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harrysweasleys · 4 years

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save a life // d.m

Summary: You know what I always thought would be so cute if the reader is a Weasley and dating Draco in secret and he gives her an amulet and if the person wearing it gets hurt instead of dying it turns into a sleeping spell and during the Battle of Hogwarts she saves Fred and ends up on the floor instead and Draco rushes over and just loses it and then he sees that you're still wearing necklace and kisses you and it's angsty but with a happy ending sorry I'm a sucker things like these

Warnings: violence, language, blood

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: so i changed up the request a tad, sorry about that, but nonetheless it’s pretty much what the request wanted! my requests are still open but i’ve got a long list to get through so sorry for the wait. xxx (gif not mine)

“Draco, I can’t accept this, it’s far too expensive,” Y/N’s mouth was agape as she stared down at the necklace in the little black velvet box. The charm on the end, which Y/N immediately recognized as a Protective Amulet — which they had studied in DADA — was glistening brightly, showing off its worth.

“No, it wasn’t,” Draco replied, placing his hand on hers before gently kissing her knuckles, “Besides, this can save your life, therefore it’s priceless.”

She looked up at him, still stunned speechless. She knew that Protective Amulets were rare, nearly impossible to find as they were in such high demand at this time of crisis, and she had never in a million years expected to receive one.

“What about you? You need to be protected too,” Y/N raised an eyebrow, closing up the box and placing it in her pocket, keeping it safe and away from the prying eyes of passing students. Her and Draco, although public with their relationship, tried their best to keep it as private as possible. She hated the attention they always got for being together.

“Don’t worry about me,” he brushed her off, “You know I’m in a very different position than you are.” He tapped his left forearm as a reminder that he was, in fact, fighting a very different battle than she was. When he showed Y/N the Dark Mark for the first time, they had spent the entire night crying, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

She knew it was coming. Hell, anyone who knew about Draco’s situation knew it was coming. But it didn’t change the shock and heartbreak that Y/N felt looking down at the dark ink permanently etched into the pale skin of her boyfriend. She hated looking at it. It was a reminder that Draco had no control over his life, that his entire legacy was built for him, that this was the reason he didn’t sleep nights. He was just as terrified as she was.

“You’re still dealing with You Know Who,” she pressed on, tossing a strand of her ginger hair out of her face, “If anything, you’d need even more protection. You know I always worry about you, I hate not knowing if you’re okay.”

“Love, it’s okay,” he smiled softly, sadly even, placing a hand on her shoulder and gazing into her brown eyes, “Don’t you worry about me. I can handle my end of the fight.”

Y/N squinted her eyes at him, ready to keep pressing the subject, but decided against it, “Fine. Thank you, though. It’s beautiful.” It truly was beautiful. The red gem in the centre caught her attention right away, the way that it almost seemed to glow under the bright lights.

“I’m glad you like it,” Draco said softly, placing a light kiss on her forehead and interlacing his hand with hers, “Now, should we get a move on to dinner so we can make it in time for pudding?”

Y/N grinned, placing a light kiss to his lips — which he gladly reciprocated — before the two of them made their way into the Great Hall. Draco waved ‘bye’ before making his way over to the Slytherin table, and Y/N made her way over to the Gryffindor one, sitting between her siblings.

“What’d he give you?” Ginny asked, peering over to her sister with a pressing look on her face. She had clearly watched the encounter between the two of them outside the Great Hall, making Y/N’s cheeks flush a light pink.

“A necklace,” Y/N grinned shyly, helping herself to come potatoes, “Protective Amulet, actually.”

“A what?” Ron’s mouth was agape, “Where the bloody hell did he manage to find one of those?”

Y/N shrugged, placing her fork down and taking the little box out of her pocket, making sure no one else was looking, and opened it up. Ginny and Ron looked awestruck, while Fred and George seemed to be too busy paying attention to their food to notice the commotion. Y/N placed the necklace proudly around her neck, letting the Amulet dangle between her collarbones.

“Damn,” Ginny nodded approvingly, “That little squirt has some good taste.”

Y/N giggled, admiring the way the candle light reflected off of the gems. She wasn’t one for fancy jewellery, having even told Draco not to buy her any once they started dating, but this felt like more than a show-off gesture. Him giving her something that would save her life felt like the biggest gesture he could possibly give her, one that really showed how much he cared.

When they started dating about a year ago, it was as if a fire had spread throughout both of their lives. Y/N’s family — her father in particular — were in no means ‘fans’ of the Malfoy family. In fact, although Arthur Weasley denies it, his dislike towards Lucius Malfoy grows exponentially by the day. And Draco’s family on the other hand loved to call Y/N and her family ‘blood traitors’ and ‘disgraces’ as well as making sure the fact that they were poor was very much a topic of conversation.

Both their parents were still iffy about the entire concept of their kids being together, but Y/N’s siblings had learned to accept it, much to her gratitude. Ron took longer than the rest, having dealt with Draco’s bullying first hand for five years now, but he eventually came around as long as they didn’t ‘flaunt their love’ in front of him on a daily basis.

“I reckon he didn’t get one for the rest of us, then?” Ron asked, glaring at Draco on the opposite end of the Great Hall while picking at the chicken legs on his plate.

“If you were his girlfriend I’m sure he would, Ronald,” Ginny replied, chuckling at her brother’s reaction. Y/N laughed as well, her hand still playing with the jewel around her neck as the dinner plates vanished, filling the table with multiple assortments of puddings.

“Always the best part,” Ron shoved his fork in, filling his plate to the brim.

Y/N looked over to the Slytherin table, catching Draco’s eye, and smiled widely at him, pointing to the necklace she was now wearing. He smirked at her, winking and shooting a thumbs up, going unnoticed by everyone else, but causing her entire body to flutter.

— —

“What do you think life will be like after the war?” Y/N was twirling a strand of Draco’s hair, overlooking the grounds of Hogwarts as the two of them sat comfortably in the fresh air of the Astronomy tower. They had used this location for most of their private moments, using it to talk about anything and everything. And of course, it was a good makeout spot.

“Peaceful, I hope,” he replied, gazing up at her quickly before turning back to watch the setting sun. Their sixth year hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park. Voldemort had returned, Dumbledore was missing constantly, and with Snape as the new Defence professor, Y/N Weasley was worried their education wasn’t preparing them well enough for their eventual battle.

“Do you think we’ll win?” she asked, pulling her hand away from his hair and turning to face him with a more serious expression, “By ‘we’ I mean anti-Voldemort people. You know, the good guys.”

Draco, although his parents were forcing him to join the ‘dark side’, was still secretly fighting alongside Y/N. She had helped him overcome the urges that came with his newfound Dark Mark, and promised him she’d stick by his side no matter what. He was prepared to leave the Dark Lord’s orders if it meant keeping her safe.

“I do,” he said softly, sitting up, “I think that once the war happens, we’ll be prepared enough to take him down.”

Y/N smiled softly, brushing her hair out of her face, “Dad says he thinks it’ll happen soon. Everyone at the Ministry is in a frenzy. And Fred and George are basically the only open shop in Diagon Alley, no one wants to go out anymore. The entire Wizarding world is in a panic.”

Draco sighed, gently placing a hand on her cheek, his other hand twirling the Amulet necklace she was wearing, “Love, I can’t promise everything will end up being the way it was before, but no matter what happens, I am not leaving your side. And as long as you wear that—,” he pointed to her Amulet, “—you’ll be by mine as well. And that’s all I want. You.”

“I love you,” she grinned, pulling him in for a tender kiss, “We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

“Of course, my love.”

— —

The war had come.

As another wall came crumbling down mere meters from her, Y/N dodged out of the way, her wand still gripped tightly in her hand.

She had been preparing for this for two years now, ever since Harry had emerged from the Triwizard Maze with Cedric’s lifeless body. They had prepared for this when Dumbledore’s Army came to life, all of them training constantly to fight back against the dark forces that were bound to come.

But, as Y/N gazed around the crumbling Hogwarts, watching some of her friends die before her very eyes, she realized that nothing could have really prepared her for this.

“Petrificus Totalus!” she shouted, the Death Eater that was standing in front of her now tumbling down the staircase as stiff as a board. She watched him fall for a long while before deciding to take off down another hallway, gliding against the wall to avoid being seen. She had intelligently decide to wear all black clothing to believe she’d be well hidden, but completely ignored the fact that her bright red hair gave her away instantly. It wasn’t her best moment.

“Y/N!” Hermione and Harry came barreling around the corner, frightening her nearly half to death, followed by Ron, Percy and Fred shortly after.

“Oh, thank Merlin, it’s you guys,” she hugged her brothers quickly, noticing the deep cut on Ron’s cheek and the blood coming from Percy’s hairline. She herself had a few deep scrapes and bruises as well, the blood smeared across her face and hands. Some of it hers, some of it not.

“Why are you all alone?” Harry asked, eyes darting around the corridor with full alertness, “We should all have backup.”

“I lost Ginny after a chandelier came crashing down,” Y/N said, her voice shaky with adrenaline, “We took off in opposite directions.”

“Is she okay?” Harry’s eyes were wide, the panic evident in the way his head snapped violently towards her.

Y/N grinned softly, clutching her wand tightly, “She’s safe, Harry.” He let out a sigh of relief, nodding his head slightly.

“Snape’s dead,” his voice was quieter, almost regretful.

Y/N felt her heart drop. She was never fond of Snape — he hated her and her family to his very core — but he was still someone she had looked up to, “Oh, that’s awful. An awful way to go, in the middle of a war.”

“Where’s Malfoy?” Ron asked, looking out the window that was facing the grounds, green and red flashes blasting in countless different directions.

“I—I don’t know,” Y/N admitted. She had seen him not ten minutes ago, he had arrived with his parents looking very sunken and gloomy, but they hadn’t had a chance to speak two words to each other since the battle had begun. She was worried for his safety, but she figured no one was really after him. Students didn’t know he was a Death Eater and Narcissa would protect her son until her dying breath.

Her heart sunk thinking about him. Since the end of their sixth year, things had been weird. She didn’t blame him, he had insane pressure being thrust upon his shoulders. His parents wouldn’t let him leave their side and Y/N’s parents would let her leave the house or even send Owls. She had pretty much lost all contact with him.

After the summer holidays and after Y/N attended her older brother Bill’s wedding, she had not spoken a single word to him.

Were they even together anymore?

“He’s here, though,” she spoke up once realizing she had been silent for a while, “I saw him.”

Hermione nodded understandingly, placing a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. Hermione, who had been falling for Ron since third year, was the only person Y/N really confided in about her relationship. She didn’t even tell Ginny much. The only reason she confided in Hermione was because she knew about her feelings towards Ron. They often had late night chats about boys and their futures — those chats were some of the best moments in Y/N’s time at Hogwarts, really.

“Look out!” Ron shouted, but it was too late. Y/N was sent flying backwards, crashing into a stone pillar, violently hitting her skull and spine. She could feel the blood oozing out of the back of her head, her eyesight becoming insanely fuzzy, but she opened her eyes in time to see Fred hex the Death Eater, who went flying out a broken window.

Y/N’s eyes started to droop again, and that’s when she noticed the Amulet sitting on the ground in a tiny pile of rubble. It was no longer on her. Panicking slightly, she cleared her throat, blinking rapidly to regain her proper vision.

“Fred—,” she croaked out to the closest person, lifting her hand to point down at it, “Can you get it for me? The Amulet?”

Fred picked it up, rushing over to help his little sister stand up. After she was on her feet, still reasonably dizzy and lightheaded, a bright green flash had flown by, blinding them all for a good moment.

“Avada Kedavra!” Y/N ducked down, her heart skipping a beat. Someone was going to die.

Fred’s hand — that had been linked with her own — was now gone. The spell had hit him right in the middle of his chest and he was sent flying back, his body lying limp on the floor in a heap of broken stone.

Y/N thought she was going to vomit. She rushed over, letting Percy and Harry deal with the Death Eater, and picked up Fred’s head, resting it in her lap. His hair was standing on end as if he had been electrocuted, and his skin felt hot to the touch, but it didn’t stop her from attempting to shake him awake.

“Freddie?” she asked, her voice still trembling but this time due to the fact that she was holding back tears, “Freddie, please wake up.”

Ron was slumped against a wall, his eyes red and his breathing irregular as he watched Y/N try to wake up their brother. Hermione was comforting him, leaning her head against his shoulder, also trying to keep her emotions in.

Y/N couldn’t take her eyes away from her dead brother, whose eyes were still open wide, a faint smile on his lips that had been there before he got his with the blinding green flash.

“Fred, please wake up,” Y/N cried softly, ignoring Percy leaning down next to her and holding Fred’s limp hand in his own. She shut her eyes, letting the tears flow freely. The feeling of loss was horrendous. She was never going to hear Fred talk, or hear another one of his stupid jokes—

“Reckon I better thank the Slytherin git.”

Y/N’s eyes shot open, looking down at Fred, whose face was now in a painful grimace. His eyes were still closed but he was breathing. His eyelids flickered open and he coughed violently, dust and bits of stone coming out of his mouth.

“Fred?” Y/N dropped his head, placing her hands over his chest to check for a heartbeat to make sure she wasn’t imagining things, and thankfully, there was one, “Fred, you’re alive...”

“Do I have Harry’s scar?” he asked, eyes opening slightly and his infamous grin making its way back onto his face as if he hadn’t just died, “On my forehead, do I have one now too?”

Y/N, too shocked to do anything, glanced up at his forehead, “No.”

“Damn,” Fred muttered, still coughing, “That’s rather unfortunate.” Y/N couldn’t believe he was still alive. But as she looked down to his hand, which was now open, she could see the bright glow of the Protective Amulet glistening brightly. Fred had it.

“It saved him,” Ron muttered, his eyes wide as he leaned off of the wall, walking over to see his siblings, “Y/N, you had him pick it up for you and it saved him.”

Y/N was still speechless. Her own heart had regained its beat, but her head was still spinning, and the feeling of wanting to vomit was probably even stronger now than when she thought he was dead.

Fred carefully made his way to stand up assisted by Ron and Percy, while Y/N still crouched on the floor next to where he had been laying, her eyes glued to the floor in shock.

“You good, little sis?” Fred asked, sticking his hand out to help her up, “I’m the one who nearly died but you’re the one who seems to be on the verge of passing out.”

“I need to go see Malfoy,” she stood up hastily, rubbing the dirt from her hands onto her pants before pulling her brother into a bone-crushing hug, “Believe me, I’m thankful you’re alive. You have no idea. But I need to go see him.”

“What a roller coaster,” Ron ran his hand down his face, shaking his head before pulling Fred in for a hug as well, “George will have a laugh.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll find his twin brother almost dying hilarious,” Hermione scoffed, crossing her arms, “Y/N, why do you need to go see Malfoy? Isn’t he, you know, not on our side?”

Y/N shook her head vigorously, eyes wide, “He’s always been on our side. He had a weird way of showing it, but he’s never been evil,” she leaned over to pick up her wand off the floor and proceeded to place it in her inside coat pocket, “He’s been forced by his parents to become dangerous. I need to go help him.”

“But why now?” Percy asked, eyeing his little sister with what could only be seen as suspicion. Percy had been the only vocal sibling about his dislike towards Malfoy. Working alongside the Ministry for so many years now, he had heard horrible tales of Lucius Malfoy and tried to keep his youngest sister away from that family the best he could. Unsuccessfully, of course.

“Because he saved Fred, Perc,” she replied, her voice firm, “Well, indirectly, but still. He helped me. I need to go help him.”

