#tw: major canon divergence

[writtenonreceipts]

Am I slightly evil? Yes. But that’s besides the point. I would love a what if Aelin was actually pregnant in Empire of Storms. DRAMA! ANGST! OH NO MAEVE! 🫣 do ur worst. Literally.

Thanks for sending this in!! <3 It's been a while since I read the book, lol. My reread came to a screeching halt a little while ago. SO! Some points will not occur as they did in the book because i have no memory. Anyways...canon au/divergence. Partial EOS/KOA rewrite. 

find my other works here

READ ME--Warnings: torture, brief allusion to sexual assault, pain, violence, discussion of miscarriage and death. ANGST. you've been warned. Maybe happy ending???

~6.4k words

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Until the Bitter End of Eternity

First, there was darkness. Thick and heavy and enough to make the entire world disappear.  It was a darkness that slipped not just across her eyes but into her mind.  Even when she tried, she couldn’t remember what day break looked like.  She couldn’t remember the way the sun scraped over the Staghorns or gleamed across the sea. She couldn’t remember the shade of green that soothed her soul.

Second, there was pain. Hot as it burned on skin and bore through flesh and into bone.  And she knew her pain.  Her life was a continuous cycle of torture, of broken bones and skin.  She had endured it all over and over.  But this…this was a fresh hell.

Third, there was terror. Sharp in the way it drilled one thought repeatedly over and over into her head.  Dry in the way that it leeched everything else from her.

Aelin had no choice but to feel each of these things. She had no choice but to let each thought and each feeling and each idea encompass her. Because it meant that she was alive. And to be alive was to be one step closer to returning to her mate (her mate, was that even possible?) and to be alive meant that the little flutter deep in her belly was real.

Perhaps she should regret not telling him. Instead, she'd told Lysandra. Begged Lysandra for help, for support, for confirmation. And her friend had assured her it would be fine. Assured her she was strong enough. Assured her that she would support Aelin if a certain choice needed to be made.

She should regret not having one more moment with Rowan, one last taste of hope that they could be together. A family.

"Well, well," a lilting voice permeated the darkness. And even when Aelin opened her eyes, even when she tried to seek out the light, there was nothing. "Niece, I thought you were stronger than this. But your fear.  My, my. How did you ever gain a following? You're so close to falling apart, aren't you?"

Aelin dragged in a breath, the tang of iron and mold coating her tongue and burrowing in her lungs.  A chill ran across her limbs, licking up any remnant of sweat.  It took far too long to remember the coffin. She was trapped.  Entombed.  Locked away to be be saved for death.  Maybe she’d pushed it too far back in her mind.  Maybe she’d tried to give herself some sort of protection.

But it came racing back now in the desire to reach out and throttle that cruel little voice that echoed through the silence.

"No witty words? Fireheart?"

Bile rose in Aelin’s throat as the moniker crossed Maeve's lips. The cruel fae queen was trying to rile her up, trying to make Aelin betray herself.  She swallowed the acid down.

Breathe, she thought. Just breathe.

"Don't worry,” Maeve continued, "I'll be gentle. For now."

And that cruel fae queen began the torture she’d always promised.

...

The coffin was cold. Impenetrable. And Aelin was acutely aware of the empty recesses to her magic.

It made her feel lost, distant, utterly remote from everything and anything. As a child and into her young adult years, she'd repressed her magic so much that she'd convinced herself she'd never had it.  She’d convinced herself that it was a mere fantasy made up by a poor little girl struggling with reality. But after learning what it was and how to control it, she'd truly understood what it meant to be that wildfire she was so often called.

For a wildfire was more than just a force to be reckoned with.

And now, encased in iron and darkness, her skin burned in desperation. She needed to burn. She needed to feel again.

She didn't know how long she remained in that coffin. It could have been hours; it could have been days. It could have been millennia.

And the one thing that should have been a comfort, that small flutter of life in her womb, was only another cruel thing to use against her.  Because just by existing, that life was the cruelest torture the gods had given her.

Aelin managed to brush her hand over her belly. Given the limited space of the coffin, it was a bit awkward, but it comforted her. It gave her just a little bit of hope, even for just the bare moment she gave herself.  She had to be careful.  She couldn’t let Maeve know.  She couldn’t let her guards know.

As soon as they did, they would use it against her.  And she couldn't bear what that would entail.

After what felt like years locked away with her own mind, there was finally the sound of rattling chains and grating stone.  And then a strike of light fell across her face making her flinch. It had been so long since she'd been touched by light. So long since she'd felt it so freely on her skin. She didn't like it. She didn't trust it.

The coffin opened with a heavy groan and cool air rushed over Aelin, brushing her limbs, her face.

It tasted like salt and wood and death.

She didn't have time to adjust to it when large, calloused hands took hold and yanked her from the coffin. Aelin couldn’t keep her feet as she was set on the ground. She tried. She tried to hold onto that pride that had once so securely owned her. She tried to find that fire that once burned within her. She tried. But it wasn't enough.

Her feet slid on cold marble and her body fell against the outside of the iron coffin. She didn't have time to relax against it though. The cruel hands were back, digging into the flesh of her arms and forcing her to her feet.

Aelin bit back a moan of pain at being forced to move, to walk. She hadn’t been able to stretch within the coffin and her body had grown so used to not moving that even this motion nearly sent her to her knees.

But the male beside her wouldn't let her fall. He was quiet with his harsh eyes and beautiful face turned forward. The only acknowledgment she had that he was aware of her was the way his fingers clung to her skin.

She looked there, his tanned skin a contrast to her own. She could already see the bruises that would come from this. She could already taste the blood that would coat her tongue when Maeve would inevitably have him beat her.

Once she might have tried to tease him. Endovier hadn't broken her, Arobynn hadn’t either.  Would she really allow Maeve the dishonor? The little flutter of life in her belly was all the answer she needed.

No. Aelin wouldn't be broken not for the possibility of hope and the image of a boy with his father's pine green eyes.  Or maybe a girl with long silver hair that would dance among the forest with flowers in her hands.

What little strength she had went to shielding her stomach and protecting the innocent life. There was no guarantee that this would work for long, no promise that she’d carry to term, not with what she'd already been through and would continue to suffer.

It would take a miracle.  And Aelin was sure she’d used all hers up.

Maeve would drag her within an inch of her life. And this little soul would face it too. Bile rose in Aelin’s throat as she thought about that.

The male beside her yanked Aelin to a stop just before the great doors that would lead to Maeve's throne room.

"The queen desires an audience," the male said, his curling blonde hair falling into his eyes. Aelin thought she recognized him as one of Rowan's Cadre.

She met his gaze and lifted her chin, ready to accept her fate.

...

The blood on her lips never stayed dry for long.

Even in her dreams, when she managed to sleep, Aelin was covered in red. It dibbled between her teeth, stained her gums, tainted her lips. Iron and salt were her only companion.

Her dreams never varied.

They were filled with images of forests wide and free. They sang of vast skies and warm burning suns. They hummed with magic that kissed her skin. But most importantly there was Rowan.

Rowan with his commanding presence. Rowan with his cold eyes and hard demeanor. Rowan who was her salvation and hope. Rowan who she could never quite keep close enough. No matter how she tried to chase after, to reach him, it was never enough. He would remain just out of her grasp and Aelin would be alone until her mind spiraled to the edge of an abyss of black.

Alone.

And then she would wake. And Maeve would beat and abuse her again. Again. Again.

Each time she would tell Aelin to give up, to release her magic, to allow Maeve access to her mind. Maeve sought to destroy her and Aelins will was chipped away.

Everyday Aelin would hold on though. She would think about that life within her, that perfect innocent life that she would hold onto. That life that would be a perfect mix of her and Rowan. That life that would live to know peace and hope.

So when the whips came out and the chains rattled on the stone floor, Aelin let her mind return to the darkest shadows of her subconscious that had given birth to Celaena. And as Cairn whispered threats into her ear and his hand were rough and cruel upon her skin, Aelin remembered where she had been and how far she had come.

Even as leather bit into her back and ruined the tattoos that marked her life—Aelin’s mind stayed locked.

Even when she would let out the inevitable scream—Aelin’s heart stayed strong.

Even when her nails tore and tears streamed—Aelin’s will stayed firm.

And when her body was torn and bruised and she returned to the coffin that wouldn't let her die, Aelin found herself staring at that male who led her to her daily torture.  He was harsh and cruel and vile.  The only thing she could think was that she would delight to see his blood on her hands.  

When he didn’t whip her, Cairn would take a knife to her skin and carve into her flesh.  Often it was useless strikes and cuts.  Other times there were words.  Aelin would watch the blood drip down her skin and pool on the marble of the throne room.  It was strange seeing such things etched into her skin.  Strange to have them burned into her eyes.  Stranger still to feel the way the blood oozed in tracks along her arms.  Her legs.  Her back.

It was wicked and cruel and the male delighted in it.

Every time he drew blood his lips were at her ear. Do you like that, little princess? When her breath would stutter in her lungs he would draw a finger along her jaw. Let me hear you beg, bitch.

Maeve would always heal her though.  She took away the marks at the end of a week.  What fun was it when the subject of your ire was too cut up to feel anything?

Still. Aelin didn’t beg.  She didn’t plead. She only stared forward at the male across the hall who brought her here on his queen’s order.

Fenrys never did speak to her. Only blink. Only blink and offer the barest hints of pressure as his fingers left her skin and delivered her to her prison once again.

...

She remembered the first time she wanted to die.

It was when she was in Arobynn's care. He had shown her how to slit a man's throat from a myriad of positions.  This being when she was trapped beneath him. His hands would wander and he’d carefully arrange her just the way he wanted.

He taught her the best way to hold the knife. The best angle to cut. He called her his good girl and praised the chaos she would cause.  And then he threw her to the wolves.

As she stared into Maeve’s eyes one day she imagined she could see Arobynn there. The cold delight, the deadly precision, the lack of empathy and care.

Aelin was in a mask of iron. A headpiece that covered her face so only her eyes could see slits of light and color. There was a mouthpiece she was forced to clamp down on with spikes that tore her tongue and the soft flesh of her cheeks and gums. Iron and faebane forged together that caused tears and blood to roll down her face.

Aelin didn't know how long she'd been held. She didn't know how long she'd been directing her magic to protect her baby. From what she could tell there'd been no growth. She was sick often enough that maybe, maybe, maybe it was okay. But she could have lost it and would never know what had finally done it. Only that she hadn't been strong enough.

She was strung up in chains and the iron mask deep in the recesses of Maeve’s palace.  Had been for long enough that she stank of piss and vomit.  She hadn’t been able to help either occurrence.  

As her mind wandered from consciousness to dreams, she fought to focus on something other than the darkness, the pain, the terror.  She tried to find something to hold onto.  When she tried to think of the babe—it nearly sent her into hysterics.  After all, she likely killed the child by submitting to this torture.  She wasn’t strong enough to hold off the true pain and agony.  She couldn’t protect herself so how, how could she protect that innocent life?

She came to herself as the door of her cell eased open.  Aelin snapped to attention, ignoring the pain that tore through her body.

In the dull light from behind the door she could make out the shape of a male.  Aelin pulled away even as the brackets around her wrists dug into the worn and tender flesh. 

It had to be Cairn.  She knew it did.  He’d told her many times over that one of these days he’d come to her.  He’d break her.  He’d see her on her back as he—

“Aelin.”

A soft voice.  Far kinder than what she’d expected.

Aelin blinked through tears and the fog surrounding her mind.  Through the slits of the mask she could make out the face of Fenrys Moonbeam.

“We don’t have time,” he murmured.  

His hands went to the chains at her wrists, making quick work of the locks.  As the chains fell away, Aelin collapsed forward.  Fenrys caught her easily, his strong arms supporting her as he took care of the chains at her ankles.

“I can’t get the mask,” he said, “not strong enough.  Aelin.  Look at me.”

A shudder of pain rippled through her.  Her tongue cut on one of the spikes in her mouth and blood trickled down her throat.  She gagged.

“Aelin,” Fenrys said again. “You have to run.  I can get you to the woods but from there you’re on your own.  Do you hear me?  There is only so long she will be distracted.”

His words slowly pieced together in her mind.  Run.  Escape.  Freedom.

A hand dropped to her abdomen.  She couldn’t help it.  She wouldn’t apologize for it.  And maybe, maybe there was something there.

“Run.” she managed to spit through the iron gag in her mouth the rutted mask around her.

Fenrys wasted no time in leading her through the dungeons.

He supported most of her weight even when she came to herself.  They were practically flying down different pathways and channels.  Soon, the dank stench of excrement and blood dissipated and was replaced by something sweeter, fresher.

“Almost there,” Fenrys murmured into her ear.

Aelin barely managed a hum in response.  She was too busy trying to find one more ounce of strength somewhere in her bones.

A light appeared at the end of the corridor they were moving down.  So small, Aelin almost missed it.  But the faster Fenrys moved the closer the light came.  It was real.  So real that in a few hundred yards they came to a grate that led out into freedom.

Fenrys ushed Aelin through the bars but didn’t follow.  His fae eyes gleamed in the shadows and she could feel a preternatural power roll off of him.

“Run straight to the trees,” Fenrys told her. “Don’t stop.  You cannot stop.  You cannot give up.  Not yet.  He’ll find you; do you understand?  He will find you.”

Rowan. She thought.  She could only blink her response before Fenrys was shoving her out into the daylight.

It was so different from what she remembered.  It wasn’t silent or still.  Rather, there was a wind rustling in the trees, a bird in the distance.  She could feel cold moss beneath her toes and a dampness in the air of a coming rain.

It was clean and pure and—

Run.

Her knees buckled at the first step.  Her legs forgot that they knew this motion.  She tried again with another step.  Another.  Another.  Step upon step upon step that would take her directly into the trees.

Her bare feet dug into the detritus of the forest floor.  Leave and sticks and dirt kicked up beneath her frantic scrambles.  It didn’t help that her vision was so limited with the mask.  She could hardly see one step in front of her, let alone two.

It was taking her too long to move.  She knew it.  She could feel a shift in the air. 

What had Fenrys done to provide a distraction?  Had anyone else helped him?  She had no idea what would have been enough to drag Maeve away from the castle, away from Aelin when she was so close to breaking.

Somewhere behind her, she heard a scream.  A roar, really.  Something loud and violent that send a shudder through the forest.

Cairn.  It had to be.  She, his little play thing, was gone.  He would come find her, she knew he would.

Aelin pushed herself forward.  A tree nearly tossed her off balance but she kept moving. Quicker now. One step in front of the other as her knees picked up.  There were far too many brambles and roots to keep her trajectory straight, but she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t stop.  Not with one hand cradling her stomach that she swore was rounded just a bit.  She hadn’t completely lost her mind, had she?

She couldn’t stop as her senses filled with clean air and fresh upturned earth.  All around her, the forest was coming alive with fluttering wings and scampering paws.  This was where she belonged, wasn’t it?  Wild and free.

She ran.  

She ran until her body was begging for relief.  Until she could feel the wounds along her body burst and new blood rolled down her frame.  Maeve hadn’t healed her for this week yet.

The blood would make it easier for Cairn to track.  It would be easier for him to hunt her down and finish what he’d started.

Each of her nerve endings lit up as though they were on fire.  All across her body, she felt as though she were disintegrating back into that pathetic ball of utter shame.  She couldn’t even run properly let alone get herself to freedom without help.  She was—

There was a shift in the air.

It was sudden and stark on her skin.  She felt as though she’d stepped into a wall of ice as a chill wrapped around her, curling into every curve and angle of her body.  She knew that feeling.  She had felt it on many occasions before.  Back when she’d been a flickering flame on the verge of burnout and he’d been there to ground her.  

Aelin gasped for air desperate for a taste of the world around her.

Rowan. Pine and snow and sweet sweet relief. Rowan. Rowan. Rowan. Aelin stumbled in her frantic run. She could smell him. He was so close she could feel him and his strength and as desperation rolled through her, Aelin found her magic slowly unfurling. It quivered within her as it slowly rolled forth.

Rowan.

Rowan

Rowan.

She kept running. Running until she heard something in the trees around her. Running until she could smell magic in the air. Running until she burst into a clearing, stumbling to her knees. All the strength she’d put forth was eaten up.  Her body so tired, her mind so numb.  She didn’t know if she could go any further.  But she could feel him, so immersive and familiar.

Aelin.

Her name whispered through the trees, light and cool.

Aelin,

Her name rang with desperation as it shuddered among the surrounding trees.

“Aelin!”

Her name was fierce and strong coming from the one person she'd thought about most in the last few months.  Aelin managed to look up as Rowan fell to the ground in front of her.  Even on his knees, he was massive.  His broad frame blocked out anything from view as his magic pulsed between them.

“Aelin,” he whispered.  Strong arms came around her as though they could offer security or protection.

Aelin shuddered in Rowan’s grasp as she tried to pull away.

“Off. Off. Take it off.” She demanded. Her fingers scrabbled at the metal mask over her face. Blood dribbled from the corners of her mouth and pain landed through her, but she didn't care.  All she cared about was getting that damned mask off.

“It’s alright, Fireheart,” Rowan murmured.  “Look at me.  Look at me, love.”

In her frantic scrambling she’d twisted in his grasp and was now facing him.  His green eyes found hers and for the first time in so many months, Aelin could breathe.

“Rowan,” she gasped.  The metal mouthpiece scraped against her tender skin. All she cared about was Rowan before her.

His hands were gentle as they ran along the seam of the mask and Aelin’s neck.  He kept talking to her in a mix of the old language and common tongue.  She didn’t know what he was saying—couldn’t focus on anything but his hands—but it was the soothing lilt of his voice that kept her grounded.

She didn't know how long it took but soon the metal fell free and she could feel cool air on her face and tears tracked down her face.

A sob escaped her as she slumped against Rowan. His arms tightened around her as he murmured sweet assurances in her ear.

The relief didn’t last long.

Not as a new figure emerged from the trees.  Aelin didn’t have to see his face to know who it was.  She could smell her own blood on the long blade in his grasp.

Aelin dug her fingers into Rowan’s arm, the hard muscle unyielding as he slowly shifted her away from Cairn.

“Two little lambs,” Cairn crooned, “all ready for the slaughter.”

…

Rowan Whitethorn was a warrior.  Three hundred years of life on this earth had turned him from a simple boy in his father’s land to a fae that yearned for the hunt.

He was not afraid of it.  Nor was he averse to it.  He respected the way of war and the blood that would be shed.

At least until this very moment.

Aelin shuddered in his grasp as she flinched away from the sight of Cairn.  Aelin who was strong and capable and the most powerful creature he’d known shuddered.  Rowan felt his body tense as he stood, gently leaving Aelin kneeling on the ground.

This male had touched her, had hurt her.  And he was going to regret it.

“Cairn,” Rowan growled.  

Magic thrummed in his bones and sang through his blood until it was all around him.  He could feel power rising up from the deepest wells of his being, the very places he swore he would never touch.  

Cain on cocked his head to the side as a predatory smile stretched across his mouth. “I think I’ll enjoy killing you, Whitethorn.  And when my hands are covered in your blood I’ll take your little bitch and fu—”

Rowan attacked.

He drew the sword strapped to his back and a smaller knife strapped to his side and burned.  His ice magic felt hot at it wrapped around him, urging him on.  In a scant few steps, he was lunging for Cairn.

The other male hadn’t been expecting this.  He fell back one step but it was all Rowan needed.  He went for the exposed belly, swiping with his dagger.  Cairn barely dodged and retaliated by drawing a knee up. Rowan threw him back with an icy snap of wind.  The force of it threw Ciarn against a tree.  

A resounding crack echoed through the forest as Rowan stalked forward.

Cairn struggled against the magic that held him.  Surprise was written clear on his face.  The fool either hadn’t remembered what Rowan was capable of or thought his pathetic alliance with Maeve would somehow save him.

