#when shall my will to persist return home from war

[alliswyattonthewesternfront]

serving what i like to call "Gregg Davies realness" by putting on a kimono and flaunting my big ham hock hands. i am still Unwell, but putting on a kimono remains the best way to deal with the horrors

oh, this mug?

thank you for noticing. i got it at the St. Louis Art Museum (my second favorite art museum in the states after The Art Institute of Chicago) because it has my favorite painting of all time, Jean Martin's Sadak in Search of the Waters of Oblvion. this painting makes me feel the way i wanted the Barsoom books to. it might make me basic, but quite frankly, i don't want to hear it if you're a Hieronymus Bosch girlie. leave me be.

[arcriotwrites]

~𝒯𝑜 𝒮𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒮𝑜𝓊𝓁~

Anakin Skywalker x Female reader

Warning: ANGST, possible reader death (foretold in nightmare), angry Anakin, slight gaslighting, yelling, unhappy ending, this is heartbreaking

Authors note: I have returned! I know I say this in all of my fics but I want to try and write more regularly. I just got back into my Star Wars obsession so enjoy this. Yes I did find the Revenge of the Sith script online to get scene dialogue accurate, you’re welcome🤭

Word Count: 2.9K

He knelt so easily before the emperor, the submission of power coming to him like second nature. When it came to protecting you, it was like second nature.

You had been his light when the darkness seemed to pull him a bit too close. Those nights he was scared to sleep turned into soft laughs and whispered promises despite those persistent nightmares. Though his latest nightmare tugged at him like an insistent child.

He had seen it so clearly, you on the ground, slain by a saber. The look in your eyes was fear, that look now plastered forever in death. He knew his dreams could become reality and this one he had to heed the warning of, that much was clear. At first he had shoved it off as just another nightmare, his mind trying to stray his focus from his training. Sure, the Jedi Council had decided to not make him a Master and that irked him but he knew he’d get the position someday by continuing to grow in his skill and maturity. When that same nightmare kept coming every night, that image of your frozen, fearful face imprinted in his mind, he knew he had to make sure it never became reality, training be damned.

That’s what led him here, kneeling before Emperor Palpatine, begging to be taught the ways of the Sith to save your life from that dreaded nightmare. Never had he thought he’d want to learn these skills, not until your life came into play. He had to save you, no matter by what bounds that meant.

“Please… just help me save her life.”

His voice broke as tears welled up, his eyes bloodshot from those sleepless nights. He was desperate, his voice a whimper as his bottom lip wobbled. He knew this went against every oath he had ever taken, every promise he had ever made, except one.

I promise I will protect you, no one can hurt you now.

He remembers telling you that after there was an attack on your life a few months ago. It was the only promise that truly mattered to him now.

“I can’t live without her. I won’t let her die. I want the power to stop death.”

He felt weak, like he couldn’t move. He couldn’t move until he knew he could save you, Palpatine was his only hope to do so.

“To cheat death is a power only one has achieved, but if we work together, I know we can discover the secret.”

Palpatine’s voice was brittle, cracking like glass through the air. The broken window behind him blew his cape around him, only adding to the power he held. Anakin’s eyes lifted to meet the Emperor’s, pure desperation pouring from his gaze.

“I pledge myself to your teachings. To the ways of the Sith.”

The words fell from his lips like a plea, a prayer he had no idea how it would even be answered. He would turn to the dark side if it meant seeing your smile for the rest of his days. That smile he longed to come home to. The way your eyes glowed like Mustafar, a planet he had visited only once but he saw its beauty when no one else did. In a way, you had much in common with the planet. Your passion for justice burned like fire and you were always determined no matter what, not afraid to burn bridges when destruction was necessary.

“Good. Good. The Force is strong with you. A powerful Sith you will become. Henceforth, you shall be known as Darth…Vader.”

Palpatine’s voice crashed into his ears, the weight of his decision hitting him quickly. Had he really just done this? Pledged his life to the Sith? He was becoming the one thing he had sworn to destroy. This doubt and weight quickly dissipated when that fearful look on your face flashed in his mind. He couldn’t let that be his reality. A life without you was no life at all whether it was living for the dark or light.

Anakin looks up, his eyes burning with a new determination. He looked his new master in the eyes, power flowing through his veins. Every second you were apart was like torture for him, he needed to get back to you.

“Thank you, my Master.”

“Rise, Lord Vader.”

His master’s voice booms in the room, forcing Anakin to his feet with its power. He bows to Palpatine who nods to him with a small smirk. Upon his dismissal, Anakin turns on his heels, his feet heavy in the room as the doors open for him. He exits, his footsteps echoing in the large hall, the marble trembling from his new determination.

The great hall soon turned into secured sections and not quickly enough, senators chambers. He approached the door to the room you two shared and swung it open. He watched you as you sat on the curved sofa in the living room, your gaze going from the view outside to him. He watched your eyes widen and you shoot up, registering that it was him. You rush into his open arms and he embraces you, his hands feeling the soft silk that adorned your back. He buried his nose into your hair, inhaling your sweet scent. Alive. You were alive.

"Ani, what are you doing here? I thought you wouldn't be home for another hour?"

You question, the surprise in your voice making a smile creep onto his lips. He freezes for a moment, trying to find a response.

"I snuck out during recess. I didn't want to sit there for another boring hour when I knew you were here waiting for me."

It was technically the truth. He had snuck out of a council meeting in order to go talk to Palpatine which in turn brought him home to you an hour early.

He watched as you playfully rolled your eyes at him and lent up to place your lips on his. Every fear and anxiety he had felt the past few days seemed to melt away as he kissed you back. You felt his hands fist into the silk of your slip gown and you could feel his intensity grow. It was like him to deepen actions but this felt different. Something was wrong but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. You felt him pick you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he took the both of you back to the sofa. He sat down with you in his lap and you tried to shimmy to the side, only for his hands on your waist to tighten.

"Don't go running away from me now."

He said in that playful tone that always made your chest heat up. No matter how much time you spent together, he could still so easily fluster you with a few simple words. You were truly connected to him.

"I'm not running away, I just thought you'd want to sit and enjoy the view since you haven't been home all day."

You say with a soft smile, watching his lips curl into a soft smirk. Your weight in his lap seemed to ground him.

"Why would I want to look out there when what I have wanted all day is to look at you?"

He asks, his head tilting slightly. You could feel your blush rising up your neck and into your cheeks. You knew he saw it because his gaze dropped to your collarbones and followed the blush all the way until his eyes met yours again. He had that cocky smirk on his lips and that playful glint in his eyes, he knew exactly what he was doing.

That cocky expression soon faded and he found himself getting lost in thought. His chest felt tight, the realization of his choices hitting him like an X-Wing in hyperspeed. He didn't exactly regret his choices, more so mourning the decisions that would come with it. You would ask questions. He knew he couldn't tell you the truth. Everyday you fought in the senate to take down Palpatine and the Sith. He had just sworn an oath to the very group you swore to destroy. Would you ever understand? If he had the time and words to explain, would you find his actions stupid or romantic? He was trying to save your life after all. Though, knowing you, you'd rather die than watch him become what you hate.

"Ani, what's wrong?"

Please don't ask me questions, I can't lie to you.

His thoughts came to a halt as you spoke, his eyes sorrowful before he steeled his expression, plastering a smile on his face.

"Nothing. I was just remembering the meeting."

It wasn't a lie, he was thinking about his meeting with Palpatine and the choices he made. He hoped you would just let it go but he also knew you would worry for him.

"Something else is going on, what is it?"

You ask him, your head tilting a bit as your hand comes up to rest on his cheek. He lent into your touch for a moment. He had to give you something, make sure you didn't continue to dig for more.

"I've been having this same nightmare..."

He trails off, his voice barely above a whisper. The image of your fearful face flashes in his mind again, making him visibly pull away. That could not be his reality. He opened his eyes again to see you staring at him with deeper concern, waiting for him to continue.

"You... die in it. I can't let that happen."

He states hesitantly but firmly, his face now flooded in despair. His emotions were always so quick to change and you knew how to handle it but this time, you had never seen him so scared. You set your hands in your lap, him having moved away from your touch when he winced.

"Those are just nightmares, I am alive and well. You can't let them cons-"

"No! NO! They are not just nightmares and I will not let you die! We will save you. We have to!"

He interrupts you in a frantic ramble, overcome by the frustration of this nightmare. It had plagued him for weeks and he lived every second scared of it becoming reality. That was the thing he hated most about his nightmares, they never gave him a timeline. His frustration had boiled over, unable to live with this nightmare by himself anymore. It was real and he refused to believe it wasn't. His raised voice makes you jump to your feet, practically scrambling out of his lap. You take a few steps back, the initial shock of hearing his voice reach that volume starts to settle in. He never yelled at you or around you, it was something he made a point not to do. Your hands subconsciously grip at the sides of your gown, his words setting in.

"We? Who is we?"

He was hiding something and you knew it. He had just showed his hand and you were never one to let it go.

"Why does it even matter? I am trying to save you from a hell I have lived every night for weeks!"

His voice was still raised and he stood from the couch making you step back. You had never seen him like this before. It was like he was angry but his anger wasn't exactly placed so it was getting let out on everything.

"It matters because I need to know who you are plotting with and what is even being plotted! I don't like secrets, Ani. Why didn't you talk to me about this? I could have helped you!"

You stood your ground, not letting his current state intimidate you. When he got angry in general, that was the one way for him to truly understand his own feelings and how he was expressing them. He got closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently grasp your upper arm. His actions were a stark contrast to his harsh tone and if anything, that worried you more.

"You can't help me, not anymore."

His voice grew dark, his eyes getting shadowed by something else. Determination and sorrow flooded his gaze, making a chill run down your spine. What had he done?

"Anakin, what did you do?"

The use of his first name made his back straighten. You two quickly took to nicknames when you first got together. You only used his first name when things grew serious.

"I can't tell you, you'll hate me."

His voice was pained, his anger now focused on himself. He should have never let himself fall so deep into this obsession. He shouldn't have let himself focus on this nightmare. Maybe he shouldn't have even let himself focus on you.

"So you'd rather our relationship be built on secrets?"

Your voice cracked when you asked, your mind racing. Had he hurt someone or himself? What could he have done that would be this bad to the point he's convinced you'd hate him? He was truly ready to live like this all because of something he had done.

"I can't tell you."

His voice is quieter now, holding a firm tone that matched his grip tightening on your arm. You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. Was he really willing to to put your relationship in jeopardy all because he couldn't tell you this?

"I can't live without you. I had no other choice."

His voice breaks and you can see the tears and guilt in his eyes. You hesitantly reach your hand up, caressing his cheek. A tear slides down, matching your own. You had never seen him so distraught yet so set in his ways. He had always been stubborn but this was different, he was keeping something from you.

"Please, you can tell me. I need you to tell me."

The man who loved you with everything he had was harboring something so important from you and you couldn't even begin to understand why. Did he not trust you? You watch as your plea seems to weaken his resolve, his mind racing as he tries to figure out what to say.

"You can't harbor this by yourself. If my life has been put into someone else's hands but your own, I need to know. Please-"

Your voice cracks, a sob threatening to bubble up as worry floods you like a tidal wave you could have never been prepared for. He was destroying himself and you had no chance to stop it. You watch as he swallows hard, guilt riddling him as the true realization of his actions sets in.

"The Sith have a way of protecting someone from death..."

That was all you needed to hear, a sob wracking your body. You step out of his grasp, stumbling back until your pressed against a small vanity, your hand gripping the edge of it. He stayed where he was, his head bowed in guilt. Your hand clamps over your mouth, trying to stifle your sobs. He had chosen a path you couldn't follow, swearing his life to something you fought against everyday. He takes a step forward and you put your hand up, stopping him.

"Don't. Don't... I can't believe what I'm hearing."

You sob out, your vision clouded with tears. Your heart was breaking in two, this being the ultimate betrayal. You didn't even know what else to say, trying to process the weight of his words. He hadn't even fully said it but you knew the implications.

"It was the Chancellor, wasn't it? He can't save you Anakin and he sure as hell can't save me!"

Your voice rose into a shout as your sobs continue, your body shaking so bad that you were sure you'd fall over if you let go of the vanity. His expression darkens at the mention of the Chancellor, his anger reemerging.

"Don't you dare speak illy of him, he is giving me the power to save your life!"

His voice came in another shout but he didn't step closer. Your sobs continue, the realization of this all being way too much to bare. He was already more loyal to Palpatine than he was to you.

"Anakin, I'll never stop loving you but you have chosen a path that I can't follow."

Your heart shatters, this betrayal happening too quickly. His anger had mounted and he just stares at you, his eyes dark. You couldn't tell if it was sorrow in his eyes, your vision too fuzzy with tears.

"I did this for you..."

He whispers, his footsteps heavy as he walked towards the door. He pledged his life to the Sith to try and save you, yet the only outcome he got was losing you. He couldn't tell what you needed protection from now, death or him. The anger he felt was something unfamiliar and he knew he had to leave before he did something permanent. He was going to save you, whether you liked it or not.

[jokerscrazybrilliant]

Survive - Chapter 1 - (Captain Rex)

Idk why I'm so nervous to post this lol, but I'm new here, anyhow, I've been re-watching Clone Wars and re-fawning over the incredible Captain Rex, so um, here's the maybe beginning to something? I kind of don't know how to judge my own writing so I hope this isn't totally sucky lol..

ANYHOW CHAPTER 1 !! XD

Also out now:

Chapter 2 · Chapter 3 · Chapter 4

Story on other platforms:

AO3 · Quotev

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sur·vive /sərˈvīv/ verb Continue to live or exist, especially in spite of danger or hardship. Similar: live · continue · remain · last · persist · endure · persevere · abide · linger · exist · be • continue to live or exist in spite of (an accident or ordeal). • remain alive after the death of (a particular person). • manage to keep going in difficult circumstances.

________

Darkness. Everywhere. Not just a lack of light, but the feeling of being lost and directionless, the great darkness that spread endlessly in every direction. And I was alone in it, unable to watch my step, I stumbled over my feet as I ran. Run. Run. RUN.

“MASTER!” The shout tore itself from my throat painfully as I shot up in bed, sweating and in a panic. Breathing heavily, I put a hand to my chest, feeling my heart pounding painfully rapidly. I tried to control my breathing as I blinked away tears, making my way to the refresher, the bright lights of Coruscant’s horizon making their way into the room through the window.

The shower helped calm me down and I got dressed in my tan and brown jedi robes, making my way to the balcony to meditate until sunrise.

Today the council would be informing me of their decision on my future. When I lost my master so close to being ready to take my tests to be knighted, the council was unsure of which path would be best for me. To assign me as a Padawan to a new master or to get me to take the tests early, neither seemed an easy option. I took a deep breath and let my mind quiet as I felt the force flow through and around me. Whatever may come would be for the best, I just had to keep my mind open and accept things as they were.

***

Standing there in front of the council, most of what was said passed around me in a haze. All of the comments on how what had happened was unfortunate, but the force willed it so, the comments on how it would make me a stronger Jedi to learn patience detachment and strength from this particular trial. While this was all true, I wasn’t in a place where I wanted to hear these words. I just wanted to know what their decision was so I could carry on without thinking about what happened.

“-so we believe that it would be best if you served under another Jedi master, not necessarily as his Padawan, but just to gain some more experience before you are ready to take the tests for your knighthood. And you would also be assisting him in leading his battalion and helping him plan strategies for key missions. This is a great opportunity, so I hope that you will make the best of it, and I’m sure you will, we have faith in you Nimra.”

“Thank you Master Windu,” I bowed my head to him respectfully. ���Might I ask to which Jedi Master I am being assigned?”

At my question a half smile and a nearly playful twinkle appeared in the Master’s eye. “Anakin Skywalker. He is a very skilled Jedi, and things would certainly never be dull.”

I gave a slight smile in response and bowed once more to the council. “Thank you for the opportunity masters, I will do my best to make you proud.” With that I made my exit, sagging slightly once the door closed behind me.

Master Skywalker, huh? I had met him a few times with my previous master on certain missions, and Master Windu’s comment made perfect sense to me. Things would certainly be interesting, but I was just hoping to keep my head down and get through the next few months with him until I could take my tests.

***

He was late. This was a wonderful start. He was late, and he was arriving in an old trash pile of a ship, one that looked like it was found in a junkyard on an outer-rim moon somewhere. “Nimra!” He called my name joyfully as he made his way down the ramp with a small blue astromech and a young orange skinned Togruta following him.

“Master Skywalker.” I bowed my head respectfully and gave him a small smile.

“I’m so sorry to hear about what happened to your master. He was a great Jedi Master and it’s truly a loss to the republic and the Jedi Order.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Of course. I’d like you to meet my Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, Snips this is Nimra Sayla.” I bowed my head to the padawan as well and she returned it with a smile. “Nimra will be joining us for a while, and we will be lucky to have her, I’ve fought on the battlefield with her, and she is a force to be reckoned with.”

“You’re too kind, Master.”

“You’re nearly knighted yourself Nim, stop calling me that would ya?” He laughed at my formality, and I gave a small chuckle myself.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Master – Master Diya thought highly of professionalism and formalities.” I kept the smile even though saying my old Master’s name caused a sharp stinging pain in my heart. Anakin put his hand on my shoulder and gave me an understanding smile, which I appreciated immensely.

“Well, we should get going if we’re going to make the rendezvous with the rest of the fleet.” Anakin turned to climb back up the ramp before the astromech gave a series of agitated beeps at the Jedi. “Oh, you’re right, how could I forget. This, is R2-D2.” He laughed as he introduced the droid to me, it beeping appreciatively and spinning it’s head around slightly.

“Hello R2-D2, it’s nice to meet you.” I gave the droid a grin as we all made our way into the ship, me biting my tongue as not to comment on how this junk pile would possibly make the trip through hyperspace.

***

“Home sweet home.” Anakin commented as we made our way into the hangar of his Jedi cruiser we had met up with.

“Welcome back, General.” A clone trooper with the blue paint of the 501st met us as we descended. He was holding his helmet under his left arm, and he had buzzed bleached hair, with no other specific markings unlike many clones who chose to tattoo themselves or get very unique haircuts to set them apart from their comrades. Of course, being someone with the force, I could feel the energy signatures within people rather than just seeing their outsides, and that had always helped keep track of the clones, who while they had the same DNA, each had their own very different and unique personalities. “I see we’ve picked up a new recruit?”

“Thank you, and yes, Captain Rex, meet Nimra Sayla.” Anakin introduced us, gesturing his hands between us before focusing on an information disc R2 was giving him.

“Nice to meet you General.” The Captain gave me a salute.

“Oh, no, not quite. I’m not actually a Jedi Knight yet.” I gave him a slightly sheepish smile.

“Ah, sorry about that Commander.”

“That’s quite alright.”

“You’re not a padawan but also not a knight yet?” Ahsoka inquired from beside me.

“Uh, no, not yet. My master, he died before I could take my tests, so I’m going to complete my remaining trainings here with you until I can take them.” I was acutely aware of the pity entering Ahsoka’s eyes, but thankfully the clone did not show that same emotion, rather just a slight understanding of my situation.

“Sorry to hear that Sir.” Rex said, still standing at attention.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too.” Ahsoka said sweetly.

“It’s really okay, but thank you.”

“Alright, me and Ahsoka have to go prepare a debrief, and discuss how when I say ‘let’s go’, it means ‘let’s go’, and not ‘take your time Ahsoka’.” I chuckled at Anakin’s words.

“But Master, if I hadn’t stayed as long as we needed, we would’ve never gotten the information we needed!” She retorted, pointing at the disc in his hand.

“Yeah yeah, that’s not the point, Snips. Anyway, Rex, can you show Nimra around and to her quarters please?”

“Yes, of course Sir.” The captain saluted again and then turned to me as Anakin and Ahsoka walked away, still bickering.

“Are they always like that?” I asked, small smile still on my face.

“Yes Sir, for the most part.” His response made me turn to look at him in the eyes, serious expression taking over my features.

“I will do whatever it takes, whatever it takes, to get you to stop calling me that.” The moment he recognized my joking, some of his seriousness dissolved, and a small half smile appeared on his face.

“Whatever it takes?” He inquired, arching an eyebrow.

“I will personally make the trip to the end of the galaxy and back, on THAT scrap pile, with an agitated blurrg as my copilot, just to get you to stop calling me ‘sir’.” I pointed at Anakin’s ship behind me, serious expression never cracking even as I gained a full smile from the captain, which made my heart warm slightly.

“Well in that case, Commander.”

“That’s not any better!” I exclaimed, laughing as he grinned at me.

“Shall we begin the tour?” He offered, arm outstretched in the direction we would begin with.

“Yes, Captain.” My grin remained as he began to show me around. This will be interesting indeed.

[edna-skiffens]

Ooo what about some teacher!Haz angst? Him and the reader get into an argument and avoid each other for a few days, their students find out and remind them of why they're together - the perfect couple - and they forget about the argument?

I love this! I hope it is okay. I got a bit carried away - sorry it took so long.

Lesson Learned

Summary: You and Teacher!Haz had an argument. Everyone at school can see the tension and they try to help.

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Some angst, Some fluff, Some bad attempts at writing an English lesson

The moment you pulled your car into the parking lot, Tom knew something was wrong.

“Haz not coming in today?” You only gave him a small smile and a shrug as you walked by the boy that got stuck doing car rider duty each morning.

Less than a minute later, Haz pulled in, trying not to glance at your car as he made his way towards the building.

“How come you didn’t pick up Y/N?”

“Ask her, mate.” was the only information Harrison gave out, before he made his way inside.

When you signed in, the office staff noticed the tension as well. Usually Harrison would be holding your bag or the two of you would be way too giggly for the early mornings. Today you were managing your purse, work bag and mug of tea all alone while signing in. You’d have to put on a better act if you wanted to make it through the day. The last thing you wanted was to be the subject of workplace gossip or have your students interrogating you.

When the first bell rang, you knew you needed to stand in your spot in the hallway to watch the students, but knowing Harrison would be out there across from you made you drag your feet.

When you saw him standing there- in his stupid glasses and his stupid jumper - you froze. How could you be angry at such a face? But you were angry.

You were still stalled in the doorway when one of your students started walking in.

“Hey Emma, will you help me with something?” Sure. You used her to get away from the hallway.

“Sure, Ms. Y/L/N. What do you need?”

Once you were safely inside you turned to her. “Oh uh.. never mind I think I’ve got it actually..” You knew you were a coward, but you couldn’t face him yet. Harrison saw you retreat and hung his head. He noticed how you had an excuse to avoid the hallway all day. You two used to be inseparable and now it felt like across the hall was a world away.

He wasn’t the only one to notice. The students and other teachers noticed. Even the custodian pointed out how during lunch you were eating in your separate rooms.

“You must have a lot of work to do?” He joked light heartedly while emptying Harrison’s trash.

“Sorry?”

“To not be eating with Ms. Y/L/N today you must have a lot to do.” He smiled before leaving the room.

After school Harrison coached Track practice. You would usually busy yourself with work while waiting or occasionally host Yearbook Club and Prom Committee meetings. Today you had no reason to wait. After the dismissal bell rang, it felt odd to start packing up immediately, but you did. Avoiding anyone’s questions or awkward run ins, you made a quick exit and headed to your own place.

The next day was much of the same. The staff noticed the tension even more, though they tried not to point it out. The students were also beginning to pick up on the sudden change.

You couldn’t just avoid the hallway for another whole day, so in between classes you moved down to Mrs. Greene’s area and made small talk with her, occasionally calling out a student to put their phone up or hurry to class.

During lunch Tom popped in to check on his friend, noticing that he was eating alone again.

“Hey, mate.”

“Hey Tom. What’s up?”

“You tell me.” Tom responds while leaning against a students desk with his arms crossed.

“Sorry?”

“What’s going on with you and Y/N?” Harrison stared at his friend for a moment. He loved having a close friend that cared so much, but sometimes hated how persistent he could be.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t do that. Everyone has noticed how you two are acting differently, so you can’t say it’s nothing. And I’m your best mate so I’m going to worry about it if I can see it’s affecting you.”

“We got into a fight.” He said after a moment.

