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blzzrdstryr · 3 years

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Reveries of the Past. Yandere!Childe x Fatui!gn!reader

Wordcount: 3875

CW: Dissociation, graphic depiction of violence, hallucinations, unhealthy relationship and unhealthy power dynamics.

A.N.: I used a lot of my experience with dissociations in this and if it makes you uncomfortable, I would advice not to read it. I also plan on writing continuation for this, as it’s set before the Rite of Descension. P.s. I am not a native English speaker, so could you notify me if there’s awkward wording.

[Next chapter]

There are plenty of times you find yourself reminiscing about the past and now, your mind slips back to your memories, as you look at the horribly mangled body of the treasure hoarder. The stench of blood stuffs up your nose, it’s sickly sweet metallic odor making your gut clench and nausea rise, as your limbs grow heavier and numb. You don’t feel like you belong in your skin and bones and blood anymore - it’s cold, so cold, yet you don’t feel any of it. You are an outsider, an unwanted intruder in the house that is your body, an indifferent observer looking at the world through the thick glass.

The world around disfigures, shapes and colors changing in the constant whirlwind - they jump and dance around, small becoming large and large shrinking so much it’s barely visible, green shifts to red to blue and to yellow and to million of other colors, and sounds suddenly become muffled, losing their sharpness, but you don’t care about it: the part that is “you” fled to the daydreams of your childhood moments ago, leaving a clinically observing, yet unfeeling being behind.

Adults would describe you as a perfect child: quiet, obedient and dutiful, you were a stark contrast to the other louder and more free spirited kids. You studied hard, cleaned the house, helped with dishes and cooking and never talked back.

I can't upset mom and dad because they work so much. I can't play with other kids because if I do, they will make fun of me, I have to study hard and get good grades, because mom said I will have a good job and become rich and help them.

These particular memories don't feel good to you: they're bleak and boring, yet full of silent shame - they make your throat clog and eyes water, as something burning starts to bloom deep underneath your skin.

Childe stops beating the still alive treasure hoarder, a blood smeared on the cheek and a dangerous glint in his eyes, and turns his head to you.

"Hey, how about lending me a helping hand?", there’s a hunger in his voice you recognize, he wants to teach a lesson to the debtors, then. You walk towards him, feeling your knees get weaker and weaker with each step for some reason. A dagger made of ice shines in your hand with cold light.

"It's no wonder [First] received a vision! My [First] is always so good and smart, there are no children better" the exact words your mother says, as she brags to her friends, showing them the vision you were bestowed with. You left it to her, not caring what will happen to it - despite all the child's wonder you felt before receiving it, the glowing orb doesn’t look so amazing to you now. It feels foreign and ugly, a reminder of what happened seconds before you gained it.

“You know, when I was a child”, he takes the weapon and focuses on the treasure hoarder’s leader again, “we made a special kind of promise”. It’s tip travels to the hoarder’s hand. “You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life”

The sweet voice he uses and the fact that you know the nursery rhyme too would make you sick in the stomach the other day, but not now.

You don’t exactly remember how you joined the Fatui - it happened shortly after you gained a vision, when you were still too numb and cold to the outside world after the Event.

Mom will hate me, dad will hate me too. I can’t let them know.

Your parents say that officials just knocked on the front door one day and offered you an entry into the Fatui and a monthly salary, big enough to stop your parents from overworking themselves. You were terrified back then, Fatuis despite being known as a diplomatic organization are still a mystery to the ordinary Shezhnayan and a direct servants to Her will. The thought of disappointing Tsaritsa or letting down Snezhnaya was enough to paralyze you, but seeing the smiles on your parents faces was enough to make you swear to yourself, that you will work there no matter how scary it seems.

“You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice.” The blade stops between phalanges of the little finger: “The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend", he presses it, strong enough to detach the limb from the rest of the body in one swift slash. Treasure hoarder starts to cry and scream from the sudden pain, yet quickly chokes on it as Childe hits him in the solar plexus. The crack of bones feels deafening among the sea of muffled sounds.

Training was rigorous to say the least, you came back to your dorm room absolutely exhausted and after you fell on the bed you were practically dead to the world. Turns out, having a vision wasn’t enough to make you a fighter - you needed to know how to climb, swim, run with a weight to lift and wield a weapon. There were other children and teens with you, they eyed your vision with a mix of adoration and envy, you pretended not to catch it in turn.

“The frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again”, harbinger forces the victim's jaw apart by squeezing it with one hand, the other rapidly forcing a dagger inside the mouth. Treasure hoarder gasps and mumbles, fat tears forming in his eyes. A part of you expects a sound of parting flesh, but none comes: Tartaglia stands up and removes the blade, leaving a shivering and terrified man laying on the ground.

“Well,” Childe shrugs, as if he didn’t just dismember a person, voice back to his cheery tone : “You didn’t actually make a pinkie promise, so consider it a small mercy”. The treasure hoarder cowers even more, snuggling the injured hand close to the bruised chest. “But if you fail to repay your debt I will oversee that the frost”, he points in your direction, a treasure hoarder’s eyes going wide as he notices your vision, “will actually freeze your lying tongue off”, his voice descends again, back to it’s dangerous half-whisper.

You meet Ajax during the winter, he’s close to you in age and just arrived into Fatui grounds. He boasts and shows off to all of you, and you desperately want to retort something acidic to shut him up and rip off that arrogant bravado, yet say nothing, picturing how the tomorrow training session will have him laying flat on his back, too hurt and too tired to move even a single finger.

He defeats the trainer in less than a minute.

Now, that the treasure hoarder fled, still snuggling disfigured limb, Childe turns attention back to you. “You seem a little bit disinterested here”, his hand on your cheek is so foreign, it’s burning and freezing at the same time, the shock from the unwanted touch almost strong enough to pull you back into reality. He notices your unintentional flinching and unfocused eyes “Ah, you hurt my feelings, [First]! And I thought we already became friends”.

You say nothing, cold and unmoving, blind and deaf to the outside world, his words register a second too late, and there’s no cliche phrase for you to reply with. He looks a bit baffled and deflated for a second, but shrugs it off, just like he did during teen years, when you deliberately ignored all his attempts at catching your attention.

“Huh, even if you are so cold to me, I still forgive you”, he takes your hand, his touch still too overwhelming for you to process and pulls you back to Liyue harbor, your legs barely bending as you walk after him, like an obedient dog trailing it’s master.

“You know [First], I can beat you up so badly, that you will barely walk”, you put feather aside, stopping writing the letter to your parents as you glare at Ajax with barely masked indignation. He grins, satisfied to finally catch your attention after the whole day of pestering you. “I am aware of that” you reply in an absolutely flat tone, holding yourself from pouncing on him and trying to break the teeth out of that smug smile. He beams even wider, as if sensing your not-so-good intentions, revealing even more pearly whites as if taunting you.

“But I won’t, count yourself lucky”. And he leaves, this short interaction filling you with so much rage that you shake, handwritten letters noticeably becoming sharper and faster, your thoughts clouding around the idea of acquating his face with your boots.

Nonetheless, you indeed count yourself fortunate enough, when you see Ajax defeating grown men with bare hands. When you two, the only vision holders among your peers have to spar, he always goes easy on you, prefering to immobilize you rather than beating, making your defeat less painful yet even more humiliating.

Almost at the end of your trail he suddenly stops and says something, but you don't catch it, words turning into separate vowels and then fusing together into one unintelligible gibberish mess. He leans in, close enough for his breath to burn your neck, and he continues to get closer, until his empty eyes look into yours glazed ones. He seems disappointed for a second and backs down, his breathing no longer fanning your skin.

Distantly you think that you somehow angered him and he will slap you for it, and do nothing to dodge the hit - you barely feel pain in this condition anyway, but he doesn’t. The road to the Northland Bank is completed in absolute silence, Childe no longer trying to grab your attention, only when you enter Liyue Harbor does he whisper, that you two must look like a pair with all that hand holding. Judging by the volume and tone of his voice he says it more to himself than to you.

***

You come back to yourself in the safety of your room on the third room of the Northland bank. It feels like a rush of sensation, as everything becomes sharper and clearer again, like you just swam to the surface of water from the very depths of it. An invisible bubble around your head pops in one moment, and the world becomes real again, mind and body connecting for once more.

Eyes and ears focused you take in surroundings: the room is neat and lifelessly empty - just a bed and a working desk with a stack of written but unsent letters, along with a small bookcase near, no figurines, pictures or even plants to decorate living place, as you see no reason to adorn the area you use for sleeping only. Indiscernible wallpapers and a small window close to the middle of the bed finish the picture of austerity.

Once, your memory catches up to you, you can't help groan from the shame and irritation, hiding your face in both hands. Afterwards always feels both like a disgraceful escape and a warm blanket during the stormy night, a duality that you accepted long ago after joining the Fatui and today is no exception. You curse Harbinger when you remember why exactly you had an episode, and get up from the bed you threw yourself on minutes ago. You come to the desk, taking a clean form of a relocation request from the drawer and writing materials.

Filling in the blank feels like commiting a felony to you for some reason - you stop several times when you hear footsteps in the corridor, focusing on the door,ready to hide the half written form and say some lie as an excuse. You don't list the Childe-related reasons, knowing that there's nothing that could make any of the Harbingers face the consequence for their actions, and instead you write completely normal and fake causes: health concerns, family matters and so on. Part of you doubts that this will work and you will have the fortune to get away from a certain harbinger as far as possible. Trying and failing is better than never attempting, you think, quickly writing the paper.

Once you finish it, you almost rush to Ekaterina, praying that you won't run into a certain ginger on the way. Sometime ago you caught Tartaglia checking your letters, for a secrecy he said back then, we can’t let anyone know about the coming operation. Childe then instilled that every sent and received letter should be checked, lest Qixing and other Liyuens learned what Fatui had in plan. It sounded logical and sensible, but the paranoid thought that he enforced this policy just to have a glimpse at your feelings never stopped eating at you. From that day on you sent your family the most basic and vague letters, just stating that you’re in good health and mind, still missing them and Snezhnaya, leaving the ones with more private sentiments in your room.

Her eyes are completely obscured by the mask, but even with that you can’t miss the pointed glare she sends your way - Tartaglia never shied away from showing off, be it his strength, money or his twisted obsession that he calls love. With the amount of time and finances he spends on you and the way he acts like a kicked lovesick puppy in your vicinity, you are pretty sure that at least half of the bank workers see you as a cunning and cruel seducer, so keen and devious in the art of temptation that you managed to lure in Eleventh Harbinger.

As if archons decided to laugh at you, Childe descends from the second floor too, catching the sight of you near the receptionist. He looks unusually somber for a moment, but then he sees you, a smile appearing on his face as he takes the form from Ekaterina's hands. You can just feel how Ekaterina rolls her eyes under the mask, as if muttering complaints about the lovers’ spat and insubordination, having been working with her for some time, enough to have a clue of the inner workings of her mind.

You have to give him that he plays the confusion and regret very persuasively. He asks how he can fix this, says what a valuable team member you are to him and how much you are needed in the Northland bank. You agree to his suggestion - if years of training with Ajax and then work with Childe taught you anything, it is that Ajax is the chaos incarnate and Tartaglia is Ajax’s less tolerable and more unpredictable version, so it’s better not to anger him.

***

In the end he invites you to dine with him at Wanmin restaurant, a place Childe heard from some “xiansheng” as he called them. A bustling Liyue street is open before you two, tall midday sun painting the whole street into bright orange, so unlike the pristine white landscapes of Snezhnaya. He orders two Black Back Perch Stews on the chef's recommendations, and hands a bouquet of local flowers in a parody of a normal boyfriend. Any random observer would really see it as a date.

You take the flowers, pretending to pay more attention to them than to a man sitting near you. Tartaglia is an unpredictability wrapped in human skin, there’s no privilege as being lax and carefree near him, as even Tsaritsa has no idea what he will do next.

To your mutual confusion Xiangling presents the meal with two pairs of chopsticks. Utensils feel foreign in your palm, you having no idea how to handle them and Childe, by the looks of it too. Tartaglia specifically asks the chef for spoons, while you observe the other clients, noting how they use theirs. Holding one stick like a pen and then placing the bottom one in a fixed position under the thumb you manage to grasp the fish from the soup, albeit clumsily. You consider it a small win.

The image of a mighty Harbinger struggling in a failing battle with chopsticks would look funny to you, if it wasn’t for the whole "date" you were having. After putting them aside, and seemingly admitting defeat, Childe starts from afar: "You know [First], you changed a lot since I first met you" .

You raise an eyebrow at the starter, it's vague and innocent enough, but experience tells you that he will or at least try to stir the conversation into your relationship with him again. Straightening a bit and finally turning your eyes to him, you pause for a second, picking the least offensive reply you can muster - there’s a swarm of insults buzzing at the tip of your tongue prepared just for him, growing and sprouting since your pubescent years.

“Yes, I got taller”, he laughs it off, like you said some funny joke, his giggles not stopping for some time. "No, I mean as a person. Remember how you used to glare at me for joking? And now you act so unfazed ”

Joking. Is this what he calls it? Shivers creep up your spine when your memory oh so conveniently conjures the images of the aftermath of his jokes.

“Your jokes weren’t funny to anyone but you”. Breathe, you think, there’s no need to anger him. There are pictures of broken bones and bruised bodies and a cacophony of somebody else’s pained screams flashing and rattling in your head, Adults never did anything. Why would they? They had a golden boy Ajax, why would they help the others when they had him? Why would they help you? Bitterness and anger you thought you swallowed long ago rise up to the surface again, and you decide to bite down on the stew - Tartaglia always found a way to turn your words against you and hurt you, no need to give him more weapons now.

“I changed a lot too. I know I was insufferable as a teen”, he must have taken your silence as a free pass to continue whatever nonsense he’s sprouting, “I am sorry”.

The last three words catch you off guard, a piece of fish almost stuck in the throat from the jolt. Ajax takes you by surprise once again, for him to finally acknowledge and apologize for all the pain he caused and years he tormented you?

You blink and look at him intently, his facial expression changing into an unusually somber one. It seems authentic enough.

“Let’s start from the scratch?

You contemplate unsure what to say.

Was he lying?

Looking back, you in a sense are luckier than most of Childe's victims, witnessing his youth, familiarizing and distinguishing the tells of him lying and scheming, observing the way he bloomed into the manipulator he is today firsthand. You see a familiarity in his face and voice, something that helps you from falling to his charms. There's also the added fact that you were and still are an involuntary witness to the way how carnal and bloodthirsty usually friendly Ajax can become.

When did you catch his attention?

You remember his smile when he first approached you, less teeth and more sincerity that is thereafter,a hand outstretched to you. It happens on the next day after his arrival, almost as cold and unpleasant as the previous one. You brush the limb away like a noisy fly, secretly angry at his arrogant attitude and how effortlessly he endured training. His smiling doesn’t stop, yet you feel a sudden change in the air around you.

Would your fate be different if you took his hand?

You can't forget how your mind disconnected from your body for the second time. It was Ajax again vying for your attention akin to a spoiled child, and like one he threw a tantrum when you refused to give him any. The poor recruit you were talking with was hospitalized the same day, as you helplessly watched the carnage before you. You didn't fight, you didn’t flee, you just froze, like a scared animal, paralyzed by fear, yet somehow too detached from feelings. That day was bizarre: once you felt reality, it was solid and undeniable and then you didn't. The realness of the current diffused, slipped through the fingers like sand, leaving nothing but unreliable and delusive reveries behind.

Will he let you go?

“People do change and I see that you changed too. I don’t think of you as a teen you were” you carefully pick the words, Tartaglia visibly blooms, thinking that his apology worked, yet your next words snuff out his triumph: “but my memories stay the same. I don’t think we can start from scratch”

You bite the tongue, the second part still coming out too harsh for your liking. The moment of sincerity is interrupted, you see him, changing the masks, unsure what to do. It seems for the first time it was you who caught him off guard. You guess which one of the two standard facades he will decide to show to you, having spent years by his side to observe him masterfully wielding both, the friendly one with a vacant smile that never reaches his dead, dead eyes or the calculating one, distant and devoid of humanity?

In the end he uses none, a hurt still evident, dripping in his tone, face and moves - is it another mask you never got to see or is it real? - “So that is your answer”, he leans in closer, dull cerulean eyes looking right into yours.

You hold his stare, nodding, instead of saying anything and he hums, sitting back and wearing the cold mask, reserved for his enemies: “Just wanted to remind you that I am the Harbinger and you are just a position higher than an ordinary agent”. Despite seeing it so many times, it’s the first time he directs it at you and you have to suppress the shiver. The unsaid threat hangs heavy in the air, suffocating you.

You two are no longer solemn [First] and annoying Ajax, who trails your steps behind like a puppy, no, you are a special agent [Last] and Eleventh Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, to whom you are personally assigned by Tsaritsa herself. Even possessing vision and delusion yourself you can’t match Childe’s power, and your loss would be easy to overlook if your harbinger wished for it. Honestly speaking, there are a lot of things he could do to you without anyone questioning it, the Harbingers being the second most powerful figures in the organization, right after Tsaritsa herself. You heard the stories of Krupp and other assistants who got missing under Il Dottore, you heard of horrible accidents happening to the people Scaramouche dislikes, you heard about the injuries Signora inflicts on the unfortunate recruits when she is in foul mood, yet you never thought that Tartaglia will abuse his power in the same way.

“Don’t worry” he seems to have taken mercy on you, “I won’t use my position like that, it’s cheating and I like to play the fair game”, despite the seemingly reassuring words , you don’t let yourself relax, knowing him for years.