The rest of the gang was silent, no one wanting to argue with Y/N — the fire in her eyes was burning bright and there was no way they would attempt to put it out. She was determined, and no one stops a Weasley.

“Do you want backup?” Harry asked cautiously, “Just incase his parents are around, that is.”

“No,” she shook her head once more, “I need to go alone.”

And without another word, she bolted down the nearby staircase, careful not to step on bodies and trying her best to avoid tripping on large chunks of rubble. The school that she had been practically living in for seven years looked unrecognizable. Walls were blown away, blood was smeared on the floors, unfamiliar bodies littered the corridors, and the constant flash of spells reminded her of a violent thunderstorm.

She continued rushing downstairs, luckily avoiding any encounters, and barged into the Great Hall, where she did indeed find Draco. His hair was a mess, his eyes were bloodshot, and his lip was quivering. He was naturally very pale, but he looked even more ghostly under the faint light and the fact that he was surrounded by at least a dozen Death Eaters.

Her heart caught in her throat as she noticed all the eyes in the room now locked on her, Draco’s as well.

“Well, well,” Bellatrix Lestrange’s cackling voice reached her ears and she could feel her fingers begin to shake as they gripped her wand even tighter, “It’s another Weasley, is it not?”

Y/N locked eyes with Draco, who seemed even more panicked now that she was in the room. He nudged his head towards the door, silently telling her to leave, but she shook her head and stood her ground.

“Bella, don’t intimidate our guest,” Lucius Malfoy’s voice reached her ears and she grimaced. He had never liked her, and she doubted he would play saint right now.

“My name’s Y/N,” she said weakly, ignoring the laughs of the Death Eaters who were thrilled by her discomfort. She only recognized a few of them, having heard from Draco who they were, but some were unfamiliar, and the uncertainty of the situation she was in was starting to settle in her chest.

Lucius chucked, running a hand through his greasy blond hair, “Yes, yes, I am familiar with you. Draco, this is your little... girlfriend... is it not?”

Draco’s eyes were wide and he shook his head, tossing his hair back and forth aggressively, “No. We broke up.”

If Y/N wasn’t already devastated, she was now. Was he being honest, or was it just to get Lucius to leave her alone? The coldness in his eyes told her that it was true, but the way he was silently pleading her to leave the room also made her believe he was just trying to keep her safe.

“Ah,” Lucius nodded his head, holding his wand and twirling it through his fingers, “Then why are you here? You’re hardly Death Eater material.”

Y/N froze on the spot, having no idea what to say. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open, and her entire body trembling in both fear and adrenaline.

“Isn’t it clear?” Narcissa Malfoy emerged from behind her husband, her face fierce but her eyes showing the same uneasiness as her son, “It doesn’t matter why she’s here. It matters what we do with her.”

Lucius’ smirk widened as he faced his son, “Ah, yes. Draco, would you do the honours?”

Y/N took a step backwards, wishing she could leave but knowing there was no chance of that now. Draco’s face fell and his lip opened to speak, until he was cut off by his mother once more.

“I highly doubt we should do this here. I’ll escort Draco and Miss Weasley out, we will do this privately,” Narcissa demanded, glaring at her husband, “This is a war, but have some respect for your son, Lucius.”

Narcissa approached Y/N, who was still standing rooted to the floor, face pale and hands balled up into fists so tightly that all colour had left her hands. She knew Narcissa was more fond of her than Lucius, but she didn’t think that she would be the one to force Draco to kill her.

“Come with me,” Narcissa whispered in Y/N’s ear, grabbing her wrist and pulling her out of the room. Y/N was being pulled around so quickly she didn’t have the chance to look at Draco, who was following in tow with tearful eyes.

“In here,” Narcissa pushed Y/N into a dark classroom, pulled Draco in behind her, and shut the door forcefully. Y/N was holding back hot tears, reaching into her jacket slowly to pull out her wand, prepared to defend herself if ever she was going to be attacked by one of the two people in the room with her.

“No need for that,” Narcissa snapped quietly, “I’m not going to make Draco kill you.”

Both Y/N and Draco’s heads snapped up to face her, their expressions nearly matched.

“I’m not a horrible person,” she scoffed, “I know you two need a moment. I will stand guard outside this door.”

With a swift movement, she was outside, the door shut behind her. Y/N and Draco were alone in the room, heavy breathing being the only sound either of them could hear. It felt strange being alone with him, they hadn’t really interacted or been together in such a long time. A lot had happened, and by the looks of it, Draco wasn’t exactly doing any better.

His hands were clenched around his wand, fingers white, and his eyes glued to the floor.

“The Amulet saved Fred,” Y/N spoke up first, wiping away the tears that had threatened to spill, “I wanted to say thank you for giving it to me.”

“You could have been killed,” Draco snapped, taking a seat on top of one of the desks, running his hands through his hair and then down his face, frustration laced into his features, “You know how dangerous this lot is.”

“Yes, I do know,” Y/N replied softly despite the bubbling frustration she was feeling, “But you helped me. I needed to come try and help you.”

He shook his head, locking his eyes with hers, “I gave that to you to save you. I don’t need you to return the favour.”

Y/N had gotten used to his insane stubbornness, but she was beginning to get irritated. They were in the middle of a war, this was hardly the time to get into an argument about a necklace.

“Draco, please, let me help you,” she placed her hands on his, and thankfully, he didn’t pull away like she expected him too. His hands were hot, the feeling of his skin touching hers making her entire body relax.

“How? How can I just leave them?” his voice was no longer accusatory, but gentle and vulnerable, “I want to, believe me, but I can’t. It’s too dangerous. And they’ll know you were involved.”

Sitting next to him on the desk, Y/N wrapped her hand around his shoulders and pulled him in for a hug, not thinking twice. He relaxed against her touch, resting his head against her shoulder and letting his hands fall around her waist. It was an awkward hug, considering they were sitting down, but Y/N loved it nonetheless.

She leaned into him, running her hand through his matted hair and placing her forehead against his shoulder, “It’s going to be hard, I know, but I’ll be by your side. I just want to save you the way you saved me.”

She was extremely cautious of pressuring him too much. Draco had spent his enter life being pushed into things, ordered around. When they had started dating two years before, he was careful not to let her see too much of who he was. But when he opened up, Y/N jumped at the chance to make sure he knew she would always be there. She reminded him every second of the day that all she wanted to do was help him. Watching him become a Death Eater was the hardest thing she had ever gone through — she couldn’t imagine what it was like for him.

If she wasn’t currently giving Draco her undivided attention, she would have missed the way he nodded his head softly, mumbling a quiet ‘okay.’

“Okay, good,” she pulled away from him, flashing the best smile she could muster despite the weight on her shoulders, “Your mother is outside this door. She can help us. She can tell the others that you killed me or... performed the Cruciatus curse, no?”

“I guess she could,” Draco replied, standing off the desk and standing in front of Y/N, “She told me I could make up my own mind. And I’m doing just that.”

Y/N felt her heart swell. She hopped off the desk too, linking her hand with his. He smiled softly down at her. It didn’t reach his eyes, but she could tell he really did appreciate what she was doing for him. He had never been able to actually get help before, but now that she was standing here in front of him, he couldn’t leave her.

“Come on,” she started leading him towards the door, but as she tugged on his hand, he stayed still, “Draco, what—?”

“Are you wearing the necklace?” he asked softly, eyes scanning her neck.

“Yes,” she replied, reaching under her shirt and taking it out from where she had placed it back on while running down to the Great Hall. Despite the dark room and the tense atmosphere, the jewel still glowed brightly.

Draco looked at it, his eyes softening, and pulled Y/N to him, pressing his lips against hers like she was his life source. Their lips moulded perfectly, as if everything around them ceased to exist. The distant screams could no longer be heard, and the darkness in the room seemed comfortable.

They pulled away from each other hesitantly, both of them having new found determination in their eyes.

“I think I’m ready,” Draco presses his forehead up against hers, his hand reaching to fumble with the Amulet, rolling it between his fingers, “I love you so much. And I didn’t mean it when I said we were broken up, you know.”

“I know. And I love you just as much,” Y/N replied, placing a quick kiss on his cheek, her heart soaring, and pulled her wand out of her pocket. They laced their hands together once more, walking towards the heavy door and pulling it open, ready for what was to face them.

Narcissa, looking slightly more frazzled than before, looked between them, then down to their interlaced fingers.

“I have to go,” Draco’s face was set, all trace of vulnerability he showed in the room were now gone. Y/N squeezed his hand tighter, supporting him. He squeezed back as a silent thank you.

Narcissa nodded, “I understand. Be safe, Draco.”

Draco nodded, turning to face Y/N, and proceeded to run down the hall with her by his side. Not in the direction of the Great Hall, but towards the battle, where both of them could save the place and people they grew up with. As they reached the courtyard unscathed, Draco pulled out his wand.

“Together, yeah?” he asked, clenching his jaw and gripping the wand in his hand, his other one still linked with Y/N’s.

“Yeah, together,” Y/N replied, lifting his hand to kiss his knuckles, “Let’s go win a war.”

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fanfics #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy oneshots #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy reader insert #draco x reader #draco one shot #draco imagine

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discotenny · 5 years

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!_MC With a Child_!

!Hallo! So I haven’t played Napoleon and Leonardo’s route asksnfjdjdkd. The only ones I’ve finished are Mozart, Vincent, and Arthur lol. And don’t worry about too much interacting so much , it makes me happy to know people read my stuff 🥺💕💕💕

And yea, I don’t think I can do the new characters justice, no matter how cute Charles is 🥵

Napoleon, Leonardo, Arthur, Theo, Comte

Napoleon

Throughout your entire stay, you had seemed worried or jumpy. The only time you weren’t was when you were with him

He thought you just liked his protection tbh

The time you two spent together meant the world to him

And you’d be lying if you said his presence didn’t distract you from the fact your little girl was stuck in France with her grandparents; wondering if her mom would ever return

But you’d be lying if you thought that leaving the man you had grown so found of would be so easy

Napoleon always wondered why you looked so sad whenever you two walked in the market. Or why you never visited the training school with him. Or how your eyes always seemed vacant when sweeping the halls

The final few grains of sand in the hourglass steadily approached the bottom. He knew it was selfish of him, but the feeling deep in his heart convinced him to ask you anyways.

“Nunuche,” he said when you brought him his meal

You looked at him puzzled, not saying a word. “Have you ever thought about... staying here?”

You turned to the side, placing the blanc down shakily

“No- I,” you had to take a breath, “I have someone waiting for me in my time.”

His heart dropped, a lover?

Looking at him, you knew what he was thinking. “It’s my daughter, not some lover. Lord knows he wouldn’t miss me,” you mumbled that last part bitterly

“Tell me about her,” he said, surprising you

And for once in your time staying in the mansion, you found someone to confide in. You spent the rest of your nights staying in Napoleon’s room, describing your daughter with so much compassion and love

He felt so much guilt basically asking you to leave all of that behind

Napoleon spent an entire night apologizing to you, saying sorry after sorry in hopes you wouldn’t feel any dislike towards him

That night you kissed him, interrupting his apologies and ceasing all of his guilt

You loved him, yes; but your daughter meant the world to you

On your final day, you walked hand in hand with him as you moved towards the rest of the residents

And then Comte surprised you, baring the news that Napoleon had asked for his permission to leave with you

Eyes widening, you turned to face him. “It was rather surprising, but the Comte allowed me. All I’m asking is that I get to spend as much as my life with you.”

You left with him that night. Saying goodbye to all of the residents, saying hello to your new life together

All you had to do was explain to your parents and your daughter why some strange man was with you after you went missing for a month

But that could be dealt with later 🤷‍♀️

Leonardo

He had asked it so casually. With you resting on his side, reading along as he turned the pages at his own pace

“Cara Mia, you should consider staying in this time”

Tracing a finger along your jawline, you didn’t look back at him the love struck way he had anticipated. You looked at him hurt; he didn’t like seeing you that way, especially not because of him

You breathed in heavily, tears threatening to roll down your face. “I have a son needs me back Leo. I can’t abandon him to spend the rest of my life with you.”

You left without a word, leaving the room in a hurry

It seemed as though you went out of your way to avoid him after that. He tried stopping you, attempting to strike casual conversation. It never worked though, and you spent your last few days either holed up in your room, briefly conversing with the other residents of the mansion, or confiding in Sebastian

Leo didn’t know what to say or what to do. When it was time for you to go back, you looked at him one final time and gave him a kiss

As the rest of the residents got their hugs and tear filled goodbyes, he stared at you bewildered

You left without a word to him. No words of goodbye. Just a single kiss and you were off

You belonged in another time with the one who deserves you the most

And maybe that’s what kills him. Maybe if he had thought about what he had said, Leonardo would have ended his time with you on a good not

But you were never his, and now you were gone

Arthur

So like I’m basing some plot points here off Arthur’s route. It’s been a while so some stuff may have been moved around lol

He found out about your son when you told him you weren’t a virgin anymore

With his talk about ruining your innocence and such, you just had to set the record straight

To be short, he was surprised

That didn’t stop him from hanging around you though. You two went around the town solving mysteries, and you genuinely looked like you were having fun

That is until you and Arthur stumbled upon the case with all of the orphans being trafficked by their caretaker

You were in shambles. You cried while Arthur was passed out, worrying for your son, worrying for Arthur

What if the same thing that happened to those orphans happened to your son when you dissappeared, you thought

It was irrational, you knew that. You knew that your son was with your parents at the time, you knew he should be safe. But what if he wasn’t?

When Arthur woke up you weren’t there. Sebastian had told him that you were in your room crying

Then he tells you about his doctor days. How he watched countless people die. How he watched that one little boy die. You two stayed in your room all night crying

Because of this, I genuinely believe Arthur wouldn’t ask the MC to stay with him. Arthur understands the worry someone has towards a child and how heartbreaking it can be to a parent to know you’ll never see your kid again. I cannot imagine him asking MC to stay with him if she has a child

He’ll look at you and your relationship, whatever is was at the time; and accept it. He’ll try and make you happy for the last few days you have in this time

And when it’s time to go?

He’ll send you off with a kiss and a flirtatious remark. When you give him a massive hug for it, that’s enough for him

Whatever Arthur feels for you at the time, any prospect of a continuing relationship dies as he knows he can’t possibly ask you to stay with him in the past

When you comeback, your little boy hears all of the adventures and mysteries that a playboy author and their sidekick solve together

Theodorus

Theo gets so conflicted

On one hand, he loves you too much to just let you slip away like that. You’re the only one besides his brother who he can love purely

On the other hand; Theo knows what it’s like to love someone unconditionally. How could he ever ask you to leave your daughter behind for him? Would he ever do the same for you if he had to decide between Vincent and you?