“Was it bad?” Harrison gave his friend a ‘seriously?’ look before rolling his eyes. Obviously if they weren’t speaking it was bad. “Okay okay. Well, you didn’t break up right? So you can still repair things. That is, if you want to?”

“Of course I want to.”

“So then what are you waiting for?”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me. She does everything she can to avoid me and we work right across from each other.”

“Okay, but sitting in here and moping about it isn’t helping anything.” Harrison knew Tom was right, but it was still tough to hear. “Look, I don’t know what the fight was about or who was right or who was wrong, but if you don’t want this to ruin the relationship then you’ve got to suck it up and go over there and talk to her. The silence isn’t doing anything for anyone.” Harrison just nodded, taking in his friend’s advice before the bell rang. “I’m here if you need me.” Tom called out as he made his way back to the science lab.

It was the last class of the day, your AP Literature class, and you were discussing Little Women.

“What are some themes we saw throughout the novel?”

“Love.” Shouted out one of your students, Jessie.

“Yes, love is a big one. We see it in many different ways that we can explore as well. But let’s go a little deeper into those relationships, shall we? What themes do we see?”

“With Jo and Laurie there is tension.”

“Yeah we see that a bit.” You turn to add it on the board.

“Could you say war? Because of the actual war but also the arguments the characters have.”

“Good one.” You say with your back to the class as you write it on the board.

“And with Amy and Jo, they don’t communicate very well. They just argue a lot.”

“You’re right. They do.” You say turning back around, suddenly uncomfortable with where this is headed. “Okay that’s a good starting point. Why don’t you write down all the themes you can think of being consistent throughout Little Women and turn it in at the end of class.” You smile before heading back to your desk.

It wasn’t long until the end of the day approached and the afternoon announcements came over the loudspeaker. After they were over, your students started turning in their papers to your desk.

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Yeah, Sam?”

“Um-” they looked back at their small group of friends who seemed to be encouraging them. You smiled, waiting for them to continue, “Did you and Mr. Osterfield break up?”

“Oh my god, Sam. You can’t ask that!” Hannah gasped from her desk. The classroom seemed to suddenly get very quiet. The color drained from your face and you were thankful there were only minutes left in the school day.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. No, we haven’t broken up. But that’s all I’m going to say because this is a personal matter and not something to discuss with our students.” Sam smiled sheepishly before returning to their desk.

“I’m glad you didn’t break up.” Carter, one of your typically quieter students, commented.

“Me too. You two are better together than Laurie and Amy.” Megan remarked as other students nodded.

Thankfully, the bell rang before you needed to make any reply. “Thanks guys. See you all tomorrow.” You told them while ushering everyone out the door. You headed back to your desk when you heard the door shut. Wondering who and what it was, you whipped around.

“Harrison.”

“We need to talk.”

“We can’t do this here. And now.”

“If not here and now then when? I know you’ve been avoiding me and I can’t stand not seeing you or talking to you any longer.”

You hated conflict. You hated not being able to control your feelings in moments like this.

“Harrison.” You turned around to face your desk. Your emotions were a confusing cocktail inside of you. You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to pick somewhere to begin.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry because I know you don’t like being cornered like this, but I didn’t know how else to talk to you. And I’m sorry about this weekend and the things I said and the way I acted. I didn’t mean it. I love you and would never want to hurt you. And I’m sorry I let you avoid me this long as I sat there and did nothing. I should have come to you sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t. But I’m here now, will you please talk to me?” You bowed your head, taking in everything he just said. “Will you at least look at me?”

You turned to face him with tears brimming in your eyes. “Oh Y/N.” he stepped closer, but stopped short in front of you. Unsure if he was allowed to hold you still. Unsure where you stood.

You gave him the answer by reaching out and pulling him in. He quickly wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m sorry too. I should have just talked to you sooner, I’m sorry.”

“Oh love.” He kissed the top of your hair while holding you in his arms for a moment. “Are we okay?” He asked, holding your face in his hands as you stepped back.

You nodded and sniffled, letting your tears subside. “Yeah. If anything, this has shown me how much I enjoy being with you. I don’t want to not talk to you again. You are what matters most. Not winning silly arguments.”

“I couldn’t agree more. How about I take you home and we make up for lost time?”

“Harrison!” You hid your face in his chest and giggled. He just smirked before picking up your chin with his finger and kissing you yet again. “Well, I drove my own car so I guess I’ll take myself home.” You reminded him while you gathered your things.

“Just for today, love.” He said as he took your heavy work bag from your arm. “Tomorrow, I’ll be there with your tea, a blueberry muffin and a ride to work.”

“Back as things should be, yeah?” You both walked to the door of your classroom, turning off the lights and locking up for the day.

“Back as things should be.” He gave you a quick peck outside your classroom door, knowing you could now possibly be seen by students. You weren’t though, they were long gone.

Tom, however, saw the brief exchange and smiled to himself, ‘lesson learned.’

[heraldofcomingdawn]

Leaving Immortality Behind

It turns out, Rex Lapis wasn’t really dead.

Xiao wants answers.

(A missing scene of sorts, for that first confrontation.)

WC: 4,006

General Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Xiao Centric, Xiao Needs A Hug, Adepti Found Family, Xiao's Karmic Debt Causes Him Pain, Minor Childe/Zhongli,

happy birthday, to my baby yaskha! i almost didn’t finish this in time, but i did it for him!

It took three days to find him.

It wasn’t that the man in question was difficult to find. How could it be, when the Conqueror of Demons had spent millennia by the man’s side, had witnessed his many human forms over the years and could spot the minute differences between him and the other mortals? When he could feel the charge in the air whenever the Geo Archon was near?

No, it was more like a small - yet still significant - part of the younger Adeptus had been purposely avoiding looking too hard. 

Well, he found him.

Part of him wanted to pretend he hadn’t seen him, wanted to turn the other way just long enough for the ex-Archon (and wasn’t that a punch to the gut Xiao hadn’t fully processed yet) to make his leave, so he could spend yet another night pretending his emotions weren’t currently battling inside of him, conflicting and confusing. 

He’d thought he’d be relieved.

He was relieved.

But Xiao was also angry and betrayed and confused and upset, and it was such a whirlwind of unexpected emotion that he wanted nothing more than to manifest his jade spear and tear it all to shreds. He scoffed at himself; emotions were so insignificant to someone who had lived as long - and through as much - as someone like him. They were trivial matters he thought himself to be above, yet here he was, feeling like he was drowning. 

“Eager to leave, Conqueror of Demons?” Moon Carver’s words still echoed in his head, as he settled into a sitting position amongst the green tiles that made up his current perch. 

Very much so. 

Perhaps it had been the wrong thing to do, to leave without ensuring Liyue Harbor was truly safe, but how was he supposed to face the other adepti and pretend like something sharp wasn’t sitting in his throat after the Tianquan regaled them all with the details of her dream with Rex Lapis? 

Rex Lapis, who until that very moment, they all believed to be dead. 

The very same Rex Lapis who was currently enjoying dinner at the table below him -  very much alive - and sitting across from a red-haired man that set his nerve endings on fire with the strange energy that radiated off of him. Energy that wasn’t so unlike the miasma that dripped off monsters and demons sent from the Abyss. 

His eyes narrowed as he took in the details of his Archon’s companion and tried to ascertain whether he was a threat to his Lord or not. The red-haired man laughed loudly, blue eyes crinkling in delight at something Xiao hadn’t heard. He waved a hand towards a young, blue-haired allogene and requested something in Liyuen that would have confused Xiao even if the other man’s accent hadn’t been so atrocious. 

Come and get what?

His train of thought went no further as he heard Morax gently correcting the other man’s pronunciation, and oh Celestia above, his heart clenched. 

He was alive.

Xiao had spent several days believing that the man who saved him, who was the closest thing he had to family in this strange new world, was dead. He had also blamed himself for a brief moment - and anger had coursed through him when it was the traveler who came and delivered the news, rather than his own keen senses realizing something was amiss - because what good was a Vigilant Yaksha, a sworn protector of Liyue, if he couldn’t even protect the very Archon he owed his life to. If he hadn’t even known until it was too late. 

Tendrils of pain snaked around his wrists and brushed at his temples. 

He clenched his hands into fists, willing the burden of his karmic debt to stay away for just a moment longer, but it persisted. Perhaps this was a manifestation of his guilt, an all-consuming wave of bitterness and regret at not being there when the Exuvia fell. Perhaps it was his senses warning him that the man sitting across from Rex Lapis - Childe, his Lord had called him - wasn’t as innocent as his pink-dusted cheeks portrayed him to be. His fingers wrapped around the phurba dagger he wore around his neck as he watched them interact.

Whatever apprehensions he held toward Childe were slowly abated as they both listened to Rex Lapis regale them with the story behind the name of their meal (and oh! Come and Get It was the rice bowl they were consuming. 

How absurd - why can’t mortals just call it what it is?)

It was familiar territory, however, to listen to the man’s long-winded stories of his nation’s history and its people that he clearly loved, and it soothed the sharp edges of Xiao’s grief as leaned back and let the former Geo Archon’s soft lilt and smokey timbre wash over him.

Rex Lapis was alive.

Despite his warring emotions over it - and the betrayal he could taste like iron on his tongue - it would have to be enough. He could find a measure of comfort in the scene before him. 

The sun was nearly set now, the sky a rich twilight blue. 

There were a few stars out, pale white and barely visible, but still present enough to make out the constellations he had long ago memorized. The bustle of Chihu Rock was beginning to die down as merchants packed up their wares and bid each other goodnight. Soft laughter to the right of him crescendoed as the doors to the Third Round Knockout were pushed open and people filtered out, their faces warm and bellies full of whatever food and spirit they had indulged in. 

Lanterns were being lit now, their warm yellow light casting away the shadows that threatened the corners of Liyue’s streets. The smoke that had been gently billowing from an opening on the blue-shingled restaurant across from him had died down, as the owners - the blue-haired allogene and an older man - began to close up for the night. 

“Xiangling, take this to Granny Shan before she goes home for the night, will you?” the older man asked his daughter, handing over a takeout container. 

“You got it!” the blue-haired allogene returned, her voice young and full of life. She hurried out the door and paused at the only occupied table left, smiling down at the seated patrons who were finishing their meal. “No rush, you guys! I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Rex Lapis poured himself another cup of tea in response.

“What’s in the bag?” Childe asked, as he tried to fish out the last piece of meat in his bowl with the chopsticks he was gripping entirely wrong. Xiao’s eyes narrowed at the sight.

“Leftover pork and spring onion dumplings!” Xiangling replied, already walking away. “Dad doesn’t like food to go to waste and Granny Shan is such a sweet lady,  don’t you think? Who else better to give them to?”

“I couldn’t agree more.” 

This was Liyue at it’s finest, safe and full of warmth. 

For a second he can almost pretend he doesn’t hear the harrowing voices screaming for death or feel the pain that’s thrumming up to his forearms now. He can almost ignore the memories that threaten to overtake him every time he allows himself a moment of peace. 

The few days he thought Rex Lapis to be dead had blurred together. There had only been the steady weight of his spear in his hands and the familiar darkness that surrounded him whenever he donned his yaksha mask, as he lunged tirelessly and with a fervor that had worried the other adepti, as he seeked out every last demon and monster that dared to cross Dihua Marsh. 

If any of them had been responsible for his Lord’s death. . .

He should have been better.

Eventually, Cloud Retainer had caught up with him and all but pecked the jade spear out of his hand. He had scowled at her, hands shaking with exhaustion as he held the tip to her long neck and dared her to come closer. 

“One has been searching for you, Vigilant Yaksha.”

“One has found me.” Xiao returned, his voice sharp and mocking. 

“Put down your spear.” she commanded, looking down at him. “Rex Lapis’ death weighs heavily on us all, but one does not leave behind a trail of bodies like you have been doing.”

They stared at each other for a moment longer before he allowed the weapon to disappear in a flicker of light that reminded him of tiny crystalflies dispersing into the sky, but otherwise remained silent. 

“We must head to Liyue Harbor and seek council with the Qixing.” Cloud Retainer informed him, eyes narrowed as she studied him intensely. “It would be wise of you to come with. Their disrespect for Rex Lapis has gone too far - one should quash them for allowing such a thing to befall our Archon, but for them to sit idly by and do nothing while the Exuvia is stowed away. . .” 

Xiao hadn’t been able to withhold a wince at the words. 

Cloud Retainer’s voice softened at that. “If Rex Lapis has indeed been assassinated, then Liyue is in great peril, Baby Yaksha.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“We must not allow further disaster to bestow itself upon the land Morax loved - one promised to keep it safe, did we not? Rest for now, tomorrow we shall leave for the harbor.”

She hadn’t left him, but instead guided him to the top of Mt. Aozang where she dwelled, and left him to his own devices after gently pecking the top of his head. He had sat in a stone chair for the rest of the night, staring at Rex Lapis’ name carved into the table, and mourned the end of an era. 

His grief - his pain - had been for naught, hadn’t it?

“I have to get going now, xiansheng.” Childe’s voice cut through his thoughts. He straightened up a little and watched as the red-haired man stood up and smoothed out his grey jacket. 

“I understand.” Rex Lapis replied, his voice solemn. 

Childe grinned down at the man and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pouch Xiao could only assume was filled with mora. “Oh, don’t look so grim! I’d love to stay and chat a little longer, but there’s some business I need to take care of, before I leave.”

“Business that requires the stars to keep watch?” his Lord returned, and Xiao could detect a hint of knowing bemusement. “Very well.”

“Oh, sneaky! You know I can’t disclose Fatui business to you, Zhongli. The walls have ears, after all.” Childe laughed and Xiao’s annoyance at this man’s audacity for speaking to his Lord in such a way was derailed when he spoke Rex Lapis’ other name.

Zhongli.

So this was the name he’d chosen to introduce himself as, this time around. It wasn’t a new name, by any means, but it had also been a very long time since Xiao had heard Rex Lapis - Zhongli - refer to himself as such. Not since Guizhong was still alive. 

He watched as Childe paid for the meal and bid Zhongli goodnight, before making his leave towards Feiyun Slope. His crimson scarf flared out behind him and the metal grommets that decorated the fabric glinted in the lantern light. He thought he could make out the faint trails of wispy black smoke that followed him, almost caressing him like a soft breeze. 

There was something dangerous about that man and he thought to follow him, if only because Xiao had vowed to never allow demons to walk amongst the people of Liyue. Childe was most certainly mortal, but Xiao would never again allow his failure to dictate the future of the harbor.

Except he hadn’t failed, had he?

Because Rex Lapis was very much alive, with his chin resting on his hands as he watched the retreating form of Childe with a solemn look on his face, his abandoned cup of tea no longer producing steam. 

His grief had been for naught indeed. 

And the relief that had followed had been short-lived, almost immediately giving way to his anger. The same anger that curled in his stomach now as he thought of how Zhongli had been silent ever since the big reveal. There was a part of him that had hoped the Archon would seek him out first, to explain just why he had faked his death without letting the yaksha - or any of the adepti, for that matter - know beforehand. 

Yet three days had already passed and still nothing. 

“You might as well come down now.” Zhongli’s voice cut through the silence, his back still to him, and Xiao startled. “I think we’ve both put off this conversation long enough.”

Xiao stood up slowly and stared down at the other man. Zhongli had yet to turn around and truly acknowledge him, still staring in the direction of Feiyun Slope and his departed friend. He jumped down from the rooftop, landing on his feet with the lightest thud, and approached the table.

Zhongli looked up at him once he had taken Childe's place. 

This was a new mortal form Xiao had yet to see, but the locks of amber-tipped hair that framed his face and the eyes that shone like Cor Lapis that were present in every form Rex Lapis had taken, were the same. He eyed him warily, debating with himself whether he should speak first or not - whether he would even be able to produce the right words. 

“Hello, Xiao.”

“My Lord.” he whispered back, bowing his head.

“There’s no need for any of that anymore.” Rex Lapis smiled gently. “I am simply Zhongli now.”

Something inside of Xiao crumbled. “Zhongli.”

“It is nice to see you well.” 

The sharp feeling in his throat was back and he forced himself to swallow it down. He tried to take a breath, but it came out broken and staggered. Shame burned on his face at his unintentional show of weakness and he bowed his head lower. 

“Oh, Xiao.” Zhongli breathed out and his eyes were sad. “Let us take a walk, it has been a while since I’ve traversed the streets of Liyue with you by my side.” 

Their walk was directionless as far as Xiao was concerned. He trailed half a step behind Zhongli, eyes downcast, as he tried to compose himself. Anger was an easy enough emotion to grab onto, justified enough for the situation, and didn’t leave him floundering and vulnerable the way addressing his hurt did. 

He stopped suddenly and clenched his hands into fists again. The tendrils of pain were growing in intensity and he used them as a way to ground himself. Despite his anger, despite Zhongli’s desire to give up his throne, he was still the Prime Adepti, still his Lord, and still deserving of respect. Yelling at him, as cathartic as it would be, was pointless. “Why,” he began, then stopped to clear his throat, “why didn’t you tell me. Tell us.”

“I couldn’t.” 

Xiao raised an eyebrow and stared him down, refusing to accept that as an answer. 

Zhongli sighed. “I fear my answer won't satisfy you." 

"All I ask for is the truth." 

"I suppose I can give you that." Zhongli mused, but his expression was pained. He looked towards Mt. Tianheng and gestured to the other side of the bridge they were on. "Indulge me, first? I would like to finish our walk."

Xiao nodded.

They reached the peak soon enough. Zhongli stood at the edge of the mountain and took in the sight of Liyue Harbor. The outline of the wharf stood proud against the backdrop of the black sea, bathed in silver moonlight that reflected shapeless patterns on the rolling waves. The wharf was the pride of Liyue, the reason the land prospered as it had. 

It was a beautiful sight, even dark as it was with all the workers and merchants gone for the night, the last of the lanterns burned out. The Golden House glimmered to the right, that same silver light glinting off the metal finials that adorned its roof. In the far distance, the rock formations of Guyun Stone Forest loomed over the water. 

He shivered at the sight. 

The horizon was a beautiful one, carefully cultivated over millennia of hard work and bloodshed. The tendrils of pain wrapped themselves around him now and he held back a wince by sheer will alone, as he took in the stone spears placed by Rex Lapis himself. They kept the fallen gods pinned in place but the cost of their defeat still raged on as demons spawned. 

It was his duty to take care of them, one he did with honor, for he would give all he had in service of the man who’d freed him. Even if the Archon had passed before him, for this was the land Zhongli loved - fought for and created - and Xiao refused to let harm come to the only home he had ever known.

Behind them and to the left, the mountain peaks and ruins stretched on, crumbling rock structures that had been formed by hand long ago, now weathered and eroded into an open book that spoke of the nation’s history. 

Eventually the silence was broken when Zhongli decided to speak. "I think, if given the chance, there are many things I would do over," he began, "but I do not regret any of them, for when you've lived a life as long as I have, regret is something that can consume you.” He looked over to the ruins. “Even stone will eventually erode away."

Xiao stayed silent. 

"Saving you, however, is something I would do again and again."

"My Lord -" Xiao cut himself off. "Zhongli." he tried again, but it felt wrong to address him as such. Either way, he didn’t have words. 

Zhongli turned to look at him and gestured for him to step closer. He obliged and stiffened when the Archon placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. "I am sorry for the grief I put you through. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but it's also something I would do again."

Xiao winced. 

"The truth is, Xiao, I'm tired."

"I don't understand."

"I have watched over Liyue for nearly four thousand years. I've been alive for much longer than that. Eventually, you start to wonder when it's going to end. I have seen Liyue grow and prosper in ways I hadn't thought possible. I have watched Guili Plains crumble into the ruins they are today when once. . .once, they were home. Now it is a place no one else remembers." Zhongli's grip slackened. "Liyue doesn't need me anymore."

"Zhongli-" Xiao began, alarmed. 

"Breathe, my baby yaksha, breathe." Zhongli chuckled lightly. "It is not as you think - Liyue has simply grown past the need for Archons. It is ready to stand on its own two feet."

“I’m not -” he began, but gave up. “So you faked your death.”

“I believe that if I had simply stepped down, the Qixing would never truly step up. No, I needed to kill off the idea of Rex Lapis for good. The people of Liyue needed to understand that this was truly the end of an era.”

Xiao couldn’t stop the anger that laced his tone. “You felt this wasn’t something I - we - deserved to know?”

Zhongli’s smile turned bitter at the edges. “Before I could truly step down, I decided a test was in order, to see if Liyue was truly ready. I must admit, I did it simply to quell my own anxieties.”

“A test?”

“I wanted to see if the Adepti of Jueyun Karst and the Qixing could work together to protect the land, if the time ever called for it, or if the adepti would simply decide their contract with Liyue - their promise to protect it - would end with my death.”

“Osial?”

“Unexpected.” Zhongli admitted, and he looked towards Guyun with amusement. “Still, I had forced Childe’s hand and I expected something grandiose from him - that he was able to lift the seals that kept Osial imprisoned is impressive.”

“Your dinner companion did all of this?” Xiao asked, warily. “And you asked him too?”

“A bit more nuanced than that, but yes.”

“I see.”

Silence fell over them again as Xiao mulled over everything. “Speaking of your dinner companion. . .” he began, remembering the traces of miasma that had clung to the man like wisps of smoke. Zhongli’s expression turned downcast at the mention of his friend and Xiao faltered. 

“He will be gone tomorrow.”

“Pardon?”

“I am pleased he indulged me in one last meal.” Zhongli smiled grimly. “Even after I used him as a pawn, he still dined with me. I have no doubt the betrayal stings him, but tomorrow he’ll leave for Snezhnaya and I do not know if he’ll return.”

Xiao let the conversation drop. There was no point if the threat would be gone tomorrow. He would simply keep an eye on his potential return and wait till then. He wondered if Zhongli could not sense the darkness that surrounded the man, or if he simply chose to ignore it. Neither would surprise him. He was cursed - blessed, some would say - with the ability to sense demonic energy and the stench of the Abyss. 

It was the same for the other Yakshas, was the reason Rex Lapis had tasked them with fighting the demons that formed from the anger and hatred of the fallen gods, but now only he remained. If Rex Lapis - Zhongli, now - could not sense the darkness, Xiao would watch it for him.

The pain heightened and this time, he couldn’t keep silent. 

“You are in pain.” Zhongli said matter-of-factly, for this was nothing new to them. Eventually the pain would overtake him to the point where he could no longer see and all he could do was persevere and wait for it to end.

“It is manageable.”

“Do you still have pain medicine?”

“No.”

“Do you wish for me to get you more?”

“Yes.” Xiao lied, because even after all these years, he still couldn’t find it in him to tell Rex Lapis the truth: that the pain medication he so laboriously made for him never seemed to work. The pain in the Archon’s eyes, as he watched the younger Adeptus suffer as a result of his own victories, hurt worse than the karmic debt that burrowed itself into his flesh and demanded retribution. “I would like that.”

Zhongli hummed. “I will prepare it in the morning. For now, when was the last time you slept?”

I don’t need to sleep.”

“Perhaps not as much as a mortal does.” the ex-Archon mused. “But it is still something one can indulge in.”

“It can wait another night.” Xiao deflected. “I still have questions.”

Zhongli shook his head and exhaled lightly. He sat down on the grass and adjusted his coat, so he wouldn’t sit on the embroidered fabric and patted the spot beside him. “If it’s any consolation, I won’t go anywhere.” He locked eyes with Xiao and smiled when the yaksha laid down with an annoyed huff. “You can ask me in the morning.”

“I’m still angry at you.”

“I know.” Zhongli murmured, shifting a little so he could place his hand on Xiao’s head. Gloved fingers carded through strands of teal hair gently; rhythmically. “I know we still have much to talk about, but we have all the time in the world. Sleep, my baby yaksha, and know I’ll be here for as long as I am able.”

Sleep would not cause the pain to abate - if only it was that easy - but for the moment, it became manageable. For the moment, his anger dwindled and took a backseat to the contentment that bloomed in his chest. For the moment, the world was safe. 

If only because Rex Lapis was still here with him.

Tomorrow could wait. 

--

a/n: maybe one day ill write the full length chili fic i set up in here.