“Don’t think I will back down though, I am not the type to give up”

#yandere genshin impact #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #yandere tartaglia #Yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #Yandere #Childe #Tartaglia #Dialogues are hard #My brain is melting #It's 4 am where I live #Reader will have a crush on Zhongli in ch 2 #my writing

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helloalycia · 3 years

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secret relationship // wanda maximoff

summary: you're the daughter of the famous Black Widow, which comes with its own set of hurdles such as revealing to her that you're dating the newest Avenger that she also happens to be mentoring – Wanda Maximoff. What could go wrong?

warning/s: minor (implied) violence and injury

author's note: okay so the request was the reader is Natasha's daughter and is struggling to tell Natasha that she's dating Wanda. All I know is I got excited (as usual) and this happened so yeah, enjoy! Also, Wanda’s age is always a mystery to me since it’s interpreted differently with everyone, so I tried my best to explain the age gap between you and natasha so things made sense.

masterlist | wattpad

"Did you know red onion and red cabbage is called 'red' instead of 'purple' because back in the old days, they didn't have enough words for colours so anything purple was defined as red?"

"The mission, Y/N," my mum, Natasha Romanoff, AKA Black Widow, scolded.

I sighed, my attention still focused on my surroundings and my gun directed ahead. "I know, I know. But did you know that the most common internet password is '123456'?"

"Y/N," Wanda, my girlfriend and teammate said with a laugh. "Stop it."

"Yeah, please, quit it," my mum added with an eye roll.

I smiled at Wanda, admiring how beautiful she looked when she hid her laugh. My mum wasn't aware we were dating, so I settled for sending her a playful wink before looking ahead.

I knew I had to focus on the mission – scouting out this abandoned HYDRA den – but it was boring. And it was obviously empty of any threats, so talking was my only pastime.

"Did you know the inventor of Pringles is buried in a Pringles can?" I said after a moment of silence, making my mum stop walking abruptly.

"Okay, you know what? New plan," she said, looking between Wanda and I. "Everyone split up. Take a look around. Stay alert. Keep in contact. Sound good?"

I quirked a brow. "You trying to get rid of me?"

She narrowed her eyes my way. "Yes."

I frowned, making Wanda crack a smile and nudge me in the shoulder.

"You need to learn to have an off button sometimes," she joked, her Sokovian accent shining through despite the voice lessons my mum was giving her. Honestly, I preferred her Sokovian accent to her American one.

"You love it," I teased, giving her a knowing smile, my mother completely unaware of the double meaning.

"Just do as I said," my mum said, already shooing me away. "Wanda, you know what to do. If you see or hear anything suspicious, use your comms."

"Yes, Miss Romanoff," Wanda said obediently, and I tried so hard to hold in laughter at her seriousness. I mean, it was great that she was respectful of my mother and her mentor, but God it was funny to witness.

"Once again, Wanda, you can just call me Nat," my mum said with a wince, trying to be polite. "Go on."

Wanda nodded and walked off, her gun raised as she'd practiced. I grinned at my mum, noticing the way she massaged her temple with mild agitation before her gaze fell to mine.

"Go. Now." She pointed behind me, and I stifled a laugh.

"Bet you love babysitting duty," I joked.

"It's not babysitting if I'm your mother," she pointed out. "Though sometimes, you make me regret not picking the baby instead of you."

"That baby would have been six years old now," I informed her. "If anything, I spared you the whole diaper thing and the outgrowing clothes thing and the– oh yeah! Not being able to speak thing!"

"At least they wouldn't be annoying me with stupid facts," she retorted, hand on her hip. "Now be a good agent and do your job."

I rolled my eyes playfully, knowing she was kidding. Whenever I annoyed her, she'd bring up the story of how it was between twelve year old me and a six-month old baby at the adoption centre. She was worried I'd view her as an older sister or something, hence her choice of adopting the baby instead. But I never did, as she was always way more mature than any twenty-seven year old I'd met or seen at the time. And maybe, I guess, I was really desperate to have a motherly figure, and she just happened to fit the bill.

"Aye, aye, Miss Romanoff," I saluted, making her raise an eyebrow threateningly. "Okay, geez, I'm going."

I wandered off, exploring the dishevelled HYDRA den with full focus. The brief clearly stated it was an abandoned site, but I stayed on alert anyway in case there were stragglers. As usual, I only got given half the facts because of my clearance level, so I knew we were looking for a hard drive, but I had no idea what was on it.

Being a seventeen year old working in S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't exactly how I saw my life going when I grew up in an orphanage. I honestly never thought I'd get adopted, as rumours spread quite quickly through the orphanage that once you hit double digits, nobody wanted you. So, when the beautiful, red-headed Natasha Romanoff came in, looking for an addition to her family, I felt like the luckiest kid in the world because she chose me of all the kids there.

I definitely didn't expect her to be the Black Widow, nor to teach me everything she knew about espionage, stealth, hand-to-hand combat and much more. She ensured I was multi-lingual like her, preparing me for the many S.H.I.E.L.D. missions I would have to go on. There were times when I absolutely despised her, particularly when she overtrained me or stopped me from seeing my friends. And there were times when I wished she'd never adopted me, hating that I couldn't have a normal teenage experience.

But when it came down to it, I knew I couldn't have asked for a more caring, considerate and compassionate mother. I learnt early on into our relationship that she was unable to have kids of her own, hence her interest in adoption. And honestly speaking? That was probably the worst thing in the world because if anybody deserved a child of their own, it was Natasha Romanoff. I guess, in that sense, I was lucky to have all of her love to myself.

Now that I was older, I came to appreciate how awesome she was, especially when we got to go on missions together and I saw her awesomeness upfront. The only thing was, she was extremely overprotective, so it was difficult to get sent on the dangerous missions. Though, I guess, whenever I did, she was always there to have my back and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Her overprotectiveness was also a reason why she didn't know about Wanda and I's relationship. Wanda had joined the Avengers a year ago after losing her brother in the battle against Ultron. She was a year older than me, so naturally we were drawn to each other, and before I knew it, our friendship became more. But of course, my mother could never know that. At least not yet.

"Empty here," I mumbled, rounding a corner into an empty room. As I looked through the rubbish on the desk, I continued, "Empty here... and here... and oh, look, here, too. What a surprise!"

"Y/N, I love you, but God help me I will kill you if you don't turn your damn mic off," my mother's voice came through my comms piece in my ear.

For once, I wasn't trying to piss her off, so I smiled sheepishly to myself and replied, "Sorry. Love you."

I could imagine the eye roll she was giving me in response, so continued to look around for the hard drive I saw on the brief. Still, there was nothing here.

My searching was interrupted when I heard a loud crash from a nearby room, like the sound of bricks tumbling against one another. I spun around, eyes widening with concern.

"Y/N? Wanda? What happened?" my mum's voice came through my ear, slightly reassuring me as it wasn't her who was caught up in anything. But then that meant–

"Wanda! What happened?" I replied worriedly, already rushing out of the room and to the source of the sound.

"I'm okay," Wanda's shaky voice came through my ear, which did nothing to ease my concern.

I found the room Wanda was in quite quickly, seeing her sat on the floor as if she'd been pushed. She had a deep cut on her forehead and looked visibly distressed. Running to her side, I kneeled down beside her and cupped her face, studying her head.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" The words tumbled from my mouth so quickly I wasn't sure if it was understandable.

She nodded slowly, accepting my hand and holding it for reassurance. I followed her gaze, seeing a hole in the wall ahead, bricks crumbling and dust beginning to settle. Laying on the floor through the hole and into the next room was a HYDRA soldier, clearly dead from the impact of hitting the bricks.

Wanda's power was magnificent, but hard to control. A year later and she was still learning its limits, but sometimes slip-ups like this happened. I was, admittedly, in awe of her actions.

"I'm sorry, I should have kept him alive like Miss Ro– Nat said," Wanda apologised suddenly, and I looked back at her to see her shaking her head. "He just– he startled me and I didn't know what I was doing until it happened. I thought–"

"Don't apologise," I cut her off, squeezing her hand gently, before looking back to the cut on her forehead. "I'm just glad you're okay. You did good."

Despite my words, I bit my lower lip to contain a frown, worried about her cut.

"Damn."

Wanda and I both turned to the doorway to see my mum, who stopped and took in the sight of the hole in the wall with partial surprise and partial amazement.

"Mum, we need to get her back to the quinjet," I said, pulling her attention away from the wall. She approached me as I said, "She needs medical assistance."

I didn't let go of Wanda's hand as I moved to the side for my mum to take a look. Gently guiding Wanda's chin to the side, she took a closer look at the gash on her forehead, expression showing nothing as usual.

"You'll be okay, honey," she reassured, letting go. Her eyes drifted to our connected hands briefly, but I figured she wouldn't piece anything together, so I didn't let go. She continued, "Let's get out of here. There's no hard drive anyway."

Wanda nodded and my mum and I helped her to stand up, me still not letting go of her hand.

"The hard drive is on him," Wanda spoke suddenly, nodding to the dead HYDRA agent. "I heard his thoughts before I– yeah."

My mum raised her brows with surprise. "Oh. Perfect. Y/N get the drive and let's go."

I pursed my lips, glancing at Wanda with concerned eyes. She gave me a small, reassuring smile, squeezing my hand subtly before letting go.

"Right, yeah," I said, swallowing hard.

I looked back to my mum, who seemed to be studying my expression, so I cleared my throat and left to get the drive. When I retrieved it, I jogged after Wanda and my mum, checking in on her with a small smile, before leading the way to the quinjet.

When we boarded the plane, I hung around Wanda and my mum as she helped the brunette to take a seat in the back. I noticed Wanda's momentary dizziness as she sat down and felt my chest tighten.

"Hey, you okay?" I asked, kneeling before her as my mum got the first aid kit.

Wanda gave me an endearing smile as I swiped at the blood dripping down her forehead.

"I'll be alright," she said, holding my gaze with comforting green eyes before they flickered to behind me.

"Okay, Y/N, stop hanging about and start the plane whilst I stitch Wanda up," my mum said, appearing from behind me and kneeling beside me.

I nodded, glancing between the needle, thread and disinfectant in her hands and Wanda's head. Reluctantly, I got up and left them both to it as I started up the plane and got us in the air. Once we were in the clear, I flicked on autopilot before heading back to Wanda and my mum to see how things were going.

"We'll have someone look at it properly when we get back to the tower," my mum was saying to Wanda, who was now stitched up and wearing a small bandage, "but it'll hold up for now." With a playful smile, she added, "You're not dying on me just yet."

Wanda cracked a smile and whilst I appreciated how lovely it was to see their closeness in a way I never usually saw, I was still troubled by her injury. Logically, I knew she'd be okay, but it never felt good to see her injured.

"Plane is on autopilot," I announced, making my presence known. My eyes never left Wanda's bandage as I asked, "Everything okay here?"

"You need to calm down," my mum joked, making me look her way. "It's not that serious. Just some stitches."

I smiled awkwardly, but I knew it was much more than that.

"Yeah, relax, it's not a big deal," Wanda added playfully.

Her eyes met mine and I knew she was communicating the same thing through her gaze, holding a seriousness that wasn't able to be shared verbally because of my mum's presence. I tilted my head, giving her a knowing look; she knew I was aware of how big a deal it was. All I wanted to do was give her a hug and kiss and not leave her side until she felt better. And she knew that.

"I'm gonna go fly the plane," my mum said suddenly, and I almost forgot she was standing there until she spoke up. "We'll get back to base quicker..."

I glanced at her, mildly confused at her sudden change of expression. She headed to the front of the quinjet, leaving Wanda and I alone.

"Seriously though, you should relax," Wanda said, sounding like she did when it was just her and I and nobody else. She had an amused smile on her lips as she watched me worry. "I'm fine. All stitched up."

I licked my lips, sulking, as I dragged myself over to the seat beside her. She laced our fingers together, pressing a kiss to the top of my hand before facing me with an easygoing smile.

"I'm fine," she repeated gently, lovingly, sweetly.

I offered her a small smile, before leaning forward to press a kiss to her bandage. "I know. Just don't worry me like that. Especially in front of my mum. I can't take it."

"It's cute," she noted, amusement returning. "It means a lot to know someone cares."

My shoulders relaxed. "I care too much. So, please don't test that."

She laughed and I felt my heart flutter in my chest, never getting used to the sound.

"I promise not to," she said, looking up at me through her lashes.

I leaned my head on her shoulder and kept ahold of her hand, staying with her until we arrived back at base. My mum flew us the whole way back, only coming to get us once we landed. I knew I should have left Wanda's side as to not raise suspicion with my mum, but I couldn't find it in myself to do so. I just hoped she would interpret it as two concerned friends rather than her daughter having a secret girlfriend.

"You should head to the medical wing to get checked out properly," my mum said once we were back at the tower, looking to Wanda.

"Yeah," I agreed a little too eagerly. "I'll go with you."

My mum gave me a curious look. "I mean, that's not necessary."

Wanda must have sensed my eagerness, as she said, "I'd appreciate the company, actually. I don't mind."

She shot me a subtle smile, eyes bright with reassurance.

"I'm happy to accompany you, Wanda," my mum offered, and I felt my mouth go dry.

"It's okay, mum," I said suddenly, making her look to me with pursed lips. "You can go debrief and I'll make sure Wanda is cool with everything."

Glancing between us, my mum finally nodded. "I see. I guess I'll see you both later then." She paused, looking between us once more, before adding, "You did good today. Both of you."

I looked down to my shoes as Wanda shot her a grateful smile. She walked away, leaving us be, and I immediately intertwined my fingers with Wanda's as the two of us headed to the medical wing.

"You may as well write desperate on your forehead," she teased with a beautiful smile.

"So funny," I said sarcastically, though a smile of my own was present. "Let's just get you checked out."

"If it means you'll stop pouting, then sure."

"Real jokester you are. Hilarious, honestly."

Her laughter surrounded me like a warm hug and I could have listened to it forever.

—

Since our mission together, I noticed the distance my mum was putting between her and I, and I had no idea why. I thought I was overthinking it and seeing things that weren't there, so I didn't follow up with it until one evening.

It was a rare occurrence for all of the Avengers to be at the tower at once, so when they were, we'd all have a 'family' dinner for some normalcy. Only, this time, I noticed how strange my mum was acting whenever I spoke to her. She'd either act super dismissive or give one word answers to my questions – once again, I wasn't sure if I was seeing things.

After dinner, everyone went their separate ways and Wanda and I stayed in the living-area to watch some TV. Though it was playing, the volume was lowered and neither of us were watching it. We were just talking about random stuff and enjoying each other's company.

"Okay, how about this one?" I said to Wanda, turning so I was facing her, a grin on my lips. "What did the clock do when it was hungry?"

As with all of my other attempts at making Wanda laugh, she stared at me with an amused smile and a quirked brow.

"Say it...," I encouraged, motioning for her to speak with my hand.

She sighed. "Okay, what did the clock do when it was hungry?" Mumbling, she added, "Even though clocks don't eat..."

I slapped her leg playfully. "Sshhh, you'll ruin the joke. And the answer is, they go back four seconds!"

Wanda didn't laugh, but she seemed entertained as she hid a smile. "Seriously?"

"Because of the number 'four' and the word 'for'," I explained. "C'mon, that's a good one!"

"D'you think you're funny?" she asked, eyeing me playfully. "Because you're not."

I shrugged, playing it off like I wasn't fussed. "I mean, I don't know about that... how about now?"

Before she could question me, I moved forward and began to tickle her sides, watching as she squirmed with laughter.

"Stop it!" she shouted, but her smile was as wide as ever as she was unable to stifle her laughter. "P-please! Y/N!"

"But you said I wasn't funny!" I retorted with a grin, practically straddling her as she attempted to push me off her. "I'm just checking if you still think that!"

Wanda was crying now, tears escaping the corners of her eyes as she continued to laugh. "I'm s-sorry! Y/N, stop!"

Before I could think how to respond, the doors to the living-area opened and in walked Steve Rogers AKA Captain America, a confused expression on his face as he saw me sat on Wanda.

"Hey, ladies," he greeted, raising an eyebrow. "You both good?"

I pulled my hands away from Wanda and breathed out, still smiling as I glanced down at her. She blew a strand of hair from her eyes and glared at me playfully.

"Yeah, just talking," I answered Steve, before being thrown off Wanda and to the floor with a thud.

"Just Y/N harassing me as usual," Wanda corrected, and I sat up to see her sitting up, too, fixing her hair.

Steve chuckled as he headed to the fridge in the connected kitchen. Wanda helped me back onto the couch, nudging me in the side as a response to the tickle fest, before leaning on me and stretching her legs across the couch.

"So, hey, what's up with you and your mum?" Steve asked as I continued to annoy Wanda by flicking her face.

"What do you mean?" I asked, not looking up as I grinned down at Wanda, watching as her eyes glowed red threateningly.

"Don't make me hurt you," she said teasingly, lifting a hand and summoning her powers, red wisps of energy becoming present.

I stopped flicking her and intertwined her hand in mine, watching as her eyes faded to its usual colour.

"She just seemed distant at dinner," Steve continued.

I looked up and saw he was leaning against the counter with a water bottle in his hand. Wanda continued to stretch, practically on top of me, probably to annoy me as I had been doing with her. I moved her hands out of my face as I nodded to Steve.

"So, you saw it too? She was being off, right?" I asked him, glad I wasn't just imagining things.

He nodded, gulping his water, before saying casually, "Definitely. What did you do? Finally tell her about you and Wanda?"

It took me a second to realise what he'd said, but when I did, my eyes widened and I spluttered out a terrible response. "What– what about Wanda and I?"

I glanced at Wanda as she began to sit up properly. She looked more confused than panicked.

"You know, that you're together," Steve said like it was obvious.

I cleared my throat. "What? Why would you think that?"