Rowan would relish in the scent of blood that day.

…

Aelin didn't know how long it took or how it actually happened, but soon she was gathered in Rowans arms and he was running with her through the forest.  

She could still smell the stench of fire and burning flesh on the air.  She could still see the way Rowan moved towards Cairn with his weapons raised.  She could still hear the last of Cairn’s screams on the wind.

Rowan had held nothing back in his attack.  He’d taken his time to carve into Cairn’s flesh, to draw out as much pain and misery as he could.  

Aelin could only watch.  Watch and thank the gods for what Rowan was capable of.

Now, they eventually came to where Aelin’s growing army was camped, but she could hardly notice or care about the numbers that were gathering. All she could do was fall against Rowans chest and let him watch over her.

Even when Lysandra and Elide came to help bath and dress and treat the wounds that marred her skin. It was hard to do while stool as sentinel growling when anyone moved too close or too quick.

But Aelin couldn't bring herself to really notice or care. Not when Elide’s gentle fingers wove her damp hair into a braid and Lysandra rubbed oils and lotion into Aelin’s raw skin.

She couldn't hold back the flinch when Lysandra brushed her belly as she pulled a tunic over Aelin’s head.  Lysandra froze remembering that night on the ship when Aelin told her she was with child.

"Aelin," Lysandra whispered.  She hovered close, eyes darting to where Rowan glowered.

"What?" He demanded. "Is something wrong? Do we need Yrene?"

Aelin squeezed her eyes shut.  Maybe it was better if Yrene came to tell her that her worst fears had been realized.  But she couldn't bring herself to say the words. Even as Rowan's magic enveloped her, Aelin couldn't look at him.

"Sleep," she rasped.  "I just want to sleep."

Maybe she'd be able to disappear into the darkness that had been her only companion. Maybe she'd be able to forget for one moment—

In an instant both Lysandra and Elide were gone and she was back in Rowan's arms. His nose was buried in her neck, arms tight around her.

"You're safe, Fireheart, " he told her. "I promise. You can rest now. Put down your magic, love. It's been flaring for too long now."

Aelin buried her fingers in his tunic until she found his bare flesh and she could feel him beneath her. Was she still flaring her magic? She'd grown so accustomed to holding that shield up around herself that it was second nature even in her exhausted state.

“Rowan,” she whispered, his name a balm against her lips. “I’m sorry.”

He held her tighter against his chest. “For what?”

But she was already asleep.

…

There were hands digging into her skin.  Determined hands that picked and prodded as they tore her apart.  They ripped at the thin nightgown she wore even as she tried to pull and tug away.  But no matter what she did, there was no escape.  

One hand went to her throat, fingers tightening until she was struggling for breath.  The other hand flexed across her stomach, the touch rough and cold.

“I’ll make you scream,” a voice said.  It didn’t take long for her to place that cold, cruel voice. “And then you’ll kneel before me and beg for mercy.”

Aelin’s own scream finally pulled her from the nightmare.  She thrashed wildly, desperate to get away from Cairn’s horrific torture.

“Aelin, Aelin.”  Another voice, different.  A new set of hands came over her, these careful in the way they held her. “Fireheart, you’re safe.”

A snarl tore from her lips, she couldn’t help it.  All she could hear was Cairn’s laugh and feel the way his knife cut her skin.  She needed to get away.  She could focus on nothing other than the how small this tent space and how best she could escape it.

“She needs to calm down, Prince,” a soft voice said from her left, “for her own safety.”

Aelin whirled toward the voice just as a pair of hands went to her waist, firm as they tried to hold her still.  They were too close to her belly that Aelin couldn’t help the defensive flare that rose within her.  Her instincts took over as she grabbed one of the hands and twisted it away.  A flicker of fire raced from her fingers to singe her captor.

They grunted but held on tighter.  Ice met her fire and in a low hiss, the small flames burned out.

Blinking rapidly, Aelin looked up to meet the pine green eyes of Rowan.

“Rowan,” she whispered.  Her flames disappeared as she took him in.

Yes.  This was right.  He had come for her.  He had held her.  He had decimated Cairn as though it were his right.

“Aelin.” Rowan stared at her unblinking.  There was caution in his eyes as he regarded her, as though he were expecting her to lash out and burn him again.

The planes of his face were hard as stone as she took him in.  He was ragged with bags under his eyes and stubble on his chin.  But it was still Rowan.  Her Rowan.

“You found me,” she croaked, her voice broken from the screams.  You found us. 

She released him, nearly pushing him away as everything came back to her.  

Oh to fade back into that darkness that was always so welcoming and good to her.  That darkness that she could sink into and let take over.  If she could disappear, she could forget.  She could forget the pain and the fear.  She could forget the whips and the whispers.  She could forget that she had certainly destroyed the one bit of happiness that was left for her in this world.

Rowan didn’t move as he watched her.  But she did note the way his eyes did finally dip from her face down to her stomach.

No. No. No.

Aelin shrunk away from him.  She couldn’t bear to look at him, couldn’t bear to tell him—

She remembered the other body in the tent with them.  Aelin turned to see Yrene standing near the closed tent flaps.  She had her hair pulled back with a scrap of cloth, her warm brown skin was flushed and the hazel of her eyes was dimmed from the last time Aelin had seen her.

Of course the healer was here.  Why wouldn’t she be if Aelin was so broken and torn apart?  And if Aelin had killed—

“Aelin,” Yrene said softly.  She held out a hand in supplication. “Aelin, it’s alright.  You’re still healing.  I did the best I could for now.”

Bile rose in Aelin’s throat at the words.  Still healing. The best she could.  Her fingers wound into the front of her tunic.  The walls she’d been trying to keep up were frail and weak.  She knew she was hemorrhaging emotions and information directly for Rowan to pick up on but she was so tired.

“Tell me,” Aelin managed to say.  She couldn’t finish the thought but when Yrene’s features softened, she knew she’d been understood.

At her back, Aelin could feel Rowan.  He didn’t touch her, not yet, but he was there.  His strong presence buoyed Aelin up as she waited for Yrene’s answer.

The healer nodded once before managing a smile. “Five months, your majesty.  You’re malnourished and need to gain weight, but—as far as I can tell right now—the baby is fine.  Small but fine.”

Aelin could only stare as Yrene took her leave and left the tent.

Small but fine.  Small but fine.  Small but—

“Rowan.”  Aelin reached a hand back until she found him.  He took her hand in his and pulled her back against his chest, his other arm tentatively wrapping around her. “I thought…I thought I lost it.  I thought I wasn’t, that I didn’t—”

Her words were cut off as a sob rose in her throat.  When her legs gave out from the exertion of the past five minutes, Rowan was there to catch her.  He held her against him as they both sank to the ground, wrapped up in each other as Aelin cried.

Rowan only held her.  His face was once against buried in her neck; his lips soft against her skin as he whispered something in the Old Language.  She had longed for a moment like this for so long that she didn’t dare move.  Instead, she held on to Rowan as her cries continued and eventually her body stopped shaking.

It was then that Rowan lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the small cot she’d been sleeping in earlier.  He laid her down gently before curling around her.  One of his large hands hovered near her stomach but he didn’t dare touch her.

“You knew,” he said, his voice was rough and worn. “You knew before Maeve took you.”

Aelin closed her eyes to the sight of Rowan’s own mournful gaze.  He’d been crying same as her.

With a long breath, she took her hand in his and rested it on that too small swell.  As soon as he touched her, Rowan’s body went stiff then slack, then a shudder nearly broke him apart.  His hold on her tightened just barely before stopping.  Aelin could feel the trembles taking him as he waited.  She pressed his hand more firmly against her, holding him there even when he tried to pull away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she bowed her head forward until she rested against his chin. “I’m so sorry, Rowan.”

“I could have lost you,” he said, breath fanning over her hair.

“I didn’t think it was real,” she said.  “I told myself it couldn’t be.  And then I was in that coffin and I knew.  I knew what I had done.  And it would be my fault if—if—”

She felt another wave of tears come over her and she stopped talking.  Rowan gently cradled her chin in his hand, tilting her face up.  She kept her eyes closed, unable to look at him.

“And when C-c, when he started to hurt me,” she continued, forcing the words through trembling lips, “I put all my energy into trying to keep it real, to keep the—the baby safe.  But every day I thought that would be it, that would be the time I failed.  I’d already failed you, so why not that life?”

Rowan’s hand flexed against her stomach and his lips grazed her forehead, her eyes, her lips.

“You’d never fail me,” he assured her.

Was he not hearing her or was she not speaking clear enough? “I didn’t tell you.”

“You said it yourself; you didn’t think you were,” he said. “And when was the time?  Everything happened so fast.”

His voice trailed off and Aelin finally opened her eyes.  He was watching her with an unreadable expression.  Aelin felt her heart tug.  She had imagined him so many times in her captivity.  He’d often been a dim voice in the back of her mind, but he’d been there nonetheless.  Sometimes it had been him and only him that got her through a day.

“Rowan.”  She kept her hand firmly over his where it rested on her belly. “I’m scared.  When I close my eyes, I swear I’m back there.  And when I sleep?  I already nearly burned you.  How can I do this?  How can I do anything of this?  Not just a child, but a war?  How can I be strong enough when I’ve fallen apart so many times already?”

"You're not alone, Fireheart," he said. His voice was so soft Alein almost thought she'd imagined it. She watched that hard, carefully crafted expression of his soften. "Not anymore. But if this is too much, if you don't want— "

Aelin squeezed his hand knowing what he was suggesting. He broke off and only watched her.

"I choose this," she said. "And I choose you, Rowan Whitethorn. "

He nodded once at her words before leaning in to kiss her. 

His lips were soft against hers. Soft and gentle as he explored her again. And Aelin, desperate for that feeling and taste of home, kissed him back. Rowan rested his hands on her hips as she rolled on top of him.  

From there, she quickly took control, her mouth moving urgently against his until she was pulling his lower lip, sucking gently but needful. Her hands were roving his body tugging at Rowans tunic, the buttons of his pants. She needed him. Needed every bit of him that she could get.

And when they came together with careful kisses and whispered promises Aelin found for the first time, she was able to banish that terrible darkness away.

They still had so far to go and so much to learn—but they would get there together. 

 .*.*.*.*.*.

tags

@morganofthewildfire // @aelinchocolatelover // @sexy-dumpster-fire // @bamchickawowow //  @ireallyshouldsleeprn //  @courtofjurdan //  @sassys-world  //  @sleeping-and-books  //  @superspiritfestival // @chieflemming // @julemmaes // @lysandra-ghost-leopard //   @firestarsandseneschals //  @rapunzel1523  //  @booksofthemoon  // @fangirlprincess09  // @highladysith  // @tillyrubes10  // @bri-loves-sunflowers // @rowaelinismyotp // @sheharahu // @1islessthan3books // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @vanzetanze // @foughtconquered  // @acciowests // @cassianscool // @thegreyj // @acourtofsjmtrash // @story-scribbler  // @jesstargaryenqueen  // @amoretheiwa // @jorjy-jo // @danibutterr @live-the-fangirl-life // @foreverfallingforthestars //  @pastasiren // @whimsicallyreading // @infernoqueen19  // @mis-lil-red  // @lemonade-coolattas  // @scribbled-semantics // @realbookloverproblems // @ghostlyrose2 // @rainbowcheetah512 // @bri-loves-sunflowers // @captain-swan-is-endgame // @mystic-bibliophile // @cretaceous-therapod // @swankii-art-teacher //  @thisloveseternal // @gracie-rosee // @bananaanna23 // @goddess-aelin // @liars-lmao // @emily-gsh // @rowaelinrambling // @bookcide // @sideralwriting // @nerdperson524 // @thegloweringcastle //

[creaticare]

Day 1 Whumptober 2023

I decided that I am going to try and participate in Whumptober this year, so, here is my day 1

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fairy Tail Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Characters: Loke (Fairy Tail), Mentioned Character(s) - Character, Karen Lilica, Fairy Tail Guild, Taurus (Fairy Tail), Aquarius (Fairy Tail), Gemini (Fairy Tail), Aries (Fairy Tail) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Loke Arc (Fairy Tail), Whumptober, Whumptober 2023, Character Death Series: Part 1 of Kori's Whumptober 2023 Summary:

His Final Moments and Final Thoughts before he fades away

Day 1 of Whumptober, starting off strong with an Alternative Prompt; Shaking

[industria-adastra]

Your face is ocean blue

Summary: History says there was once a saintly emperor, driven to madness in his grief.

History says the empire lost its star, and so followed their Sun.

No one understood how it came to be this way. --- Notes: Hey I said Claude was allowed to commit atrocities as a treat. Also I just slapped that header on because I thought it looked cool. ------

When he awoke, Claude felt a sense of foreboding hanging in the air—a guillotine, ready to come crashing down at any moment.

His head hurt, fuzzy and clear all at the same time. Despite being comatose for so long, one would think he’d be wide awake immediately after this curse was broken. But all Claude felt was a weight, pulling him down, down, down. Even his eyelids continued to press downward, threatening to put him back into his previous slumber.

Athanasia. He felt her then. She and her mana, unraveling the chains binding him to Hypnos’ realm. Athanasia was so deeply entrenched in danger with his idiotic older brother and that white dog. And the accusations that Athanasia was created of forbidden magic rather than being the symbol of his and Diana’s love… Claude had much to clean up. So much to do. But where was she? 

He couldn’t feel her mana now. Only his own, flickering and fading like the sparks of a dying star.

Where was Athanasia? She was beside him. She needed to wake up now. There was much for them to do—together.

His hands shifted to brush her cheek as his head started to clear.

Cold. Athanasia was cold. Cold like winter frost. Not even a fading warmth was there. Why was she cold? 

“Athanasia?” Claude stilled, the shock of the iciness of her skin still clinging to his fingertips like an iron brand. “Athanasia?”

Her body was so, so terribly cold.

The magician boy—mage of the Black Tower—was starting to panic too. Claude could barely hear him over the loud rushing in his ears, with all the finality of a last crescendo. 

Athanasia wasn’t waking up.

-

Athanasia couldn’t be gone.

She had chosen him. Always. Even as he’d pushed her away, even if he’d tried to kill her with his very own hands. Their relationship wasn’t perfect, Claude knew. He had been intimidating and callous at the start, always on the verge of letting festering grief control him. Even now, he knew he was overbearing and downright terrible at properly communicating. But still, even so, their bond had become strong with the strength of years. No matter what he did, Athanasia had never abandoned him. She was as constant as the sun.

Yet Claude knew, that all things too good to be true always faded away.

He still needed to apologize to her. He hadn’t—He hadn’t apologized for it all, for the hurt in her eyes and his amnesia-induced stupidity. So Athanasia couldn’t be gone now.

Claude wouldn’t let her go like all the rest. He’d learned this lesson time and time again, so from now on…

He’d stop letting anyone slip away like so. 

A thousand rose gardens, hundreds of dresses and accessories, countless libraries, and millions upon millions of gold and jewels—all of them dedicated to her. Claude knew he had to be prepared for when Athanasia awoke once more. And when she woke (for she would wake up), wouldn’t she be thrilled to see all of that waiting for her? And knowing Athanasia’s love of precious pretty baubles and such, she’d probably shower him in affection out of joy too. 

After that, he’d apologize for both his stupidity and ineptitude, and then never, ever, let her out of his sight ever again. Marriage, for her, would have to wait a little longer. After all, Athanasia was still a child anyways. 

(Claude would give Athanasia whatever she wanted for the rest of her life, if only she woke up again)

Athanasia was simply sleeping, that was all. Just like before.

The first time, the magician boy—Lucas—was able to help her. The second time, Claude did it himself.

Then together, surely, surely—

Athanasia would wake up soon.

-

One day in the Magician’s Tower, a hushed conversation had taken place between two researchers.

“I’m not sure if the Princess will ever ‘wake up. From the looks of it, she’s clearly dead, no matter how many high-level preservation spells the Emperor casts upon her. And have we all just forgotten that necromancy is forbidden? That magic was banned for a reason, Francis, what are we even doing? ” A researcher ranted to his co-worker, tangling a hand within his hair as he looked at her with great concern. Bruise purple eyebags could be seen lining his bloodshot eyes.

“Do you want to be the one to tell that to our oh-so-merciful Emperor? ‘Apologies, your highness; your beloved daughter’s soul has long vacated her body, and besides, necromancy is illegal in at least three empires—one of which is ours. So maybe we should stop finding a way to resurrect our Imperial Princess.’ Or maybe you’d like to try telling that to our fellow imperial magician, prodigy boy extraordinaire Lucas, instead?” Francis’s voice was caustic, dripping venom with every word. But her eyes darted around fearfully, a contrast to her harsh tones.

The silence in return told her all she needed to know.

-

The two were later transferred to work in a different department.

A new department, only recently formed. 

They were told that they had particular skills and traits that’d prove to be very helpful there.

Yes. Very helpful.

-

They said all bargains with magic were always equal. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.

A life for a life.

Whatever it took to bring her back.

-

Claude made sure that none of the servants slacked off whilst their princess was still in a deep slumber. It would not do for the Emerald Palace to become like the Ruby Palace. After all, unlike the Ruby Palace, the Emerald Palace was the official residence of Obelia's only princess.

Her bed would be most comfortable for her anyways.

-

“Trial: number forty-four has failed. Materials are running low too. We’ll need to try again three months later instead, Your Majesty.”

“Have you tried including the branch of the World Tree in these experiments yet?”

“Not yet. It’s surprisingly volatile. We’re still trying to figure out how to incorporate it into the rituals.”

“See to it that you figure that out soon. I don’t need useless magicians within this tower.”

“Your Majesty…”

“Yes?”

“We’re…running out of test subjects.”

“You know where to get them. I don’t have to remind you, do I?”

-

Athanasia was a beloved princess. So, so easy to love and adore. Beloved by him, beloved by Felix, by Lilian York, the Alpheus whelp, Anastacius’s daughter, and the magician. And even without any true appearances in the public eye, she was still adored by the masses.

That adoration painted a target on her back. And so, no one was allowed to let the matter of her prolonged slumber let slip. Who knew what dangerous group or individual would take advantage of her weak state to harm her?

Granted, his spells would shred them into pieces instantly, but Athanasia’s safety was paramount. It wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

So if he found any loose tongues then…

Well.

Loose as they were, they’d slide right out of their mouths, wouldn’t they?

-

Divine, forbidden, and black magic. What would happen if one mixed them all together?

What were the lengths someone would go, for a person so dearly beloved?

-

“Felix, if you’re not beside me, you’re against me.” A hand gripped tightly onto the shirt of a knight's uniform. Narrowed blue eyes glared into defiant greys. 

“And truly, I hope for your sake that you aren’t.” 

Mana exploded from Claude’s fingertips, crashing against hastily put up shields, the sheer force of it noticeably straining Felix. Blood started trickling from his nose as he valiantly tried to resist.

And failed.

The magic slammed into Felix with all the power of a tsunami, pushing him flat onto the ground as Claude released him. His senses were flooded with agony, having never truly felt the brunt of his liege’s power. Felix struggled to stand as he continued to hack out blood, an arm raising to cradle his ribs.

Claude merely stared at him apathetically. 

“If you are… Then I have no need for you,” he stated tonelessly. The emperor walked forwards, forcing his foot onto Felix’s chest, pressing him back down onto the ground. 

“Now, what is your answer? Are you against me? Or are you willing to give your all to help me wake her up? Make your decision, Felix.”

-

“Athanasia, can you hear me?” Claude gently stroked her hair, leaning over Athanasia as he strengthened both the preservation and protection spells. “I suppose you would be fully asleep by now though, wouldn’t you? After all, it’s the middle of the night now.”

He stared down at her porcelain white face, now looking apologetic. His long fingers threaded themselves through golden waves, and Claude thought of another image, a dark memory of long ago that was so similar to now.