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 3 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: Soul Traitors

Summary: Betrayal among soulmates is unheard of in all the free races of Arda, yet that’s exactly what Durin, King of Khazad-dûm, endures. Heartsick and angry, he damns the Valar for their choice and earns their wrath in return. He and his former lover will be reincarnated until the wrong between them is righted. Thorin, Durin’s lastest reincarnation, believes nothing can break that curse and instead mounts a quest for the Arkenstone to free his people of theirs. Gandalf, the meddlesome wizard, offers a Burglar for their quest. A hobbit burglar who will help Thorin uncover more than just a gem.

Warnings: Character Death, Gore (I mean, it’s not heavily descripted gore, but it does mention the manner of the character’s death so just to be safe.)

Each of the races have their own views on soulmates and how you go about finding them. However, all seem to agree that to find a soulmate is a very special thing. To find the one person who you can trust with your whole heart and soul. That’s why to the dwarves, they called these people, Ones. None would ever consider betraying their Ones as that seemed a cruelness beyond even that of the orcs. Which is why King Durin stood in the high chamber of the court of Khazad-dûm staring down at the small figure below with such shock and fear, many feared a light breeze could topple their usually infallible king.

The curly haired creature in chains returned the king’s stare with heartbreaking indifference. Many of the court began to chant prayers to Mahal that this was not to be so. That the One of their dear king wouldn’t dare do that which he was accused. Durin’s flat and breathless voice finally spoke, silencing all in the hall.

“Madoc son of Maloch of the Holbyta Tribe Fallohide, you stand before the King of Khazad-dûm as the sole conspirator and thief of the Arkenstone. One of the great treasures of our kingdom. What plea do you make in your defense?”

With no hesitation, no change in emotion, the small being stated the same line Durin’s heard since his capture.

“I love you.”

The king leaned forward to bow his head as he gripped the stone podium tighter. 

“Madoc, this is serious!” Durin’s most trusted advisor, Gelbim, spoke up. “You have taken a sacred relic from our halls, and not just any, but the one that has the power to bring ruin upon our city and our people! Your crime is punishable by death. For the love of Mahal and the great Valar, please, tell us where you’ve hidden the Arkenstone.”

Durin slowly brought his eyes up as the silence persisted to see a small break in Madoc’s mask. His jaw trembled and a single tear leaked from his soft hazel eyes that Durin had loved from the moment he met him. 

“I...love...you.” He sobbed.

That was the moment Durin’s heart broke. Not shattered completely though. No, unfortunately that particular pain would come later that week when Madoc’s sentence was being carried out. But this...this was the first of a pain that would never desist.

“How can you when you hurt me so?” Durin asked softly, yet his words carried through the chamber as Madoc bowed his head in defeat. “You are given a traitor’s sentence. Death with no chance to appeal. Your name will not be spoken aloud again, your hair will be shorn and removed of any braids and beads, and your body will be burned rather than returned to the land and stone. In the Eyes of Mahal, so mote it be.”

Gelbim, his dear friend, told him he didn’t need to attend. None would think less of their king. Durin wished he had listened. He couldn’t bear to watch, but the sound of the axe going straight through his One’s neck would haunt him for the rest of his life. As it was, he stumbled to his chambers to fall and not rise from their marital bed for weeks after. When he resumed his reign, the toll of losing heart and soul was apparent to all. 

Durin became hardened in the final years of his reign. He demanded every ounce of mithril in the mountain to be pulled up and sold it to his allies for too high a price. What he didn’t sell, he forged. Weapons, jewelry, a particular handsome mailshirt, and if it were all the same size as his beloved holbyta? Well, none had it in them to point it out to their fading king. As demanded of a traitor’s death, the name Madoc was stricken from all records and replaced with the Amrâb Hufrel or “the soul’s betrayal of all betrayals”. The rest of the Fallohide tribe which was camped near the Misty Mountains was forced to pack up and resume their nomadic lifestyle west or face war with the dwarves. The sorrows of Durin were not to stop there. 

“The goblins of the Deep grow bolder.” Gelbim remarked as they watched the latest battalion return battered and worse for wear.

“Without the Arkenstone, they will not stop.” Durin growled.

“Durin, my friend, we’ve sent quest after quest after the gem. Wherever M-the Amrâb Hufrel has hidden it, we may not ever find it. It may be time to consider...alternatives.”

“What alternative is there aside from leaving my mountain and my mithril!” Durin spat.

Gelbim raised an eyebrow at his answer. “And is that worth more than the lives of your kin?”

Durin froze before spinning around quick as a flash. “Leave if that is your wish! This has been the home of MY line since the reign of Durin I and I WILL NOT GO!”

Go, Gelbim did taking a third of his kingdom with him including the young Prince Thrain and his mother. Crown Prince Nain, Durin’s only stone son, could not be moved to leave his father to his fate even as he saw the heartless path he wrought. For in their quest for more mithril, an ancient evil slumbering deep below the rock was awoken. The king led a frantic charge against the beast and was slain almost instantly. The war against Durin’s Bane lasted a year longer, but when the newly instated King Nain, was slain, the mountain and its riches were abandoned. In the lore of Durin’s folk, this was the first great curse of the Amrâb Hufrel’s theft.

Durin, who welcomed his death with open arms, awoke expecting to find the Halls of His Father. Instead, the nervous face of his treacherous One amongst a starry plane was the first sight he was graced with. 

“Oh Durin, my heart…” The holbyta began taking a step forward.

“You!” The king snarled, moving away as quickly as he could.

The Amrâb Hufrel looked miserable as his face twisted in anguish. “Please let me explain…”

“NOW YOU WISH TO EXPLAIN!” Durin boomed. “You had your chance! You had every opportunity to tell of your nefarious schemes, and instead you mocked me. You mocked my kingdom, a kingdom you once called yours. Well look at it now! All because of you!”

The creature before him was truly wretched and small as he hunkered against every blow Durin dealt. And the dwarf was yet to be finished.

“Peace, my son.” Came a great voice from above that Durin instantly recognized as His Father even having never heard it before. “You have made your point. Now let your Sanâzyung (Perfect/True Love) say his piece.”

“NO!” Durin roared against the very heavens themselves. “I don’t want to have anything to do with this...this...Amrâb Hufrel!”

Thunder rumbled, shaking the entire platform they stood upon. And while the holbyta trembled in the face of such power, Durin’s anger was too great to be cowed.

“You would reject this gift we offer, son of Aulë?” A female voice demanded, icy and iron.

“What gift?” Durin sneered. “Unless you offer me the chance to sever his head myself this time, I see no gift here.”

The other creature of blood released a gasp that was more like a sob, but Durin had no more patience for the likes of him. In fact, he had nothing left to give to him. Something that became apparent to the Valar watching.

“You have become cruel.” Another, softer female voice soothed. “You know only the truths you have seen with your own eyes.”

“And it is enough for me to condemn that thing and the Great Valar that thought to join my soul with it! Damn him and DAMN ALL OF YOU!”

If Durin expected the same booming show of power he received previously, he was sorely disappointed. Instead, it just all seemed to fade away. The stars, the platform, and the holbyta. His sorrowful face full of tears was the last thing Durin saw before he was swallowed by the darkness. The darkness allowed no sound, not even from Durin’s own voice, and no escape. He was unsure how long he wavered in that place: hours, weeks, years? He was utterly and completely alone until finally the voice of His Father broke through.

“You have shamed me, my uzfakuh (great joy). You have shamed me, you have shamed yourself, and you have shamed your Sanâzyung.”

Durin knew he could not speak back, but he still fumed at the Great Smith’s words. 

“We have thought long and hard on how you can atone for the atrocities you’ve committed today.”

And what of the Amrâb Hufrel’s atrocities?

“Your path will not be an easy one, especially if you hold tight to the stubborn slights of your mortal heart. For a soul is worth so much more. You and your Sanâzyung shall be reborn over and over as many times as needed until you can right the wrongs between you and hear the truth of his soul.”

Durin felt a burning on his breast and looked down to behold a glowing oak tree being inked in chains.

“You shall carry this mark in every life of yours henceforth, and it shall know the mark of Madoc in return. Only free of the chains that bind your soul, will you be welcome in my Halls.”

The legend of Durin’s curse and the theft of the Amrâb Hufrel passed down through the centuries until it had inscribed all dwarven mothers with fear. For any child to bear the mark of Durin was to lead a loveless and empty life. Likewise, any “hobbits” as they preferred that met with the dwarves were met with open hostility. Especially if they bore their own mark, though none knew for certain if it was Madoc’s or not. Still, the hobbits learned fast and stories of their own circulated that any child bearing an acorn on their palm would be hunted and killed by the dwarves. So as the stories grew wilder and edged with desperation, Durin and Madoc were reborn again and again just as Aulë promised, but were no closer to breaking the curse that bound them so.

It was many centuries later when a young prince from Durin’s own line was born to the immediate wailing and disappointment of every dwarf in attendance. Not even a few seconds old, Thorin, son of Thrain, Prince of Erebor bore the heavy burdens of his ancestor. It steeled his heart as he grew into adolescence and forced him to throw his all into his duties as prince. He would love Erebor for none would ever love him. And when Erebor was attacked by the dragon, it was Thorin’s foresight and friendship with the men of Dale that was able to send Smaug away. Thorin grew from prince into a king his people could be proud of, and he never wavered from his vow to his kingdom. Never knowing that almost a century and a half later, a hobbit was born with the death sentence of his people on his palm and a destiny he would not be able to escape.

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Marvel Super Heroes Secret Wars #1-3

May, 1984

THE WAR BEGINS

Oof, here we go.

Just gotta replicate the pace that let me do the Hawkeye miniseries in one go, three times in a row.

This is probably too much effort considering its Secret Wars (or more accurately Marvel Super Heroes Secret Wars) and maybe there’s not going to be a lot of big changes from this in the Avengers book to really justify it.

But we’re getting Jim Shooter writing the Avengers and his non-consecutive runs were a lot better than I had remembered. And it continues the theme he had from the Avengers book.

It just makes sense in a nonsense way to cover this story.

Last relevant time in Avengers! Acting Completely Normal Vision warned the Avengers about some weird, possibly hostile energy surges right in time for an energy surge to surge energetically in Central Park.

When the Avengers went to investigate, they found a weird structure that looked like a techy coliseum maybe. When some of the Avengers wandered into it (apparently the most bankable Avengers? Sucks to be Vision and Wanda, shrug) they vanished.

In the next issue, after several days, these heroes returned, speaking of a secret war they fought. Weird stuff like She-Hulk taking the Thing’s place on the Fantastic Four happened. In other books, Spidey got a cool new suit.

Would you know more?

After being raptured in their various books, the missing superheroes all end up on one of those distinctive structures like the one that appeared in Central Park, except IN SPACE.

Its cool that the Avengers will have some company.

We’ve got a terrific 3/4ths of the Fantastic Four, the X-Men (including Lockheed but not including Kitty Pryde for some reason), the Avengers, Iron Man, Spider-Man, the totally Articulate Hulk, and hilariously Magneto is also here.

Maybe Secret Wars is just setting up the most awkward moment in the universe, as a prank show.

I think I’d enjoy a big event that turned out to be a prank show at the last minute. The fan discontent. Imagine.

Everyone introduces themselves to each other but mostly the audience and Ben Grimm claims his new codename as the Easter Bunny.

Checking, marvel wiki doesn’t have Easter Bunny listed as one of Ben’s known aliases. Cowards.

Looking up into space, Captain America spots another one of the totally cool constructs and Professor X scans that it contains EEEEEEEVIL.

Specifically Amora the Enchantress, Ultron, the Wrecking Crew, the Absorbing Man, the Lizard, VICTOR VON DOOOOOM, Kang the Conqueror, Doctor Octopus, and Molecule Man. Also, hilariously, Galactus is there.

I’m more convinced than ever that this is a prank show.

You know what would be more hilarious? If Punisher ended up on this construct.

The distribution of villains is kind of odd though. Galactus and Doctor Doom map to the FF. Doctor Octopus and the Lizard to Spider-Man. Ultron, Molecule Man, and Kang are Avengers foes. The Absorbing Man and the Wrecking Crew can go a couple ways but started off as Thor villains. And Amora is usually a Thor villain but supposedly has chilled out around this time or at least is less of a pain than her horny sister.

No X-Men villains. Because Magneto is chilling with them in the generally heroic pod.

Also, all the heroes were raptured from Earth while the villains were grabbed from Earth, from space, from Asgard, resurrected just to be here, or from the FUTURE.

I know marketing is wagging the dog but be consistent, secret organizer who we don’t know yet.

The Thing points out that Magnet is off-sides, re: being in the hero construct, and Magneto is like ‘hey, chill out dudes’ and denies specifically doing murders.

Magneto: “I know not what power transported me here from my secret lair, nor why I was placed among you -- but I find it more appropriate to ask why such as you were judged fit to be placed in my presence!”

Oof.

Burn.

Then the conversation is put on halt on account of the wildest shit any of them have ever seen.

An entire galaxy vanishes but probably not due to a wave of anti-matter.

Thor: “It’s gone! Gone -- ! Swept away like dust before some unseen, giant hand!”

And then around that last star left unswept, various chunks merge together to form some sort of world, perhaps for battle.

A nice touch for later is that you can definitely see that one of the chunks is a stray chunk of city.

Some of the villains start squabbling because close quarters, ego, etc.

But Ultron goes hey we’re allowed to fight? I’m the best at that.

Ultron: “I am Ultron! I do not understand the events transpiring! I do not understand how I came to be resurrected... nor how I came to be here! Nothing computes... Insignificant! I am Ultron! My purpose is to slay that which lives. You are all living things, ergo -- Ultron must destroy you!”

With the benefit of having read all the Avengers up to now, I feel that Ultron got up on the wrong side of the resurrection a little.

He’s not not like this but he’s not usually this turned on?

(Then again, maybe he just came back cranky)

DOOM grabs and shakes Molecule Man to do something about this because given enough time even the mighty DOOM might fall before Ultron.

Ultron is famously annoying to defeat, what with that adamantium.

But Molecule Man is in therapy after the Avengers kicked his shit and Tigra yelled at him for being a punk. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

So Doom with all his brilliant genius tells MM a cool way to help out that won’t hurt anyone. Directly.

Using his Molecule Man power over molecules to lightly toss Ultron into Galactus.

So that Galactus goes ‘who the fuck scuffed my boots’ and rips out all the energy in Ultron’s Ultron.

He can do that.

Why wouldn’t he? If he can do that to a planet, he can do it to a pissbaby robot. Even one apparently containing more power than an atom bomb.

Then, because this is one of those plots where things are always thenning, a rift opens in the nothingness of space and a heavenly esque light shines out. A warbly voice commands the action figures beat each other up.

I mean. Its more like

The Beyonder: “I am from beyond! Slay your enemies and all you desire shall be yours! Nothing you dream of is impossible for me to accomplish!”

But you have to admire that this toy commercial of a comic book is being honest and upfront about being a story where action figures bonk off of each other.

Galactus just hears ‘i can finally shake off these persistent forever munchies’ and flies off to demand prepayment for action figure bonking, with DOOM following behind him.

The Beyonder speaks up warning Galactus that hey, personal space. And that a guy that can effortlessly wipe out a galaxy is gonna have a sweet barrier but Galactus wants the hunger pangs gone and does not listen.

DOOM recognizes a bad idea when he sees one once in a while and hangs back but still gets blown out of space by the force of Galactus bonking off the Beyonder’s barriers.

Captain America: “They were swatted back like flies!”

Professor X: “To the Beyonder, even Galactus is less than a fly, Captain!”

Interruption dealt with, the Beyonder gets the show on the road and sends the two constructs to different parts of the patchwork planet.

The Marvel Super Heroes And Magneto land on some hill and quickly make sure that there are no villains excepting Magneto around.

With Magneto around, the non-X-Men raise an objection to Magneto being around.

He sank a Russian submarine with all hands back in X-Men #150 but he insists that it was self-defense and also they started it.

The X-Men’s position is ‘hey he’s a jerk but he’s our jerk plus we could use his help? The bad guys get GALACTUS, how is that fair?’

Well, they don’t say it but they’re probably thinking it.

And Hawkeye decides to be a little racist today.

Hawkeye: “You mutants stick together, huh? Well, sticking to a blood-soaked maniac like him doesn’t speak well of you, pal!”

Dude, Clint. Your dear old friend is Wanda.

Wait, why ISN’T Wanda here? Did the toy people really not want her? Fools. Her husband is toyetic as all get out.

Also, point of order, Wolverine? If anyone qualifies as ‘hey he’s a jerk but he’s our jerk!’ here its you.

Johnny “good life choices” Storm decides he’ll just kick Magneto’s ass and end the debate but yeah. Yeah, no. Magneto makes a fool of him.

And then Magneto decides eff this noise and flies off.

With Magneto alienated (good job, guys), Professor X decides this group needs some dang leadership and throws a nomination to Reed Richards. Reed defers since he’s thinking of Sue, left at home and not able to participate in the event.

Wasp, the cool leader of the Avengers, nominates instead Captain America.

Wasp: “We’re off in a strange land, up to our ears in a little secret war that may decide the fate of the universe! Some people don’t know me well! They might have doubts... and there’s no room for that!”

I’m baffled that there’s people here who don’t know Wasp who has been heroing since the 60s but sure. Cap(tain America) probably gets more crossovers and whatever.

I mean, heck, we’re talking a group of heroes consisting of the Avengers (who she already leads), the Fantastic Three (who she’s well acquainted with), and the X-Men (who I’m sure she’s met, although awkwardly its going to later be revealed that Wasp is in the Hellfire Club, but only the sex parts).

And I guess Wolverine’s extensive backstory with Cap doesn’t exist yet because Wolverine isn’t keen on him being the leader, describing him as the least of the assembled heroes. When Hawkeye is right there!

I kid because I love.

Meanwhile, DOOM wakes up adjacent to Galactus ankle and heads to a nearby fortress which he correctly assumes is where the villains have ended up.

Wait, the heroes get beamed down to a random hill while the villains get sent to an advanced fortress with weaponry and we later learn vehicles sold separately?

Kinda stacking the deck, the Beyonder.

You gave the villains GALACTUS and A FORTRESS PLAYSET right out of the gate.

The other villains tell Doom that they’ve (mostly) decided that he should be their leader. But Doom has bigger fish to fry than the prizes that the Beyonder is offering.

In typical Doomesque fashion, he wants the whole kettle. But the other villains what with their petty concerns think he’s too afraid to fight.

So he ditches.

He goes to steal-borrow a spaceship and even though he hates the thought, takes off to go talk to Richards. And then Kang shoots him out of the sky with a GIANT GUN THAT THE VILLAIN FORTRESS ALSO HAS? to stop him from allying with the heroes.

Said (marvel super) heroes see the distant explosion and fly as a group in the most hilarious way possible to check it out.

God, I have always loved this image. Its squished down into the bottom third of the page but its a delight.

They find Doom sprawled in the crash site, rambling that he’ll only speak to RICHARRRRRDS and about the Beyonder’s power. But Cap offends Doom mightily but offering him a hand up and because Doom sees pity in Cap and RICHARRRRRRDS eyes.

So he blasts the heroes and fucks off.

How very Bakugou of him.

And right as the heroes recover from that, a bunch of villains arrive to get this secret war started.

I have a fondness for this particular issue. For a long while, issue 1 was the only issue of Secret Wars I could find. So I just had the start of this story with all these non-Spider-Man non-X-Men heroes I barely knew cliffhangering into an attack by villains I really didn’t recognize except for Doc Ock and the Lizard.

It was a window into another side of the Marvel Universe. And for child me, this first issue worked perfectly to intrigue me. All these characters, the very straightforward conflict, all the complications that immediately pop up like Magneto, Galactus, and Doom. Alas, small child resources.

June, 1984

PRISONERS of War!

The heroes react slowly to the sudden villain attack but thankfully, the villains aren’t working together well. Unthankfully, half of the heroes were already knocked out by the first attack.

Meanwhile, over at Doctor Doom’s side of the plot, he flies back over to where Galactus just in time to see him finally rouse from being slapped down by the Beyonder.

Galactus floats to his feet and wanders off.

Doom: “He ignored me! As though I were a gnat buzzing at his feet! And so I am... Just as all of us, even Galactus himself, are but insects to the all-powerful Beyonder! Thus, the others have chosen to play the Beyonder’s simple game -- thereby, in effect, paying homage to him. Should I, too, pay homage? Should I worship at the feet of this god-like being -- or chose another path... one only Doom would dare!”

I think anyone that knows Doom knows which option he’s gonna choose.

He heads back to the villain fortress and finds Ultron’s deactivated body and decides Doom can use this.

Meanwhile, back at the first secret battle of the secret war, the heroes rally and start fighting back under Cap(tain America)’s leadership.

She-Hulk even gets a designated girl fight with the only female villain on the villain team.

I’d complain, I would. But at least She-Hulk isn’t the only heroine on the hero side.

She-Hulk: “Hiya! I’m the She-Hulk! You must be the Enchantress! Gee, I’ve heard so much about you -- ! You’re a not-nice lady!”

Enchantress: “A green woman? Is there no end to the varieties of mortals?”

The Enchantress magic slaps She-Hulk away and comments that she could crush She-Hulk physically but its beneath her.

Yeah, all Asgardians have some level of super strength, that’s right. Even the squishy wizards.

But all She-Hulk heard was, ‘someone I can really punch!’

She-Hulk: “I don’t often duke it out with someone solid enough to really unload on -- and slow enough to let me! Oh, wow! That was, like tubular, you know -- to the max!”

Uh. Jen, are you okay? Did you have a stroke? You don’t usually talk so much in Mario World secret world levels.

I think maybe Jim Shooter didn’t have a good grasp on her. I don’t think he’s ever written for her. And the other heroes mostly don’t vary too much from generic hero speaking patterns. Add some smart for smart characters, add some rude to Wolverine, and so on.

The battle wraps up with Kang, the Enchantress, and the Wrecking Crew captured and the rest of the villains fleeing when the battle didn’t go their way.

Cap sends Storm off to scout for a cool playset that they can use as shelter and she does so, noting that the winds on Battleworld are super easy to control. Like Battleworld was created to create ideal fighting conditions for everyone. Pretty neat, the Beyonder.

Storm finds a particularly rad fortress (”Bigger than fifty-four and a half Pentagons, I’d estimate!” Wow!) and the heroes move in.

I unironically enjoy how toyetic this story is with the fortresses and the vehicles and the weapons. Because I’m almost positive that Mattel barely capitalized on it.

There were only two playsets. Pitiful.

Over in their new headquarters, Reed stashes the captured villains in some form of psychostasis which “works by controlling aggression through brainwave modulation!”

He also sticks Enchantress in a healing pod to address that nasty case of being She-Hulked right in the face. Nothing will salve her ego though.

Captain America: “It’s no wonder that the name Mister Fantastic is renowned for compassion as well as courage! You give added meaning to the word hero, Richards!”

Whenever someone loudly announces that Reed is super compassionate, it makes me feel like they’re overcompensating.

Nobody ever makes note of, say, Captain America’s compassion.

With the prisoners (of war? Is that the whole reason for the title?) accommodated, Cap calls everyone for a meeting in a cool meeting dome he found which has a small waterfall for aesthetic and so everyone has to yell to be heard.

Wolverine yells that they should mop up the rest of the villains and get this over with.

Not mentioning that in order to “win it” they’d have to kill the villains, which none of the heroes have shown any interest in doing so far.

Cap(tain America) replies that A) planet big and they have no idea where the villains got to. And B) the remaining villains slash antagonists are Galactus, Doctor Doom, Molecule Man, Doctor Octopus, the Wrecker, the Absorbing Man, and Magneto. Not really people you mop up.

In a fun logistics bit, Cap sends out a patrol to make sure the area is secure but he also sends out two additional groups to find  if there are any places in this fortress they can sleep and whether there's any... food.

Makes me imagine a Secret Survival War where the sides have to wrestle over limited resources.

Hours later, the villains that escaped the fracas arrive back at their fortress.

I’m sort of confused here.

Maybe it took so long because they had to make sure they weren’t followed. Or maybe because they didn’t have the sweet tripod vehicle anymore. But think about the flow of events of: everyone beamed down to Battleworld > Doom ditches the villains and gets shot down > heroes investigate and Doom ditches > villains show up for cliffhanger fight.