Steve smiled with confusion. "Wait, so you're not? But I thought–" He paused, pulling a face. "No, you are! Everybody thinks you are!"

I shrugged it off, though inside I was panicking. "I mean, even if that was the case, why do you think my mum knows?"

Steve nodded knowingly. "She's been off with you all night. And then I caught up with her after dinner and she wasn't in a very talkative mood. Just mumbled something like 'new girl, her age, pretty, nice, should have seen it coming'. I assumed she was talking about Wanda."

Heat crept up my neck with embarrassment and when I looked to Wanda, I saw her cheeks dusting a red colour, similar to the energy she could summon. She looked as flustered as I felt.

"Has your mum been okay with you before today?" Steve asked, trying to be helpful.

I chewed on my lower lip and shook my head. "Not since we got back from our last mission..."

Steve scrunched his face with sympathy. "Oof. You should probably talk to her then. You know how much she hates secrets."

I groaned internally. "Thanks for the reminder."

He saluted playfully, his stupid smile on his stupid face, before leaving Wanda and I alone again.

"Well, looks like she knows," I said to Wanda, sinking into the couch with hopes it would swallow me forever.

"She might not," Wanda tried to make me feel better, resting a hand on my leg. "It could be something else."

I gave her a knowing look. "She has to know. It's the only thing that makes sense. You heard Steve."

Wanda sighed, sinking into the couch beside me. "Yeah..." She glanced at me and I looked at her as she said, "I did tell you to tell her."

I forced a smile. "Gee, Wanda, that was helpful. Thanks."

Wanda rolled her eyes before leaning her head on my shoulder. "Sorry..."

I rested my hand on hers. "It's okay, sorry. I just– she's gonna be really mad that I kept this from her."

"Yeah, why did you do that again?" Wanda asked questioningly.

I massaged the tension between my eyebrows. "Because she's too overprotective. It gets too much to handle sometimes... Take my last boyfriend for example. He was some tool that cheated on me and, oh boy, my mum wanted to kill him. I had to physically restrain her from doing so."

"I don't blame her," Wanda quipped, a hint of bitterness in her voice.

I smiled a little, squeezing her hand. "I know... she ended up slashing his tyres and egging his car without telling me. But instead of egging the outside, she broke into it and egged the inside. A thoughtful take on a classic, I must admit."

Wanda laughed, her whole body shaking with pure amusement as she listened to the story. I couldn't help but smile myself, remembering it like it was yesterday. Definitely a fun time.

"I appreciated it, don't get me wrong," I added, smile fading. "I just didn't want that to happen again. I wanted to enjoy our relationship without anyone spying on us, y'know? But now she's gonna be super angry."

Wanda let go of my hand and rolled on top of me, leaning down on my chest so she could look me in the eyes. I wrapped my arms loosely around her to keep her steady.

"She only wants the best for you," Wanda told me gently. "You have to tell her you're sorry. Explain why you did what you did, but hear her out, too. She's your mum. Caring too much isn't a bad thing."

I groaned, knowing she was right. She smiled reassuringly, patting my chest.

"You get the caring too much thing from her by the way," she added, before leaning forward and pressing a haste kiss to my lips. "It's okay though because I love it."

I smiled, never really seeing it like that. Raising my hand, I brushed my thumb over the small bandage on her head; her injury was still healing, but she didn't let it bother her. Very Wanda-like.

"Thanks," I mumbled, meeting her gaze. "You always say the right thing."

"Which is why I'm going to tell you to get up and go to your mum," she ordered playfully, pushing herself off me and holding out her hand.

I let her pull me up before straightening up and taking a deep breath. Wanda was right. I just needed to be open and explain my piece. It would be fine.

—

So, it wasn't fine.

When I entered my mum's living quarters, she wasn't the happiest to see me. In fact, she actively turned her body to face her TV when I came through the door.

"Hey," I started with a small smile, fighting the nerves in my stomach. "Can we, er, can we talk?"

She grabbed the cushion on the couch next to her, hugging it to her chest. Her eyes didn't leave the TV, but the space next to her was free, so I took that as an opportunity to close the door and sit beside her.

The news was playing on the TV – headlines, I think – and they were talking about a new elected congressman in New York.

"Seriously? The news? Even in your free time?" I asked playfully, hoping it would lighten the mood.

She didn't even glance my way as she muttered, "I like to know what's happening in the world."

Losing my smile, I straightened up and cleared my throat. "Right, right..."

It went quiet as the TV played in the background and my mum said absolutely nothing. I grabbed the other cushion on the couch and hugged it to my chest, similar to her. It was a nervous habit that I picked up from, well, from her.

"You said you wanted to talk?" she reminded me. "So, talk."

Having the Black Widow as your mother wasn't something anyone could get used to. She could be the most caring, loving, protective person in the world, but she could also appear quiet, intimidating and ruthless like the trained assassin she was. Not the greatest combination when trying to open up to her.

"I think I know what you're thinking," I started, pinching my hand to distract from my growing anxiety.

Without hesitation, she bent forward to grab the TV remote and turned it off before turning to me with sad eyes.

"That's where you're wrong," she said calmly, and it was way worse than her yelling. I would have preferred her yelling to be honest. The disappointment in her voice was much worse. "You always assume you know what I'm thinking. What I'm going to say or do."

I avoided her eyes guiltily. "Mum, look, I know that I should have told you the truth. And I know how angry you are, but–"

"I'm not angry, Y/N!" she shouted, finally, standing up off the couch and creating space between us.

I winced. "You sound angry."

She put her hands on her hips, looking down to her feet and taking a breath. Her voice at normal volume, she said, "I'm upset. You– you didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth. Instead, I had to put it together when you acted how you did with Wanda after that mission and..." She paused, sighing. "Forget it."

"No, keep going," I pleaded, the guilt piercing through me sharply. "You're right."

She swallowed hard, glancing at me with glassy eyes. "I wouldn't have done anything. I know I have in the past, but this is Wanda we're talking about. I've been her mentor for a year. I care about her and– and– she's good. And she's good for you."

Okay, I definitely misread this whole thing because now my mum was upset, on the verge of tears, and I was the arsehole responsible for it.

"I'm so sorry," I said, standing up and moving forward to hold her arms. "I should have trusted you. I mean, it wasn't even about trust. I was just scared you'd react badly. But it wrong of me to assume that."

She frowned, looking down to her shoes. "I know I can be tough sometimes, but it's only because I care."

I thought back to Wanda's words and gave her a small smile. "I know. I get it from you."

"I am happy for you, you know," she said, glancing at me petulantly.

My expression softened. "Thank you. That means a lot coming from you."

Without another word, she pulled me in for a motherly hug, making me close my eyes and relax in her arms. I still felt horrible for making her feel like I couldn't trust her when it was anything but that.

"I'm sorry," I repeated quietly into her shoulder.

"I forgive you," she said, before pulling away and giving me a small smile. "Now tell me. You're happy?"

The thought of being with Wanda gave me butterflies and I couldn't help but smile in response. With a nod, I said, "I am."

She nodded, squeezing my shoulders gently before fully letting go. "Good. I'm glad you've got her... I know you can take care of yourself, but she's strong, too. She can look out for you when I'm not around anymore."

I shoved her in the shoulder. "Don't joke about that. She isn't replacing you and you're not going anywhere, you hear me?"

She laughed, nodding. "Not yet anyway. But sure, okay."

I relaxed and gave her a nervous smile. "So, you wanna meet Wanda? Like, as my girlfriend and not your student?"

She rolled her eyes playfully. "If I must."

I smiled widely, grabbing her hand and leading her to the door. "She loves you a lot, y'know. She wanted me to tell you about us as soon as we got together. She hated lying to you."

"Yeah because she knows that lying is wrong," she teased me, making me groan loudly. With a chuckle, she added, "I love her, too. She's definitely something."

"Hell yeah she is," I said in agreement, grinning to my mum as I dragged her to the living-area where I last left Wanda.

On the way, we passed Steve in the hall, who took notice of the smiles on our faces and nodded knowingly.

"Glad to see you worked it out," he said supportively.

"Thanks for the heads up," I told him gratefully as we passed him.

When we reached the living-area, I saw Wanda sat on the couch watching TV. When she saw who entered, she straightened up instantly, moving to stand and unsure what else to say or do. It was cute, the respect she had for my mum.

"Did you– I– She told you?" she stumbled over her words, starting to speak to me but eventually looking to my mum.

My mum glanced at me before meeting Wanda's nervous eyes. "She did."

Wanda licked her lips anxiously. "And you're okay with it...? Angry...? Wanna kill me...?"

I watched my mum, nodding encouragingly to her. She sighed before giving Wanda a small smile.

"No killing will be necessary," she reassured my girlfriend. "Unless, of course, you break my daughter's heart. Then in which case, I may have to find you when you're sleeping."

"Mum!" I complained, face falling into my hands with embarrassment.

"I'm just being truthful," my mum said with seriousness, before looking to Wanda expectantly.

Wanda surprisingly took it well, probably used to my mum's personality after training with her for a year. "I understand completely, Nat and I'll hold you to that. I have no intention of breaking Y/N's heart."

A rare, genuine smile appeared on my mother's lips. "I know you don't. Just–" She paused, glancing at me. "Keep her safe, yeah? She's a bit stupid sometimes."

Wanda laughed as my mum smiled with amusement, like it was an inside joke.

"Right here, you know," I reminded them with a wave of my hand.

They only rolled their eyes.

"I will," Wanda promised my mum. "Thank you for being okay with this."

My mum nodded, giving us both a final smile and once over, before saying, "I'll leave you to it. Goodnight."

Wanda and I bid our goodnights, watching her leave before a giant sigh of relief escaped our lips.

"You feel better?" Wanda asked me, grabbing my hand and tugging me to the couch.

She let me fall on her chest easily, snuggling up to her as she wrapped an arm around me and held me close. I inhaled her perfume, a familiar and comforting scent, as my head rested in the crook of her neck.

"I feel better," I answered, closing my eyes and letting her intertwine our fingers.

"I believe this is the part where you say I was right," she prompted, a hint of amusement in her words.

"Don't make me hurt you," I mumbled, making her laugh quietly beneath me.

"You're lucky I love you," she said, kissing the top of my head. "I guess opposites do attract. You're the stupid one and I'm the clever one."

"Wanda?"

"Yeah?"

"Fuck off."

She laughed again, and even though it was at me, I couldn't help the content smile from spreading on my lips.

#wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #marvel #mcu #scarlet witch #elizabeth olsen

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tamhrayis · 3 years

Text

Why did Ymir choose Mikasa?

"Okay, maybe im just dumb and didnt get something but couldn't ymir see the end result of EM's suffering via paths, so she already knew the lesson mikasa learnt anyway?? bc it means that this all was just completely unnecessary and eren could live... is it really a plot hole or did i not understand something?"

I've received a question and would like to answer it in a separate post rather than an ask. I have been keeping this draft since ch.137, but never really could post it, because I didn't think that my points will be concrete enough. But thanks to ch.138 and 139, I finally can touch this topic again!

So...starting with Ymir. We all know that she was a slave in king Fritz’s tribe. Someday she freed pigs and the king “freed” her, but hunters ended up chasing her in the forest. She was hurt and somehow fell into a pound inside of the tree then our infamous hallucigenia attached to her spine, and she became the first titan shifter. After king discovered her power, he used her to enlarger his tribe and eventually, the tribe became an empire. King Fritz let her have his kids and continued to exploit her.

At the very end she died in pain, because she wanted to protect the king. This moment for some people was confusing, but we all supposed that it was out of plain obedience. Nothing more and nothing less.

Before, in ch.137 Zeke said that Ymir has been obeying Karl Fritz for 2000 years, but what was the reason? Zeke said that Ymir wanted to feel connected, because she was attached to the world she left behind. But...Zeke couldn't understand her. He spent a lot of time in paths trying to find the reason why she is so obedient, but still couldn't find the exact reason besides the attachment. He also mentioned that Eren could understand her, while he didn't.

As Eren said in ch.139 during his talk with Armin...Ymir was in "love" with the king. He'd burned her hometown, killed her parents, cut off her tongue, let her wander in the forest, exploited her powers, let her breed children and at the end let her daughters eat their mother's flesh...But she still "loved" him and that's why paths were created. Ymir didn't want to die nor live. She wanted to feel and see love, and be a part of it, but she couldn't get it when she was alive.

Then...how did Ymir still love him? It was the Stockholm syndrome. She simply felt attached to Karl Fritz, because he gave her a relatively better life. Yes, the king still saw her as a slave. She wasn't his wife or at least a person he cared about. He didn't see her as someone equal to him. She was just a weapon, breeding machine and slave, but definitely not his love.

Ymir knew that her "love" was wrong, but she couldn't escape it, because she trapped herself in the endless cycle of hatred and agony that didn't even start because of her, but because of the person she "loved". Eventually, her titan powers were passed down from generation to generation and she got nothing to do, but to obey the king's blood. She wanted to escape. She wanted someone to free her.

So...Why did he choose Mikasa for that role? As many people pointed out, Mikasa and Ymir have some similarities. Both had powers, they stayed loyal and were selfless, but...Mikasa had what Ymir didn't. Free will, freedom and love.

Mikasa stayed loyal to Eren not because she obeyed him and he forced her to do so, but simply because she loved him and it was her choice. Ymir chose Mikasa, because she is the freest person. Mikasa is an Ackerman, the bloodline that rebelled against king's ideology, and the descendant of Hizuru's shogun's clan, which had nothing to do with Ymir herself. Everything Mikasa did was purely out of her conscience and the right to choose. In this case, Eren was the one who has served as the pathway for Mikasa to free Ymir.

Ymir could see Eren and Mikasa, and I think she and Eren himself were the ones who told child Eren where Mikasa is back when she got kidnapped. Because, otherwise, Ymir wouldn't be freed and the cycle would continue to exist. But she couldn't fully free herself, because hallucigenia still existed and as we saw in ch.138, it has had mind on its own and probably needed a "host" to exist, which was Ymir and her subjects. It desperately wanted to live, but of course, since Ymir was its main "host" and got freed, it also stopped to exist.

Aside from this, Ymir wanted to witness the most unconditional love that could exist. Both Eren and Mikasa did a very noble act of sacrificing their love for the sake of change and I think this is what Ymir wanted to see.

Yes, from Ymir's side, it was very selfish and to be honest, I was also a bit disappointed to see her vanishing like this, but I guess, that was the fault from my side, because Ymir has never actively participated in the whole process of rumbling. All what she did was observing and guiding Armin and Mikasa to her. After all...everything she wanted was a selfish wish to be free and see love. It was never about repaying the debt or helping someone. Probably...that's why she needed these three selfless people to free her.

#damn Ymir WHY #but imagine being that special #Eren and Mikasa just better meet someday or I will throw hands #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #eremika #ymir fritz #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #t-talks #ask

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Text

The General (part 3): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: Things are explained, and you’re taken by surprise more than once.

wc: 2.7k

tw: none

masterlist

Moonlight streams into the tent from a gash in the fabric above, illuminating your captor as he sleeps in the massive bed built for a giant or two. You, however, lay on the ground beside the bed, eyes glued to the sleeping general in spite.

Geto had yet again embarrassed you at dinner, making you kneel on the floor next to his chair instead of taking your place at the table. His kinsmen had laughed at you under their breath, and when he began to feed you from his plate by handing you pieces of food from his hand, that had completely annihilated any piece of pride you had left. Gojo made a joke about you being a beautiful, albeit begrudgingly obedient puppy which earned him a round of riotous laughter. It took all you had not to burst into tears right there.

And when the General got tipsy and began to pet your hair with a fondness you could only describe as possession, you felt even more defeated.

But now it was all over. You were alone with him once more, trapped - even on the ground - and unable to leave. You were physically unrestrained - because where could you go when the camp stretched on for miles? - but the entrapment was mental. Nothing like this had ever crossed your mind when you considered your future. It all rested on Yuko’s shoulders not two da--

Yuko.

What had that one soldier mentioned?

“Is she really as beautiful as Yuko said?”

Yuko.

The idea that he had anything to do with this encounter would have been absurd to you, except… now, it wasn’t.

When you gasp and sit up abruptly, Geto cracks open an eye and his hand shoots out to grab the neck of your kimono. “Easy there, little one.” But when he sees your tears, his features go from scrutiny to a softer gaze, and his hand releases from your kimono and flops to the side of the bed.

“Why am I here?” you whisper, wiping your nose. “What am I to you?”

“You’re here because I want you here,” Geto replies, sitting up fully and letting the sheets slide down his perfect frame.

“Why me?”

“You were headed to the Imperial Court. Like I said, it’s a hellish life there. You should thank me, really. If we hadn’t gotten to you befo--”

“What does Yuko have to do with any of this?” As soon as you mention Yuko, the atmosphere in the room changes from careful and concerned to an inquisition. Geto places his feet on the floor, eyes glued to your tear-stained face as he stands and then crouches in front of you. His hand drifts to your cheek, rubbing away a fresh tear before a thumb is smoothed over your dry lips.

“I almost forgot… you were close to him, weren’t you?” You neither confirm nor deny the accusations by remaining dreadfully still, eyes locked with the man in front of you. “Your silence confirms this.” Geto stands again, moving past you before lighting a few lanterns and then walking around you much like the previous night.

“I have eyes everywhere, little one. When I heard that the Imperial Matchmaker was headed around the country, I made sure of two things: one, that she would conveniently look for a common girl to wed to a Prince, and two, that she would be from one of the towns where my eyes were.”

‘My eyes’… Yuko is a… traitor?

