted man. Rather than love me, why don’t you go love yourself.” 
He yanked back his robes from Xuan Ji’s hold, and left without looking back.
It’s not that he’s innocent in how he treated her (he isn’t), and it’s not that Xuan Ji’s pain isn’t real, but what we do with our suffering is the pivot on which everyone’s character arc in TGCF swings, and so just as Pei Ming finally decides to take responsibility for his actions, so does Xuan Ji. And after she finally lets go of her resentment, she is able to dissipate and leave the world, entering into a reincarnation cycle.
Jian Lan is originally portrayed to us as Lan Cheng, a vulgar-tongued prostitute who is the mother of a demonic murdering ghost baby, CuoCuo. Yet eventually the reader finds out she was actually a potential concubine for Xie Lian and, after the kingdom of Xian Le fell, she became a prostitute, and CuoCuo is actually the son of Feng Xin, one of Xie Lian’s best friends. Feng Xin promises to take care of them, but Jian Lan tells Xie Lian this in the end:
"having Cuo Cuo is enough for me. Who hasn’t made promises or swore to the mountains and the seas when they were young? Talking of affection, of love, of forevers. But, the longer I hung around in the world, the more I understand, something like ‘forever’ is impossible. It’s never going to be possible. Having it once was already good enough. No one can truly achieve it. I don’t believe in it anymore.”
It’s not that the story wants to imply that forever really isn’t possible (Hua Cheng and Xie Lian’s relationship counters this), but it also doesn’t invalidate Jian Lan’s choice. 
“What you’ve said are all things of the past. What was love once doesn’t mean it’ll last. To be a charity case and a nuisance, I’m not interested.” 
“Why would he think you both a nuisance?” Xie Lian asked, “Don’t you know the kind of person Feng Xin is?” 
“You, His Highness the Crown Prince, you have never lived the common life, so of course you’d think things are that simple. He won’t now, and he won’t on the surface either. But once time gets dragged out, then nothing could be sure.
It’s her choice, and her choice not to risk trying love with Feng Xin again is respected by the narrative. Her choice parallels Xuan Ji’s, but unlike Xuan Ji, Jian Lan’s problem was never that she cared too much about a cast-off lover, but that she did not want to tell said lover the truth. Now that she has, her choices and her freedom to decide her fate remain. She too is not alone: she has her son. 
The last demonic ghost character is Ban Yue, another Xie Lian parallel. She is an orphan girl, mistreated, and later a high priestess of Banyue. She states Xie Lian’s words “I, too want to save the world,” and says that she took his teachings to heart. 
She’s noted to be very lonely, and after Xie Lian “died” saving her, she finds someone to cling to in Pei Su (Pei Ming’s descendent). Once they find out the kingdom of Banyue plans to destroy the city itself and everyone around it, Ban Yue opens the gates for Pei Su to slaughter everyone in the city--but at least the people outside it will survive. It’s a complex moral decision that doesn’t have an easy answer. 
“You also said, ‘Do what you think is right!’” Ban Yue told him.
‘....what… nonsense! … Why did I keep saying those kinds of things… I’m nothing like that at all… am I??’ Xie Lian thought.
“But, I don’t know what’s right anymore.” Ban Yue said.
Xie Lian froze.
Ban Yue’s sulky voice buzzed from the pot, “I thought I was doing the right thing, but in the end it was me who opened the gates that let in the enemy who slaughtered my people... But if I didn’t open the gates, the Banyue people would terrorize the Midlands and hurt more people... I really wanted to do well as the Head Priestess. But, not only did I opened the gates, I killed them, and refused them human flesh. If they didn’t feed on human flesh they’d suffer, and I couldn’t relieve them of that suffering... It’s like no matter what I did, the result was going to be bad... I know I didn’t do things right, but can you tell me, where did I go wrong?” 
Hearing her question, Xie Lian rubbed the back of his neck and said slowly, “I’m sorry, Ban Yue. The answer to that question, I’d not known it back then, and now… I don’t think I know the answer now either.”
The thing is, if Xie Lian hadn’t gotten himself “killed” saving her, the gates wouldn’t have been opened. Yet, if he didn’t sacrifice himself, she would be dead. There isn’t a right or a wrong choice; it’s complex morally. It also foreshadows what will happen in Book 2, when a flashback reveals to us that Xie Lian himself learned the hard way that there isn’t always a way to save everyone through the fall of his kingdom Xian Le. 
The Goddesses: 
My favorite female character in TGCF is YuShi Huang, or the Princess who Slit Her Throat. She’s not dead though; she’s a goddess whose quick thinking saved her family’s kingdom. She’s a Xie Lian parallel in that she is a laughingstock; Pei Ming is noted to have led a siege against her kingdom and have mocked her cruelly in her life. However, YuShi Huang, being the youngest of sixteen children, become the unlikely heir who saves her father and her kingdom, and later will grow to save those who laugh at her. 
She has a kind, self-sacrificing personality like Xie Lian, but she does warn Xie Lian when she helps him by lending him her spiritual device to give his kingdom water that rain is a limited resource, and there’s only so much that he can do. She’s in other words a mite wiser than Xie Lian is at this point--if Little Ying can be seen as him in his childlike stage, trying to save everyone, and Ban Yue as his adolescent phase of character development when he’s started to question, then YuShi Huang can be seen as his parallel once he matures--which is why the reveal of just who the Lord Rain Master is comes very late in the story. Her wisdom is used to save and to heal what she can (such as smuggling Hua Cheng to Xie Lian), but she knows she cannot do everything. 
She also foils Xuan Ji, in that both are from YuShi and were treated cruelly by Pei Ming in life. However, she ultimately saves Pei Ming several times, and when Xuan Ji passes on, she performs a passing service for the ghost. Pei Ming’s subsequent... embarrassment (schoolboy crush? It’s kinda questionable based on the explicit parallels with Xuan Ji, and Xuan Ji’s outright accusations of him liking her in dialogue with him) over how YuShi Huang saved him is also rather amusing. 
Aaaand then there’s the other goddess. Ling Wen has the distinction of being the only complex MXTX character I struggle to like. (Jun Wu used to be on this list but. Writing him helped me like him. Not so much with Ling Wen--but I do think she’s a well done character so please note that my dislike is purely my personal opinion and not an accusation of narrative failing nor an implication that anyone should not stan her (by all means, do so!))
She’s a Jun Wu parallel in many ways, which is why she’s the only god who winds up on his side even after all he’s done comes to light. Her role in a corrupt and sexist court is also not unsympathetic: she’s often worshipped in her male form, so she adopts it, she was mistreated by the literature god before her, and she’s angry about it (every woman who’s seen men get promoted ahead of them in an office can feel this on a--hem--spiritual level). Her anger is justified, and it’s hilarious how the Upper Court cannot actually function without her and so her punishment for her crimes essentially amounts to “please just do your job.” 
She’s also only character who does not have a close relationship with anyone, and this is almost certainly deliberate in response to the unfairness and the sexism and cruelty of the world and how it treats her, as a woman. She tells Xie Lian: 
“Something like a genuine heart is made to be trampled...”
After a long silence, Xie Lian said, “You said ‘similar to him’. So, was General Bai Jing like this too?” 
Ling Wen smiled lightly, “Why else would he be deceived by me?” 
...
Xie Lian said, “… you wanted to help General Bai Jing in becoming a Supreme, and have him wake to his senses, right?” 
Ling Wen gave a small laugh, “Your highness, don’t say it like I would do anything for him. After all, I’m cold-blooded and recognized no loved ones, so why would I do anything like that?” 
Her closest relationship is with the Brocade Immortal Bai Jing, someone she transformed into an object. But if, as Xie Lian implies, she wanted to awaken Bai Jing again, it may imply that she might be lonely and long for connection after all, even if she is afraid to take the risks involved in human connection. Hopefully she’ll be able to connect again, now that the gods are incredibly grateful to her for doing the job none of them could do. Like Jun Wu, she has a chance. 
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beyondconfessor · 4 years ago
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The Infernal Contract
[2/16] Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman
Summary: "Was that–“ she asked, feeling her voice rise with anger, "a failed attempt at a Caligari spell, Faustus?"
N.B.: Also posted on AO3
Zelda entered the suite and set her shopping bags down, onto the counter, while keeping a hold of the bassinet in her right hand.
"Ah, Lady Blackwood," Faustus said, from the dining table, where he seemed to have finished a late dinner. "I see you've been enjoying the Night Markets."
"Just a few essentials," she promised, looking over at him. "I'll go and change Judas and then I can show you." Though she doubted he would be all that interested. She'd purchased a new dress, a few brooches, an enchanted day planner for when she returned to the Academy, as well as a few rare plants for Hilda's garden.
The Night Markets were an excellent place to pick up ingredients or spell casting objects for your traditional charms, but some of the vendors sold some more boutique enchantments. It was a bit of roulette, however. Sometimes you would get a dress that never tore, and other times you may pick up a necklace and find that it'd been cursed and the vendor was trying to pass it on.
Zelda adored the Night Markets and especially took pleasure in haggling with witches until she made the vendor throw their hands up in frustration and submit to her offer.  
Taking the bassinet into the bedroom, she bathed Judas and changed into his sleepwear before setting him down into his crib. But it was as she turned to grab her bag for a cigarette that she noticed something sitting on her bedside table.
It was a reasonably large box shape, wrapped in a smooth, brown paper.
Zelda felt a rush of excitement as she walked over and lifted the present up with two hands and examined it from all angles. There was a card, attached to a ribbon on the top. Written in sharp penmanship was her name as Lady Zelda Blackwood.
Zelda felt her heart sink with disappointment, realising it was not from Lilith.
She had not seen the demoness since the week before. Nonetheless, she had found herself lately taking evening walks in the hopes that Lilith would melt out of the shadows with a smirk, and take advantage of her somewhere inappropriate.
She carried the present to the dining area of the suite, where Faustus was enjoying a cup of coffee. "Ah, I see you found it," he said while setting his cup down on its saucer. "I saw it in the window of a shop and couldn't help myself. It's a DaVinci original, you can see his design if you open the top."
"That's very sweet," she smiled. Reaching up, she tugged the ribbon undone and gently peeled back the brown wrapping paper. It revealed an antique musical jewellery box, made of redwood. Lovely, but relatively young for her. She shuffled through the drawers, finding them all empty but one which held a photo of her.
"Take a look at the dancer," Faustus said, standing up. "She reminds me of you."
Zelda raised an eyebrow, before lifting up the lid of the musical box. She watched as a tiny dancer, with red hair and an emerald-coloured dress, spun around to a music box tune.
She knew that tune...
Its porcelain hands were high in the air, her skirts twirling round and round and round as Faustus stepped close and placed a hand on her waist as he whispered something lovely into her ear. His voice was warm in her ear, coaxing something wrong her.
Zelda could feel herself fading away, her vision blurring as she watched the girl spin round and round.
What was he saying? It sounded like...like Latin?
Her head spun, it was as if the world was fading away and she was becoming small inside of her self, unable to draw her own breaths or reach out.
Zelda recoiled as electricity shot through her right hand. She snapped away, turning around to face Faustus as the hypnotism washed from the expanded magic, leaving her with a splitting headache. "Was that–" she asked, feeling her voice rise with anger, "a failed attempt at a Caligari spell, Faustus?"
Faustus cleared his throat, stepping back. "Of course not, Zelda. You know I would never dream of doing-"
She snapped the lid of the music box down and glared at him. Her head pounded, feeling like the pressure would burst through her skull pierce through her eyes. The magic felt oily against her own, bubbling like a residue against her psyche.
In all of her life, she'd never had a man dream of placing such a spell on her. As her rage narrowed her vision, she noticed the silver knife within reach.
No. It was too dangerous given his stance as interim anti-Pope. She'd have to be smart about this.
Turning away, she drew a deep breath and pushed the outrage down in her chest. First, she needed to worry about her family, then she could kill him.
"What in Heaven made you decide to do this?" she asked, rifling through the drawers of the box to pull the picture of herself. Once in grip, she smashed it against the table. "Did I not promise to submit to you, to serve you as Lilith serves the Dark Lord in our very vows not two weeks ago, Faustus?"
Faustus was beginning to look more and more awkward as he shrunk backwards. "Yes, of course. It's just that..." he trailed off, clearing his throat. "You were..."
"I was what?"
"Arrogant in a way a wife shouldn't be." He stood still then, lifting his chin up to hold against her.
Zelda laughed despite herself. "Arrogant? Oh, that's rich. No, I don't think that was the problem Faustus, I think you're just a little bitch, but if this is how you want to play, you won't win." She stalked forward and grabbed his wrist, hissing a hex against him. Her nails dug into his wrists, piercing through to seal her curse to his blood.
"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice panicked as he tried to break free of her grip and failed.
Zelda smiled before she let go of his wrist, feeling the expended magic drain from her. She'd pay for that price later. For now, she wanted him to suffer.
"A jilted-bride hex," she said, before stepping back and adjusting the sleeves of her shirt as she gave him a tight smile. "I have no idea what you planned with your curse, but if you thought you would ever have me or any other woman again after what you just tried, you're sorely mistaken."
"Zelda, honestly, this is absurd," he said, walking over to grab her by her arm.
"Careful, Faustus. A wedlock curse isn't easily broken. I'd hate for your manhood to become diseased next."
Faustus stepped away, his face caught between anger and horror. The threat hung there between them, a dark reminder that he wasn't the first man to disappear after breaking her heart and if he wasn't careful, she would personally ensure he was the last.
He turned away, wiping his hands over his mouth, looking for some way to have the final word.
Zelda watched him, feeling the magic flex in core as she prepared herself against whatever he might try and throw at her.
Faustus turned sharply on his heel, raising his hand to point at her. For a moment, he looked like he was going to curse her back before he closed his mouth and shook his head, his shoulders sagging. "I can't even look at you," he said with as much vehemence as he could muster.
It wasn't much, and as he walked away into the bedroom, Zelda felt a tightness in her chest unwind. Had Faustus not been up for Anti-Pope, she was sure he would have tried to retaliate. But a missing wife so soon on the honeymoon would have raised eyebrows. Zelda may not be loved and adored by the coven, but they would certainly wonder about her absence.
Zelda exhaled and felt herself sink against the kitchen counter. He would plot and scheme and find some way to wield power over her again if she didn't somehow smooth the situation over. No matter her growing bitterness to that man, she would not waiver on her wants when they were within sight. Sacrifices had to be made in the pursuit of power, she could concede where necessary to ensure the endgame remained in place.
Still, she wondered how it went wrong so fast. His misogyny may have tripled since their wedding, but a Caligari spell went against the Satanic Bible. Free will was gifted by the Dark Lord after the False God so chose to forbid it. It was with his persuasion that humans and witch kind alike were blessed with the ability to determine their own fates.
Taking the music box, she walked over to the trash and dropped it there, taking pleasure in knowing that Faustus would have spent a pretty coin on it. Then, she washed her hands with salt to cleanse any magic residue, before pouring herself a drink.
The headache still throbbed as she sat down on the settee. It would eventually go away, but it would likely be a few hours. Zelda had enough spells blow-up in her face over her centuries to know that the headache was the result of a cast spell backfiring against its target. Which meant for all intents and purposes, the Caligari spell should have worked, but hadn't.
Zelda looked at her hand to where Lilith's ring sat.
She played with it, twisting it on her finger before dropping the hand away into her lap. Whatever reason Lilith had for granting her the gift, she was thankful for it. Zelda had no idea what nefarious plot Faustus had for her with that spell, but it made her all the more sincere to the notion that Ambrose was innocent.
Which meant that Sabrina was right, and if she was right about that, then there was every possibility that Faustus had murdered Edward and Diana.
No, she couldn't stomach that thought.  
She took a sip of her whisky and considered her options. How long would Faustus wait before his rage over-boiled the pot? She thought it over, at every angle, and decided that it was easier to catch flies with honey.
After an hour had passed, she walked into the bedroom. Faustus sat on the end of the bed, his head in his hands, his jacket removed and shirt undone - no doubt from having tried and failed to get an erection to see if her curse had landed true (it had).
"I've decided," she began and watched as his head tilted towards her. "That you had some rather important business here to attend to given that you are the interim anti-pope. As such, you have sent me to return Greendale with Judas and prepare for your return in a week."
Faustus swallowed and looked directly at her. There was a rage in his eyes, but he had enough sense to push it back.
"No one needs to know of our dirty laundry, Faustus. In time, you will learn that I can be very discreet, but make no mistake, if you try something like that again, I promise you that not only will your very precious manhood become incurably diseased, but it will be publicly removed by my hand."
"Understood," he said, though his eyes still stared at her with rage.