The villain fortress should be pretty close to where that fight took place. And then the heroes find a nearby fortress of their own so their fortress should be pretty close to the villain fortress. Maybe not in the same neighborhood but surely the same zip code.

Anyway, they find that while they were gone, Doom swanned in and renamed the place the Doombase.

If they have problems with it, they can talk to his Ultron.

Which I’m surprised he didn’t rename Doomtron.

Doom also tells them that he’s in charge now.

Absorbing Man: “Aw! Who gives a hoot! I need a meal an’ sleep! You wanna be in charge, Doom? Okay by me!”

If you think about it, this is just some steps added what the villains wanted all along.

They wanted Doom to be their leader but he told them he had bigger fish to fry and fucked off. Now he’s fucked back on and told them all that he’s their leader. They initially object before reconsidering due to Doomtron but, yeah, its all gone full circle.

Doom is a lot more cordial to Molecule Man though.

Doom: “Molecule Man... uh, Mr. Reece, I believe it is? I trust you were not inconvenienced.”

Molecule Man: “Well, being absolute master of molecules I can just assimilate molecules when I want, so I never have to be hungry, and I can just shoo away dirt molecules, so I’m always nice and clean -- but I am tired!”

Doom: “I have prepared a special chamber for you! I hope you like it!”

Molecule Man: “If not, I can always reconstruct the molecules -- !”

Heh.

Nice to see Jim Shooter able to follow up on the trajectory he sent Molecule Man on.

The rest of the villains head off but Doctor Octopus, the only other brain cell in this group, hangs back to talk to DOOM.

He wants to know what he plans to do about Galactus and then shows Doom on the biggest screen TV that Galactus is standing on a mountain glowing with an awesome power.

Doom just retorts that his plans are for his forces to triumph.

Doctor Octopus: Something tells me he’s got ambitions that dwarf merely triumphing in the Beyonder’s little contest! The question is whether he will destroy us in trying to achieve them -- or immediately after fulfilling them?!

Like I said, the only other brain cell in this group.

Meanwhile, while Magneto secretly sneaks into the hero fortress for Reasons, the heroes have a quiet moment that lets this Secret Wars biz really sink in.

Wasp: “I’d be having tea in my studio now, Jenny... And lunch on my patio tomorrow... This... um... situation we’re in... is kind of... much, you know? I feel there’s just a little thin wall inside me holding back a flood of despair!”

Its a nice touch, if intentional, that Wasp only admits this kind of thing now that she’s passed off the leadership responsibilities to Captain America. Its been a recurring character beat that she’s been keeping these sorts of worries to herself as chairwoman.

Over in another part of the fortress, Cyclops complains that he was right in the middle of his dang honeymoon when he was yanked into this event.

Cyclops: “I don’t know about you, Richards, but more than angry or afraid, I feel cheated! I -- I was on the verge of real happiness...”

Oof. This really sets the tone for his marriage with Madelyne Pryor.

Spider-Man and the Human Torch even have a little conversation.

Spider-Man: “You mean it doesn’t shake you, Torch, being here? What if we don’t get home?”

Human Torch: “The Fantastic Four have been off on space missions a couple of times, Spider-Man! We’ll get back! Believe me!”

I like when they’re friends.

So, I’m not sure what Magneto’s plan actually was. He was going to sabotage the fortress’ fusion generator as a distraction but Spider-Man’s Spider-Sense Spider-Alerts him to shenanigans afoot and he runs off to the power plant while Johnny Storm goes to get the other heroes.

Magneto decides to abandon whatever his plan was and captures Wasp as a consolation prize.

Gasp, another prisoner of war!

The Thing tries to give chase but inexplicably turns back to normal, smooth skinned Ben Grimm.

Also, Magneto escapes with the Wasp.

It’s like the aardvark says, you can get what you want and still not be happy.

Captain Marvel is holding the randomly anti-mutant ball for Hawkeye here and comments that none of the X-Men showed up to help stop Magneto.

Cap(tain America) tells her to belay that.

Captain America: “Let’s keep our minds on solving problems, not creating more!”

And they can’t even go after Magneto or rescue the Wasp right now because they have bigger problems: Galactus glowing with an awesome power and a massive storm that’s forming on Battleworld.

July, 1984

TEMPEST WITHOUT, CRISIS WITHIN!

The Beyonder has thrown in a nice stage hazard to keep things fresh in the form of a massive storm raging on Battleworld, with lighting that shatters mountains and winds that could tear someone’s limbs clean off.

Or perhaps its the unintentional result of just slapping a planet together out of random stuff you have lying around. The climate must be shot to shit.

I like it either way. Secret Wars has a lot of very toyetic collisions between groups of characters so its nice when Battleworld itself manages to be an obstacle.

Over in his giant U-shaped fortress, Magneto finally unwraps Wasp from the ball of random metal crap he has her in.

He lets her wander around until she finds him so that he can be all casual and eating a space scone.

Magneto: “Do not bother trying to attack me, my dear! My person is magnetically shielded!”

Wasp: “Well, la-de-da!”

Wasp: -blows up his space scone- “You think I have to strike at you directly to hurt you, monster?”

Hilarious spite, thy name is Janet van Dyne.

She also makes the point that magnetic shielding or no, she could bring this whole room down. Her being able to knock over a small house with her pew pew hasn’t stopped being true.

Magneto hastens to ask her not to do that because neither of them want to be out in the storm outside.

Besides, he just wants to talk! And flirt!

Magneto: “You are obviously a woman of intelligence and understanding as well as great beauty -- and I am not the monster you believe I am -- which is precisely what I wish to discuss!”

Wasp: “Oh? My intelligence, understanding and beauty or your non-monsterhood?”

Magneto: “Why... both!”

Back at the hero base (which is apparently ROUGHLY THE SIZE OF CHICAGO?? I want that playset), the storm has almost completely flooded the area, leaving just the top dome and such poking above the water.

The storm keeps dropping chunks of mountain at the base but Thor is standing on top, protecting it while grinning like a loon.

Captain Marvel even speculates that Thor could calm the storm but is whipping it up into a greater frenzy instead. Those storm gods, amirite?

Hawkeye is also standing by, with his explosive arrow, thinking to himself that if Thor fails, Hawkeye will totally save the day.

I don’t know whether that’s sad or endearing.

Mostly though he’s trying to distract himself from thinking about the new wife he left behind.

Cap, Reed, and Hulk are watching the villain base because apparently they do know where it is. The storm is keeping the villains in too but Cap figures they’ll pull one desperate attack as soon as the storm breaks.

They’ve already lost four of their dudes. Plus, Galactus isn’t a team player.

Spider-Man is just swinging around, enjoying how good for swinging the random technological pipes and tubes and whatsits are when he stumbles upon the X-Men having a secret meeting.

Professor X has decided, possibly on the basis of two (2) rude comments from Hawkeye and Captain Marvel, that the X-Men just don’t belong here and that they’d be better off going and teaming up with Magneto.

This... sure is a take.

Rogue comments that the Avengers don’t trust her because of that time she kicked their asses collectively. Which, hey, very possibly. They haven’t really had a thing to say about you though. They’ve mostly been grouchy about Magneto.

Which is kinda born out by the way he tried to blow up their base and definitely kidnapped the Wasp?? And is even now aggressively eating scones at her?

That’s the Magneto you guys want to go join because he’s more your people than the Fantastic Avengers and friends are?

You know, there’s a pattern I sometimes see with the X-Men where they loudly insist that the other superheroes don’t help them and don’t care about mutant stuff while at the same time doing shit like this.

“Should we get Reed Richards, smartest dick in the world to help with the legacy virus or the techno-organic virus Stryfe shot into Xavier? NAHHHH Beast can handle it.”

“Should we stick with the other superheroes or go hang with Magneto instead in a cool mutants only U-shaped fortress? Well, U is the coolest letter that isn’t X...”

If you squint, you can definitely see Krakoa all the way in the future.

Anyway, Spider-Man overheard all of this and goes ‘I’M TELLING!’

Wolverine tries to tell him that snitches get stitches but the thing is?

Spider-Man is ridiculous. He’s a ridiculously good combination of skills and powers which lets him make chumps out of entire groups at a time.

He’s embarrassed the Fantastic Four, the Avengers, and now he’s about to embarrass the X-Men.

After making them all feel foolish, Spider-Man gets away and goes to tell Reed what that doody-head Xavier said when Xavier uses his psychic powers to just wipe the entire encounter out of Spider-Man’s memory.

Yeah, it’s to cover their imminent blowing off but also? I don’t think he wants anyone else to find out how badly his X-Men just got stomped.

Psychics are too OP, I tell you what.

In fairness IN FAIRNESS, the X-Men kind of have the right to fuck right off if they wish. I don’t even know what it had to be in secret. In fact, doing it in secret is a massive dick move of its own for reasons.

What would the Fantastic Avengers have done if the X-Men had just said ‘hey we’re heading out’? Would they have put them in stasis tube jail? I doubt it.

Professor X made the decision to handle this the stupidest way for whatever reason. That scamp.

Speaking of Magneto, he’s over at the U-Lair turning down a partnership offer from DOOM. So, hey, he has standards.

Wasp has become less ‘i’ll blow up this room and your breakfast’ about him over the course of whatever the hell they discussed in their offscreen chat.

Magneto even starts to make out with her and Wasp is like ehhhhhhhhhh what the fuck why not.

Why is this happening?

I guess he has a...................... magnetic personality?

Eh? Eh??

No, but seriously, I do have a theory that I heard someplace but it’ll have to wait.

What’s weird is that there’s a Marvel What If about some spinoff babies that come about if the heroes and villains got stuck on Battleworld and never managed to leave.

Wasp has a son with Human Torch. Which is pretty weird and comes from nowhere. I guess a lot can happen during a massive time skip. My point being though, its weird that they didn’t have a Wasp/Magneto baby instead given the weird chemistry they have here.

Meanwhile, over at DOOMBASE, DOOM has some women in giant tubes.

That’s So Doom.

Doctor Doom: “All is ready -- ! This alien technology, so rich, so subtle... so easily harnessed to serve my purpose... Energy, tapped from the raging tempest... And two mortal subjects who dare to gamble for power -- knowing that to lose is death, for truly, here I shall test the limits of power a human body can contain! With the throwing of a switch... so -- the die is cast! Hear me -- ! Power must be seized -- ! Crave it! Welcome it! Drink it in, despite the pain... or it will destroy you.”

And thus are Volcana and Titania created!

Talk about lasting effects of Secret Wars! Titania is going to be around forever! Mostly annoying She-Hulk!

Where did Doom find two random women to give superpowers?

Denver, Colorado.

No, seriously.

That city chunk we saw as Battleworld formed? That’s Denver, Colorado, USA, EARTH.

Why isn’t there a miniseries or one-shot about a normal ass civilian from Denver having to deal with OH MY GOD WHERE DID EARTH GO?

I actually read an interesting thing re: this scene. It exists because Mattel asked Marvel to introduce some new female characters so Shooter wrote in these two and a third who I’ll get to when I do.

Mattel then promptly used none of these characters for the associated toyline.

The toyline, in fact, used none female characters at all. It made toys of characters who weren’t in the story but did not have a single female character.

So its very weird that they asked Marvel to introduce some but I’m not going to knock the results.

Doom introduces these two new characters to the other villains.

Hilariously, Absorbing Man guesses that Doctor Doom just made women from scratch. Because doesn’t it sound like something he could do?

Volcana and Molecule Man immediately hit it off, her being attracted to his sensitivity and him being attracted to... positive attention at all, I guess?

He muses that he could easily stop the storm outside, because molecules, but his therapist told him to let nature take its course. “Unless Doom asks me to!”

And Titania and Absorbing Man. They don’t hit it off. She either wants to hit him or hit that and its not clear and it might be both.

(Spoilers: Its both)

Titania: “You! Absorbing Man! You look like the toughest man here! Get up!”

Absorbing Man: “Whatcha got in mind?”

Titania: “I’m going to do anything I want to you! Everything I always wanted to do to everybody who used to be bigger and stronger than me! Maybe I’ll just play with you... or maybe I’ll make you eat dirt... or maybe...”

Absorbing Man: “Woman, if you got somethin’ to prove, prove it tomorrow against the guys we’re fightin’!”

Titania: “You’re backing down?”

Absorbing Man: “Nope! I just ain’t getting up! I got nothin’ to prove... to a dame!”

Would you believe that they become one of the healthiest and most stable romantic relationships in Marvel?

Speaking of weird relationships, back over at hero base, Thor goes and pops the lid on Enchanteress’ healing tube because he’s bored and wants to talk to a peer. A god peer.

Enchantress is at first more characteristically worried about what her face looks like after being She-Hulked.

But she then creates a portal so she and Thor can go have a chat.

Later, it’s morning and Hulk has been too busy stressing over losing his Banner smarts to actually keep watch or wake up Cap for watch like he was supposed to.

So when the villains ram an airship into the hero base, the heroes are not at all prepared.

Titania hurls a giant slab of wall through the room the Terrific Three are sharing, breaking Johnny Torch’s arm and ribs and knocking out the other two. He manages to get himself and co out of danger by melting through the floor.

Meanwhile, She-Hulk is carrying a big heavy as she’s been doing since the previous night and is caught unaware by Volcana who blasts her off her feet and then collapses the room on top of her.

Doctor Octopus knocks out Captain Marvel who is in the hot springs dome but gets chased away by Hawkeye, claiming that long-range firepower is his weakness.

I’m stunned at the implication that Doc Ock is one of Spider-Man’s most dangerous foes but could be scared off by Hawkeye while Spider-Man could pretty easily drop Clint’s ass. There’s some rock-paper-scissors nonsense at play here.

Spider-Man and Iron Man are also taken unawares by Ultron but manage to hide under some rubble.

Hulk leaps into the fray at Molecule Man and Doom but Cap convinces him to fall back to a defensible position.

The villains reconvene with all the captured villains freed except Enchantress (since she fucked off to have a chat with Thor) and the heroes scattered and buried under various rubbles. How the fortunes of Secret War turn.

Sure would have been nice if the X-Men had been around to help or if they mentioned they wouldn’t be. Sure would have been.

Doom: “We have accomplished much here today! And to finish it, we shall level this place so that no stone remains on stone!”

No wonder Mattel didn’t make a playset of this base! Dammit Doom, you’re ruining the merchandising!

Follow @essential-avengers​ for more of Secret Wars! At this same pace! Its sustainable! This is fine! Like and reblog too!

[vinciwolf]

Relaxing

Pairing: Rex x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, oral (male receiving), smut…

Do not read if you are underaged!

Summary: after a long mission away from Coruscant, you finally convince your captain to relax from working.

Tags: @gabrielewolffe​ You asked, so you shall receive!

Note: This is actually my first fanfiction, yee~!

           Rex was finally planet side on Coruscant after weeks on a particularly long mission. Perhaps too long. But with the war, everything felt too long or too fast. When you finally received word from Anakin and Rex, they both sounded relieved yet exhausted. At least now they have a few days off before heading back into the battlefield. You were not about to waste any of this precious time.

           The door to your apartment slides open as you and Rex stumble inside. You giggle as Rex pushes you against the wall. Palming the wall, you find the lock to slide the door shut.

           “I’ve missed you, cyar’ika,” he breathed against you neck, coming back up to smother your mouth with hungry kisses. You wrap a leg around Rex’s waist and moan when he squeezes your ass hard. Rex’s tongue massages your own as Rex’s assault on your lips becomes more heated. More desperate. You push his shoulders and move to look at your lover’s face. His pupils are blown out and hungry. You smile at him and he chuckles, puffing up the bags under his beautiful brown eyes.

           “We need a shower,” you breath and take Rex’s hand, moving toward the refresher.

           As you both move through the small apartment, Rex’s datapad in his satchel vibrates. Rex groans at the sound and releases your hand. “This’ll only take a sec,” he says, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek. You roll your eyes and head inside the refresher.

           ‘I cannot believe he brought work home.’

           You reach for a clean towel and sigh into it. Oh, work was absolutely not going to ruin this. A playful smile dances on your lips as you turn the warm water on. Dirty thoughts filling your head of everything distracting you could do to the busy captain.

           You wait a few minutes for Rex to join you, but he never does. A deep groan escapes your lips and you decide to finish showering without him. You dry off your hair and sling a towel around your body. Coming out of the refresher, you notice Rex is sitting on the edge of the bed in his blacks, but you also notice he is absorbed in his datapad. Much to your annoyance. He must be filing reports and reviewing upcoming strategies.

           “Why do you work whenever you’re off? You should be relaxing.” You stand in front of Rex who is still looking at that stupid datapad.

           “I’m a Captain, it’s my job to the Republic,” he rubs his race with his hand and sighs.

           “But you also need to rest,” you move to your dresser, drop you towel, and get dressed into some slack pajama pants and a loose top.

           “War doesn’t rest, (Y/N).”

           You hope Rex at least looked at your naked body before you dressed, but when you turn around, he is still completing work. You puff a breath of air, strands of you damp hair sway.

           You crawl into bed behind Rex and place you chin onto his shoulder, eyes darting to the datapad screen. Yep, strategies and reports. Your mouth plants gentle kissed on the nape of your lover’s neck as your hands explore his muscular backside. Rex sighs into you as you begin to massage his tense shoulders and nip his earlobe.

           “That- that feels good…,” he breaths, hands going slack and slowly putting down the datapad. Your hands move under his shirt. One crawling over the V of his hips and stomach, while the other circled a nipple. Rex breath hitches and he grabs your hand to stop you. Quickly moving positions, your body pins Rex onto the edge of the bed. You slap the datapad out of his hand and kiss the sensitive curve of his neck. A deep groan releases from Rex’s throat as he grips your ass, fingers moving into the hem of your pajama pants.

           You take off Rex’s black top and rub the dips and curves of his tight abdomen, his nipples peddling in the cool apartment air. Wet lips find one and suck the sensitive nub. While Rex massages your ass, you fumble with his pants. Dipping your hands past the V of his crotch and grabbing his hardened member. Rex grinds his hips into your hands as you take out his weeping cock.

           “K-kriff, that’s- nnfff!” Rex breath staggers when your hand pumps long strokes up and down him. You release his bruised nipple and kiss his temple, tasting the salt from his accumulating sweat. A moan escapes Rex’s lips when you press your thumb into the head of his member, smothering pre-cum over your fingers. Rex whines when your hand lets go of him, but his pupils go wide when you lick your fingers of his mess.

           “Please, mesh’la, let me—” You kiss his lips, then his nose, then jaw, then neck. Rex’s fists the bedsheets as you kiss your way down his muscled stomach to his hips.

           “Hmm? What was that?”

           “Please, I need— ah!” Rex moans and rolls his hips upwards when you devour his entire cock, sucking persistently as your wet lips move down his hard shaft.

           When you pull up with a tight suck, Rex grabs your hair and fights back a hearty groan, eyes rolling backwards. You keep your mouth around his head and assault his sensitive nerves. You can feel how close he is just by his labored breathing and his grip on your hair. Oh, how beautiful Rex sounds whimpering beneath you. Engulfing your lover’s cock one last time, you move upwards, hollowing your cheeks at the head and sucking hard. Rex cries out into the dim apartment. Warm liquid fills your mouth and you swallow every last drop.

           Rex labors his breathing and gulps for air. You kiss your way back up his stomach and straddle his hips.

           “I love you, Rex,” you say while kissing his cheeks and neck. “Rest.”

           He looks so beautiful with droplets of sweat falling down his forehead and chest. He smiles faintly at you while he comes down from his high, eyes still blissed out and far away. You giggle and go the refresher for towels. When you return, Rex is sprawled naked on his stomach fast asleep. You eye his booty next.

[codedredalert]

no lead nor steel shall reach him so [Golden Kamuy, Ogata & Yuusaku] -- gen oneshot

Ogata character study || 1705 words

A good marksman could swear blind that he knew a good shot before his bullet left the barrel.

Ogata was a good shot. The moment he pulled the trigger on Yuusaku, he knew he'd made a mistake.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, character death, Ogata is messed up and regrets nothing, this is not a nice softe redemption story.

A/N: written for @narramin​ 

(On Ao3)

===/\===

.

      1.

Ogata knew the rumours.

Second Lieutenant Hanazawa Yuusaku is the eight virtues personified, they said. No wonder he was promoted so young. No wonder he had the honour of bearing the flag.

Perhaps Ogata knew the rumours best  because they were spoken carefully around him— whispers like prey rustling the grass, catching his attention whether he willed it or not.

He's  that Ogata's brother, they said. No, reliably came the disbelieving reply. Can't be, no way, you've got to be lying, is it true? It's true, the Second Lieutenant said so, though Ogata tries to keep it quiet. Ah, well it makes sense,  he's the bastard after all, isn't he? Hah, in more ways than one…

Sideways glances between himself and their vaunted officer, not nearly as discreet as the men of the 7th Division believed themselves to be.

Have you heard? asked First Lieutenant Tsurumi in a conspiratorial whisper when he had Ogata alone. They say the Second Lieutenant is very principled.

Yes, Ogata has heard.

Shall we see for ourselves? proposed the First Lieutenant, hand outstretched, an offer.

.

.

      一.

"Life is a long road."

Grandmother taught this to him in a voice that was light to mask the weight of wisdom in those heavy words. After Mother's death, Grandmother had never faltered in her duties though she grieved, going through the funeral proceedings with head held high, and seeing to Ogata's every need with reliability that Mother had never managed, though she had tried.

"The longer one's road grows, the more places to stumble, and for impurity to rest on the soul. With time, every person falls to the suffering of existence."

She used one of her wrinkled, gnarled hands to smooth back Ogata's clipped-short hair, soothing and pleasant.

"It is just the way life is," she said.

.

.

      2.

Ogata approached Yuusaku for the first time since the young officer had first called him brother, and the younger man lit up with such unadulterated delight that it sent a shudder of disgust down Ogata's spine.

He had to be faking. No one got that excited about a night out with their bastard half-brother. But as long as the Second Lieutenant wanted to play the good brother, that suited Ogata just fine.

Ogata led Yuusaku to the pleasure district, watching with amusement as the younger man's delight turned to discomfort, to embarrassment, to distress.

"Brother… I'm terribly sorry," he said, bowing. And he  sounded sorry too, as if it physically pained him to refuse Ogata's first tenuous offer of brotherhood. His sincerity grated, as did his refusal. In one move, Yuusaku had both undermined Ogata's objective, and plainly made the grave insult that— however much he claimed to want Ogata for an elder brother— Ogata's wants and ways were beneath him.

With the trap now useless, there was no choice but to let him go, and Yuusaku walked out of the establishment as free and upright as ever.

But Ogata could be patient. As the war went on— as the acrid gunpowder, piss, shit, and anguish seeped into them all— Yuusaku would stumble. Ogata just had to bide his time and try again, try better.

.

.

      二.

His mother was beautiful in death. She had hundreds of admirers from the peak of her career, and many a swooning painter had captured her likeness. A portrait of her had been gifted to them, and it smiled bright-eyed and gentle upon Ogata from the family altar as she never had in life.

"It doesn't look like her," he remarked, as he stood side by side with his grandmother and offered incense. He remembered his mother's back as she stood in the middle of a room for long stretches of time, silent and unmoving. Her profile, as she stared out the window, watching for a man who would never come.

The joss sticks burned down to ash, and Grandmother lifted her head from her prayers. She bowed and turned away, gesturing for him to follow. He followed suit.

"People see what they want to see," she said, once she had closed the door behind them. Grandmother was very different from Mother, in that way. She always paid attention to him, even if she was silent at first. He just had to be patient.

"Men wanted her beauty, so they took whichever parts of her they found beautiful and painted over all the other parts to suit their tastes. They did not know her character, the hardship she went through. The  geisha, the  maiko… they suffer greatly for their success. But it was our hope that she would have a good life, a better life than the one we could give her. Not..."

Heartache. Deep despair. The delusion that roused her from bed only to make the same dish, day after day: a desperate, futile offering to a love that didn't realise.

Ogata understood.

.

.

      3.

"Superior Private Ogata. It appears that Yuusaku is a more gallant soldier than we imagined. He's won over the hearts of all the other men."

Ogata let out the breath he'd been holding for his shot and lowered his rifle. He could read between the lines and take the orders the First Lieutenant preferred not to say explicitly. Plausible deniability and all that. It's why the First Lieutenant liked him.