“You see,” Geto leans down to brush his lips against your ear as his hair tickles your shoulder. “I’ve been waiting for a moment like this ever since I was denied my rightful place in line for the throne, and I’ve tried everything to get it back.” A shiver runs down your spine at his admission, and you crane your head up to look at him in shock, fearing the next words out of his mouth. His onyx eyes are crazed, almost feral with ambition. “Well, that is… except start a war. And what better way to begin one than over a stolen princess-to-be?”

_______________________________________________________________________

When Kaori enters the tent later on that morning, you’ve made up your mind. The eater of curses made it very clear that you were a pawn in his bid to usurp the Imperial Throne, and he also reiterated that escape was absolutely impossible. You were being watched by eyes you couldn’t see, listened to by ears you couldn’t deafen, and talked about by mouths you couldn’t shut.

But there was one thing you could do.

As the woman tends to your bruised knees, you examine her tools.

“Do you have something that I could use to mend my old gown? And do you know where it went?” Kaori looks up at you, her brown hair falling behind her ears as her face contorts into a confused expression.

“Your old dress is gone, my Lady.”

“It is?”

“Sent downriver to the nearest village and made to look like you had been killed.” The news of your faked death is alarming, to say the least.

“You mean I’m--”

“Like most captives, you will no longer be searched for.” How many others had this happened to?

“I-”

“And I know what you’re thinking, Lady y/n. I am not permitted any sharp tools aside from what I am allowed to use in the hot springs with the other ladies, but they are not sharp enough to take a life. I am sure Master Geto will allow you to join us one day, though.”

“H-how many women has he had before me?” Kaori looks up at you again; her eyes cold and unforgiving.

“Only one, and she almost ruined him.” Her hands return to your calf, massaging the muscle carefully. “But that will never happen again. That we will all make sure of.”

Another blue kimono, another morning spent alone until lunch had been brought to you. You now roam around the camp, followed closely by Kaori and another young woman you don’t know yet. As you bite into the pear in your hand, you try to catch bits and pieces of their chatter, but you lose the noise as soon as you encounter something new - which is every three seconds. Out of all of the women you see - most young women probably not above the age of twenty-nine - none of them wear blue kimonos. They’re either in red or green, perhaps signifying rank or job. But in all of the days you’ve seen Kaori, she’s dressed in multiple different colors, all except blue.

You wonder what that means for a moment before you chance upon a large, open field full of men practicing their swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat. You’re standing on a high part of a hill just before it slopes downward to where they are sparring. As your eyes scan the crowd from above, you look for your long-haired captor, and you cannot find him until a hand points over your shoulder.

“You see that ring there?” The other woman speaks, and your eyes instantly hone in on a ring of men huddled around two figures fighting. “Master Geto and Master Gojo fight there all the time.”

“Who wins?” you wonder, looking back at the giggling maid.

“Which way will the wind blow tomorrow?” she answers, and at your confused expression, Kaori steps in.

“Some days it is Master Geto. Other days it is Master Gojo. We can never tell until the spar has ended and the dust has settled.” Your eyes turn back to the men in the circle, and you see a long stream of jet black hair and then long white hair, but they’re moving much too fast for you to be able to discern their movements.

“They won’t be done for a while,” The other maid adds, and places a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sure Master Geto will come find you when he’s ready to… unwind.” The giggles at this comment do nothing for your nerves.

_______________________________________________________________________

The General returns to the tent after a few hours, cuts and bruises dotting his half-clothed physique. You eye him carefully as he stalks past you on the bed, followed by a male attendant who rushes to help him undress and take a bath on the other side of the curtain.

He’s silent as the water sloshes around, and you can barely make out any other noises besides the occasional hiss of pain or deep exhale. It’s obvious that the man who attends to his wounds did his job properly when Geto emerges with only a bandage on his right side, blood dotting the cloth taped to his ribs.

“Scoot over,” Geto waves his hand at you, flopping onto the space you’ve made with barely so much as a ‘thank you’.

“Did you win?” you inquire and Geto looks over at you before touching his arms behind his head and giving you a toothy grin.

“Of course I did.” You both lapse into another silence before Geto clears his throat and slides a hand from under his head and onto your back. “You went to see us train… I’m surprised you’d be interested in that.”

“I was walking around and happened to observe the melee.”

“Kaori told you about how our fights end, then.”

“She and her companion didn’t add much to the already obvious; you two spar well.”

“Do you fight, little one?” he asks innocently. You give him a look and that’s all he needs to see to know that the answer is ‘no’. “I should teach you to fight, then.”

“Why, so I can fight you and then run away after I win against you?” you retort, and Geto laughs suddenly, clutching at his injured side.

“I didn’t say I would teach you how to beat me, I just said ‘to fight’,” he chokes out, wiping away the tears that dot his bottom eyelid. “You have a very interesting sense of humor.”

“It keeps me alive,” you mumble and you feel the hand on your back run up and down your spine. While the comforting gesture is kind in nature, it makes your skin crawl that someone so evil could touch anyone in an affectionate way.

“Did Yuko ever touch you like this?” At this question, you look over at the man who spoke, eyes blazing.

“He would never,” you snarl.

“Smart man,” Geto grumbles, sitting up; now placing his hand on your leg. “I told him not to touch my things. He learned that lesson as a child and it seems it has carried over well.”

“I’m your thing, now?” You snatch your body away from his grip and climb off the bed, shuffling to the far side of the tent to be alone. “You know, when people get pets, they at least give them something to play with and keep them busy during the day.”

“You want something to play with?” Geto moves off of the bed and raises a brow, fingering the waistband of his pants thoughtfully. “That can be arranged.” Fear leaps into your throat even though the man doesn’t move a single inch closer to you. You swallow hard, then Geto speaks, running his hands through his hair exasperatedly. “When I imagined taking a woman, it did not seem as hard as it actually is. Besides the frustrating part, you vex me entirely in areas I have never been tried in. I’m trying to keep you pure, so when this is over and I can release you to your hometown and you’ll be free to do as you please… but little one, you make it hard for me to control myself when you act this way.”

“It is obvious that you are a patient man and tha-”

“It is not enough when that very vexation causes me to be kinder than I’ve ever been toward someone who repeatedly disrespects my existence.”

“Kind? To me?” You scoff, turning away and crossing your arms.

“I have been far kinder to you than anyone else I have held captive.” He’s advancing on you, but you can’t do much except back up against the tent side with fear.

“All for some war so you can take the throne?”

“All for my rightful place as Emperor.”

“As a bastard son of the current Emperor, really.” Your cheeks are squeezed between fingers, and you taste the tang of iron in your mouth. You try to yank your face out of his grip, but it’s too strong, and you find that you’re held quite close to him as a result. He brings your face closer to his, eyes running wild over your features for a moment as he holds you captive.

“Watch your tongue,” Geto warns, then lets you go, inhaling deeply before shaking out an exhale. You rub at your cheeks and now bitten tongue mournfully, giving the General a nasty look. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I would if you told me everything,” you mumble, looking away from the way his muscles were illuminated and painted perfectly and to the ground. “If I’m to be a pawn in your game, at least let me in on your plan.”

Geto looks over his shoulder at you, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips up. It’s something you can’t look away from, and your mouth dries up at the gesture of familiarity. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? I’ll tell you my secrets and then you’ll go and tell your kinsmen the plan, right? Somehow get that information to them… then plan your escape.” The smile falls, and the General turns back to you, his face now utterly serious. “I’m not a fool, little one. Foolishness did not get me this far, and I won’t begin to act like one now.”

At this, he stalks out of the tent and leaves you alone again, stuck with your thoughts and your increasing desire to run away and never look back.

_______________________________________________________________________

Dinner.

You’d come to dread the most decadent meal of the day where you would be sitting on the floor next to the General. You were not permitted to speak, but only eat from his hand and drink from his cup when allowed, and anyone could make fun of you behind hands or openly, as you were nothing more than an object.

As you contemplate your fate yet again, you feel the familiar tap of something warm at your lips.

“Eat.” Geto urges you, and you reluctantly open your mouth to accept the piece of meat. When you look around the table, you can just barely see the eyes of Gojo and Haibara following the motions of Geto’s hands as they converse about military strategy, but you can definitely see the eyes of the one they called Nanami following your movements with precision.

Another piece of meat is presented for you to consume, and you do so mindlessly, observing the others at the table with less interest. That is, until you catch the little eyes of a child who sits at the other end of the table. He’s mid-chew with his little hands in the food, perhaps just now seeing you sitting on the floor like an obedient dog.

You hadn’t seen children here before now, and it seems that the “little one” here was actually him, with his pink hair and brown eyes observing you curiously. It isn’t until he hops down from the table - his little hands plucking a piece of fish off of his plate - and disappears that your head eagerly follows his movements.

Geto notices that you’re distracted and puts a hand on your shoulder, directing your attention back to him.

“If you--”

“Eat.” The voice of the child and the sliver of fish pressed to your mouth shocks both you and Geto, and the whole table is silenced by the interaction. “Eat.” The child encourages you again, and you accept the fish, his little fingers placing it in your mouth with care. As expected, the laughter begins anew, but you feel like laughing too as the child climbs back up to his seat and continues his own meal, unaware of the spectacle he’d just created.

“It appears you have an effect on little Yuji, Geto,” Gojo howls at the end of the table, holding his stomach as he and Haibara roar with laughter. “Soon he’ll be feeding his own lady just like you!”

And Geto laughs as well, tossing his head back and letting the sound carry into the night.

#geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen getou #jjk geto #geto suguru #getou x reader #jjk gojo #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #getou suguru

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sidespart · 4 years

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The Fall of King Romulus part 4

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

“I will grant them handsome features and beguiling voices,” the maiden whispered, her own voice dripping with honey “that all who great them will be blessed from the meeting.”

“I told you it wouldn’t work!” Remus grinned smugly when Romulus was deposited back in in their room, their nanny shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Urghh.” Romulus whined as he hurled himself face first onto Remus’ bed, making his giggling brother bounce from the impact. “But it should have! It always does in the stories!”

What was the point of having a twin, Romulus wondered if they couldn’t even switch places to get him out of boring geography lessons?

Remus poked him until Romulus rolled over onto his side to pout at his brother.

“It’s because I’m better lookin’ than you.” Remus told him cheerfully.

Romulus thwacked him with a pillow. “We’re identical!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Remus grabbed a second pillow from the floor, “I’m still the cute one!”

“Are not!”

“Are too!”

“Are not!”

“Are to – oof!”

The pillow fight soon descended into a wrestling match, their shrieks and giggles echoing through the bed chamber.

Eventually they ran out of breath and Remus flopped back down on the bed, his legs hanging over the edge. Romulus collapsed on the floor amongst the fallen pillows, batted Remus’ foot away from his face and gazed up at the family portrait hanging above their fire place.

They were identical. The artist had taken care to draw the crown prince a little bigger than his brother, closer to the forefront of the picture, but even so; their hair, eyes, nose - everything was the same.

Romulus glanced up at his brother, who was currently digging snot out his nose with every sign of enjoyment. Romulus gagged. They were not the same -Remus was gross!

Except.

Everyone said what a handsome young man Remus was growing up to be. How brightly his eyes sparkled. How confidently he held himself, even as a child. They never said that stuff about Romulus.

Remus shone, even when he was being gross.

“Your voice is better.” Remus said suddenly, snapping Romulus out of his sulk.

“What?”

“Your voice.” The older twin lent over the bed, staring his brother in the eye “It’s nicer than mine, ‘specially when you sing.” Romulus beamed, showing off his gap toothed smile. Their parents had hired teachers to drill both boys on the lute and harpsicord, but Romulus’ talent for singing was all him.

“You think so?”

“Yeah.” Remus smiled back at him. He’d lost a baby tooth that week too – one of his canines, giving him lopsided fangs. “And you’re way better at crying.”

“What! Well – your feet are stinker!”

“You’re worse at pranks!”

“Well you’re worse at fencing!”

“But l I’m the best at tickling!” declared Remus and leapt from the bed, pinning Romulus with his knee whilst his fingers attacked his brothers armpits. The younger prince’s peals of laughter and cries for mercy were so loud nanny came rushing back to check on them, finding the future rulers of Notaleveale wrapped around each other on the floor, covered in dust and wearing matching smiles.

“I will grant them strength and creativity.” The mother smiled, she had a thousand eyes and all of them twinkled under the halls many candles “so that their rule will never be questioned.”

“Lord Venchi?” Romulus asked.

The royal treasurer, normally one of the more composed members of his father council, was pacing the entrance hall alone, what little hair he had left sticking up in all directions as he tugged at it.

“Oh, Your Highness!” The he gasped when he caught sight of Romulus, “oh thank goodness! He-“

Romulus sighed. “What has my brother done now?”

Romulus had spent the morning on a rare visit into town, missing the days council meeting. It was completely unfair - Romulus attended meetings almost daily, under Julius supervision, as part of his training to one day take over managing whichever aspect of the kingdom bored the future King Remus the most. They were mind numbingly dull sessions and it was only Julius’ steady glare that kept Romulus’ eyes open and his face attentive.

But today, visitors from the far south were attending. Which meant the session might actually be interesting. Which meant Remus got to go, and Romulus was immediately barred from entry. Instead, his father had asked him to represent the family at the ceremonial graduation of the latest batch of city watch recruits. So, instead of hearing tales from beyond the kingdoms borders, he had spent most of the day on a podium waving dispassionately at a crowd of braying onlookers.

It was always daunting, being around so many common folk. They lacked the decorum of the nobles at court. Whilst most seemed content to gape and sigh at him from a distance, there was always one who would shout out ‘my prince, look at me!’, ‘come here!’, ‘kiss my baby!’

Even with his fathers voice ringing in his ears – “no matter what you hear, stay by your guards side until you are back in the palace.” – Romulus had spent the day tense and unhappy, pinpricks of pain dancing in his skull. By the time he was allowed to speak he had quite forgotten his prepared speech and been forced to make up a quick poem on the spot. The crowd had seemed happy enough – the watch captain had tears in his eyes - but he knew neither Julius or his parents would be happy with his improvising once his guards had reported in.

He had hoped to get a few hours alone before the inevitable lecture, and were it anyone else he might have tried to sneak by without getting pulled into whatever chaos Remus had caused.

But Venchi was an old ally, one who had served his father wisely for years and who always took the time to compliment Romulus on his few measured contributions to the councils discussions, or to explain carefully any point he had missed.

He had also seen Remus at council. There shouldn’t have been anything left that the older prince could do to shock him to this extent.

“He-“ the old man looked like he couldn’t quite believe his own words, “He flipped the table.”

Romulus stared at him. The council table was ancient and enormous, made of a stone so old it’s real name has been lost. Moving it was impossible, the palace had practically been built around it.

“The Arkazeii ambassador is being seen by a healer.” Venchi continued, “but I believe his foot Is broken, I-“

The side door behind them slammed open suddenly, crashing into the wall with enough force to make the hanging portraits shake. “I said.” Remus roared, a snarl on his handsome face, “Leave me alone!”

His voice was so forceful Romulus found he had taken three steps towards the main door before he stopped himself, face flushing. The order hadn’t been meant for him. Julius, who had clearly been chasing after the young crown prince, was now openly glaring down at Remus, two spots of colour high on his cheeks.

“Your highness I must insist-“

“Seriously?” Remus cackled, “You’re insisting? Juju, honestly, I am not interested in what you have to say.” He barred his teeth at the King’s advisor, eyes wild, “If my father wants me he can come get me himself but if not you can go and -oh.”

“Hello Remus.” Romulus sighed, giving the shortest bow he could get away with, “I hear your meeting went well.”

Remus eyes narrowed “Hello Romy, have fun getting your butt kissed in town?” he slug his arm around his brother’s neck, adopting a high pitched, sing song tone in apparent impression of the townsfolk “Oh Prince Romulus, you’re sooo clever and handsome and perfect. Won’t you pretty please sign an autograph and let me suck your di-“

“Your highness, please!” Venchi looked disgusted “There is no need for vulgarity.”

“Aww hey Vee! Wow, your hair is really going, you know the balder you get the more you look like my ballsack? Romy – I’m serious, picture him with two heads” he held up his thumbs and index fingers and positioned them in front of the red-faced treasurer like a frame “I can’t be the only one that sees this.”

“You are.” Romulus snapped, shrugging his brothers arm off of his shoulders, “Did you really break the Arkazeii ambassadors foot?”

“The Arkazeii ambassador deserved it.” Remus snarled, good humour vanishing instantly. “They want to dig up Orenlla till it’s hollow. Use the rock to turn their sky black. Have you heard the stories outta that place? All the chickens are dying, ’s a travesty.”

“The chickens are- what? Just. Whatever. Not liking his trade ideas doesn’t mean you can hurt him!”

Remus eyes were always sparkling. Like a man on the brink of madness. “I can do whatever I want little brother.” He grinned at him with too many teeth, “you should try it sometime.”

“Your sons have all the makings of rulersss” the final fae smiled, her one golden eye glinting in the depth of her cloak. “My gift is for you. I give your children honestly and obedience.” She smiled sweetly, “May they bring you joy.”

“Your father is sick” Julius told him.

I know that Romulus thought but didn’t say. Watching the old man carefully.

They were in Julius practice room, at the top of the northmost turret, where Romulus had spent so much of his childhood.

“There is of course, still hope. And we have the finest healers, from every corner of the Kingdom.” Julius was pacing as he spoke, wringing his hands. It was profoundly odd, to see the old man so unsettled. But he had known Romulus’ father from when they were both boys. He loved him, as much as he was capable of loving anyone, and he loved the kingdom that he helped rule.

So Romulus found he wasn’t as surprised as he should have been with what Julius said next.

“Your brother cannot be allowed to take the throne.”

Since Romulus curse had been recognised, his parents had taken great pains to limit the brothers’ interactions, for both of their safety.