"I'm glad we can come to an agreement. I expect I will see you in a few days."
--------------------------------
Zelda arrived in Greendale mid-afternoon feeling all the more at ease to be on home soil. She walked up the front steps of her home and pushed the door open, just as it seemed Ambrose was opening it.
"Ambrose?" she questioned with a sharp look as if to say: shouldn't you be in the dungeon at the Academy?
"Auntie. Good to see you," he said, though his eyes were darting around behind her.
"It's just myself and Judas, but if you're hiding here, leaving through the front door is not the way to do it," she said, pushing him back inside and shutting the front door behind her.
"I...had thought you were Sabrina."
She quirked an eyebrow at him as she carried Judas and set him down on the kitchen countertop. He'd begun to fuss, soft mewls turning to hiccups that would like turn to screaming soon. It was likely time for his afternoon feed. "And what has Sabrina gotten up to now?"
"You haven't heard?"
"Clearly not," Zelda said as she went to the fridge, pulling out the goat's milk. When she turned around, Ambrose had his face in his hands, a look of horror on his face. "Well, spit it out, Ambrose, I haven't all day."
"She..." he fumbled, trying to find the words. And then the whole story came tumbling out, about the witch hunters, Sabrina's alleged death and resurrection, her forceful burning of the angels and her healing properties which no one knew she had a talent for –- something that would have manifested in her early years at the very least.
And now, it seemed, her dear niece could apparently control the weather.
Zelda paused, drinking in the story. With everything that happened in the last six months, it wasn't entirely far-fetched. Sabrina's powers had been growing at an unprecedented rate. Still, weather control, resurrection, healing? Sabrina could do many things, but she'd always been awful at things that required patience and attention to detail.
"Auntie?" Ambrose prompted. "I'm worried. I know he's your husband, but Father Blackwood despised her before. He will see this power as a threat. Please, you can't-"
Zelda raised her hand, silencing him. "I know," she said. "Believe me."
Her nephew sighed, great relief falling from his shoulders before he looked up at with sweet, kind eyes. "I take it that Rome didn't go well?"
Zelda rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "He tried to use a Caligari spell. On me," she scoffed as she took out a saucepan and filled it with water. "In all my centuries, I've never had a man even consider such a violation against free will."
"Did he...?"
"Does it look like he succeeded?" she asked, before turning back to the stove pot and placing the bottle into it. "No, he immediately failed, like the washed-up warlock he is." Zelda stared at the bottle, feeling the anger rise and then sink away deep into the pit of her belly. Anger made for magical accidents, and she couldn't afford that at the moment. "I'm fine, Ambrose. Truly."
"Yes, but your neck is..." he trailed off and then a red began to tinge across Ambrose's cheeks as he realised what the marks were. "Oh."
Zelda brushed her hair back over her neck, adjusting her blouse collar as she quietly cursed Lilith. "They're not from him," she said, before taking the bottle out the bottle from the water, testing it against the temperature against her wrist.
"So, the Dark Lord, then?"
Zelda looked up, feeling heat rush across her face at the very memory of not just that first night, but re-visitation. Lilith's touch left an imprint on her, both literally and metaphorically. "I would have thought that they would have faded now, but apparently not."
"Yes, well, infernal marks tend to leave an impression," Ambrose said, looking them over before he darted his eyes away. "I had thought that the, um, well that it was a legend told to terrify brides before their wedding."
"Evidently not," Zelda said as she held the bottle for Judas and turned the stove off. A silence carried over the room as Ambrose rocked on his heels, looking as though he was holding back a hundred and one questions. Sooner or later, they would come tumbling out, and Zelda had no desire to feed any more half-truths towards him or any other inquisitive mind.
"Where did you say Sabrina was?"
"Oh, she went to speak to her school teacher. The one that-"
"Wardwell," Zelda seethed. The woman got under her skin more than any of Sabrina's other teachers, with her snide remarks about how she knew best and was far more worldly given her excommunicated state because of how dearly trusted by Edward she was –- bullshit.
And her ability to procure spells to magnificent degrees, the likes of that haven't been seen in centuries? No, there was something up with this woman, and she didn't buy the fact that she loved Edward one bit. The way she spoke of him was cold and distant, not some jilted lover holding onto the pieces of her heart.
Sure, Edward kept his secrets, and he was undoubtedly paranoid enough to seek outside help, but that woman did not know her brother better than she did.
"And Hilda?" she asked, instead of pressing the issue.
"At the Academy, I believe. Where is Father Blackwood, if I may ask?"
Zelda's heart sunk. "He's in Rome. He's been made the Anti-Pope, in the interim until the Cardinals can arrange a meeting."
"The Anti-Pope?" Ambrose said weakly. Zelda could see hope shredding in his eyes as he exhaled out a short, deep breath and stumbled against the kitchen counter. "Satan save me, I'll be executed within the hour of his arrival."
"Ambrose, we will find a way out of this. Even if it means placing you in hiding."
"Hiding," he whispered, nodding. "They'll have all of witch kind after me if I left. There'll be a bounty against me."
Zelda had no words of comfort to offer. She reached out and squeezed at his hands, hoping that was enough. There would be some way out of this, she was sure of it. It was just a matter of finding out what. (If only murdering Faustus wouldn't fix the issue.)
"Does Sabrina have any ideas?" she asked.
"One, I think, but she wanted to meet with Wardwell first."
Zelda nodded. "Then I suppose we trust her. After all, it's not over until a banshee sings."
Ambrose smiled weakly and nodded.
"Now, why don't you upstairs and keep out of sight. When Sabrina arrives, you can run off and do whatever needs to be done."
"Thank you, Auntie."
"And Ambrose, I meant what I said. We will find a way out of this. We're Spellmans, we survive."
Ambrose nodded t her, but the movement was morose. As he turned away, Zelda could see him slump forward, footsteps heavy as he made his way up the staircase, towards the attic.
Zelda burped Judas, before moving him upstairs where she bathed him and changed him into new clothes before placing him back into his bassinet to sleep in what had meant to become Leticia's nursery, now refurbished as a joining spare room to what had been her own room.
Not that it was really her room since she married.
Zelda stepped through the door and looked over the contents of her old room. Everything had been packed, ready for the move to the Blackwood Manor on the outcrops of the Academy. Her dresser contained a few items, in case she needed to stay for any reason, and the bed which had a throw she'd procured from Morocco forty years prior, remained in place.
Everything else was gone, likely waiting at her new residence for her to unpack. She couldn't even think about doing that.
What was she going to do now, she wondered. Stay in a marriage where they both held a knife behind their backs, or divorce after a few weeks, ruin their chances at power?
Satan forgive her, the fallout from the church would be catastrophic for decades. Not only would it weaken his position as the Anti-Pope (which she didn't care for) but it would also undermine her own search for power. Faustus would likely turn his anger back on her, and then where would she be?
Powerless and at war with an adept warlock.
She could handle losing the coven. Her faith was more than church walls and a priest. Satan knew Sabrina had brought her fair share of humiliation to the church. But her leaving Faustus wouldn't just affect the two of them or her family. There were others involved.
She sat down at the end of the bed and clutched at the bedding as if it could steady her –– what of Judas, she wondered, of Prudence and Leticia? Who would look after them if she fled back to her family? Prudence was just a girl, no matter how bold she acted, and Faustus would swallow her whole to keep her from stealing his son's legacy.
No. She would stay.
She would build iron walls against him, but she would stay, for herself, for her family and for the family she'd married into. And if she had to quietly murder Faustus and bury him in the forest, then so be it.
Her eyes fluttered shut, and she found herself suddenly praying to Lilith for strength, whispering the old prayer into the dim light of the room. It'd been a long time since she'd made such a prayer, Sabrina had been just a babe in her arms, newly an orphan with nowhere else (worthy) to call home.  
Zelda opened her eyes to the dark, feeling a shiver run down her spine. The path was long and wretched before her, but she was a Spellman by blood and Spellmans survive.
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mymelodyheart · 4 years ago
Text
Starting Over Chapter 22 ~The Tale of the Night Part One~
Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!  
Claire's heart started to beat a little faster as their hired Bentley slowly inched closer to the Hilton Hotel Glasgow. They were following a long line of fancy cars waiting for their turn to pull up, step out and parade themselves. She felt Jamie's gentle squeeze on her hand, but it didn't help quash the feeling of apprehension. She'd promised Jamie to stand by him but seeing the throngs of excited fans and reporters behind the installed barriers, made her want to curl up in a fetal position and not leave the car.
"Sassenach, are ye alright?"
Huh?  She turned and looked at him and saw the worried lines etched on his face. She gave him a feeble smile. "I'm fine," she lied, trying to convince herself as well as him. "I know events like this draw crowds ... it's just that I didn't realise it would be as crazy as this. I-it's one thing seeing it on TV or pictures, but this ..." She leans forward and waves a hand, the frenzy screams and shouts, giving her jitters. "There's a bloody mob out there. It's insane!"
Jamie gently drew her sideways against him, tucking her in under his arm. "Some people from the movie industry will be there too, that's why. Events like this like to invite big names to attract the media. And Prince Harry will be making an appearance as well, most probably to promote the Invictus Games."
"Invictus wot?" she asked absentmindedly, her attention fixated on the excited crowd outside.
"It's a paralympic-style sporting event for injured military servicemen and women. It's a foundation launched by Prince Harry," he explained, following her gaze.
Only half-listening, Claire closed her eyes and tried to breathe normally, focusing on Jamie's hand on her arms. It helped a bit to soothe her nerves. For a split second of weakness, she thought of suggesting to let her slip into the back entrance and meet him inside the hotel lobby after his pap-walk but remembered her promise to stand by him tonight and dropped the idea. "Does this get any easier for you?" Claire asked, glad for the darkened windows that hid them from the flashing camera lights.
"What? This?" He puffed out his cheeks and blew out air. "No. The public looks like the giant scary monster, but truthfully, I dinnae mind the fans. The problem is the media. The media isnae journalism as ye know it anymore. They turn everything into a bloody circus show."
She shuddered, remembering her indirect first-hand experience with the reporters and how they've made her looked like the cheating fiancée and Frank, the virtuous, pillar of the society, who could do no wrong. "Tell me about it," she whispered.
"Stations and news will gobble up anything - the more sensational the story, the better, anything for the ratings. Ratings are everything. Ratings mean money and lots of it. Perhaps it really is just a matter of time before they're funding the nefarious for the consumption of the people. There's nae more moral compass, only the most immoral become the victors in this industry, and so on. Morality is for losers, winners are the ones who "pushed the envelope." He looked at her, and she didn't miss the subtle change in his demeanour. "As I told ye before, the tabloids will feed the public some shite by publishing pictures, and when it's captured at a right angle, it could be taken in any context ye want. The news' outlets delight on that because the fans can make up their own stories and they write articles based on their speculations."
"Has it ever happened to you?"
"What? Speculations? Aye. Many times. With my reputation, I'm fodder for other celebrities' publicist, especially when movies or projects need to be promoted. I tend to get used for that end. I'm not saying my reputation was a made-up lie. I'm not proud of it, but I own my shit. The problem with this industry is when ye want to use their platform or be part of it, be prepared to whore yersel' literally or figuratively." He lets out a short laugh. "Thanks to them and the publicity stunts, I've increased my followings on social media, which of course, opened other avenues such us modelling for big-name products even if I've never done that line of work before. The upside - it made me loads of money."
"So, you reckon the network will want something from you?"
"Aye, most probably. But ye'll have yer say in it, Sassenach. This is nae longer just about me," Jamie's mouth pressed into a determined line. "This concerns ye too."
"But, this job means the world to ye, Jamie."
He twisted around to face her, and his hand stroke her cheek. "Dreams and priorities change over time, Sassenach. Ye come first now because I'll need someone who will hold on to my soul in that crazy world out there. But I'm warning ye. If ye agree to let me take on the job, there'll be a lot of things ye'll not like and perhaps disappointments. Whatever happens tonight, I'll need ye to trust me in this. Ye dae trust me, aye?"
Claire squeezed his hand. "Yes, of course, I trust you." She nervously glanced through the windshield and saw there was only one car left in front of them before it was their turn to get off. "I meant to go over things with you, Jamie. What do you need from me out there?"
His face softened. "Just be yourself and smile. Ye dinnae need to answer questions from the press if ye dinnae feel like it. If ye do though, dinnae reveal anything personal and give them an arsenal for future use." He leaned in and gave her a kiss. "And thank ye for being here with me. It means a lot."
She nodded and smiled weakly, still dazed from the surreality of the upcoming moment when they would step out as a couple. It was quite apparent they were both not looking forward to going out there, and for Claire, it was one hell of a circus show to go through just for a presenting job.
"Ye sure ye'll be okay?" Jamie asked. "There's still time to turn around if ye wish. There'll be nae hiding once we step out." His tone was guarded and tinged with concern. "I ken I asked ye to stand by me. But I can go out there by myself, present the award, listen to what the network has to say and if I dinnae like it, I'll leave, and we can enjoy Glasgow for the rest of the evening."
The suggestion was too tempting, and it would be an easy way out. But Jamie could lose out on his dream job because he would choose her. She didn't want that. Claire turned and saw him looking at her thoughtfully, earnestly waiting for an answer, as the ghost of past heartache resurrected in her head. When James Fraser loved, it was scary. The man put his entire heart out with the expectation that it would be crushed. Sometimes she worried at the way he looked at her and at the way she felt for him. It seemed too precious and too rare to explore knowing if it didn't work out between them, the heartache would be greater. If she ever lost this man, she would never recover. If he ever lost her, she feared for the man that he would become. She could only hope that their relationship would survive Jamie's new career.
Swallowing the odd lump in her throat, she gave him her best smile and summoned the courage. If he's willing to sacrifice his dreams, she was prepared to at least try and take this on too before he gave it up altogether. "Hey I'm a big girl, remember. I can tough this one out," she whispered, attempting to sound cheerful.
His handsome face lit up. Grinning, he leaned in for a final kiss before grabbing the handle of the car's door. "Weel, let's do this then, Sassenach.".
..........
Ah, bloody hell, here goes nothing!  
Claire inhaled deeply and took Jamie's hand as she stepped out of the car. She felt like entering into another realm as she was greeted by frantic screaming, knowing it had more to do with Jamie's appearance than her stepping out. It was very loud, more than she'd imagined it would be with a crowd such as this, and the deafening noise was reinforced more by all the shouting, cheering, camera flashes, instructions yelled out by photographers at celebrities, and security and ushers barking orders.
"Jamie! Jamie!"
"We love ye, Jamie!"
"Jamie, please sign this!
"Jamie! This way, please!
"Jamieee, selfie please."
Jamie's hand tightened and tugged her forward, her eyes blinking and squinting against the flashing of bulbs and set of lights beaming down on them. He leaned down to say something, but she couldn't hear over the screams of hysterical fans. Although she'd been a fan of Jamie for years, she couldn't understand the over-the-top hero-worship and grown women shrieking whenever Jamie smiled, winked or waved. People crying and all these hysteria for a retired rugby player was simply just beyond her.  Heaven forbid Jamie ends up becoming an actor. Unbelievable!
Jamie led her to the top end where the broadcast outlets were, namely BBC, ITV as well as UKSC, the network Jamie might one day work for. He subtly reminded her when to stop and where to look as the photographers furiously took their pictures. His eyes were on her the whole time, a knowing upturn tugging his lips and his hand always pulling her against him. He kissed her for the cameras as if it was his way of announcing she was his, and although Jamie ignored requests from the journalists to introduce her, she obliged them, despite herself, by smiling for their lenses instead. Claire was surprised not one of the photographers had recognised her as the infamous  Runaway Bride . She hoped her unknown status would remain for the rest of the evening, but she knew reporters were like a dog with a bone and it was only a matter of time before they caught on.
"Hey, Jamie, who's the pretty lady with ye?"
"Can we have a name, please?"
"The dress is gorgeous. Who designed it?"
"Jamie, a quick interview, please?"
"Sorry ye lot, time for us to go in," he deflected, pretending to look disheartened while putting one hand dramatically over his chest and another, tugging her elbow and leading her away from the crowd and into the double doors of the hotel. 
What a charmer!   Despite Jamie loathing the media, he had a way with the reporters, whether they were women or men. Not once he showed a hint of annoyance even if she could feel it pulsing from his aura. He was evasive when people asked questions but somehow managed to get away with it with a smile or a wink, lending them a sense of mystery. Maybe Jamie was born for this. He did everything with ease and was full of self-confidence in front of the watchful eyes of the public. Whereas, her, she felt like she was caught up in a current, whirled and tossed in every direction. Her face hurt from endless smiling, hand numbed from Jamie's constant hard grip and her feet already throbbed from the ridiculously high stilettos. She hoped Jamie's charms would be enough to tide her over when the media finally finds out who she was.