At least there was no blood this time.

“I realize I shouldn’t be disturbing your sleep like this, but… It’s been a long while since then, hasn’t it?” Claude straightened up from his earlier position, smiling, still playing with Athanasia's hair. “You might be worried about those loose ends, but don’t worry so. Anastacius, Aeternitas, those idiotic nobles, and that foolish White Dog—I’ll take care of it all for you. Soon…” And at that, his smile sharpened, even as his eyes softened even more. “Soon, we can go back to what it was like before.”

The scant rays of moonlight shining upon Claude’s face only served to highlight the predatory edge of his smile as he went back to stroking her golden hair, starting to hum.

He’d have to thank his daughter for teaching him that melody, all those years ago. And Lillian York, for teaching it to her. There was something beautiful about its simplistic nature and comforting repetitive melodies. Something beautiful about the fact that Athanasia had sung it to him, and the fact that he was now singing for her. 

Just another thing for him to do when Athanasia finally woke up.

(He’d keep her closer still, closer than ever before)

-

Meetings with nobles had always been tedious and downright annoying. Meetings with nobles now were even worse, knowing that he’d only come back to Athanasia’s slumbering face, and not her sweet words and warm smiles. Like actors in an opera, the majority of them gave empty words and plastered masks of joy at his return.

He’d heard about how they’d tried to treat Athanasia when she acted in his place. And Claude was never a particularly forgiving person. 

His first order of business was to identify the traitors—those who had quietly supported Anastacius when Claude had been in no position to deal with any of the problems that had occurred. 

His second was to make sure the empire was still running smoothly. 

And so, his third was to immediately remove the traitors. Permanently.

They weren’t even worth the effort of being dealt with personally, but because they had slighted her through their actions, then it didn’t really matter whether they were worth the effort or not.

-

House Alpheus was first on the list. He’d let the heir live. The sins of the father would not be the sins of the son.

For he, Sun of the empire, Emperor of Obelia, was now judge, jury, and executioner. And he had weighed those sins and knew, would make sure, that the weight of them would drag Roger Alpheus down into Hell.

-

In the end, getting rid of both Anastacius and Aeternitas was about as easy as the first time round. This time though, he made sure his enemies were truly destroyed. Claude would not have any of them coming back when he least expected it, to ruin his idyllic happiness once more.

And if that involved personally ripping apart Aeternitas’s spirit, or removing Anastacius’s heart and burning his body to ash, oh well. 

As long as it got the job done, right?

After all, it wasn’t even the first time he’d spilled Anastacius's blood. Claude had simply made it so that this would be the last time he did so. Forever.

-

Amalgamation. It was a term he’d read in a book somewhere, once.

Amalgamation: the action, process, or result of uniting or combining.

Claude held Athanasia closer, curling his arms around her and pressing his face more firmly against her neck. His fingers weaved through her hair, combing through silken strands and braiding and unbraiding them. He inhaled, smelling roses. It would be nice, when Athanasia awakened, to be physically close together like this.

Looking into her eyes, Claude wondered what it’d be like. What it felt like. Had he felt it before? To truly become one with someone else, to combine with them, and not just on a physical level. But to tie two souls together until you’d never find where the difference between them lay. 

Athanasia had been the product of his and Diana’s love. A part of her, and a part of him. To let go of a part of him (and a part of her) so easily, why, he’d be mad to do so instead of binding them together for eternity.

(Her eyes, they were glass blue. The vibrance that had made them shine like jewels…where had it gone?)

-

Athanasia had cared deeply for the Margarita girl, hadn’t she? Athanasia would be sad if she came to harm. However, she was still a potential problem.

Although, didn’t Anastacius’s daughter have an innate connection to both forbidden and black magic? 

Then, if he simply proved that connection, it’d be like killing two birds with one stone. Claude would make sure she was well-cared for, but the girl would understand, wouldn’t she? The price for her continued existence in safety. If it was for Athanasia, and for her own safety, then she’d understand why.

-

“Can you figure out how the Margarita girl is connected to forbidden and black magic?” Claude asked.

The Mage squinted at him in suspicion. “The Chimera? What do you even need that information for?” He crossed his arms, raising an inquisitive brow. With how closely they’d been working together recently, there was no need to be polite anymore. 

“I believe you already know that yourself, Magician of the Black Tower.”

He’d lowered his eyes at that reply, tugging a strand of his hair. “...Athanasia wouldn’t be happy about this.”

Claude’s eyes were cold. “Would it matter to you though, if that helped her wake up? I know you hold affection for her—although I might also add that she’s still a child, so I urge you to keep that in mind when she awakens.”

“I just think—” He protested, apparently gaining a sudden conscience.

“We have long passed the point of no return. There is no turning back now. And,” Claude glared at him, blue mana flaring up, crackling around himself, “remember the role you played in this. Know that I will never let you turn back.”

-

As always, the air outside the palace was always abuzz with rumors. And murmurs of missing nobles, multiple sudden (permanent) trips to the countryside, and the sudden rain of unexplained job offers weaved through the masses as whispers trickling secrets into listening ears. And as the recent news swept across the land, it only served as kindling for the curiosity of those not directly within the loop.

Some said that only those whom no one would miss were picked. That once you accepted, you would never return. Those whispers were always either met with a growing concern or outright dismissal.

A few discussed the future of the empire nervously. Yes, their emperor had returned, and had once again defeated the villainous previous emperor, but what about their princess? It had been a while since they’d heard of any news pertaining to their beloved princess.

Most waved off the growing anxiety at the exodus of nobles—they were probably off to gallivant in the countryside, or whatever it was rich nobles did with their time. And if they were being “forcefully persuaded” to leave, then it wasn’t really their problem either.

-

“Didn’t you know? Francis hasn’t been back in months now. Last I heard, she was working on this big project with the Black Tower Magicians. Must be a pretty big project if it’s taking so long.” 

-

Quickly, quickly, the outside was so close and if she ran faster she’d be able to make it out. To be free from the madness seeping into the stones of the foundations. 

Oh, Great World Tree I pray to thee, please, please, please I beg of you—

Just as she took a single step outside, her world spun upside down, and before she knew it, everything had gone dark.

The poor girl never realized that she had never been alone.

At the very least, it had been swift and merciful.

-

No one understood. Athanasia wasn’t gone. Not yet. She was only sleeping. It was only a matter of time before she awoke as he had, too. They did not understand their bond, her unspoken promise to stay.

He’d have to scold her for doing something so reckless when she woke up, and for making him wait for so long. There were so many things Claude wanted to say, and yet, even as he said them all to Athanasia every night, he would never get a response. Not even a frown or a wriggle of discomfort from the noise.

But Claude would keep doing it every day, every night. Until the day she finally responded.

-

Some say the definition of insanity is doing something over and over and over and over again, hoping to achieve a better result than next time.

-

Not all bargains were seemingly equal, it seemed. 

What was the weight of a singular, unique soul compared to the rest?

Claude contemplated such a question, as he braided Athanasia’s hair, entwining roses in increasingly complicated plaits. Looking over his work, he found that he’d improved much over time. With practice came skill, and with skill came mastery.

It wouldn’t be long before everything would be ready, he thought.

-

“Athanasia, would you prefer to wear pink?” Claude held up a simple rosy pink gown in one hand. “Or blue?” With another hand, he raised up a similarly fashioned baby blue gown. Granted, it was simply casual wear, but Athanasia’s opinions were very important. Additionally, since she would no longer be staying in the Ruby Palace, it would be good to understand her likes and dislikes on such mundane things more intimately.

It was so terribly cold outside, so terribly unsafe outside. Anyone could hurt Athanasia out there, no matter how many protective spells he cast upon her, winding round and round like a spider’s cocoon. Inside his palace, inside his chambers was where she would be safest. No one was trustworthy when it came to her safety. 

(Not even him)

-

One-hundred-and-eight whole souls, extracted for shared traits with her.

One-hundred-and-eight souls for the ritual which would bring her back.

One-hundred-and-eight out of the hundreds of thousands.

It was time for Athanasia to come back home.

[smolvenger]

Stella of Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed Chapter 17: Blue Wildflowers (A Fix-It Fanfiction of The Essex Serpent)

Series Summary: The Essex Serpent is reimagined through the perspective of the saintly, sickly Vicar's Wife, Stella Ransome, giving her a new ending rather than her canon fate. A bildungsroman of Stella was raised to be a proper lady and married a handsome vicar Will Ransome. She did everything to be a perfect wife and to uphold his ministry. However, after receiving a fatal diagnosis, she learns her husband is having an affair. Her heartbreak, grief, and repressed anger are released. She finds hope, happiness, justice...and even revenge and new love.

Pairings: Stella Ransome x Male OC: Harry Cavaradossi, some Stella x Will Ransome but focusing on the angst of him cheating on her.

Prologue//One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six//Seven//Eight//Nine//

Ten//Eleven//Twelve//Thirteen// Fourteen//Fifteen//Sixteen

Chapter Summary: The final chapter. Harry explains why he read the letters. Stella makes decisions regarding her past...and her future. There is a visitor by the name of Seaborne. A party brings back a memory absolved from past miseries into a happy present moment. And Stella, now content, finishes her tale.

Chapter Warnings: A super brief spicy scene towards the end, swearing, discussions of penises, bodily functions, marriage, death, children, and illness are discussed. Discussions of a Major Character Death (sorry not sorry Will Ransome girlies). Stella has PTSD, gets to actually mourn the affair, and becomes Eliza Hamilton for a minute. I get to shit talk both Will and Cora, so if you like the pairing of Will/Cora you have been warned. Religion is portrayed, esp towards the end. But LOTS of fluff and comfort in this chapter.

Chapter Word Count: 6K

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Buy Me A Ko-Fi!

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A/N: THANK YOU GUYS so much for following through with this series! It was very therapeutic to write. And thank you for following Stella on her journey! So now here is that eventual happy ending I promised! Enjoy! COMMENTS, KUDOS, ASKS, AND DMS ABOUT MY WORK ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED!

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek, For they shall inherit the earth.”- Matthew 5: 3-5.

“Harry! What are you doing!” I cried, rushing forward.

He jumped up where he was but kept the papers in his hand. I curled my fists- every letter was sprawled across the desk! His pink lips began to mumble out an explanation as I saw the blood rush to his face.

“You’re home early…you wouldn’t be here for another hour and…”

“Why are you doing this? Why are you reading these!? I told you not to!” I cried again, gesturing to the papers.

He leaned forward, gaining resolve.

“Stella, I’m worried about you!” he replied.

I paused. He held onto the letters, keeping them to his chest. I noticed that the old journal I kept during my time in Aldwinter was also laid open on the desk as well. On the page were words I wrote upon hearing about the threat of the snake:

“He sent the serpent into Eden’s beflowered garden, and he sends it now and the penance must be paid…”

Oh, how little I knew then! If only I could have gone back in time and warned that lovestruck church girl of what would come from marrying that curate! Or that housewife so concerned about a snake devouring her children to make sure her vicar husband stayed away from widows!

“You’re worried about me?” I echoed to him.

“Since that night you saw me with a beard, I kept worrying about that look on your face, and I kept hearing you get out of bed to sob at night. I was concerned! I wanted to know more about what happened in Aldwinter and what happened between…between Will and…and…what was her name?”

He went through the papers to check again. Taking in a shaky breath, I walked towards his chair and clutched onto it to steady myself. I hadn’t said her name out loud in a long, long time.

“Cora…her name was Cora Seaborne…that was William’s lover,” I answered softly.

I found that though I spoke her name, I didn’t die on the spot and despite the unpleasant, anxious feelings inside me, I was still very safe. She was just a word spoken and dissolved into air.

Cora was a person, not a monster, I reminded myself. A person as I am a person. We both had blonde hair. We both were mothers. We lived in Aldwinter. We loved William. We both became widows. We both have hopes, dreams, fears, and dreads. We both committed cardinal sins.

Harry continued; his forehead knotted in anguish.

“I wanted to know what happened between Will and Cora to hurt you like this…So I’d know…I’d know…how best to comfort you. How to be the husband Will never was to you…”

I let out a sigh as I picked up one letter from them.

“I used to think and wonder at that time what sin we did to bring forth the Serpent in our town…now I wonder what on earth I did to have this happen to me…” I commented.

“You did nothing wrong, Stella. Cora and William did something wrong…the blame is entirely theirs, not you…” Harry assured.

I looked down at one page. It was a draft of a letter kept praising Cora about how she lit up Will’s soul and left him speechless and filled with longing.

“I’d try to convince myself not to be jealous of her, try to tell myself I wasn’t… All that changed when I saw them at the tree…I will always be second to Cora. Worse than her. Inferior. And that was why Will strayed….” I replied.

A bitter and petty phrase was on the tip of my tongue. The sound of her name- Cora- the first syllable rhymes with the word “whore.” But that was going too far, even for me (a murderess!). I forced my lips tightly shut until the temptation to connect her name to the word faded away.

Harry got up and offered me the chair, which I sat on. He went to the hall and asked the housekeeper to bring some tea and sweets, then returned. A tear dripped down my chin. Harry gave me his handkerchief.

“How many of their letters did you read?” I asked him.

“All, I think. And a little of the journal.”

“What do you think- not as my husband now, but as someone neutral to the case- what do you think? Of them?” I asked.

Harry looked down at one letter and then let out a scoff, looking back at me.

“Honestly, what n’er do wells!” he replied.

“What?!” I gasped.

He picked up two letters, gesticulating with them with both hands.

“Will and Cora- I haven’t read interactions between two people more self-obsessed and obnoxious!” he snarled.

“Really?” I asked softly.

“Yes, really! Must this woman- Cora- drag every person she met into the mess of her life!? She and Will did nothing! Nothing but ruin everyone else’s life!”

“Mine included…” I prodded.

“Yours worst of all!” Harry agreed.

He then picked up another letter.

“Here she is talking of all the research she did around the town- how would her little hobby help anyone? She could have found ways to trap or kill it. She could have tried to find ways one could protect oneself and educate the folk frightened for their lives. And the family of the girl who went missing-What of her parents? Or the other victim’s families- William could have made tithes to help them. He could have comforted and prayed with them. Will and Cora could have done anything productive but walk around outside, bantering about science and faith and swooning over each other!”

“She told me it was love when I asked her about it,” I informed him.

“If she did love him, she would let him be with his wife and let him go!” he ranted.

“And what do you think of her…is Cora better than me…I thought because she was always so much more…more spirited and… if I was only more like her, Will wouldn't have…never have… Is she truly better?” I asked gingerly.

Harry lowered the letters and folded his arms.

“Well, if you were in her place and a woman’s husband declared his love for you, a woman who had tuberculosis and was likely to die…if you knew without a doubt, he was married to this lady- would you say yes to him?” Harry asked.

“Of course not! Never!” I cried.

He shrugged upwards and his thin, pink lips curved to smile at me.

“Yes, there is a difference between you two! You are selfless, and she is selfish. That is what selfish people do. Hurt others without thinking of it. Therefore, you are better than her…do not compare yourself to this Cora Seaborne. my dear. You are my light and my warmth. What is a candle to a star, hm? Or a coral shell by the sea to the Milky way or the constellations?” he said.

He kissed the top of my head.

“When you met her, what else happened?” he asked.

“I threatened that I’d shoot her if I ever saw her again.”

He patted my shoulder in congratulations.

“Good! Remind me later and I’ll lend you one of my old soldier pistols. If you won’t hurt yourself, you have my blessing to fight back and avenge yourself.” He said sincerely.

I nodded my head.

He then leaned against the desk. He checked to make sure the housekeeper was not around and then leaned to me to speak quietly.

“It seems if there was an Essex Serpent, it was Will’s cock…”

“Harry!”

“It’s true! The only Serpent that one needed to fear was the one between his legs! That was the real god Will was a priest of- his own cock! And Cora was the priestess, and you were the lamb at the altar…” he elaborated.

He brought out an arm and slithered it through the air as a snake does in the grass.

“Can you imagine Will’s cock slithering around Essex like a snake? A giant cock hissing? SSSSSSSS!” he teased.

“I don’t know what would horrify me more- a giant snake or a giant penis slithering about!” I replied quietly.

I couldn’t resist a smile and put a hand over my mouth as I began to chuckle. Soon we both were crying and guffawing with aching bellies, howling with laughter at the obscene metaphor.

“But you are no sacrifice here…” Harry said, bending a knee to look me in the eye.

“Then what am I?” I asked.

He clutched both of my hands as he knelt.

“Goddess divine, of course,” he declared.

I put my hand on my chest in reaction and felt a blush creep up my cheeks. He kissed my hands tenderly.

“I wanted to understand all that happened. And now I do…can you forgive me, my love?” he asked.

“I forgive you, Harry…”

“I only hope I…I will be better, a better man and husband for you.”

Looking over at a corner, there was a table where there stood an empty wine bottle. He sighed.

“Who did you even marry? You deserve a knight in shining armor, Stella, not some drunken fool…” he sighed.

“You’re not that! Well, you still drink a bit much, but you are no fool. You are my knight in shining armor, Harry, my dear!”

With a surprise, he pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me.

“Then give your knight a kiss.”

We kissed once when the housekeeper walked in with tea and slices of cake. They were drunk and devoured, but the letters remained.

“What should we do with these?” Harry asked.

I got up from his lap. I began to gather the letters. One by one, and then into one neat pile. Anger began to burn again in my throat.

“We could give them to the children when they grow up. Let Will’s legacy be that how he humiliated their mother…” I spat, feeling my grip tighten.

“And carry the blame for their father’s actions? And sour any of the good memories and feelings they may feel for him- he was their first father, after all. And what if they discover the truth of how he died…then how sympathetic shall they think of you? Besides, Stella…I don’t think Will Ransome should be a part of our marriage. It’s a joining of two souls, not three.” Harry suggested.

I glanced down and released my breath.

“You’re right…I could…I could send the rest of them to the church back in Aldwinter…ruin his legacy after death!” I said bitterly.

“And have your whole family be blacklisted and frowned upon for one man’s sins? How will your children live when their father’s actions have condemned their whole future? And if they notice the similarities between your possession of those letters and the suicide scrap by Will’s corpse that time ago and connect the pieces…you would be practically tossing yourself into a jail cell, Stella.”

“Oh God, I’m a selfish, petty, person….” I lamented.

“You’re a human, Stella…” he reminded me.

We paused. He placed a hand on my shoulder. When we looked up, he gestured to the little lamp on the desk. On the inside was a lit candle.

“I think you know what to do,” Harry advised.

“I think it’s time…I kept these for when they would be useful. To have others believe me. To see those guilty punished. And then to free myself…” I mused.

Harry half smiled. He pointed to the second page of one letter where Will signed his full name.

“Ah- you were held prisoner by Mr. Ransome and in need of a ransom- and it seemed you ransomed yourself out of being a Ransome!” he teased.

“I’m not a Ransome in name or the word…I’m a Cavaradossi now…”

I let out a little chuckle at the string of puns. Then I filed them all into one pile. But Harry slipped his hand and took the first page.

“Let me have this one.”

“What do you need that for?” I asked.

“I need to wipe when I relieve my piss or shit!” he said.

I let out a laugh.

“I’m ready now…I’m ready to do this…” I said half to Harry and half to myself.

I went into our room to our fireplace, carrying the letters. I got the matches on the mantle and struck one until a little flame emerged from it. I then put the match to one page of Will and Cora’s letters. I watched as it curled up black, their words and banter and love confessions and declarations bleeding into darkness. Before the flame would reach my fingers, I tossed it into the fireplace. One by one I burned each page and placed them into the fireplace.

Yes, I was dying. But William, you are dead. I thought. I still have life in me, fragile as it was. And now you have none, Will. None, none, nothing.

The flames kissed and danced over the pages. It digested their words so full of selfish lust and then made it a black crumple of dust at the bottom of the fire. Again, I saw the small blueness in the center of the flames.