Remus could not keep a secret.

Remus was honest. He was honest at their mothers funeral when he’d announced to the mourners that she was ‘a bitch by anyone’s definition’ and honest later than evening when he’d sobbed into Romulus’ shoulder and cried that he would miss her.

He was honest when he announced to Romulus causally, over are rare shared meal, that he dreamed about killing him. “I’d do it with a morning star” he told him, slapping his spoon down onto the head of a roasted tomato and watching the red pulp fly about his plate. “Just like that.”

He was honest when he forced his way into Romulus’ room at night, shook him awake and told him, shaking, that the palace was haunted. That voices whispered to him from every corner - so loud that he couldn’t sleep.

He was honest when Romulus asked him, baffled, why are you telling me this. “I trust you.” Remus admitted, his voice thick, “You’re the only one I can trust.”

Just because he was honest, didn’t mean he was right.

Romulus gazed at Julius, his face carefully blank – a skill he had perfected over many council meetings.- and said “I don’t think you can order me to change our birth order.”

“No.” Julius smiled, and had the decency to look pained. “That’s not what I’m going to ask.”

In this room, Julius had tried every trick to strip Romulus of his curse. And when he failed, he’d dedicated himself to learning every possible way it could be exploited. In order to help protect him, of course.

“Sit there and listen to me until I finish.”

If Romulus didn’t hear an order in full, even if he could guess it, it could be ignored. As a child he’d sometimes escape his teachers simply by running away before they could give him the next task.

“The next time you lay eyes on your brother, kill him. Ensure no one can trace it back to you.”

Vague orders were still orders, and often more effective than those that were too direct. If he couldn’t prevent someone from seeing him, then he would have to kill the witness too in order to obey the instructions in full.

“Let no one know you did it. Tell no one of our conversation”

There was, by now, a long list of things Romulus was forbidden from talking about. It was one of Julius’ favourite orders to give.

“If anyone contradicts this order, ignore them.”

Contradictions were tricky. Normally the most recent order would take precedence, but often enough once the newer order had been completed, the old one would return.

“Do you understand me, Price Romulus?”

Romulus nodded and some of the tension left Julius’ shoulders.

He smiled at Romulus then, and lent over the bush back a strand of hair that had fallen across the young man’s face. He left his hand on Romulus cheek and gazed at him like he really was a kindly old mentor and Romulus his favoured pupil.

“This year, it will be the rise of King Romulus. You will be a just and fair ruler. I’ll make sure of it.”

***

As the second son of a King, Romulus future had never been certain.

His parents discussed it often. He should have become a commander in the army, or a leader of the church or married off to a neighbouring princess and become king in his own right. With all options too likely to lead to discovery however, it had been decided he would stay home, construct a reputation of studious detachment and become his brothers distant advisor.

Help him. Protect him.

Like Julius protected them.

Instead, Romulus ran away and became Roman.

Roman was loud and confident and sprouted poetry and song without hesitation. He basked in the attention from crowds and flirted with every pretty face who crossed his path. He worked and earned for himself and argued back with anyone who disagreed with him and never sat still if he could help it. He kept Romulus and his memories of home buried so deep sometimes he forgot he’d ever had another name.

Even so, there had always been, at the back of his mind, the paranoia of this day. When he would be found. Recognised. Forced back to Romulus life.

He just didn’t think when it happened it would be so embarrassing.

They’d reached a fork in the road. The Marquis paused and whipped his head from side to side, presumably checking for witnesses although it looked more like he was trying to shake water free from his ears. He stepped in front on Roman.

“You.” He enunciated slowly and loudly “Turn left. Okay? Le – e -e f -t”

Roman stared at him.

He had been kidnapped by an idiot.

With great deliberation he rested all his weight on one foot and turned left. And then kept turning, spinning in a circle a few times until the Marquis hissed “no!” and grabbed his arm.

And then dropped it immediately, wiping his hand on his sleeve.

“You. Just – follow me, alright? This way.”

Roman rolled his eye but did as he was told. The man could have just told him in the beginning to follow him to wherever their destination was, and Roman would have done so. There was no need to give him a new instruction every few paces. But if the Marquis – what was his first name? Romulus must have known at some point – didn’t know the ins and outs of his curse then Roman wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

They continued on, the Marquis stopping every three feet to stare at him, or repeat some instruction, or glare at a crumpled map in his hands. Roman despaired. Romulus had had a crush on this man.

At first, Roman assumed he would lead him towards the Royal Palace and present his find to the Princess or to whatever other Notalevealian nobles were already here for the coronation. But instead he tugged him away from the wider streets, back down hill towards the main sprawl of the city.

“Where are you taking me, villain?” Roman asked after twenty minutes of marching “because I’m pretty sure we’ve passed that street lamp three times already.”

“Somewhere where your little friend won’t be able to help you.” the Marquis muttered, glaring at the lamp in question.

Roman felt his heart freeze. His friend?

He supposed it made sense. There was no conceivable way they could have been followed in the woods. Not without Patton or Virgil noticing. The Marquis must have spotted him in the market and followed from there, which means he would have at least seen Logan, perhaps the others too since he had been at the tavern…

Although why would a noble be at the Stevangie street market?

He tried not to let his anxiety show on his face, puffing his chest out and summoning his most haughty glare.

“Listen to me, lordling, if any harm should come to them I will personally-“

“Them?” The Marquis stumbled, map fluttering to the floor. When he spun to glare at Roman his eyes were enormous. “How many are there?”

Roman blinked, haughty glare ruined by his genuine confusion. “Erm,” he tried “lots?”

The Marquis audibly gulped, but before Roman could even attempt to interpret that the man’s face brightened, his gaze caught on something behind Roman. He smirked, some swagger returning to his step.

“No matter.” He said and grabbed Romans arm, dragging him towards a nondescript building in the centre of the street, unlocking the door and shoving the bard through.

It was a bath house. The back entrance, perhaps, but the damp in the air and smell of scented soap was unmistakable.

Roman tried, in his sleep-deprived, underfed, over-stressed state, to come up with a reasonable explanation for this.

He had nothing.

“Why-“

“Shut up” The Marquis snapped. “Walk that way.” He pushed Roman down a long corridor, past arched doorways through which he caught a glimpse of the bathhouse proper, and into a dusty looking stairwell. He had produced a candle from somewhere, but the dim light did very little to illuminate anything as they gingerly picked their way down.

When they finally reached the bottom floor Roman squinted to see boxes and crates of empty bottles– a storage room? But he had no time to take it all in before he was being dragged through another pair of doors. Two more rooms and another set of stairs later and the Marquis finally stopped.

The room he’d led them to was hot and humid. Sweat dripped down Romans nose after only a few seconds. At first he couldn’t work out what the noise that filled the room was, until his eyes adjusted enough to see the tubes running from the floor to ceiling.

“You’re lucky to see this.” The Marquis had to raise his voice over the rush of running water to be heard “This room is a modern miracle – the lifeblood of the city!”

Steveange’s heated bath houses were famous. So much so even Virgil had heard of them, and he seemed to take pride in knowing nothing about the outside world. Roman had assumed the city must have been built on hot springs or some other natural source, but this was something else.

“The furnace is below us.” The Marquis explained, as he propelled Roman towards the back wall. “The pipes bring water from the river, it’s heated and pumped up and out to every bathhouse in the city.”

He grinned with something like pride as he tapped one of the pipes above Romans head, making it sing, “Arkazeii engineering and Orenllan iron. Lined with Orenllan copper of course…give me your jacket.”

“But. Notaleveale doesn’t trade it’s ores” Roman blinked rapidly, trying to remove the sweat from his eyes, as he shrugged out of his jacket.

Jacket was a generous term – it was a silken red thing, better suited to performances than travelling. But he enjoyed the way it billowed as he walked. The Marquis took it and without so much as a moments respect for the garment, ripped one of the sleeves clean off.

“Hey!”

“You’ve been away a long time.” the Marquis snarled, “you little fae touched traitor.”

Roman gaped at him, even as the man grabbed his right arm and began attempting to tie it to the nearest pipe.

“I used to look up to you” the Marquis continued, “you were everything a Prince should be. But you betrayed your father and put a curse of madness on your brother - all because of your own petty jealousy!”

He squeezed Romans wrist with enough force to leave bruises. And stepped back to admire his handywork. The silky material had no grip and it was painfully obvious the man was not used to getting his hand dirty. The resulting knot looked more like a bow. “You are no prince of mine.”

“Lucius.“ Roman knew he’d known his name. “That’s not true. That’s- that’s not even a clever story! Who came up with that?”

“Shut up.” Some of the panic from the journey had come back to Lucius’ eyes but it faded quickly “And don’t think you can scare me with my name, there is more iron in this room then anywhere else in the city.”

He grinned at Roman nastily. “Your little friends aren’t coming to save you.”

Roman stayed quiet, mind whirling. They thought Remus was cursed?

Well. He was. But not in the way Lucius seemed to believe.

They wouldn’t send a mad man to another kingdoms coronation would they? Had the seller actually been certain Remus was coming?

Tied up, exhausted and with a man who seemed to hate him glaring down, Roman started to giggle in giddy relief.

Lucius stepped back, looking unsettled, before reaching out, roughly grabbing Romans chin and shoving the remnants of his jacket into his mouth. “Stay here,” he told him, slowly and clearly “until I come back with your transport.”

He stood, taking the candle with him to the door. He paused for one moment before leaving, the flickering light illuminating a cruel smirk. “You had better hope I can arrange it before the furnaces come back on.” And he was gone.

Roman glanced above himself into the darkness, where his wrists were strapped tight to the currently cool metal. A rush of fear went through him, finally bringing him down from the giggling hysteria.

Alone In the dark, tried to think.

Roman was a bad friend. He lied to his companions as easy as breathing and took his own fears out on them.

Romulus was a bad prince. He had abandoned his kingdom and his subjects and allowed some sort of conspiracy to spring up in his wake.

But he was a good brother. Remus was alive. And he would stay that way.

After all, this afternoon he thought that Remus was here. That he would have to confront his past, escape the city, evade every member of the Notalevealian court and his own friends and steal a horse.

Now all he had to do was get out of this basement and outwit one idiot who could barely tie knots and hadn’t even thought to pat him down to check for hidden daggers.

Easy-peasy he thought, his eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion finally overtook him.

Part 5

#roman sanders #sanders sides #remus sanders #creativitwins #sanders sides fic #ts: fall of romulus #sidespart writes

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theworldinclines · 3 years

Text

Title: family matters Pairing: Lan Sizhui/Lan Jingyi Excerpt: “You’re almost like another son to him anyway,” Sizhui points out. “So you’re the favourite child while I get tossed to the wayside?” Ao3 link

Read below the cut.

The first time Jingyi meets Sizhui, they are each five. Zewu-Jun himself delivers the boy to lessons and asks that the children treat Sizhui with exceptional respect and consideration. That in itself isn’t anything new, as the Lans have written rules that explain why giving others kindness is one of the many keys to leading a decent life and acting as a role model to those in- and outside the sect. What was different, however, was the moment before Zewu-Jun took his leave from the students.

He gave a downturn of his chin to the boys and the teacher, but was unable to take more than two steps before little Sizhui had grappled to his robes, arms held fast around the Sect Leader’s left leg. Jingyi has never been known for necessarily obedient behaviour, but even he had never dared such an act toward Zewu-Jun, let alone in public. To the entire room’s astonishment, the man didn’t look put out in the very least. Rather than reprimand the child, Zewu-Jun put a gentle hand to his head and guided him out into the gardens. Jingyi knew he would be scolded were he to peek at them, and did it anyway when Laoshi’s back was turned.

Outside he saw Sizhui and Zewu-Jun, the Sect Leader in his immaculate robes bent to a knee as though they were in the cleanly confines of a hall rather than stood on a dusty path. Sizhui was staring at the ground, rubbing at his nose, and Zewu-Jun gave him a gentle chuck beneath the chin, murmuring words Jingyi couldn’t possibly hear. Sizhui’s nod prompted a smile from the Sect Leader that Jingyi, even at his young age, could tell held something more behind it.

He was quick to be facing the front of the room by the time Sizhui was led back into the class, much more collected and prepared to learn for the day. Jingyi understands, sort of; although he hadn’t wanted to begin lessons either, it’s just what is expected of children their age in the Cloud Recesses. He’d still stomped and whined, of course, but here he sits.

And he’s rather glad to have come once Laoshi dismisses them, because he gets to trot after Sizhui’s slow movements and say, “Hey!” He recalls in a split-second Zewu-Jun’s request that they show Sizhui respect, along with the rules, and adds quickly, “Welcome to Cloud Recesses. I haven’t seen you before.” Sizhui stares at him, uncertain. “Did you just come here? Where’d you move from?”

Sizhui gives a helpless shrug that is interrupted by the Sect Leader’s prompt appearance by his side. Jingyi immediately dips into a polite little bow that makes Zewu-Jun smile and he returns the gesture. Jingyi grins before he can bite it down and says, “Zewu-Jun, where’s Sizhui from?”

The Sect Leader hesitates a moment before his expression smooths into something less telling. “He is an orphan, A-Yi,” he says simply. “I trust that you will show him kindness.”

Jingyi looks at Sizhui with slightly widened eyes, nodding vigorously. “I will!” he promises the older man. To the boy, he says, “I’ll protect you. Don’t worry.”

For the first time, Sizhui’s lips quirk into the hint of a smile. “You don’t need to do that. I’m okay.”

“Too late,” Jingyi says firmly. “Tell me if anyone is mean to you and I’ll deal with them.” Zewu-Jun lowers his eyes to hide his amusement and Jingyi barrels on, “Better yet, I’ll stick by your side to save the trouble. Okay?”

Sizhui allows a little nod before Zewu-Jun murmurs that they should be heading home. The boy nods and Jingyi gives a wave, which Sizhui repays with a shy, squint-eyed smile. Jingyi beams. It may be Zewu-Jun’s request, but keeping Sizhui safe won’t be an arduous task at all, he thinks. Maybe they’ll even become good friends!

Jingyi finds Sizhui by the rabbits. It’s his friend’s favourite spot in the Cloud Recesses and if ever there’s a time when Jingyi can’t seem to find Sizhui in the main pavilion, he knows where he’ll be. Today is no exception.

Sizhui had disappeared just before he and Jingyi were meant to meet. They had each taken their meals as quickly as possible without appearing impolite to their families before the usual rendezvous by the rock garden’s bridge for a short break together, a daily update of all things Cloud Recesses. But when Jingyi arrived, Sizhui was nowhere to be seen and he’d known that something must have happened for his best friend to abandon him without warning.

Seeing Sizhui now, surrounded by soft rabbits, Jingyi hopes that he’d perhaps fallen into a brief mood as he sometimes does and all is in fact well, though he’d had to come here to get away from it all. He wouldn’t fault Sizhui that. However, when he calls out for him in approach, Sizhui wipes at his face like he’s been caught, and Jingyi begins to frown.

“A-Hui,” he says, coming to a stop beside him. Sizhui won’t look at him, gaze focused on the ground as he soothes a rabbit in his lap, and Jingyi can see that his eyes are red, cheeks tear-streaked. “A-Hui,” he repeats.

“I’m alright,” Sizhui says. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s been four years and you still think I care,” Jingyi replies, the slightest sarcasm in his words. “What happened?”

“It really isn’t a big deal.”

“So some non-issue made you come here and cry?” Jingyi deduces dryly.

“They…” Sizhui stops.

Jingyi sombers and can feel his frown deepening. “They who?”

“Mingyu. And Pengfei. Rumours about where I’m from.”

“Sizhui, what’d they do?”

“They said…” Sizhui’s hands shake only slightly where they hold the rabbit, but it still makes Jingyi’s stomach hurt. “Just that they think I’m from that old sect that was eradicated years ago for their evil ways, and how it’s strange I’m not dead like the rest of them. A-Fei said if I’m evil it’s their duty to — ” Sizhui doesn’t complete the sentence as his voice catches, but Jingyi is already on his feet. “A-Yi!” Sizhui’s hand reaches for Jingyi’s ankle, though he’s too far to catch. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” Jingyi demands. “I’m going to challenge them to a duel and shame them in front of the gods and the Four Families. What else?”

“Jingyi, don’t,” Sizhui says tiredly.

“Why not?”

“We’ve only just begun sword-work, for one,” Sizhui quips, aiming for a joke. Jingyi crosses his arms over his chest and Sizhui sighs as he gently sets the rabbit aside to stand. “We’re barely 10,” he says. “You can’t fight another kid to the death, Jingyi.”

“I disagree,” he mumbles.

“Well, that’s allowed. I don’t expect us to agree on everything. But you’ll only get in trouble and I don’t want that.”

“They said horrible things to you!” Jingyi exclaims. “And I said I’d protect you. ‘Our word is our oath,’ remember? Never break a promise. If I don’t confront them, I’m betraying one of our rules. A punishable offense, you know.”

“Coming here to find me is enough,” Sizhui says, fond but immovable, per usual. “I’m not even crying anymore, thanks to you. I’d say you did your duty.” Jingyi grumbles his dissent, arms still crossed, but Sizhui just bumps their shoulders together as he stands by his side, twining an arm through Jingyi’s out of habit. “Let’s get back to class.”

“They’re lucky they didn’t say that stuff in front of me,” Jingyi says while they walk. “Those brats. Don’t think I won’t do it next time.”

“Yes, A-Yi.”

“Don’t ‘Yes, A-Yi’ me; I mean it!”

“Okay, A-Yi.”

“Sizhui!” comes the expected whine.