One hurdle down, a million more to go!  Once they made it through the hotel's lobby, her first thought was to grab a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, but Jamie kept walking and steered her through groups of people, nodding and acknowledging with a smile those who glance their way. 
"It wasnae so bad, was it?" Jamie murmured against her ear as they positioned themselves at the least populous area of the lobby. "Ye look so beautiful tonight, and everyone thinks so too. Ye've captivated the press and the fans." He took a couple of champagne from a passing blonde waitress who was beaming up at him, but he didn't notice the awed gaze.
"Captivated? More like inquisitive," she replied, taking a huge gulp from the bubbly Jamie gave her and scanning the crowd. "The press is probably running my picture through some facial recognition software as we speak. I hope with the amount of makeup Geillis plied on my face, they'll fail at their attempt."
"That's not how facial recognition software work, Sassenach. The app distinguishes a person based on the person's features and shape."
"I was afraid you were going to say that. Let's just hope the software they're using is crap or dated."
Jamie laughed, taking a step closer in her direction "Dinna fash. Sometimes media exposure can work to yer benefit."
Claire looked up and saw the amusement in his eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Weel, for one, Frank will surely leave ye alone now. He wouldnae want to jeopardise his career in case ye talk to the press. I'm presuming he'd be thinking, ye've been considerably unpredictable ever since ye jumped out of the church's window. Controlling people don't like unaccounted for surprises. And ye're likely to do something spontaneous."
"I guess you have a point ..." She sipped her drink and quickly changed the subject. "What happens now?" she asked, watching the elite and sports' celebrities rub shoulders together, exchange air-kisses and posed for the cameras with subdued interest.
Claire had never seen so much pretentiousness in one room, and she'd mingled often enough in Frank's circle to make that distinction. The need to impress was so palpable in the air when, in actual fact, almost every individual present was talented and gifted in their own way. It was too showy and flashy for an event that was supposed to be all about honouring sportsmanship and sports in general. The only thing that seemed genuine was the designer clothes they're wearing and their expensive perfumes wafting through the air. It seemed like the long tentacles of the world of celebrities have crept into the world of sports, blinding them with glitz and glamour. It was definitely not a scene she could get used to, and she felt, Jamie couldn't either no matter how much self-confidence he exuded and wanted the job.
"We're just waiting for Forbes," Jamie explained. "I told him I'd meet him here and he's supposed to update me on his talks with the network." 
"Forbes is your agent, right?"
"Aye. And speaking of the devil, he appears." Jamie gestured toward the tall, blonde and handsome man in a dark blue business suit, walking confidently through groups of celebrities. "Showtime," he whispered, shifting on his feet.
She downed her champagne in two mouthfuls and watched Forbes stopped and shook hands with Andy Murray, Scotland's professional tennis player. It was apparent Jamie's agent knew a lot of famous people and appeared comfortable around them as he greeted and addressed a few more.
"Jamie!" Forbes strode towards them in a way a famous person might. His smile Hollywoodesque as he shook Jamie's hand. He was younger than Claire thought, midway through his thirties and almost as tall as Jamie. "Sorry to keep you waiting," Forbes apologised. "Got held up in the office and then stuck in the traffic."
Jamie nodded. "Nae bother. We haven't been here for too long." He put an arm possessively across her shoulders and pulled her in. "Forbes, this is Claire, my girlfriend." Forbes took her hand and kissed it, smiling over it when she blushed. She felt Jamie stiffened, indicative of his lack of credence towards his agent. 
"Call me Gerald. Forbes is my surname. I'm a long time friend and confidante of Jamie. I'm surprised he hasn't introduced you sooner, but I've seen you in the papers. Have to say you caused quite a stir in Edinburgh, and the pictures that were published haven't done you any justice at all. You're even more beautiful in person." He dipped his head as if his next words were meant only for her ears. "Jamie's reputation precedes him. As we all know, he has a keen eye for beautiful women."
Claire swallowed and yanked her hand back. "A keen eye for beautiful women, you say?" She glanced up at Jamie before looking at Forbes squarely in the eyes. "Too bad it doesn't extend to his instinctual perception on human nature. Jamie is too trusting for his own good."
Taken off guard by her reply, Forbes stared at her for a few seconds, trying to gauge her meaning. When she didn't smile, he was left with no other choice but to give out a fake laugh that was so over-the-top and loud, a few people glanced their way. Jamie disguised his choke with a cough.
"That's sports agents for ye," Jamie remarked, squeezing her shoulder. "Cannae live with 'em ..."
"Can't sign a deal worth a damn without them," Forbes added, plastering his toothpaste advert smile back on his face and dragging his attention away from her. "Well, Jamie, shall we go somewhere private and talk business?"
"No. We can talk here," Jamie said smoothly, releasing Claire to grab more glasses of bubblies from a passing waiter. "It's simple, really," he started, passing a glass to her and then to Forbes. "It's either the network and I are on the same page or not. So which is it?"
The mega-watt smile on Forbes dimmed, as he cast a quick glance at Claire before looking back at Jamie again. "I reasoned with the directors, and they've invited both of you at their table for further talks."
"And?"
Forbes tugged at his tie. "They still want you to do a pap photo with Geneva tonight. And it would be wise if we told the press Claire is your PA in case her identity leaks out."
"I'll do a promotional photo with Geneva if that's what they want," Jamie said firmly. "As for Claire's identity, the press or some random fan has probably already figured it out who she is. The fans aren't stupid." 
"Fine, so what if they've figured it out," Forbes sighed, lifting a hand in the air. "Just release a statement saying Claire's working as your PA while she's out of a job or something. Or a close friend who came with you as your plus one for tonight. Or just say nothing at all, and I'll release a statement to the press for you."
Noticing the tension between the two men, Claire placed a hand on Jamie's arm. "Shall I leave you both alone. I'll be just right over there," Claire intervened. She knew how important this job was for Jamie, and she was more than willing to remain hidden from the public if that's what it took.
"No," Jamie replied, grabbing her hand, in case she did walk away. "Please stay." He gave her a pleading look. She couldn't say no, so she simply nodded hoping they would come to some kind of resolution. Satisfied she wasn't going anywhere, Jamie turned his attention once more back to Forbes. "You will not release any statement on my behalf, and I will not discuss my personal life to the press. I've never had, and I'm not about to start now. Anyone who's got eyes knows Claire is with me and hundreds of pictures have already been taken when we arrived. The only thing I am willing to talk to the press about is my work."
"Jamie, there won't be any work if the directors found out you are with the  Runaway Bride  and even more so if the word gets out," Forbes argued impatiently. "We can make those pictures disappear, and nobody has to know about Claire. And it's for her own good too."
Claire tried not to flinch, but both men noticed. Forbes gave her an apologetic look and Jamie squeezed her hand.
"The directors said they specifically wanted that?" Jamie asked in disbelief.
Forbes sighed. "They want an unattached Jamie."
"And yet, they want me to parade myself with Geneva? That doesn't make any sense at all," Jamie countered.
"Look there's something I need to tell you about Geneva. And you can't tell another soul ..." Forbes paused and eyed Claire.
Jamie noticed Forbe's hesitation. "Claire won't say a word. She's a doctor and has a duty of confidentiality to her patients. So this won't be any different," Jamie reassured his agent.
Forbes nodded and lowered his voice. "There are rumours within the IOC that Geneva used performance-enhancing drugs during the Commonwealth Games and Beijing World Championships and she may be consequently be stripped off her medals ..."
"And how is that my problem?" Jamie challenged.
"Well, this is where you come in. You know that Geneva's dad, William, is one of the directors of the network, right?" When Jamie nodded, Forbes resumed. "The IOC isn't the problem, and the majority of the committee can be bought, but it won't stop the rumours circulating. So daddy dearest wants to paint a nice picture of Geneva for the public by giving her a few stints on the sports network. They want you both to host the London World Championship during rugby off-season. Her exposure will unveil her to the public as a clean-living athlete, and so when the rumours grow its head, the public will dismiss it as mere gossip. And also, they want the public to perceive you both as a couple. There'll be no need for you to announce you both are. A few pap photos here and there and the fans will do the talking. You're the ideal person for the partnership with Geneva because well, you know ... you were well-known for your discipline in rugby. No drugs, no alcohol, five times best player of the year, Scotland's national treasure and all that shit. Get my drift?"
"And why me?" Jamie asked warily. "Surely, there are other candidates with the same background in sports as I have, a better reputation and could talk comfortably and eloquently in front of the camera. I can think of five on top of my head, and they're all living nearer to London."
Forbes shook his head as if he couldn't comprehend why Jamie still hadn't understood yet. "You come from an old family, Jamie. A family with a solid background, good reputation and the public is more forgiving with your past indiscretions compared to your peers. And that alone carries a lot of weight in William Dunsany's eyes."
Jamie gave a burst of short mirthless laughter. "And here I thought I was being considered for the job because they saw a potential in me." He shook his head in disbelief and slapped Forbes on the shoulder. "Sorry mate, thanks but no thanks."
"Jamie! We're talking about a million-pound contract here and a place in the network for two years. That's an incredible amount of money for someone who doesn't have experience in mass media. No one is asking you to break up with Claire. Just keep things between the two of you under wraps. That's not difficult, is it?"
"Aye, it is! Have ye lived under the watchful eye of the press? Claire will be living with me. How am I suppose to keep our relationship under wraps? The answer is no. I'm not putting Claire under that pressure."
"William Dunsany is desperate. Maybe I can arrange a better deal for you," Forbes offered.
Jamie arched an eyebrow. "Why is he desperate?"
"William Dunsany is about to be bestowed a knighthood by the Queen, and he can't afford any scandal or gossip tainting his family name. He thinks Geneva being linked to you would shift the focus away from the rumours."
"Sorry, Forbes. It's one thing piling this whole shite on me but ..."
Forbes raised both his hands and gestured to both of them. "Talk about it, the two of you. And I'll go and talk to Dunsany and get you a better deal. I'll give you both half an hour to decide." And then he turned and strode away before either of them could say a word.
Jamie took Claire's glass and set it on the nearby table and faced her. "Do ye want to talk about this, Sassenach?"
"I think we should," she whispered.
Without another word, Jamie took Claire by the elbow and led them to an empty conference room. Once alone and away from the crowd, they sat on a nearby table facing each other.
Claire spoke first. "Jamie, I totally get it. The money doesn't mean anything to you, and I know you love me, and I also know you're willing to walk away from all of this because of me, but ..."
"Sassenach ..."
"No, Jamie, hear me out first, please," she insisted, wringing her hands as she searched for the right words. "You're here because you want to be part of that sport you love so much and want to start your own rugby academy with the money you'll earn. I know we talked about this in the car before we got here, but I don't want to be the reason for giving up your dreams. I can't live with that. When two people love one another, they nurture and support each other. I want you to do this thing in London and build your academy."
He smiled and took her hands from across the table. "Sassenach, I appreciate what ye're saying but it doesnae matter. Besides, I get the feeling ye dinnae like London much and the whole palaver with the paparazzi, and I cannae do it on my own if ye decide to send me away. I'd miss ye terribly."
It was true what Jamie said. She hated London, but she'd also hate it if she didn't get to see him every day and see where their relationship go. Maybe this was a test and opportunities like this only come once in a lifetime. Of course, they could make their own opportunities, but more often than not they are sprung on you like a dare to test your skills, to see if you could take that leap of faith to make whatever it was a success. To continue to be dictated by fear, an excellent opportunity might slip away. Frank already took away so much by inspiring self-doubt in her, and she didn't want to be afraid anymore. She needed to take that leap first, for the sake of both of them. And although Claire didn't like the idea that William Dunsany could get a knighthood from her life-changing decision, Claire had a feeling Geneva was being manipulated by her father. She wanted to be beside Jamie to make sure it wouldn't happen to him and at the same time reach out to Geneva and help her.
Confident she made the right decision, she stood up, walked over to him and sat on his lap. Linking her arms together around Jamie's neck, she planted a kiss on his lips and smiled. "What if I said I want to come to London with you, would that change your mind?"
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amusedyan · 5 years ago
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Mother of Legacies
So this was a collab between @hearteyes-candyskies and me! We worked out the plot together and she was kind enough to give me a list of yandere Greek myths for inspiration. We hashed out a lot of this and she was so helpful in picking out the details.
Special thanks to my good friend @lightautumnsky for taking a look at this for me and giving me her opinion- you’re amazing and I owe you big for this.
One more disclaimer; normally I go out of my way to keep my darlings and reader inserts as neutral as possible. Everyone deserves to be a darling no matter gender or race. However, because a lot of Io’s importance is because of her bloodline, I had to keep her female. I’m very sorry, but that’s how this had to happen.
tw: implied forced pregnancy
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Your legs ache as you climb the mountain. Your hooves are uncertain in the stone as you journey upwards, and you huff with exhaustion. The sun beats down on your hide and your tongue lolls- you’d never thought to miss sweat before.
Overhead and forward some distance an eagle screeches, and you shudder instinctively. But there is no lightning crossing the sky, and no boom of thunder, and so you continue on.
You make steady ground and in the distance you see him, and you breathe in peace.
You’re so close.
The Adversary, chained to the mountain; beneath his sunburn he is frighteningly pale, with matted dark hair and haunted eyes. He tracks your progress as you approach. There is a gaping, scabbed wound in his side, bleeding sluggishly.
Everyone knows the story- once an ally with the Lord of the Sky, he’d disobeyed to serve humanity. For his insolence, Zeus had stripped his name and chained him to the mountains, his eagle set upon him to tear out his liver every day.
You are so tired, but you’re made the journey, and you feel you deserve a rest, setting yourself down at his feet and looking up at him patiently.
“You’re no normal cow, are you?” He asks bluntly, peering down at you. He doesn’t seem surprised. You shake your head no- and he nods. “Transformation?” You nod in assent. “Nice to know they haven’t changed.”
You want to ask, but he laughs a little. It’s distinctly unamused. “I can understand you. Don’t worry. Now, the details?”
“I don’t quite know where to begin.” You admit carefully. The Eagle is nearby, and you aren’t sure if it’s just an eagle.
The titan catches where you look and assures you that it’s just an eagle. “A pet, that’s all. Let’s begin this way- what have you come for?”
“Do you have a name?” You ask first. “I need to call you something.” Are you imagining the slight quirk of the titan’s lips.
“L. It’s close enough to what was stolen.”
So you begin.
i.
Your name was Io. Is it still? Who knows, a cow can’t introduce herself.
You were a priestess to Hera, but before that you were a princess, princess of Argos. You’d not wanted to marry, and so your parents had bought you a place in the temple, and you had devoted yourself to worship.
That life spoke to you, and you had friends in your sister priestesses, and went about your duties happily- you cleaned your section of the temple, you helped prepare meals, occasionally you even assisted with the sacrifices to the Goddess herself. You would stand behind the senior priestess as she prayed watch the smoke from the altar drift to the sky and think in this I am happy.
Your life continued this way for months, until winter came, and with it came Gamelion- the month blessed for marriage. Engaged women and mothers of the brides and their grooms flocked to the temple to pray for wealth, happiness and love.
Among the ceremony were the plays- plays dedicated to the marriage of your Gods. The performers reenacted the marriage and courtship of the pantheon, and as always, Mighty Zeus ad Hera were among the most frequent.
The temple kept cuckoos for their own performances, and you loved the birds. Only the most senior priestesses were tasked with their care, but you liked to be around them when you had the time.
It was your duty one morning to prepare the altar- you cleaned it and offered your prayers to Hera. You lit incense and kept your voice pitched low. The fruit offered- the finest of oranges- filled the room with it’s citrussy scent. All the smells made your nose itch.
Your eyes were closed when it happened; all you felt was heat. The light was visible through your eyelids, like you were looking straight at the sun when you’d closed them. There was no noise, no smells, nothing- just the light.
When it was gone, the worshippers in the chamber were gaping at you with awe, and your robes were dusted with gold. The offerings to Hera, you realized with growing horror, were gone- replaced by pomegranates.
                                                       --------
“So you were blessed by Zeus.” L interrupts. You nod.
“That’s what the High Priestess said, anyway.”
“How did you feel?”
“Afraid.”
“Oh?”
“Zeus blessed a priestess devoted to Hera in Her own temple while she stood before Hera’s altar.” You elaborate with one more shudder. L hums, and you can see that his fingers twitch.
“And everyone knows what happens to Light’s conquests.” He says quietly, and you frown, as much as you can.
“Light?”
“Continue, Io.”
ii.