"So you're saying we're better off not killing him, sir?" asked Ogata, reloading and already looking for his next target. He didn't need an answer. "Understood."

Ogata led Yuusaku wraithlike over the fields where gunfire and screaming had reigned earlier that day. The night was quiet but far from silent, the sighing of the wind an unearthly substitute for the dead and dying soldiers' groans. Yuusaku's boots scuffed the earth as he followed. He made enough noise that Ogata could have shot him at fifty yards, blindfolded.

"I want to see you kill him," Ogata said earnestly, pressing his knife into Yuusaku's hands. Yuusaku flinched and his eyes slid away, looking for escape, looking anywhere but Ogata's eyes, anywhere but the Russian soldier gagged and bound at their feet.

"Father said I have to keep my hands clean," Yuusaku begged off, as if the word 'Father' could invoke more authority than 'Lieutenant General' or 'martial law'. Ah, but Yuusaku was a beloved child, Ogata remembered, and this was him trying to appeal to the filial respect that Ogata never had the chance to develop for the man.  

Something must have shown on Ogata's face.

Yuusaku embraced him and Ogata's blood swarmed like locusts in his veins, eating him alive with irritating discontent and a curious, persistent thought.

.

.

     三.

Mother's death was Ogata's first. A lot of customs went with it, though Ogata didn't really see why. When everything was over, Grandmother paid a priest to come bless the family and sprinkle salt at him.

"It's for your own good. Death is an unclean thing, we don't want its shadow over you," Grandmother explained when Ogata grumbled about some of it getting it into his eye. Her voice wavered ever so slightly, as she smoothed the front of her kimono. "Remember to do this after I've passed."

Ogata buried her the year he was conscripted. He didn't get the priest afterwards. There wasn't much point, on the way to a war.

.

.

      4.

It was so easy to find Yuusaku on the field, even in the chaos.

Gallant Yuusaku, leading the throng of soldiers eager to kill and die for the emperor and their nation. Ogata could frame them in his rifle sight like a painter drafting a standing screen. Yuusaku, marked by the rising sun.

It was so easy that it was a wonder how the enemy snipers hadn't gotten him first. The waving flag begged to be targeted. Did the Russians dismiss him for having no gun? For never drawing his unblooded sabre?

It was so easy to line up the shot.

What would happen if— ?

Ogata pulled the trigger.

.

.

      四.

Birds scattered as he missed, taking to the peach-pink sky above the fields behind the family house in Ibaraki. Ogata took aim for his second shot, but the timing was already so far off that there was no point. He lowered his grandfather's rifle instead of wasting another bullet.

He'd been over-eager, moving too much, and too fast. The light was gone now, and he would have to return home empty-handed.

.

.

      5.

Yuusuke's distant silhouette crumpled. His corpse joined the hundreds of bodies on the battlefield, lost in the chaos of the regiment as he went down, the bright white and red and gold tasselled flag falling slowly after him before it too disappeared from sight. Ogata lowered his rifle with a strange sense of frustration and ran his hand through his regulation cropped-short hair.

There was a strange absence of something he thought would be there, and with that... Disappointment. Profound disappointment. Like the shot when he was a child in the fields behind the family house in Ibaraki and learning to hunt, the birds scattering as he missed.

Yuusaku crowned by the sun, beloved.

He'd been overeager and now gallant Yuusaku would be forever gallant, forever pure. The impurity of death didn't seem to stick, and now Yuusaku was an immortal nuisance and Ogata still had no answer to the discontent crawling on his back.

Ogata's hand clenched on the butt of his rifle, white-knuckled with cold. This was the first time he felt  bad when he'd made his shot, bereft of something out of reach, which could have been his but never would. It was a pricking irritation similar to missing a shot. Even though he hadn't.

There were no answers here. There were no answers in the dead. Not in his mother, not in his grandmother, not in this man who called him brother.

Ogata turned and First Lieutenant Tsurumi was there. The First Lieutenant smiled in understanding and nodded in approval, as if knowing Ogata's thoughts before Ogata himself.

The father who only had enough love to raise one virtuous son. Yes, Ogata could just ask him directly. There was no point thinking about Yuusaku any longer.

Yuusaku was dead. That was the end of it. Ogata couldn't reach him anymore.

Time to turn to the living.

===/END\===

(On Ao3)  ( patreon ) ( kofi ) ( paypal )

[ktheist]

saving grace | 2

muses. duke!yoongi x lady!reader

universe. arranged marriage / minor traces of magic in history

concept. driven into a corner with the new king, seokjin, offering to marry you off to a prince in a foreign land and a persistent mother who would seize the chance of a lucrative marriage for her daughter, you’re forced with the only other option to secure your freedom ‒ enter into a beneficial agreement with the man who reaped the seeds of war, the duke of cralon, yoongi min.

words. 5.2k

warnings. mentions of war, it’s cliche and cheesy all in one package

index. 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / finale

x

three days later, you’re stuck in the garden, holding a teacup in one hand and an unsettling urge to let a vexed frown make home on your features. as soon as yoongi’s letter arrived the morning after the last day of the celebration, your mother had speedily organized a tea party. invitations were exclusively sent to a selected few - namely those with an uncanny ability to light the matchstick of rumors throughout the city.

“lady ___, you’ve grown into a fine woman. when i last saw you, you were but a child crying over the countess forbidding you from having another cookie!”

“it’s been two years since you debuted into the society, hasn’t it, lady ___?”

“oh my, that’s an important time span between being legally introduced to the society and finding a marriage prospect, speaking of which, is it true? that the duke of cralon has taken a liking to the lady?”

“well-”

“of course,” your mother speaks over you, a pride-ridden smile gracing her lips, “only my ___ would be able to tame the beast of war though i was quite worried since there hasn’t been an official proposal from the duke but alas, he must’ve been busy attending to matters after returning from the war - in fact, he’s coming today to discuss arrangements about moving into the house of min and starting lessons as the future duchess.”

the ladies begin to whisper among themselves in pairs or groups of threes while your mother hides her satisfaction behind the cup of tea she brings to her lips. in truth, yoongi never mentioned anything about moving into his manor nor was there any talk of a ring - since it’s a faux engagement, you would feel enlightened if there weren’t any extravagant spent on you only to blind the eyes of others.

“lady ___ is quite lucky to have her face as a saving grace and capture the duke’s eyes,” krystal’s modulated tone sends the ladies quietening down.

if she hadn’t been the daughter of a marquis, her brusque nature would have landed her at the far end of the table where those with a lack of influence and benefit to the hostess, would be arranged to sit.

while she praises your beauty, she criticizes it being your only good fortune.

you catch a glimpse of isabelle’s apologetic smile from next to baroness armwell. only a few of the ladies are here with their mothers while the rest are acquaintances of your mother and noblewomen you choose to avoid in a social setting.

“i have my mother’s genetics to thank for that, lady krystal.” with that, a disarming smile blooms on your face. having nothing to argue after your plain admittance, she reverts her attention to the stirring the cup of tea in front of her.

“oh my, not only is lady ___ beautiful but she’s also humble!” one of the ladies chirp while the others chorus in agreement.

it is a few empty praises and gossips later, almost as though the stars and planets have aligned for this exact moment, the raucous of reigns and wagons echo from somewhere outside. that must be him.

you’re about to stand up and excuse yourself to welcome yoongi when the familiar heat of watchful eyes makes you turn to the one person you know would be sending telepathic messages to stay put, let him come to you.

the deadpanned expression that slips on your face is unconcealable but not at all effective in telling your mother how unnecessary and subtly rude it is to have yoongi come all the way to the garden and become a showcase to these women.

nonetheless, you sit with your back straight and ready to bolt as soon as the butler announces yoongi’s arrival. clad in his black and yellow uniform that reminds you of shimmering gold underneath a moonlight, yoongi’s naturally expressionless face lights up into the most amicable smile when he sees that you’re not alone, “ladies, apologies for intruding your tea party.”

“oh my,” marchioness seastein, lady irene’s mother, murmurs from next to you.

judging from the woman’s fixed gaze - as though she can see nothing but yoongi - you doubt she’s aware of her blatant ogling. not that you have any right to stop her.

“your grace, it’s been awhile,” you dip into a curtsy.

when you let go of the fabric of your dress, a gloved hand slips into yours before a pair of warm lips presses against your knuckle. this time, it’s not just marchioness seastein that starts fanning herself.

“___, it seems you forgot about what we talked about that night at the palace,” yoongi’s crimson eyes find yours with a sort of melancholy but as the duke owns two sides - one for the public and the other for when you’re behind closed doors - you’re unsure whether he’s truly saddened by the formal unfamiliarity you display.

regardless, you weren’t that flustered girl from that night. and you can’t let such scandalous intonation leave this place.

“my, how could i call you by your name so freely when we’re not even officially engaged?” throwing your gaze to the golden encrusted teacup, you shyly pull your hand to your lips and in the midst, catching your mother’s approving smile at your delicate front.

sending prayers to the goddess to be whisked away from this unbearable atmosphere, you almost let out a sigh of relief when yoongi chuckles, “i did not know my ___ harbors such worries. shall we go look for engagement rings now? i’ve made a booking at whitlace.”

that warrants a round of whispers from the ladies and a pleasant nod from your mother. nobody in this kingdom hasn’t heard of whitlace. it’s a boutique that sells only the high quality jewelries and are frequented by only the richest of nobility.

“your- yoongi, you didn’t have to!” your exclamation may have been dramatic but perhaps that is what saves you from spending another minute in the eyes of these noblewomen.

the elation coursing through your vein after finally being able to leave, clouds your better judgement. it is only once you’re in the carriage that bears the house of min’s double dragons and the carriage begins to shake gently five minutes into the ride, do you finally come to your senses, “where... are we heading off to, duke?”

the aforementioned man is already staring at you, wine red eyes piercing through your soul as he sits across from you. arms crossed over his chest, “you used me.”

it doesn’t take a genius to understand what he means, “it was my mother’s idea to have you come and meet me in the garden but yes, i did use up one favor that you owed me.”

when his stare doesn’t lighten, you find yourself involuntarily lulling your head to the side as though looking at him from a slightly different angle would give you the answer you’re looking for.

he must have noticed too when his stiff shoulder line finally sags, eyes fluttering shut as he exhales silently.

“it seems i finally understand why you wish so strongly to be consulted beforehand,” the confession hovers in the air like the white clouds that dots the sky. plainly meant without any hint of malice. and perhaps, it’s the never-before-seen innocence that urges you to explain yourself.

“if you think i’m punishing you, your- i mean, yoongi,” you correct yourself at the faintest pout that appears on that gentle visage, “then you’re mistaken-”

“i know,” he throws a troubled gaze out of glass window, “you’re not that kind of woman.”

in the midst of the gentle shake of the carriage and his hair swaying to frame his features, you wonder what exactly the type of woman he sees you as.

but you swallow the question that teeters on the tip of your tongue as you too, avert your gaze to the moving scene on the other side of the window, “very well.”

x

for the first time, the silence you share with another person does not make you want to barge through the door and escape. since you could walk and talk, your mother has been hiring tutors to help you with academia and etiquette lessons as well as host garden parties to help you make acquaintances with the other ladies of the noble households.

before you met the crass boy that talks too much and lack the refinement of a noble, you did think that those ladies you gathered with were your friends. but you couldn’t raise your voice at them without being branded rude. couldn’t talk about the state of other kingdoms without being side glanced as if you’re teetering over areas of interest that doesn’t suit a lady of a noble house.

but seokjin was inevitably a boy. you appreciate that what you couldn’t mention to the ladies, you could talk freely with him.

secretly, you yearned for a friend who you could rave about the latest fashion and jewelries without being shut down and revert the attention to what high-end dress their father and mother bought for them.

that is, until you met isabelle. she did not share your sentiments about how repulsive and superficial these gatherings were. that they were mere means to survive in this social world. without an influence, one is regrettably nothing. but she wasn’t one to jump in on the bandwagon of badmouthing one of the ladies behind their backs when they’re not there. though, she did nothing to stop it either. unlike you, she had no stance in anything.

perhaps that was why you wouldn’t allow yourself to become more than acquaintances but less than friends to her. but if and when yoongi acts and baron armwell is exposed for his crimes, she would be done for.

perhaps it’s the guilt that eats at your conscience. perhaps it’s the part of you that values the camaraderie formed between you and isabelle. but either way, you say, “yoongi, the warrant for baron armwell’s arrest should be ready right about now, yes?”

his stare remains indecipherable but his lack of refute gives you confidence in your assumption, “i’d like to use that last favor you owe me.”

if baron armwell is caught, then the warehouses would be seized by the king in compensation for the losses incurred from his thieving. then, the armwells would have nothing to sustain them. and their gambling-addict son can’t be relied upon to do something about it.

“isabelle has been learning the ropes of managing the warehouses,” with hands crossed over your chest, you lean back against the carriage, the picture of the timid but apt lady’s smile flashing behind your eyes, “if baron armwell is arrested then most likely, the warehouses will be seized but if isabelle or the baroness confess to the baron’s crimes...”

“-then they might be able to keep the warehouses and only source of income,” the man finishes for you.

“yes,” you find yourself nodding, “she may not know what her father’s been up to but she’ll learn to accept it to save her poor mother and get the king to send her brother into a rehabilitation center so he won’t continue gambling what’s left of the money they have.”

you can’t be the one to tell her because it would be oddly suspicious that you’re the friend she told her family secrets to and your supposed fiancee is the one who will be arresting her father. and there’s no telling which path she’ll take even if it was you who told her. but, it wouldn’t be a problem if one of your vassals is the one to approach her.

“could you give me time to make her come to you instead of arresting the baron?”

the moment that he takes to ponder on your request sends tremors down your spine. no matter how many times you force yourself to meet those calculating scarlet eyes, you can never get used to the feeling of having your dress stripped off to expose every part of you.

“you wouldn’t accept my help even if i offered, would you?” he finally says - unexpectedly so.

something tugs on your conscience as isabelle’s azure blue eyes flash at the back of your mind - those same eyes will be filled with tears because of you, “no, i have to do this myself.”

“very well,” he nods, a trace of reluctance clouding his eyes, “but you don’t win wars alone.”

it takes a moment for you to register his words and the warning that comes with it. politics is a different kind of war with words as weapons, “you don’t win wars through brute force either.”

the silence that befalls the carriage not unexpected. there are few people who’s ever seen holding a conversation with the duke. though he’s accrued a large sum of inheritance from his title, enough to threaten the royal family, his family’s lack of interest in the throne has allowed the previous king to turn a blind eye to the ducal house’s lack of presence at important events. or rather, that was exactly the reason the previous kings sighed in relief when they heard the min family.

“...quite a formidable opponent.” it’s not the untimely untterance after the conversation has ended that catches your attention, but it’s the faintest trace of smile on his face that makes your eyes widen in surprise.

“your grace?” you almost regret speaking at all because the smile disappears into a frown for the longest moment before the realization hits you, “sorry, you told me to call you by your name, yoongi.”

“as long as you know,” he doesn’t seem as displeased but the smile is gone as he shifts his eyes out to the window.

the carriage has come to a trot. the sight of the street and vendors lined up along it coming into view. though you’re still sitting across from each other, the invisible distance seems to evaporate into thin air. and for some reason, though you don’t notice how or when the silence’s changed into something comfortable, you find yourself wanting to break it. just so he’d look at you - he always does when’s speaking to you. and perhaps that smile you’re starting to think is from your imagination, would come back.

and what’s better than to blurt out a mindless wonder as to why he led you to his carriage where the footman who stared at you with mild surprised. greanted, his master came back after not even 15 minutes of being inside the manor. yoongi’s answer is a straightforward one - as the man himself.

yoongi doesn’t mean to steal you away from your home nor does he actually have a slot booked at whitlace.

“it looked like you were suffocating in there,” he simply says, wine red eyes fixed at the window, but a heartbeat later, he turns to you with wide eyes, as though he’s just thought of something, “unless you wish to go there - i’m sure count wynver wouldn’t have any objections to a duke dropping by without notice.”

“actually, there’s somewhere else i wish to visit but never got the chance to,” you divulge, the smile on your lips somewhat freer than you expect to be.

“alright,” lifts an eyebrow, that faint smile on his lips making him appear like a playful youth than a feared overlord and confirming your state of sanity, “but you’ve used up all your favors, this time you’re owing me.”

“fair enough,” the line of your shoulders jolt in a shrug, your much noticeable smile on your lips.

x

just as the palace holds a celebration for the returning knights, so does its people. the streets seem livelier than ever with merchants busily trying to attract customers, laughter echoes from every corner and knights bearing the royal family’s uniform clicking their heels together and standing in salutation until yoongi gestures for them to be at ease.

“the crown’s changed but it doesn’t seem like anything else has,” you assert, returning mrs. rutherson’s smile. it’s been three years since leslie’s introduced you to these people who cared for her before she came to serve you.

“you would think riots would be breaking out all over the kingdom but because of seokjin’s status - a maid’s son, the people seem to be more accepting of the ‘half-bred prince,’“ that’s the name the aristocratic faction calls him and sometimes the royal faction as well, “granted, the first thing he did as king was distribute seeds to the people to prepare for winter.”

seokjin rose to throne by taking his father, the previous king, and his brother, the crown prince’s lives with the help of bonyth, the rival kngdom of cearis. the two have been in a tense political relationship since the last twenty five years due to their similar economic backgrounds.

and because of that, his position is vulnerable as the royal faction must feel that they’d been betrayed by the sudden siege while the aristocrat faction has been divided into two sides. one sees this as a chance to strengthen their influence by supporting the new king and the other is wary of his connections with the outside world - some believes he’d sold the kingdom to bonyth and that cearis is now an unofficial territory of the bonyth with seokjin acting as the puppet king.

a familiar voice rasps, bringing you back to the present, “you spoke as if you detest the king for blackmailing you yet you say his name so naturally. i’ve also never heard of you praising someone so generously”

it doesn’t take a genius to know the unspoken words that comes with his assertion: it makes one wonder what your true relations are with each other.

you don’t know where yoongi’s loyalty lies. in the beginning, making seokjin think that you have the upper hand to crush his already vulnerable position by pretending that yoongi likes you, seems like an easy task. all you needed was to gain yoongi’s trust that you can attain any kind of information he needs in exchange for his presence. the matter of why seokjin is offering a marriage with the 12th prince of aflar was buried by your tip off about baron armwell but it all goes to naught because of one slip of tongue.

out of all the time you could say that foolish king’s name, it had to be when you’re with the duke. the knight who slayed thousands of enemies on his own in the battlefield. yet also the same man who listens to you while you talk with a faint smile.

and perhaps it’s because of that side of him that allows you to find the ease you need to respond, “the house of ___ has never chosen sides and because of that, i grew up learning to give credit where it’s due but criticize what is ordinarily wrong. as for my using his majesty’s name...” you pause, shifting through the possible excuses that could be of use until you find one.

you could tell him that you couldn’t accept seokjin’s rise to the throne so you’ve been using his name when talking about him in private and only now did it slip up. or you could tell him you’ve been head-butting since you were sixteen and him, eighteen.

but a considerable amount of time must have passed while you ponder on your reasons to make yoongi clear his throat, “it seems you too, have your secrets.”

at that, you crane your neck in search for his eyes, only noticing now that you had your head lowered in reluctance.

“raise your head, i’m not going to force you to tell me,” the gruffness of his voice is strained, “and people are watching and i’d rather not have my name slandered by another one of those baseless rumors. grim reaper and beast of war is enough.”

so he knows the versions of him spoken from people’s mouth. without realizing it, you find yourself gazing into a pair of distraught crimson eyes. except this time, they’re glancing around warily and not gazing into the windows of your soul.

“then, yoongi,” when they do capture your gaze, they’re not as terrifying as you found them to be but the idea you’re about to propose is absurdly embarrassing, “since we’re already rumored to be engaged, you should hug me to show that it was just a small quarrel and that we’ve settled it peacefully.”

a dust of pink spreads across the man’s face and ears as you watch his eyes widen in surprise once your suggestion registers. but your own cheeks are not without their own heat.

his arms that band around you are strong yet gentle. it takes you back to the first dance you shared at the palace. he holds you as he did before, like a porcelain doll that would break under the slightest pressure. except this time, there’s no music and the distance between you is nonexistent as you tell yourself that there’s no other way to hug without having your cheek pressed against his chest.

x

when you return, your mother swings the door open at the clamorous sound of the hooves and horses neighing. yoongi escorts you to the door, dipping into a bow with a hand on his chest in greeting to your mother and in parting to you. neither of you say a word but your face still burns like the sun is blazing inches from you and yoongi still sports a faint shade of pink.

“so? how was it? did you get the most expensive jewel in the store?” the question your mother shoot as she follows you into the hallway is met with a meek, “we didn’t go whitlace.”

unbeknownst to you, after you retreat to your room, your mother and leslie share a smile. though one is of utmost delight, the other is glad that you’re home. it seems you’ve been out for too long.

“did you see that?” your mother quizzes, “they may not have gone to whitlace but something must have happened to make them act bashful and shy to each other when they pretended to be so at ease this morning,” her lips curl at as a thought crosses her mind, “perhaps, they-”

“madam,” leslie smiles, “it’s time for dinner.”

that was a week ago.

“it was just a hug!” you cry out, cheeks warm like the sun that shines over the mansion and pours through the window of your room, “and it was to help him mend his reputation even just by a little, why do i have to get so worked up over it?”

“oh my, i was about to wake you up but it seems you don’t need my help, my lady,” a fluttery voice echoes from next to you.

it takes a moment for you to take in the woman’s unfaltering smile and her round brown eyes. another moment to register that perhaps the reason you couldn’t hear yoongi’s footsteps the first time you met wasn’t because he had inhumane strength but because you’re terrible at noticing your surroundings - because you’re so sure you’ve been awake for ten minutes and if she’d walked in any earlier, the normal thing to do was to announce once’s presence... no?

“leslie!” this time, the cry that escapes your lips is of a different nature. namely a chilling kind of surprise, “when did you get here?”

the woman’s head lulls to the side, searching through her memories. “since thirty minutes ago, i stepped behind the curtains to wipe the window because i didn’t want to open them and disturb your sleep until it’s time for you to wake up.”

“i-i see,” you assert, cheeks hot from the embarrassment of getting caught venting into nothing but the air.

“oh, and congratulations on your engagement with the duke, my lady,” her voice echoes off the walls whilst her body disappears into the closet, “his majesty is terribly kind as to let you throw the engagement party at the palace. or could it has something to do with the fact that it’s his cousin’s engagement?”

nodding mindlessly as you rub the sleepiness from your eyes, “yes, he’s very-” your mouth clamps shut, “wait, what engagement party?”

x

a letter arrived just this morning bearing the golden crest of the crown. rather than a notice to let the lady who’s getting engaged, know that she may hold the engagement party at the palace - it’s an invitation to said party dated three months from now as if he was hosting his own engagement party. seokjin, that good-for-nothing king. he’s done it this time.

begrudgingly, you trudge towards the carriage you told leslie to have ready by the time you’re done with breakfast.

“good morning,” the coachman shoots you an unsuspecting smile, “to the palace then, my lady?”

his voice echoes from the small window across from you. a compartment that allows you to slide open and make communicating with the coachman easier. it seems your visits to the palace have been so frequent that even the coachman would expect you to head there whenever you’re not out with leslie.

sighing, you internally put a stop to the war waging inside you. if it had been a month ago that’d he’d pull something like this, you would have marched straight to the palace and into his office, demanding him to retract the invitation.

but then, a month ago, you weren’t caught up with the rumor - which you suspected to be spread by seokjin - about marrying the grim reaper of the kingdom.

“no,” with a hand on your throbbing head, you recall the conversation you had with yoongi in his carriage - to consult before one of you acts, “to the duke’s residence.”

x

“the king has stirred quite a mess,” yoongi asserts. the golden engraving of the same letter lying in your drawer lying on top of the mahogany table he’s at. his office is as big as your room with a wall-sized window behind the table, allowing the rays of sun to pour into the room and cast a halo over him. somehow the sight of his wine red eyes glowing sends a hot shiver down your spine. the urge to hurl yourself away is still present but your shoulder line is at ease and so is your heart.