I watched as I destroyed each last page. They burned and then dwindled to nothing but dust.

Now any trace of William Ransome, my Will, the true Essex Serpent, was gone. I walked with lightness and slept like a babe at night. And Harry kept his promise- I had a small but loaded pistol hidden in my purse. Ready to make good my promise to Cora if I were to ever see her again.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ Though I was glad to continue life as normal, the London smog did not agree with me. It made me cough furiously while walking outside for errands. The doctor’s words haunted me.

“Get some clean air.”

One evening, after the children were in their rooms for their post-dinner hobbies, Harry and I sat down by the fire for him to read and me to sew. The dog laid down on the floor to nap, though his dark brown fur almost made him blend into it. After ten minutes, I set aside the needle and thread and looked at him.

“Harold…can we please see a doctor? The fog is getting to me. I can hardly walk for coughing…” I explained.

He set down his book.

“Any blood?”

“Rarely.”

“Then…then who says we have to live in London?” he suggested.

“What…what about your bank? Or your parties!? Or your plays?!” I asked.

He shrugged them off.

“I can throw them here! I can always travel to London if there’s a show I want to see. And I’m head of the bank- I can move headquarters. We could find a place just outside of London…would you like that? The children will understand- your health improved because of the clean mountain air. They’ll much prefer you alive and well.”

“Then by all means…let us move…”

After some searching, we found a lovely place in Kersey, Suffolk. We packed and gathered our things and moved out. A local building chosen as headquarters for the Cavaradossi bank thought the branch in London remained open. It was a comfortable cottage for all of us. A tree grew outside and stretched its branches out like a greeting friend. And there was fresh air- beautiful, bright fresh air. I loved taking a deep breath once I stepped outside. The air was crisp with winter and a light dusting of snow.

On our first day in the new place, once the boxes were set down, our faithful spaniel wagged his tail as he wandered in and out to the backyard to run about- he was far more used to being a country dog. Harry wrapped his arm around me.

“So help me, you will get all the exercise and fresh air in the world, Stella. We will walk daily- you can have a garden in the springtime. We might even try hiking if the path isn’t too steep- all of us as a family! Oh! And the lakes! We must try rowing- you a little bit! You’ll feel like new as if you were never sick again!”

Though it hadn’t and would never leave my body, I could walk about more, even if I was slower or more fragile. I coughed blood even less. I had more appetite. Only on the rare occasions, I felt myself a little dizzy while walking or a brief pain in my chest, I would use a cane. But only rarely. And of course, that first spring, I planted seeds to become a garden.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ It was seven years after my diagnosis on a Sunday when we had a visitor. The housekeeper we had approached Harry and me as we sat on our chairs.

“Excuse me, there’s a Seaborne at the door!” She announced.

I froze where I sat. I reached for Harry’s hand who clutched mine in return. I felt the color drain from my face. I wondered how quickly I could get out the pistol from my purse.

“Is it a Mrs. Seaborne?” I asked.

“No! It’s a gentleman…a very young gentleman, a Mr. Seaborne.” She corrected.

Harry and I stared at each other dumbfounded.

“Let him in,” I said.

I stood up, clutching the shawl on my shoulders.

In walked that same pale face but matured. His body was still thin but far taller. I felt myself relax seeing him, saying that old cliché that has been used before and will be used again:

“My, how you’ve grown!”

Frankie, in a nice black suit and cravat, tipped off his hat.

“Mrs. Ransome, hello! I wrote to Martha and Fanny and heard you now lived here and you…you remarried, is that right?” he asked, though his eyes darted distractedly to look around the living room.

“Yes, Frankie, I am. I’m Stella Cavaradossi now. Here is my husband- Mr. Harold Cavaradossi.”

Harry walked forward and shook hands with the young man.

“Please stay- I think you’re in time for tea!” I suggested.

He sat down at the table in the kitchen with us. His eyes flitted about, but his voice was addressed to me as he poured milk into his tea.

“It’s odd not thinking of you as Mrs. Ransome…” he commented.

“It’s odd for me too…Frankie, what brings you here?” I asked.

“I just…I worried about you. For years. I…I thought…I even wondered if you were dead…” he confessed.

“Well, she is not. Clearly.” Harry cut in.

“I just was worried, I felt…I felt bad for you. I…I didn’t know how to feel about Mama and…I was angry at you for that letter, at first, but I’m not…not angry anymore. Mrs. Ran- Mrs.-Cava….Cava- ra….“

“You can call me Stella…” I advised.

“Are you happy, Stella?” Frankie asked me. His eyes, so much like hers, softened.

I smiled at the young man.

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you’re in good health- I felt so bad for you back then. All stuck in that bed, coughing that blood. How’d you get better?” he asked.

“I was sent to a Sanatorium. They didn’t cure me, but they helped me, Frankie. And you? How have you been?”

He paused hesitantly and I froze.

“I…I live in a flat now with roommates. I go to University now and…and…I’m not on speaking terms with mama as much anymore…only on occasion,” he sighed. He sipped his tea meditatively.

“But Stella…I cannot be mad at you at all now. I remember the old days when I was in Aldwinter. Of all those adults there, you didn’t fuss at me for something I couldn’t help…you made bread. You welcomed me to the town. You let me play with your children. You made me dinner and sweets- I can still taste those chocolate biscuits! I always remembered, Stella. I never forgot your kindness.”

I felt a few tears on verge of showing, but I blinked back.

Despite his small oddities, he was wonderful company. Harry enjoyed him even. Before Frankie departed, I got some scraps of paper and wrote down an address and then a recipe.

“Frankie…you may write and visit any time you like. Come visit when James - he’d be thrilled! He’s with his brother seeing Joanna at her college today, else they’d be here!”

I then showed him the recipe.

“This is how you make those chocolate biscuits if you’d like,” I explained.

He put it in his pocket.

“Of course! And thank you for the tea as well!” he wished with a smile.

As he put his hat on, tipped it, and left, I crossed my arms. I was tearing up, but I was also smiling watching him go to his taxi. I was glad I didn’t kill that boy out of my rage. My anger did not sniff out the life of an innocent, only the guilty. And here Frankie was, like a flower in full bloom. I went out to the garden and began to cry again. But they were tears of immense relief.

From then on, Frankie was like another son to me. He regularly wrote and even visited when he could. I like to think he saw me as a second mother. Though he was wise enough to never speak of his own to me.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ There was one party we were throwing two weeks later. Harry’s favorite wine was flowing, and the guests were all laughing and socializing among themselves, including some of my own family members and of course my children. We finished our dinner and two friends who played violin and piano were warming up for dances.

But as it began and guests paired up on the wider floor of our room, I felt dizzy and a slight pain in my chest. I coughed, noticing only a little blood on my handkerchief. I then dashed upstairs. I sat down on the chair. I didn’t feel completely weak, but I was taken aback my heart racing. There was the sound of footsteps and the bedroom door creaked open.

“Stella, are you alright?” Harold asked, poking his head through.

My blood froze when he stepped in, and I took in his tuxedo from the party. It continued downstairs. And beyond, there was music.

Oh, dear God, this again! I saw this scene before, and I didn’t like how things ended up. Here again was my husband in a tuxedo, me feeling bad, and a party with dancing going on. My eyes started up, dreading seeing William’s beard, dreading reliving that moment in Aldwinter…

But there was no beard on my husband’s cleanly shaven chin this time. This wasn’t the past anymore.

“I am…I just coughed a little blood and got scared, but I feel alright…” I explained.

I heard the music and some clapping and chatter going on. Even my children’s laughter.

“Do you feel well, Stella? I’ll call the party off early if you like…” he offered.

“No, don’t! it’s just…it’s just…and you with your suit I…I just…” I muttered.

I sighed deeply and wiped away the tears with my handkerchief. I saw Harry’s shoulders soften.

“Harry…I don’t know if I will get better or get worse but for tonight…tonight you won’t leave me, will you?” I asked.

He stepped forward and touched my shoulder softly.

“Oh, of course not, Stella…” he vowed.

“Hold me, Harry,” I requested.

He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. Anything, anything, I would change this- the past would not repeat itself again. Not with me.

“Is the dancing starting?” I asked.

“Yes, it is! The first one is ending- the waltz is next…” he recalled.

“Harry…I haven’t danced in a long, long time. I’d like to try and dance again…could you dance with me?”

He led me to stand.

“You only need to ask.” He responded.

As we headed to the hall, he draped his arm around mine. Then I looked at him and stopped my feet, I leaned closer to talk to him while we were still alone.

“I don't speak much of Will anymore, I try not to…I don’t want to bring him into this marriage, but I will be honest. This scene… reminded me of a memory I had with him. Do you remember me telling you about when I told him to dance with Cora?”

“Oh god, I remember now. I almost forgot…so you think that will happen again?” He puzzled.

I nodded. Harry cupped my cheek, keeping his other hand on mine.

“Stella, for each hour of your tears, I’ll replace it with an hour of happiness. I’ll take each moment of anguish and create ways to make you laugh. For each minute you felt unloved by him, I will make you feel worshipped. And if anyone, even you, tells me to dance with some other lady, I’ll refuse and dance with you instead.…”

We pressed our foreheads together, feeling the warmth and smoothness. I felt my tears had dried and I was smiling.

“Let’s dance, Harry,” I said.

We went into the main room, all cleared out. John already had one young lady as a partner on the floor. Joanna stopped her chatter among her new circle of friends to watch and James was watching as he sat, a plate of chocolate cake on his lap. Their eyes were on me, seeing if I was well enough. If I would fall or faint in dancing. Harry placed a hand around my waist, and I took his free hand in mine, our fingers intertwining. I kept a hand on his warm back. The violin and piano duo began playing. The waltz began.

We waltzed at a steady pace. I stepped into that square formation. He met mine with equality. His feet never once grazed my toes. I was keeping up without feeling breathless, weak, and with no pain or urge to cough. There was only dizziness as the crowd turned into a blur around us. I felt the warmth of his hand and Harry smiled the kindest, gentlest, most loving smile I had seen on a man, on a husband, on a person. And I returned it. I focused on his eyes as the music swelled as if giving us wings so we could fly up to the heavens and the clouds and stars themselves. Time itself stopped and there was only us as we moved together. The only feeling surging in my chest was that of joy.

Then finally, the song ended, and we paused. We clapped our hands in thanks. I glanced to see my children all looking at me with cheerful relief. When I looked back at Harry, he smiled and kept an arm around my back.

“You’re a wonderful dancer Stella, we should do this hourly,” he praised with a wink.

“Let’s drink some lemonade and then have another dance then!” I responded.

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

As I write this, I have been married to Harold Cavaradossi for about ten years. Eleven years after I heard I was dying.

Harry was, is, and will be faithful to me. I know this with confidence. If there was something that needed novelty or something he lacked, something that he felt was wrong with me, he would tell me directly, his heart and eyes never wandering from mine.

I have seen the nineteenth century become the twentieth. I have lived to see Forty and past it, I may turn fifty if this keeps up. I have seen all three of my children grow up and become adults themselves.

Joanna has gone to a woman’s college, relieved it didn’t just teach women domestic arts but academic ones. She moved to London and has embraced the idea of the New Woman- she even has a suit complete with pants she enjoys wearing when she bikes. She works as a nurse for her income. She regularly writes to parliament insisting on a woman’s right to divorce her husband and does so all while she puts curls in her hair.

John is set to inherit the seniority of the Cavaradossi bank from his stepfather. He always hides sausages and treats in his pockets to spoil any dog he comes across. After schooling, he works alongside his father fervently at the bank. He is courting a young lady he is deeply in love with and intent on proposing. We are confident she will accept. To think I may live to see him married and perhaps as a grandmother!

James has grown so handsome that I often see young ladies eyeing him and he enjoys a good dance or flirtation. He enjoys reading books on theology and philosophy and shall debate them among his peers for hours, sometimes even going to church to discuss with the rectors themselves about their sermons. Though he is yet undecided as to what vocation he shall use for his life’s work, Harry tells him not to fret and to choose off on passion. He still has a weakness for chocolate and cannot resist sneaking bites of it during his classes.

I will indulge you with a glimpse into my private life in the marriage bed. It made the moment even more perfect; I think.

This morning, my husband, Harry, pleasured me in our bed. I felt the rise and bliss of that release as I repeated his name like a prayer. I went to heaven in that bed and floated down from it. We caught our breath. He removed his hand from my skirt, wiped it on the mattress, and held me close, our noses touching.

“Happy Anniversary, Stella.” He wished.

“Happy Anniversary, Harry,” I repeated softly.

I kissed the tip of his nose, his face bright red and scrunched with smiling. I reached a hand to play with his curls.

“How’s the loveliest lady in England today, hm? Not sick of me yet?” he asked.

“After ten years not yet…” I answered.

I placed both of my hands on his warm, solid chest as he stretched out, arms folded under his head. I then rested my chin on him as I looked up at his handsome face.

“Tell me the story about your adventures at sea…” I requested.

“I’ve already told that one hundreds of times!” he laughed.

“I don’t care, I like to hear it…let me hear it all, Harry, I’ll listen...especially the part about seeing the dolphins!”

He smoothed my hair as he told me about his time at sea. We hardly notice the hour pass by except for the sun slowly rising. I rose halfway in surprise, my stomach rumbling.

“I am hungry though…could we eat outside?” I requested.

Harry agreed. We dressed quickly and simply. I made sure my cane was right outside the front door, should the occasional bout of dizziness happen. Or a vision. Some say tuberculosis brings visions in a later stage but so far, they have been few and far between. I still have life in me yet and I’m determined to enjoy it. No matter how much time I have left.

We gathered our food in a picnic basket, held a blanket, and walked outside. I have a whole garden filled with flowers with as many blue ones as I could find seeds for. There is an apple tree in our front yard. Harry draped the blanket right under the tree, yet close enough that one could smell the flowers of both the garden and the apple blossoms of the tree.

Once we finished the meal, he at once grabbed me around the waist and pulled me to lay down on the blanket with him. He drowned me in kisses, and I giggled as if I was just an adolescent. I even felt one of his hands reach up to touch my thigh beneath my skirt.

“Harold! We’re outside! Our neighbors could see us!” I teased.

I saw his face, and just over the green leaves shuffling with the wind blowing through them. The sun alighting his blonde curls like a halo.

“Let them! Let them all see how much I love you, Stella…”

He kissed me with tongue and passion, tasting our meal again. We saw birds fly into the branches. They were singing their own songs and had twigs in their beaks. Soon there would be nests and eggs and chicks- new life. According to Fanny’s letters, Vincent said that the name of “Aldwinter” translated from German to English as “Old Winter”. Not here in Kersey where it was warm and so full of the promise of spring and life.

When I turned, right near the tree trunk among the grass, I found a little blue wildflower. I picked it up and bedecked it into one of Harry’s curls. He took my hand to kiss each of my knuckles and we melted into each other’s arms again beneath the shade and sunlight.

I know my time will come. And very, very likely, the consumption shall have that inevitable victory. But after such betrayal, such heartbreak, such tears, and rage …I was so at peace and happy that if I died at that moment, I thought, I wouldn’t have complained. I would finally be able to say I was content with my life.

I hope you too, no matter what may happen to you, no matter what betrayals you face or heartbreaks are forced upon you, no matter what struggles or hardships you have, you have strength. If I could, so could you. I pray that when you encounter someone like my first husband, when you find your Serpent, you stand up to him and tell him no. That you find someone like Harry or Fanny, or Mrs. Lee or Martha or the other Aldwinter ladies - someone to listen, to help, to love you and for you to love them. Or even perhaps fight for you- should the time arise- if you cannot fight for yourself.

May you go outside and if it is dark, try to find stars shining above you. Think of my name. Think of me. So, you will remember me and see that light in all the darkness and burning strong in a ball of fire, triumphant.

If it is light outside, go out and try to find a blue wildflower. Blue itself is a rare color in nature, so look very carefully. And once you find one, may you see it and be filled with that heaven-like tranquility and grace. If you like, you can try to press it. Or pluck it. Or leave it as it is and admire it before you continue your way. In a way, it’s like a piece of me watching over you, my dear reader.

For even amidst the deepest misery, as I have experienced, there are those who love us and who have yet to love us. There is life continuing without giving up. After we mourn, there is the eventual promise that one day, we will find the joy of being alive again.

I thank you so much for reading my words and hearing my story, whoever you are. Reader, I do not know your faith, but I will finish this with a prayer for your blessing. After all, you should know by now I am a woman of the Church of England.

Reader, may you be blessed. May you have hope and strength as a star or a blue wildflower. Because you have listened to me, may you be as listened to and come through your own challenges, as I have. Lord graciously hear us.

Reader, if you are one of my fellow betrayed spouses or lovers, I ask for heaven to bless you immensely. I am with you, holding your hand as you mourn and weep and rage. You are absolved, for you are the true innocents suffering from the sins of another. Lord, graciously hear us.

Even if you are not, Reader, may you reading this always ask for justice and find it, as I did. May you ask for love and find it again, as I did. May you always possess courage, as I learned to. Lord graciously hear us.

Your friend, Stella Harris Ransome Cavaradossi, wishes you the best as we depart for now.

I commend you, I commend you, I commend you all to mercy and protection.

Amen.

[quality-on-a-patch-of-awesome]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: SEAL Team (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Eric Blackburn & Sonny Quinn Characters: Sonny Quinn (SEAL Team TV), Eric Blackburn Additional Tags: Past Character Death, Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Past unrequited love, assumed unrequited, Regret, Grief/Mourning, nothing will stop blackburn from taking care of his boys, AU-gust | August Writing Challenge, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Suicidal Thoughts Series: Part 5 of How it Hurts Summary:

“Did you ever tell him how you felt about him?”

A story about all those chances you don't take

[hana-no-seiiki]

COMME ON FAIT SON LIT, ON SE COUCHE.

⟣┄─ ˑ 𝐈. ✧ PAIRING: YAN! NEUVILETTE x SCUM! READER (ft. yan! other characters + mystery major pairing)

⟣┄─ ˑ 𝐈𝐈. ✧ TW/CW: Typical Yandere Themes: Stalking, Delulu, Yun’s vv broken French. Canon Divergence.

⟣┄─ ˑ 𝐈𝐈𝐈. ✧ SYNOPSIS: When given the power to flood the world with your admirer’s tears and skip work, who were you to reject it? | This happens prior to the Archon Quest

dedicated for le sims ( @o-tears-o-tides ) , aka the object of my platonic love and affection. happy birthday employee!!

Fucking with Neuvilette was your lifestyle. Figuratively that is. You wanted him to work harder if you were to provide him with the more literal definition of the term but regardless —

— making him suffer was your favorite hobby.

You held the prestigious role of documenter at the esteemed Palais Mermonia, where the dramatic tale of "Furina's Courtroom Crying Sessions" unfolded under the watchful eye of Neuvilette. In addition to chronicling these legal theatrics, your literary talents blossomed, weaving novels and insightful commentaries based on the trials you meticulously transcribed. This dual creative and professional endeavor earned you a devoted following throughout Teyvat and established influential connections with prominent figures across the nation.

Your relationship with Monsieur Neuvilette started off differently than what many would assume. Those privy to your early interactions could discern an undeniable enchantment on your part towards this man. Undoubtedly, he exuded an aura of elegance, elevated prestige, and an unwavering work ethic, all of which captivated admirers across the spectrum of society. His demeanor possessed an intoxicating allure for young ladies and gentlemen alike, leaving an indelible mark of respect and awe upon those fortunate enough to witness it.

“Monsieur Neuvilette.”

You greeted him with a slight bow, resisting the urge to smile at his presence. He reminded you a bit of someone from back home. A man that you’d do anything to receive a single praise from.

“Ah, Mx. [Y/N] to what do I owe you the pleasure?” He looked up from his documents. He too had to resist the urge to beam at your form. After all you were one of if not the only person he felt like he could never have enough time with.