One night, soon after, there was a thunderstorm. You lied in your bed, shivering beneath your blankets.
You’d grown up sharing a room with your sisters; the single accommodation afforded to you as a Priestess left you lonely on nights like that. Your youngest sister had been frightened of thunder, and often joined you in your bed to keep from crying out and waking the others.
“It’s only Zeus, little one,” Mother would promise when she caught you both, smiling a little, then leading your sister back to her own bed. “Nothing to fear.”
Lightning arced across the sky with a boom.
Nothing to fear indeed.
You shivered and tucked your blanket under your chin.
Storms had never scared you like this.
But then, you reflected, never had you been in a position where the Lord of Storms had blessed you.
The gold hadn’t come off those robes, and it had taken the temple’s strongest soap to remove it from your skin.
Outside your window, the tree shook with the force of the wind, and the chill crept in. 
Sleep was long coming that night, and it didn’t come easy. Dreams were too much to ask, but sleep you finally did, even with the noise of rivaling the falling of the sky happening outside.
In the morning a bowl of acorns lay on your sill innocently, even if they were all but innocent.
                                                         ----
“That must have been frightening.” 
By now night was falling, and the first of the stars were lit.
“Oh very much. I nearly screamed. But then I’d have woken the others and that’s not fair to them.” You explained. With night falling the flies had finally ceased tormenting you, and you can finally relax.
“What was Misa’s opinion?”
It shouldn’t shock you, L knowing Hera’s second name. He’d once walked with them before his betrayal.
“I received no sign or omen in warning.” You can’t help the bitterness.
By now, the wound in L’s side has nearly healed completely.
You hope to be gone before morning, or at least before the torment begins again.
“What was the High Priestess’ opinion of these occurrences?”
iii.
“Have you actually seen Him?” High Priestess Agnete demanded.
“Of course not! Would I still be here if I had?” You demanded before you could stop yourself. The slap was painful, but not unexpected, and you bowed your head in apology.
“So Zeus has just been...sending you gifts?” And you could actually hear the derision in her voice. Or contempt?
“I know how it sounds, ma’am.” You promised.
“Do you? Because it sounds to me that an under priestess, one who’s hardly belonged to the temple longer than perhaps a fortnight,” and that wasn’t fair- you’d been here more than a year and she damn well knew it, “is claiming that the Lord of the Sky is attempting to court you.”
Court you? Was she serious?
Who in their right mind believed Him capable of courting anyone besides His wife? 
Zeus seduced. He did not court.
“I understand,” you tried again, trying to keep the nervousness from your hands, “how it sounds, but I swear-”
“Say no more or risk punishment for your lies.”
“And the gold?” You demanded, “even you agreed that that was a sign from Him, didn’t you? And oak-”
“A blessing and nothing more. Zeus’ holy tree is the oak- I don’t believe acorns count toward anything significant, Io. Now, if you don’t mind-”
You had a split moment to wonder if Agnete was being thick on purpose, perhaps playing up her ignorance to stay out of matters larger than her, when a screech rendered the air and made both of you look up.
Agnete scrambled back as a sceptre, long and golden, emblazoned with the mark of Light, embedded itself in the ground at your feet. It was nearly as tall as you, slim and well crafted.
To your left there was the fluttering of wings, and an eagle seated itself on the garden wall, watching you with eyes unblinking.
Agnete had whimpered, and you couldn’t help but feel smug satisfaction at being proven right.
                                                           -----
“I take it that things got worse after that?” 
The moon cast shadows on L’s face, and your new eyes had poor sight in the dark. You might have missed his face entirely if not for the shine of moonlight from his eyes. You wonder if he can see you clearly with his hair hanging in his face like that.
“Not at first.”
“Were there any more gifts?”
Gifts, and you couldn’t resist a laugh.
“No. None. I’d gotten the message.”
“But you refused him?”
“Yes. I was a priestess. It was out of the question already.” Besides, Zeus had never turned up to try and goad you into it. Or force, as it were. Your stomach growls. Nothing can be done- the mountain is barren, there’s nothing to graze here. 
iv.
Your sister Priestesses were dying.
It was late, and you were praying feverishly.
You hadn’t slept in several days, nor eaten. 
As they walked about, as they prayed, as they did their chores, they were dropping dead like flies with nothing to forewarn what was happening. The old, the young, the experienced and the newly initiated. Agnete had gone first, and of them, only she had seemed to be in pain.
“Hera, Mother and Wife, Patron of This Holy Temple, to You I Pray,” you whispered, on your knees with your head to the stone floor. You’d been at this for hours. The words were blurring together, and the smoke of the incense was so thick you could hardly see. 
“Rise, Mortal,” a soft voice called, “and gaze upon your Patron.”
Misa, Queen and Mother. She was small and golden haired, dressed in elegant blues and greens, with a crown upon her head and a silver scepter in hand.
You looked at her and you saw Power. You were in the presence of a God, and never before had you felt so small.
“Lady Misa.” You whispered. She nodded.
“Many names have I, Mortal. But you know that, don’t you?”
You didn’t answer; this was all relative. You were in danger. You knew you were in danger.
Misa stepped forward and looked you over. Her eyes were cold as the sea- you were nothing to her, a catalyst to her cult’s destruction at the hands of her husband.
“Zeus pursues you, mortal, though I’m sure you’re aware.”
You swallowed.
“Yes, My Lady.”
She began to circle you, silently as a cat. You couldn’t bear to look in her eyes.
“Never before has my husband been so...brazen, as to pursue a priestess belonging to me. In my own temple.” Was that anger or pain that made the slight Goddess flinch. “He strikes down my own worshippers even.” She tsked, “all for you.”
“My Lady,”
“My Husband pursued me once. With great zeal. But I had something he wanted then. Now you’ve caught his eye. It won’t last long, but until then, you cannot stay here.”
Her sceptre clapped upon the ground and you felt something akin to nausea take you over from the inside out. You stared up at her, even as your flesh changed and your bones turned. There was no pain, just horror.
“Leave my Temple, Io. In this form, Zeus will not find you. I suggest you make use of that gift.” 
And then Misa was gone.
v.
“Is that the end of it?” Asked L. The sun was beginning to peak over the valley below, but the light had yet to touch the mountains. The titan’s side was healed by now.
“Yes. You’re said to be the wisest besides Athena, and you have the gift of Prophecy. Is there any way to undo what was done to me, L?” The name is strange and foreign on your tongue.
L looks south, towards Mount Olympus.
“I spoke the truth to Men before. I Saw what he would become, and I tried to mitigate the damage. For that betrayal he hunted my brothers and sisters and stripped me of my name, chained me to this mountain and tortures me day after day with his damned bird.” His expression equal parts bitter and sad, but when he looks at you he is angry.
“Go South. Beyond the sea is a Land of Sand and Fire, there, there are magics unlike ours. You will find a way to return to your former body. But be warned, Priestess. Should Zeus find you he will get what he wants. And from your unions a bloodline cursed and blessed shall be born. Blessed with the weakness of their dam and cursed with the madness of their progenitor; a line of heroes and kings and monsters.”
The eagle opens its eyes and with a screech descends upon L’s side with a vengeance.
You do not thank the titan, but you do offer a prayer that he might be freed some day.
vi.
It’s a long journey to the South.
You are so tired you can hardly stand, but the sand beneath your feet is undeniable, and you could weep for joy.
From there it’s a blur of heat and confusion. You cannot speak, and never before has this land seen a cow quite like you. Common enough for Greece, but not here.
You are taken to a palace where you are fed and watered and given shelter.
By morning, the court sorcerer has seen you, declared you to be enchanted, and broken Misa’s hold on you.
It’s quite embarrassing; a beautiful woman, naked in the royal stable. But the sorcerer calls for clothing and soon you’re dressed in fabrics so lovely that they might as well be gossamer on your skin for how soft they are.
You spend that night in a bedroom fit for royalty, and you allow yourself to be pampered for the first time in ages.
The King requests that you join him for the evening meal, and you arrive, presenting yourself as the Princess that you are, since you are no longer a Priestess.
Seated on a strange throne is a young man about your age. He watches you with eyes too red and hair of chestnut, but to look at his face is to see a clever face that you have known.
Light, Lord of Storms, Lord of the Skies.
Zeus, King of the Gods.
“Hello, darling.” 
He stands and descends, taking your hands in his when he reaches you.
“You’ve come so far, I’m so proud! You did exactly what I thought you might.” His hand is soft on your cheek, thumb daring to touch your lower lip. In his eyes is greed and lust and pride.
“Did you know, sweet Io, that I overhear what my servants do? Gossip, knowledge, prophecy,” perhaps you might die now. Drop dead like the others. 
But Light continues, unashamed, amused, even.
“Io, Mother of Legacies- it has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it, my darling?” 
Are the walls closing in?
“And best of all, Hera can’t reach us here.”
His hand cups you middle, imagining the growth there.
“From you springs a dynasty.”
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gracie-p8-officialblog · 4 years ago
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Deal With The Fallen Angel: Chapter 3
A/N: Oh man, I almost forgot to update this on Tumblr!  This is a What-If!AU where Christine doesn’t kiss Erik in the Final Lair and chooses to be his bride. This story is rated T overall due to graphic violence and a major character death. This fic can also be found on Ao3 and fanfiction.net  
Gah! It was SO HARD to convert the rooftop scene into dialogue! This chapter is mostly filler but still important!
Also, screw Love Never Dies! This show ain’t canon in my book! 
Raoul looked up to the ceiling in a vain attempt to sleep but the events in his mind had continued to loom over him, mocking him for his failures in protecting her. He tossed and turned, hearing that taunting voice in his head.
“The deal is struck…”
Breaking out into a cold sweat, he sighed to himself. Memories of the past few months came back to him…
* * * * *
Six months ago…
The opera house echoed with screams as the corpse of Buquet was being displayed by the mysterious prankster. He ran backstage to meet Christine, who was ashen-faced and trying not to let her tears show.
“Christine…” He began before being interrupted abruptly by her.
“Raoul! We must run away! To the roof! We’ll be safe there!” Her eyes were wide with panic and distress as she darted up the staircase, her cloak trailing behind her.
“The roof? Wait, Christine!” he cried out as he took chase alongside her.
* * * * * 
Once they reached the rooftop, Raoul found Christine trembling from the cold and from fear. She turned to face him, shoulders sagging with relief.
“Christine… we must return, now” he said, slightly terrified and confused by the recent murder.
“Raoul, don’t take me back there” she tried not to let her fear show on her face “He’ll kill you!”
“Who would kill me?” he asked, more concerned for his friend than his safety at the moment.
“The Phantom,” Christine tried not to let the tears fall down on her face “No matter what, he’ll always find us. He kills to get what he wants,”
“Christine,” Raoul began, unsure of what to say “There is no Phantom, but only a man, a prankster who has gone too far when he murdered Buquet…”
“Raoul, I know the Phantom exists!” she tried to hide the tremor in her voice as she pulled his chest to her face “He took me the same night as the Hannibal performance,”
“That night…” he silently thought to himself. “Things have changed, Raoul…” he remembered her warning that very night they reunited, that very night when she disappeared, that very night when he let down his guard and allowed her to be kidnapped…
“I remember… there was such a beautiful melody he played,” the young woman mumbled, almost as if she were being hypnotized “It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever heard of before… but when I unmasked him, he was so angry and said I could never be free…”
“Christine,” Raoul gasped slightly, shocked at her revelation. He tried to suppress his anger at that man who tried to keep her in his prison “Did he hurt you?”
“Raoul, he isn’t a bad person,” she quickly defended as she snapped out of her trance, almost as if she read his mind “I remember… his eyes, he looked so lonely and vulnerable… and so lost… underneath all his anger”
“Christine,” he called out gently “Christine…”
“Christine…” a ghostly, ethereal voice called out, the chill of the wind becoming even colder.
“What was that?” Christine asked, finally letting her tears show. His heart began to fill with worry and adoration for Christine. It was obvious she was trying not to let herself become vulnerable; it was easy to spot from the years they spent together. She would try not to burden others with her worries, remembering her plastered smiles and reassurances ever since her father’s death. It was a trait he had mixed feelings over throughout the years. “Things have changed Raoul…” She was right, things have changed.
Seeing her break down crying and crouching in a vulnerable position made the young vicomte’s heart clench. Knowing she saw things he never told her before but could understand what she had been through. But she didn’t have to face the world alone, for he would always stand by her…
During all these years they had been separated, since Gustave Daae’s death, and since they had parted ways for he wanted to be a sailor while Christine went to the conservatory to study music, he never stopped thinking of her. However, his father cut off any communication between them. It was already humiliating enough that his youngest son had been associating himself with the lower class and writing letters to her every day. Little did the late Comte de Chagny know of the blooming relationship between the Vicomte and the violinist’s daughter…
That night of the performance, Raoul had the biggest shock of his life! She really changed so much! The soft-spoken, demure girl he knew was now singing in the spotlight, almost casting an ethereal glow on her as her voice soared like a songbird’s… It was sweet and gentle, yet so clear and powerful… resounding all over the opera house. But her character never changed. She was still the kind-hearted, intelligent, brave young woman he knew and loved.
And as the month had passed by during Il Muto rehearsals, he slowly realized his love for her. It was all so sudden, but it was everlasting… he gently pulled off her hood to reveal the young woman’s tear-stained face and wrapped her up in his arms, cradling her and whispering soft words of comfort.
“Please, don’t be afraid…” he whispered, hugging her even more tightly than the first time “I’m here, nothing will harm you. I’ll be your freedom… I’ll guard you and guide you.”
Christine looked up into his eyes, love in her eyes “Talk to me about summer and light, just be with me and promise me that you’re telling the truth… Please, that’s all I ask of you,”
“Come out of hiding, I’ll keep you safe and sound…”
“I want to be free from the darkness and be with you…”
“Let me lead you from your solitude,” he felt his heart pound over his ears as he kneeled down, almost as if to propose. Now, he feared her reaction, that his love was just her ticket out of fear and madness.
“Anywhere you go, let me go to… Christine, that’s all I ask of you!” She accepted his open embrace, holding his hand as she smiled so tenderly, he knew his feelings weren’t unrequited…
“Share with me one love, one lifetime,” she answered “Say you love me,”
“You know I do…” he slowly walked towards Christine, trying to look suave as he approached her but secretly feared he might mess things up between them. He saw her flush a scarlet colour as she looked at him, like a girl anticipating her first kiss. Tenderly, they kissed, enjoying the close proximity with each other. He twirled her around in giddy excitement before Christine looked as if she remembered something. She turned to face the stairway before hesitantly turning to face him.
“I must go now. They’ll be worried sick!” She played with her long, curly hair nervously “Come with me…”
He was once again beside her, ready to protect her from any threat that would come her way…
* * * * *
Raoul sighed to himself, those empty promises resurfacing… he swore to protect her but he failed that night… now, she had to sacrifice her freedom for his own life. How pathetic was it? No… there was no use moping about, he had to search for help… who knew about the Phantom…? Madame Giry! Maybe she could help him… maybe if he showed his desperation, maybe if he fought harder… he went back to bed, resolving to save Christine from the Phantom’s prison he trapped her in…
* * * * *
Madame Marie Giry sat in her office, a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She was unable to sleep that night. “When would Erik learn to let go?”  
Marie sighed to herself. She came to care for Erik like a brother and a son… ever since that day he arrived, she sensed his presence and knew what he would be thinking. But Christine couldn’t live like this. The way Erik wanted a bride to compensate for his past… a soft knock interrupted her thoughts and she gingerly opened it, seeing the Vicomte…
“Monsieur le Vicomte…”
“I’m so sorry for waking you up this late…”
“No, no… I…”
“Couldn’t sleep either?” “Oui,”
“Madame Giry, I need your help…”
* * * * *
A/N:  Next, a dear old friend of Madame Giry comes to help… Cookies for those who could guess the identity correctly.
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yangssunglasses · 5 years ago
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For SSM 2019, Day 10: Fox’s Wedding
Rated T
Summary: AU. When love turns into pain, all trust is gone, and the demon is at the gates demanding its pound of flesh, is there still some hope for salvation?
Available on FFnet
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The Maiden and the Fox
Chapter 1
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In the times of peace, Konoha became a prosperous village filled with joy and laughter. Walking down a street you’d encounter many happy inhabitants. Just an hour ago, Haruno Sakura had been one of them.
Not anymore.
When she headed off to meet with Sasuke, she was almost skipping. She was going to confess her feelings to him. On the return, her gait turned into an unsteady shuffle, her shoulders slumped forward and head bent down as she stared at the ground through the pink hair covering her blotchy, wet face.