So despite being your kind of boyfriend but not really in a relationship, he attempts to ignore you on the upcoming days to your departure

It’s Vincent that explains to you what’s going on

You walk into Theo’s room and he tells you to get out

You don’t leave, instead sitting on his bed beside him as you begin to slowly lean your head on his shoulder

“You shouldn’t be doing this.” Theo couldn’t even muster an insulting name in his confliction

You look up at him, “but I want to”

“What about that kid of yours,” it’s your turn to stay quiet now

Theo’s the one that starts up conversation. “I think it’s best that we break up,”

It takes you everything in your soul to agree. With one final night spent together [having sex lol], you two end your relationship then and there

Vincent watches you two drift apart the coming days. He sees the tiredness in Theo’s eyes and your constant aversion to talking to the Van Gogh brothers

He doesn’t know how to fix it, and neither does Theo. So he tries to consol you two separately. Talking with Theo during the day, attempting to casually converse with you while you work

Vincent, the day before you’re supposed to leave, yet again asks you to check up on Theo. This time, he’s in the library

Theo on the other hand, gets a request from Vincent to retrieve a book for him. You and Theo see each other and are about to leave before you realize the doors are locked

With no other choice but to stay together until Sebastian or someone else opens it, you two are forced to talk things out

You explain that you love him, but you can’t possibly stay because of your daughter

Theo understands, and says he loves you too; he just can’t find it within himself to leave Vincent behind

The next day; when you’re supposed to leave, Theo kisses you and gives you a toy for your daughter

Your last words to him are, “Do me a favor. Love yourself just as much as you love Vincent and me”

He tries so hard to fulfill that promise, but his life is just empty without you in it

Comte

Comte already knew lol

He had discussed this with you when you first arrived. How you and your son were visiting the Louvre [is that the one from the game??] on holiday, and how worried you were for his safety

What he didn’t know is that the father was completely missing from you and your child’s life

Sooo

Big daddy Comte being the biggest daddy that he is decides to take you out every day to purchase gifts for your child

If not for them, to take your mind off of the worry

It gets to a point where you two are going out every other day to shop for your son

Is this healthy? Comte asks himself. No, not really. But he doesn’t know how to do anything else because he’s the reason why you can’t see your son

Through his guilt, something else blossoms

When he looks at the way your eyes light up when talking to him, when you happily approach him, something he hasn’t felt in years starts to blossom

He doesn’t ask you to stay with him. Instead, when the time you have to leave comes, you ask him to go with you

Because you bought too many toys and you need help carrying them

Because you want your son to know who’s been taking care of his momma the entire time

Comte almost cries right there

He can’t leave, but he makes a promise with you. Every other time the hourglass flips, he’ll visit you and deliver you and your son one of the toys you and he bought together

When your son asks you about the strange man who’s been giving him toys and playing catch-up with his momma; you tell him it’s a guardian angel

Comte definitely cries right there

I hope this was a good enough thing hshsjskw. I really like reading angst but I’m not that good at writing it lol. I changed up the prompt a bit [ofc I did I’m that bvtch] just do the scenarios wouldn’t be the same. Also I’m not that good at writing for Leonardo dejejsmrkd but my favorite to write was Arthur’s uwu

Enjoy~~

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp comte #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp theo #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp x reader #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp scenarios #ikevamp angst #ikemen vampire headcanon #ikemen vampire scenarios #ikemen vampire x reader #ikemen vampire angst #ikevamp imagines #ikemen vampire imagines

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signed-yours-truly-the-whale · 4 years

Text

Arthur and Penny Fleck

It is 3 AM. I have stupid-ass insomnia and am watching Joker for the millionth time.

I am so ... conflicted about the nature of Arthur and Penny’s mother-son relationship.

(setting aside my bias to the fact opinion that TW is 1000% Arthur’s father)

Penny seems like a caring mother ... when it would not inconvenience her to be.

Every. Single. Conversation she has with her son, she just HAS to mention Thomas Wayne, even as soon as he walks in the god damn door from getting his shit kicked in from work. There are no “I love you’s”, “I’m proud of you’s”. The closest we get to this is a passing “You need to eat. Look how skinny you are” and her bragging of her impeccable parenting (or lack thereof) in her letter to Thomas. Something inherently pisses me off that she wrote You would be proud of the job I’ve done with our son instead of, y’know, You would be proud of the man he’s become. Perfect Penny and her impeccable parenting. Arthur is extraordinarily loving towards his mother, as demonstrated in the scene where he gives her a bath, humors her obsession with Thomas Wayne, and assures her that he does not want her worrying about money. The response of “Don’t you have to be funny to be a comedian?” is such a hard burn, I didn’t know whether to laugh out of shock or just let my jaw hang open in the theater. It’s at once jarringly funny and heartbreaking for Arthur’s complete lack of reaction.

You have to wonder how many times Arthur’s heard similar shit from his own mother that he doesn’t even react anymore. There is so much underlying pathos in the webbings of this movie’s dark comedy. I could spend an entire day dissecting just the first half.

But that brings me to the point of this post: what the hell could Penny have done to make Arthur stay for as long as he did?

Arthur is, to some degree, semi-lucid to the world around him. He knows a dick when he sees one (shut up). As demonstrated in the subway murder scene and his exit from Ha-Ha’s, he is not afraid to dish out a can of whoop-ass on someone he believes deserves it. Hell, he goes ballistic on Thomas Wayne in the man’s bathroom because Thomas lied straight to his son’s face badmouthed Arthur’s mother in front of him. And yet all we see is Penny being not only a thoughtless mother deserving of some badmouthing, but a criminally negligent one that led to Arthur being taken from her. I’ve no doubt that the storylines of Thomas and Penny’s affair and Penny’s abusive boyfriend coexist in this universe.

Although the theory that Thomas had the adoption and abuse made up to cover his own ass adds another layer of angst

Penny has a lobotomy scar visible on her temple in the bath scene (or maybe that’s just Frances Conroy’s vein and I’m just dumb). I have to wonder to what degree the lobotomy conditioned her parenting of Arthur when he was young.

Why, whywhywhy would this man put his entire life on hold to stay in a city he hates, work 40-something at a job he’s disrespected at (Gary really is the real mvp), drop out of high school (as indicated by the behind the scenes case file), and starve himself in the name of providing for a mother he, by all accounts, had every right to walk away from? No amount of “You were put here to spread joy and laughter” could bribe me to stay with a woman like that. And as someone who grew up with an emotionally abusive parent, finding resonance with Arthur’s plight, I find it incredulous that Arthur had the resilience to stay in that apartment for as long as he did and do it with a smile on his face because he loves his mother that much.

Was she different when she got him back from the system? HOW did she get him back from the system? What did she do that he loves her so god damn much? Does he realize his life could’ve been so much different and better if he’d have just said fuck it and bailed and he just didn’t care because that’s his mother? Did Penny have munchausen syndrome by proxy? Did Arthur’s own terrible childhood scare him out of having kids because he absolutely did not want a kid going through the trauma he did, or did Arthur want a wife and kids but dedicated his life to his mom instead because that’s what good sons do? What the hell did she do right that he felt like he owed her his time?

Arthur could’ve had one hell of a life if he found the right environment -- the right person -- and it was utterly wasted on Penny fucking Fleck.

Anyway. Arthur is an amazing son (until he rightfully sets his proverbial ray gun to smother) and Penny Fleck and Thomas Wayne can suck my ghostly cock.

#arthur fleck #thomas wayne #penny fleck #joker #joker 2019 #arthur fleck is a good boy #breaks my fucking heart #arthur fleck deserves the world

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fishoutofcamelot · 5 years

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Gwen and Merlin sing together sometimes while doing their chores

Bro i have this headcanon too!

They started doing chores together back in season 1, when Gwen was still showing Merlin the ropes of being a servant. He got the hang of it quickly because he's a fast learner, but they liked working together so they kept at it.

However. Gwen was a very shy person in season 1, and very easily flustered. I know a lot of people think she had lots of friends, but idk i kinda headcanon that she mostly stuck to Morgana, too shy to put herself out there. She had to work up a lot of courage to go up to meet Merlin like she did, probably with help from Morgana. So Gwen didn't start singing right off the bat.

But Merlin most definitely started singing. He's very fond of noise, and doesn't like it being quiet much. Not to mention he got the singing habit from his mom, as they used to sing together. If he and Gwen are not talking, then he's humming. And she finds it funny/endearing to hear him hum, but she doesn't call him out on it because she's worried he'll stop if she does.

After her father's death, listening to Merlin hum is a great comfort to her.

One day, she recognizes the song he's humming and can't help pointing it out. Then he actually starts singing it out loud, and without thinking she does too - she gets embarrassed when she realizes what she did, but also loved the feeling. So she hesitantly starts humming along with him while they do their chores.

Eventually, as they become closer friends and as Merlin's presence helps pull Gwen out of her shell, they evolve from humming to singing. Arthur hears them once, but doesn't make fun of them.

And then...then Merlin goes missing. And for a few days she's left to do her chores alone. There is no one to sing or hum with, and it's...heartbreaking. She doesn't want to accept that he's gone, gone like both her parents. But then Arthur says he's going after Merlin, and while she can't help being elated that maybe he'll be brought home at last, she's also terrified that Arthur will get hurt. The bandits might not have left the forest, and unlike Merlin he doesn't always come back unscathed. It's usually Merlin's job to keep Arthur safe, somehow, and without Merlin by his side she's horrified that she'll lose another friend so soon after losing her closest one.

Merlin comes back, though. And Gwen sings loudly and shamelessly when he does, not caring who might be listening in, just wanting to enjoy Merlin's presence. She knows what it's like to lose him, to do chores without him and feel the strict silent isolation of it. She never wants to feel that again.

And then she is banished. He wants to go out and help her pack her things, help her pull her cart to the border, but she won't hear of it. Associating with an exiled woman like that would put a bad mark on him. And plus, a part of her feels she doesn't deserve any help.

Being banished is painful and lonely, and in those darkest moments it isn't thoughts of Arthur or even Elyan that comfort her. It's Merlin. The one man in all of Camelot who believes in her innocence even when she herself doesn't. The one man who doesn't care.

When she's sad and lonely, she sings through her tears.

Then she becomes queen, and at first she's just relieved to be back in Camelot. Of course, her relief becomes frustration when she realizes just how hard being a queen is. But whenever she's at the verge of a panic attack, Merlin is there to comfort her with a little song. Usually those ones are off the top of his head, random lines that don't even rhyme but are usually exalting the glory of the queen.

But worlds of queens and servants are vastly apart. Merlin tries to make time for her, but he always has to follow after Arthur or do chores for Arthur. And Gwen has her hands full with queenly duties, so she can't always make time for Merlin either. He sees her stand to the side at court meetings, and he often serves her and Arthur dinner when they eat together, but it's rare for them to interact much beyond that.

She tries to get used to doing her queen duties without that familiar noise nattering at her side, and she urges to sing while walking down the corridor - but it's unbecoming of a queen, so she keeps quiet.

It's so lonely, being the queen. Sometimes she wishes she'd never taken Arthur's hand and remained a servant. She always feels bad when she wishes that, but nowadays Merlin isn't around to help her when she's upset. Just as she probably isn't around to comfort him when he's upset, either.

When Mordred arrives, Merlin hardens up and pulls away from just about everyone. Even Arthur and Gwaine. Long ago, Gwen might have been the only person able to coax an answer out of him, but now they've grown too distant. But it doesn't surprise her that Mordred ends up betraying them. She wonders if Merlin knew all along.

Well, at least there's one good thing to come of all that Mordred business: Arthur's death certainly brings her and Merlin back together.

Thanks for the ask! <3

#can you tell how much i adore gwen and merlins friendship #can you also tell how much i ship arwenlin? those kiddos are my ot3 #merlin bbc #merlin #bbc merlin #ask #fish post

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crazybagelbitch · 4 years

Note

V&A universe: they’re at a firefam party and Denny and Harry are doing as kids do and making fun of a unsuspecting Arthur. Violet isn’t impressed and goes over to tell them to stop making fun of her brother 😡

It’s been a few months of dating-- and the relationship is different officially but other than the new found uh, physical aspects, it doesn’t feel that differently than before. Probably because they were dating without officially saying that they were dating. But still.

The kids have adjusted well-- again, probably because there wasn’t that much to adjust to-- and even though they haven’t known each other that long in the grand scheme of things, it feels like one big happy blended family. Dysfunctional and clumsy at times (hi Arthur), but happy.

Sometimes Chimney thinks that he’ll wake up and it will all have been a dream.

He hears bickering in the other room of Hen’s house, and ah, there’s the dysfunction. Children. Always there to bring you back down to earth; it’s not a dream. He loves Arthur more than anything, and he’s grown to love Violet as his own, but with that fatherly love comes a lot of work.

“Stop making fun of my brother!” Violet shouts, and that’s enough for him and all the other 118 extended family’s adults to go racing over to where the kids are playing.

“You don’t have a brother,” Denny says in that innocent kid way where he clearly doesn’t mean it to be hurtful, crinkling his nose up in confusion.

“Arthur’s my brother and you were being mean!”

“What?” Arthur asks, clearly confused and it just breaks Chimney’s heart that his sweet, innocent, and very hyperactive son hasn’t yet realized that he’s different in a way that other kids will pick up on. It’s definitely in the realm of possibility that the boys were picking on him and he just... hadn’t noticed.

But that’s probably a conversation for later, given the fact that Violet has just (lightly) smacked a snickering Harry upside the head.

“Okay, okay, Violet, we don’t hit people!” Maddie shrieks, face flushed with embarrassment as she jogs over to lift her daughter up in her arms, putting some physical distance between her and the boys before she turns to Athena, “I-I’m so sorry, she’s never hit anyone before, Violet say you’re sorry.”

“But I’m not,” she says bluntly, and it’s probably not very mature of him but now Chimney has to bite his lip to keep from snickering right along with Harry.

“Violet,” Maddie says firmly, hoping that all the other adults watching her haven’t decided that she’s an awful parent, “no matter how upset we are, we don’t resort to using our hands, remember? Only our words.”

“But they were making Arthur do silly things because they said he’s crazy!”

Okay, so now Chimney can feel his heart breaking a bit and is maybe a little sympathetic to Violet smacking Harry. Maybe just a little bit.

“...We still don’t hit people,” Maddie says, though she now appears conflicted as she looks to Arthur, who just looks confused, and then over to his father who looks like we want to cry.

“I’m sure she’s never hit anyone before,” Hen says finally, “Karen and I will have a talk with Denny, okay? Because we don’t believe in making fun of people just like you don’t believe in hitting them.”

“I’ll talk to Harry, too,” Athena nods, “Harry, are you alright?”

“Yeah, didn’t even hurt.”

“What’s going on? Why is--”

“It’s okay, buddy,” Chimney cuts in, going over to hug his son, interrupting him because he can’t bear another heartbreaking second of his son not getting it and he doesn’t want to have to explain it right this second, “everything is okay now.”

“Promise, daddy?”

“Promise.”

#v&a #violet said i will take justice into my own hands

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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years

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Bonjour ! How are you doing ? I've read you're depressed, I've been through it too, feel free to talk to me whenever you want ! Since you're my favourite writer, I've got an imagine request for you ! Imagine Leviticus Cornwall's young wife has been kidnapped by the gang. She's a classy british girl and she is very pretty, but she is not arrogant and is friendly with the gang. Arthur and her fall in love but Dutch want a ransom and doesn't want her to stay. You can choose the ending.Thank you :D

Awe thanks friend! My depression is luckily on the down low and I am in therapy to learn how to control it, but it’s awesome to hear that we support each other. If you need to talk, I’m here as well!

Sorry it took so long to do this one. Honestly this request could have turned into a multi-chapter fic! That being the case, it’s really long (only 20 pages lol). Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

(Author’s note: Arthur doesn’t have TB in this scenario)

Word count: ~10,500

You look over at your husband across the breakfast table with disgust. Although it’s a rather rare occurrence for him to join you for your morning meal because his schedule is so full, you’d rather he never did. Of course, you’ve no say in any of this. You’re just his wife, his property. He’s made it clear more than once that he’s no interest in your feelings, your hopes and dreams.