Because it is their shared space, another day finds the boys with the rabbits. Zewu-Jun had apparently shown it to Sizhui when he first arrived and was feeling lonely, and although Jingyi dislikes that Sizhui had felt sad, he’s happy that it had at least brought them a special hideaway that so few know about. There’s nothing like an afternoon of hideously dull lessons to remind Jingyi why he so prefers not being in class. As if he ever forgets.

“There’s no way Laoshi Qiren isn’t trying to kill us,” Jingyi deadpans. “I swear, leaving his class I’m always sapped of both energy and will to live. Not a coincidence.”

“You say this nearly every day.”

“And it’s true! A slow-burn murder.”

“I feel certain that if my Grand-Uncle was trying to kill me, there’d be more concern from my father and uncle.”

Jingyi makes a face and holds a rabbit up to meet her dark gaze. “What do you think? Who’s right, little one?”

Sizhui rolls his eyes, taking the rabbit gently from Jingyi so that he can return her to the grass with her family. “She can’t talk,” he says, “but if she could, she’d agree with me.”

“One of our numerous Sect rules is to reserve assumptions until proper evidence is drawn,” Jingyi recites, “yet here you are. What would your esteemed uncle say? Or your father, for that matter?”

“Zewu-Jun would say it’s worth it to tease you. Baba would say… I’m right,” Sizhui concludes proudly. “Because I’m his son.”

“Nepotism! Utter bias!”

“You’re almost like another son to him anyway,” Sizhui points out.

“So you’re the favourite child while I get tossed to the wayside?” Sizhui laughs at Jingyi’s affronted expression, and for that Jingyi takes his free hand where it rests across from him on the grass. “You know, that’s fine. If he already accepts me as a son, there won’t be any trouble when I request formal permission to court you.”

Sizhui turns red and pulls his hand back to pet the rabbit, glancing around as though someone might be watching all of a sudden. “You’re silly,” he says to Jingyi.

“We’re already going to be 15!” Jingyi pouts.

“Why are you so interested in discussing it today?”

Jingyi tugs a little at a few strands of grass. “Just the lesson earlier about cultivation partners.”

Sizhui’s cheeks haven’t lost their blush but he does look pleasantly surprised as he says, “You paid attention in class after all! A-Yi!”

“Only for today because it applied to me,” Jingyi insists. “To us, I guess.”

Sizhui seems to remember his shyness and ducks his head. “You want me to be your cultivation partner?” he asks.

“Don’t you want to be?”

“I never said I didn’t!” Sizhui says quickly, seeing that Jingyi appears disheartened. He carefully reaches for his hand despite his own red face and says, “Would I spend all my time with you if I didn’t want to?”

“Well, how should I know?” Jingyi asks, but he’s sitting up like he’s got less weight holding him down now. Back to his usual self, which is a good sign. “Some cultivation partners are platonic, you know.”

“Rarely.”

“A-Hui, are you questioning Laoshi Qiren?”

“I’d prefer to avoid lashing by oar if I can avoid it, thank you.”

“I thought you said you have nepotism on your side!”

Sizhui shakes his head and, somehow graceful even here, stands up from the ground. “We should head back, A-Yi,” he says, brushing invisible dust from his robes. “It’s getting late now.”

“Can’t we just stay here forever?” Jingyi asks dramatically, falling onto his back. At Sizhui’s look, he sighs and extends a hand upward for Sizhui to accept.

Instead of allowing him to help Jingyi to his feet, Jingyi tugs Sizhui down so that he tumbles back to the ground, half against Jingyi’s side. Jingyi laughs aloud in amused delight while Sizhui’s blush returns with a vengeance.

“Lan Jingyi!” he scolds, twisting away from him. “Shameless!”

“You sound like your father!” Jingyi laughs again.

Sizhui huffs and hurries to stand, putting distance between himself and Jingyi. “And if you don’t want him to give you the oar, you’d better just do as I say. Let’s go.”

“Bossy, bossy,” Jingyi says, though he’s following Sizhui obediently for the path. He sneaks a glance to his left and can’t help but grin at Sizhui’s flushed cheeks and the way his ears have gone pink at the tips. According to Sizhui, Hanguang-Jun’s ears do the same.

He gives a little poke to the skin of Sizhui’s ear, just to mess with him, and Sizhui huffs another breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Completely shameless!” before abandoning Jingyi altogether to hurry ahead of him.

If Wei Wuxian had been asked as a teenager whether he could ever envision making a life for himself in the Cloud Recesses, he’d have laughed in your face. He did, actually, when Jiang Cheng made the passing joke all those years ago, assuring his brother that this place would never feel like home to someone with Wei Wuxian’s habits. Now, what’s closer to two decades ago than Wei Wuxian would like to think about, he has to admit that his younger self hadn’t been nearly open-minded enough.

Circumstances that he couldn’t have foreseen changed his view of Cloud Reccesses, and he knows that he will be here for as long as he can be because being here means keeping his place beside his husband and son. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else these days and the certainty of that sometimes takes him by surprise, when he considers just how different things are now but in a way that feels right, like it’s what always was meant to be.

He feels himself smiling when he sees A-Yuan and A-Yi in the woods near the rabbits. He knows that Lan Xichen had brought A-Yuan years before when he’d been new here, sure that giving the child a piece of Lan Wangji would bring him comfort in his three-year absence. It’s still Wei Wuxian’s favourite place in the Cloud Recesses — except for the rooms he shares with Lan Zhan, of course, but that’s a given — and it makes him even happier that Lan Sizhui had found solace here as his fathers had done at his age.

He watches from afar with a fond smile as the boys stand to be on their way home, but Wei Wuxian’s smile freezes when he can tell even from here that Sizhui is smiling sweetly with a hand in Jingyi’s, and his smile decidedly disappears when he realises their faces are far too close together. Wei Wuxian trips backward, a twig or five snapping as he does, and it must alert the boys to an outside present for when he regains his footing against the tree, they’ve fled the scene. A hand to his chest, Wei Wuxian stands there in astonishment.

This lasts for only a moment before he is all but sprinting for the Library Pavilion where his husband is sure to be writing this early afternoon. He forces himself to slow down so as to not alarm Lan Wangji, though he comes to a sliding stop inside the doors anyhow with heaving breath.

“What’s happened?” Lan Wangji asks, not lifting his eyes from his work. When it’s obvious that Wei Wuxian is still having trouble speaking, he looks up at him. “Wei Ying?”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says. He goes to him across the room and drops onto the floor to clutch at his husband’s arm. He stares at Wei Wuxian with the slightest concern and Wei Wuxian says, “I don’t mean to be dramatic — ”

“Debatable,” Lan Wangji answers. “Say what you have to say.”

“Did you know A-Yuan is — that he and Jingyi are — ”

“They are what?”

“I’ve just seen them with the rabbits, which is ordinary, but afterwards, Lan Zhan — ”

“Baba? A-die?”

Both men look for the entrance where their son has appeared, hands folded in front of him and looking for all the world their dutiful, sweet boy. Wei Wuxian’s heart stops, a feeling he’s never enjoyed, and jumps to his feet.

“Sizhui!” he exclaims.

“I need to speak with you both. Is this a bad time?” he asks. He’s walked in on more than one longing glance between his fathers to know when he should make himself scarce, but Wei Wuxian waves his son’s worry away like a pesky gnat.

“Come here,” Lan Wangji invites him, and Sizhui does. He sits across from Lan Wangji, who looks up at his still-standing husband. Wei Wuxian hurriedly settles beside him and nods at Lan Sizhui in assurance.

“I wanted to tell you on my own, before anyone else, so that you would know I’m sure of my decision,” Sizhui begins. “With your formal permission, I… I will begin publicly courting Jingyi.” Sizhui’s ears have begun to redden but he doesn’t hesitate as he goes on, “We’d like to be married.”

The library is silent enough that a pin’s dropping would prove thunderous.

As calm as he normally is, Lan Wangji simply asks, “How long have you known?”

“A-die, you know he and I have been friends since almost the day I arrived here. He’s been there for me without my ever having to ask, and we… we’ve been certain of how we feel for over six years now.”

“Six years?” Wei Wuxian blurts aloud. Lan Wangji gives him a warning side-eye and Wei Wuxian tries to remain collected. “Sizhui, if it’s been so long, why haven’t you told us until today?”

Sizhui’s flush deepens but he forces himself to meet his father’s eyes. “Before all else, Jingyi and I are friends. We didn’t want the hassle of chaperones or rumours. I understand if our keeping this secret is upsetting, Baba.” He bows his head. “I… I’m soon to be 18, and I know we’re young. But I can’t help wanting to make the most of whatever time A-Yi and I have. You and A-die — ”

A pause. “From what I’ve been told of your story, it has kept in my mind that I shouldn’t live with this sort of hidden feeling any longer than necessary.” Sizhui looks up at them. “Jingyi loves me, and I love him. Will you allow our marriage?”

Wei Wuxian is crying, which he’d be embarrassed about if he cared, and he throws propriety to the wind in favour of opening his arms for his son, who gladly and in relief stands to accept the embrace. Lan Wangji is sort of smiling in a clear indication that he’s happy with these events, and Wei Wuxian leans to poke at his cheek just to tease him.

“I’m thrilled you’ve told us,” Wei Wuxian says to Sizhui. “I assume Jingyi is informing his parents?”

“Well, we wanted to wait until we had your blessing,” Sizhui admits. “It would be easier to tell them once we know Hanguang-Jun and the former Yiling Patriarch are on our side.”

“You little schemers!” Wei Wuxian says, giving Sizhui’s cheek a light pinch. “Go on, then. Tell Jingyi the good news.”

Sizhui beams and looks at Lan Wangji. His smile strengthens under his son’s eyes and he gives the slightest nod, which Sizhui knows to translate as wholehearted approval.

He bows to his fathers and disappears from the library. Wei Wuxian falls against Lan Wangji’s arm as soon as he’s gone.

“Ah, Lan Zhan. I rushed here to tell you about how I saw them kiss in the woods, but A-Hui beat me to it. I suppose they’d just decided at that moment to tell us, you think?”

“Mn.”

“If I didn’t already know Jingyi to be a good boy, I’d have to kill him.” Wei Wuxian sneaks a look at Lan Wangji, who doesn’t look amused. “No fun, Lan Zhan, no fun.” He taps a finger on the table and at Lan Wangji’s prompting expression says, “Well, I suppose they’ll be needing a chaperone now, eh? Can I volunteer to keep an eye on Jingyi? Break a leg or two?”

“Wei Ying.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, I’m kidding,” Wei Wuxian says with a half-pout. “Huh. Maybe this is how Grand Master Qiren feels about me defiling the soul of his youngest nephew. I think I understand now.”

“You did not ‘defile’ anything,” Lan Wangji says without pause.

“My good husband.” Wei Wuxian presses a kiss to his cheek, followed by a gentle pat to the other. Although he’s smiling, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and Lan Wangji covers Wei Wuxian’s hand carefully with his, wordlessly asking for Wei Wuxian to speak his mind.

“It’s nothing. Only what Sizhui mentioned about our past. I don’t want to marry away our son but I… I am grateful that they don’t have to endure… all we had to endure. No mortifyingly long wait to reach their happily ever after. I’m glad for it.”

Lan Wangji nods his agreement and brushes a kiss against his husband’s hand, making him blush. “A-Zhan!” he says with feigned astonishment. “Not in the library! Shameless.” Wei Wuxian knows he isn’t imagining the amused, pleased look on Wangji’s face, and he can’t hide his own smile at the sight. He still pulls out of Lan Wangji’s grip and says, “I don’t want to be responsible for any damage here, Gods forbid Qiren’s wrath finds me! Later?”

“Mn. Later.”

Wei Wuxian dimples at Lan Wangji, firing off a wink, before hightailing it for the Gods know where.

Lan Wangji returns to his writing, but pauses as he thinks about the hour’s events. His son will be married surely within a year, perhaps have children of his own. The thoughts of a new baby to hold and Sizhui being loved so dearly bring such an unexpected wave of warmth to Lan Wangji that he decides, for today, he can put work to the side. He goes off to find his family growing, or perhaps the ‘later’ he’d been promised.

#i love them to no end #also wanting to write nhs/wn but theyre such a rare pair lmaooo #honestly so are ljy/lsz so what am i saying dkjkfhdkj #my writing #zhuiyi #lan jingyi x lan sizhui #the untamed #ao3 #archive of our own #fics #mlm #c drama #cdrama

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years

Text

House Stark redemption arc.

Re-reading the books for the timeline questions makes me really appreciate how GRRM is working the biggest redemption arc of them all: House Stark.

Like a sword, it has to be remade.

Its origins? Shrouded in a murky magical fight that never resolved the issue and necessitated a giant ice Wall and the foundation of a border patrol that forgot its purpose and devolved into a runty penal colony occupied with waging war on the neighbors.

Its rise to power? Good old-fashioned conquest.

Some past strategies for dealing with the winters? Raiding in the South.

Shining light of honor? The Rape of the Sisters.

Attitude toward their neighbors? “Even their gods are wrong.” (AGOT, Catelyn XI)

Their Grand Heir in the last generation? Brandon Stark, smirking manwhore (Convince me otherwise.) and so politically astute and responsible that his first response to his sister’s disappearance was to go yell at the mad king and help escalate the situation beyond repair.

Sure, they are beloved by the people. But, you know, there were smallfolk praising Aerys Targaryen in that warehouse concentration camp Arya stayed at. Clearly, that’s not your only measure of decency.

But you see my point. They are legends but they are actually not THAT especially good.

That’s why now - in the advent of “Long Night - The Sequel” - House Stark is undergoing a redemption arc to make them worthy of their own hype.

Narrative punishment all around: Ned is crap at communication, denies the historical purpose of the Watch and keeps a child hostage to kill in case his dad acts out? Watch your House and its power crumble, your seat - tied to that historical purpose - stolen and burned, your children scattered and abused, your heir betrayed and murdered - after your own betrayal and murder, of course.

Robb manages to rally the North and reforge the Kingdom again - but the cracks of fealty sworm under duress (House Bolton, House Greyjoy) rear their head immediately and Robb wages war on the smallfolk like Tywin - narrative punishment: Red Wedding.

They will need to reforge the Kingdom organically: like Jon advises Stannis to do, house by house, paying respect, convincing them of the actual need to unite, doing their duty first, not talking about rights. To do that, they need to become worthy.

That’s why everyone has been brought so low: to learn the hard way, to earn their happy ending.

Jon needed to learn hands-on how to respect diversity: different cultures, sexual autonomy, sexual diversity, respect for women in particular and soft power in general, serving before ruling, weighing priorities, understanding the crucial role of the boring administrative details, making peace after strife. He is struggling the worst when it comes to weighing means against ends, and when it comes to allowing others the responsibility to make their own choices. He needs to overcome Ned’s biggest failing: silence. He needs to explain himself, make himself fully accountable to those around him. Not in sullen, explosive anger, but in a respectful recognition that not all choices must flow from him alone, lest he get tangled up in all the strings like Ned.

Sansa needed to understand that her duty as a highborn Lady is not obedience to her lord but to use the actual power she can access. To recognize and ameliorate injustice, to induce compassion into situations that lack it, to be the ideal she wants to see in the world and force it into existence in herself in spite of how everyone else wants to champion cynicism and opportunism. Obedience to tyrants is complicity, and the more her agency grows, the more pertinent this lesson becomes for herself. Sansa will need to harness power, to be a Lady who does her duty to her people as a leader, not to her Lord as a follower. She will Need to stand up, and speak up, they way she could not at the Trident.

Arya needed to learn that the freedom she wanted is empty without duty. Waving a deadly weapon around and rejecting the duties of a Lady without understanding the fundamental privileges attached to both of those things is idle vanity. Yelling orders is not leadership, attacking others in anger is not justice. She has one of the most painful arcs because to want to wield a sword is one of the most ambitious desires. A sword has no purpose but to hurt and kill. You have to understand justice and duty to earn that privilege justly.

And Bran. He already starts out so well. He climbs all the way high up and looks at Winterfell and all he feels when looking down like its Lord is love for all the people. But to rule in the highest position, he needed to understand that there is no society without cooperation and value for the most helpless. Not from high up but from way down low. He needed to understand that human beings can and must depend on each other’s better angels, on loyalty not from Duty but from respect and friendship. He needs to learn how to reject the vastest of powers, how to let go of his deepest personal dreams if it is necessary for the good of everyone. Only by knowing how to let go of power can he be ready to accept it in the first place.

And Rickon is on Skagos. With Shaggy, who is eating unicorns. I can never stop emphasizing this. For whatever purpose it will end up serving.

They will all end up doing their part in saving the people of Westeros, using their privilege to do their duty. And that will, eventually, be rewarded.

The books are all about consequences and narrative justice. It is the opposite of grimdark and no one will escape that. House Stark is currently undergoing their redemption arc, which is what will justify their happy or quasi-happy endings.

Everyone else in the books who is failing to learn the right lessons and actually atone for their wrong-doing will end up facing karmic justice. Everyone.

#asoiaf #House Stark #redemption arc #jon snow #sansa stark #arya stark #bran stark #eddard stark #robb stark #grrm #the endgame is harmony

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ihatecoconut · 3 years

Text

No Longer Me

Cross posted to AO3

Natalia Romanova is eight years old and ‘the best the Red Room has ever seen’ when she’s pulled out of one lesson by some handlers she’s never interacted with before. They say nothing but her name, take her away from the training rooms, still dressed in her ballet gear, and down the long twisting corridors to Dreykov’s office. She’s been in the Red Room long enough to know the punishments for showing fear, but still her heart speeds up as they open the doors, usher her in and point to a chair.