“i’m sorry,” your head hangs low in, eyes unable to meet his. not after you’d been the sole cause of this, “this is all my fault if only i hadn’t asked you to pretend to be my lover. i’ll go to the royal palace and-”

“___.” yoongi’s voice slices through the otherwise silent room. you can see him stand up and step out of your periphery.

his voice had always been chillingly cool. it’s impossible to tell how he feels. the first time you met him, you thought he would be the kind of man that spoke with swords and listens less to reason but the more you got to know him the more far off your assumption seemed to be.

a man who conceals his emotions and strikes when you least expect it, is a much dangerous adversary.

a pair of polished leather shoes comes to a stop just inches from your knees, the owner’s legs crossed as he leans against the edge of the table, “i can’t let you do such a thing. do you know the law states that a lie told to royalty sends you to lifetime imprisonment?”

the bottom of your lips begin to feel sore from having trapped between your teeth as worry flood your bloodstreams. a whole different riddle all together would be seokjin. just when you thought you have him figured out, he pulls out a wild card that gets you biting your nails while anticipating his next move. yet mortifying as the circumstances has turned, if you were to go back in time in the alley next to the orphanage, you would without a doubt, take the hand that asks for your support.

“i’ll be fine but you won’t,” you meet the steel gaze of the duke’s but instead of feeling like you’ve been stripped naked of your clothes, you see the curious wonder in those eyes. as though his search for the deepest part of your soul has come up tails, “he’s going to use this as a chance to show them that you’re on his side - it’s not a matter of who’s pretending to be whose fiance anymore. the day you step into politics may come but not because of.”

the silence stretches on as his eyes pierces into you when you’d looked up in the heat of the moment.

“if we don’t go, it’ll give the opposing faction a reason to start a riot because it’ll be direct indication of the house of min standing against the crown but...” he states smoothly before trailing off. as though he already knows the workings of politics despite spending a portion of his lifetime on the battlefield.

“since he rose without any noble house’s help - not those publicly known at least - we don’t know which one is the opposing faction.”

“for a king who didn’t receive any education to prepare him for the throne, he’s quite aggressive with his assertion of power.” you can’t help but raise your eyebrows at the complimentary tone that wraps around yoongi’s words.

but you push away the thought of him being one of those unknown households that supported seokjin in the background - if he was seokjin’s ally, it would make better sense if he stayed in cearis instead of joining to war.

“but if we attend,” those red eyes captures yours - it’s no secret what he’s thinking because-

“the house of ___ will be indirectly announcing its support for the king as well.”

judging from the long standing reputation founded upon by your great ancestors, you attending your own engagement party held by seokjin would be equivalent to chopping down the ancient tree of impartiality towards the crown and its fellow nobles. but if you didn’t nip the seeds of war at its bud, there’s no telling what would befall the kingdom if riots begin to break out, orchestrated by a faction with less to lose.

“neither option is favorable. if se- his majesty is dethroned and another puppet king is placed from either one of the factions, it’ll only showcase cearis’ political vulnerability to the whole world and give other nations a reason to wage war against us. not to mention the civil war that might break out beforehand.”

it is a second after you finish, do a sigh leaves yoongi’s mouth. a hard line gracing his lips but his eyes softens with something unfamiliar.

“somehow i hate the fact that i knew you’d decide to choose the peaceful way out even if it meant sacrificing yourself,” a gloved hand slips under yours, thumb grazing your trembling knuckles.

the lips that presses against your skin sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach. but more than anything, your heart swells with a sort of emotion you don’t dare speak of - the implications of his words are as clear as your reflection in his eyes.

but i won’t let you hurt yourself in the process.

x

note. shout out to the realest @fanfuckingfic​ for hyping up this series i lov you b!! also taglisting @mingrasschoi (can’t tag) and @ayujmi​!!

[paragonrobits]

Azulaang fic for @irresistible-revolution for the prompt ‘Azulaang + dancing’!

the premise is that this takes place several years after the events of ATLA, and Azula has been traveling with Aang as part of a long-term life-changing field trip, so she’s grown a bit from the person she was, but she’s still got a few things to learn

----

Azula is a woman of immense pride, and so, it wounds her to admit that she is less than perfect in everything. She has to be perfect, in everything she does; in the way she drops her words into place as neatly as the point of a blade, in the exacting movements of her Firebending forms, in the subtle methods in which she says only a few choice words to fill her enemy’s minds with doubt and uncertainty.

She has struggled long in the vicious political battlegrounds of the Fire Nation, and won out. She doubts that her brother would last long without help; he is poorly suited to intrigue. He is a more competent survivor that she had given him credit for, and his presence as Fire Lord alone has cast an unfamiliar curl of doubt that, maybe, she was wrong to assume she knew everything.

Rehabilitation, they called it as they commanded her to stay by the Avatar’s side until such time as he declared her suitable in his eyes to return home.

It’s a banishment. Yet she doesn't mind it all that much, and it’s not a comforting thought; it’s a rank feeling, a seething hot brand in the pit of her stomach. She has been cast away, her life and freedom at the mercy of an enemy who has little reason to share mercy with her, and it’s a foe she knows she has no way to defeat in a straight fight.

It should bother her more, but it does not. She doesn’t understand why. She is, however, coming to understand that perhaps she ought to watch her words around the Avatar.

He is… she’s searched for an appropriate word, and settled upon fickle. Or perhaps flighty. It’s not something that sets her entirely at ease, the way he flits from one thought to another with all the ease of a bird-cat alighting from one branch and then springing to another, or how his mood can shift from terrible graveness to sudden giggling merriment, with none of the between-moods there should be.

He changes like the wind. It’s strangely exciting, in his unpredictability. She has prided herself, in the past, on being good with people, even if she must admit now that (on the balance of evidence, and time has taken the sting out of what she had considered betrayal), but she does not understand him. She does not understand his ways, or the thoughts that lead him from one idea to an apparently unrelated one.

And this brought itself to the central point: that for all her efforts to be perfect in every way, she does not actually know how to dance.

-----

The Avatar (and it will be a long time before she, mired in the rigid political honorifics of the Fire Nation royal courts, can dare to speak to him by his own name, and her hair prickles in alarm and shock when he persistently asks her to speak to him so familiarly) had grinned.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” His voice was sing-song, almost teasing; gusting this way and that, as if to push her in directions at random. She can’t get a read on him at all, and it bothers her, and he knows that it bothers her, and so he plays his strange games with her.

Her head tilted up. “I do not know how to dance,” she replied, acidly. “You would be so very surprised to learn how it is not an essential skill in military conduct, nor the art of rulership.”

“Honestly, that sounds kinda boring. Learning new things is something to look forward to, not just because it helps you!”

It was important to note that at the time, for no apparent reason, he was spinning on a disc of air on his hands, only looking at her for brief seconds in his revolutions.

Her nostrils flared. “Dancing is for children and peasants who don’t have anything better to do.”

“Are you just saying that because it bothers you that I can dance, and my friends can dance, evne Zuko, and you don’t know how?”

Her silence speaks volumes. Irritable, bad tempered volumes.

He pauses, just for a moment, staring at her head-on. He’s still upside down, but his rounded features (so disarmingly like Ty Lee that some vague suspicions of blood descent and Air leaving behind a few embers, here and there, come to mind) turn towards her, his eyes so grey they are almost translucent.

“So you’ve never even tried?”

“Never.” She gazed into his eyes, trying to find a hint of whatever plan or plot he had in mind this time.

“Mm hmm.” He smiles, widening at the corner of his mouth as though he won’t be honest if it’s a grin or a challenging sneer. “It’s okay if you want to admit you can’t do it.”

“What?!” She stiffened up. “I certainly can!”

“No, no. It’s fine if you don’t think you can learn it at all.”

He has just outright challenged her. “I shall!” Her ego marches ahead of any other thought, and she’s already aware that she has gotten herself entangled in his schemes. Again. “Show me, if you dare.”

“All right,” he said, leaping upwards and landing in a full standing position, and she knows now that he is most definitely grinning, holding a hand out to him.

As she permits him to take her hand, she cannot deny an emotional flicker there, as his fingers brush across her hand.

----

And now, they dance.

Or rather, the Avatar dances, and she does his best to keep up, and part of her keeps thinking of it like a fight. A duel, and it seems strangely fitting.

A duel in which one fighter is a master who knows he has already won, and the other fighter is a novice, too stubborn to admit that she hadn’t the faintest idea of where to begin.

He moves so easily around her. Physical effort is second nature to her; sport games, Firebending, the many martial arts absorbed and devised by past leaders of the Fire Nation even in the days when the Fire Lord had only been leader of the Fire Sages; she knows them all, and picks them up so easily that it is as though she has done them many times over.

He moves more easily than that; he leaps across her, and as she turns to match his graceful movements (too graceful, so fluid and dynamic!), he is already facing her, bowing backwards, his feet leaving the ground and his hands catching him. Then he is spinning on both his hands, each revolution carrying him away from her.

“You’re too rigid,” he chides her. “There’s no secret formula to it. You just go with the flow and ride it!”

“Oh, is that Airbending philosophy?” Azula asks; her tone is bored, but the question is genuine.

The Air Nation is something of a blank spot in her knowledge. History books speak little about them; only that they were a military nation, bested during Sozin’s first military actions, and wiped out to the last man. And she knows that there never was an Air Nation.

There had only been the Air Nomads. As a younger woman, she wouldn’t have cared much either way. But older now, and wiser, and not quite the same woman under the Avatar’s tutelage and experience of the world…

She does not know how to feel, and that vast depth before her taunts at her. But she does know they were very different from the Fire Nation, and here lies an element of their philosophy.

“It’s just how dancing works, where I’m from,” the Avatar replies, now sliding closer to her. It’s a struggle to match his movements; there is no predicting them, there is no switch from one form to another, just a chaotic and ever-shifting flow of limbs and body, and she cannot outpace it, only match it. He grins. “So, you’re not wrong!”

She understands something, then. The thought has been working beneath the surface, chipping away and puzzling over it.

She knows the essence of fire is power; Zuko has spoken of drive and energy, and she still does not quite understand what that means. She knows other Bending forms draw power from other aspects of human nature and thought, and she finally understands that Airbending is freedom.

Fire burns hotter with anger, with drive and aggression. But as he allows himself to be free, to be detached from the tethers around him, he flies; the air around him buoys him upwards, or erupts around him, uncontrolled and truly free, destructive beyond measure or completely harmless without any apparent pattern.

She understands him a bit better, she thinks.

And then he leans in, his hand just below her own.

“A dance between two people is a partnership,” he says mischievously. “It’s not a battle you win. It’s something you do, together.”

Her hand moves, almost on its own, and pauses just below it, nearly ready to grasp his hand.

She hesitates.

She killed him once, she remembers. So why does he make her nervous?

He smiles at her, fearlessly, calmly, as though he is above petty things like grudges or memories of war. His eyes lock with her own, and she’s rarely seen someone so forthright with her, especially not a boy in her age range.

She’s never had peers, she thinks. Only soldiers and subordinates; never real friends, not anyone that pursued her company of their own accord, as he had when he had suggested this in the early days of her rehabilitation.

His hand is still proffered to her. She’s never known anyone who wanted to hold her hand.

And there is a feeling like electricity between his hand, and her own; a simmering tension, a feeling that she must either run away now before he changes his mind, or grasp and never let go-

Her fingers seize his hand, and he squeezes back.

He moves. “Follow my lead,” he says, head tilting up to look into her eyes, and she silently follows.

And, in that moment, it is freeing to simply move in that dance, without worrying about appearances, to let the wind carry her.

And his hand feels warm and soft in her grip. She has known power and authority, dominance and security. She has not known kindness.

She thinks she would like to know it a little better now.

[starswornoaths]

Prompt 11: Ultracrepidarian

I don’t know what crypt moen had to delve into to rummage through the bones of a dead language to find this word, but I do appreciate the challenge it presented. Have Serella snarking at a guy who just can’t take the hint, and have some friendship with Aymeric and Haurchefant thrown in for good measure.

Word count: 1,161

Would that there were more hours in the day, Aymeric might have had more time outside of his duties to do as he liked. Half a dozen different inspections, nearly two dozen missives and orders to sign off on, and three meetings had filled his morning and the better part of the afternoon, and he felt every onze of energy he had spent press against his shoulders, attempting to force him out of his good posture in exhaustion. He refused to not march with a decisive spring in his step, however— his work concluded, he had invited Haurchefant and Serella over for tea and conversation, after all. It had been so long since he had hosted friends at his house, he could not help but be just a bit giddy at the notion of stopping at the Crozier to replenish his tea stock for their afternoon.

Haurchefant and Serella had provided lively conversation as they went, both insisting that he was no bother for stopping at the Crozier and that he could take his time perusing the shop. It was something of a comfort, simply enjoying an outing with people that he cared deeply for, and those who went out of their way to return that care in kind to him. Flanked by Serella leaned against the wall to one side, calmly reading her book (one of his recommendations, he noted with a thrill,) and Haurchefant close enough to his other side that they sometimes brushed when Haurchefant would move to gesture at a display or turn to speak with him, Aymeric could not help but be reminded of what it was to have family again, despite his best efforts to bury his heart.

“Ah, fancy meeting you here, Mistress Arcbane!” A tinny, raspy voice called.

From the edge of his vision, Aymeric watched Serella purse her lips from behind her book, hand subtly gripping it tighter. This must not be new, then, he mused sadly.

“Hoo boy.” Haurchefant whispered conspiratorially, practically pressed bodily against him, seemingly ignorant of the flush he inspired. “Her most persistent pursuer, though ‘tis no secret he vies only for prestige.”

Aymeric finished his order, and as they waited for the shopkeep to pour and measure the tea leaves, he and Haurchefant shifted some few steps to the pick-up counter. Haurchefant unabashedly and blatantly observed the encounter, despite Aymeric elbowing him in the ribs with a hiss to be respectful.

“Really, I owe you my humblest apologies.” Said the man— a lordling of House Durendaire, tall, handsome, and plush from a life free from struggle. “When last we tried to engage in conversation, I realized I was attempting to engage you on topics of discussion that were less interesting to an imprudent woman such as yourself!”

That inspired a flat, unimpressed look from over the edge of her book. While not one to let something so disrespectful lie, Aymeric felt Haurchefant’s hand on his elbow, and a glance in his direction earned him a brilliant smile and the mouthed word, “Watch.” Turning his gaze back to the scene before them, it was hard not to see why his friend was so keen on waiting: the longer she silently stared down the man, the more he fidgeted to hide his discomfort.

“I sincerely hope you just don’t know what that word means.” Serella replied coolly.

“Why, of course I do!” He enthusiastically doubled down, a beaming smile clearly hiding his newfound uncertainty. “I mean it as a compliment! I mean that you’re passionate and clever!”

“Of course you do.” Serella said in a tone saturated with pity, and returned to her book.

“What I mean, rather,” The noble stammered. “Is that we should not have spoken of Ishgardian history, but of swords!”

“...Swords.” She repeated slowly, testing the word as she turned a page.

“Oh, this poor sod.” Haurchefant muttered, voice strained with the effort of not laughing. “I think this might be the day. She might actually rob him of the will to live.”

“Indeed! Swords!” With a flourish, the man struck a pose to flaunt his sheathed blade. “What more common a ground could soldiers such as us have than to discuss our tools of war!”

Another glance from her pages, sharp, discerning, honed on his hands. Soft, bereft of calluses, and very clearly having never wielded the damned thing in any serious capacity. He was no soldier, that much was clear.

“An ultracrepidarian through and through, then.” Serella tutted, and flipped to the next page.

“Your words flatter me, my lady!” The nobleman beamed, a hand over his heart. “Are you even aware of your beauty and radiance?”

“Not at all, my lord. My Da forbade mirrors in the house, lest we be overcome with vanity.” She said in mock solemnity.

“Oh, bless him.” Aymeric sighed under his breath, taking his order from the shopkeep and handing her his payment.

“I can’t breathe.” Haurchefant hissed, hands wrapped around his middle in a desperate effort to hold himself together. “Merciful Halone, man, take the hint—”

“I would invite you to my abode! Formally! That we might discuss swords and swordplay!” The young man, bless his soul, actually produced a sealed envelope with her name writ in neat, swooping cursive. “And I would present you with a letter stating my formal intent to ask for your hand!”

“You’ll have to forgive me, my lord.” Serella said without looking up from her book. “I can’t read.”

Beside him, Haurchefant made a noise akin to an asthmatic cat.

“Wh—” Ah, there it was. The first moment everything seemed to click into place for the man. His shoulders slumped slowly, his confidence deflating. “I…?”

“You’ll have to read your declaration aloud if you want a proper rejection.” With a sigh, she closed her book. “But please, I beg of you, for your own sake: don’t.” Dropping her book in the deep, cavernous maw that was the inner pocket of her cloak, she turned expectantly toward the two of them, both of whom by that point had been openly gawking at the exchange. “Are we all set? I’ve looked forward to this all week.”

She angled her head toward the door with a pleasant smile as though there was not a man standing across from her picking up the broken shards of his dignity. Aymeric was unsure of whether he wanted to ask her how often she had to let people down in such a manner.

“Aye, Mistress Arcbane.” He said in a teasing lilt, and collected the parcels of tea he purchased. “Shall we?”

The three of them stepped out of the shop together, Serella eagerly looping her arms around Aymeric’s and Haurchefant’s each in a friendly squeeze. They scarcely made it ten paces away from the shop before Haurchefant, at the end of his reserve of strength, broke down cackling. He didn’t stop even as Aymeric ushered them into his home with a goodnatured roll of his eyes.

[cypris-thalsian]

The Gift: Part V

[ Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, written with @thalsianiii​ ]

Cypris held her sleeve over her nose as Percival ushered her past the remnants of the corpse once it was well done and sorted. After Percival's shouting and banging on the door there didn't seem to be any movement within the small hut for what seemed like a prolonged amount of time. 

Once it had registered that the voice was a familiar one, the sounds of a staff clacked along the inner floors. A slat slid open lower down, revealing a crystalline pair of blue eyes gazing out. Lairn leered at the pair, seemingly looking them over to be sure they were clean, "Did you step in it?" She question came matter of fact having an idea they were why the thudding had stopped. 

"No, we didn't. Please.. we're clean, came from the roof tops. He touched one of the sick... but he's been burned." Cypris tried to explain. 

The pair were answered with another skeptical once over before the slat closed and the door creaked open, "Quick now. You're both late." She muttered and would slam the door closed once they were through.

Percival gently ushered Cypris through the door first before following in. The thud of the door behind him gave him a moment of peace. At least in the presence of a healer, there was some sense of safety.

"What do you mean we're late?" he asked, waving his hand across his face to cause his mask to vanish from existence.

"Bah, it doesn't matter. We need your help, Lairn. Please..."

"She always says that..." Cypris muttered and pursed her lips at a touch of laughter finding her features. 

Lairn slid a bar across the door before turning to the pair, "No, I don't." She leaned towards Percival, "I'd hoped to speak more with you after my visit last. You're as bad as she is. And just maybe I heard tell of your coming on the wind."

The elder dwarf started for the fire place where she'd been warming and steeping a bit of tea. On the table was a singular mug, one might have assumed had been meant for her. When it was poured, she slid it towards Cypris. "Drink it. Don't give me any trouble over it after you've been out with that lot." Her cane was shoved in a pointing motion to the door. 

Cypris eyed Percival before looking to the tea. Her lips had parted to argue, but even her come backs for the old dwarf fell short. She simply sipped at the tea and moved to claim a seat at the table. 

Pleased that the woman had listened for a change, turned her attention on Percival, "You want a mug too or would you prefer a stouter variety?"

"I'll make it up to you assuming we survive this," Percival responded as Lairn gave him a mild scolding.

Unlike Cypris, he never thought to give Lairn any lip. So far she had always been hospitable and wise. Crotchety, but wise.

While the two women got more comfortable, Percival seemed to linger nearer the door. He hated undead. Not for fear or some deep seeded remorse for the dead that killed his family and friends in Dalaran decades ago. He just found them terribly distasteful.

"Would you like to talk to her about what's been going on?" he asked as he looked towards Cypris while she drank her tea.

"Or shall I?"

The first initial sips were long and deep, Cypris had assumed it was likely some sort of concoction to ward off whatever it was the pair had strolled through to get to the dwarf. When the mug was nearly empty she slipped it back to the table. A huff of a laugh was breathed out watching the two.

"I um.." She blinked a few times at Percival. "I've been tired the last several weeks, but it's gotten worse. I'm struggling with fire. I got sick on the way in. thats all I know for certain. He..." Cy gestured towards Percival, "Says, there's um..." 

Lips pursed and she gave a cant of her head stumbling over what to her felt like a simple word that just couldn't find the tip of her tongue. After a moment she shook her head and motioned for Percival to finish the story. Not before tossing in with her skeptical, "I'm fine." The words came slightly slurred in her attempt at denial. 

Lairn listened to the two and their back and forth. She knew the warlock was worried, though it didn't appear to translate to her own features. "I'll get you a scotch. You like scotch."

The dwarven woman motioned for Percival to continue on with the story as she made her way to a cabinet where she collected a glass, filling it with a bit of her choice scotch.

"You're not fine and you know it," he scolded.

His attention turned to Lairn as she moved around the small home. He continued on with the story where Cypris left off.

"She's been tired, her fire doesn't spark on command, and getting sick. A while back during Brewfest that Loa of hers, or yours, played some trickery on us with visions and mind games. I can only assume the vile serpent is playing more tricks on her now. Watching us." he hypothesized.

"Last night we were just about to... well there was a presence. It was silent and neutral but I could feel it almost as strongly as I can feel Cypris. Like it was riding along our soulbind. With all that the serpent had said, I can only imagine it's him playing some game."

He took a deep breath and let it out in the form of a lengthy sigh.

"Brigitte something says hi," he finished.

Lairn lilted a brow, she'd not heard him scold Cypris often. Truth of the matter she'd have likely scolded her had he not. Turning towards Percival, she listened to each bit of the explanation. on through the mention of the Loa. Even Lairn's thoughts regarded it momentarily as a thought. She had her own ideas given the limited readings of runes and the like. 

"I don't think you're wrong. But I don't think you're right either." Lairn squared before him. A bemused smile perked at the mention of Brigitte and spilled into a tuft of laughter. 

The elder dwarf reached out to offer the scotch only to pull it back and motion towards Cypris. "You can have this after you catch her and move her to the bedroom. You remember where, yes? Last time she needed stitched up? Don't worry too much it's just the tea..." 

On the edges of their vision, unless Percival kept his gaze on the fire-starter, her gaze had slowly started to droop. Eyelids heavy that she slowly gave to what it was that was pulling her under. Cypris' form swaying slowly threatening to slip from the chair.

Percival was quick to catch Cypris once Lairn gave him warning to do so. Were it anyone else, he might have taken a drugging tea as an offense. Especially after the last time someone tampered with their drink.

But this was Lairn, and she had always been good to them. Not to mention, she didn't try to fool the warlock with something similar.

"Of course," he agreed as he moved to Cypris' side before she could fall from the chair. One hand under her back and the other hooking under her knees, he scooped the smaller woman up in his arms and moved to take her to the bedroom.

Upon returning, he gave Lairn a subtle nod. "Didn't think we'd have to resort to drugged up tea to get her to sleep soundly. But it looks like she's out cold for now. So what's going on?"

The scotch was outstretched when he returned. "It's difficult to be sure. Souls are uneasy these days. They have been for a while. There were a few awol Alliance soldiers in the tavern a week or so ago. Talking about... the Ardent Crusade looking for recruits in Stormwind. I lingered a bit trying to hear more."

She shook her head, "One died and the other ran. Next thing we know the sickness began to spread. We got a ship in port not long after, half the crew had been claimed to it. I looked over one of them, looks near identical if not more persistent as what we faced in the North."

Sorting out a few supplies from the counter, "Unless you mean with Cypris. In which case, I'll need to look her over. But I'm guessing she's right in that she's fine. But you're concerns are valid given the history... I'll want your opinion to second any of it."

Percival took the scotch with thanks and downed near half the glass. His nerves were shot. The last two days had been more than he had bargained for.