You’d grown up in London. Your father was and still is the owner of a prominent bank. When you were in your late teens, your father and mother decided to move to New York and start a new bank there. Your father saw the ocean of opportunity there. New York was a fast-growing city, and although it didn’t have the wealthy history of London, it had new sources of money that had yet to be tapped. Your father raved about the correctness people used when they called the area New England, for it was like it in many ways but so many of the people were “new money” and your father loved it. Within only a few years, your father’s new bank in New York took off so well he even built another one in Boston, which was where he decided to permanently locate you, your mother and younger brother.

When you first arrived in America, you knew very little about the country and certainly nothing about the American West. The little you had learned about the country was mostly in regards to the Revolutionary War a little over a hundred years ago. How the Americans had basically won against the British with little more than varmint rifles and their unique strategies of outsmarting their rivals. You learned in school that thirty years ago America suffered a Civil War, something to do with slavery. You had no idea though that many of the states had wanted to become their own separate country.

Your mother was aware that your knowledge of America was flimsy at best. Hers was the same way, so she encouraged you and your brother to go and learn about the history of America in order to appear knowledgeable about it despite being a foreigner. However, she wouldn’t let you study at Boston’s library. She insisted that, coming from a wealthy family, you should read from the University’s library and study with their tutors. Only common folk went to the public library, although you thought it would be a wonderful source to observe American culture firsthand. Per her wishes, you went to the University’s library with your brother, but you didn’t like it much. You felt that its books would have been no better than the library’s and the tutors were so stuck up and over-educated, it made you miserable.

In London, you were constantly surrounded by the wealthier folk since they were the only ones your parents would let you be around as a child. When you moved to Boston though, you were old enough to disobey them and mix in with a different crowd. You found yourself enjoying the company of the middle class. They were not concerned with manners and etiquette. Many of them had a sense of humor you enjoyed and because they were not so caught up in their wealth, they had a sense of community the wealthier folk lacked. They cared about each other. That was something so unique to you that you absolutely loved. It made you openly disobey your mother and you went to learn about America in Boston’s library. They offered tutors as well, and they were friendlier and had a richer knowledge in basic history, not just the history in politics and the prestigious like the University’s tutors had. Some of the tutors had even been involved in some of the events you studied up on. One was a former doctor during the Civil War and he told you some awful yet intriguing stories about it.

As you learned about America, you found yourself divulging into the American West. Of course you’d heard and learned a little about it as a child, the hot deserts with their cacti and the cowboys. However, as you learned about it now, you realized your previous knowledge had been minimal. You knew nothing of the true wildness of it. The outlaws, the sheriffs that were just as tainted as the criminals they sought. The tough ranchers who fought wars against wolves. The heartbreaking histories of the Natives that had lived and been treated like less than vermin by the settlers. The Mexicans who came and brought pieces of their own rich culture. It fascinated you. You’ve known nothing but civility and the West sounded like the opposite of it. Of course, you read a little about the wild gangs that flourished there and had no interest in experiencing them firsthand or even from a distance.

Your husband wipes his mustache and beard with a napkin and stands up without looking at you. His servant Bradley comes forward, holding a book open for him to read. You know this book very well. It contains your husband’s daily schedules. You have one as well. You’re used to living by a tight schedule, having done it most of your life. Your husband studies it for a moment and then says something to Bradley. You don’t hear it, not that you care. Without a glance in your direction, your husband turns to leave when the butler, Mr. Blomsbury comes in.

“Mr. Cornwall, the mayor of Saint Denis is on the phone for you.”

“About time that wretch finally returns my calls,” Leviticus says. “I’ve been needing to discuss matters with him for far too long. He’s an idiot and I’m a fool for ever getting into business with him.”

He leaves the room, followed by Blomsbury and Bradley. You sigh and finish your meal, your servant Marie comes forward to clean your plate. “Mrs. Cornwall, you have an appointment with your tailor in an hour. He is expecting you in the…”

“Yes, Marie, I am aware of this,” you say kindly. “Please make sure the room is ready to receive him.”

She curtsies and heads off. You dismiss the rest of the staff to do their other chores and head off to your own personal library to read a bit before the tailor arrives. You don’t want to go to this pointless party you’re being dressed for, but you’ve little choice in the matter.

On your way to the library, you bump into Leviticus Cornwall. Your miserable husband. You apologize for bumping into him as you know it’s the last thing he will do.

“Y/N, make sure you actually choose a flattering color to wear this time. That purple you wore to the last event washed you out. I had many people ask me if you were ill.”

“You were the one who told me to wear purple, Leviticus. You wanted us to match, remember?”

He ignores your remark. “Just pick something that actually looks good on you, Y/N.” He continues on down the hall to his study.

You sigh. How you hate him. Being born with a silver spoon in hand, you thought your entire childhood you’d be able to afford the luxury of finding someone you loved to marry. In your early twenties, your father and mother took that opportunity completely out of your hands. All the other women your age they knew were already married and some were even mothers. Your father was at least generous enough to want to find you a husband who was wealthy enough to let you live comfortably the rest of your life. Soon after, Leviticus Cornwall became a client of your father’s. They talked much and your father found out that Leviticus was a widower. His wife had passed away some years ago from complications during her first childbirth. The baby hadn’t survived either. It was arranged shortly after your father met him that you two should at least become engaged.

You were not happy when you found out. You’d recently met a young man at the library you were rather fond of. You knew your father would never accept him, he came from a middle class family. But he was your age, funny, attractive and very sweet. Just before you’d gotten the nerve to ask him out on a date, your father told you about your arrangements with Leviticus Cornwall. The man himself had been present when your father told you this, for Leviticus wanted to make sure you were at least pretty enough to be his fiance. When he saw you, he didn’t smile but he nodded approvingly.

“She will do,” he said after circling you and assessing your body. “You didn’t tell me she was so young.”

“I have no control of her age, Mr. Cornwall,” your father replied.

“No I suppose not,” Leviticus answered. “Still. You are lucky that I am a busy man and have no time nor patience to care for the opinions of others when it comes to my lifestyle. I hope she does not either, for some will think it inappropriate a man my age have a wife so young. A mistress, sure, but not a wife.”

“Of course, Mr. Cornwall. But she will make a wonderful wife,” your mother assured him. “She’s smart, she went to the best girls’ school in London. She also has many skills, she learned to paint and sing from a young age. She’s also finely accustomed to riding a horse. Properly of course, not that uncivilized way some women choose to ride with a leg on either side.”

Your mother was really selling you to him. Of course, you had learned how to do these things, but it didn’t mean you liked them. As far as riding side-saddle went, you detested it. There was little that was more painful than doing it that way, but of course you’d never ridden the way men did.

After much discussion, mostly on the matters of your dowry, it was settled. You were to be married to this man whom you barely knew. Three months later, you became his wife, despite him still being mostly a stranger to you. He’d had so little availability during your engagement he rarely visited and when he did, all he talked of was the things he had to do, his businesses and the problems that came with them. How he was interested in buying stakes in certain companies or outright buying them altogether.

When Leviticus became your husband, you moved with him down to Pennsylvania. He had the largest estate of any person you’d ever known. His mansion sat on over a hundred acres, some of them finely manicured but most used for livestock or farming. His stables themselves were huge and he even had an indoor riding arena, a rare thing to see. Leviticus bred horses on the side, although he did little of the business himself.

You head off now to the parlor where you are meeting the tailor. After over an hour of measuring and discussing styles, you finally give the tailor the final order on your dress and head out of the room. Marie meets you in the hall and holds open your schedule.

“Mrs. Cornwall, Mr. Cornwall has just received urgent news from New Hanover. His train traveling through Ambarino has just been robbed.”

“Well, good for him,” you say, growing tired of hearing about nothing but your husband’s affairs. “I have other things to attend to.”

“Actually, that’s just it, ma’am. Mr. Cornwall will be travelling later this evening to New Hanover in order to speak with the investigators. As he will be travelling, you are to accompany him.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he wants you to go with him. It’s not because he loves you, hell you’re just another possession of his. You’ll be there strictly for appearances. Marie does not wait for you to respond.

“Your things are already being packed, Mrs. Cornwall. Be ready to leave by this afternoon.” Without another word, she leaves.

You’ve had enough of this. Over the past few weeks, you’ve caught yourself fantasizing about a simpler life, one without schedules and a loveless marriage. One that doesn’t mean you’re surrounded by money but by opportunity. People won’t tell you where to go, how to dress, walk or talk. One where you’d be allowed to just be you. All your life, you’ve been told how to act, how to be. But before you got married and were still studying in the public library, you had all those friends who your father called “common folk”. Although they had undeniably less money, they were happy. Happier than your parents, happier than your husband surely. They were free to go where they wanted and be who they were. You’ve never had that luxury.

Not only that, you don’t want to go with Leviticus on another boring trip to investigate nonsense with his business. What does it matter if his train got robbed? The criminals likely only took a few thousand dollars and Leviticus had enough to buy a small country if he wanted. Still, you know that if he lets this slide, he’ll feel he’s made himself a target and a fool. As you know, he is all about appearances. You come to the decision to talk to him about you staying here.

You find Leviticus in his study, going over some papers. Bradley stands attentive before him as Leviticus murmurs things about his train being robbed.

“Mr. Cornwall,” you say as you rarely address him by his first name.

“Not now, Y/N, I have something more important to see to.”

“Mr. Cornwall, I want to talk to you about tonight,” you say, sounding more bold than you feel.

He throws down the papers and glares at you. “What? What could you possibly want? Did you not hear that I have just been robbed?”

You stare right back at him. “I heard, but I don’t know why you’re making such a big ordeal of it. They couldn’t have taken more than a few thousand dollars. Do you not take more than that on a daily basis from the people who work for you?”

His eyes darken. “I will not be told how to run my business by my own damn wife. Bradley, get out.”

Bradley bows and leaves, shutting the door behind him. Leviticus stomps up towards you, his teeth bared. You stand your ground. He simply puts his face inches from yours and breathes hard, clearly trying to intimidate you. After a moment, he takes a step back.

“Now go get ready. I want to leave in an hour or two.”

“I am not coming with you, Leviticus. You can deal with things on your own. Hell, I’ll just be shut up in some damp and poor excuse for a manor anyways. It’s not like you need me there to impress a governor. You’re simply overseeing an investigation of your own affairs.”

Without warning, Leviticus turns and slaps you hard. You flinch and cup your cheek. Of course, this wasn’t unexpected. He’s hit you several times before, but most of the time he’s been decent enough to put your bruises in places others won’t see.

“I said you’re coming with me and that isn’t changing just because you don’t feel like it,” he hisses.

You lower your hand and glare at him again. “No I’m not, Leviticus. It’s completely pointless for me to go with you. You can’t make me-”

He slaps you again and this time you feel your lip burn. Pulling your hand away, you see a spot of blood on your finger.

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he snarls.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” you say, your eyes watering from the stinging of your face. He raises his hand again but does not swing.

“If you think what you feel now is pain, you’re in for a surprise, Y/N. Now go get ready. I won’t tell you again. I’ll drag you out to the carriage by your ears if you don’t come willingly.”

You take his threat seriously. His servants will not hesitate to force you into his carriage, they’re just as frightened of him as you are. Everything in his life he rules over with an iron fist. His eyes flash as you stand there and you quickly dart out of the room, knowing that to stay means further abuse.

When you arrive in your dressing room, Marie applies a powder to your face to hide the red welt rising on your face. She says nothing to comfort you though and then she helps you into a dress suitable for travelling in. When you’re done, you dismiss her, claiming you need some time alone. She curtsies and leaves, closing the door.

You’re done with this. This life, this marriage. You want no part of it. Of course, your parents aren’t a help. They’re the ones who arranged this marriage for you in the first place. You’re going to escape though, and this trip is the perfect opportunity. You know there will be ample opportunities to escape, after all your staff aren’t that tough. They simply take care of you, not act as a guard.

Quickly, you grab a bag and stuff several items of jewelry into it, knowing you can trade them for money. You won’t go east or north towards Boston or New York. When Leviticus discovers you’ve gone, he will search for you and those directions will be the first place he looks since they’re the only places you’ve been. You’ll head west. Maybe you’ll act as a house maid or something of the likes, except you’ve no workable skills. You’ll work out those details later. Right now you focus on your escape and how you’ll be able to afford living on your own.

You head into your large closet and grab a small black box behind a rack of overcoats. In it is stored a few thousand dollars Leviticus always keeps in case of emergency. You swiftly empty it, stuffing the bills into your bag. Then you tuck the bag under the skirt of your dress. With a belt, you secure it around your waist where no one will notice its presence.

A few moments later, Marie enters the room again. “Mrs. Cornwall, the coach is ready. Mr. Cornwall reminds you that you are obligated to accompany him.”

You nod and grab your gloves, slipping them onto your arms and following her out. Once outside, you hold your head high and Stanley, your coachman, offers his hand to help you inside it. Once you’re settled, you wait a few minutes before Leviticus joins you. You ignore each other as the coach moves.

You’re taken to the train station where you ride inside Leviticus’s personal car and head down to Annesburg. There, Leviticus puts you on another coach but does not accompany you as he wants to discuss buying a stake in the Annesburg mine. You don’t care, of course. Soon his business won’t be any concern of yours.

The coach leaves Annesburg and heads west in New Hanover. Stanley explains you’re to stay in a small manor near the border of West Elizabeth. The coach travels further away from Annesburg.

The sun is setting and the coach travels along long grassy plains. Deer dash away from the trail at the sight of your coach. The coach travels over some tracks and then comes to a halt. The driver explains the horses need to rest and feed. Stanley gets out of the coach in order to stretch his legs. You wait for a moment, knowing he’s going several yards away in order to smoke. The driver of the coach is not paying you any attention either as he fiddles with the feed sacks, attaching them over the horses noses.

Now is your chance. You swiftly look around for anyone who might be watching, but no one’s around. Two men are playing dominoes on the train platform but they don’t even glance your way. A train rumbles up and then stops, preparing to take on passengers. As quickly as you can manage with your heavy gown, you dash out of the carriage and onto the train, not bothering to buy a ticket. Just as quickly, you settle into a seat on one of the finer cars, knowing that you look the part of someone who belongs there. You fidget with your hands, afraid someone spotted you. You keep a close eye on the driver of the coach and Stanley, who’s still smoking. Before either of them even start looking towards the carriage, the train’s whistle blows and begins to move.

You breathe a sigh of relief as the station disappears behind you and you check again that your bag of stolen money and jewels is still attached to you. You’ll get off at the first station, knowing that a ticketmaster is likely to come around and see everyone aboard has paid. Almost on queue, he comes into your car and starts making his way around. When he gets to you, you slip a ring with a large ruby on it in order to bribe him. He nods and goes on his way. You realize you should have asked him that he’d never seen you on this train, but he’s gone at this point. Oh well, he likely won’t remember your face anyways.

The train chugs north. You know by this point Stanley knows you’re gone. How could he not know? The coach had only stopped for a few moments. You’re sure at this point they must know you’re on the train. There was nothing else around that could whisk you away so quickly. Now you’re beginning to see the flaws of your plan. At least you have it in your favor that a train is much faster than a coach.

A little over an hour goes by and the train begins to slow after coming out of a long, dark tunnel. It stops at an old military station, the name “Bacchus” written above a rickety door. Some men, dressed in army uniforms, stand on the platform. When the train stops, you see men begin moving some boxes and barrels off a flatcar towards the rear of the train. Now is the time to leave.

You head outside, glad that none of the other passengers questioned your movements. Once off the train, you travel south, following the road but staying off it in case the coach happens to come along this way.