“It’s just that I thought you’d be home by now. In any case I have this coffee a friend gave me but I can’t drink it . . .” You looked to the side, breaking off eye contact from your superior. He would have frowned at the action had it not been accompanied by a sweet gesture of yours. You always excused your good deeds with some nonsense about self-interest but he knew you well enough that he could see through it all.

“Thank you.”

Then, you realized that it rained whenever he felt sad.

And when there’re intense rains there would be no work.

And when there was no work, you could stay at home or go out and do whatever the hell you want.

Also he liked you and whatever but that was besides the point! You could slack off and fulfill your sadistic needs.

And so began your journey to find what made your senior co-worker tick. Most of the time it was when you gave other people your attention ( aside from Furina for some reason ). A single headpat towards either Freminet or Lynette caused some light rain. Rejecting his advances caused the skies to stay blanketed for hours. Whenever you were absent it poured cats and dogs.

And lastly, when you and Lyney were practically fucking with words it was as if the Raiden Shogun herself was here to cry alongside him.

The man practically saw you as more valuable than the water he drowns himself with.

It was all you ever wanted and more.

Despite your excessive amounts of free time, you still found yourself to be stressed and tired. Due to your high profile job and connections, it was a must to move from place to place frequently as to avoid paparazzi among other dangers to your health and privacy.

You were planning to check the Fortress of Meropide that day to . . . have a date with Lyney. Don’t look at me like that! You two are the ones with the weird taste in scenery.

“Oh! Your Grace. How do you fare?” You bowed politely. You could feel the glare from the magician beside you burning as bright as his vision.

The man was a menacing person from looks to begin with, but there were also other reasons you often felt something crawl up your spine whenever you two met.

He always stared at you like you had done something wrong. When he was the former criminal between you two! Really, what a crude man. His trial was one of the biggest hits of your career so at least you had that to owe to him.

You still remove the chills you felt when he simply admitted his guilt.

“Mx. [L/N]. I was told to deliver this to you.”

“Oh? I didn’t know that the Duke of Meropide also worked as part-time delivery men.”

“Trust me, this is works for my own self interest more than the sender.”

You gave him a pointed look. Well those words didn’t seem suspicious at all. You shrugged as you examined the object. A letter. Cold pressed paper — the expensive kind too, bound together by stamped blue wax and what seemed to be a miniature lakelight lily.

Inside — in the most elegant cursive you’ve ever seen — was . . . a poem. It read as follows;

Ma gouttelette du ciel,

Telle une étoile dans la nuit,

Ton amour est mon miel,

Dans ton regard, tout est infini.

Tes sourires, doux rayons du jour,

Illuminent mes jours comme un phare,

Dans ce monde, tu es mon seul séjour,

Ton amour est ma plus belle fanfare.

La tendresse de tes mains,

L'éclat de ton rire mélodieux,

Sont pour moi de précieux biens,

Qui éclairent ma vie, radieux.

Ma gouttelette du ciel,

Dans ton amour, je m'égare,

Ton essence est mon miel,

Chaque moment avec toi est un phare.

It only took one line for you to recognize Neuvilette’s work. His water tasting hobbies was somewhat common knowledge to the public, and Lyney was less of a poem man and more of a showy partner.

And so, after making sure his eyes were on you, you ripped it apart.

“That’s a bit too harsh is it not?” Lyney spoke with a nagging tone, yet his eyes were filled with the utmost delight.

“Monsieur Lyney. You know of its contents? Has your father ever told you not to pry into other people’s business?”

“Perhaps. But we’re friends aren’t we? Friend’s don’t hide anything from eachother.”

You sighed. You hated it when he knew where to hit. “. . .Then can you do me a favor and use your vision for its disposal?”

“My pleasure.”

Orange flames barely appear for a moment before it is doused by the sky’s tears. But even then it was enough to destroy the letter.

“Your Grace—“

The clock was ticking.

A few months after you’d heard his screams, you found out that the traveler would be arriving to their next destination soon. There was only a small fragment of a moment to lose for preparation. The rain was getting unbearably strong. You could not count the amount of times you’ve had to replace your umbrella.

In any case, you had invited Charlotte for a chat at the cafe. Partly because of her vision which helped with the rain, and mostly because you wanted to gossip with her as you usually did when slacking off.

Those works of yours outside of your actual career at the Palais Memornia don’t make themselves after all.

“Rumor has it that young women of have been disappearing of late. Do you have any clues on this phenomenon yet, Charlotte?” You leaned unto the table. Your signature smug smile on your lips as you presented your question to the young lady.

“Not yet. Wait — aren’t I the journalist here? Why are you asking the questions? Don’t tell me you missed another deadline again.”

“I just want to get ahead on my writing. The Steambird must have gotten a lead, no?” You dipped on your tea as you spoke, gaze directed at its reflection of your face and the dark skies above.

“So you can slack off some more?”

“T’was what my doctor had prescribed. I need to take care of my mental health too, yknow.” You smiled, poking your cheek in a cutesy manner.

This was no good. You were getting nowhere in your investigation and your anxiety bit at you as time could only pass by. You bit your nails. What would he do? How would he bypass such a situation? Oh, how useless you were without him.

“[Y/N]!”

You almost don’t react to that name as you were overtaken by your thoughts. It seemed that you spent too much time worrying that Charlotte wasn’t even at your side anymore.

“Ah, Lady Furina. How may I be of service?” You stood from sit in a jolt. You were guilty of looking down at the archon from time to time but appearances must be kept in public.

“I came to personally escort you to Palais Memornia. We have a case that requires your presence.” She coughed. An unusual shaken demeanor on her. Not that she was a completely confident person all the time, but this look on her particularly screamed fear.

But what would an archon be afraid of?

“Urgently.”

“A case? But with this rain. . . surely — “

The rain abruptly stopped and with its sounds disappearing, a deep voice makes its way into your ears.

“It is yours, [Y/N]. You’re under arrest for suspicions of colluding with the Fatui.”

“Monsieur —“

He looked away from you before you could finish your call. You feel metal touch your skin as none other than Wriosthesley himself puts cuffs around your wrists.

“Stay put, Mx. [Y/N].”

You eyed the Iudex from beyond the ‘glass’. This chamber had not existed the last time you visited the Fortress. Yet here it was, almost an exact same replica of your room — yet it did not feel like home at all.

You supposed Fontaine in its entirety was not home at all.

“You framed me.”

You were lazy. Incompetent even. But you would never collude with those miscreants.

At least, those were the lies you fed yourself in order to feel better about the betrayals you made in a day to day basis.

You could imagine the looks on your colleague’s faces. Would they be surprised, neutral, would they even care at all? Or would they be so utterly hurt by your actions that they fall into a spiraling abyss of despair?

You yearned to witness it all.

“All you had to do was to accept me.” His gloved hand touches the material between you two, a ripple forming from his touch. You were surrounded by what seemed like primordial water.

“I would have forgiven your sins. I would have made you be reborn anew. Innocent and pure as water.”

The water parted for a brief moment but you do not dare do anything foolish. You stayed put, remained still as Neuvilette reached through, and allowed the dragon to drag his thumb across your jaw and lips.

“All you did was push me away.”

And then — he pulls your head through the opening.

You close your eyes. One smallest movement would have your neck turn into foam.

“[Y/N], ma gouttelette du ciel.”

Perhaps, you had no need to see all the other’s fall into hopelessness. After all, the man who put the most trust and adoration into you was right here with you.

If only you were able to empathize with him. If only you were able to return his feelings and live a fulfilling life filled with love.

If only you weren’t cursed to feel nothing for him at all.

“Comme on fait son lit, on se couche.”

After all, what the Doctor wills is what the patient gets,

and if you must sleep in your deathbed this day and suffer the Iudex’s judgement — then so it shall be.

⟣┄─ ˑ IV. ✧ DIVIDER

[ TRANSLATIONS ] [ MY FRENCH IS VV RUSTY SO PLEASE TELL ME IF THERE ARE BETTER REPLACEMENTS/TRANSLATIONS FOR THESE] :

Ma gouttelete du ciel- My droplet from the sky/heaven/my droplet of heaven etc.

Comme on fait son lit, on se couche - You made your bed, sleep on it / You dug your own grave.

[twaufest]

We're back for 2024!

Teen Wolf AU Fest is an open collection prompt fest that will take place over five weeks, starting in the first week of May.

This fest will be similar to fests like Flufftober or Kinktober in that anyone can participate as little or as much as they want. Instead of daily prompts, however, there will be two weekly prompts to choose from. For 2024, these prompts will be beings and places. We're also introducing bonus prompts for genre.

FAQ

This is a low-key, participate as-you-wish fest. You can create something for all five weeks or just for one.

The prompts will be posted weekly through the Tumblr fest blog (@twaufest). At least one of the weekly prompts should be incorporated in the work.

There will be two prompts per week. You can use one or both of them. There will also be a bonus genre prompt, if you wish to also include that.

You can create one work using just one of the weekly prompts, or create one work with both prompts, or create two works using one prompts for each work.

All ships are welcome (or lack thereof).

All types of transformative fanworks are welcome.

Your work can be shared in the AO3 collection (twaufest24) and/or on Tumblr by tagging @twaufest.

Rules

AU works only. Since this is an AU fest, all works must be AUs. They can be human-AUs, supernatural AUs, or any other type of AU. But they cannot be fully canon or just canon divergent.

Tag your works. Fics must be tagged appropriately. Please tag for major content warnings and other common warnings/triggers.

At least one of the weekly prompts must be used in your work for that week.

Late submissions are accepted while the fest is ongoing. The collection will close a week or two after the fest is over for the year. If I run this fest again next year, I’ll reopen the collection at that time.

If you are participating as a reader, please practice good fandom etiquette. If you don’t like a work or a particular ship, don’t read it or use the back button. All TW ships and all types of transformative fandom works are welcome.

2024 Teen Wolf AU Prompts

For 2024, the prompts will be beings/places. There will also be a bonus genre each week, if you should so choose to use it.

Week 1: Dragons and/or Resort (Bonus Genre: Thriller)

Week 2: Ancient Gods and/or Yarn Shop (Bonus Genre: Cozy)

Week 3: Gnomes and/or Grocery Store (Bonus Genre: Mystery)

Week 4: Superheroes and/or Car Wash (Bonus Genre: Bodice Ripper)

Week 5: Aliens and/or An Office (Bonus Genre: Comedy)

Your mods this year are @manixzen, @kellerific-writing, and @paxere. Feel free to drop us any questions in the Tumblr ask box!

[mushroomnoodles]

info

mush/noodle · he/him · 21

read the FAQ?

hi. i draw sfw, nonfetish mpreg. of simon petrikov. i dont take requests unless im particular to them + simon related. but im willing to discuss and answer questions you have abt the whole.. mpreg simon thing lol, and you're always welcome to suggest things you want to see pertaining to my content, just uh.. be patient, and be aware im only gonna post simon stuff lol. i dont do a/b/o either. my blog is very fluff + angst forewarning. i aint afraid to touch heavier topics but i try my best to tw them accordingly.

i have a group of running aus and sometimes my content isn't just mpreg. im extremely uncomfortable with proship. please dont be horny on my art, i will block you. other than that im pretty chill

my art tag is #i have a mproblem, i also have #golbaby and #golbaby +1000 if youre looking for the baby or them in 1000 years. #my style is for works in my non-at art style. au tags beneath the cut :)

MAIN TIMELINE AUS (morrigan is the child of GOLBetty and the Simon in the show)

#plainvanilla the default timeline. the au color is purple. #wizardbetty (petrigrof semi-fix it au where simon is brought back in time into an alternate universe where betty survived as a budding wizard in the nuclear fallout, where he has to navigate the apocalypse while pregnant. eventually, morrigan creates a portal back to ooo, and the two try their best to get back to normal life while raising golbaby and trying to relate to humans from a time that is not their own.) the au color is blue.

#spicywizardbetty (similar to wizardbetty but simon is brought to the present day in her au. betty has full MMS and thinks he is her universe's simon come back to be with her.) the au color is the same blue as wizardbetty's.

#replacement dad (morrigan kidnaps an ice king from another universe and uses their transmutation abilities to change the wiring to bring that simon back and change the crown's appearance enchantment to make him resemble their dad. this simon, referred to as Imon or Ice Simon, is kept in morri's pocket dimension while they "fix" him.) this au has no set color. #bad end. (au where morrigan is unable to break the seal placed on them and is born 6 months after their due date; exhausted from trying to break the seal for so long, they drain the life of everything around them and it ends up killing everyone in the candy kingdom. marcy is a chaos creature now and pb is a monstrosity akin to the mother gum) this one is super angsty! the au color is grey. #forever seal (au where the seal placed on morrigan is extremely powerful and meant to be permanent, or at least until pb can figure out how to neutralize golbaby's powers; simon runs off shortly afterwards and is desperately seeking some way to break the seal on his baby. a wanted man, he travels ruins and hunts for artifacts and researches spells, while trying not to garner any attention from the townsfolk he lives with.) the au color is dark green.

#creaturewizards (arguably the most canon divergent, where wizards are all different kinds of mythical creatures. simon was turned into a sphinx and retains the species after being digested by GOLB, where betty becomes a harpy before becoming GOLBETTY. when she impregnates simon, he is expecting a whole litter instead of just morrigan.) the au color is brown.

MAJOR AUS (these universes do not feature morrigan as a golbaby, and the simons, betties, etc are different)

#candyworld (au where simon and betty are recreated as candy people, with betty being the candy elemental in pb's place. eventually she gains proper sentience with no candy person dumb dumb and overthrows pb, becoming the incredibly territorial candy witch.) the au color is pink.

#vamparents (au where simon and betty are vampires in the vampire king's inner circle, known as THE HANGED MAN and THE WORLD separately, and THE LOVERS together. betty was ambushed by a vampire before the mushroom war and was turned, before biting simon to save him from death by radiation poisoning.) the au color is maroon.

#lichtrikov (au where the host body The Lich chooses is the corpse of Simon Petrikov, unwittingly incurring GOLBetty's wrath. there is an alternate timeline of this where she impregnates him with a child meant to punish him forever by rendering him useless.) the au color is green.

#magic morri (au where magic betty and ice king stay together and have morri, who is then taken and raised by pb and marcy) the au color is teal. #dreamtime au (very tiny au following a dream i had once where magic betty turned ice king back into simon successfully after learning he was pregnant. ice king's personality is not entirely gone.) the au color is very loosely dark blue, but doesn't have a set color either.

[deecotan]

Do you have a list of favorite zosan fics? Sorry if someone's asked this before x.x

Hooo boy, this is going to be challenging because there's simply a lot of fics that I like and it's kind of all over the place depending on my mood, but I'm going to make a general list of some of my favorites and a short summary of why I like them.

This is going to be a little long so I'm going to put them under read more!

Sketches of Life (and Love) by Fledgling — An exploration of a headcanon where Sanji likes to draw in his free time. This fic always leaves me with a warm feeling every time I read it because how endearingly sweet it is. It's basically a domestic fluff story about both ZoSan and the Strawhats crew in general.

green with envy blues by adietxt — A cute fic about Zoro being jealous. Jealous!Zoro has been one of those tropes that make me screech like a feral animal every time I come across it and this fic does exactly that. It's pretty short and simple but it captures the characters very well. It's set during pre-timeskip which makes it even better to me because pre-TS Zoro possesses that boyish quality that post-TS Zoro doesn’t necessarily have anymore. 

Old Men Blues by postmoderne — Quoting directly from the fic's summary, “Sanji and Zoro: two ancient fucks (in love).” because this is exactly that, a story about old men ZoSan. Old Zoro and old Sanji are both still as stubborn as ever and it's endearing.

Meet me under the orange tree by candelina — A canon divergence AU where Zoro and Sanji met as kids, as Zeff opened up Baratie in Zoro's hometown. It's an adorable and heartwarming story of little Zoro and little Sanji's friendship. There's also a part two which is also worth reading.

Other fics from candelina: The whole world will know, another fic about old men ZoSan, this one involves Zoro deliberately showing himself to the Marines for god knows what. It's sweet, it's beautiful, and it shows that Zoro is as reckless and idiotic as he is a loving, devoted husband.

Zoro's Boyfriend, Who Lives In Canada by donutsandcoffee — Modern AU, where Zoro's friends try to stop him from believing that his imaginary, totally made-up boyfriend actually exists. Of course Zoro's boyfriend doesn't actually exist, because with the way Zoro describes him he's way too perfect to exist and how can anyone so perfect actually exist? A hilarious story of misunderstandings. 

Other fics from donutsandcoffee: My other favorite stories would be Prison Blues and it’s a long way forward, which serve as both a ZoSan story and a great Sanji character study. 

The Three of Swords by 8ball — A medieval AU with knight Zoro and prince Sanji, a concept that starts to really grow on me after I begin to read this fic. In this story, Zoro is a cursed knight appointed to serve Sanji, a deeply kind-hearted prince whom Zoro eventually pines over. It's a beautiful take of prince and knight AU; devoted knight Zoro is something that I didn't know I need. It also has a sequel. 

Steady, As She Goes by auspizien — I've always loved auspizien's fics and this is the one fic that made me fall in love with their writing. This is a modern AU story where Zoro is an ex-agent with PTSD who meets and befriends Sanji, a paramedic. It's a multi-chapter fic filled with humor, angst, pining, action, and good ol’ slow-burn. 

The Tribulations of Tempation by SweetyGreeny — Zoro accidentally sees Ace and Sanji doing... the do, and then spends days after that feeling shocked, confused, angry, and disappointed.  A simply delicious story of pining and jealous Zoro. There's a slight AceSan in the beginning but the endgame is still ZoSan.  

Other fics from SweetyGreeny: A Siren's Sinking Song, a canon-divergent AU where Sanji is a siren who one day meets a peculiar swordsman from a wandering ship; this story is beautiful and I love the idea of siren!Sanji, but please note the major character death TW. The Burden of Blondes, Sanji finds out that Zoro has a thing for blondes, and for some reason he feels uneasy. A fun story with some good smut. 

(I Want) Someone to Love Me by three_days_late — Sanji is about to turn 17, so he hopes that he can get his first kiss before that. A cute high school AU that involves everyone wanting to kiss Sanji (honestly, who doesn't) but only one person gets to actually do it. 

Other fics from three_days_late: Blood Red - this might be a little biased because this fic is inspired by my comic, but that's also a perfectly good reason why I must add it here; this fic is able to capture the spirit of the comic perfectly. If you want to read a short exposition of Zoro showing his protective side, then this fic is worth the read. The Christmas Swap, a modern AU in which Sanji and Reiju switch partners during Christmas so they can attend their family gathering without having to come out as queer. It’s a wonderful story about family, relationships, and what it feels like to be closeted. The Only Way Out (Is Through), a beautiful Prince Sanji and Knight Zoro story, where circumstances forced them to be unable to be together - and it also has a side Nami/Vivi. 

Curly Angel by APTX (translated to English by NMTD) — In this alternative canon universe, everyone has a guardian angel, and Zoro's just happened to be Sanji. Hilarity ensues. I have to admit that I absolutely love all of APTX's ZoSan fics, but since most of them are in Chinese, if you're like me and doesn't mind reading some really botchy translations of said fics, then you can try using Google Translate to read them.

Let me be your Inspiration by TheWanderers — College AU where Sanji is an artist/painter - another fic that explores Sanji as someone with an artistic streak, but also so much more. It's a beautiful story that starts out with Zoro having to model for Sanji's painting but ends up falling in love with him. I love the way the author adapts the characters' canon backstory into this universe.

Thy Fearful Symmetry by Harubo — A modern AU where Sanji is a tourist visiting a tiger reserve during a family vacation and Zoro is a detective investigating a poaching ring. All of Harubo's fics are godsend but I particularly love this one because the setting reads like a perfect rom-com drama movie about a stressed, overworked chef meeting a handsome detective. There's also a nice tidbit where the Vinsmoke siblings are trying to get along with each other.