There’s a second chair across from his desk as well and there’s a small blonde girl sitting in it, maybe the same age as Natalia herself when she was first brought into the Red Room. She sits next to the girl- toddler, really- and sits up straight, keeping her posture; they only could have brought her in here as a punishment and she isn’t going to give them a reason to extend that. The blonde girl shifts a little in her seat as they wait and Natalia wonders if they’re going to make her kill her, she knows how she’d do it, the girl’s face is still small enough that she could be smothered by one hand over the mouth and nose, holding her down with the other hand.

Dreykov enters and she rises instinctively, feeling the other girl copy her just a beat too late. His mouth twists up a little at that and neither of them get praised as he sits at his desk. Natalia keeps her eyes on the floor obediently and yet she can still feel him looking over her body, over the way the leotard hugs the figure that has not developed yet.

“Natalia.” He says, she can hear the proud smile in his voice and lets herself relax slightly. This isn’t a punishment.

“Yes, sir.”

“This is Yelena Belova.”

She turns to look at the girl who is already looking back up at her, bright blue eyes and blonde hair and the remnants of baby fat still on her cheeks. Natalia imagines the way her cheeks would feel soft under her own hard hands.

“The two of you have been assigned to a mission.” Dreykov continues, leaning forwards until she looks up at him. “Exciting, hmm?” He has switched to English.

“Yes, sir.” She repeats, uncertain. This is a new situation and too often new situations have meant pain and punishment, no matter how proud he seems.

Dreykov gestures with one hand and she is given a manilla folder. A brief for the mission. She curls her fingers around it like it is the most precious thing in the world. Most Widows don’t get to leave the Red Room until they have completed their training at least once, if not twice, to be able to leave at eight years old is a privilege she hadn’t dared even imagine.

“Yelena is to be your sister,” He continues, eyes fixed on her face. She schools her expression, scared that he can read her thoughts, “you will read that in the brief, and the fact that you will be a part of an all-American family.”

She doesn’t dare open it in front of him, but her fingers itch to comb through the details.

“Your handlers here will make sure you actually look like sisters. Blonde hair.”

Her red hair is the one thing that she herself owns, the one thing that nobody else shares or can take away from her. It makes her stand out in the Red Room; it makes the handlers favour her. It makes her who she is. She can’t argue.

“You will meet your new parents shortly,” Dreykov adds, turning away, “the Iron Maiden and the Red Guardian, hm?”

Her heart freezes in her chest. None of the girls in the Red Room have ever met or seen the Red Guardian, but the Iron Maiden is a regular guest- whenever she comes to report to Dreykov, she stops by the training rooms and watches them. In a world where every adult would as soon kill her as praise her, the Iron Maiden is what Natalia is most scared of, she represents everything that Natalia doesn’t want to become. Hard, cold, attuned to everyone’s movements, paranoid and yet unquestioning, the perfect spy.

“Yes, sir.”

He raises his chin, surveying them both. “Remember, she’s your sister now.”

And that’s it, they’re dismissed. Yelena blinks up at her, still too young to properly understand what his tone means, and Natalia runs Dreykov’s parting words through her head as they are escorted out. Sisters. How do sisters act?

“Take her hand.” One of the handlers orders as they make their way back down the corridors to what could generously be described as a salon.

Natalia switches the hand that is holding the file and hold it out for Yelena to take. She does, with what would be a concerning amount of enthusiasm to anyone else. The handlers punish any physical contact for the first few years, even before they start training, starving them all of human contact, and then use that to reward them with hands on shoulders, on elbows. The warmth of the little girl’s hand sends shocks up Natalia’s arm, unexpected enough that she nearly yanks her hand back; they’re being watched, however, and so she forces herself to relax and keep walking.

The Iron Maiden herself appears while Natalia’s hair is being bleached. She has been reading the file to distract herself from how there are hands near her throat, in vulnerable places, and reading parts aloud to Yelena, the bits that she will hopefully understand.

“Natasha.” Melina Vostokoff says, watching her.

Natalia- now Natasha, an American name- cannot rise to meet her as she feels obliged to do, so she just keeps her eyes down, respectfully.

Melina sighs, “Look at me.”

She brings her gaze up instantly, moving her head fast enough that one of those bleaching her hair yanks on it.

“Hello.” Melina crouches down in front of her, smiles warmly, but Natasha can see the utter lack of emotions in her eyes, the blankness created by the Red Room. “I’m your mother now.”

Yelena, who has not been given a new name, beams at this, hopping off her chair and coming over to hug Melina. Natasha watches the same reaction she herself had experienced not long ago, the desire to shake off the girl’s unexpected warmth, the touch that has not been earned by killing another girl.

“How long will this take?” Melina asks, rising and allowing Yelena to continue clinging onto her legs.

“Another hour, maybe.” The handlers continue to speak in Russian, even as their newly minted family practices their English.

“Alright. Send them to me when you have finished. We need to pick out clothing.”

She places Yelena on Natasha’s lap, ignoring the way that Natasha instinctively flinches away and leaves. Natasha takes note of her outfit as she does- jeans and a t-shirt- in the way they have been trained to. It’s one to fit in, not stand out, not the sort of mission outfit a Widow would normally wear. She looks down at her own ballet clothes- practical, the same grey as their normal uniforms, the same one that Yelena is wearing.

Jeans. She flexes her legs and wonders what they will look like when not wearing clothes designed to show them off.

Yelena snuggles deeper into her lap and she lets her, wrapping her arms around the girl and looking again at the file. The same line as before jumps out at her: Long-term mission. Minimum two years. Maximum six years. Six years away from the Red Room might just render her useless to them, would strip her of all the skills they had taught her and leave her a normal fourteen-year-old. She shut her eyes and hoped.

There are locks of red left on the floor when they’re done with her hair from where they cut it first and she wants to pick on up, keep it in her fist and remind herself that she isn’t the all-American girl they’ve made her out to be, that even if six years do pass, she will still be the same little girl who killed other little girls to survive. Yelena beams when they are stood, side by side, in front of the mirror and compared. They do look like sisters, now, Dreykov was cruel and frightening but he knew how to use them.

Melina greets them in the hanger. She’s standing in the middle of several boxes, more have been loaded onto the small plane that will be taking them to Cuba to catch their final flight over to America, Ohio, but these ones are open, and Natasha can see clothes in them. Each one is labelled: Pastels, Darks, Denim etc.

She’s still holding Yelena’s hand when they approach and Melina smiles approvingly.

“Come, pick some clothes.” Her Russian accent has all but vanished in the time since they last saw her.

Natasha picks out clothes that fit the brief she has been given, mostly jeans with some bright t-shirts and outer layers. Yelena tries to take all of the clothes and in the end, Melina and Natasha end up picking most of her clothes out of the pastels box. Natasha can see that Melina has completely forgotten what it is like to be a child as young as Yelena, to have that innocence- she hasn’t been one of them for too long, hasn’t been constantly faced by the newer recruits, watching the handlers break their spirits slowly and then all at once until they too follow orders like a robot, fire rounds into the centre of the target.

Alexei joins them then, tall and smiling, a man who did not have his childhood stolen by a man that treats them as tools. His is brunet, but light enough that it is not unthinkable that he would have blonde daughters, briefly Natasha wonders how much thought was put into creating their fake little family. He produces documents for them all, passports, birth certificates, a marriage certificate for him and Melina- for Alex and Melissa Spier.

“Spider!” Alexei laughs when he tells them their new surname and Natasha and Melina both smile back, even if neither of them find it that funny. It’s Dreykov again, another reminder that no matter how far physically they are, they will never escape the Red Room.

He seems to notice their hesitation because he puts the documentation away again and opens his arms for a hug. Yelena runs to him immediately, allowing him to pick her up and calls him ‘Papa’ without any hesitation, he laughs at that, switches her to one arm and opens the other to Natasha. She walks forwards, she knows what is expected of her and allows him to wrap her up.

“Don’t tense so much.” Melina says, frowning slightly behind her and Natasha tries to forcibly relax her body. It doesn’t work.

“It is fine,” Alexei says, releasing her, “you will get used to it.”

And then it’s Melina’s turn. This was their last chance to be pulled off and she realises, as Melina leans in to kiss her new husband that she passed whatever test this was because they didn’t pull her off, didn’t find another girl who wasn’t yet afraid of contact.

Yelena laughs at the noise they make when they separate and for a moment, Natasha allows herself to believe that this could be real. And then a handler approaches with two syringes and Natasha breathes out. Even while the charade is up, the rules still apply. Every Widow sedated on entry and exit.

“Set a good example for your sister.” Melina murmurs to her and Natasha drops her shoulders, smiles calmly up at Yelena and doesn’t stop, even when they push the needle into her neck. She thinks Yelena might have screamed, but the drug starts working immediately.

When she wakes, it’s in a car, late at night and Melina turns around to smile at her.

“Welcome to America.”

As if on cue, they pass a sign welcoming them to Ohio and Natasha allows herself to breathe. They made it, all the way, and without anyone calling them back, locking her back up. She has a sudden desire to throw the door open, roll out of the car and run and run and run.

“The child locks are on.” Melina tells her, still turned around, dark eyes watching her, unreadable. “And you still have a tracker.”

Of course, Dreykov’s best agents know what she thinks, how she thinks and of course they prepared for that. Hatred burns through her, even as she returns Melina’s calm smile.

The house they’re staying in is already furnished, agents have been posing as moving companies over the past week to prepare it for them. Two bedroom, two bathroom, kitchen, dining room, living room, and a small storage room that they will be keeping anything that could blow their cover. Yelena is yawning when they arrive, already tired despite the long period of unconsciousness and Alexei carries her into the house, waving at the few neighbours that are still awake and peering out at them curiously. Natasha follows, keeping close to him and slips into the other bed in their shared room.

Yelena is young enough that she will forget all she ever knew of the Red Room, memories fading until they only come up in bad dreams that she cannot understand, and Natasha suddenly hates her for it, hates that she will be happy here in Ohio while all Natasha herself will ever be able to think of is the fact that the Red Room will take them back one day, without warning, without mercy. She watches the blonde girl, sleeping happily in the new bed and turns away. She can’t sleep, something’s wrong.

“Put your arm up.” Melina’s voice says from the doorway.

Natasha sits up, fast, irritated that she hadn’t noticed the movement.

“Put your arm over the headboard.” It’s an order and her body knows how to respond to those.

She lies back down and raises her hand, hooking the wrist over the edge of the headboard and a feeling a rightness comes over her in waves, along with the sleepiness that has been kept at the edges by her unhappiness. There’s no handcuff holding her arm there, but this is how she sleeps, how she has always slept for as long as she can remember.

“Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Natasha.”

She pillows her head on her upper arm and shuts her eyes. “Goodnight, ma’am… mom.”

Melina sighs from the doorway, but she doesn’t sound annoyed, just tired. “We’ll get there.”

Sleep is already taking Natasha, the day’s travelling too much for her small body, but she hears the words and cannot help but wish that they could stay there.

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penwieldingdreamer · 3 years

Text

Dante's Prayer - Chapter 3

The 2nd part of the Ball, hope you guys will like it. Let me know what you think about this. A big thanks to my beta @fortheloveoffanfic for keeping me on track with the characters 😉

Warnings: cursing

Words: 2094

"Mrs. Gray, why don't we retreat to the parlour for a drink and leave the men to talk their business." Helene suggested linking her satin gloved arm with Polly's and led her away from Thomas and her husband, nodding at the two men in parting.

"Lady McCann, please call me Polly, after all, we'll be family soon once the wedding is done." the Shelby matriarch told her nephews soon-to-be mother in law with a smile, the two women nearly gliding over to the smaller parlour of Castletown House.

Returning the smile, the duchess nodded her head. "By all means, then I'm Helene. We will be family soon, given that my daughter won't bail on us." A soft sigh left her lips, knowing Saoirse could be difficult. "Your nephew will have his work cut out for him, I reckon."

"Oh he'll learn how to deal with it. I have a good feeling that once they'll get to know each other they'll find common ground." The words were reassuring, yet both women knew that it would take a while for their children - in Polly's case she felt like her brother's children were just like her own - to warm up to the idea of sharing a life together.

Arriving at the doors separating the sitting room from the grand ballroom, Helene nodded at the butler, who let them enter. They sat down at the round table, plush armchairs providing comfort as the Birmingham resident looked around the room. Polly thought back to the time when she had to work hard to provide for her family and be there for Ada and Finn during the war, and all she could feel was gratefulness toward Tommy who was able to give them the life they led now.

"Has Thomas told you what he wants his wedding to be like?" the mother of three inquired, nodding at the butler in thanks for bringing them both refreshments and leaned back into the high-backed armchair. "I gather now that it is his second wedding he might want to change a few things."

Taking a sip from the champagne, the gypsy lightly shook her head. "So far, he hasn't said anything. He only does this out of duty to the family. I told him it was a good deal, but other than that he's not going to object to anything. All I can ask of you is considering a custom my family on my mother's side has partook in every time during a wedding." Polly wasn't too sure, the duchess would agree to traditions of the travelling folks but the soft smile on her face and the light nod gave her hope.

"I haven't always been a duchess, Polly." the blonde lady started, holding the Flute glas in her hand and watching the champagne sparkle in the soft glow of the lamps. "My mother originated from Germany, her cousin married the emperor of Austria and she was made Empress of Austria and Hungary. I often visited her when I was still a child and Sisi would visit the travelling folks of Hungary. Not all is as it seems, my daughter has the same spirit in her as Elizabeth did. Headstrong, modern, loyal to a fault, kind and with a childish wonder the war has snuffed out in many people. I do hope that Thomas won't try to do what the war hasn't been able to do. Despite me agreeing to this arrangement without her consent, she is still my little angel and I will grant you your customs just like we have ours, but should your nephew hurt her in any way, he will wish for war to take him again."

Nodding her head, Polly grinned at Helene, knowing they would get along splendidly. Protective of her family, just like herself, the Shelby matriarch knew that there was a good future ahead, bright was still to be questioned, but good at least.

Just then the decorated glass doors of the light coloured parlour flew open, a disheveled looking Arthur standing there, eyes ablaze and his face red from anger.

"Did ya know, Pol?" he asked storming over to his aunt, hands already grabbing for her arms. "Did ya know 'bout 'er, hm?"

Polly had never been someone to be frightened or threatened, especially not by her family, so she wouldn't start now and still Arthur always had a soft spot in her heart. Delivering a hard slap, she pushed the eldest of the brothers away from her, regret shining in her eyes. "What the fuck are ya talkin' about, Arthur?"

"I'm fuckin' talking about Niamh." he glared, his cheeks already turning a darker shade of red from anger and the hit he received. "She's been here all them years, pregnant with ma son, so 'm askin' again: did ya know 'bout it?"

Wide eyed, Polly felt the wheels in her head turning, remembering the girl Arthur had left behind to marry Linda, the redheaded beauty in the back of the church. "She was at the wedding, didn't say a thing, just left when it was over. That's all I know."

Letting out a heavy sigh, Arthur stumbled back into the armchair on the other side of his aunt, closing his eyes to order the thoughts in his head flitting about like butterflies. "What am I gonna do now?" Polly moved over to him, pulling Arthur into a tight hug because she knew it was hard on him.

Even though she wasn't a fan of Linda, her nephew loved her and she had to live with that. Now he needed to make a decision on what to do with the mother of his first child. "You need to talk to her, that much is clear. And get to know him, too."

Nodding his head against his aunt's belly, Arthur felt a small portion of the weight lifting of his shoulders. Linda would be furious, she already was with him leaving for Ireland to be part of the wedding preparations. Nothing had been decided yet, but the eldest Shelby had a distinct feeling, that Lady McCann would want the ceremony to take place in their home and he already dreaded the day the whole family would again sit on Tommy's side of the church and Linda coming face to face with his former lover and mother of his first son.

"I thought you'd have ta greet guests." he said, a cigarette perched between his lips as he watched his wife-to-be gazing at the sky.

"And I thought you would talk about business with my father." she replied, a smirk grazing her features and might he say it looked more like a small smile than a smirk.

Her body leaned against the banister and Tommy couldn't help but let his eyes roam over it, breathing in the smoke of the cigarette he had missed all evening. "There's not much business to talk about when there's a wedding about to take place."

Nodding her head, Saoirse turned her face towards his own as he leaned against the stone parapet next to her. "I hope Arthur has calmed down again after his encounter with Niamh when I left." she said after a moment of silence.

"Ach, he's fine. Needs to talk to her, though." Tommy shrugged, his stormy blues void of emotion as he stubbed out the cigarette on the banister. "His wife's goin' to have his hide, but he'll get over it."

Shaking her head, Saoirse looked away from the gang leader, feeling like the little progress they had made went up in smoke just like the cigarette. "You shouldn't be so indifferent to the feelings of others, one day you might not have anyone left to turn to."

"Often enough you only have yourself to rely on." he replied before he stood again, running a hand through his short hair and holding the other out to her. "We shouldn't make your guests believe that we hate each other, it's bad for business."

Snorting, the youngest of three took his hand, feeling the warmth of Tommy's skin through the satin of her glove as he led her inside to the ballroom. "Who said anything about me liking you? I don't really care what my guests think, mother's guests on the other hand, that would be a shame. After all, they came all the way from Austria and London."

"I see, you're not going to make it easy for me, are you?" he wondered, twirling her around so they could dance to the waltz the orchestra started to play. "What is this marriage going to look like, hm?"

Putting her left hand on his shoulder, Saoirse mentally thanked her mother for making her take the dance lessons in Vienna or else the future bride of Birmingham's most known gangster would have been an embarrassment. Her right hand delicately laid in his left and she couldn't help but wonder if they could do more than just hold a gun and kill. "I believe you'd like me to play the obedient wife, staying at your house and doing nothing, what with your fortune now. I heard you have a son, so probably be a mother to him, while you go out and do whatever you do."