You’ve never been this far west before, but the country is beautiful. Tall, wispy aspens flutter their leaves in the gentle evening breeze. An elk lifts his proud head from a berry bush and stares at you, almost as though he knows he’s far more of a threat to you than you are to him. He goes back to browsing as the sun dips beyond the mountains.

Now you’re faced with another predicament. You’ve never slept outside and you don’t know the first thing about how to start a fire or find shelter. However, in a cluster of trees just south of the road, you see flickering firelight. Approaching it, you see a wagon and near it, surrounding the fire, is a blond man, his wife and two children, a boy and a girl. You approach slowly and the man looks up.

“Ah, hallo, gnädige Frau!” he says. You swallow. Of course, you took German when you were younger, but it’s been many years.

“Guten Abend,” you respond. His smile is warm and his family looks at you kindly, though they have already noticed how out of place you look in your heavy dress, feathered hat and high heels. You ask them if you could use their fire for the evening and they agree brightly.

You sit down, thanking them and the boy hands you a plate of Bratwursts and the girl offers you some German bread. You thank them again and eat, feeling quite hungry. As the sky grows darker, the family talks in their native tongue. You’ve forgotten most your German lessons, but still manage to pick up a few words.

“Ich haben ein Fragen,” the woman says to you. You recognize the word Fragen: question. You nod in recognition. “Was machst du hier?”

“What?” you ask, not understanding that line.

She gestures your clothes and then the fire. She wants to know why you’re here. You’ve no idea how to translate your predicament into their language. The young girl tugs on your sleeve.

“Ich kann etwas Englisch sprechen.” You nod.

“I am running away from my husband,” you say slowly enough that the girl can translate to her parents. “He is very rich but I am not happy with him.”

“Bist du schon lange gelaufen? Bist du mit dem Boot hierher gekommen?” The girl looks at you.

“Have you been running long? Did you come here by boat?”

You realize they must be confused by your accent. Although you’ve lived in America many years now, you still retain a decent amount of your British accent.

“No, no I only just ran away. I came here on a train, but my stagecoach driver and servant will be looking for me and they know I took the train.”

The parents nod, understanding now how you came to be at their fire.

“You are welcome to stay with us tonight,” the girl translates for her mother. “We are headed for Valentine tomorrow and can drop you off there.”

You thank them again and finish your meal. Not longer after, they show you a place under a canopy they’ve stretched over a spot of grass next to their wagon you can use. They’ve nothing to offer you except an old blanket. You take off only your shoes and hat and fall into an uncomfortable sleep.

**********************

In the morning, the family takes you to the small town of Valentine. There, you say your goodbyes and head into the general store where you trade in some jewels for money and buy some shirts and pairs of jeans. You’ve never worn pants before, but you figure the less you look like yourself, the easier you can hide. By this time surely, Stanley will have found a way to reach your husband and tell him of your disappearance. Leviticus may see you as nothing but property, but he will want you back, so you know he will begin a raging hunt. You desperately hope he never finds you as you hate to think what he’ll do to you if he does.

After buying clothes, provisions and a satchel to store things in, you head over to the stables and buy a tall cherry bay Thoroughbred named Willow. Only when the stablemaster comes out holding a heavy saddle do you realize another problem: you’ve never ridden with one leg on each side of the horse, only side saddle. Still, when you lead Willow out of the stables, you climb awkwardly into the stable and try your best to secure yourself in it, though it feels very foreign to you. You almost decide to buy a pistol from the gunsmith but realize that’s a foolish decision. You don’t know the first thing about guns and could very well end up shooting yourself. You decide it’s best to try and keep heading west, further from your home.

As you head south and away from Valentine, only going at a walk since you’re unaccustomed to riding this way, Willow snorts and stomps her foot, coming to a stop. You try urging her to walk on, but she just snorts again. Looking on the ground, you see a rattlesnake on the path, coiled and rattling its tail at her. Willow suddenly rears up and throws you to the ground before darting off into the trees. The snake slithers off, but your shoulder hurts terribly from where it slammed into the ground.

“You a’right, ma’am?” a voice asks.

Looking behind you, you find the picture-perfect example of a cowboy sitting astride his horse. His dark gambler’s hat shades his eyes from the sun and his blue shirt is worn and dirt. He looks at you, his face tanned and dirty from days of being in the sun and the wild, his jaw stubbled with a short beard. You notice his blue eyes.

“Yes, I’m alright,” you say, standing up and clutching your shoulder. “My horse was spooked by a snake.”

“I saw,” he says, dismounting his horse. “You need help catchin’ her?”

“Could you help?” you say, grateful he’s offering. “That would be lovely, sir.”

He tips his hat and then runs off into the trees where Willow went. You hear him talking to her in a gentle voice. A moment later, he leads her out. You thank him and then try mounting up, but what was a difficult task before is even harder now that your shoulder’s hurt.

“You need help, ma’am?” he asks again.

You nod and with a wavering voice explain that you’re new to this. He huffs a small laugh. “New to ridin’ a horse, sounds like ya just came here from London or someplace. You sure you’re doin’ a’right?”

You realize he’s not asking about your physical being, but more about your situation.

“To be honest, no sir. I’m… well, I come from a wealthy family but my husband died in a… a bad way and I had to run. Only I don’t know the first thing about being on my own.” You hope he doesn’t hear the lie.

“That much is clear,” he says, his hands on his hips. He looks rather attractive as he does and you blush and look away. He sighs heavily. “Well, sounds like you need help. Now I ain’t exactly clean in my own history, but I’m willin’ to offer you help until you get settled. Come on.”

He helps you into your saddle and then leads you further down the road and into a large cluster of trees where a large camp is nestled. Over the next few hours, you’re forced to sit by the horses as the man who helped you discusses with two other men whether you should be allowed to stay. In the end, they agree you can with the warning that if you mention them to anyone, particularly lawmen or Pinkertons, they will not be forgiving.

“Trust me,” you say to a tall man with a large black mustache and dark eyes. “I’ve no interest in speaking with lawmen. My husband will likely have them in his pockets, so they are just as much my enemy as they are yours.”

The man nods and walks away, asking a middle-aged woman with a thick bun on her head to help you set yourself up.

*******************************

Over the next few weeks, you learn that the camp you’re living with is a gang of outlaws, led by Dutch Van der Linde. His second in command is Hosea Matthews and the man who brought you here, named Arthur Morgan, is his right hand man.

Your introduction to the rest of the gang was not the smoothest as the matriarch, a woman named Susan Grimshaw, went into a right fit when she learned you have no domestic skills. “I never heard somethin’ so ridiculous in all my life!” she said. “Can’t even wash clothes!”

The other girls were kind enough to teach you how to do the chores around camp. You knew how to sew at least, not because you ever had to repair your own clothing but because you’d learned as a child how to embroider and knit. Luckily, sewing up the gang’s clothing is similar work, though with little art.

You like learning how to cook with a man named Simon Pearson. He’s quick to tell jokes, although he tells a lot of stories about his days with the navy and he only knows how to make a few things. You do somewhat miss having three-course meals three times a day, but you know you won’t starve here.

Most of the people in camp are kind and curious about you, although you tell them nothing of your husband’s real identity. You’ve told them all he died and never mentioned his name. For some reason, you get the feeling that to let slip the fact that your husband is Leviticus would be a bad thing. Cornwall’s got a lot of business out this way and he’s made a lot of enemies. You simply tell the others that your husband and you moved down here from London a few years back but he’s always been an abusive, hateful bastard and because you’re in America, the land of opportunity, you finally had a chance to get away from your life after his death. The others scoff at you calling this place the land of opportunity, saying there’s little of that to go around for people like them.

*******************************

You’ve become quite close to this gang that has quickly become your family over the last few weeks. Although most of them have their own sordid pasts, they’re good people. They have a sense of family you’ve never seen before, considering they come from a background your father would call “degenerate”. You’ve never seen people work so quickly and with such a sense of duty. Of course, that doesn’t mean they don’t have their problems with each other. Arguments do break out, but most of them seem to be for show and rarely end in physicality.

Only a week after you’d shown up, Arthur and some of the others came back with a red-haired man named Sean. You instantly knew he was Irish the moment he spoke. Since you both came from across the pond, you became close friends. You would have liked to get to know a woman named Molly O’Shea better as she was also Irish and she clearly came from a privileged background, but she didn’t seem interested.

The person who was most interested in you though was Arthur, the man who’d brought you here. Of course, you were extremely interested in him too and it didn’t take long for you to get feelings for him. He works the hardest out of all of them and he cares about everyone. You saw him bring Mary-Beth a fancy fountain pen one day after she’d mentioned she wanted one. During his rare breaks when he was in camp, he’d often come find you. He claimed he just wanted to make sure you were settling in fine, but you noticed he stuck around you more than the others. He asked a lot of questions about your past, what your childhood and marriage was like, why you left. You told him everything except who your husband was and the fact that he wasn’t really dead.

When you mentioned you lived your entire life being waited upon, he told you it sounded awful. “How did you not feel like a prisoner?” he asked. You were caught off guard by the question. Before you’d run away, you never felt that way. Now that you’re out here though, completely responsible for yourself, you realize you might as well have been a prisoner. You feel slightly envious about the others, realizing that even though none of them (except perhaps Molly) grew from well-off families, they’re wealthier in something you missed out on in life. All of them have tradable skills that you’re just now learning. Not only that, none of them have to put on a mask, hide who they are. Karen’s not shy about her drinking habits. Tilly used to run with a vicious gang and sometimes she talks about what that was like. No one in camp has ever had to pretend to be someone else. Something you were never allowed to do.

You sit now with the girls, reading aloud from a book Mary-Beth gave you. Although you often worked with them, they liked you to read aloud. Something about your accent, you suspected. Just as you’re reading a rather romantic scene from the almost sickeningly passionate story, Arthur walks over to your group, clearly wanting to see what’s going on. He has a habit of doing that, which you find endearing. You hide your smile and continue reading as he stops, his hand on his gunbelt. He smiles as he listens, his eyes soft.

Just as he’s about to say something, John Marston walks over and punches his arm. “Come on, Arthur. Got a job for ya. We’re gonna steal some sheep but need to go to Valentine for something.”

“Fine,” Arthur says gruffly. Not long after they leave, Dutch and Strauss head off too.

An hour or so later, the four men come back looking sweaty and angry, Strauss’s leg is bleeding. You’re washing some plates by Pearson’s wagon and Hosea marches over to them.

“Dutch, Dutch what happened?”

Dutch dismounts his white horse. “Turns out old Leviticus Cornwall don’t take too kindly to being robbed.” You freeze when you hear the name, but Dutch doesn’t notice. “He came up and tried to kill us, wants us to stop robbing him. We’ll have to leave this place, we had to shoot half the town in order to escape.”

You follow Dutch into his tent, staying a few steps behind as you listen to him and Hosea. They talk a little more about what led to them being shot at, but neither of them mention knowing Leviticus has a runaway wife. You breathe a sigh of relief. They don’t know, and if they do, they don’t know it’s you.

******************************

After fleeing Horseshoe Overlook, Arthur and Dutch both agreed you needed to learn how to rob, ride a horse properly and shoot a gun. Arthur took it on himself to teach you those things and he was an incredible instructor: patient, knowledgeable but not arrogant. The more time you spent with him, the deeper your feelings got. A nagging suspicion settled in your gut that he liked you too. It was just the soft way he spoke to you, how his hands lingered on yours when he taught you how to shoot a shotgun. One time you slid right off Willow’s back and he came over to help you up, but his hands stayed on your arms too long.

It didn’t take long for rumors to get out that you and Arthur were sweet on each other. Of course, you tried denying them, more to protect Arthur than yourself. No way could he want to be with you: a spoiled rich girl who didn’t even know how to sew a button on a shirt when he met you. He never treated you like a spoiled brat and he mentioned to you time and time again how sweet and honest you’ve been with everyone.

One night after Arthur, Karen, Bill and Lenny robbed the bank in Valentine, Dutch demanded a party for their success as they brought back a lot of cash. Everyone drank and sang together, but it wasn’t long before Sean, Uncle and Lenny started needling Arthur for having a crush on you. He denied it again and again until John came up and joined the fun, stating how obvious it was with a list of examples of his behavior that proved he liked you.

“I bet you ten dollars, Morgan,” John said, “that if you went over there and kissed her on the mouth right now, that girl would be blushing like crazy and wouldn’t even be mad. I know she likes you.”

“Shut your damn mouth, Marston,” Arthur retorted. That was until the other boys joined in on the bet, which climbed up to fifty dollars. All he had to do was kiss you in front of everyone right now. He’d had a lot of whiskey and his face was bright red, but when he looked at you sitting at the round table singing with Grimshaw, he couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter. You looked so beautiful in the light of the lantern, your cheeks pink from your own drunken state.

“Go get her, son,” Hosea said. Arthur looked at him and then got up, walking slowly over to you. He fidgeted with his hands, terrified but fueled by drink. When he got to your table, he stopped.

“Y/N, I got somethin’ to say to ya,” he said.

You smiled and stood up so he could address you. “Alright, Mr. Morgan. What is it?”

He stammered for a bit, his face growing redder. He hid his eyes beneath his hat and his hands were shaking. God, he was cute when he was nervous.

Without warning, he suddenly grabbed you and bent you slightly backwards, his lips planting on yours. Out of all the things Arthur could have done that night, that was certainly the last thing you expected. You almost pulled away, but his lips were warm and rough against your smooth skin. He smelled nice too, like pine and leather although you could taste the alcohol on his lips. Forgetting that you had an audience, your hand wove up behind his neck, pulling him closer. Your chest grew warm and a light feeling overcame you, making you kiss him back.

Someone whistled at you and Arthur, followed by several people laughing. That brought you back down to the present and Arthur pulled away from you and then straightened you up. His face was horribly red, but he was smiling. “Sorry, Y/N,” he said. “I hope I didn’t frighten ya.”

“Maybe a little, but I liked it,” you said, your hand still on his chest. You glanced at the onlookers as they continued to laugh and tease you. You bit your lip and looked up at Arthur. “What say you we go somewhere more private and try that kiss again?”

He quickly grabbed your hand and led you off into the trees and then onto a moon-bathed beach by the lake. There, you two ended up doing much more than kissing, although that’s how it started. Encouraged by your drunken states, you were the one who got carried away and stripped out of your clothes in order to swim in the lake to relieve the heat of the air and your body. Arthur followed soon after, but you remember the way he watched you swim. Not long after, you ended up lying with him on the beach, his body glowing silver under the moon. You climbed onto him just to kiss him, but as you were naked and alone, it didn’t take much to end up going further.

Although the only man you’d slept with before had been Leviticus, it was never on your terms and he only did things with you for a moment before he reached his satisfaction and was done with you. However, Arthur was so different. He touched you in just the right places, his rough hands gliding along your naked back and hips. He felt amazing inside of you as well, almost as though your bodies were molded for the other’s. He’d gotten you to release first then followed shortly after. You never knew sex could be so passionate and emotional, but Arthur made you feel and think things you’d never experienced before.

The morning after had been a bit awkward when the two of you woke up naked on the beach, still wrapped around one another. You had a pounding headache and knew Arthur did too. When you remembered what you’d done together, you both panicked a moment. Had you really slept with Arthur the same night you found out he loved you back? The two of you dressed but stayed on the beach and talked things out. You came to the decision that what had happened had felt right and you wanted to stay together. After that, you were very open with your relationship to Arthur with the rest of the gang.