Retrogade by Hazel_Athena — Sanji got badly injured after a fight, and ends up losing a big chunk of memories - he doesn't find it too bothersome until he notices how weird Zoro starts to act around him. It's a really good temporary amnesia fic with some really delicious pining!Zoro material.

Done Dirt Cheap by Balderdashfromafool — Basically a Western ZoSan AU, where Zoro is an outlaw and Sanji is a small town chef. This one is fun and lovely, and as someone who doesn’t read a lot of Western-themed stories, I love the way the author describes the Western setting in this fic. 

Each A Love Song by Shadowcatxxx — Sanji is frustrated because Zoro's surprisingly popular with women when he doesn't even like them back. A story of a confused Sanji trying to find love and being the World’s Most Oblivious Man. 

And that's all for now! It got way longer than I initially thought....there are some fics that I exclude, mostly the more explicit, PWP-type of fics, as well as Omegaverse fics, because my taste on them tend to be more specific and self-indulgent as ever. I might need to make a separate post for that, and also like feel free to ask me about them anytime. 

I really hope I've done these fics justice with my summaries. I can't overstate how talented these authors are, so please shower them with love, kudos, comments, attention, etc etc if you have time.

[steddieunderdogfics]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40228779

for challenge Monday if you still need recs! (or just a general rec. thought this was cute!)

Exit Light, Enter Night by Sharkyofthesea

@book-loving-lesbians

Rating: Teen and Up

1,677 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Technically major character death, but he literally comes back to life immediately, tw death, basically eddie dies but steve saves him, Steddie Brainrot, steddie, i am not cpr certified, CPR, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation, steve's a lifegaurd so ofc he knows cpr, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Eddie Munson Lives, i am a #eddielives truther, Gay Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Fluff, Angst, Fluff and Angst, robin says be gay do crime, dustin is my baby boy, Fix-It, One Shot, Short One Shot, this is for all you girlies traumatized by st4 ep8, Stranger Things Spoilers, what is it like to die i don't know i just made shit up, Girl what the fuck is this, finally learned how to write in present tense, two bros chillin in hospital beds five feet apart bc they kinda gay, Hospitals, tw broken bone mention, Blood and Injury, Major Character Injury

Summary:

If this is what dying is like, Eddie thinks, then I think I’m ready to die. So he lets go of his last shred of consciousness and drifts away. Except, for some reason, he doesn’t. ~~ Basically what if the group had made it to Eddie and Dustin just a little bit sooner and what if Steve could save Eddie using CPR.

Thanks for the rec!

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[arrow-of-ravenclaw]

my ghostbusters fics + some of my favorites (several checkmatch fics included)

need some good content? Here you go

my fics:

You Act Like You Just Saw a Ghost

TW: none

summary: a canon divergence fic from the ghost walking scene onwards. Basically, what if Phoebe got trapped as a ghost when garraka possessed her?

I was Thinking About Her (Thinking About Me)

tw: none

summary: Phoebe misses Melody. She confides in Trevor about it.

We Can Burn Brighter Than the Sun

tw: major character death, offscreen car accident

worthy note: this has a sequel in the works

summary: canon divergence. Melody didn't move on at the end of Frozen Empire. Instead, she decides to wait for Phoebe. She didn't know she wouldn't be waiting long.

First Aid

tw: gunshot wounds

summary: Spider-Man au. Phoebe is shot during a robbery. She calls Trevor, revealing herself as Spider-Woman. Trevor is freaking out for so many reasons.

my recs:

A mother’s arms are more comforting than anyone else’s by KryptonianHero

Tw: none

summary: Callie and Phoebe aren’t communicating well after Frozen Empire. Emotional hurt/comfort ensues.

Frozen First Aid by Notmarysue

tw: none

summary: a missing scene fic between Phoebe ghostwalking and getting picked up by her parents. Hurt/comfort with Lars and lucky.

I'll Be There For You, Always by SHSLFanfictionWriter

tw: none

summary: instead of lucky showing up when Phoebe ghost walks, it’s Trevor.

Left All Alone by SHSLFanfictionWriter

(just now realizing the last two were wrote by the same person)

Tw: discussion of Phoebe and Trevor’s bio dad being a piece of shit(Gary is their dad, what are you talking about?)

summary: set during afterlife. Trevor comforts his sister after a nightmare.

[the-lincyclopedia]

Winter holiday fics by lincyclopedia

Thanks for the tags, @cricketnationrise and @doggernaut! When you tagged me, I wasn't sure if I had any winter holiday fics. I have 12, across four fandoms. In my defense, I have over 200 fics total, so I lose track of what I've written sometimes. (Also, looking back through my AO3 account, it's like, man, I used to write. Unfortunately I've been too depressed to do much of that for a while now.) Anyway. Here's what I've got, organized by fandom:

Check Please

Deck the Halls with Balls of Holly

Ransom misunderstood the lyrics to "Deck the Halls," and he and Holster wind up making some interesting Christmas decorations for the Haus.

This is a super short one-shot featuring platonic Ransom & Holster friendship from Bitty's POV. (It's part of my series of fics based on misheard song lyrics.) The relevant holiday is Christmas.

Palentine's Day Karaoke

This fic is inspired by @softfloralbro's story "Shitty Knight's Palentine's Day Spectacular" and is basically a karaoke playlist wrapped in narration. The basic idea is that SMH has a karaoke party on Valentine's Day, and everyone serenades their friends. Set in February of Year 2.

This fic is full of SMH friendship, music, and not much else. The relevant holiday is Valentine's Day.

In Your Warmth I Forget How Cold It Can Be

In a world where the graduation kiss never happened, it's winter break of Bitty's senior year, and Bitty and Jack are both out and single. The plan is for Bitty to spend New Year's Eve with Jack at Jack's condo, but that plan goes awry when Bitty and Jack return from the airport to find a homophobic slur painted on Jack's parking space. TW for homophobia.

Basically, this is canon-divergent Zimbits getting together. The relevant holiday is New Year's Eve.

too long i've been afraid (of losing love i guess i've lost)

Dex gets disowned after coming out as gay. SMH is there for him.

Basically, angst, hurt/comfort, and platonic Frogs content, plus some platonic Dex & Bitty. The relevant holiday is Christmas.

Five Times Lukas Was Homesick Plus One Time He Didn’t Have to Be

It can be hard to go to school in another country where everyone speaks a different language and no one celebrates your holidays. Luckily, Lukas has friends to help when he’s homesick.

Okay, this is a 5+1 and only one of the scenes is actually about a winter holiday, but I like that scene, so I'm including this fic on the list. The relevant holiday is St. Lucia Day.

When Lucia Day Dawns

For Lukas's senior project as a music major, he has to plan/lead a public music performance. He decides to form a choir to sing Swedish Lucia/Advent/Christmas songs on St. Lucia Day (December 13). This is the Friday before finals and everything is stressful—until the concert starts and suddenly it’s perfect.

This is another Lukas-centric fic about being Swedish. The relevant holiday is St. Lucia Day.

Carry On

Right Now

A one-shot set during Christmas break of Simon and Agatha's fifth year at Watford. Even though they're not ultimately meant to be, they made sense as a couple once.

This is very jossed by Any Way the Wind Blows, but I still kind of like it. It's pre-canon Simon/Agatha. The relevant holiday is Christmas.

Stranded

After leaving Baz's house and dropping Penny off in London, Simon and Agatha get stranded in a ditch in the middle of a snowstorm. Ex awkwardness ensues.

Unlike "Right Now," this fic features Simon and Agatha as exes. The relevant holiday is Christmas.

Sounds Like a Date

Baz is a barista stuck working on Christmas Eve. Simon is a handsome customer.

This is a coffee shop AU featuring a Snowbaz meet-cute. The relevant holiday is Christmas.

Yuri on Ice

Ice Quality

One of Yuuri's college friends invites him to spend Christmas with her family, and Celestino approves as long as Yuuri promises to skate while he's there. Trouble is, the town's indoor rink is closed for renovations. A one-shot set during Yuuri's time in college in Detroit.

This is a pre-canon platonic Yuri & OFC fic. The relevant holiday is Christmas.

Happy New Year, Otabek!

Yuri and Otabek have been best friends for four years, and Yuri's had a crush on Otabek for a while, but he never expected Otabek to like him back. Until, that is, Otabek gets drunk at the Grand Prix Final banquet and says some things Yuri doesn't expect. It's going to be a very interesting New Year's celebration in Almaty . . .

This is a post-canon Yuri Plisetsky/Otabek, and it's the only multi-chapter fic on this list (though it's still pretty short). The relevant holiday is New Year's Eve.

Sherlock

Over the Table and through the Giggles

John has insisted on hosting a Christmas party. Again. Everyone but Sherlock is drinking, and John is telling stories about Sherlock, and suddenly Sherlock decides to kiss John. Plotless fluff.

This is a canon-divergent Johnlock getting-together scene based more heavily than you might guess on my sober-but-sleep-deprived friends and me being ridiculous in high school. The relevant holiday is Christmas.

I'm guessing a lot of people have been tagged, especially from the Check Please fandom, but I'm going to try to pull in some Queen's Thief folks. I tag @worldsentwined, @newtsoftheworldunite, @hoeratius, @eponymiad, and anyone else who wants to play!

[alexagirlie]

Close Your Eyes and Think of Caladan

(Masterlist)

A/N Here is the first part to the Close Your Eyes Series. I first write this 2 years ago. It has not been re-edited so i apologize for the grammar. I am very very mean to everyone. Please heed the tags. Part 2 will be posted soon! Thank you to @zaldritzosrose for the header!

Fandom: Dune

Pairing: Paul/Duncan (offscreen/implied), Paul/Trauma, Paul/Harkonnen(s)

TW: DDDNE. NON-CON. Canon Divergent. Banquet Scene AU. Major Character Death. The Baron is a Lecherous Animal. Angst. Hurt no Comfort. No Lube. Blood as Lube. Non Consensual Drug Use. Non Consensual Voyeurism. Non Consensual Touching. Non Consensual Oral. GangBang. Spitroasting. Murder.

Summary: "You are going to do everything that I say, everything." The Baron leaned forward in his seat menacingly, his shadow stretching down the table like a phantom. "If you do this and if I'm pleased with your effort I will allow your Father to live and he can join you and your witch mother in exile."

"Strip" The single word made every cell in Paul's body crawl, the reality of what he was about to do making him feel sick. But if his father had to go through the indignity of being drugged, helpless and naked in front of the enemy then so too could Paul. He could handle whatever needed to be done to save his fathers life.

Word count: 5.5K

Taglist: @valeskafics

Paul regained consciousness slowly as he was being dragged along the hard stone hallway outside his bed chambers. Rough hands wrapped around his ankles and animalistic laughter, deep voices speaking to each other. His hair caught and snagged on every little crack in the floor knotting the wild curls. The side of his face felt rubbed raw from sand and grit.

He couldn't make out the words of the conversation happening between the men dragging him. The effects of the sedative Dr Yueh had given him still pulled his mind down and made everything sound like he was underwater. All Paul knew was that he was in trouble and he had to get away. These men were not friends of House Atreides but enemies which had found their way into his room. Who knew who else they had taken, who else they had hurt.

Paul struggled to utilize all his Bene Gesserit training to drive the drug from his system. To fight and regain control of his body like he had been trained to do but it was no use. The drug was still too strong, designed to give him a full night of uninterrupted, dreamless sleep. He was uncoordinated, his limbs weak and not responding to the orders he gave them. He could move them just enough for his legs to twitch, for the men dragging him to notice that he was awake. They dropped him to the floor and two others stepped forward, grabbing him under each arm and continuing up the hallway. His feet kicking and scraping off the stone but he was unable to get his legs under him and stand.

They travelled for many minutes, down corridor after dark corridor that stank of blood, sweat and terror. The further they went the more Paul felt the effects of the sedative wear off and he tried to pull upon the powers of The Voice to aid in his escape. But he could not pull his focus enough to find the right pitch. Still he tried, over and over, voice getting louder and louder.

"Unhand me!"

"Let go of me!"

"You will not win, my Father will see your throat slit for this!"

Finally one of the Harkonnen soldiers grew tired of his words and he moved to strike Paul sharply across the face. It was hard enough to make his ears ring and blood dripped from his nose. Paul stopped trying, accepting now was not the right time. He needed to wait for the sedative to wear off further and his head to clear before he could try and use The Voice.

They turned the last corner before the Banquet hall and Paul could see the several Harkonnen soldiers which stood guard. And to his confusion he could see Dr Yueh. The Doctor was unrestrained and appeared to be unharmed though a look of panic grew on his face when he saw Paul being carried towards the door. Dr Yueh stepped forward and intercepted the men that held Paul captive. He began to question them in a hushed voice filled with barely restrained terror.

"What is going on? He is supposed to be with Lady Jessica. To be taken out into the desert and released into exile."

As Dr Yueh questioned the men, Paul came to the sinking realization that the House of Atreides had been betrayed. That the Doctor who had taken care of him for most of his life was a traitor and had sold them out to the Baron. Fury rose up within Paul, swift and burning in his chest, teeth clenched. Giving a sharp tug on his arms he managed to pull one of his arms free from the soldiers holding him. It granted him enough freedom to swing out with an open hand, slapped the Doctor across the face. The sound if flesh to flesh echoing down the hall.

"You traitor! You fucking trai-" His tirad was cut off by a hand that gripped into his hair and yanked his body back sharply. It pulled a yelp from his mouth and forced him down to one knee before it let him go. He glared up at those standing above him. Paul kept his mouth shut and waited to see what would happen next, mind spinning.

There was a long tense minute where no one spoke before one of the men finally answered the Doctor, "The Baron changed his mind, he demands to see the boy first before releasing him to his fate." The man stepped forward into Dr Yueh's space and met his gaze head on. "Now stand aside Doctor before you find yourself in need of fixing."

The two men stared at each other for a breath before Dr Yueh stepped aside without further comment. By now Paul was able to stand on his own, though his knees still felt weak. On wobbly legs he was able to move forward under his own power and no longer needed to be dragged.

They entered the room and Paul gaze locked onto a naked body sprawled limply in the chair closest to the door. Paul can feel his terror growing, his heart pounded, sweat gathered under his arms and in the small of his back. The soldiers led him further into the room and Paul could see that the body was his father, his eyes were open staring unblinkingly up at the ceiling. He could see his chest rise and fall so he was alive but he wasn't moving.

A voice sounded out from the far end of the room and pulled Paul's attention reluctantly away from his Father.

"Ah the young Paul, we meet at last" Seated at the other end of the banquet table was the most grotesque man Paul had ever seen. His bald head gleamed with sweat and his skin was an ashen shade of gray. His body looked misshapen under his black robes and his chin was covered in smears of food. There was a huge spread of food in front of him and he was stuffing his face. Handful after handful. It seemed he had found the time to raid the kitchen during his great siege upon House Atreides. This must be the Baron of house Harkonnen.

They came to a stop a few feet up the length of the table, the soldiers released Paul and stepped back. Left him alone to face the Baron. Paul tried to keep his disgust off his face, not wanting to make the situation worse, his mind whirled as he tried to come up with a solution the ended with his father and himself able to escape.

He considered a second attempt at using The Voice again but a glance around the room showed over a dozen. He would only have one chance to use The Voice and he wasn't sure if he would be successful with so many to control. Paul decided to save that skill for a time with a better chance of success, hopefully it would present itself soon.

"Such a pretty thing aren't you?" Paul can feel the Barons gaze like a caress, slimy and black as oil on his skin. Nausea built in his stomach at the implications behind the Barons comment. "Stand there quietly Child while we finish our business then we can get to know eachother better"

Paul felt bile rising up his throat and struggled to keep it down. He would not throw up, he was the son of the Duke, the son of a Bene Gesserit sister and he would not let his fear control him. He ran through the Litany against Fear in his head while the Baron conversed with the others around him.

'I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration" He could hear the conversation the Baron was having with Dr Yueh, it explained the deal they had made, the motivation behind the Doctor's betrayal. How they had his wife, how they promised to release her and reunite them.

'I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.'

Paul flinched at the slick wet sound of a blade being slid into flesh, a gurgle and a thud as Dr Yueh's body hit the floor. The traitor joined his wife in the release of death. The Baron turned his attention back to Paul, his beady black eyes swept over him from head to toe then slowly back up. A sick grin spread across his sticky, sweaty face.

"You are going to do everything that I say, everything." The Baron leaned forward in his seat menacingly, his shadow stretching down the table like a phantom. "If you do this and if I'm pleased with your effort I will allow your Father to live and he can join you and your witch mother in exile."

Paul stared at the Baron in disbelief, did he think Paul stupid? That he would just take him at his word and blindly agree.

"Why should I believe a word you say?" Paul asked "What's to stop you from killing us no matter what I do?"

The Baron let out a chuckle, humorless and menacing. The air seemed to drop several degrees, the sweat on the small of Paul's back cold enough to send a chill up his spine. Or that was the reason Paul had settled on, he refused to let his fear control him. He may have been deluding himself.

"Absolutely nothing," was the response "but you can count on me gutting your father like a pig if you don't." The threat rang with truth.

"Strip" The single word made every cell in Paul's body crawl, the reality of what he was about to do making him feel sick. But if his father had to go through the indignity of being drugged, helpless and naked in front of the enemy then so too could Paul. He could handle whatever needed to be done to save his fathers life.

His night clothes were loose and comfortable, easy to take off. Paul pulled the fear-sweat soaked shirt over his head, dropping it to the ground at his feet. Next he pulled the waistband of his pants down over his hips and ass and let gravity pull them the rest of the way down to his feet. Stepping out of them he kicked the pile of clothes away. He wore nothing underneath, he had hoped for a visit from his swordmaster during the early hours of the morning.

Paul's face burned red with shame but he made no move to cover himself after he had finished getting undressed. Kept his arms firmly at his side, chin held high, he refused to allow the Baron to humiliate him. He had been naked in front of others before, during outdoor survival training back on Caladan.

"Good boy" Paul could feel the flush moving down his chest. This time part of it was fueled by anger, not just embarrassment. Only one person was allowed to call him boy, "Bend over the table".

Paul's blood ran cold and he froze in place, not even daring to breathe. He must have heard incorrectly, this was not what was about to happen. Next thing he knew he had been grabbed by rough hands and was forced face down over the table. He barely had enough time to turn his head to the side in order to avoid having his nose smashed into the hard stone. His head rang from the blow to his temple and he struggled against the hands which held him down by the shoulders.

The soldiers that held his arms pulled them out to the side so they were extended flat against the table and a third came up behind him. A booted foot roughly kicked his legs out wider while a hand came to rest against the side of his head to hold it in place. Paul had no leverage to try and get his upper body off the table and his legs were spread too wide to keep his balance enough to try and kick out.

The Baron waited until Paul was firmly in place before he rose from his seat. Lift repulsor buzzing as he glided down the length of the table, past Paul and came to a stop next to Leto's chair. He addressed his next words to the Duke directly.

"My men are going to reap the rewards of conquest, using your son's body however they see fit. If he lives by the end and has put on a good show then you will be released together into the desert."

His speech made, the Baron drifted back to the other end of the room and took his seat to watch the show unfold.

Leto had thought that being betrayed by one of his own trusted men, paralyzed, stripped naked and left prown was to be the worst part of his final moments. He was wrong. He had watched in horror as his Son was brought in, as he heard the Baron's words. Leto's freedom to be used as leverage against Paul.

The Baron lowered Leto's chin just enough so he could see his son, pressed firmly to the table just feet away from him. He watched as the first Harkonnen soldier, the one that stood at Paul's back, reached down with the hand not holding Paul's head down and removed bits of his armour and pulled his hard cock from his pants. He watched as that same soldier stepped closer to his son and forced his cock into Paul's unwilling body.