There’s no reason for me to love you and surely there’s no reason for you to love me. It’s impossible for anything to happen between us.
Sakura shuddered and sobbed, thinking about those cruel, damning words coming from his perfect lips. The rejection burned her so badly, it was rendering her soul apart. She really thought they were getting closer, that he was showing her interest that wasn’t a mere courtesy, but came from a place of affection. Did she really imagine those covert glances he gave her when he thought she wasn’t looking?
Stupid! Sasuke could never love her. She was so ashamed of herself for presuming that he would that she wished for the ground to swallow her up, never to be seen again.
And despite all the shame, the humiliation, the heartbreak, she still loved him with every fiber of her being, with every shard of her broken heart.
Sakura wiped her eyes and let out a choked laugh. She must be crazy. Or a masochist.
There was no hope in sight for her. The love for Sasuke was in her blood and she had no way to free herself from it. This pain was going to stay with her for the rest of her life and she couldn’t even fathom how she’d be able to withstand it in the days to come.
Weeks turned into months, spring gave way to a summer, and Sakura still suffered. She didn’t see Sasuke much, but every time she glimpsed his regal profile on the other side of the street, even his proud silhouette in the distance, a fresh torrent of pain took her breath away. Her heart throbbed and bled, while she gritted her teeth and carried on with her day, as if pretending she wasn’t hurting would make it better somehow. She had nothing else.
There was no cure for unrequited love.
The worst blow came unexpectedly from the mouth of her best friend.
“Did you hear? Sasuke-kun is getting married!” Ino exclaimed with excitement when they saw each other one morning.
That was the final nail in the coffin. Sakura felt as if a poisoned arrow pierced straight through her chest. She was dealt a mortal wound. She smiled and nodded mechanically as Ino narrated the story of the upcoming Uchiha wedding, but on the inside she was completely numb.
For days after, Sakura contemplated what she should do. The last vestiges of hope she’d unknowingly harboured were now gone. Countless times she fantasized about dramatically stopping the wedding. “If anyone has cause to object to the forming of this union, speak now or forever hold your peace,” the pries would say and she’d swoop in, declare her undying love and make Sasuke realize that he loved her back after all. Of course, in reality interrupting the ceremony would be inexcusable. Instead, she thought about a thousand times about going to him, then confessing again like a madwoman, as if repeating the same thing to him would somehow change his mind.
In the end, she did nothing.
Until something happened, a catastrophe so monumental that it shook the fundaments of the village’s existence, threatening the peace and happiness of its inhabitants.
The Nine-Tailed Fox attacked Konoha.
The distant rumble was the first warning; then the quakes; then, bringing a storm like nothing the village elders had seen before, the raging beast came, burning down anything in its path—crops, cattle, and people.
Their leader, the Hokage, had gone to stop the monster before it entered the village walls. Whatever he’d said or done had been successful because the Demon Fox halted his rampage.
The Hokage returned with a grim look on his face and gathered the village assembly in the central square.
“I talked to the Nine-Tailed Fox,” he announced.
“What did he say? Is he going to leave?” called the impatient voices from the crowd.
The Hokage raised his hand. “Let me speak.” When they quieted, he continued. “The Fox agreed to leave Konoha in peace and without further damage, but on one condition.”
“Well, what is it?!” someone shouted.
The Hokage took in a deep breath. “The Fox demands a human sacrifice. A virgin bride.”
The crowd exploded into shouts of disbelief and fear, followed by loud protests. No young woman wanted to be picked, no one wanted to sacrifice their daughter, sister, niece, or friend.
“Before any of you ask if anyone else would do, the answer is no. I offered myself as a sacrifice, but the Fox didn’t want me,” the Hokage told them wryly. “I hate to do this, I really do. I swore to protect you all from harm. I can’t in a good conscience pick one of the girls to do this, but we have until the dawn or the Fox will destroy Konoha. So I can only ask you to look at your friends and families, at the village we all love. Look into your hearts and make a decision that you feel is right.”
A hand rose into the air, surprising everyone. It belonged to a long-haired, immaculately dressed stern man. He was one of the clan leaders—Hyuuga Hiashi. “I volunteer my daughter Hinata. Her sacrifice for the sake of Konoha will bring a great honour to the Hyuuga clan.”
“Are you sure about this? This is your daughter you’re talking about. You will never get her back,” the Hokage warned.
Hiashi nodded. “I am certain,” he said solemnly. “It is also a duty of the Hyuuga clan to protect Konoha.”
“Very well.”
Sakura watched as Hiashi pulled his daughter to come along with him to the Hokage. She looked deathly pale and her body was trembling, but no one was paying attention to her. Some people were already leading a relieved and cheery conversation, convinced that the danger was as good as gone. Sakura didn’t know Hinata, she’d spoken to the girl less than a handful of times, but she had seen her around the village, shy and quiet and modest, always falling into the background. Now Hinata’s pale lips quivered as she cast around pleading, wild looks. This was not how a willing sacrifice looked like. Sakura also knew from Ino’s gossip about the strained relationship between Hinata and her father. It wasn’t hard to infer that Hiashi jumped at the chance to honourably get rid of a daughter he considered unworthy of the Hyuuga name.
A spark of rage ignited in Sakura’s chest and grew into a raging inferno. Before thinking of the consequences, she yelled out on the top of her lungs, “Wait!”
People turned to look at her in surprise. She stepped forward, eyes solely on the Hokage. “You don’t have to take Hinata. Take me! I volunteer!”
“It’s already decided. Hinata volunteered first,” Hiashi interjected with a frown.
“I didn’t hear her saying that. You volunteered her, Hyuuga-san. Hinata didn’t say anything at all,” Sakura rebuffed, an icy calm overtaking her, then she turned to the Hokage. “Surely I’m a better option? I made this choice on my own, without any coercion. And I guarantee that I am untouched. If someone has to be sacrificed, then pick me, not her.”
Hiashi glared at her with his unsettling milky white eyes. “You dare to rob my clan of the honour-“
“Enough,” the Hokage cut him off. “Are you certain? You have a whole life ahead of you,” he told Sakura gently.
She gave a sharp, decisive nod. “I will do this.”
The Hokage turned to address the assembly again, when she spotted Sasuke standing next to his father. Sakura averted her gaze almost instantly and put a hand over her twisting, tearing heart. “I have nothing to live for anyway,” she whispered to herself with a pained little smile.
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AN: I couldn’t finish this idea in a oneshot, so this is going to be a multichapter. Sorry for low Sasuke content in the first chapter, I promise he’s going to be in the story more, even if Sakura is the main character. Let me know how you liked it :) Until next time!
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namjoonchronicles · 6 years ago
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genius lab | yg
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↳ pairing yoongi x you
↳ words 4k
↳ author’s note happy birthday to my fellow 93 liner, Yoongi. May we find a clue on what we’re doing in life. But hey, at least your life is better than mine, right? --i personally think that yoongi is very talkative to people he is most comfortable with. so that’s how i depicted him. i’m sick of people saying he’s cold and unaffectionate, it really is all or nothing for yoongi ok. 
↳ 3/3 ‘take your wife to work’ fic
↳ genre husband!yoongi, domestic au, fluff
↳ song sleeping at last ‘two’
“Babe, so skydiving right...?” “Yup.” “Which one thrills you most: the fall or the fact that you’re in the sky?”
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Yoongi walks around, fastening the cufflinks of his dress shirt while you were tiptoeing against the bathroom sink, your bottom bouncing as you try to get a better look in the mirror.
“I don’t know how I’m going to get there on time, so the initial plan is I fetch you from the mall and then we go straight to wedding hall right?” Yoongi is now switching on the left side of his cuff which he had no trouble fastening. Now he is pacing to the far right of the bedroom, next to the unmade bed to fetch his Gold Rolex.
“That’s the plan…” you swing your head back so your chin could be closer to the mirror when you can see. Unamused with the lack of response thereof, Yoongi marches to the opened bathroom door to see you are now sitting on the bathroom counter, trying to pinch something on your chin.
“What on earth are you doing?” he leans on the door frame. You dangle your head to the side where he is, mulling, “What people with pimples do in the morning, because not everyone is blessed with clear skin…”
For emphasis, you eyed him up and down before resuming your task. Yoongi was about to leave you alone if your answers weren’t that annoying, but it was, so he grabbed you by the chin, making you lean your head on his chest while you struggle to break free of his head lock.
“You will not touch that pimple,” Yoongi hissed while trying to put an anti-bacterial lotion on the said boil. “I want to,” you spat back.
Yoongi lets you go and helped you down from the counter.
“It hurts…” you mewled. “Yeah, it wouldn’t if you didn’t poke it,” Yoongi passed, putting the ointment back.
His black slacks are hugging his bums quite attractively now that you have the time to pay attention to it. He was checking his phone, with one hand on his hip while you put on your black bra and undies before strolling across the room like nothing is wrong.
“I got an update from the event chatroom,” Yoongi pauses and reads the text out loud so you could hear them, he follows you closely outside where the living room was, “Please refrain from bringing outside food as we have food prepared for the performers and early guests in the cafeteria right below the hall. Remember to bring your tags for identification.”
Next, the kitchen. You pour yourself a drink nodding mindlessly, still wearing just bra and undies, “No take out then, shame… I was really craving for some spicy braised chicken,” you swirled the coffee mug around and took a sip, “Maybe we could, a few hours before we leave.”
“No, no, we won’t make it on time if we did,” Yoongi shook his head, eyes glued to his phone. “We won’t, but I will. Me, alone,” you corrected him, leaning against the kitchen counter, gazing lovingly into your mug of black coffee, your go-to morning breakfast. Staggered by your response to have good food without him, he peeled his eyes from his phone almost immediately. “I will not allow such a thing!” he thundered, before his eyes falls to the valleys of your breast, thighs and bare torso, “Where are your clothes?!”
“Took you long enough,” you arched an eyebrow before passing him the very mug you were drinking from. There’s still some liquid in them and Yoongi downed them at once. His eyes follows you down to the living room where the couch was. “I figured that if I’m not going to see my husband all May and the beginning of June, I might as well leave him with some…” you smacked your lips together, resuming, “penetrative memory, so to speak,” you pointed the remote to the television and it played the playlist.
Yoongi froze. He is also blinking rapidly, stammering, “p-p-pene-penetrative memory?” You moved passed his shoulder and glided your hand down the length of his forearm, executing as little pressure as you can so he could barely feel you there, “of what he is missing when he is away…”
He could hear you smile and with a loud smack on his butt coming from your palm, he knows today is going to be slightly difficult to go through and by difficult, he meant hard. And he also knows that you probably had stood there watching it jiggle, because you’re a demon he had gotten married to.
“I was kidding,” you hummed, throwing your head back while getting dressed in an emerald green knee length dress, after you saw blood draining down his face and possibly pooling somewhere else that might delay today’s plan, “You look like you’re about to faint… I’m not going to do that, especially having to go to your studio first, before the mall and then, attending the wedding.”
Bittersweet. He would like the tease, to be honest. And what do you mean by going to his studio first? “You honestly think you can go AWOL without your office calling you to be in your studio at least once, today? They’re calling you right now,” you tipped your eyes to his phone and it vibrated.
Yoongi clenched his eyes shut but after he threw an acid glance at your smiling face.
He threw a throw pillow at you and left the room to be in his home studio. You weren’t very much interested into having musical discussion today, but if Yoongi needs to go then you’ll understand. You’ve had musical discussions all night. To pry a dedicated man is a difficult task, so you have a reminder set on his phone, as: love wifey time. Which go off at least five times a day; a number you both had agreed on, prior to the initiation.
Yoongi left the door gaping open, which led you to sit on the chair he has inside and begin reading a magazine he was featured in. One particular paragraph in that article reads,
How do you balance private life from your professional one?
Yoongi’s responds were, alas, extremely straightforward, no sugar coating whatsoever.
“Very badly. I define private life as home, wife, family, Holly, etc. And I feel like a married life is so much different from how I was still single. I have more commitments now, more people I need to take care of. I still feel like I’m in that transition? I know my wife had been secluding herself in terms of making more space for my work and she sacrifices a lot in order for me to continue doing this (music). If you think that I’m balancing the two flips of my life good, I have to thank my wife for that, truly. She’s my anchor, my rope, my stone.”
He is quite a talker. He is sitting in his chair, swiveling around with the phone on his ear, his veiny hand scratching the back of his neck--the conversation too complex for you to make sense of. His head is bobbing in agreement to what the caller had to say. It must have been one of those expenses thing again. Yoongi is in charge of making decisions to how a track should be and even if he takes literally 5 seconds to decide those; he takes an eternity to decide if you look good in a dress or a blouse. Music is all he is good at. It’s both a curse and a blessing.
“Listen, Jungkook,” he begins, spinning around in his chair so he faces you, “I don’t think we can do this through the phone. I have a packed day today, but I can squeeze some time somewhere before noon, what do you say babe?” Yoongi asked, with a slight drawl.
“Sure,” you shrugged and gave him a lopsided smile. “I’ll see you before noon, Jungkook…” Yoongi ended the call.
You stood up to reveal that your dress weren’t zipped all the way yet. Gathering all your hair to one side, you gave Yoongi your backside and he proceeds to trail kisses up your spine as he zips them up.
“With one look on that dress, I could tell we won’t be at that wedding for long,” he whispers hotly against the shell of your ear. You faced him with a cunning smile, and batted your eyelash at your handsome husband, circling your arm around his neck. “Oh really, says who?” you arched one eyebrow at him, just to tease him further. “Mr. Min Yoongi, Grammy winner,” he clicked his tongue.
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The day is sunny, there were not much vehicles around. A very slow Saturday for everyone. Yoongi is driving and you’re on the phone with the bride who is currently panicking.
“Look, when I got married to Yoongi, I, too, wasn’t sure that I was marrying the right guy. He is never home, he is heavily invested on musical equipments instead of home appliances, and he hogs the blanket. And then I got married to him, and he still is never home, buys 25 pianos and hogs the blanket. Truth is darling, marriage aren’t going to change nobody, change is going to happen when the individual allows it…”
Yoongi frowned at the view ahead but 100% listening to everything you said. Which 75% lies and chances are, the bride knows that. You go to great lengths to make people smile, even if it means grilling lies about your husband. They know how responsible he is, that itself didn’t need exhibition although you’re pretty much an exhibitionist yourself.
“Don’t worry, Yoongi is going to be there as your pianist, he pinky promised me. So he is coming. He was reading the event chatroom before he leaves and I honestly want to tell you, hun, everything is fine. All you need to do is breathe, look pretty and put trust in your future hubby. You’ve gone through so much for this to happen, you’re halfway there already…okay? Okay, I’m going to see you in a few more hours, and I don’t want these conversations of thinking you’re not good enough, because that is bullshit. You’re a great wife, I almost married you, if Yoongi didn’t snatch me first,” Yoongi poke your sides and you jolted but still maintaining the smile on your face as you bid farewell on the phone with your friend.
“She is low on sugar and everything is pissing her off,” you exhaled through your nose and Yoongi rubbed your knees with his right palm. You fetched that very hand and entwined your fingers with his. You switched your attention out the car window to see several motorcyclists passing through. “Isn’t it too late to be having wedding jitters?” Yoongi glanced at you once in a while, cruising comfortably through the city with few traffics.
“It is never too late to have wedding jitters… I know where she’s coming from and I’ve been there,” you raised both brows and added a little squeeze on his hand.
“I know weddings are scary… it’s huge, it carries so much weight and responsibilities. It’s two families merging into one, with a lot of expectations and goals to achieve…” Yoongi rambles.
“It’s to trust someone with your whole life, and to devote yourself into a household name, and you fear that you hadn’t been seeing the full layers of your lover, frightened that he might leave one, unrevealed. Marriage is like.. Like skydiving...without parachutes. You leap out of the ass of a moving plane, unsure if you’re going to land safely or not, but you just do it. It’s scary, at least to me, to her… we’re women, we have so many to live up for. And it sucks. That’s where the fear comes.”
You casted your eyes down to your lap, where his hand rested, you begin fiddling on his empty ring finger, playing with it, until he regains dominance over you and clasped them tight under his grasp.
“Some of us turn out lucky. Some, don’t,” you whispered. And he could feel that you were brought down to memory lane of your own unhappy home; the home you were raised in. There’s nothing else he could offer but an affirmation in his full presence. Even if it means, a small kiss on your knuckle.
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♪...Like a force to be reckoned with A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss…♪
Jungkook’s studio has been raided with bags of food. A shrill call of his name pried him away from his computer. You walked in with a huge grin and Jungkook’s eyes turns into crescents.