That all happened weeks ago, and you’ve grown to love him more than you thought possible. You’d dreamed of finding a man to love as a child, but had no idea it felt like this. Even as a child, the men you’d imagined you’d love couldn’t hold a candle to Arthur. He’s thoughtful and secretly sensitive, but protective and strong. You remember the way he held you when Sean died, almost crushing you as you sobbed into his chest. Another time in Saint Denis, a man on the street had said something rather rude about you and Arthur punched him in the jaw. “You don’t get to say shit about my girl, ya hear?” he roared as the man fled. You couldn’t dream of a more perfect man to love than Arthur Morgan.

You were crushed when Hosea and Lenny died and most of the gangs’ men, including Arthur, ended up on a boat and stranded on Guarma. You never thought you’d miss anyone so much, but during the couple of weeks that he was gone, you felt physical pain in his absence. You spent many nights lying on his cot clutching one of his shirts, willing his scent to stay and offer you some level of comfort. When he returned, it was like you could breathe again. Shortly afterwards though, the Pinkertons forced you and the gang to flee Lakay and into Beaver Hollow, an old Murphree hideout.

That’s where you are now. While things with the gang have always had rough patches, now they’re worse than ever. People fight constantly and Dutch seems to be losing his mind. He’s changed from the intelligent, cunning but caring man into someone who’s still intelligent and cunning but enjoys killing. It doesn’t help that Micah constantly hisses into his ear.

Over the past few months of travelling with the gang, you’ve heard relatively little from and about your husband. Somehow you’ve managed to avoid the patrols he’s likely sent out to look for you and you only saw your name show up once in an article in the Saint Denis paper about your disappearance. However, with tensions in the camp running higher than ever and Dutch acting so mad, you’re beginning to fear things are about to come to a head with you at the center.

Micah strolls into camp, holding a newspaper under his arm and followed by Bill. They’ve just come from Annesburg, having scouted there for possible leads on scores. You’re standing at Pearson’s wagon, preparing tonight’s stew. Micah gives you a knowing and dark smile that you don’t like as he heads to Dutch’s wagon. A bad feeling comes into your stomach and you follow behind him a few steps.

“Dutch, I just found somethin’ out. Somethin’ that could be real useful. Somethin’ with ol’ Cornwall,” Micah simpers at him.

Dutch lowers his cigar and looks at Micah expectantly. Micah rubs his hands together.

“Did you know ol’ Cornwall’s married and his little wife ran away right after we robbed his train up in Ambarino?”

“How is this any use to us?” Arthur demands, having been attracted by the name Cornwall. “Not like we’re gonna find her.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, cowpoke. Turns out we already found her and she’s right there.” Micah spins and points right at you. Everyone in camp stops and stares at you as your blood runs cold.

“Shut up, Micah,” Arthur growls, walking up to your side to protect you. “Y/N’s husband’s dead.”

“Or is he?” Micah retorts. He flings the newspaper at Arthur. “Read it and weep, Morgan.”

Arthur furrows his brow but opens the newspaper. “N-no, don’t!” you plead, but too late. There’s a black and white photograph of you standing arm in arm with Leviticus Cornwall, your unsmiling faces staring up at Arthur. He reads the first bit of the article aloud.

“Leviticus Cornwall, executive of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar, Cornwall Rails blah blah blah has released a new statement regarding the disappearance of his wife. Back in May, Mr. Cornwall’s train was robbed in Ambarino by the notorious Van der Linde gang. In order to investigate the robbery, Mr. Cornwall and his wife Y/N came down from their home in Pennsylvania. Mr. Cornwall last saw his wife in Annesburg when she left to stay in his residence in New Hanover. It was reported that she did not arrive at the home but her stage driver and chauffeur, Mr. Stanley Wilcox, claimed she was missing shortly after arriving at Emerald Ranch. It was unknown then if they had been involved in her disappearance or if she’d been kidnapped by other means.”

“Earlier this month, a citizen of Saint Denis stated he’d seen Mrs. Cornwall in the city. ‘I’d just visited the Cornwall manor a week previously on business with my brother,’ Mr. Henry Larson reports. ‘I saw a painting in a hallway of Mr. Cornwall and his wife Y/N. I recognized her immediately. She was dressed like a farm girl but it was definitely her.’”

“A few days after this incident was reported, authorities had reached Mr. Cornwall about his wife’s appearance, but before he could arrive, the Saint Denis Massacre occurred in which the previously mentioned Van der Linde gang attempted to rob the city’s bank and a shootout between them, the city’s law enforcement and the Pinkerton Detective Agency occurred. The gang of outlaws has since fled the area, but rumors speculate that Mrs. Cornwall is among them. If anyone holds any information towards her whereabouts, they are greatly urged to come forward. Mr. Cornwall has offered a considerable $20,000 to anyone who can find his wife and return her safely.”

Arthur lowers the paper, his eyes dark. Your hands are trembling. The cat’s out of the bag now and you’re in big trouble. Micah sniggers as Arthur looks at you, his eyes tell you the betrayal and pain he feels.

“You’re Y/N Cornwall,” he says as a tear slides down your cheek.

“Only on paper,” you say. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Oh because it was so hard to say ‘hello, I’m Y/N Cornwall, you just robbed my husband but do you mind if I run with you fellas a while’ when you first arrived?” Micah taunts. Dutch’s eyes are narrowed slightly, the way they do when he’s got a plan coming together.

You look around at everyone staring at you in shock. Some look like they have a hard time believing it, Mary-Beth and John for example, while others look angry and hurt. Arthur is among them. He drops the newspaper and takes a step back from you.

“All this time,” he says quietly. “All this time and you never mentioned once you’re his goddamn wife!”

Another tear falls. “I’m sorry, Arthur. Everyone, I’m sorry. But how was I supposed to tell you the truth? You robbed my husband, he tried to kill you. Not only that, I was never married to him by choice. My parents basically sold me to him and he’s never made me happy. Maybe… maybe I was just happy to finally be around people who didn’t associate me with him for once.”

You clasp your hands in front of you, willing any of them to understand. Dutch walks slowly towards you, his jaw set. Micah follows behind, looking excited.

“You’re Y/N Cornwall. The man who has been hunting us for months. The man who holds the ticket to our freedom from this cesspit of a country. I think I have a new plan.”

His eyes narrow, glittering. You suddenly realize what he’s thinking.

“Dutch, please don’t take me to him. I’m begging you. If he finds me again, he’ll kill me. I don’t even know if he’ll pay you for me. Dutch, he hates you and your boys more than anything, you were the only ones stupid enough to rob him. I know for a fact he’s paying the Pinkertons to hunt you down.”

“How do you know this?” John asks, standing next to Arthur.

“Because I know Leviticus better than any of you,” you say. “He obviously figured out pretty quickly that the gang from Blackwater were the same ones to rob him. He also must have found out the Pinkertons were looking for you, so I’ve no doubt he contacted them and started putting money into their pockets.”

“Or you’re the rat we’ve been looking for,” Micah sneers. “Maybe you’re the one telling the Pinkertons our every move. Think about it, Dutch. All our problems with them started right after we took her in. She’s been lying to us from the start.”

You don’t know what to say in your defense. Since you have lied to them from the start about your true past, there’s nothing you can do to say you aren’t lying to them now.

“Dutch, please,” you whisper, your lower lip trembling.

He sighs and stares hard at you. “Tie her up.”

Before you can move, two pairs of hands grip you tight and throw you down, your hands and feet being tied up. People are yelling, you hear Sadie screech and Arthur roar. You start trying to look around to ask someone for help, but a black cloth is tied around your head, covering your eyes. Someone shoves another cloth into your mouth, preventing you from speaking. You can still hear though.

“Dutch!” Arthur roars. “Let’s talk about this! We can’t take her to Cornwall! Like she said, ain’t no guarantee he’d pay us after all the problems we given him.”

You feel yourself thrown over a horse’s back as Dutch says, “This is the right move, Arthur. I don’t like it, but she’s used us and this is our best shot at getting out of here. Heyaw!”

The horse beneath you suddenly begins to run and you can hear the pounding of other horses. Arthur still yells at Dutch, trying to make him think logically, but Dutch ignores him.

After a while of heavy riding in which you feel like all your ribs and your stomach have been heavily bruised from the horse’s movements, they stop. You can smell the thick coal dust and the smell of polluted water. Someone’s hands grab you and you’re set on your feet, the ropes cut. The bandana and gag are removed and you see you’re standing on the pier of Annesburg, a boat docked. The name of it is The Soaring Emily. Leviticus named it that after his first wife.

“Cornwall!” Dutch hollers, keeping a painfully tight hold on your arm. “Cornwall! Get out here! My friends and I have a proposal for you!”

Looking behind you and Dutch, you spot Bill, Micah, John and Arthur. Arthur looks at you, pain in his eyes. He doesn’t want to do this, but nothing can stop Dutch in his roll.

A door on the ship’s deck opens and Leviticus Cornwall steps out, flanked by a group of men, all holding rifles. His eyes glare at you and then to Dutch.

“My friend,” Dutch says. “I heard tell that your lovely wife got away from your clutches. Well, just so happens, she’s been stowing away with me and my boys for the last few weeks. Rumor says you’re wanting her back, so we’re here to make a deal. You give me and my boys that $20,000 and a boat. You get your wife back and we’ll stop robbing from you. In fact, you’ll never hear from us again.”

Leviticus just laughs. “Mr. Van der Linde, I admire your determination and your daring, but if you think I will give you a single penny, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

“How about now?” Dutch responds, pulling out his pistol and aiming it at your temple. He pulls the back the hammer, your heart pounding in your ears as more tears fall down your cheeks. Dutch wouldn’t kill you, would he? After all the time you spent in his camp, helping feed the others and bring in money, he’s just going to kill you. Something tells you he will if he doesn’t get his way.

“Dutch,” Arthur hisses a warning behind him. He’s ignored.

“Now Mr. Cornwall, I know what it’s like to see the woman you love die by the hands of your greatest enemy. Now while I doubt poor Y/N here is the love of your life, you obviously value her in some way. Which would you rather keep? Her life or your money?”

Cornwall glares back at him, his teeth bared. “I’m a businessman, Mr. Van der Linde. Business doesn’t care for feelings or love. Shoot her if you must, but I will not give you anything!”

Your stomach drops as you realize that this is it. Dutch is just crazy enough that he won’t care about shooting a member of his own gang. You’re not surprised at all that Leviticus is willing to let you die. To him, you’re replaceable, a mere object. Still you thought you mattered to the others, to Arthur.

Before anyone can do anything to save you from Dutch’s grip, Dutch nods. “You sure? Fine, I prefer it this way.” He suddenly swings the gun forward and shoots Cornwall, the bullet piercing his chest. He pushes you down as Cornwall’s men begin firing, the others shooting back. The gang begins to run as more men come out from the boat, leaving you where you’ve fallen. You start to scream, begging for help, but it seems no one can hear you amidst the gunfire.

Suddenly a pair of hands grabs your arms and cuts the length of rope binding them, then they lift you up. “Come on, sweetheart,” Arthur’s rough voice says as you stand.

You’re shaking hard and you want nothing more than to throw your arms around him, but now isn’t the time. Sharp gunshots litter the air, echoing off the buildings. Arthur grabs your hand and runs north on the train tracks. When you reach a bridge going over a sharp dip in the land, a path running through it, he stops.

“You go, darlin’,” he says, breathing hard. “Go, don’t come back to Beaver Hollow. It ain’t safe for you there.”

“Arthur, I’m sorry,” you say, thinking he’s pushing you away because he’s mad.

“Just go, darlin’. I’ll come find you when I can. But you can’t come back, ya hear? You do and you’re dead.” Before you can say anything else, he’s running back down the bridge towards Annesburg to rejoin the gang. You know he can’t leave of course. Not now anyways. Dutch and the others still depend on him too much.

You flee from Annesburg, having no idea where you’ll go or what you’ll do. Your horse is back at Beaver Hollow, but luckily all your money and the few pieces of jewelry you stole from Leviticus are in your satchel. You run north towards Willard’s Rest and then stop by the wide river where you finally break down. The past few weeks come rushing through you, the good and the bad. You know since Guarma, Dutch has gone crazy but you never thought he’d turn on you like that. Not when he’s spouted for weeks about having loyalty and faith to anyone who would listen. Your life has come crashing down around you so swiftly, you aren’t sure how to process it.

You stay here for a few hours, going between sobbing, missing the gang (especially Arthur) and feeling numb. As the sun begins to set, you look down the path and see Arthur riding up, your horse in tow. When you see him, you begin to cry again. You don’t run to him though, knowing how hurt he must be.

He dismounts and walks over to you, pulling you into a tight hug which surprises you. “Arthur, I’m so sorry,” you wail into his shirt. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he says into your hair. “I know why ya lied. Hell, I probably would’ve too. But everything else you said, was it true?”

“Everything is. The way I grew up, how I was sold to him. I promise his name and the fact that he wasn’t dead at the time was the only parts I hid.”

He sighs and pulls away. “Well, I guess one of your lies came true today though. Darlin’, I’m so sorry.”

Over the next few hours, you and he discuss what will happen now. He comes to the decision he won’t leave the gang, he can’t. He knows now that there’s no saving Dutch, but maybe he can help the others get out. You, on the other hand, would be handed a death sentence if you stepped foot into the camp. He asks what you want to do and you admit that you just want to live somewhere alone with him and have a quiet life, begin a family with him. He blushes but agrees that’s what he wants to.

The next day, he takes you to a small cottage he’s seen on the borders of New Hanover and Ambarino, not far from the river. It’s secluded and well hidden in the trees. You have plenty of money to set your things in order, so you’ll be well off here. It’s also far enough from the gang that they won’t find you but it’s not far enough for him to not come visit you.

Over the next couple of weeks, he visits every couple of days. You manage to take care of yourself quite well having learned through him how to hunt and skin animals. You bought some materials and seeds from the store in Valentine and are determined to start a garden, although you’ve never taken care of plants before. It’s a lot harder than you thought, but you manage to get a few plants sprouting.

When Arthur visits, he tells you of the things he and the gang has done, how much crazier Dutch gets. Arthur himself is growing angry and mistrustful of him, but he’s determined to help the others escape with their lives. Sometimes you read about the gang’s activities in the paper in Valentine, like Bacchus Bridge being blown up, Colm O’Driscoll’s hanging in Saint Denis followed by a deadly shootout, tensions growing between the Wapiti and the army.

One night Arthur shows up at your little cabin late into the night. He’s exhausted and there’s blood on his hands. “I’m done, darlin’,” he says when you open the door. “I ain’t ever goin’ back there. I’ve wasted my life livin’ the preachings of a crazy man.”

“What happened?”

Arthur explains how the son of the Wapiti chief went and did a raid on Cornwall’s oilfield in order to retaliate for them forcing his people off their land. You know Arthur has had many dealings with them, trying to help them in their struggles against the army. Arthur then describes how, after getting bonds from the foreman’s office, he got knocked down by a burst pipe. An officer pinned him to the floor and nearly overpowered him. Dutch had seen it all and even had the chance to kill the man, but Arthur watched him walk away, sealing his fate.

“If Eagle Flies hadn’t come, I’d be dead. Then that asshole Colonel Favors shot him. He’s dead now, and all because Dutch didn’t care if I died. When I accused him of such, he lied in front of everyone and said he’d done no such thing. I’m done, darlin’. I’m done fightin’ his battles for him just so he can leave me to die. I wanna start a new life with you properly now.”

“Arthur,” you say, cupping his cheek. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #awkward asks

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petriichvrs · 4 years

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DAY THREE : personal edition.