"I wasn't on Azeroth the last time the Undead returned. But I heard the stories. Same with the Third War. The scourge was isolated to Lordaeron, Silvermoon, and Dalaran back then. I was in the south before it ever got bad. But this... this is everywhere."

He took another swig of the drink and made himself comfortable in the chair Cypris had sat in moments earlier.

"How can she be fine? She's clearly sick, and now there's a plague going around. Are you sure she couldn't be infected? Or some disgrunted Loa? The one we met seemed poor in manners and disposition."

"Points to your baby king wanting to keep it quiet. They could have sent missives or stopped the travel. There's been no word of that about." Lairn shrugged. 

"I'm not sure. There's only ever one way to be sure. There's educated guesses. If she were infected, she'd be running a fever, sweating. Her body burns all that out. Part of the curse or blessing as I understand it." 

Collecting what she'd gathered she started down the small hall towards the bedroom and motioned Percival to follow. "Tell me what it was the Loa said? If Brigitte let you go... not easy for her to do given her death was at the hand of men. Tell me more of this presence you sensed. Cypris said that was not something she knew of?"

"He's not my king," Percival murmured.

"Well she's clearly some kind of sick. She lost her breakfast a few yards outside your front door, after all."

His frustration was obvious. Quelling his temper was difficult when it came to her well being. Even so, he kept it in check enough to hear Lairn out.

"It's been a while since the fest. But it was a series of tests at which point they said we'd be given a gift. Then nothing for the couple months afterwards. Cypris and I have been together for a while, but I know she's not as adept at sharing a magic bond as I am. Demons and all that. But it was there, I know it in my core. Like a presence just... watching. There was no malice or generosity. Just... there. It didn't seem to care what we did one way or another. But it was there."

Lairn listened, setting the supplies down on a table next to the bed. Gentle fingers prodded over bones and muscles along the firestarter. Her gaze held to the woman's features looking for any signs of aches. As she went she removed any weapons she might have found along the way.  As she got towards Cypris' abdomen, Lairn's gaze gained a surprised and slightly troubled look that quickly faded. 

Pulling a modest metal cone from the supplies, the elder shaman listened to Cypris' breathing and other internal sounds that might suggest something else. All the while Cypris slept sound. "Come sit next to her, Percival."

Lairn shifted from the bed to make certain he had enough space to do as she asked. "I want you to keep in mind what it is you have told me, just now. About a gift and the events that followed. Then I want you to focus on that prickle of a presence, tell me if you can better pinpoint it. Physically if you can manage. If not I will help you."

Percival did as instructed and sat down beside his sleeping wife while Lairn went about her physician testing.

"Alright," he agreed with a hint of skepticism. He reached to hold onto Cypris's hand while she slept and closed his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus. Despite his panicked concern for his wife and his frustration at being so helpless to help, he managed to find that hint of a third, lingering presence.

"I can feel it. Like a pit in my stomach. Or her stomach... our stomach?" he rambled off.

His eyes opened and he looked over at Lairn.

"I don't get it. If not a creeping loa spy. What else could it be?"

The metal cone was offered forward, the smaller side having a place to listen. Lairn gestured for Cypris' chest. "Listen here, and then over that space you sense that spy..." She quirked a small grin. 

"Tell me what you hear? Then your thoughts on what it may be." If he did as she asked, he'd find the expected steady heartbeat at Cy's chest, while at her belly, a faint thudding that was similar only more rapid just above the sound of the steadier pulse.

The fact that Larin was smiling was off putting. But he indulged her. He listened to Cypris's heart beat at first, it seemed strong and steady. He then followed the old dwarfs instruction and listened to her stomach as well. It was there, faint, but there.

It took him a few minutes to put the pieces together. He was a brilliant summoner, tactician, and scholar, and yet he had struggled with putting these pieces together until now.

"Wait..." he paused, looking to Lairn and her small grin with a look of confusion and doubt, as if his own hypothesis was far too wild to be true.

"You don't mean... you don't think she could be? I mean we've been together for years and... and never once used... No... Really? No way." he rambled, as if the implication was too wild to be true.

The Elder dwarf watched as the wheels finally began to move in the right direction. She let off a bemused chuckle. "She shouldn't be. You're right. She had a great deal of damage after she had Ava. And when they blackmailed her for her life. The blade caused further damage..."

"The loa have met your trials with a gift. The pair of you have impressed them enough they wish your line to continue. It certainly does prove to be quite the spy. I'm assuming the reason you sense the child's soul so young is because of your bond. It is both your blood and her blood that formed the soul binding, yes?"

Percival was quiet for a while, even after Lairn had stopped speaking and posed her question. He never even consider the possibility of children. Not since the fiasco with his ex fiancé years and years ago.

Finally he shook his head to break from his trance.

"Y-yes we did. Blood and souls and magic runes..." he answered.

"So that was the Loa's 'gift' then? I'm... I'm going to be a father? You're sure?" he asked, a sharp crack in his voice and his eyes glistened with what could almost be considered a tear; the sentiment made his stomach turn in knots. Deep down he still couldn't fathom it. In a world that had knocked him down time and time again, it seemed impossible to be given a gift like this.

Reaching a hand forward, Lairn gave the man a duel pat to his shoulder. Nodding to answer his question. "I would say yes, that is a fair assumption. That they promise a gift and your wife, who in my best medical opinion was made sterile by a former enemy, now is with child. Her body has been healed despite her appearing sick. Life is... it takes a great sacrifice to build. You of all people should know that, that's how it is in all things."

"It will be a long road, but given it all goes well, yes, you'll have a son or daughter before the middle of next year. And you're the one who found it, so you can't deny the fact that it's yours." She laughed. How many men had been dragged in and griped through visits how a child due wasn't theirs. 

Lairn narrowed her gaze on the warlock, "Need more of that scotch? You doing alright there?"

Percival remained a touch dumbfounded for a few moments longer. But finally, he could let himself accept the truth and it pulled the largest of smiles across his features.

"I think one more glass is in order," he said with a light laugh.

He rapidly blinked his eyes, trying to force the tears of joy to vanish through sheer will power before he'd let them fall.

"I can't believe it. I can, but I can't." he babbled on, his gaze looking over to Cypris as she slept with that dumb smile still painted on his face.

"I wonder how she'll take the news."

Lairn ventured out of the room though she continued to listen to his rambling through processing the information. When she returned she came with a scotch freshly poured along with the bottle should he wish more. 

"You can keep that. To listen when you wish to, for the heart beat." She gestured to the tool she'd used to guide his listening. "You're welcome to rest with her for a bit. She may have looked like hell coming in, but you sounded it." 

A grin held a moment longer, finding it rather amusing the amount of worry she'd watch wash away from his features from the moment he'd stepped in the door to the realization that Cypris was indeed well. "We can sort out anything else when you've had time to process all this. She'll either be overly excited, but my money would be on scared. You're not him, you're not about to take the child and run, but that past, that emotional memory is likely to be revived. Something to consider. I do hope I'm wrong. That you'll both get all the joys the experience will offer."

Before taking her leave, Lairn paused at the door, "Call out if you need anything, Dove. Otherwise, dinner will be sorted in a few hours."

"Thank you, Lairn. For everything," Percival quietly whispered as she handed him the drink and bottle before taking her leave.

He considered what she said about Cypris's past. While he wanted to believe it would be a smooth conversation, he knew his wife well enough to know that might not be the case. It would require tact and delicacy. Something best not to do with undead clawing at the door, perhaps.

Either way, he was excited and wasn't going to worry about that conversation right now. It would be okay in the end. He knew that.

His hand moved to rest on her stomach. Suddenly he felt just a bit guilty that he thought she had just gotten a bit of a belly from too much food at a festival.

"And thank you, Cypris," he whispered to his sleeping wife, "once again, you continue to find a new way to make me the happiest man alive."

[ikevampeventarchive]

[ERS] Urgent Bloodsucking ～Vincent

Duration: 11/8 (Fri) 04:00 PM ～ 11/15 (Fri) 09:00 PM

Even in the midst of being assaulted by a horrible thirst, Vincent won’t bite you. Desperately resisting his bloodthirsty urges while telling you to run away, how will you reply...? 

Once unleashed, drown in the endless depths of sweet desire ——

Event Prologue | Route Preview

[This is an unofficial work based on fan-translation. Copyright belongs to Cybird.]

Common Route

Arthur, Isaac and Vincent all drink down their glasses of Rosé, and for a long moment, nothing happens. Arthur says that he doesn’t feel anything out of ordinary, while Vincent says that the Rosé is really sweet, commenting that Theo would enjoy the taste. Arthur pouts because he expected something to actually happen, and Sebastian chides him, reminding that the purpose of Rosé is to act as another blood replacement, not for thrills. 

Arthur: Compared to drinking blood directly, however, this isn’t as satisfying. Doesn’t that count as a failure then?

Isaac has been silent for the entirety of this exchange, and when Vincent checks up on him, he turns and lunges towards MC, growling that he wants blood. Vincent quickly steps between him and MC, and while Arthur holds Isaac back, Sebastian quickly brings a glass of Blanc for Isaac. After downing the Blanc, Isaac bemoans his fate and wonders why the side effects had to kick in for him of all people. Arthur agrees, saying that it’s quite pitiful that it worked on Isaac, the person who already suffered from such thirst.

Vincent suddenly requests another serving of Rosé from Sebastian, explaining that while Isaac was experiencing the side effects, he couldn’t think of what to do for Isaac since he was protecting MC. Thus, he needed to experience it himself to know what to do. MC and Isaac both protest this, with MC worrying about the side effects and Isaac exclaiming that it was perfectly normal for Vincent to worry about his lover first. Sebastian and Arthur, however, start teasing Vincent, Sebastian remarking that they all live in a kind world with a smile while Arthur says that he expected as such from their resident angel. MC pleads for them not to joke around too much.

While MC is busy with Sebastian and Arthur, Vincent gets his hands on another glass of Rosé and downs it. He starts groaning and pressing a hand to his mouth. MC panics, wondering if the side effects have really kicked in this time. 

Vincent: Ugh…. argh…..

MC: Vincent!?

Vincent: ….It really is too sweet for me. 

Everyone watching lets out a sigh of relief when nothing happens. Isaac again tells Vincent that he doesn’t need to push himself so hard, and Arthur reasons that the side effects probably won’t kick in for Vincent because he isn’t the type to have a strong sense of bloodlust. With disaster avoided for now, the scene changes to Vincent and MC out in town for a shopping trip. 

Vincent is still disappointed at not being able to understand the pain that Isaac’s thirst causes him, and tells MC that he was hoping that Isaac would feel more at ease if there was someone who knew what he was going through. MC chuckles and says that Vincent is truly a kind person. She also thinks to herself that even though Vincent is kind, that also means that he would put others ahead of his own well-being, and she doesn’t want to see him in pain. 

Suddenly, Vincent doubles over, groaning. Through labored breaths, he tells MC to run away from him right now. MC quickly realizes that it must be the side effects from the Rosé kicking in at the worst moment, and tells Vincent to hold on as she pulls him into an empty alleyway. Checking one last time for any passersby, she quickly unbuttons her blouse and sweeps her hair to the side, telling Vincent to bite her and ease his pain.

At MC’s urging, Vincent is about to do just that, only to push her away and refue. His actions leave MC floundering, and she’s left wondering what to do when Shakespeare appears on the scene. 

The three of them relocate to Shakespeare’s house and explain the situation as Shakespeare gives Vincent some Rouge. 

Shakespeare: So it is all because of this Rosé…

Vincent: Ha…. Sorry for troubling you, Will… 

Shakespeare: I do not mind. 

Shakespeare: That being said, however, it must be quite the intense side effect to make Vincent crave blood so. 

Vincent drains the bottle of Rouge, and after seeing how his forehead is beaded with sweat, MC heads over to try and wipe it for him. Just as she is about to do so, however, Vincent’s hand shoots up to grab her wrist before letting go like he’d been burned. Shakespeare explains that Vincent’s reason and instincts must be warring with each other, and as Vincent questions why the Rouge did not cure his thirst, he suddenly changes his line of thinking and loudly requests for Shakespeare to tie him to his own bed. 

MC is, quite reasonably, shocked by that statement, to which Vincent explains that he doesn’t know what he would do if left unrestrained. Shakespeare agrees with a serious face, while MC tells him that he really shouldn’t just jump on the idea so easily, thank you very much. 

As Shakespeare goes to retrieve some rope, MC wonders to herself why Vincent’s symptoms had not stopped even after one hour had elapsed and drinking some Rouge, finally realizing that it must’ve been due to Vincent’s two servings of Rosé in an attempt to understand Isaac’s thirst. Shakespeare sighs, commenting that it does sound like Vincent to do something like that. 

Vincent calls MC from where he’s curled up on the sofa, telling her to return to the mansion before him. MC is confused as to why he would say such a thing, and thinks back to the time he avoided drinking her blood in the alleyway earlier. Shakespeare explains that her presence is like poison to Vincent right now. As there is a direct connection between romantic love and bloodlust, having MC around — who is Vincent’s lover — while he is in this state is similar to hanging a piece of meat in front of a starving beast. MC counters that it’s because she is his lover that Vincent should just drink her blood, only to be interrupted by Vincent yelling that he would not. 

He explains that he doesn’t want to hurt MC, and that he's scared of drinking too much if he does bite her. Even as MC protests, he smiles and pleads for her to leave. Frustrated by her powerlessness, MC bites her lip, unable to say anything in the face of Vincent's request, yet also unwilling to let him suffer. 

Shakespeare takes that moment to tell MC that they would be able to use blood replacements to placate Vincent’s bloodlust. On the other hand, with Shakespeare living on his own, his Rouge and Blanc supplies are limited, and since none of them know how long Vincent’s symptoms will persist, he would likely be suffering for an extended amount of time. 

Shakespeare: Now, what shall you do, MC?

—

Sweet (Love’s Devotion) End

The thing he truly wants, even more than blood....

“Because you are my precious treasure, I held myself back.”

Wholeheartedly drown in this sweet and gentle time for just the two of you—

—

As MC struggles to decide on the best course of action, Shakespeare suddenly presents another bottle. He tells them that he had already received a test batch of Rosé as well as an antidote in case the rare side effect did occur. MC and Vincent are shocked, MC saying that the mansion never received such a thing. Shakespeare continues, saying that though an antidote, it is not a guaranteed solution because, like the Rosé, the antidote is also a trial product. There is a chance that Vincent’s symptoms can take a turn for the worse. Vincent accepts anyway and drinks the antidote without hesitation. 

Shakespeare: Drinking an unknown poison, all in order not to harm the one you love. … That is very much in character for you, Vincent. 

Vincent: But it’s not poison, is it…? You would never give me something like that… Will. 

Shakespeare agrees to that assessment, and Vincent smiles. Soon after, however, Vincent starts coughing violently. MC rushes over to prop him up, telling herself that if the antidote didn’t work, then she’d tell VIncent to drink her blood, no matter what happens to herself. 

Vincent’s coughing stops and he perks up, telling MC that he feels a lot better and the thirst is gone. Seeing that he’s okay, MC and Shakespeare both relax. Vincent thanks Shakespeare for the antidote and Shakespeare smiles, saying that the situation was quite dramatic, so he might even take some inspiration from today’s events. 

MC and Vincent return to the mansion, where they tell Isaac and Sebastian what happened. 

Vincent: Now I know how painful it is when you thirst for blood like that. 

Vincent: From now on, I’ll support you more when it hits, Isaac! 

Isaac: No, I think you had a harder time than I did, Vincent. 

Vincent says that he was actually okay since he had MC, which confuses her, since MC thought she wasn’t able to do anything at all. Just as Sebastian was expressing his joy that Vincent was okay, Theo barges into the room, yelling for Sebastian to prepare some Rouge. It turns out that Theo and Arthur were out drinking when the side effects suddenly kicked in. Theo had to stop him before he attacked any of the women at the bar and dragged him back home, leading them to this current situation. 

Later, MC comes to Vincent’s room, asking him if he’s really okay. Smiling, he assures her that he’s fine, adding that he feels pretty good right now. They sit on his couch together and MC thinks back on the day, remembering Vincent’s earlier words and lamenting her helplessness. Noticing her dark expression, Vincent asks her what’s wrong. MC reluctantly tells him, and Vincent reveals the reason why he didn’t want to bite her both in the alley and in Shakespeare’s house.

He tells MC that the moment the thirst revealed itself and he was suffering, MC immediately offered him her blood without hesitation. Seeing her selfless kindness, Vincent resolved himself not to hurt her; to protect that kindness and endure his thirst. MC is touched by his words and resolves to support him the best she can from here on out. Vincent agrees in good humor and they laugh after bowing to each other. 

Vincent then kisses MC softly, saying that he had been wanting to do that all day. MC narrates that his kiss warmed her from the inside out, ending the route on a gentle note.

—

Premium (Instinctual Bloodsucking) End

Ensnared by desire, he yearns for blood....

“Your sweet scent always makes me feel weird...” 

Vampire instincts steal away both your heart and body ——

—

Hearing Shakespeare’s words, MC thinks to herself that she can’t leave things as they are. No matter how small, she wants to help relieve Vincent’s pain in any way she can. Resolved to do just that, she picks up a sharp letter opener on lying on the table and presses it to her palm.

Shakespeare and Vincent: !

MC: I’m sorry Shakespeare, I’ll repay you for this knife afterwards. 

Vincent: MC, what are you doing?!

MC: Don’t worry, I’m only making a very small cut. 

MC: If I don’t, you won’t be able to drink my blood, no? 

Vincent: You shouldn’t hurt yourself because of my own selfish needs…. 

Seeing how Vincent is still attempting to stop her while suffering himself, MC smiles and gently admonishes him. 

MC: Vincent, you said that you didn’t want me to be hurt, but I also don’t want to see you in pain. 

MC: That’s why I’m going to do everything I can. Be it sadness or pain, let’s shoulder it together. 

Having said that, MC brought down the knife — only to be stopped by Vincent catching her wrist at the last second. He apologized to MC, but stated that he will not let her do such a thing for him, turning her hand over and checking for injuries before stroking it gently. Seeing the scene before him, Shakespeare retrieved a small bottle from his table, murmuring that while it might be risky, they might as well try it out. 

Shakespeare presents the bottle to Vincent and MC, informing them that the dark pink liquid inside the container is an improved version of the Rosé, complimentary of the producers due to Shakespeare’s friendship with them. MC suddenly felt like she just heard something that shouldn’t be revealed to others and doesn’t make another comment. 

Vincent asks Shakespeare what he intends to do with the other version of the Rosé, to which Shakespeare replies that he intends to fight poison with poison. 

Shakespeare: Originally, the Rosé was formulated to combat the expected bloodlust from the side effects in addition to serving as a blood substitute. 

Shakespeare: For its high effectiveness, however, said side effects could turn out to be even stronger than usual, depending on the individual in question. 

Shakespeare: Yet, it is exactly this thicker concentration that may be able to assuage the thirst that even Rouge was unable to cure. 

As he speaks, Shakespeare pours out a cup of the improved Rosé and places it down in front of Vincent. MC protests, saying that if this is the same Rosé, then wouldn’t the side effects kick in as well? Smiling, Shakespeare confirms exactly that. He never hoped to cure the side effects, but rather delay the current thirst affecting Vincent long enough for him and MC to return to the mansion. Skeptical, MC thinks to herself that it’s better to give Vincent her blood after all. 

Just as she starts to voice as such, Vincent stops her with a smile and drinks the Rosé down without hesitation. He immediately starts coughing, saying that it’s bitter yet burns his throat like something incredibly sweet. Shakespeare wryly remarks that the taste was also one of the things the producers had to improve. As MC rushes to Vincent’s side to check on him, Vincent confirms that he does feel better and Shakespeare bade him return to the mansion and drink ten times as much Blanc and Rouge as before to combat the stronger side effects. 

MC and Vincent both thank him, and Shakespeare smiles, saying that the two of them suit each other; both prepared to get hurt instead of letting harm come to their partner. 

After returning to the mansion and retreating to Vincent’s room, Vincent clutches his throbbing throat before rushing to drink the Rouge that Sebastian sent to his room. MC frets over him, telling Vincent that she could run to grab more from the kitchen if this isn’t enough for him. 

Vincent turns and pins MC down to the floor, panting out that he can’t restrain himself any longer, yet also telling MC to run away from him while he can still bear it, his words contradicting themselves within the same sentence.  

Vincent: Sorry, MC. I can’t hold on anymore….

Vincent: There’s Rouge here too. I can endure it by myself, so…. 

Vincent: So, this time… run away from me…. 

Realizing that he’s still trying to protect her while suffering through the effects of the painful thirst, MC tells Vincent to bite her, reminding him that she wants them to share their pain and shoulder it together. Touched, Vincent does bite her for real this time, drinking deeply while MC moans into the heated air. He breaks away, murmuring that this thirst isn’t just due to the Rosé alone, but also due to the sweet scent that MC is giving off and kisses her. Giving into the throes of passion, they spend the night together. 

Note: This is where the paid Epilogue starts.

—

Epilogue Preview

Reaching its limits, his desire yearns for you to the point of madness....

Vincent: It’s not just blood, I want you too...

Vincent: I want... to just stay like this. 

(For Vincent to lose his composure and become this needy...)

Directly faced with his want, my body becomes hot like a fire has been lit deep within. 

Vincent: MC.... 

(He’s rougher, than usual....)

Vincent: Sorry... I’m so rough with you.

Mingling breaths and lewd, wet sounds. 

As we are pulled between pleasure and immorality, love and affection grow stronger  ——.....

Vincent: I can’t stop anymore... accept my everything. 