“Hello you!” you cooed at the bunny as you set the food on his coffee table. Yoongi is following close by, carrying his own fairshare of bags. “I’m going to be right back after I send this off to the staffs,” Yoongi said but you rushed to his side, cutting your conversation with Jungkook short.
“I’ll do that, you help Jungkook,” you gather all the things from him and he held the door open for you. He watches you go down the hall and he reminded, “It’s the hall on the far left, next to the water dispenser…”
You made your way there easily. Most of them are gathering for burgers and you greeted everyone with a big smile.
“Only burgers?” you chimed and they started laughing and exclaiming once they saw what you brought them, “Yoongi wanted to get you food and I’m here to do the delivering… you look so thin since the last time I saw you, what happen, and what did I tell you about skipping meals!” You playfully scolded them. They’re all very young and they dedicate themselves into serving Yoongi and the rest of the producers. They are basically the machines in this company, and therefore, must be credited with their effort.
“Okay, you guys enjoy yourself… I’m going to go now, take care,” you patted one of the staffs shoulder, “Honestly, please...really take care of yourself, I’m worried.”
Using the passkey, you entered Yoongi’s studio with ease. He isn’t so big on cleaning up but hardly anything was out of place. The blankets for when he stays overnight are neatly folded, the bin is halfway filled, the humidifier is working, there’s some new additions in his studio family: new speakers, new keyboards, interesting.
The door beeps open to Yoongi walking in a slow stride.
“Why didn’t you turn the AC on?” he pointed the remote to the AC and took off his black blazer to sit on his chair. “Jungkook forgot that we were heading to a wedding so he asked me why I was dressed up, cheeky dude,” Yoongi commented, while leaning over the back of the PC to turn his PC on. “It wasn’t warm…” you shrugged and sat on his couch, taking off your heels and stretching your legs on his coffee table.
Yoongi promptly sit on the piano bench and uncovered the piano. Then suddenly, he begin dribbling a few note.
“You’re helping Jungkook compose?” you asked, resting your elbow on the arm rest, closer to where Yoongi was, placing your chin on the heel of your palm while you stare at him play. He has a beautiful side profile. It has always been his most charming point. The way his eyes falls to the keys, his cheeks full and round, his lashes make him look like a child. His veiny hands was a complete contrast of that baby face, and the melody he plays--as a veteran pianist; never fails to amaze you in ways you can never imagine.
“He couldn’t find the notes that would fit the beats…” he murmurs.
“So you’re memorising the beats that he made and playing a rhythm that would match, with a piano? By... heart?” you repeated. “Uhum,” he answered short, continue letting his fingers play an intricate piece. Something that sounded familiar from a long time ago, but you know for a fact that is nameless.
“You hadn’t done live composing in front of me since last year…” your tone falls soft and like a whisper. “I’m doing it right now, aren’t I?” Yoongi passed, “Listen, this to me, is your song.”
He started to play a short melody that reminds you of floating. A time passing, of sweet memories and the calming waters. And then he switches to a lower note and play something out of a horror movie, “This is when you’re angry…”
You giggled and shook your head, covering your eyes, “Glad to remind you of a haunted house…” “But mostly, you’re my…” Yoongi begins playing the ‘First Love’ notes of his older work. “I’m your living piano? Is that what I am?” you taunted him, moving from the chair to sit next to him on the bench, idling with a smile playing on your face. He avoided your eyes and smiled to himself and for that little moment, you knew what he meant.
That First Love was the embodiment of your beginning. There’s so many ups and downs before you both got to this point and at the end of the day, the feeling of belonging is beyond soothing. And in the chaotic life of Min Yoongi, lies a calming wave that was you. He was a wanderer in the forest of temptations and you were his salvation.
“I couldn’t possibly conclude how much you meant to me, but I like to think that this voyage that we are on, sails for as long as I live,” Yoongi hummed in thoughts. “I think we got it…” Yoongi shifted his gaze to the computer screen and emails them to Jungkook right away.
Yoongi moves and you stood up, before stumbling to your side. Then you heard a loud ripping sound. Both of you froze. Lowering your gaze to right thigh, you saw the threads come apart to reveal the strings of your black thong.
“Oh my…” Yoongi breathed. “Yoongi!” you screamed.
The deceptive cookie can with the picture of a smiling lady on them is mocking you. You’re laying on your stomach on Yoongi’s lap as he sew the threads back on. “I knew my sewing skills will be put to a good use one day. Never thought it would be today, of all days,” the thread was long enough for him to pull pass his shoulder, he pinched your butt when you wouldn’t stop wiggling. “Stop doing that…” “I can’t! My back hurts, and you’re taking too long… are you sewing or are you staring at my ass?” “How about both. What are you going to do about that?”
You pouted and cupped your chin, darting your attention to the smiling lady on the sewing container Yoongi had. You pinched your eyes at the view of it and let out an exhale.
“...I can’t even ask for the staff’s help even though they are far more experienced because somebody...won’t wear a normal panties…” his voice gradually grows louder. “I can march up to them despite your worries, Yoongi… and it’s a skin tight dress, I had to wear a thong or people will be taking notes on the shape of my butt,” you threw glances over your shoulder at your husband.
He is using his teeth to cut the extra thread unused, “Okay roll over, let me see how it looks.” You paused, and didn’t do what you were told. “What now?”
“You have a bulge…” you darted. “I know, so let me go to the bathroom and relief myself,” Yoongi sighed.
“You were sewing! What inappropriate thoughts were you having?!” you rolled over and he loosens his tie, angrily, “It was your ass wiggling in my face, and the conversations we had…”
You patted his clothed manhood and had him hissing out of frustrations; sexual and non-sexual. Walking backwards to see him, chanting, “dirty toilet, grimey walls and Valak from The Nun… dirty toilet, grimey walls, and Valak from The Nun…”
Sexologists say that thinking of disgusting items, or locations helps tame the boners down. So far it has worked with Yoongi, but today, he was struggling a bit, that you had to be driving to the mall.
“It is going down yet?” you asked. “I’m trying…” he groans when you purposely drive over a road bum in full speed, “It’s hard with your perfume dancing around my nostril.” “Let’s try stressing you out…” you hummed, tapping your cheek with you index finger pulling into a stop by the mall parking entrance, “How many tracks are you supposed to produce this week?”
Yoongi was shifting in his seat, clenching his eyes shut, “...5.”
“How many did you have done?” “Two…”
Really? Really…?
“You got to do better Min Yoongi, you have bills to pay this month,” you drove inside the parking lot, looking for parking. “Stress is going to help my boner down?” Yoongi is talking is harsh rasps now. That’s probably unintended, but now it’s turning you on.
“Well, usually… when you aren’t around and I’m horny beyond explanation, I usually plunge into self-implied depression? And it usually helps. If that’s not readily available, I could throw myself in a workload that wasn’t even real but my girlfriend down there gets fooled so...if it works, it’s not dumb. Look, we can’t fuck right now, because I’m in a hurry to get the door gifts from the mall, and you have to play piano in two hours in front of many many people so I suggest you get it together or I’d have to suck you, and I have a very expensive lipstick on,” you found a parking spot and hurried to unfasten your belt.
You intended a chaste kiss on your husband’s sweaty lips but he was out of it. He keeps moaning against your lips and holding your face in place.
“Honestly Yoongi!” You pulled away and struggle to hook your finger around the car door. “Please hurry…” Yoongi bit his lower lip as you slam the car door shut and sped to the mall entrance from the basement. Yoongi chants, “dirty toilet, grimey walls, and Valak from The Nun. Dirty toilet, grimey walls, and Valak from The Nun. Dirty toilet, grimey walls, and Valak from The Nun...fuck. Even Valak looks hot right now.”
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“Yes I came for Mr. and Mrs. Jung? I was told that the extra door gifts are ready?” You chirped and the manager revealed the bags that you need to carry.
“Oh, I can do that,” you hummed to the sight of it. Within minutes, you were heading back down to Yoongi on the phone with somebody, two bags of gifts in your hand. You yank the back door open and shove the two bags of gift in before slamming it shut, so hard, the car rattled.
“Can you drive?” You didn’t care that he was on the phone, he nodded and put on the earpiece so he could continue talking.
It was pretty much empty when you came, but the groom was a little anxious. The door gifts are arranged and you rushed to get Yoongi on the piano where he should be. “You have mini rehearsals…” you hissed, and drag him by the elbow. He didn’t complaint and was completely obedient.
Yoongi went overboard with the music sheet of a simple Wedding March to making a complete Sonata until the emcee told him off. You were holding the bouquet to a frantic bride as she sat on the toilet cover with a long look. Listing her future husband’s antics;
“He picks his nose when we eat…” she sniffed, “It’s absolutely disgusting. How am I going to live like that for the rest of my life…”
You rolled your eyes to the ceiling, itching to get this wedding done and over with. Adulthood is difficult.
But as always, you’re expected to provide unpaid emotional support. Because, that’s what you’re good at. So good, that you considered charging everyone for it. Yoongi would purchase a lifetime subscription. That’s no question. And if he is listening to your thoughts right now, he’d probably want an added benefit as well. You’re good at telling people what they want to hear.
“All I hear is you are making up excuses to call off the wedding when you’ve dreamed of this to happen for so long… humans are not perfect and they come with flaws. And it’s up to you to make the flaws as beautiful as it can be, because as much as it is imperfect, it is yours. He is yours. Simply tell him to stop picking his nose if it bothers you so much, we’re past that zone in this relationship, now, aren’t we?”
Yoongi gradually feel the tension builds as the hall continues to fill up. Some recognise him as the Grammy award winning producer and some don’t. That’s no big deal. It wasn’t his day. It was theirs.
With a simple wave of your hand, Yoongi begins the Wedding March in a beautiful rendition he had composed himself less than hour ago. When you were younger, not yet married, you couldn’t understand why people would cry in weddings. Now that you’re older, and albeit, wiser, you understood how much weight was on the shoulders when such a union happens.
The bride looks stunning, with her hair up in a classic ballerina bun. Her veils giving the right amount of silhouette, just enough to make the invitees curious of how she looks if they hadn’t seen her in a while and holding the tails of her dress behind her, is you. Once she reached the altar, you joined Yoongi on the bench. Her husband took her hand in his, staring into her eyes, brimming with tears.
“We are gathered here today…”
It was a beautiful ceremony. Yoongi stood up before you again, and the event repeats itself; you stumble to the side to keep your stance and ripped your dress open. You clawed Yoongi’s arm with a horrified look, noticing that the people hadn’t fully leave the hall.
Yoongi took off his blazers and covered you from waist down. Both of you are scurrying to the car, the bride saw and although she was quite puzzled, she knew she’ll get an explanation from you later.
“I can’t wait to have that dress ripped off of you…” he grumbled and sped through traffic.
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Once you get home, Yoongi tore off the entire dress in two forceful yanks, sending you yelping, face down on the bed.
“All May and beginning of June, you say?” Yoongi whispers hotly in your ear, nuzzling his face in your nape while he fumbles on the metal head of the belt he was wearing. “It’s the thong, isn’t it?” you rolled over to face him. You see his shy smile, and the way he was hiding his face by facing the side.
The post coital glow tonight was something else. You drew random shapes on Yoongi’s palm, talking in murmurs.
“Babe, so skydiving right...?” “Yup.” “Which one thrills you most: the fall or the fact that you’re in the sky?”
Yoongi hums. “The landing; knowing you would be there waiting for me.”
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“You should be drinking more water…” he scolds, fiddling with his metal earrings as his jaws hung open to continue typing on the keyboard, fixing his lyrics.
“And give the bacteria an ideal environment to live in? I think not!” you retorted back at him. The response got him stop typing in the middle of a sentence.
The nonsense seep into his mind in an uninterrupted speed, which causes him to push his chair back so he could stand and turned the loudspeaker mode off. He pressed the phone to his ear and gnawed his lower lip as you rambled on how drinking water and eating food would increase nutrition intake in your body and allow the bacterial growth to flourish,
“–which would be the exact opposite of what you want me to do. Which is, getting well…”
Why did I marry her. Why the fuck did I marry her. Yoongi lets out a steady exhale to achieve peak nirvana–more like, attempted to. He grabbed his car key on the side stand and rushed out the door of his studio. “Now you listen to me…”
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ladysophiebeckett · 5 years ago
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Steele Trying: The Aftermath
Part 2 | Part 1 
summary: bonds of steele: it still happens but I take things out and put other things in in my attempt to make steele make sense.
a very, very belated birthday gift to monica ( @beckybloomwood​ )
“This is the worst day of my life!” Laura whispers harshly.
 He frowns inwardly.
 “Laura, how can you say that? The honeymoon hasn’t even started yet”.
 ___
 In exchange for use of their boat as a wedding venue (and Juan for his services), Steele promised the crew cervezas and whatever favor any of them should need in the future from a detective. Free of charge. But in order to sell that this had been a real wedding, one needed to have a celebration afterwards.
 Which is how Juan’s crew, along with Estelle and Mildred, ended up in his apartment; for the world’s smallest yet loudest wedding reception.  Much to Steele’s silent irritation. They cheered as he carried an also irritated Laura over the threshold.
 No sooner had he set her down that Estelle began asking questions about décor and where they would be living.  A simple question that neither of them could answer correctly. Married a half hour and already on the wrong foot.
 “What my, uh, bride means is that we’re gonna live here but we’re gonna redo the entire place. Now that Laura’s the little woman—“
 “I’m what?”
 “In height I mean. She’s the ‘little woman’ of this place. The little woman of the house. You know the saying”, Steele said, sloppily kissing her forehead.
 “No, I’m not sure I know that saying dearest.” Laura said trying to distance herself from him.
 “No matter!” He said locking her to his side. “Who can remember all the sayings at a time like this?”
 “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go freshen up a bit”, she said successfully extracting herself from him.
 “Good idea, my love”. He said as she shut the door to his—their—bedroom. “It’s been a long day for her, for both us. Actually, as nice as this has all been, I think Laura and I need---“
 “Say no more. With such an impromptu wedding, you’re probably in a hurry to pack for your honeymoon”, said Estelle excitedly.
 “I’m sorry?”
 “Don’t tell me you’re not going on a honeymoon.”
 “Um, we are. Of course we are. Just, not right now. Later. After we’ve, uh, you know redecorated.”
 “Mr. Steele, in order to make this stand in my report you need to go on a honeymoon. Sooner rather than later. A couple that eloped the way they did, it’ll look suspicious if they didn’t immediately go on a honeymoon. Just because you got married, doesn’t mean this process is over. Keys made such a stink about your case that I have superiors breathing down my neck, which means I’m going to be looking down on your shoulders. I suggest you and Mrs. Steele have a honeymoon right away. And take lots of pictures.”
 He sensed Estelle was stressed.
 “Right, of course. We will get right on that.”
 “I hope so, Mr. Steele. I’ve been very lenient thus far”.
 “I understand—we understand and we thank you for that leniency. And with that said I’m going to need everybody to leave. Juan, Sanchez, Carlos—it was lovely to host you. Take all the beer you’d like but please leave. Vamos!” he says as he ushers them out the door. “Ms. Becker, thank you for your service. Until we meet again”,
 “Get those pictures.”
 “Will do. Mildred?”
 “Yes Boss?”
 “You too. Vamos”. He says gesturing to the open door.
 “Why me?” she asks, offended.
 “I need to speak Ms. Hol—Mrs. Steele”—he corrects himself, “privately. Apparently we also need to go on a honeymoon and that’s not something she and I have spoken of. So as you can see that’s probably going to cause row”.
 “A honeymoon? That can be my wedding gift!” said Mildred who stopped listening to him after he said ‘honeymoon’.
 “That is very kind Mildred, but, and I think I can speak for both of us in this case, that we cannot accept. But as I was saying, I need to speak—“
 “Of course. I’ll go. But listen. You’re going to have to be patient with her, Mr. Steele. And you’re going to have to take it down a few notches. Humble yourself. If I had been put through what she’s been put through today, I would have killed you.”
 He winced.
 “But I know that you care for each other or I wouldn’t have been such a proactive accomplice. You can fix this Mr. Steele. I believe in you”. She gently patted his cheek and closed the apartment door behind her.
 At least someone believed in him because he very well didn’t.
 ____
 Steele cautiously opened the bedroom door to a pondering Laura who was looking out the window.
 “Thinking about the Los Angeles skyline?”
 “I’m thinking about how I got here”.
 “In the limo, Laura”.
 “That’s not what I meant”.
 Steele inhaled sharply. “If you remember I didn’t want get you involved in this charade. You were the one—“
 “Yes, I recall I was the one who ‘mucked it up’. I apologize if my involvement ruined your noble efforts at protecting me, a poor little woman.”