"So, ya do know something 'bout me." he smirked, leading her across the grand room, unaware of the other dancers and their families. The pair danced in their own world and voiced their opinion on the upcoming union. "And here I thought ya didn't know anything."

"My sisters talk, Mister Shelby, although I didn't know which one my husband-to-be was, I still heard their opinions on you loud and clear."

The smirk on his lips widened at the thought of what Amalie and Louise had told their sister. "An' what pray tell did they tell ya?"

"Oh, you know, that you're a gangster, cold as ice, a former war hero and would do anything to get money." Saoirse shrugged, trying to rile him up as she saw his blue eyes darken. Tommy knew that he had to keep it cool. It wouldn't do him good to drag her off and…no, he wouldn't yell at her and make a scene, that would break the deal he made with her mother. He'd rather enjoy the rest of his life while it lasted.

Pulling her tighter into his body, he felt a satisfied grin make its way onto his face at her gasp. "You'd do well to keep those comments to a minimum. That money you so kindly brought up will grant you safety among Birmingham and the rest of England and Scotland. I don't want another of me wife killed because she wouldn't listen and had a mind of her own."

"Well then, you'd better look for another wife because I can be just as stubborn as you, Mister Shelby."

"I'd rather not. You're more than enough." Wincing at the thought of having to go through that process again, Tommy shook his head. The music had changed and another waltz was played. "Besides, finding a good woman that freely accepts my son is quite rare in these times."

Pursing her lips, Saoirse looked up into his stormy blue eyes. "I couldn't imagine someone not liking your son. Judging by what Louise told me about him, I take it he's a ray of sunshine."

"Are you really trying to make me hate you right now? But yes, Charlie is in fact a ray of sunshine despite having me as his father." Before the youngest daughter of the Duke could say anything, Tommy had twirled her outward, keeping his eyes on her face as he read the delight written all over it.

He couldn't help but enjoy these moments, couldn't remember the last time he danced like this with anyone that hadn't been Grace. When Saoirse had returned to his arms, she sent him a grin, a genuine one at that. "I'm not trying to make you hate me, I was stating a fact and to be honest I can't wait to meet your son."

Nodding his head at her answer, he led her around the ballroom for one final dance. "In two weeks you will meet him, so I do hope you won't change your mind about this arrangement."

"Don't do anything to make me change it and I'll be there." she answered him, her right hand squeezing his left tighter than before and Tommy couldn't help but grin at her attempt to threaten him. Life would be a lot more interesting once the wedding was over.

tagging

@fortheloveoffanfic @fics-not-tragedies

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby #arthur shelby x oc #arthur shelby imagine #arthur shelby fanfic #arthur shelby #shelby family #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders

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jackoshadows · 3 years

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How is Sansa spoiled? To be spoiled is to be treated too leniently or indulgently, and that more fits Arya. Arya is the one who gets away with breaking rules (leaving the column during the march to KL, having a sword and getting lessons as a reward), and that's despite Ned's clear expectations that Arya "learn the ways of a southron court" because he expects her to be married off. Within the context of their world, Arya is the 'spoiled' child.

As another blogger succinctly put it, the fact that Ned does not treat Arya like Catelyn, Septa Mordane and Sansa do apparently means that Ned was being an indulgent parent who 'spoiled' Arya 😂.

In Arya’s very first chapter, we see Jon warning her that she is going to get into trouble for running away from sewing lessons and the chapter ends with both Septa Mordane and Catelyn in her chambers waiting for her. You think she got indulgence and leniency?

This is basically what you mean when you say that Ned indulged Arya:

None of which stopped Arya, of course. One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair al tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. That just made her worse.

Regurgitating Sansa's viewpoint. Look how Ned indulges Arya! What a terrible father. How dare he not tell Arya that she would be pretty if she were more like Sansa and if only she was good at the things Sansa was good at etc. I am sure it would have done wonders for Arya’s already great self-esteem to have both parents treat her that way.

And sword training is against the rules? What rules are these? Dacey and Alysane Mormont seem to be doing fine breaking the rules up North and Brienne of Tarth is very good with a sword. Who made up these rules? A father not wanting his daughter to be miserable and sad and alone and letting her have a little fun is indulging her? Letting Arya, miserable over the death of a friend, learning something she enjoys is not what 'spoiling' means. That’s Ned actually being a good parent and taking care of his daughter’s mental well being. Arya playing around with a sword hurts or harms no one.

Sansa is spoiled because she is held up as and sees herself as this perfection that her sister should aspire to. She looks down on and mocks her own sister – because she thinks Arya is ugly, mingles with the smallfolk, does things that Sansa does not like and is non-conformist. And this behavior is encouraged by the Septa and not stopped by either Catelyn or Ned. She thinks on how it would have been better if Arya was a bastard because of her looks. At one point Arya goes crying to Jon for comfort because she’s scared that she too is a bastard because of her looks.

When adults see one child being unnecessarily mean and cruel to another child or a sibling, the adult steps in to put a stop to it and teach the child that this is wrong. Not doing so encourages the bully to continue doing it.

We see this from Sansa’s POV when she goes to Cersei to tattle all of Ned’s plans to her – after Ned explains how dangerous the situation in KL is for them and that the Lannisters have already killed their men.

She was the good girl, the obedient girl, but she had felt as wicked as Arya that morning, sneaking away from Septa Mordane, defying her lord father. She had never done anything so willful before, and she would never have done it then if she hadn’t loved Joffrey as much as she did.

She’s the good girl, it’s Arya that’s wicked. Because she follows the rules and the status quo and in her mind that is the equivalent of being good. Not maintaining the status quo = bad.

She thinks she can do no wrong – it’s Arya who is wicked and wrong because it's Arya who gets scolded all the time for not being like Sansa.

Sansa knows very well what is done to traitors and yet has no hesitation throwing her sister under the bus as a traitor:

She sighed. “And yet, I fear that Lord Varys and the Grand Maester have the right of it. The blood will tell. I have only to remember how your sister set her wolf on my son.”

“I’m not like Arya,” Sansa blurted. “She has the traitor’s blood, not me. I’m good, ask Septa Mordane, she’ll tell you, I only want to be Joffrey’s loyal and loving wife.”

But where’s the empathy, the compassion, telling right from wrong? So what if Sansa follows the rules? Mocking another child’s appearance doesn’t need any parental correction? The scolding should only be for not sewing, dressing properly and following patriarchal 'rules'?

Do you think the KG were right for following the rules and not intervening when Aerys II raped his wife and murdered people? Should Dany not have intervened and changed the status quo with respect to slavery in Essos? Should Jon not allow the Freefolk this side of the wall because the 'rules' for 8000 years says that the Wall is there to keep them out?

When Sansa lied and did not support her sister, Ned should have explained to her why this was wrong. Not doing so meant that Sansa continued to blame Mycah for attacking Joffrey, she blamed Arya for Lady’s death. Sansa should be forced to confront the reality of this situation and not be allowed to rewrite the event in her head as she has a history of doing. She continues to blames Arya for Lady's death even in ACoK.

Meanwhile Ned puts the onus for not fighting anymore on Arya – and it's the younger sibling who puts in the effort to make peace with Sansa. Arya offers to get her a new dress and tries to cheer her up – only to get called ugly once again in response. Sansa continues to think that she’s not at fault because she’s the good daughter, the one who follows the rules and therefore does not need any talking to.

And that’s I mean by saying that AGoT Sansa was a spoiled, selfish, vain brat who cared only about herself and kept siding against her family in favor of the Lannisters. She is partially responsible for Ned’s death – as the author himself has stated – and also for herself, Arya and Jeyne Poole being stuck in KL instead of on a boat on the way to Winterfell. Actions have consequences in the books.

#asks

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kimberly-spirits13 · 4 years

Text

Right Hand Man (Loyal to the End) Pt. 1

Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader

Synopsis: You were like Talia’s daughter. The only thing was that you weren’t and instead, you had grown up in the foster care system and at a young age were taken by and personally trained by Talia. Along the way, you meet Damian and the two of you start to work side by side and eventually, after some time become closer and closer. However, when disaster in the league strikes, you face balancing an old, forgotten life as a normal child and the burden of right hand to the demon heir.

Note: I know that this is long and that there are a good number of time skips, but I didn’t want to make this into a series and just wanted it as a long fic because .... well because I can lol

Also, I didn’t want to have Damian so young in this so just go with it. I’m thinking maybe early 15 or almost 16 at the most. Idk I just don’t like writing for young Dami.

Warnings: mentions of murder, blood, brief mentions of torture but not for long

Word Count: 2393

Growing up was a lot different for you than anyone else. For the first part of your life, you grew up in a perfect little family with a stable living condition and happy atmosphere. What happened later was easy to explain in all theory. There was a drunk driver and it didn’t end to well for your parents. With no remaining family, you were thrown into the foster care system and rotated around homes until finally one day, a strange woman came in with a smiley demeanor and was walking around the orphanage that you were in looking around when her eyes landed on you. You stared before she approached you. During your time in the system, you met tons of different people. Most were good, but some were bad. Those bad people had two different personalities around different people and you recognized it easily. This time however, it was different. You knew she was bad, but not anything that you were really scared of.

“You’re not who you say you are.” You whispered to her softly.

She smiled in a way telling you were right. A few months after that encounter, she came back again. This time however, you were going with her. She took you to a hotel room after a short and quiet drive. That was when she finally started talking.

“My name is Talia, you will address me as such.” She said, “I’m going to take you to a place far away from here where you will train to become one of the most lethal of your kind.” “I expect only obedience. If I do not get this, you will be punished. Now, do you understand?”

“Yes Talia.” You replied carefully.

“What is your preferred name?” Talia asked.

“Y/N.”

_______________________________________________________________________

From then on, you were trained and taught with the best tutors alive. Not that they wanted to without a bit of persuasion and after your lessons, along with Damian’s, Talia’s birth son, they mysteriously disappeared. You knew what happened to them however. It was pretty easy to guess even for the most stupid person. Besides, you had to kill one yourself in the past.

You were a quiet person and took well to Talia. She saw you as one of her own. That was high praise coming from someone who wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone at a wrong glance. Your training came from her and only the top members of the League. Anyone else was seen as too easy or below even your own level of skill. That’s how it always was. You always avoided too much conversation with Damian when you were young and merely tolerated him for the most part. You saw him as a begrudging equal in power and standing. You were liked more secretly since you weren’t one to be overly proud or bold in talking about where you stood. In fact, the most you did was command and fight. You saw no point in boasting on positions of power. It was a useless waste of time and a means to get yourself killed.

On days you got time off, even if It was for a few minutes, you were always found in the quietest parts of the base. Whether that was your room or any kind of gardens, you would be found there. Talia always knew where you were because of this.

“I expect you are prepared for the next mission Y/N?” She asked walking to you one morning after training.

“As always Talia.” You said standing to greet her.

She sat down with you for only a little bit and the conversation was brief.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been lost in thought recently.” She noted, “What matter is this over?”

You were shocked. It wasn’t everyday Talia showed any kind of emotion like this. Maybe tiny, tiny gestures after successful missions that you had led, but not much other than that.

“I’ve just been thinking of the success of my upcoming mission. I need to know that these certain recruits are not going to jeopardize the mission. While they aren’t new, I have an instinct they will prove unfit for this kind of work.”

“I understand. Measures will be taken if they prove useless.” Talia assured, “All concerns aside, you are needed prepared and ready. If not, the roll of leader will be given elsewhere.”

“You should not concern yourself with me, I will be fully capable of leading a squad myself.” You stood, “it is time for me to leave however.”

_______________________________________________________________________

The mission was going fine until now. You were right about the recruits. When they messed up, you immediately jumped into action killing who they missed. In this process, you were drenched in rain water and blood. No one had ever seen you this furious. This is why you were leader, you were the only one that knew what to do in times of stress and how to punish those who wronged the goal of the missions.

“You fools!” You shouted in the ship, “You had the perfect chance and did not take it! Your assignments were simple for a reason and you almost jeopardized the entire assignment over a bit of rain!” “I have finished missions nearly dead and you incompetent idiots couldn’t kill four people.” “When we get back to the base, you should be expecting punishment accordingly.”

The rest of the ride was dead silent but for your second in command and yourself discussing matters of the mission in a different language. It wasn’t a long flight and by the time you were back, you were still soaked. Brushing a piece of wet hair that was just now starting to curl once more, you approached Talia, who was being trailed closely by Damian who almost stepped back by the look you had on your face.

“What happened?” Talia demanded glaring for a quick second at the questionable recruits.

“The mission was almost jeopardized by the recruits that I raised concern about. They put unnecessary risks onto the table and missed the simple instructions they were assigned.” You narrowed your eyes some, “I took care of what they couldn’t.” “The mission was successful.”

“Very well. Hit the showers and meet me in the briefing room in 40 minutes.” Talia said.

“Understood.” You walked passed her and Damian, only stopping to acknowledge him for a few seconds, “Damian.” You said nodding.

“Y/N.” You were the only one that could address him as his first name besides Talia and The Demon Head and you were the only one he’d use a first name for.

You continued down the hallway and a few more before making into another sector of the building that you stayed. Those in high ranking had their own bathrooms such as you and Talia. It was seen as a sign of respect and designation from the rest. You walked into your bedroom, smaller as they tended to be and grabbed your change of clothes. This is what you normally wore around the complex if you weren’t going on missions. It was as simple as a black suit with straps for weapons and a place for your swords. Other than that, it was nothing special. It was against code to wear any kind of sleep wear outside of your room.

_______________________________________________________________________

While on your way back from the briefing room, you decided to take a detour to the roof tops where you stayed sometimes. The view was incredible at night and the stars shown brighter than you’d seen anywhere else. There was a cool breeze up there and the occasional glimpse of the nightly patrol off in the distance. You were alone for most of the time and became captive to your own thoughts running wild. That didn’t mean you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you though.

“What brings you to the roof?” You asked to the figure not even turning around.

You knew it was Damian just by how he walked. It typically took a few minutes for the two of you to drop your guard, even in the slightest, however it was the only time you could.

“I wanted some fresh air and figured you’d be here. I am pleased to find that I was not incorrect in my thinking.” He replied sitting next to you.

“I’m flattered.”

The sarcastic tone of your comment led a smirk onto Damian’s face.

“You looked abnormally angry after today’s assignment.” He commented, “I was surprised to see you so...”

“Covered head to toe in blood and rain?”

“Precisely.”

“Well, that would not have happened if there was not a reason for it to. By all means, sometimes, I expect there to be mistakes. I also expect there to be repercussions. But if you cannot even finish off the simplest of tasks, you are by all means an absolute incompetent fool.” “I could have done that as a young child.”

“I noticed you seemed to be less than pleased when recruits were assigned on Monday.” Damian said, “I presumed it was something to do with those individuals.”

“Correct.”

There was some silence between the two of you. Some night up on the rooftops, there were no conversations. You two acknowledged each other’s presence and continued on your way, minding your own business, and ultimately being comfortable in each other’s company. However, tonight you had something else in mind.

“Has Talia been acting strangely more... emotional? In a positive way I think.” You asked him, “I thought it might have just been me, but with some more conversation with her earlier this morning, I suspect something must be wrong.”

“I have noticed that. I am sure that there is nothing too terribly wrong to fear. Grandfather has had no change in his demeanor... That said, he is more seasoned to conflict.” Damian remarked, “You do get more information on matters on occasion with your status.”

“I know, that’s why I’m concerned.” “I don’t want to be caught in the middle of some war or whatever the case may be. Besides, I have my real assignment which is watching over you. I don’t need anything getting in the way of why I’m supposedly really here.”

“You are aware that your “only job” isn’t just to be my protector or however my mother worded when we were young children. You’re also one of most commanding and powerful people I’ve ever met. Your position was well placed in your hands and it is well taken care of by you.” Damian commented.

“High praise coming from the grandson of The Demon Head.” You almost let a smile slip onto your face at what he said.

“I don’t remember a day where you weren’t there in some way.” He said, “Whether that was to scold me for being too proud of my bloodline or just making sarcastic remarks about anything you could.” He smirked, “Not that I didn’t fire back.”

“Mhmm. Talia, as much as she doesn’t want to admit it was extremely amused when I used to talk like that to you. Although, she denies it every time now.” You thought back to the days when you and Damian used to bicker about everything. You were always secretly the more serious one no matter how much he wanted to keep that up. For you, there was no family line to fall back on. You only had your reputation and especially here, that was easy and dangerous to damage.

“What do you think is going on?” He asked, “If there is anything wrong, one of us, if not both will know within the next few weeks at most.”

“I don’t really know. I think that it might be something internal. The Demon Head and Talia might be about to sweep the lower and middle ranks for traitors or those less competent. They might even take the upper ranks. Just watch your back.”

“As always.”

You looked back out at the view looking at the mountain tops, inspecting each and every one that you could see. The snow gleamed in pale moonlight and every once in a while, you’d possibly see a shooting star go by. When training wasn’t underway and most everyone was asleep, the compound was one of the most peaceful places you’d ever been. You caught yourself yawning and suddenly a wave of exhaust washed over you.

“How long has it been since you slept properly?” Damian asked noticing right away your shift in demeanor.

“Maybe four days at best. It was just the mission preparations. I’ll be fine, besides, training for me in the morning is not until later. I’ll have time to sleep longer.” You stood back up, “I am going to head back to my room now. However, I do expect to see you at sparring tomorrow?”

“I will be there.”

With that, you hopped down the roof top and left back for your room. You knew he’d follow shortly after you, it was customary for him to after some alone time. That always helped with anything he was dealing with since he rarely ever got it. That’s the unspoken worst part about being in the positions you two were in. There was never any time to yourselves.

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