001. 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐘 & 𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘. “i’m sorry,” he tells her, voice cracking, and he doesn’t know what he’s sorry for anymore. for the sins of his father? for ginny’s ruined childhood? for the fact that he is draco malfoy, and not someone else?

we joke around a lot about the draco + ginny dynamic, but the reason that i love the noxtms version of them so much is because... we had a thread very early on between these two characters who, by RIGHTS, should despise one another, and instead what we came away with was something very real. human, if you will. there’s so much to unpack from their past, especially given how they met, and what happened afterwards. draco’s father was the reason that ginny lost... all of her childhood innocence, really, and every year after only added another reason to dislike the malfoys. the fact that we took all of that and turned the expected on its head, but did so in a way that i still think about, today - pretty iconic behaviour, honestly, and the WHOLE reason i think so highly of them as a dynamic.

002. 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐌 & 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄. he had heard the first syllables, imagined the flash of green light, had the terrified thought that he wasn’t ready, he wasn’t ready... but this woman who he had spoken to for the first time in front of his arch had tackled his would-be murdered and saved his life.

i know that technically, the neville / merry dynamic formed by CHANCE with the benefit plot drop. i know a part of me at the time did that on purpose, because we had already established that these two people should have something, some complicated relationship born from the fact that they’re COUSINS, but merry’s father took part in the torture of neville’s parents. went to jail for it. deserved to die for it, really. i think about it a lot, though, because it’s a pretty good example of the way in which all of these families and friendship circles can entwine - things are so tight, that’s just the way it is, but from that tightness comes situations like these. times when things aren’t black and white, but shades of grey. honestly, birdie, every single dynamic that i write with you makes me so happy. i’m not going to dedicate another POINT, but i will say that if i did, i’d use pain-fear-need for nev & ginny, and i’d have to touch on kodi’s distaste for niko, and ginny winding mirabella up at the weird sisters, and you know what? kingsley + arthur, who are kind of ours, too. i could go on. i want to go on, because i want to do so much more. please and thanks.

003. 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 & 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄. if it was honesty she asked for, surely she had to know : it was honesty that drove them to their little entanglement and honesty in return that broke it off. no matter their best intentions, it seemed their collective relationship with truth was scandalous at best and damning at worst.

admittedly, i always forget that george and merry haven’t had as much on the dash as what i think they have. i think that’s the mark of a good connection. i didn’t ever imagine there being so much layers to the relationship formed between merry and the person that she had an affair with, but then... you gave me george, and he’s brilliant. they’re brilliant. there’s something so heartbreaking about the ways in which they needed one another, and the ways in which they pass by one another, only sometimes able to collide. there’s a different sort of need with each of them, and i really love that this sort of complicated relationship formed between a weasley and a lestrange : yet another pair of people who should hate one another, united by something... indescribable. daisy, george brings me such joy, all of the time. you write him incredibly, and his struggle is so real. ginny and george are so near and dear to me ( the video of george in gof clutching ginny to his side to protect her as the de’s attacked the campsite lives rent free in my head ), and i could have mentioned them, too, and gone off on them just as much. but george and merry are unique. and i love ‘em !

004. 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄 & 𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐈 𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐅. everyone’s favorite bug eyed bastard, apparently.

you guys. i’m kidding. i’m not, really, but, this will change subjects rapidly very quickly so just stick with me. i was going to do an actual dynamic, again, i had my little list, but... i didn’t realize until tonight how much people enjoyed reading niko, specifically the ways he interacts with people. i’m a little self conscious about him all the time. there’s things about his character that i didn’t ever write explicitly, such as... the reason for the way he is, etc- and i love him, but i worry that i don’t characterize him properly, or that people will perceive him wrongly. most of all i live in fear that his SORT of character will turn sour, eventually, and people will stop being interested in him. i think it’s a testament to everyone else that niko has become... noxtms nikolai, because i couldn’t have shown so many different parts of his character if it hadn’t been for all of you - birdie with kodi, blo with nell, of course lex with kaela and of course gia with damien, sam with viktor, nancy and selene, and... u know, even the uncle igor memes. thank you for taking him and allowing me to write him opposite of all of you, and allowing me to create dynamics that i really enjoy. they’re... very special to me, thank you.

BUT. like i said. i really... didn’t know how to narrow this down. i have been blessed by... the girl gang ( aura, mafalda, ginny ) that likes to feed a giant squid. an AMAZING luna played by mozzie, who i’m admiring so much and can’t wait to start swamping in threads. finally, the hermione that we all deserved. an ALICIA SPINNET who’s training ginny, now, who’s like a sister to her, who she loves so much. heather by atlas, a dynamic that hasn’t resurfaced, yet, but was so fun and chaotic, at one point. and then. we go deeper. i’ve got MALFAM thanks to blo and cherry, i’ve got sybill’s favorite student lavender thanks to beth, i get to write with a fantastic tonks because of gia ( who’s going to be an EQUALLY fantastic molly ), and sybill finally has her daughter, and i love her, and i’m so excited about her. there’s gin’s drinking buddy dudders and merry’s favorite bookshop owner, penny. and i’m. just. full of love tonight, you guys. i really am. thank you so much. thank you for writing with me, and forgiving me when i’m just so fuckin busy. i really do love you ALL, and if we don’t have anything yet, i cannot wait until we do.

#nox.task #i will do a very unpersonal one also but now im in my feelings

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nataliademarquis · 4 years

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HSHQTASK012: a timeline

so this is natalia’s life. and it’s super long, and idek ... this is like timeline x psyche.

the answer mickey, is no one.

TW: eating disorder

23 MARCH 1996

it is late into the night that that natalia is born. an easy delivery- and hell, she hardly lets out a cry when she’s exposed to the world. the doctors have to check if she’s breathing- she is. her mother holds her tight, grateful that her features won out on the gene pool, and she is safe.

04 SEPTEMBER 1999 (3)

her mother and father are arguing- she doesn’t see them for long before she’s swooped away by the nanny. she sits in the kitchen with her nanny with a toy and some shortbread until her mother comes to retrieve her. something is off, she can tell, but she knows better than to raise questions.

09 MAY 2001 (5)

there’s so many cameras. she’d been photographed a time or two before but it seemed there was a mob as she exited the car. her mother is behind her, guiding her into the palace. the night before she’d been pulled aside by nicole- she heard an explanation that she could barely comprehend. her new, actual father ? she hadn’t heard of such a thing ... they didn’t make movies for these princesses.

16 AUGUST 2001 (5)

she’s grown used to arthur, it’s nice to have a companion, toys are fun but they only provide so much entertainment before you realize you are alone. sharing is not a skill she was used to- but she’s learned she does not mind it. it is the nice thing to do.

2003 (7)

the girls are just. like. her. every morning she’s dressed in a starched white blouse and a pleated, plaid jumper. knee socks hiked up along with the shiny mary janes. you wouldn’t be able to pick natalia out of the gaggle of noble daughters by looking at them. but teachers are more lax; and every one’s mum and dad wave at her after school before she’s put in the car. because she’s not just a lady, she’s the princess.

after school her governess takes over- ballet classes for hours, then time spent where she’s taught etiquette before she learns how to do addition; what fork to use for supper before completing her reading comprehension homework. dinner is eaten in silence, and they’re dismissed when her father leaves the table ... and the day starts again, and again.

14 APRIL 2004 (8)

she is eight and arthur jr. is eleven, and they’re brought to the races with their father. at one moment they bicker and get annoyed by petty sibling squabbles, but the next arthur is helping brush grass of her dress- and she thinks it’s in that moment, that one moment of caring affection, she has a brother.

23 MARCH 2006 (10)

she celebrates her 10th birthday in the gardens at kensington- and already the girls from her class are vying for invitations. she invites the cavendish siblings and the fitzroys of course, along with girls in her class her mother found to be particularly interesting and useful. whatever that means. she’s seated next to the scottish princesses- there’s something enviable about their bond that natalia can see from just looking.

2009 (13)

two new additions. antonia ives, the eldest child of her father so far, and now her older sister. and andrew beaufort, another older brother. it wasn’t just she and arthur anymore it seemed.

2010 (14)

vaugh ashcroft is the next name, and it’s four siblings she has now, correct ? when she gets to school the girls at st. george’s gather around her- they’ve made her their leader - every move she makes is noted and sometimes copied, she can’t fathom why, and any of her wishes is their command. but natalia doesn’t know what to do with the power of a queen b.

2011 (15)

natalia made balancing schooling and every other extracurricular that made her great look simple. it would have to be so - natalia would be reminded by her mother that she was better than the other girls, yes all of them, and would have to show them so. and as if she needed a reminder of her imperfections her ballet teacher reminds her that part of her role is looking the part, as eyes scan her body. she skips dinner. and sometimes lunch. no one notices anyways - her mother only gushes about how good she looks in her clothes.

but it all seems worth it as she takes her bow on stage, but she looks into the crowd for a familiar face, perhaps her mother, father, or brother were late and couldn’t wish her good luck. but to no avail, the crowd is full of parents and family, but not hers, not “hers”. it was a silly thought anyways and natalia can’t hold back the tears for much longer as she exits the stage - and it takes only seconds before her so called minions are at her side, coddling her. you can’t cry in front of them natalia. so she puts on a smile as the water falls, and waves them away. happy tears, she says - though, she doesn’t know the feeling.

2012 (16)

another year, but everything’s the same - the crushing responsibility of being perfect still weighs on her - but she’s caught the attention of a cute eton boy that calls her pretty and sometimes gives her attention she craves. it’s more than enough to feed the void and makes her feel slightly less empty than usual. a distraction - she hardly remembers her struggles when being paraded as a debutante in a pretty dress.

but when he graduates in may, and says goodbye for college - he breaks her heart. she supposes she knew he was going to leave, but she can’t help but dwell on the good memories.

2013 (17)

no one knows if her injury onstage was intentional or not, but after her tendon is torn a slight weight is lifted off her shoulders. her collection of pointe shoes are shoved in the closet to never be seen again, though it’s clear that it’s not the root her problems.

2014 (18)

all the girls in her class gush about their colleges and passions, and she smiles and congratulates them of course - as they do her - but they don’t know that her choice has been made for her.

graduation day is full of uncertainty, she asks her chauffeur if he knows anything about who would attend for her, and it’s with anticipation that she walks out on stage - and for once, her mother and father are in the crowd. granted, for only a moment, but for the first time the faces in the crowd aren’t all so unfamiliar.

her first semester takes adjusting. at first she’s determined to make a name for herself that’s not the princess, though failing miserably. the classes are hard and boring and frankly she is not above using her title in her favor.

umm take everything after this with a grain of salt i’m still adjusting the years. actually the stuff above too lmfao

2015 (19)

but what she likes is the semblance of freedom, or it might just be the fact she is away from the root of her problems (at least, physically.) she makes herself busy enough so that she doesn’t have to think about it.

it’s in her second year at oxford that giovanni catches her eye. it’s the same flags as before but she doesn’t learn, no, this is different. she reads into things too much and thinks she’s decoded him, any rudeness or callousness just means he likes her. right ? oh, what does she know about love ??

2016 (20)

natalia is all too comfortable. the main problems on her mind is how her political theory class is a complete snooze fest, and how she will get excused from her midterm to attend new york fashion week, because being away from everything (even if not very far) causes her to turn a blind eye on things brewing.

2017 (21)

her final year and she can almost say she’s happy - life is lax until well - betrayal has her cutting her italian holiday short, returning home to england. though it doesn’t stop there - only a few months into her third year, her father has been forced to abdicate. the air around her changes - her peers are unsure of what to say and she’s not sure she wants their condolences anyways.

2018 (22)

she graduates ! magna cum laude, and she even gets to make a speech, despite controversy.

and after much deliberation she’s sent to the greek island - her mother says it’s safer than england and she had any sense she’d use her connections wisely. she tries to make peace and a semblance of a relationship with her sibling, usually to little avail. and when gio makes an appearance again, the cycle of unfortunate heartbreak begins all over.

2019 (23)

she’s surrounded by people but has never felt lonelier. five siblings, and even an engagement. but nothing was tying her to her siblings anymore, they were all drifting away. ties were being severed for the sake of a title - a stupid title.

when her mother calls her, it’s only for new developments at home, or reminders of conversations she needs to have with monarchs, relationships she’d need to maintain.

no siblings, no father, and hardly a mother - what is there left ?

#hshqtask012 #anyways i had this in my draft 4 ever and decided to finish today instrad of doing replies lmfao #beware ... it's LONG #( task. )

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downbeatofsix · 6 years

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if it’s you

Lucas smoothes the crease between Eliott’s eyebrows. “You don’t have to be sorry, baby.”

“You’re taking care of me and I’m gross and cranky and fucking depressed, Lucas,” Eliott rasps. “I kind of have to be sorry.”

For a minute, they’re both quiet. Then Lucas scoots closer and presses their foreheads together. “Okay, so you’re cranky and depressed and a little gross.” Eliott huffs the ghost of a laugh, and Lucas continues, “But of course I’m going to take care of you. I take care of you, you take care of me. That’s what we do.”

sick fic (five-times-plus-one but make it lazy), cross-posted to ao3 here

Lucas notices it on a Sunday.

It’s afternoon but he is only just getting up. There’s a dull throb in his head (which, considering the amount of Arthur’s beer he and Yann had drank last night, isn’t too bad) and his whole body hurts. That’s also normal, and something of a triumph – proof he drank hard and danced hard and laughed hard with his friends.

Swallowing, Lucas registers that his throat feels rough. That isn’t normal.

But he showers anyway (“Finally!” Mika hollers from the kitchen, “He emerges!”) and dresses in his softest clothes. He always feels better after a shower but the scrape in his throat doesn’t go away, and the ache in his head only gets worse.

It’s fine. Just a rough morning after a good night.

So he lazes around all day, chipping away at some homework and mostly messaging friends. He’s so distracted by the gang’s group chat that he doesn’t realize until Mika goes to bed that it’s late, and he hasn’t been hungry all day, and his skull feels like one big bruise someone’s been trampolining on.

It’s fine. He crawls into bed and closes his eyes against how the whole world won’t stop spinning. It’ll be better in the morning.

***

It isn’t better in the morning.

But it’s fine. Blearily, Lucas wills his eyes to focus on his phone screen. He really can’t miss school: they’ll call his father, and then his father will be angry, and his father can’t be angry at him because then he might not give Lucas rent money and Lucas really, really needs rent money. So he’ll go to school.

So he goes to school.

He can’t focus the entire day, and when he tries to talk the words stick in his throat. He can’t get warm, either, and eventually Yann notices and wraps his own scarf around Lucas’s throat. (God, Yann. Lucas almost misses being in love with him. It’s little things like this, little kindnesses, that would have made his heart flutter hopefully, but after the mess of last year, he’s never been able to feel the same. And he could never ask for a better friend.)

When Lucas gets home, he collapses into bed and sleeps until his alarm goes off the next morning.

It’ll be fine tomorrow.

***

Eliott notices on a Tuesday afternoon.

He’s passing through the mathematics hall (the hall where Lucas’s locker is) and he can’t help it – he looks for him. It’s a habit now anyway. It puts a smile on his face, usually, because Lucas is almost always laughing with his friends, or elbowing the tall curly-haired one in the ribs, or gesturing wildly. (In fact, Eliott can hear them now.) Or sometimes, on Eliott’s very favorite days, Lucas’s friends haven’t arrived down the hall yet, and Lucas is deep in thought, pensive, a little withdrawn and a lot more approachable, because Eliott recognizes that aloneness. (Eliott used to worry he was projecting, but now, after watching him a bit, he knows that Lucas’s face isn’t just pretty; it’s remarkably open.)