Event Info | Isaac Route | Arthur Route

[f-l0reat]

prompt: ssm20d27 // symptoms summary: the amalgamation of pinks and reds and blues of the sky amplify the resounding warmth of her eyes—green as the first buds of spring—and, he thinks, it is a shame that she is blissfully unaware that she is the cure for the human condition. note: oops i’m a little late but here’s a little semi-introspective piece; you can also find it on ao3

there is something strangely calming about walking this path home; the remnants of summer are presented by an ensemble cast of hidden cicadas humming a harmonious melody that masks the sounds of yellowing and reddening leaves drifting through the air before gravity takes its toll and tugs it to the earth.

beside him, sakura seems to have stumbled upon the pitch set by the cicadas and she hums a companion piece. her eyes shut momentarily, a smile stretching across her features, and she extends her arms overhead. she expels a contented sigh as her joints crack to release hours of her lengthy workload in this single motion before her eyes gravitate to meet his. he resists the urge to bring his fingers up to poke at her forehead and drop a kiss at the same spot to secure the adoration he holds for her.

as if she can hear his thoughts, a deeper crinkling sets in the corner of her eyes and she exhales a soft, shy laugh. she steps closer and nudges his side with her elbow; the scent of the antimicrobial soap used at the hospital and the peach of her shampoo permeates the air around him. “i like you like this,” she murmurs. “i told you it suits you.”

he cannot discern whether she’s speaking of the film of color from the setting sun that bathes them or of the peace that the end of the war has brought him. she doesn’t comment, but he thinks it may be all of the above.

in a different life, he would have pulled her close and whispered that there is nothing in this world that suits him better than her, that the light she exudes fills the holes that the pains of his past have created. in this life, he settles for teasingly pushing the flesh of his palm to her face and gently nudging her away, countering, “you like me anyway.”

she swats at his hand, nose scrunching in not-quite disagreement, and hums a note that the cicadas compliment. “i heard it was sweltering hot today. did you manage to put aside some time from your busy schedule to water my plants?” though her eyes have shifted forward, he catches the goading undertones of her question.

his eyes narrow, though he has found that perhaps house-husband is the best term to describe him. while her bones carry the weight of her principal role as the head of konoha general hospital, his bones carry the responsibility of household chores and, more recently, indulging his green thumb.

it started with a few herbs some time after his return from his journey after the war. the counter space in the compact apartment sakura kept—really, only because it was near the hospital and a small strip of restaurants that had saved her more than she is comfortable with saying from suffering through her dismal cooking—had slowly become filled with them to help save them from her aforementioned dismal cooking and, after his interest was piqued by discovering his ability to provide thriving conditions for herbs, there was no stopping the rest of the produce that had eventually followed suit. one too many bouts of gnats floating throughout the already minuscule apartment had led to sakura, feelings be damned, to come a hair-width away from throwing him and his cherry and heirloom tomato sproutlings out, so they found a compromise.

he adjusts his eyes to stare up ahead, where their house lies in the horizon. if he stares long enough, his vision focuses on the towering white structure behind it. sasuke, possessor of the eternal mangekyou sharingan and bestowed to carry the weight of the rinnegan, if left to his own devices, has been known to have focused his energy upon that disconnected greenhouse on the outskirts of their land. admittedly, he might have been committing more time to getting the greenhouse ready, but that is only because winter is drawing near and his wife has forbidden him from growing his produce within the confines of their living space.

this, he can admit, is somewhat unfair because while he cultivated his produce, she developed a love for indoor plants, which have somehow gotten a hold of almost every single surface in their home. well, he acquiesces, at least it is one more thing they can chat about.

though his eyes hold great power, she is the possessor of the ability to read his actions, even when he is not in her immediate line of sight, so he is careful to hide the roll of his eyes. “your plants are too peculiar. ‘tap water makes me unhappy. why did you change the temperature? my leaves are going to brown and shrivel up because you’re so cruel to me’,” he responds in a mocking voice. “mine would be happy rooting on concrete if they had to.”

she snorts. he doesn’t have a clear view, but he can tell her eyes are sparkling. “that’s because mine have class, sasuke-kun, something you obviously know nothing about.” he thinks that’s rich, coming from her, and he says so, which earns a painful pinch to his side. she hears him mutter a quick, “annoying woman,” at which he hears a croak of laughter.

they greet the comfortable silence and bask in it for a short while as they continue on the worn path home.

this allows his twice-worn eyes to follow the trail a particular leaf takes as the gentle breeze carries it onward. it begins its descent, bending and curling in its path, and he ponders over the thought that it will proceed on its predestined path to rest on the worn earth below until a sudden gust causes it to surge skyward. for a split second, he can almost swear that the cicadas halt their hummings to make way for the sound of the leaves resting on the ground to cry out for their missing brethren.

he is pulled from his musing when his sandaled feet crush a feeble twig. his body slows to a stop and his eyes shift upwards. he doesn’t know what he’s looking for or if he’s looking for anything in particular, but he remembers.

he remembers that the weight of his past sins can find ways of creeping up on him. he remembers sometimes that the law is often unfair; an uncomfortable sensation suddenly perches heavily in his chest when he remembers run-ins with civilians and nin alike who have lost so much—sometimes due to his past sins, sometimes due to the inevitability of the war—and he looks down at himself, a former criminal allowed to roam the world and speak freely with his wife about mundane topics. he remembers that although he stumbled upon gardening as a means of release, the tightening in his chest when everything comes bubbling up is as uncontrollable as the sea. it bursts as guilt that eats away at him, one side feeling every bit of undeserving of the happiness he’s finally allowed into his life, the other feeling indescribably ashamed that he has allowed happiness to take up so much room that the memory of the past that have been pushed to the borders of his mind.

wanderlust, he thinks, isn’t embedded in his bones for reasons of being incapable of rooting himself to one spot, rather it’s been embedded in his bones by the persistent reminders of the voices inside of his head to remember.

beside him, sakura seems to sense his contemplation. he stares down and watches her feet carry her until she is stopped right in front of him. he lifts his gaze so that their eyes meet once again, and the soft, understanding smile she presents rings throughout his entire being. she brings her hand up to brush the overgrown hairs that cover his left eye before she slides her fingers down to rest on his chest. he reaches out to grip her white coat; the hammering of his heart against the confines of his lungs slows to a lull. “shall i prepare your travel cloak?” she asks.

the amalgamation of pinks and reds and blues of the sky amplify the resounding warmth of her eyes—green as the first buds of spring—and, he thinks, it is a shame that she is blissfully unaware that she is the cure for the human condition.

he shuts his eyes and draws her close until their foreheads are joined. he breathes her scent and it’s times like this that he wishes the sharingan was capable of memorizing the sweetness that is her, before he presses his lips where it was once connected to his forehead. against her skin, he whispers, “come with me.”

[emospritelet]

Key to the Cell - chapter 13

Last time, Belle freed Rumplestiltskin from the clutches of the Blue Fairy and returned home.

[AO3]

x

After her night of travelling through portals, freeing fairies and releasing the Dark One from the spell containing him, Belle was exhausted. She had hoped to sleep a little later than usual, but news of Gaston’s unconscious state had spread through the castle, and it was in uproar. Maurice himself hammered on Belle’s bedroom door when she was still in her dressing gown, pacing back and forth and ranting about how her intended might never wake up.

“What are we to do, Belle?” he asked, almost wringing his hands. “All those plans for a good marriage, for the merging of our lands! All gone if he dies! I should have insisted that you marry him weeks ago! I shouldn’t have let you talk me into all this waiting!”

“He slipped in his bath, you said.” Belle beckoned to Marilee to enter. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Has anyone sent for a healer?”

“Yes, but they won’t be here for hours!”

“Well, there seems little point in panicking,” said Belle. “I suggest we have breakfast and wait for the healer to arrive.”

“But the King is here!” persisted Maurice. “The guests! The wedding!”

“Isn’t for another week,” said Belle calmly. “If we have to postpone until he wakes up, then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll explain to the guests that Sir Gaston is ill and needs rest and quiet. We can see them off after breakfast.”

“How can you be so casual about this?” demanded Maurice. “This man is to be your husband! You’re to own these lands after you’re wed! If he dies before he makes you his wife, I don’t know where I’ll find another suitor of his calibre!”

“I suggest we worry about that when it becomes an issue,” said Belle, her voice cool. “From what you say, Sir Gaston is very much alive. If a good deal quieter than usual.”

“The master’s a strong man, milord,” said Marilee diffidently, hands clasped at her waist. “If anyone can survive a blow to the head like that, it’s him. He’s taken worse while jousting.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose you’re right,” sighed Maurice, running a hand through his hair. “We must all pray for his swift recovery.”

“Of course,” said Belle neutrally. “We all want that. Marilee, I believe I’ll wear the green today.”

“Very good, milady.”

“Papa, I’ll see you at breakfast,” said Belle. “I’m sure Sir Gaston will be up and about and bellowing orders before you know it.”

Maurice gave her an exasperated look, but threw up his hands in defeat and stomped out. Belle sighed in relief. A few days of peace. I shall make the most of it.

x

After breakfast, and once she had bid farewell to their guests and accepted their good wishes for Sir Gaston’s speedy recovery, she selected a book and casually asked Marilee to send the new maid to bring her parasol out to the garden. She walked amongst the last of the summer flowers, breathing in the scent of them. The autumn air was cool despite the sun, and the leaves on many of the trees were starting to turn, the treetops kissed with red and orange, as though fire was devouring them. The patter of footsteps on the path behind her made her turn, and she smiled as Gerta hurried up to her, parasol in her hands.

“Oh, milady, I’m so glad you’re safe!” she gasped. “I couldn’t sleep a wink last night for worrying!”

“I’m fine,” said Belle warmly, taking the parasol. “I take it the steward believed your story?”

“I’m not sure he even listened to me,” said Gerta, wrinkling her nose. “As soon as I said the master had fallen, he shoved me aside and went running. But never mind about me, milady, what about you? And - and him?”

“I did as I promised,” said Belle, smiling at the memory. “And a little more besides. The Dark One was content with our bargain, and considers it paid in full.”

“Thank goodness,” said Gerta, sounding relieved. “I was so worried that he might try to trick you. Do you think he’s right about the master? Will he really remember nothing?”

“If Rumplestiltskin says so, then I believe him,” said Belle. “He keeps his word. You’re safe, Gerta, I promise.”

Gerta hesitated, fingers twisting in her apron.

“It’s - it’s not my place, milady, but - but the master is - well, he’s - he’s not a kind man.”

“Indeed he is not,” said Belle dryly. “My father insists upon my marrying him, though. The wedding is in a week.”

“What if the master doesn’t wake up in time?” asked Gerta. “What if he forgets he’s supposed to be getting married? My uncle got kicked in the head by a cow once. Out cold for four days and when he came to he couldn’t remember anything past turning thirty-two. Bit of a shock for my aunt.”

“Rumplestiltskin said three days,” said Belle. “I suppose he understands how his magic works far better than I.”

“You say his name so easily,” whispered Gerta, her expression one of awe tinged with fear. “I think I’d be scared to, in case I called on him by accident. Making deals is all very well, but I can’t imagine what the Dark One might do if you disturbed him for nothing.”

“Well, he doesn’t frighten me,” said Belle. “I think he’s a good man, beneath it all. Better than he thinks he is.”

“Begging your pardon, but I think you try to see the best in everyone,” said Gerta, and Belle smiled.

“I do,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

x

Over the next two days, Belle had the most peaceful time she had enjoyed since arriving at Sir Gaston’s castle. She spent her days seated in the gardens with her books on magic, and her evenings shut away in the library, practising everything she had read. Maurice and the servants fretted over Gaston’s unconscious body, but the healer had inspected him, had shrugged and prescribed a poultice for the head wound.

“He’ll either wake or he won’t,” she said, with a matter-of-fact air that made the steward exchange uneasy looks with Sir Maurice. “Three days will tell, I reckon.”

There was only one thing to cause Belle distress, and that was the news of the approaching ogre horde. The servants returned from town full of stories of the horrors that awaited any men that tried to push the creatures back. Tales of the earlier Ogre Wars were told, in which thousands of men and even children had been drafted to stand against them, and had been cut down like barley. The tales made Belle uneasy; although there had been no battles against the ogres yet, it was only a matter of time before the King decided that he had to deal with the threat massing on the border of his realm.

On the third day, Gaston woke up.

Belle flinched at the sound of his disgruntled bellowing, audible even from behind the closed door of the library. She buried her nose in her book, eyes scanning the words of a new spell she had not yet mastered. A binding spell. It was far more complicated than anything else she had tried, and suitable only for defensive purposes, but she thought it a useful thing to learn, nonetheless. She thought she could see a way to adapt it, using something similar to the book she had used to call on the Dark One. A question for Rumplestiltskin, when she next saw him.

“Belle!”

Maurice burst into the library, breathless and red-faced, and she sighed and laid her book aside.

“Gaston is awake!” he said urgently. “Our prayers have been answered!”

Your prayers, perhaps.

“Is he well?” she asked.

“As well as ever, and calling for ale!” laughed Maurice. “Come, I’ll take you to him. This wedding is happening, my girl!”

Belle wanted to sigh, but got to her feet. Not if I have anything to say about it.

x

Rumplestiltskin had been true to his word. Gaston remembered nothing that had happened in her bedchamber, his last memories being of the hunt, and those somewhat hazy.

“Must have been riding at an incredible speed, to have knocked myself out like that,” he declared, banging his cup on the table to call for more ale. “Damn stag almost killed me, but I brought it down! No shame to fall in the hunt if you get back up again!”

“You fell in your bath,” said Belle, but he wasn’t listening, and Maurice glared at her.

“Have all preparations been made for the wedding feast?” asked Gaston, reaching for the plate of roasted pheasant and tearing off a leg.

“Everything is in hand, milord,” said the steward, bowing. “The King has sent word, though.”

He handed over a letter, and Gaston sniffed, wiping grease from his hands and breaking the wax seal to scan the letter.

“He plans to move against the ogres,” he announced. “The Duke’s army has marched on them today, and King George plans to join him in a week. He wants to know that he can count on my support. Seems like we’re headed to war, Sir Maurice.”

“But - fighting the ogres.” Belle shook her head. “The men will be slaughtered. Everyone has heard what happens to armies sent against them.”

Gaston snorted, handing the letter to Maurice..

“They’re not so tough,” he said. “My men and I have encountered ogres before, and they came off worse, believe me.”

“Then why do all reports that I hear suggest that the ogres are formidable?” asked Belle, and Gaston shrugged.

“Cowards will always find an excuse.”

“Indeed,” said Maurice, reading the King’s letter. “Still, they are not to be underestimated.”

“Perhaps we ought to delay the wedding until after the battle,” suggested Belle, and Gaston chuckled.

“What, with everything arranged? I think not. The battle is a week away. What difference will a few hours make?”

“It’ll mean a short honeymoon,” observed Maurice.

“Only takes one night, eh?” Gaston guffawed, slapping him on the back, and Maurice looked as uncomfortable as Belle felt.

“It means the King won’t be able to attend the wedding, of course,” said Gaston, reaching for the pheasant again. “Nor Prince James. No doubt Lady Belle will be disappointed.”

“Not at all, I assure you,” said Belle tonelessly.

“The ceremony can still take place,” said Maurice. “You can be married, and we can have a proper celebration when the ogres are defeated.”

“In eight days’ time, then,” said Gaston, and downed his ale in one.

x

The day before the wedding, Belle woke with a start, nerves making her belly flutter and tighten. This evening he’ll come. What will he do? What will I say to him? I know what I want to say, but will I get the chance? 

She could barely concentrate all through the day, but luckily Maurice and Gaston were closeted in the Great Hall, discussing the approaching ogre horde, and their possible plan of attack. Belle had her own preparations to make, and tried to summon all her concentration to channel magic through the crystal wand. Whether she had been successful in her attempts at magic would not become clear until she had to use what she had created.

As the sun sank towards the horizon, Belle had Marilee dress her in the gold gown that she had worn to the ball. Her wedding dress hung in the closet, along with a long veil of embroidered lace. It had been the wedding gown of Gaston’s mother, with a frothy skirt of white gauze, crystals studding the bodice and a high collar edged with pearls. Belle hoped she would never have to wear the thing.

She made her way down to the Great Hall, a book tucked under one arm. The sound of raised voices reached her before she entered, and she found her father and Gaston bent over a map of the kingdom, rolled out on the large table with markers for troop movements. Shadows stretched long and thin on the floor, the setting sun going down in a blaze of fire.

“If the tales are true, this is a disaster in the making,” Maurice was saying. “We must change our plans. The King cannot hope to prevail.”

“The men were unprepared,” said Gaston shortly.

“The men were slaughtered!”

“The Duke’s auxiliaries!” Gaston straightened, scowling. “Thieves and cutpurses, for the most part, not proper troops! What were they thinking, attacking before the King’s armies joined them?”

“What has happened?” asked Belle, and both men looked around.

“A minor setback,” said Gaston, waving a hand.

“A battalion of the Duke’s soldiers came upon three of the ogre scouts,” said Maurice curtly. “They attacked, and the ogres destroyed them. Almost to a man. The stories of the ogre horde are true. This is not a war that can be won by force.”

“The King thinks otherwise!” snapped Gaston.

“Then the King is a fool.”

Gaston pounded the table with his fist.

“We do not run from these creatures!” he shouted. “They run from us! Shall I tell the King you turned traitor?”

“My father is no traitor,” said Belle, glaring at him. “But no more is he an idiot. If the war is unwinnable, we must find a way to make peace.”

“You cannot reason with these creatures!”

“Has anyone tried?” she retorted.

“We have to do something,” said Maurice desperately. “We have to stop them!”

“Well, perhaps you can.”

A snide, familiar voice came from behind them, and Belle turned on her toes to see Rumplestiltskin lolling in Gaston’s chair, eyes alight with mischief. He was dressed from head to foot in tight black leather, the collar of his coat standing high, brushing the curls of his hair. Belle felt her heart begin to thump hard. He came! He’s here!

“Who are you?” asked Maurice roughly, and Rumplestiltskin bounced out of the chair, bending one leg in an elaborate bow.

“Rumplestiltskin,” he announced. “Or as others know me, the Dark One.”

“The Dark One,” breathed Maurice. “The most powerful man in all the realms.”

“He’s an evil imp,” said Gaston sourly. “We need no dark magic here.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” said Rumplestiltskin lazily. “The ogres are quite upset, you know. Only blood will suffice. The blood of one person in particular.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Belle, and he eyed her for a moment, his gaze dropping briefly to the book in her arms before flicking back to her eyes.

“I heard an interesting tale from the ogres,” he said.

“You - you spoke to the ogres?” asked Maurice.

“The most important part of deal-making,” said Rumplestiltskin. “Is finding out what the other party wants more than anything. Take the ogres, for example. They spoke of a dark-haired man in a red doublet, who kidnapped one of their children several weeks ago, and tortured him. What they want, more than anything, is that man’s head on a spike.”

He pointed at Gaston, and Belle felt her mouth fall open.

“So I tortured one of them,” said Gaston, with a shrug. “So what? How else would I find out what my men might face when going against them? Everyone’s heard of the Ogre Wars. Their numbers have been swelling for years. It was only a matter of time before they attacked again. We had to be prepared for what might come.”

“You tortured a child?” said Belle, horrified.

“It wasn’t human!”

“What difference does that make?”

“Like I said,” interrupted Rumplestiltskin. “His head on a spike. A simple enough request to prevent all that war and bloodshed.”

“Begone, demon!” snarled Gaston. “My men are loyal to me! No one will betray me on the words of a twisted little imp!”

Rumplestiltskin pursed his lips, shrugging.

“In that case,” he said. “I could offer the ogres something else. You have mountains to the east, enough space to allow them to settle down and live peacefully. I’m sure they could be persuaded to call off this war in exchange for a place to call their own.”

“Yes!” said Maurice eagerly. “The mountains straddle both my land and Sir Gaston’s. I say yes.”

“I say that the Dark One is not to be trusted,” said Gaston suspiciously. “Why would he do this great favour and ask nothing in return?”

“Oh, you’re right, there is a price,” agreed Rumplestiltskin, tapping his fingers together. He seemed to be enjoying their discomfort, his eyes twinkling. Belle felt as though her heart would beat its way through her chest.

“We have gold!” said Maurice. “I’m sure the King would contribute, he—”

“Ah.” Rumplestiltskin shook his head regretfully. “No, you see, I make gold. What I want is something a bit more - special.”

He was pacing, slow, swaggering steps, circling around the two men.

“My price,” he said. “Is her.”

He had turned on his toes, pointing at Belle, and Maurice let out a sound of horror. Belle met Rumplestiltskin’s gaze with her head held high, and he winked.

“The young lady is engaged,” said Gaston harshly. “To me!”

He stepped in front of Belle, and she frowned at his back, slipping around him again. Gaston threw an arm up in front of her, keeping her in place.

“I wasn’t asking if she was engaged.” Rumplestiltskin waved a hand, looking amused. “I’m looking for an apprentice. And I want her.”

“What, so you can turn her into your whore, Dark One?” he sneered. “I think not.” 

Belle opened her mouth angrily, but Rumplestiltskin tutted, shaking his head.

“I said an apprentice,” he said. “Not a lover.” 

“You expect me to believe that you’d take someone of Lady Belle’s face and form and train her in magic?”

“What do her looks have to do with her potential?” Rumplestiltskin sounded genuinely baffled. “I asked for an apprentice. She doesn’t need to be pretty to mix potions, and the fact that your mind took a swan-dive into the gutter is hardly my concern.”

“She doesn’t know one end of a wand from the other!” Gaston’s tone was jeering. “She’s - she’s just a girl! She has no ability beyond embroidery!”

Belle could feel anger rising in her at Gaston’s incredulity at anyone seeing anything beyond her beauty. She was about to inform him exactly where she would shove the next magic wand she found, but Rumplestiltskin caught her eye briefly, as though he could read her mind. She sank back on her heels, glowering at Gaston’s back.

“Well, perhaps my assessment of her abilities is more accurate than yours,” said Rumplestiltskin. “It’s her, or no deal.”

“But - but - she’s betrothed!” said Maurice, looking appalled. “The King himself agreed to the match!”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.

“He’s not my king.”

“They’re to be married tomorrow!” persisted Maurice.

“Oh, inviting the ogres to the wedding breakfast, are you?” said Rumplestiltskin snidely. “How very open-minded of you. Be sure to provide extra ale, I hear they have a head for it.”

“But…” Maurice looked to be almost wringing his hands, glancing desperately at Gaston, who stepped in front of Belle again, throwing out his chest and rolling his shoulders to make himself look even bigger than he was.

“She was promised to me!” he shouted, jabbing a thumb at his chest. “She is mine, Dark One! Choose another!”

“You speak of the lady as though she were a possession to be handed around,” drawled Rumplestiltskin. “Isn’t the decision hers, not yours? Perhaps she would find more purpose in becoming a sorcerer’s apprentice than in - well, whatever dull provincial life you have to offer her. The lady as my apprentice, in return for dealing with the ogre threat. That is my final offer.”

“Get out!” said Maurice sharply. “Leave!”

Rumplestiltskin gave a lazy shrug.

“As you wish,” he said, swivelling on his heels and sauntering towards the door.

“No, wait!”

Belle slipped out from behind Gaston, dodging his grasping hand and circling her father. She stepped in front of Rumplestiltskin, who was tapping his fingers together, his eyes gleaming at her and a hint of amusement in the twist of his mouth, as though he was enjoying himself. Belle raised her chin.

“I will go with him,” she said decidedly.

“I forbid it!” shouted Gaston, as Maurice reached for Belle, mouth wide open in horror.

“No one decides my fate but me,” snapped Belle. “I shall go.”

“You’ll do as I tell you!” thundered Gaston, his eyes flashing as he jabbed a finger at the floor between his feet. “I won’t have my wife-to-be carried off by the Dark One to be his slut! Don’t you know how our people will see this? Don’t you care how this makes me look?” 

“Your reputation would be in tatters, Belle!” added Maurice wretchedly. “If you go with this creature you will never be part of our society again! You will be shunned, and I too, for letting it happen!”

“Society is overrated,” remarked Rumplestiltskin.

“Out!” shouted Gaston. “Go back to your lair, you twisted creature!” 

“Certainly,” said Rumplestiltskin. “If the lady will accompany me.”

“She will not be your whore!”

“Sir Gaston is right,” said Belle loudly.

“See?” Gaston gestured at her. “Belle knows this is madness! Begone, imp! I’ll have the Blue Fairy banish you to the deepest pits of the underworld!”

“Sir Gaston is right,” repeated Belle, frowning at his interruption. “If I go with you as your apprentice, the world will call me your whore. No matter how honourably you treat me.”

“Honourably?” Gaston let out a hollow laugh.

“So I will go with you,” continued Belle. “If you’ll take me as your wife.”

She had seen surprise on Rumplestiltskin’s face before: a hint of a smile when she had said something clever, a flick of his eyebrows at a question she had asked, but she had never seen him shocked. His eyes almost bulged out of his head, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. 

“Have you lost your mind?” thundered Gaston, stomping forward. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that—”

Rumplestiltskin flicked his fingers almost contemptuously, and Gaston was silenced, mouth opening and closing. He also appeared to be frozen in place, his face turning red with rage as he glared at Belle. She decided to take advantage of his silence, and turned her attention to Rumplestiltskin, who was staring at her with that same wide-eyed look of disbelief.

“It seems a fair exchange to me,” she said. “After all, my father was happy to give my hand to Sir Gaston for the sake of land and gold. Surely if the bride-price is an end to death and destruction for all the people in this kingdom, the King could not object.”

“Belle, this is madness!” hissed Maurice.

“No, Papa, it’s good sense,” she retorted. “You said yourself that you wanted a good match for me in terms of wealth and status. I imagine that the Dark One must have an impressive estate.”

“It is - rather large.” Rumplestiltskin appeared to have found his voice again. “But - my Lady, please think this through...”

“I have,” she said simply. “I’ve watched my father and Sir Gaston and the other nobles argue and bicker over strategy and I have counted the cost in potential lives lost if we do not stop the ogre horde. You can stop them, can you not?”

She had stepped up to him, almost close enough to touch, Rumplestiltskin licked his lips, a brief flick of his tongue, as though he was nervous.

“I can,” he said.

“And do you have any objection to taking me as a wife?” she asked. His eyes flicked left and right, as though he was uncertain whether he was really there.

“I - no, no objection,” he said. “But your father speaks the truth. Married or not, you will be shunned by your peers if you choose me. You will have chosen exile, and censure.”

“I will have chosen a man who values me for more than my beauty,” she said clearly. “A man who brought peace to our lands, and saved countless lives. If the nobles of this land shun me for that, I shall count it a worthy sacrifice.”

He was staring at her with something like wonder, his eyes wide, and she watched his fingers twist in the air, a nervous motion. She arched an eyebrow at him.

“Do we have a deal?”