 “It was a figure of speech!”
 “I don’t care! Don’t you ever call me that ‘the little woman’ again. I’m not your little woman. I’m not anybody’s ‘little woman’.”
 “If we’re gonna look married, we have to act married”.
 “If that’s the deal then maybe we should call the whole thing off”.
 “While that sounds like an appealing idea at the moment, Laura, we can’t. We have a honeymoon to get to”.
 “What?” she looks at him as though he’s grown another head.
 “Our INS friend said that we need more proof that this is a legitimate marriage and that means not only living together but also doing what all people do after they wed. Going on a romantic trip.”
 “You never said we had to do that”.
 “I didn’t know.”
 “Well, have fun on your honeymoon Mr. Steele.” She said as she walked past him out of the bedroom.
 Stunned, he followed her out.
“What do you mean ‘have fun’? You’re coming with me.”
 “I agreed to marry you on a fishing trawler under dubious means. I agreed to live with you for two years as a consequence of that. And lastly, I agreed to keep up this lie of a marriage for those said two years with the promise of divorce soon after. Nowhere in between all of that did I agree to a fake honeymoon.”
 “We got married Laura, I think a honeymoon was kind of implied anyway”. Steele said, growing agitated.
 “Well, if you’re so concerned about going alone I suggest you go to the county jail and pay bail”.
 “What are you talking about?” And then it dawned on him. Clarissa. He shook his head. “Is that what this is about? There’s nothing going on—I told you—“
 “‘Is that what this is about?’” she repeated. “Do you really not know? Do you really not have any idea?”
 “Know what? What do you want from me Laura? An apology? I’m sorry I made you volunteer to marry me so that I could stay in the country. Your sacrifice has been noted”.
 “Screw you!” she says as she tries to walk past him out the front door
 “Thank you Laura Holt, for the citizenship and the name. I’m forever in your debt. Indentured servitude, I should say.” He says as he follows her.
 “Enough!” she says as she reaches the door.
 “Well then why did you marry me at all Laura?!”
 “Because I love you!”
 And suddenly time stops. The air in his lungs kicks out. Laura freezes in place. He’s never seen a deer in the headlights but he imagines it can’t look that much different from the way Laura is looking at him. She never meant to say it like this. It’s almost funny, in a very sick way. All the times he thought about saying that to her, in hallucinations or dreams; it was always a forced admission by her hand. Sometimes literally. He shouldn’t be all that surprised that reality would play out differently.
 “Oh”. He says without thinking.
 “Oh?” she repeats.
 “I don’t—“
 “Oh my god”, Laura says under her breath. “I cannot believe—“
 She runs out of his apartment.
 “Wait!” he calls after her. “Laura! Would you believe that I felt the same?”
 “Not a chance!” She says as the elevator doors slide shut in his face.
 He panics. He looks at the elevator and then at the door leading to the stairs.
 “Damn it”, he mutters as he opens the door and begins running down 10 flights of stairs as fast as he possibly can.
 As he sprinted down flight 6, he briefly recalled their fight at the spa. That actions meant more than words.
 Because I love you!
 She was infuriatingly right, as always. His actions today did nothing to support what he felt.
The words did matter.
 And hearing them directed at him, perhaps for the first time in his life. From her.
 Changed everything.
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ourmanifestoisfun · 6 years ago
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4x14 episode thoughts
We’re back from hiatus! And I was finally able to sit down and watch the episode and I AM SO EXCITED BY THINGS!!!
“The navy. it brings out the sparkle of justice in your eyes” is such a cute line
Marco, you are a terrible businessman
I feel that all of the reasons that Greg lists to be in West Covina for his thesis are legitimate, personally. Being near Rebecca is probably a nice bonus. 
I do like that he apparently asked Heather to help out, given that she is very competent and no-bullshit kind of person.
Actually, the parallel “I’m not in love with Rebecca” scenes were a bit much, but I think they showed something kind of interesting in the extent to which the guys’ feelings are influencing all of them in their actions. Like Greg’s priority is very much the restaurant and Rebecca being nearby is more of a really nice bonus, Nathaniel’s volunteer work and interest in Rebecca are about equal since he started out doing it for her but is doing it more because it is the right thing to do while still be interested, and Josh is doing theater tech directly because of Rebecca. I don’t know if it is meant to be scaled like that, but I feel like it is, which is interesting.
Estrella judging Josh was the best.
I do like the set of Il Cabino. Not entirely sure when they started to use it, but it’s pretty
What is a cold chamber, exactly? What’s its purpose?
I feel bad for Valencia feeling let down about Beth’s surprise, but given rent and housing these days, it is a very big deal that you need to sit down and talk about.
“Quite an engagement” - not how you drop a hint, Valencia. Though I have to say, in this case rather that Valencia being concerned about appearances the way she was in her relationship with Josh, it seems just like she is ready to be with Beth for good, and part of her romantic hopes still include a proposal. She still loves those things, and she wants them for herself.
I don’t like ultimatums in general, but I do understand Valencia’s point, in that she knows what she wants with Beth right now, and she wants to know that they are on the same page, because she has been in a relationship where she waited and the other person didn’t know what they wanted/were happy to stay where they were, and she doesn’t want that again.
It was left unresolved, but I hope that they do get engaged/married. I wanna see Rebecca helping out at their wedding and killing it!
Valencia speaking from experience is both good advice to be cautious but also :(
Josh doing theater tech actually makes me happy. Sure, he’s doing it to be near Rebecca, but he’s so good at making people look and feel good about the best parts of themselves, that being part of a stage crew might actually be a good fit for him.
…though I would still prefer having him as a choreographer in some capacity because canonically, he is such a good dancer.
…Tim really does look like he has chicken legs in that suit. oh dear. I blame the bloomers.
“Our bulwark, our stalwart, our Walmart.” - i just like this wordplay
Nathaniel volunteering (getting volunteered?) for the play had me cackling. While I find the idea that he’s done musical theater before needs a little mental adjustment, I could see him doing it with a mental justification that it looks good on college applications (especially if he got cast in a lead role) and I can definitely see it being something he wouldn’t mention because it does not fit the image he wanted to portray.
Also him singing the alphabet - what a little bastard
Also what’s with that brightly patterned tie, Nathaniel? It’s not bad, I quite like it, but it’s much brighter than what he usually wears
Love Connie’s scarf flinging. And the scarf just keeps getting bigger and bigger until it’s a long cardigan.
Rebecca’s wearing red nail polish!
I love Paula’s interview outfit, it makes her look really good.
Chris!!! He is so tall! And he has a palate!
I love Valencia, Josh and Nathaniel’s expressions at the lyrics to Etta Mae’s Lament
Aunt Myrna reference!
oh Tim, your character song was not forgetful, I promise you that.
I love Paula’s faces though!
Darryl also has quite the palate - and the penmanship!
…canonically, Valencia and Nathaniel have now officially hung out and we did not see any exchanges? RUDE!
They have so much they could talk about! They are both good-looking people with body issues, image issues, and have experienced dramatic shifts in their relationships with Rebecca due to her initiating severely inappropriate kisses. The possibilities are endless!
Josh asking Rebecca to sign the Camp Canyon Grove playbill was super sweet, but I’m glad that it was one he got on eBay, instead of one he actually kept, because it’s mostly giving me very strong “Dear Joshua Felix Chan” vibes and uh…that’s not entirely great.
Nathaniel singing about being a saloon madam is GREAT. Sacrifice your dignity at the altar of love, dude. 
Not that you have much of it left. Which is not a bad thing - it’s good to be willing to sacrifice your dignity, builds character.
I have been wondering for a while now if they would have Rebecca write musical theater songs, and the fact that they are hinting at this pathway is really really exciting to me. Having her actually write the songs in her head and create a musical would be really, genuinely exciting.
“Someone else is singing my song” - oh my GOD my heart fluttered at that. I hope we get a full thing.
I am sad for Darryl but yes, Paula, know your worth!
Mindy-who-is-April! Good to see you as Darryl’s date. Hope things are going swimmingly.
Valencia makes a beautiful pirate bride, but can she actually be the pirate, instead? Because yikes those lyrics!
Paula’s face was exactly right.
I am genuinely sad we missed all of the songs that directly applied to Darryl and Paula’s situation
God, Rebecca’s saloon girl outfit is so cute, even if her song is so terrible.
WHAT’LL IT BE REPRISE!!!!! Called it!
I have mixed feelings about Greg’s revelation that everything he hated about the town was more of a projection and that as a result, he’s going to stay and run his father’s restaurant. Not because I don’t think it makes sense with his character, but I just get tired of the trope that the hometown is always the place you’ll end up again if you change your attitude. Sometimes, hometowns just suck.
But for Greg, who I think has been specifically described as a character who tries to be a caretaker, which running a restaurant that people love would be something that would fulfill him, so I think I’m good with it.
Every time I think I have a grasp on where the love quadrangle stuff is going, it gets a good shake, because while when Rebecca discusses the three guys, she treats it as if they are on the same plane, but when we see their different interactions, they are treated differently.
New tweak to the old theory: given that Greg now has confirmed a dream that is not linked to Rebecca at all, the next two episodes will be showing us what Nathaniel and Josh’s respective paths will be, so that we know that even though the guys might not end up with her, they have something that takes up their time and attention and fulfills them and it’s a good ending for them.
Preferably in that order, because I do still consider Josh to be part of the original series trifecta (Rebecca-Paula-Josh) and given how recent his affection for Rebecca is, I think that will come into play when he finds out what makes him happy and their relationship should be given some extra weight.
Now that Paula is interviewing at other firms, I still kind of hope that her, Nathaniel, and Darryl choose to separate from MountainTop and start their own firm. That could be really interesting and work well with their arcs. Nathaniel and Paula will make it successful, while Darryl gives them heart and makes them less scary to prospective clients.
I will still be very surprised if it ends up being an actual choice rather than a fourth or fifth option being taken, but given how the “true love is theater” concept got called out in this episode, I really am not sure where it’s gonna go. Still excited to find out!
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writer-or-whatever · 6 years ago
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09.02-09.08: Fics I Read This Week
this is coming two days late. i had it typed up on my computer and i just... forgot to post it? oops. anyway, last week i decided to systemically make my way through the cisco/barry relationship tag on ao3 (though i’m not done) so not only has that significantly lengthened this list but also it’s the first time i’ve read fics from The Flash fandom, even though i’ve religiously followed the tv series since it started in 2014. 
Also i am super into Cisco/Barry/Caitlin fics but there are a whole two of them that i could find so if you have any please send them to me, i’m desperate and am going to have to write some of my own to fill the void. 
anyway, fics recced below the cut by fandom then by pairing, as always, with fics from the flash fandom at the bottom because there are very very many fics. 
Harry Potter Fics:
Draco/Harry:
A Good Boy by bafflinghaze
Due to unforeseen circumstances, Draco’s work goes a little overtime. When Draco returns home, he finds that Harry’s gotten started without him—but only a little, since Harry is such a good boy.
Word Count: 1k
Gilmore Girls Fics:
Paris/Rory:
The Best Of It by dollsome
Paris outs herself and Rory during a televised argument with Michele Bachmann. Peskiest of all is the fact that Paris and Rory aren't actually dating. A documentary crew wants to make Paris And Rory's Modern Stars Hollow Family anyway. Meanwhile, Rory goes slowly and quietly nuts. (And doesn't like Paris like that -- why would you even suggest such a thing?? Not that ... anyone did.)
Word Count: 73k
Notes: One of my all time favorite fics. It’s so good and so well-written and so fantastic and I’m screaming. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry--because you’re laughing so hard.
The Flash Fics:
Cisco/Barry/Caitlin: 
((if someone has any more fics than the ones listed below, pls send them to me. i am desperate))
Equipoise by trufflemores
Barry gets sick.
Word Count: 3k
Notes: I love this fic and this ship. 
Guardian Doctor by LightningLemonade
Caitlin Snow is more defensive of her boys than even she knew.
Word Count: 366
cw: homophobic language
Barry/Cisco:
escapes, true love, miracles by spocklee
princess bride AU. written (late) for flashvibe week.
Word Count: 22k
Notes: Top ten favs out of any fandom, easily. I mean, my favorite movie as an AU and it does it justice and non-binary!Barry and just yes.
Heartbreak Hotel by RonnieandtheProfessor
Cisco and Barry go undercover to investigate a meta-human that's been only attacking couples that stay in a certain hotel. Barry struggles with the 'pretending' aspect of their mission, as his feelings begin to grow a little too real.
Word Count: 4k
Notes: THIS IS SO GODDAMN GOOD, OKAY!
once i have you, i will never let you, never let you go by coopbastian
Barry and Cisco respond to a meta-alert but one of them gets kidnapped in the process.
Word Count: 3k
Thunderstorms by fezwearingjellybananas
In which Barry does not like thunderstorms, but Cisco is there to support him
Word Count: 300
finding you by craptaincold
“Oh, don’t play dumb, Barold,” Lisa said. “Barry,” Barry said. “Barold,” Lisa said, “A little birdy tells me that you’ve got a crush on him.” Barry was about to take a sip of his coffee, but was pretty glad he didn’t make it yet, because he would’ve choked on it. “Excuse me? I- I don’t, what makes you think that? Did you talk to Iris?” “I didn’t, but I’m sure going to now.” Lisa smirked. “I’m sure she’d have so many embarrassing stories to tell about you.” She paused and rested her chin on her hand. “Plus, she’s pretty cute. Is she single?” “She’s engaged. Don’t even think about it.” Lisa sighed, dropping her grin to a pout. “I have a proposition for you, Barry. Cisco is a sweet boy, and there aren’t too many of those in this world, you know? I’d love to have him for myself, but I hate stepping on any toes,” she said, as if she didn’t rob people for a living, “So, if you don’t step up and tell him how you feel by the end of the month, I’ll be forced to nab him up.” “We’re already dating,” Barry blurted out, mind now a dumpster fire. Oh god, why did he say that? You’d think having superspeed would make him be able to stop himself from saying impulsive things. Word Count: 2k
The Person That You Were (You Cannot Find) by Ecliptic_Fiction
When it's four in the morning When it comes without warning And the Silence drags you down under the tide.
Word Count: 2k
Notes: God, I love this. They’ve got such a beautiful relationship. 
cw: self-esteem issues
To Lean On by Ecliptic_Fiction
Tears prick at Barry's eyes at the sight of the man before him, and he can't help but smile at the thought of spending forever with him. "I do," he whispers, squeezing Cisco's hand gently. Word Count: 5k
Where Do You Go (When You Think Of Me?) by Ecliptic_Fiction
Thank God for Francisco Ramon- the saviour of the Flash. Word Count: 3k
...so could we by coopbastian
Cisco is having a hard time on the fact that Leo implied that he and Barry are a couple. Word Count: 1k
What really matters by Saluzozette
It was late at night when Cisco's voice broke the silence in the room. Barry was on the verge of sleep, curled around his boyfriend, his nose buried deep into his hair. Cisco's back was warm against his chest, their fingers glued together and really, the speedster had rarely felt as tired, comfy and happy as he was right now. His mind was already drifting away, but he acknowledged the other man's plea nonetheless. “Barry?” Cisco's voice was alert and very much awake. Far from the comfortable stillness that had filled the bedroom for the last hour. Why wasn't he asleep already? “Hum...” The speedster mumbled, trying to sound a little bit less out of it than he actually was. “I'm gonna do it.” Word Count: 4k cw: graphic descriptions of violence, homophobia, mentions of neglect and abuse
sweet creature, sweet creature by buckybunnyteeth
Cisco wakes up to the quick warm feeling of lips pressing against his own. or Cisco needs Barry to know that he loves him ... without saying that he loves him. Word Count: 3k
It's Not About Winning by st4rlabsforever (omaken)
Cisco wriggles his wrists in his restraints. In the grand scheme of things – or at least as far as kidnappings go – this one isn’t so bad. Sure, the ropes might be chafing his wrists and the blindfold might be messing with his balance, but his discomfort is at a solid three out of ten right now. Just a day in the life of Central City's premier superhero couple. Word Count: 5k
Vows and Promises by daydreamingstoryteller
Barry has made the decision to sacrifice himself to stop the Dominators' attack. But Cisco has some scores to settle with him before he can leave. Or. Another Invasion AU but with Secretly married Flashvibe Word Count: 1k
'Fake' Dates & Not-So-Shitty Acting by twelvexclara
When Caitlin and Julian need someone to go undercover for an event, they ask Barry and Cisco. The thing is, the situation is more complicated than you think. Word Count: 2k
Stars in Hiding by Neuqe
"It is getting rather confusing for all parties involved, and Cisco would prefer if his life did not resemble this much a 90’s situational comedy" Barry and Cisco decide to keep their relationship as a secret. It is not necessarily the best idea. Word Count: 5k
We will find each other by Neuqe
Cisco accidently vibes Earth-2 and learns something new about Reverb. Word Count: 1k
swimming in the sunlight by VolunteerFieryDantooinian
Cisco can feel it, he can fucking feel what almost happened, he almost lost him- But Barry came back. It took a month, but he came back. It scared the hell out of him. Then again, he had a habit of doing that. Title from BøRNS's American Money, which is a total Barrisco song tbh Word Count: 1k
You Love the Limelight Too by PoliticalBloodTea
People won't stop flirting with Cisco. Barry is not jealous. He's not. Word Count: 3k
Decelerate by trufflemores
3.12. Barry and Cisco cuddle after Barry phases the train. Word Count: 1k
That Would Be Enough by UpsideAround
Soulmarks weren't supposed to change. Soulmarks didn't change. Fate must have hated him, because Barry's soulmark had been erased once when he was eleven, and brutally slashed out when he was in his twenties. Word Count: 2k Notes: I love this so much, tbh
Duration by st4rlabsforever (omaken)
“Hey! So,” Cisco says, pulling out the dark blue package from his shopping bag, “I was thinking we could try this tonight.” He tosses it to Barry and tries his best not to blush. The slogan ‘Last Longer. Stay In The Moment’ stares back at him in big, white letters. Or: in which Cisco buys Barry an endurance enhancer, and Barry is not amused at all. Word Count: 1k
Trademarked Kisses by aldergroves
(The first) five times that Barry and Cisco kiss. Word Count: 1k Notes: NON-BINARY CISCO!!!!!!!!!