He watched as Paul let out a heart wrenching scream which cut off as he let out a sob. Tears ran down his face to puddle on the table top below. He was screaming, pleading with the man to stop but all he got was vicious laughter in response. His body jerked forward with each thrust, and with each thrust his pleader got quieter and his sobbing and screaming got louder and more desperate.

Leto screamed along with his son, only he could not get his mouth to move, to let the noise out. All he could produce was a high moaning sound, the drug still had a firm hold on his body. In his mind he begged and begged for the scene in front of him to stop, to not make him watch as his son was brutalized in front of his eyes.

Leto watched as the fight drained out of his son, watched as the first soldier's thrust grew more erratic and he spasmed, coming inside of Paul and let out a deep satisfied groan. He watched the soldier pull out, and in his wake a stream of blood and cum flowed down the inside of Paul's thighs. Another soldier took the first man's place and it began again and again and again.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl and half a dozen Harkonnens had taken their turn with Paul's body. His son no longer screamed, just made a high pitched pained sound each time the man behind him thrust in. His hips slammed against the stone table, and bruises had begun to form on his body. Finger shaped on his hips and upper thighs, bite marks on his back and shoulders. His eyes were glossy, red rimmed and unseeing, face pale and covered in spilled tears and snot.

The soldiers had exchanged jokes and crude remarks as they took their turns with Paul. Commented on how tight he was or how good he felt around their cocks. Leto had tried to ignore them until one comment grabbed his attention in the worst way.

"Heeey let's have a go at that pretty mouth of his, bring him 'round!" More laughter met those words and Leto felt a tear slide down his cheek as they manhandled his son onto the floor. Down onto his hands and knees. The soldier who made the comment moved to stand in front of Paul, slide a hand into his curls and pulled his face up.

He watched as the man forced his cock into Paul's mouth, heard his son gag and choke at the intrusion into his airway. Heard the horrible wet sounds they made with each thrust. Watched as a second soldier knelt down behind Paul and thrust inside him and Leto screamed.

"If I feel teeth I will knock them out of your mouth" The man spoke barely above a whisper but Leto heard him all the same.

Duncan awoke to the sounds of men yelling and distant explosions. He jumped out of bed, stopped long enough to pull a shirt over his head and grab his sword belt. He didn't wait to strap it on, he buckled it up as he sprinted out of the room.

Speeding down several corridors his heart sank as he took in the distant forms of Sardaukar soldiers and the fallen bodies of servants. The Emperor had taken a side, and it was not with the House Atreides.

He slips past the first group he had come across but soon his luck runs out. Coming to a fork in the hallway he sees a form up ahead in the dark. He pulls his longsword from his belt and moves to confront the soldier. Footsteps and panting breath from his left let him know there were more Sardaukars approaching. He drew his other blade and moved into action.

It was a matter of five, six strikes and the first three men were dead on the floor. A fourth fires a dart from up the corridor, Duncan barely blocking before throwing one of his blades at the man to halt his momentum. He takes a running leap driving his knee into the soldier's chest, driving him to the ground.

The man under him tries to get a hold on his shoulder but Duncan throws him off, bringing his other arm down to strike the killing blow. He gets up, collects his dropped blade and continues on to the Ducal family's sleeping quarters.

His first stop was to check the Duke room; he hoped to find Leto and Lady Jessica still safe in their bed. The room was empty when he arrived, sheets still warm to the touch.

Next Duncan raced to Paul's room, praying that he would not find the same. That he would find Paul safe, his parents by his side. Guards at the ready.

He jogged around the corner towards Paul's room and his stomach sunk. There were no guards and the door to Paul's room was ajar. He burst into the room and confirmed his fears. The room was empty.

"Paul…" His lover's name escaped his mouth in a whisper and he paused just over the threshold. The bed was unmade and one of the chairs had been knocked onto its side.

There was still a chance the Ducal family had made their escape. He would head to the hanger next, to try and steal a thopter and head into the desert. The protocol the Duke and his warmaster created prior to their arrival on Arrakis dictated that was his next move If Paul had escaped he would activate his beacon so Duncan could find him.

"I heard the Baron is letting us have turns with the little Duke. Apparently his ass is so sweet and he's a real screamer" His companion laughed and clapped the first on the shoulder.

He made it several corridors without seeing another living being. Hearing distant voices Duncan pauses and waits to see who was approaching. He watched another two enemy soldiers from the shadows, this time dressed in the armour of House Harkonnen. He was about to spring out for the kill when one of them spoke.

"Well then we must hurry so we can get a piece of that before the others ruin him".

Duncan's blood froze and his vision turned red before he sprung into action, both their throats slit before they could register that they were being attacked. Blood splattered across his face and chest but Duncan ignored it as he took off running towards the banquet hall, the most logical place for the Baron to be. Duncan operated purely on instinct while a single thought ran on repeat in his head.

'They have Paul, they have Paul, they have P-'

Duncan slows down to a silent crouching walk as he nears the hallway that led to the banquet room, the Baron would have the door guarded and he did not want to alert them to his presence. He peeked around the corner and saw that he was correct. There were two men guarding the door but Duncan could tell they were distracted. He could also take a guess at what it was that distracted them. The door to the banquet room was opened, just a crack, but that was enough for the noises from within to drift out into the hallway.

The sound of skin against skin and muffled whines and broken off sobbing.

He bursts into the room with a roar. In a matter of seconds he sees Leto naked in a chair at one end of the table, the Baron seated with a feast before him at the other end. Then Duncan see's Paul, on his hands and knees on the floor. One soldier bent over his back, hips moving at a punishing pace and another at his front, using his mouth. Tears were streaming down Paul's cheeks mixing with the saliva that glistened on his chin. Blood was running in a thin stream down his inner thigh, the red glaring against the white of his skin.

Duncan feels rage boil in his chest, hor and swift and before he even has a chance to think about what he doing he has rushed towards the door, killing the two guards.

Tears were rolling steadily down Leto's cheeks as the wounded noises coming out of his son continued to increase in intensity. There seemed to be no end to the Harkonnen animals lining up to take their turn with him. One would finish, take their leave and another would step forward. He wasn't sure how much more Paul's body could take before it simply gave out.

Leto briefly considered releasing the poison hidden in his mouth, in the tooth Dr Yueh had replaced. It would release Paul from his abuse but Leto couldn't be sure it would travel far enough to also kill the Baron and he had to kill him. This would all be in vain if he couldn't kill the Baron.

Suddenly Leto hears an inhuman roar, full of rage and hate and then Duncan Idaho bursts into the room. He can hear the thud of the two guards at the door falling dead as his swordmaster moves over the threshold. Sees the silver-gray blur of blades flying through the air, killing another two. They had not yet reactivated their shields after having their turn with Paul.

The last two Harkonnen soldiers had only just begun their attack on Paul's abused body when Duncan arrived on scene. They moved quickly to intercept the intruder, barely doing their pants up first. They met in a clash of swords just at the edge of Leto's peripherals. He could see Duncan strike, swift and brutal, easily overpowering them and ending the melee in a matter of seconds. Their bodies hadn't even hit the floor before the swordmaster was rushing to Paul's side.

He sees movement at the other end of the room and pulls his gaze away from Paul and Duncan in time to see the tail end of the Barons robes as they flutter out the door. The coward had taken the first opportunity to make a run for it. No doubt he would be sending reinforcements soon. Leto needed to ensure Paul's safety, and quickly.

Paul who has slumped to the ground in a pile of pale limbs and lays unmoving, eyes staring off into the distance. If it wasn't for the fact Leto could still see his chest moving with his breath he would assume his son was dead.

Duncan gutted the last enemy present in the room, the Baron having mysteriously disappeared during all the attack. He rushes to Paul's side, placing a discarded cloak over his naked form and pulling the pile of his shirt and pants closer. He reaches out to gently touch Paul's curls but freezes when Paul violently flinches away from his hand. Paul not yet recognizing that it was Duncan and not one of those animals that had raped him.

"I'm so sorry my boy… I need you to get dressed so we can escape" He explained gently, hoping a familiar voice will allow Paul to come back from wherever his mind had gone. He nudged the pile of clothes even closer and dared to breathe a small sigh of relief when Paul reached out with shaking hands to grab his pants. "That's it my boy".

Duncan watched as Paul got dressed then tried reaching out again. "I'm going to carry you now, okay Paul?"

This time there was no reaction from Paul. His mind once again retreating in the wake of his rape. Duncan takes the risk and wraps the cloak back around his shoulders, bundles him up and picks Paul up in his arms and carries him to his Fathers side.

"My Lord, can you move?" Duncan knelt by Leto's side, subtly giving him a once over, checking for injury beyond his nakedness.

The Duke could barely open his mouth to answer.

"..no.. you must leave me.." His voice was barely above a whisper, Duncan having to strain to hear his words, "get Paul… away…"

"It will be done"

Duncan closed his eyes and knew that he would not be able to save his Duke and Paul. Not if Leto could not yet move. He shifted Paul's weight in his arms and nodded to Leto to show that he understood. He would have to leave his Duke, his friend and knew that by doing so his life would be forfeited. The Baron would see to it.

Leto let himself feel relief as Duncan carried Paul away. He knew that the swordmaster would do everything in his power to see his son to safety. He did not know when it had begun but anyone with eyes could see that the two were in love. It was written in every interaction the two had. He trusted no one more than Duncan to look after Paul.

The feeling had only just begun to return to Leto's limbs when the Baron made his reappearance. Flanked by over a dozen of his soldiers. It seemed he was not willing to risk Duncan Idaho's blood lust after what had been done to his charge.

Leto can hear the whirl of his lift repulsors as he floats his way across the room. His robes dragged across the floor with a soft slithering sound. The Baron approached Leto's prone form when the duke saw him hesitate mere feet away. It seems his paranoia was showing and he activated his own shield before finishing his approach.

"For hundreds of years we’ve traded blood for blood. But no more. Your son is broken, he will not survive long in the desert. Your concubine is dead. Tonight the House Atreides falls…and soon your bloodline will end forever".

As the Baron was giving his speech he had been leaning further and further into Leto's space. This gave Leto an idea, an opportunity to finally utilize the poison tooth Dr Yueh had left him with. He opens his mouth just enough for sound to escape, he needs to draw the Baron in even closer.

"Here I am. Here I remain" Leto bites the tooth, opens his mouth and breathes the poison into the air.

"What did you say?" It seemed to work as the Baron closed several more inches.

Duncan carries Paul through the palace, keeping to the shadows and out of sight of any other person. As they approach the hanger area he finds a secluded corner just outside the entrance to set Paul down while he investigates. He creeps down the corridor and peaks his head into the entrance of the hanger. He counts roughly a dozen Harkonnen soldiers loitering around, more than he can typically handle in a single fight. He will have to come in fast and brutal, make a show of force and hope they think him not worth the effort.

Duncan makes his way back to where he left Paul, hoping he has roused on his own but he is still zoned out. He is slumped against the wall, eyes staring into the distance. Duncan risks reaching a slow hand out and running his fingers through Paul's hair, trying to detangle some of the knots. Normally Paul would find the action grounding, one common between them after a nightmare but Duncan gets no reaction.

Duncan says a silent apology to his lover and resorts to a single sharp slap across the cheek. He can see Paul's mind snap back into focus, a look of shock coming across his face. Duncan was glad to see some emotion on Paul's face, even if he did not like the method he had to use to put it there. His boy has had enough pain.

As an apology he cups Paul's face between his palms, one thumbs gently stroking across his cheek.

"Listen to me Paul, are you listening?" Duncan waits for Paul to nod in acknowledgement. "There are only a few stragglers in the hanger, I'm going to take care of them, then we are going to take one of the 'thopters. When I call for you, you need to be ready to move. Can you do that?"

Duncan holds Paul's gaze and waits for him to nod again "I need you to say it out loud my boy".

"I understand… when you call for me, I run" Paul recited back to Duncan, voice barely above a whisper, the sound strained and hoarse. Duncan's blood boiled at the memory of what had caused Paul's voice to sound like that, at the image burned into his brain of the Harkonnen animals taking him from both ends. The sound of skin on skin, the pained sounds that had escaped Paul's mouth even while gagged with cock. He fought with himself, with his rage, and shoved the feeling into a box to deal with later. He needed to focus on the here and now, on the men he needed to kill, on the job he still had to complete. They needed to escape Arrakeen and he needed to get Paul to safety.

"Good, stay close and be ready." Pulling his blades from their sheaths with a quiet hiss, Duncan leaned back around the corner into the hanger, just enough to double check their position before he moved in.

They stay low and against the wall of the hanger, circling around to the group closest to 'thopter. Using the Atreides battlesign Duncan tells Paul to stay put before springing out of the shadows. He kills the four men in quick order, they had stupidly left their shields off maling them an easier fight then expected. The scuffle had drawn the attention of another group a few feet away but Duncan saw them hesitate.

Together they climbed into the 'thopter, Duncan at the controls and took off.

He lets out a war cry, slamming his blades together, the sound of metal on metal ringing out. He stalks towards them, pointing his long sword in a challenge which they luckily do not rise to meet. He turns to motion Paul forward only to see the young man already most of the way to his side.

Paul felt empty, like someone had opened his chest and removed all things vital for life. He felt broken, his body screaming at him, to run, to hide, to wither away and die. He had allowed those men to touch him, to take what did not belong to them. What had only ever belonged to the man beside him.

To infect him and make him unclean. He could feel the mixture of cum and blood dripping from his hole, the seat of his pants wet with it.

His fathers absence salt on the wound. After all that he had endured they had to leave him behind. The Baron would never let him live.

The only thing stopping Paul from throwing himself out of the moving 'thopter was the knowledge that Duncan would not hesitate to follow him into death. He would live, to stay with Duncan, to find his Mother, to avenge his Father and himself. The Harkonnens would pay. Blood called for Blood.

[smolvenger]

Stella of Essex or The Vicar's Wife Betrayed (A Fix-It Fanfiction of The Essex Serpent), Chapter 16: Volkamenia

Series Summary: What happens to the woman left behind? The Essex Serpent is reimagined to be told from the perspective of the sweet and sickly Stella Ransome, giving her a different ending from her canon fate. After her priest husband William cheats on her, despite devastating heartbreak, she searches for freedom, happiness...and revenge. And even new love.

Prologue//One//Two//Three//Four//Five//Six//Seven//Eight//Nine//

Ten//Eleven//Twelve//Thirteen// Fourteen//Fifteen

Chapter Summary: Stella enjoys the honeymoon and bliss of her second marriage to Harold Cavaradossi. However, her past continues to haunt and torment her.

Pairing: Stella Ransome x Male OC: Harry Cavaradossi, some Stella Ransome x William Ransome (but with the angst of his cheating actually discussed)

Chapter Warnings: Major Character Death is discussed, as Discussions of sex and masturbation, discussions of being cheated on, and of babies and children.

Chapter Word Count: 3K

A/N: This was going to be the last chapter and then I wrote over 8K words so I decided to split it in two to make it digestible!

COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED, THANKS!

The next morning, I kissed my new husband on the top of his forehead as he slept. Even his snoring I found a sound as peaceful as the patter of raindrops. I put my white nightdress back on and with a dressing gown, it was blue. I could wear my blue again. I was relieved. I went to the living room and saw some of my things were moved there in suitcases- my dresses as well as my mourning. There was an empty box with the address of a store written on a tag.

I gathered my widow’s weeds and placed them into the box. One phase of my life was now over, and a new one was beginning. I said a silent goodbye to the blacks, greys, and lavenders as I sealed the lid. I then got some paper and wrote a note on top of it.

“Dear Shop Manager, I am now remarried and do not need these anymore. Sincerely, Mrs. Stella Ransom-“

I stopped mid-writing. That was no longer my name. I had signed “Mrs. Ransome” or “Stella Ransome” for years and now a new name was in its place instead. Something I had to get very used to. I scratched it off and replaced it with my new last name, carefully making sure I spelled it right in its lengthiness.

“Sincerely Mrs. Stella Ransom Cavaradossi.”

That name was still new. I had to let it sink in that it was me. It was as if maybe that old Stella had died back there and here was a new, happy Stella in her place. Or maybe it was like a caterpillar finally released from a long time in its cocoon to be a beautiful butterfly and fly into the openness, to the sky at last.

I heard a yawn and looked behind me. Harry awoke with smugness in his grin as he stretched his arms out. The rosiness of his skin and the low cut of his white shirt, showing a bit of his beautiful chest, were evidence enough of last night’s events. The top of his curly head made his hair look yellow like a field of wheat promising a bountiful harvest, seeming more blonde than auburn or reddish at that moment.

“Good morning, Stella, my beautiful wife,” he greeted.

I smiled warmly at him, and I let those words- a phrase I had not spoken in over a year-form out of me like flowers blooming from their seeds in the ground.

“Good morning, my husband.”

We took walks, played cards, read aloud stories and poetry, ate sweets, and made love all that week. By the time it was over, he gathered my things and we took the carriage back. He helped me step out and walked me back into the little room.

“I’ll start moving the children in. I know they’re all good ones, but I hope they like me, I hope they see me as a father already…” he fretted.

“They will, Harry. Don’t worry about it- just give James some chocolate and let Joanna read her books and they won’t mind you in the least.” I advised.

He smiled. I couldn’t imagine suddenly becoming a parent of three children who were not your own. But from the shine in his eyes, I could tell he saw them already as his own blood. It would take time and figuring something out, but we would all be a family again like normal. We sat on the bed and held hands for a bit.

“I’ll about your collection of blue things. I’ll talk to your brother and may even write over to Aldwinter. I’ll insist they send it back here, my love,” Harry promised.

His gloved hand cupped my cheek and I leaned into it.

“My dear, you’re almost there. I can tell… Stay strong.” He wished.

“I’ll try to be…” I sighed.

“You always are.” He assured me. ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ I was in the last phase. I was eager to not only sit for my air baths but to move. I was prescribed long walks with the other patients at my level. They also instructed us in certain exercises to do outside and to be out in the sun whenever possible and then to rest in bed.

Harry visited every week, bringing the children. We all talked so much, I would hardly notice the hours passing. James’s face would be smiling as he recounted the quips that his stepfather gave him. Joanna and John would both have books in their arms that he had given to them to read on the train. They loved living with him and had already enrolled in schools in London. Harry would recount whatever play it was he saw last and then he’d kiss me on the lips before I went back to my ward.

All through summer I watched the greenery bend with the wind and the rumble of the tree. My dresses were lighter and in blue, no longer was I a widow sweltering in her black weeds. Cool breezes kissed me, and I found I could walk around the gardens and grounds longer and longer.

Finally, finally, those blessed words arrived at me. I heard them in that August of 1894.

“Mrs. Cavaradossi- your symptoms are now mild enough that you may go home…” the doctor announced with a smile through his white whiskers.

“I’m cured?” I asked, gripping the arms of my seat. The words spun in my head, making me dizzy for a second.

“There is no cure. I don’t know if there will be one so soon. I don’t think you will be back as normal or in full health as you were before. You will always be weak and cough out a little blood. You may relapse and must return. It’s very likely you will live with this for the rest of your life. But you have gained some strength and health back, and you can re-enter society, Mrs. Cavaradossi.”

He wiped his glasses and put them back on. Yet his brown eyes were focused on me.

“I say in the meantime, you still eat healthily, consider moving to the countryside, rest plenty, and exercise as much as you can,” he advised.

Smiling, blinking tears, I took his hand. I could have kissed it.

“Thank you, doctor.” .

Joyous letters and telegrams were sent out in a heartbeat. Harry said he would meet me there and help me travel back to his home in London. So many of my fellow patients congratulated me. Elvira made me promise to write to her and visit and I said I would. A few nurses cried as I put on my white kerchief over my hair, my cream-colored vest covered with flowers sewn on it, and one of my favorite old blue dresses. I wasn’t a patient in a nightgown or a widow in black. I felt like myself.