Mach 1 by RedelliaValentinos
"Can I ask you something? It's just out of curiosity," the boy spun the chair around. Harry gave a hum of approval to go ahead and scooped up his coffee mug. Nothing this kid could possibly say was going to interrupt his consumption of caffeine. "What would happen if Barry went Mach 1 during sex?" Word Count: 838 Notes: Harry isn’t the only one who choked on their coffee because of this.
Another One Gone by superallens
6. “You can’t die. Please don’t die.” Word Count: 873 cw: major character death Notes: only read it if you want to cry
Locked in the closet by graveltotempo
Hartley and Snart get locked in closet and accidentally get a first row view of Barry and Cisco going at it Word Count: 2k
Insomnia by VenezuelanWriter
Barry can’t keep losing so many hours of needed sleep because he’s too busy feeling like this: hollow inside, weak and anxious. Word Count: 2k
All That Glitters by dancesontrains
The glitter had settled all over his cowl, so he was still breathing it in, and he began to remove it. Might as well remove the already unzipped jacket too...and the trousers, what if they had the particles on them? Clearly whatever was in them wasn't good for him, he could tell that much. Why else would he blurt out something like that to his friend? Word Count: 2k cw: rape/non-con elements
Work by coopbastian
prompt: “I’m singing along to this song and you can’t stop me, so either deal with it or join me.” Word Count: 623
The Hysteria Games by st4rlabsforever (omaken)
Barry and Cisco discover Pokemon GO. Naturally, everyone loses their minds. Word Count: 2k
Gold and Metallic Red by Mikkal
No one can know he likes painting his nails. And, so far, it’s working. No slip ups. Of course, up until recently, he didn’t have a superhero for a best friend. A superhero best friend who can vibrate through walls and forgets sometimes that it’s rude to not knock, damn it, Barry! Word Count: 815 Notes: You can read it as gen if you want, tbh.
So No Memory Remover Machine? by Magicaltally
Team Arrow ships Barrisco, and even if they're not in Central City that won't stop them from playing match makers. Word Count: 1k
Forbidden by unsernameinuse
Dr. Wells has rules about romance in the workplace. No one agrees with him, but especially not Barry and Cisco. Word Count: 808
Ransom by pennflinn
Inspired by the tumblr post, "Imagine Cisco getting nabbed by a villain and they want him to call the flash and he has to explain why he’s saved in his phone as 'Bae.'" Cisco is kidnapped and held as ransom for the Flash, who he has yet to confess his feelings for. Things get awkward fast. Word Count: 1k
It was just a dream by demflashvibefeels
Barry dreams about something terrible Zoom could've done. Good thing Cisco was around Word Count: 194
Side Effects by trufflemores
There are complications when Barry and Cisco share a bed. Word Count: 965
Whenever you need me, I'll be there by PunkyRaticate
Cisco and Barry have been dating for a few months now and when they finally get a day to themselves they're pretty stoked. What happens when Mrs. Ramon decides to call and invite her son over to his folk's house in the middle of their Mythbusters binge-watching session. He agrees to it and now he wishes he hadn't. Word Count: 2k
Ride or Die or Fake Dating by Ihateallergies
Barry needs a favor from Cisco. Word Count: 3k Notes: ICONIC
Barry and Cisco's Love Story by VenezuelanWriter
Cisco recovers from his past relationship with Barry's help and they finally get to a place where they can be together. (I recommend you reading the first two stories for the series before reading this one so you enjoy it even more) Word Count: 7k cw: past relationship abuse
Protection by Neuqe
Barry and Cisco get kidnapped before their date night. Cisco is pissed off for multiple reasons. Word Count: 2k
Vibe-y Patronus by LadyOrpheus
prompt: hey how about flashvibe with barry helping cisco get more comfortable with his powers? Or Barry helps give Cisco the proper motivation. Word Count: 1k
Whoever The Flash’s Stupid Little Heart Desires by TwirlsWrites
At this point, they're just glad that they know there's a way to wake him up. Unfortunately, finding out who exactly Barry's heart considers to be his one true love is a lot more difficult than one would have thought. Word Count: 2k Notes: I fucking LOVE this fic
Cisco Keeps Getting Flowers From A Secret Admirer - You Won't BELIEVE What Happens Next! by TwirlsWrites
“Cisco, look,” Caitlin said, pointing at the Cortex computer. Cisco stepped closer; there was a single yellow flower with a ribbon tied around the stem. “Huh,” Cisco muttered, picking it up, “It has my name on it.” the soft red ribbon had ‘Cisco’ scrawled on it. “Well don’t grab it, what if it’s a trap?” Caitlin said, rushing over.
Word Count: 2k
Notes: The title is a little eh, but the work is AMAZING!!!!!! TwirlsWrites is an iconic writer. 
You and I Were Meant to Be (Ain't No Doubt About It) by spoopy_dragons
Francisco Ramon was born with the name "Flash" scrawled across his wrist. The story of Cisco Ramon falling for someone besides his soulmate, but maybe, just maybe, it'll all work out in the end. Word Count: 4k
"Are we soulmates?" by supercala_docious
Cisco started to get memory-flashes of him and Barry as a couple. Word Count: 927 Notes: I love, love, love this
we can work from home, oh, oh, oh-oh by buckybunnyteeth
“You’re not gonna electrocute me are you, dude?” A different, much more pleasant shock goes through Barry’s body when a warm weight settles on his lap. Barry’s head snaps back up and he feels his jaw drop at the sight that greets him. Cisco has plopped down into Barry’s lap, miles of beautiful brown skin on display as he is wearing only a pair of very short yellow shorts and a smile. A smile that is curved around a grape Sucker. Word Count: 1k
Sledgehammer by Neuqe
Barry gets hurt and the heart monitor is betraying him or the one where Caitlin is the smartest of them all. Word Count: 3k Notes: I love this and Caitlin and Barry being brotp is canon.
Laundry Day by RedBowBuddha
After Cisco and Barry move in together, Cisco is worried that it was a bad choice for their developing relationship. Barry sets out to prove that it was a perfect choice. Word Count: 4k
((find my other weekly fic recs here.))
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mon-blanchetts · 7 years ago
Text
Set If Off, Because You Know You Want To (4/?)
She’s convinced that Jon won’t fight for her, so she decides to fight for herself. He sets out to prove her wrong.
Nothing was going to stop her from getting to her chambers, Sansa decided. She kept her eyes solely in front of her, unmoved by the looks that courtiers and servants threw her way when she passed them. Her ears strained to catch the sound of footsteps behind her; she would run if she had to, appearances be damned. She needed to get as far away from him as she could, and she would do anything to ensure it.
Alys was perched on a seat when she arrived, but the handmaiden was on her feet the instant she realized who had entered.  
 “I’d like to be alone, please,” she announced before the other woman could voice anything. For a moment she feared that Alys would pry deeper; it was a complete relief when she didn’t. Sansa was sure she would have snapped, but she didn’t need to make anymore enemies here.
 Sansa didn’t wait for the door to close before dropping into a bench closest to her. Hair stuck to the back of her neck; she leaned her head against the stone walls, desperate for some respite from the flames that licked at her insides, spreading across all her limbs. She knew better than to blame the southron heat for her current sufferings, much as she wanted to.
 Jon had gone mad. That was the simplest way for her to rationalize his behaviour out there, not to mention the only explanation she thought safe to entertain. He had no right to speak of the things he’d brought up, and she desperately wanted to hate him for it. He was out of his mind if he thought he could whisk her back home where they could amend things, not when his aunt and her court were under the assumption that he was ready to offer his hand to another.
 It could have been so different, she lamented, pressing her eyes shut. There was no relief from the episode Jon had just forced her to endure; his words crowded her mind with such vivid force that he mine as well be present in her room, echoing the same sentiments he’d done earlier. It was all useless, anyway, because she was right: it was too late. Jon may love her still, but his feelings meant nothing in the face of Northern interests.
  It could have been so different.
“A pretty voice, yes, but I’m sure many would say he’s got an even prettier face,” Tyrion whispered. “I’m not wrong, am I?”
 Sansa looked away from the singer in question to spare her neighbour a brief glance. “I suppose it’s a matter of preference, my lord,” she whispered back, leaning towards him so he could hear her better. In truth, she hadn’t been paying attention to their current entertainment; it was a difficult feat, considering the weight of Jon’s gaze. More than once during the feast she’d caught him watching her, but it was even worse when his aunt caught them both. No wonder Daenerys thought she might be colluding with him.
 The singer had picked a ballad that brought light upon Jenny of Oldstones, crooning yearningly about love in conflict with royal duty before cautioning those willing to listen about the folly of the individual who believed himself above the interests of his family. Fitting enough, Sansa thought, as the performance came to an end; she added her own applause to that ringing through the gilded hall.
 “He is a handsome man,” she commented, as soon as the noise died down. “But I do like his voice more.”
 The Hand nodded beside her. “I’m sure he’ll be more than pleased to hear that. You know what men like do in order to sound that way after all these years, don’t you?”
 She did, and the thought made her blush. When she glanced at her neighbour again, Tyrion was grinning at her.
 Sansa didn’t know if it was the change of setting or the potency of the wine, but it seemed that everyone was acting out of turn tonight. If this had all been Percy Falker’s intention, he’d right well succeeded, she thought, turning her head to look at their host. The wealthy merchant sat at the high table to Daenerys’s right, Jon on her other side. It was an honour of the highest calibre to have not one, but two members of the royal family in his manse, and it was clear he was determined to put his guests in awe. It had been a long time since Sansa had witnessed entertainment on this scale, even though the list of attendees was somewhat minimal. The choicest cuts of meat and the rarest of ingredients had been present, but the best of the best had been offered to the high table only.
 “How much would you sacrifice for your craft, my lady?”
 She played with the napkin on her lap. Now that the performance was over, there was no reason to talk softly, but that didn’t seem to matter to the Queen’s Hand. Sansa nearly didn’t hear him amidst the dense noise of other people’s talk and the clang of pewter.
 “I’ve never been passionate enough about any craft to know,” she answered. Gods, she was tired. Her eyes burned from the light and smoke, while the heavy jewels chained around Laetitia Falker’s neck weren’t helping. As protocol would have it, the merchant’s wife was seated beside Jon; she must have been as aware as her husband was what a position she momentarily held. To have the Winter King’s ear for the bulk of the evening—who knew what she was whispering?
 Tyrion tilted his head to the side. “But I see you’ve been dabbling in the art of matchmaking, have you not?”
 “I’ve made no sacrifices for it, my lord,” she said, in a tone she hoped referenced her boredom. A figure approaching their table stopped her from saying more.
 “A piece of the subtlety, my lady?” offered the page who had been serving Jon the entire evening. He presented a golden platter that held generous pieces of the elaborate confection exclusively made for the occupants at the high table. “His Grace says he wishes to bestow a favour upon you.”
 “Of course he does,” Tyrion quipped, leaning forward precariously in his seat to grab himself a piece. Sansa stared at the offering; without thinking, she shifted her gaze towards Jon. It didn’t surprise her that he was watching her, those solemn gray eyes boring into her own clear blue ones, silently willing her to accept what he wanted her to have. It was an explicit gesture that none around them missed, least of all Daenerys and her wealthy host. Sansa dropped her gaze as soon as she caught the displeasure on the queen’s face. She’d murder Jon for this, if she could.
 “Are you going to accept?”
 Tyrion’s question made her look up again. The page was still standing before their table, a thin sheen of sweat over his youthful face.
 “Give it to the Septa, please,” she instructed. The page bowed his head quickly before obeying; she stared at his back as he scurried off to the back of the crowded hall. Don’t look at him, she ordered herself, fisting her napkin. Don’t look at him.
 The Hand was sucking the ends of his fingers when he spoke. “The smallfolk will have you to thank when they shit gold tonight.”
 “That’s not true. They can blame His Grace for that.”
 Her neighbour chuckled. “And he has so much on his mind already.” When she looked at him, there was a curious glint in his eye that instantly made her nervous.
 “His Grace has summoned you quite a few times for a private audience, has he not?”
 Tyrion’s knowledge of that didn’t surprise her, but that wasn’t enough to ease the discomfort in her belly, a nefarious coiling she could not ignore. “Anything Jon wants to me he can say before everyone else.”
 Her companion quirked a blond eyebrow at her. “Aren’t you worried you’re courting His Grace’s disfavour?”
 Sansa held back a snort. Not when he’s already courted mine. She had vowed that their previous encounter would be the last of that sort, and so far she had made good on her promise. Being alone with Jon was too dangerous, she realized; it was even more so now that she knew how he felt. “His Grace isn’t the kind of man to be offended by such a minor slight as that.”
 “Well, may that be a good mark on his character,” he said. Light dance on his silver brooch, like magic was bringing the metal hand to life. “His Grace’s spirits, on the other hand, could use some improvement. I do hope a good match will accomplish that.”
 The corners of her lips curled up. “I said something of a similar vein to him once.”
 “Did you, now? And what did Jon say to that?”
 Sansa shrugged. “Nothing. The idea of having Arianne Martell for a bride would probablt render any man speechless, I daresay.”
 “If Jon’s bride is to be Arianne Martell,” he corrected, eyes twinkling beneath the flicker of candle lights. “Did you think your letters to the Princess necessary, Sansa?”
 She watched as Lady Hollanda approached the high table, her deep blue skirts billowing behind her. “I thought it was just another way for me to be of service to Her Grace.” She’d written the first letter that same day Jon had spoken with her, only to follow up with another a few nights later. Each correspondence contained the highest praise for her cousin, the King, most of real than not. It had given her pause to remember why she loved him so much, but what had she expected?
 “And you would make yourself indispensable to the Princess as well, once she arrives?”
 Sansa whipped her had around to scrutinize the Hand. “Are you just as worried as Her Grace is about my loyalty?” The words came out sharp, but she could still hear the exasperation muddled in her voice. No doubt Tyrion did as well.
 He shook his head slowly. “I don’t doubt your loyalty at all, my lady,” he assured, but he was looking away from her while he spoke. She followed his line of sight until her gaze landed on Jon again. Percy Falker’s wife had diverted his attention elsewhere.
 “No, I don’t doubt your loyalty at all,” Tyrion repeated, softly. “If anything, it’s him I ought to be worried about, not you.”
 The singer approached their trestle later that night, holding his cap out for any tokens. Sansa dropped in a few coins, but Tyrion offered nothing.
 “The man’s a paramour to a wealthy nobleman who just happens not to be present,” he explained, shrugging. “It pays to be warming the right person’s bed, you know, a lot more than what we put in his cap.”
  There was a tingle on her side of her face; despite the familiarity of it, goosebumps still rose along the back of her neck. She lifted her gaze to the high table—sure enough, Jon was staring openly at her now, his long face shrouded with what she could only describe as naked want.
AN: There's more to this, but I got to lazy to edit it. You'll just have to wait for the next update to read it (it won't come out next lunar new year, I promise). Thanks for all your support and comments, everyone! It means a ton to me.
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