There was a knock on the door, and it was Harry in his traveling hat and jacket.

“Hello Stella, are you ready to see your home?” he asked.

“Then take me there, my love,” I answered.

I gathered what belongings I had left and he carried the bags with him. I said goodbye to each and every person I was able to. The sun was bright and the sky was full of large, white, puffy clouds as we walked out and stepped into the cab. It was a beautiful trip to watch from the window together- both the cab and then the train to London.

Once we got there, to that beautiful white and grey brick house full of windows with laced white shades and green bushes, he opened the gate for me, practically skipped to the door, and knocked a few times.

“Jojo! Jimmy! Johnny! Guess who’s here!” he announced.

The dog began to bark and there was the familiar cry of “mama!" My own children ran down the hall, the dog at their heels. I noticed John had even gathered a few blue flowers in a blue vase that he handed to me as a welcoming gift.

“Please, everyone- let me hold all of you!” I cried, overcome with happiness.

I stretched out my arms and hugged all three of them, and then me. I felt those three little heads and the softening of their limbs. Harry even embraced himself over us, so we were nothing but a circle of warmth.

Harry then took my hand.

“Here, come see our room- there’s something for you up in our room!” he encouraged.

He took me by the hand and led me there. He glanced at the other children and winked at them.

“It’s a surprise!” Joanna announced. She placed her hands over my eyes so I could no longer see as Harry led me forward. Slowly, we all walked.

“Alright…now open!” he announced.

Joanna removed her hands, and I gasped in the room.

My old blue collection in its entirety was sent over and all organized. Every pillow, pebble, and plate- even all of my journals filled with flowers, my hand mirror, and sewing threads. Even the ones left behind in Aldwinter.

“Oh, Harry, you did it! Oh, thank you!” I gasped.

“And we helped as well!” John remembered, cutting in.

“Of course!” I replied, reaching for an arm around him to kiss the top of his head.

The bed was the softest, warmest bed I had ever laid on. Far more comfortable than the hospital mattress I had to become accustomed to when I Sat there to catch my breath.

At a dinner of chicken, roast potatoes, and fresh, green salad, my children boasted of the various attractions in London that there were. Joanna especially loved the museums to see around town, John the park where he could bike around, and James of course had a fondness for all the sweet shops he could choose from. And how their new Stepfather promised to take all of them to see a play next week. All was laughter and joy.

“I shall tell you-On Saturday, who would like to join your papa to see work? Maybe one of you could become a banker when you’re old enough.” Harry suggested.

“You know I don’t want to be a banker, Papa!” Joanna refused, as she cut up her chicken with a knife and fork.

“And you don’t have to if you don’t want to, Joanna” Harry replied kindly.

“I’d like to see it, please!” John said quietly.

“Then Saturday, we’ll see it, son,” Harry replied.

We all went to church as a family. Though a shock ran through me to see a figure in familiar white robes at the main chapel again, when I looked up, it was a kindly old man with spectacles and a bald head with a shaven face. I still gripped Harry’s arm, hardly letting it go. And he let me. Though he could not recite any of the creeds or prayers to save his life and I had to speak first, his own monotone whispers right after me. ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ A month later, when I woke up from that soft bed, I saw that my husband was gone. When I went downstairs to see the housekeeper, she explained that there was a robbery at the bank and some families were in trouble. Harry had rushed over to see what could be done. He would be back later.

As I sat to dinner, I then received a telegram from Harry. Another disaster struck. His brother’s house caught on fire. It seemed that though their home and property were destroyed, and the family safe, the brother himself was injured and had to be rushed. He sent telegrams for three days as he managed the crises. At least I could be there to look after the children and assure them all was well. And I felt in my stomach that he was honest. He was at the bank, with his brother’s family, and at the hospital. Once it was assured that his brother and the families affected by these disasters were safe, he’d return.

But as I laid down to bed on the third night, I had another dream of my first husband. And I shall do my best to be honest, despite the indelicacies of the content of the dream. I understand that those reading this are far blunter and less embarrassed about openly discussing sexual acts than I was raised to be.

In the dream, I saw him in the water. I saw his bare back, but I knew it was him. William. He was swimming naked in the sea, the secret hobby he confided in me early in our marriage. His head emerged from the waters- the curls wet and clinging to him. He then stopped swimming and paused, wading in the water where the tides were low for his feet to touch the ground. He stood there for a while.

He was… pleasuring himself in the water. And I heard a name on his lips in between grunts of his self-pleasure. A name escaping his smooth, baritone voice. Not my name, her name. Her, her, her.

With a startle, I woke up at once. My breathing quickened. I felt clammy. All was dark, yet I felt something on the bed next to me. A weight, a presence. I checked the wallpaper- in Aldwinter, it was a light blue wallpaper with a pattern of white, rounded crosses all over it. Here, it was a creamy, white background with some plants with green stems and leaves where blue blossoms opened up all over our four walls. I wasn’t back in that small Essex town- I was in London!

I turned around and my blood was cold, and a terrified gasp came out when I saw who was lying down next to me.

It was William’s face! I’d know that beard anywhere- I saw his face and he was asleep next to me! The cheekbones, the high forehead, and the large nose. I felt panic surge through my veins. Oh God, he was back! Back from the dead! I let out a scream. The face woke up. A groggy voice started to rumble from the face.

“What, Stella-“

I slapped his face as hard as I could and leaped out of the bed, retreating to a corner. My hands fumbled around and felt for anything I could use as a shield.

“Will! Will! Why do you haunt me? Forgive me, Will! I had no other choice! Will, I’m so sorry! Haunt me no more! Leave me- we are done, Will! I don’t want you back- I’m so sorry! Please! Have mercy!” I begged.

The bearded face jumped out of bed. My eyes darted down to observe his clothes.

I dreaded seeing the dark blue sweater my first husband enjoyed wearing or the black suit and pants with the tiny speck of white at his neck, the clothes he died in. I saw neither. The bearded face wore a white nightshirt with a jaguar stitched over the breast. None of Wiliam's nightshirts had that!

“Stella, I’m not Will! It’s me! Harold! Harry!” the face spoke.

I paused and then realized…it was indeed Harry. Only in the past few days, the light scruff he had grown become a beard.

"You have quite a good hand- I might need to see a doctor!" he mused as he rubbed the reddened cheek from my attack.

“Oh, Harry…oh thank God, it’s you…I was terrified…I thought you were…you were…” I whimpered, slowly sinking to the floor.

There was a rush of footsteps and the door burst open to show Joanna.

“Mama, what’s wrong??” she cried, looking around in her nightgown with braids draping down, it whipped as her head turned around to look at the scene.

She turned to see her bearded Stepfather and froze. Her face went stark white and beneath her nightgown, her legs were shaking.

“Papa!?...Papa?! I thought you…you…”

“Everyone, I’m not William! He’s dead as a doornail! I just grew a beard, that’s all! And it scared your mother, Jo!” he appeased, his hands up.

“But…but with it, you just look like…look like…” she mumbled in awe.

She let out a huge sigh of relief. She helped me up. Then she hugged me tight, and I smoothed her head. I saw quiet tears in her eyes.

“It’s alright, we were both only scared…” I comforted.

Even Harry stepped forward to make it a hug between all of us. I felt my daughter relax.

“It’s all right. The place isn’t haunted, everything’s fine, Jojo.” He assured her.

He kissed the top of her head and she left. Once the door was closed, and there was none of my children in need of comfort, I turned to him.

“I’m so sorry…I…I was spooked…” I apologized.

“Stella, I should be the sorry one…I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It was an accident, Harry!” I insisted.

I went forward and this time leaned against him, and he embraced me, letting me cry into his chest.

“You look like him, Harry…remember? Where is that photo I have of him…here, there’s this journal.”

I went to one journal where I kept a photo of William. It was on a page with some flowers he gave to me that day when I pressed them. For our whole marriage, William had a beard. He only cut it down to scruff when we were married, but he preferred to not completely cut it off. He would say it made him feel mature, manly, official, and confident. It was a more formal photo from an earlier scene in our marriage, him in his black and white sitting on the chair and me standing up next to him. I showed it to Harry and his eyebrows shot up as he glanced between them and then checked it in the blue hand mirror.

“I see…well, shit- you’re right!” Harry cursed.

“I thought he was back. He was going to punish me. He was going to torture me again…” I confessed.

I then sat down on the chair and lowered my head, tears welling up. I then looked up. It struck me- among my things returned to this house was that safe with the letters inside.

“Their letters are here! The ones in the safe! Please promise me you won’t read what they wrote between them! It was too humiliating!” I begged.

“Alright, I won’t” he replied.

He patted my back.

“You’re safe, Stella…you’re safe, you're with me, nothing will harm you ever again…”

I continued ranting.

“Do you know what I dreamt? I dreamt he was…he was…doing…doing…you know, what men do to themselves when they’re full of lust…”

“Masturbating? It’s a word, Stella, I know what it is.”

“But not over me, for her! He was never satisfied with me. I loved him so much, but he never loved me at all! All that time, all that work, that whole bit of my life for nothing! I wasn’t good enough for him. I wasn’t as good as her. I was going to die so soon and he…he…he…” I mourned.

He held me as I cried into him again, letting it wash over.

“Here…I’ll get you some water and wine. I’ll start a fire- you can sit here and later lay back on the bed…” he said, wiping my tears with his thumb.

He got two glasses with each drink, handing them to me. He rubbed my arm and leaned his head against my neck. I gulped down the water quickly. I turned to look at him and saw a few tears in his eyes. Gentleness, lightness- love.

“Tomorrow, I’ll go to the barbers. I’ll get this shaved off.” He promised.

I began to pick up the wine, nursing it over the dryness of its flavor and how deep red it was. If it wasn’t for the light, it would have seemed black. I got into bed, cupping it around my hand as I slowly finished it. I felt the effects wash over me, relaxing my senses and mind after that great fright. Harry got into bed next to me.

“What are you thinking hard about now?” he asked.

“Harry…I’ve taken a life. A human life. The life of someone I loved and trusted. I said the confession to God after I did it but…do you think God has really forgiven me?” I asked.

“Have you forgiven yourself, Stella?” Harry questioned.

He looked at me with gentle eyes and I looked back at him. I found I could not form any words to reply.

He kissed the top of my head and pulled me to his warm, solid chest. I felt one of his hands running through my hair, like a gentle comb. I let the wine and his embrace seep me into sleep, repeating that prayer silently.

I forgive myself; I forgive myself; I forgive myself.

The next morning, when he returned, Harold was clean-shaven.

“Here, how’s that? Am I handsome, eh?” he asked.

“You’re the most handsome man in England” I agreed. ▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬ I had to visit Edith and her husband, Edgar, for the arrival of their little son. My new nephew was so tiny, but with soft rosy cheeks and filled with the scent of a clean baby on him. He had a large smile that no one, least of all his aunt, could resist.

“Oh, little Eddie’s the sweetest boy!” I said, handing him back to her.

“His father and I couldn’t be happier…I only…I only hope you can be happy again, Stella, I really do…” she wished.

“I think I will be. You won’t hope in vain…” I replied.

Though once I got home and went upstairs, there was silence. It was too quiet, even though the children were at school by now. Even as the housekeeper was bustling about. The door to Harold’s study was closed and normally, he tended to leave it open should anyone ask for him.

When I turned the unlocked door to his study, I saw my husband reading the affair letters between William and the Woman. He had the little safe placed on the desk and wide open. His eyes scrunched to study the pages closely.

[quality-on-a-patch-of-awesome]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: SEAL Team (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Eric Blackburn & Derek Young Characters: Eric Blackburn, Derek Young (SEAL Team TV) Additional Tags: Wakes & Funerals, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, blame, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pregnancy, Babies, mentions only, Past Character Death, Alternate Season/Series 06, Crying, Men Crying, derek has first name privileges with blackburn Series: Part 4 of How it Hurts Summary:

"Maybe it's fitting. They did the last one without me. I do this one without them.”

Blackburn faces the prospect of saying goodbye to Clay alone, but Derek comes through at the last minute

[typingcorgi]

sanctuary; part ii

read part i here

pairing: joel miller x f!reader (no y/n)

warnings: tw for mention of blood, mild gore, violence, age difference hinted, no smut yet but honey have you met me? it's coming (and so is joel, and you, ey-ohhhh)

word count: 1.5k

author's notes: canon divergent aka no ellie I'm sorry kids cramp my style

still no smut i'm so sorry but i needed a little bit of a bridge from the last chapter before you and joel go to bone town. So this is violent-ish (I'm a very vanilla writer so if you are seeking major thrills you aren't going to find them here lol)

As always, if you like this, please leave a comment or reblog!! I am so happy to be sharing this garbage with you, whether you like it or not, and can't wait to get to the next part. BRING ON DA SMUT

also thanks @magpie-to-the-morning for reminding me you can put cars in neutral

taglist: @avengersfan25 @fairytale07

Gunshots used to remind you of Outbreak Day.

You weren’t old enough to comprehend the severity of the circumstances. Looking back on it now, severity doesn’t even seem strong enough of a word. It was more of a cataclysm, a shattering of the world you’d known for a world you weren’t prepared to enter. 

New York was the first city to be bombed. The outbreak was impossible to contain on the thirteen-mile island, the Infected found on every street corner, every bend in Central Park. You were young, just beginning to experience the storm and strife of your teenage years when everything you ever knew had been ripped from beneath you within a matter of hours. At the time, you’d been in Boston with your family, unaware that when you’d arrived, you’d never leave.

Gunshots used you remind you of Outbreak Day. Now, you’re hard-pressed to go twenty-four hours without hearing them.

—

The pistol Joel had directed you to use lays useless in your lap. You turn the safety on, even though you’re pretty sure you’d fired the last three bullets mere hours ago. The truck, now essentially your immobile mobile home, is parked on the edge of a side street, overgrown with enough shrubs and greenery to make you believe you’re situated in the middle of a meadow.

It’s unsettling, really, to sit in the passenger seat of your pickup, to feel the rays of the golden sun warm the skin along your cheekbones and reflect against your tired eyes when you had a run-in with death in the dark hours of the morning. To be fair, you have a run-in with death typically multiple times a day, now that you’ve managed to get out of the QZ. The monsters out here are scarier than the druggies and corrupt FEDRA officers you’ve gotten used to. These will continue to track you down like bounty hunters until you’re just as harrowing and inhuman as they are.

And while the rational part of you knows this is life in 2023, this is your New Normal, you hate the idea of your actions dragging both you and your partner into unnecessary danger.

“Here are our options,” Joel mutters over the folded edges of his map. “Marlene mentioned there was a base in Mansfield. We can fuel up there or find a lowlife to siphon from along the way. But there aren’t many discreet ways to get there. If we cut around this way, though, southeast—we should probably be able to manage ourselves.”

A part of you wants to scoff. Probably. Every moment is a probably.

But in Joel’s rare moment of muted optimism, you don’t want to rain on his parade. You nod in quiet agreement.

You are not fully able to manage yourselves.

—

Without your truck, the protective cover you and Joel once reveled in now leaves you open and exposed to the dangerous world around you. The most you can do is put the truck in neutral and push the damn thing down the path Joel’s planned out for you.

It’s exhausting; even in the mild New England spring, you’re breaking a serious sweat. Evidence of exertion forms along your browbone and temples, and at one point, you tie the flannel you’ve been wearing for weeks on end around your waist, leaving your arms and chest exposed in a dark tank top.

“There’s a house up ahead,” you observe, hours into your arduous task. The sun is just starting to slip beneath the horizon, painting the sky in a series of blues and purple-pinks. Against the backdrop of the sky, the house looks eerie and dilapidated, almost out of place. You shake your head and remember it’s the rare moments of beauty–a sky at dusk, the glimmer of the Charles on a golden afternoon, the twinking diamonds of midnight stars—that are out of place. A broken-down home with a hole in the roof is all too ordinary for your liking.

Joel nods through a grimace, broad palms against the trunk as he continues to trudge forward. “Uh-huh,” he acknowledges. “Okay. We’ll stop.”

While the house is seemingly empty, the front door is open, which is never a good sign.

Your stomach twists as Joel examines the doorway, then looks at you. It’s as though his eyes are telling you what his words cannot—I’m right here with you. I’ve got you.

It’s wishful thinking, maybe.

“Let’s go,” Joel says instead, and your heart sinks.

You nod, following behind him. Joel’s grip is tight around his shotgun, with your hands around the neck of his pistol, aimed right in front of you.

Your steps are quiet. The interior smells like dirt and demise. You gulp, following close behind your partner, your unofficial party leader, considering it’s rare you’re the one guiding the both of you into the dark.

Joel is so quiet, you can’t even hear him breathe. Exhale too loudly, and you give away your position to potential enemies. Step the wrong way, make the floorboards creek, and you’re an absolute goner. You mirror his actions, placing your feet in every invisible footprint he leaves in his wake, nearly holding your breath.

You move around the first floor of the house, observing what might have been a living room, a functional kitchen, a decorated hallway. You wonder who lived here on the side of a main road. Was it a family? Did they make it out of here alive?

Or did they get turned before they even had a chance?

You shudder at the possibilities before Joel gently, strategically, opens a mahogany door to the next room. You’re met with a basement entrance, a damp cement staircase, and a musty odor.

But more importantly, more shockingly, you’re met with an ear-curdling scream.

Joel slams the door immediately, eyes widened without giving away every ounce of worry you wonder he might be feeling. “Fuck!” he hisses, and then his hand is on your wrist. He pulls you away from the door, down the hallway, and toward the entrance that’s now become your dire exit.

You hear the clicker clambering up the stairs, its cries violent and deafening. You can hear its frustration as it punches a rugged fist through the basement door, as it scrambles to find the pair of you, to get its rotten hands on you, and transfigure the fibers of your humanity to something decidedly inhuman.

The house isn’t particularly big. It’s not hard for you and Joel to try to make it out the front door alive, but it’s also relatively easy for the monster on your heels to launch itself onto both you and Joel as you practically leap down the front steps.

Your head slams against the ground, and before your body is able to register the pain, the shock of knowing there’s a damn clicker on top of you, and you’re about to die—or worse, turn—begins to sink into every pore and fiber of your being. 

“Joel!” Your scream is ragged and desperate. Tears form in the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall down your dirt-stained cheeks. Your eyes close, unable to meet the sight of the snarling monster above you, its predator hands holding you in a bone-cracking grip before it can take its prey.

“Joel—help—I need—”

You hear two gunshots fire, and while your eyes are still squeezed shut, you sense the clicker’s blood—among other things that you’d rather not think about—splattering against your face. The monster’s grip along your wrists goes limp and falls away.

You survive. For now.

By the time you open your eyes and rise to your feet, you can’t help yourself—you sob into the fabric of Joel’s worn denim, unable to fight off the emotion as well as Joel had fought off the clicker. It’s impossible, knowing you’d been so close to losing yourself, losing this strange life you’ve cultivated alongside a man that can hardly articulate how he feels for you. Does he feel anything? Have you fabricated it this entire time?

It’s not the moment to mull it over, f you’re being honest. But you can’t help it if the thoughts come.

“J—Joel,” you stammer. “Holy shit, I almost—you almost—”

“I know,” he exhales, and you can hear the exasperation in his voice. After months of practice, he doesn’t know how to do this.  His arms are a loose loop around your body. Despite your relationship and the amount of time you’ve spent together, you know vulnerability isn’t Joel’s strong suit. He’s not one to run a hand over your hair and tell you you’re safe. He’s not one to encourage you to cry it out.

But you do anyway, because it might be all you have left to give.

You both decide the truck is safer. He lets you take the first sleeping shift, offering his backpack as a pillow before locking the truck doors.

You’re dozing off. You think you might have heard Joel whisper brave girl in your drowsy haze, but you chalk it up to exhaustion.