Today, though. Today Lucas’s friends are all gathered around him, as boisterous as ever; the one with glasses and the handsome black one teasing the curly-haired one mercilessly. But Lucas looks like he’s going to fall over.

He’s bundled to the point where it’s almost funny. His jaw is buried in a light blue scarf but his face above that is flushed noticeably flushed. His hands, when he tries to open his locker, are shaking.

“Let me,” Eliott hears one of his friends offer as he passes.

“Thanks,” Lucas says, voice so raw and tired that Eliott winces. “Just leave the lock open, it’s fine.”

Poor boy. Poor poor boy. It’s so soft and kind of gross, but Eliott wants to bundle him up in fleece and take him home. Eliott wants to tiptoe through his own apartment because Lucas is sleeping in his bed, because Lucas needs the sleep, until his fever breaks.

He’s only ever taken care of Lucille like that.

In their second year, she had gotten pneumonia in both lungs and it had scared the shit out of him. He was over at her parents’ place constantly, getting her tea, stroking her hair. Listening to her wheezing breath, he realized he had never felt so tender towards another person. Sympathy for her flowed through him like blood.

Six months ago, Eliott hadn’t wanted sympathy. He didn’t want to take his meds, he just wanted it all to be over.

Unfortunately, a suicide attempt isn’t something a person can just cough out.

Watching Lucille’s tenderness turn into tired pity turn into the detached responsibility of a caretaker hadn’t really been heartbreaking. It was just hard, and cold, and exhausting, and he was already so goddamn tired.

If Lucille got sick again, if she needed him again (which she doesn’t right now, he knows), he would still pick her tissues up off the floor and change the sheets. And maybe that tenderness would still pool high in his throat. But it would mostly be guilt, and some sick satisfaction at keeping the blinds shut.

This thing he feels for Lucas – that spark, that recognition – is exciting. The jolt in his chest that Eliott gets when he sees him or his friends or just blue eyes is something to look forward to. He doesn’t really know Lucas, as badly as he wants to, as hard as he’s tried to from such a distance. There’s safety in that. And Eliott had missed the butterflies that come with a crush, with peeking around corners for somebody, with thinking up meet-cutes where their eyes would meet and Lucas would feel it, too. That instant knowing-ness. All that potential is really a daydream, and Eliott knows it.

So this urge he feels to kiss the top of Lucas’s forehead and rub the goosebumps off his arms is surprising. Tenderness hasn’t factored into this until now. When Eliott realizes that’s what he’s feeling, he almost trips up the stairs.

But he can’t stop thinking about it.

He’s been listening to what Lucille tries not to say for so long that he’s started to doubt his own feelings. The pull he feels towards Lucas – just a simple crush. What he feels when he’s manic is stupid, impulsive, ridiculous. The depression is weak, embarrassing, dramatic.

But maybe there’s more to this than he thinks there is.

***

Lucas had thought the day could only go up from how he had woken up on Wednesday morning – late, not shivery now but gross and clammy on top of sore inside and out. He had ran to the bus stop and spent the whole ride wheezing softly, pathetically. When he had finally gotten to school, the halls were entirely empty, and now, now, as he rests his forehead against his locker door, he realizes that someone has been rooting around in his locker. All of his textbooks have been neatly stacked (a huge improvement from the haphazard system of shoving them around that he has perfected), and the half-eaten protein bar that had been floating around has been removed.

And whoever it was has left him something. The only thing that’s sketchy is that they had opened his locker in the first place, and Lucas is so out of it that he probably wouldn’t have realized if the to-go cup and Influenzium packets weren’t right on top of his (now perfectly arranged) textbooks.

When he does see it, though, it makes him smile. The only person he knows that is that kind is Yann, and he’s so lucky to have him.

He reaches for the cup and curls his cold hands around it – it’s still hot, and steaming, and what’s inside smells like lavender and chamomile… Which makes Lucas pause with the cup halfway to his mouth.

Yann and his mother both hate lavender anything to the point that they don’t allow it in the house.

Arthur had texted the group chat last night that he was sick, too, and taking the day off. And there’s just no way Basile would have been so thoughtful.

Loud as he and his friends are, as dramatic as last year had been – no one really notices Lucas. (Which isn’t a bad thing.) There are very few people that would notice how he’s feeling, sick as he is, and do something so simple and kind about it.

Maybe – Lucas’s chest twinges guiltily – Emma?

Lucas shuts his locker door, hinging it shut so it doesn’t actually lock, and sets off for class before he gets later than he already is.

That has to be it. No one else knows what number his locker is, or interacts with him enough to notice he’s sick in the first place.

Fuck. Well – they’re still kind of friends. Enough so that it doesn’t make this weird. And it wouldn’t be weird if he just accepted it and didn’t say anything about it, right?

It’s a little weird.

But Lucas has already started sipping at the tea, which is still just a little hot and feels perfect on his throat. So perfect, it makes him sigh in relief. And somewhere so deep inside of him he can ignore it, he’s been lit up with the knowledge that someone noticed; that someone cared.

And as he slips into class, he doesn’t notice a boy leaning across the corridor in the corner, smiling softly to himself before he turns to his own business.

***

It becomes, for the rest of the week, a little routine. Each morning, no matter how early Lucas gets to school, there’s tea waiting for him in his locker. He gets steadily better, until by Friday his throat is barely sore at all, and he locks his locker.

By the next week, Lucas has almost forgotten that anything out of the ordinary had happened at all, even if the smell of lavender makes him smile without realizing it. And that's all there is to it for a long time.

***

Two months later, Lucas is shivering in his sleepshirt as he minces through Eliott’s apartment, quiet as possible because Eliott is asleep, because Eliott needs the sleep.

It’s fairly early in the morning – the world is still gray and soft outside the windows, and Lucas feels the same. He’s glad to be here with Eliott, no matter how many times Eliott tells him he should go. (No matter how many times Eliott melts into his touch, or takes deep shuddering breaths with him, or sighs softly in his sleep.)

Lucas won’t go.

But besides that, he’s not sure what he should do. He knows what Lucille told him – be there, be calm – but it sounds easier over the phone than in practice. He doesn’t want to make Eliott feel like a baby. He just wants to make it easier, if he can. At least remind him that it’s all right if he feels alone, but he isn’t. Because Lucas is going to stay.

So he starts rooting around in the cupboards, not looking for anything in particular. Maybe a little something for Eliott to eat, if he feels up to it. Or –

Lucas bumps something off the shelf, and a box tumbles out of the pantry at his feet. With a soft curse, he stoops to pick it up. It isn’t anything breakable, thank God; just a mostly-empty box of lavender chamomile tea.

Lavender chamomile tea?

Lucas pauses and opens the box, holds it up to his nose, and breathes deep. Memories of a distant headache, and soft comfort, and the yellow of his locker surface gently. Memories of Eliott, smiling up at him that first morning, whispering, "I saw you on the first day of school...You were all I saw, actually."

Lucas’s throat tightens even as warmth spreads through his whole body. Quietly, he makes Eliott tea, pours it into a mug perfect for cradling, and tiptoes back into the bedroom.

Eliott is just barely starting to wake up, with his breathing changing and brow starting to furrow. Lucas sets the tea down on the nightstand and climbs back into bed, pulling Eliott’s naked back close to his chest.

“Good morning,” Lucas murmurs into the crook of Eliott’s neck.

“Good morning,” Eliott whispers, and his voice is rough and quiet.

Lucas wants to ask, How are you feeling?, but bites his tongue. Instead, he kisses Eliott’s shoulder soft enough to not be a kiss at all, and Eliott turns in bed to face him.

“Hey,” Lucas says quietly. Eliott’s face is completely blank, eyes puffy, hair greasy and more of a mess than usual. He isn’t beautiful like this, but he doesn’t have to be. And Lucas loves him. These are undeniable facts. “I made you tea. Want any?”

Eliott twists his mouth to the side. “Not really. I’m sorry.”

Lucas smoothes the crease between Eliott’s eyebrows. “You don’t have to be sorry, baby.”

“You’re taking care of me and I’m gross and cranky and fucking depressed, Lucas,” Eliott rasps with some venom. “I kind of have to be sorry.”

Eliott closes his eyes. “When have I ever taken care of you?”

Lucas smiles. “Well, there was this one time a few months ago when I was really sick, and I thought no one noticed. And then one morning, someone did.”

“Oh, really?” Lucas notices that Eliott has stilled. He runs a hand down Eliott’s back.

“Eliott,” he starts, and has to stop. Quieter, more serious – “You’re so kind, and so giving. Always. And to me. You took care of me before I even knew your name. That’s how good you are. So, so good.”

Carefully, Lucas draws away to better look Eliott in the eyes. Seeing how Eliott’s have started to spill over silently, Lucas cups his face in his hands.

Eliott whispers, “What if I hadn’t noticed you were sick?”

“In some alternate universe, maybe you didn’t,” Lucas says. “But if I didn’t die of a fever and sore throat” – here Eliott smirks a little, against his will – “I still love you in that one. Just like I love you in this one. And that’s why I’m here. Because I want to and I love you. And I can tell you that by taking care of you, and staying with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. Just like you didn’t have to take care of me all the times that you have.”

They look at each other, remembering: Eliott leading Lucas onto the bus, pulling Lucas into a side-alley, walking him home, tugging him forward. Giving him strength when he can. Giving him love when he can, without need for recognition or recompense, because he can.

Because that’s what they do.

“But what if – ” Eliott starts, and Lucas interrupts, gently wiping under his eyes.

“I have an idea.”

“Dangerous,” Eliott whispers, and Lucas beams at him.

“You’d know, huh? But listen. Here’s my idea: only look as far into the future as you need to. I want to be with you, and you want to be with me. And that’s what matters right now – that we’re together, right now.”

“What if I can only look into the next minute?” Eliott asks, bare. Lucas’s heart breaks with tenderness for another countless time.

“Then we’ll take it minute by minute.”

“Minute by minute,” Eliott echoes, and closes his eyes. Takes a breath. Gives the ghost of a smile. "Okay. For the next minute - I request a kiss good morning. And then another minute to breathe. And then," he continues, opening his eyes, catching the first real light of morning over Lucas's face, "maybe some tea. We'll see. You were so nice to make it for me, after all."

He brings his hands to finally pull Lucas into him, touch him back for the first time this morning, and Lucas feels something settle. Eliott tilts his head up, and Lucas smiles, quick and bright, and goes, more than willing.

Notes: title is from here, main blog is here, thanks for reading xoxoxo

#skam france #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #elu

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lgbtqiahistoricalromance · 6 years

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Most Anticipated LGBTQIA+ Historical Romance Novels for 2019

Any Old Diamonds by KJ Charles

- In which we stick it to a duke. Any Old Diamonds is set in the late Victorian era and inspired by a number of things: a real historical crime (not telling you which, that would be a giveaway), the popular theatre of the time (hence the music-hall title), and my urge to find out what happened to some characters in my Sins of the Cities series, set twenty years earlier. I loved writing this one; I hope you enjoy a more-sociopathic-than usual hero.

How to Talk to Nice English Girls by Gretchen Evans (February 14 - @carnationbooks )(f/f)

- n the aftermath of The Great War, everything is changing. But not for Marian Fielding.Marian’s life is quiet and predictable in the solitude of the English countryside, where she plans to remain and care for her parents.But Marian’s world is turned upside down when she meets brash, confident Katherine Fuller. Katherine arrives at the Fieldings’ estate for the wedding of Marian’s sister and immediately shakes things up. Instead of keeping an eye on the ill-mannered American girl and keeping her out of trouble, Marian finds herself magnetically drawn to Katherine’s vivacious nature, and they are swept into a whirlwind romance that will change both of their lives.But will Katherine’s unconventional behavior ruin their chance at happiness? Can Marian leave her old life behind? Will two women from different worlds find a way to be together against all odds and expectations?

Royal Court (A Royal Romance Book Three) by Jenny Frame (January 14 - Bold Stroke Books)

- Captain Quincy is a steady and reliable Royal Marines officer, decorated for gallantry after a mission that nearly killed her and the men under her command. At a crossroads in her career, Quincy reluctantly accepts when her old comrade, Queen Georgina, asks her to join the Royal Protection Command as the Queen Consort’s new protection officer. Holly Weaver, Royal Dresser and self-confessed man-eater, starts to question her sexuality when she has a girl-crush on famous actor, Story St. John and, then, polo player and friend of George’s, Captain Quincy. The good-looking captain’s emotionless personality is the opposite of Holly’s exuberant lust for life. When a threat to the Queen Consort emerges, Quincy and Holly clash over the best way to protect her. As the fiery passion they can’t deny begins to melt Quincy’s heart, Holly must decide how much of her own she is willing to risk.

The Replacement Husband by Eliot Grayson (January 4 - Smoking Teacup Books)

- Goddess-blessed Owen Honeyfield is destined to enjoy perfect good fortune. The arrival of handsome and eligible Tom Drake in his country town appears to be the latest manifestation, and Tom’s whirlwind proposal is the fulfillment of Owen’s desires. When his betrothal takes a disastrous turn, Owen is left heartbroken and at the mercy of Arthur, Tom’s disapproving elder brother. His reputation ruined and his bright future shattered, Owen must choose between loneliness and a marriage of convenience, with love no longer in reach. Arthur Drake has always taken responsibility for Tom’s scandalous behavior, but this time is worse — it isn’t just the family name at stake, but his own happiness. When Tom’s impulsive selfishness threatens to ruin the lives of everyone involved, Arthur has only one honorable choice. He’ll need to repair the damage Tom has done and fight for his chance at love, knowing all the while he may never be able to take Tom’s place in Owen’s heart.

Deosil (Whyborne & Griffin series) by Jordan L Hawk (Second half of 2019)

Hexhunter (Hexworld series) by Jordan L Hawk (February)

- Finally, Isaac and Bill’s story in this wonderful series. Watching them work around each other, and hoping they would have an installment, has been one of my major reading wants for awhile now.

A Place for Wolves by Kosoko Jackson (April 2 - Sourcefire Books)

- Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe meets Code Name Verity in this heartbreaking and poignant historical thriller. (YA!!)

James Mills isn’t sure he can forgive his parents for dragging him away from his life, not to mention his best friend and sister, Anna. He’s never felt so alone.Enter Tomas. Falling for Tomas is unexpected, but sometimes the best things in life are.Then their world splits apart. A war that has been brewing finally bursts forward, filled with violence, pain, and cruelty. James and Tomas can only rely on each other as they decide how far they are willing to go—and who they are willing to become—in order to make it back to their families.

The Seventh of December by Garrick Jones (January 14 - Manifold Press)

- Even in wartime, London can still be glamorous, but for Tommy and his handsome American a secret mission for a Royal Duke puts life, love, freedom and the future of the world in desperate danger…

As bombs rain down over London during the Blitz, Major Tommy Haupner negotiates the rubble-filled streets of Bloomsbury on his way to perform at a socialite party. The explosive event of the evening is not his virtuosic violin playing, but the ‘almost-blond’ American who not only insults him, but then steals his heart.

The Seventh of December follows a few months in the lives of two Intelligence agents in the early part of World War Two. Set against the backdrop of war-torn occupied Europe, Tommy and his American lover, Henry Reiter, forge a committed relationship that is intertwined with intrigues that threaten the integrity of the British Royal Family and the stability of a Nation at war. Neither bombs nor bullets manage to break the bond that these men form in their struggle against Nazism and the powers of evil.

Diplomatic Relations (Si Regency series) by JL Langley (February 19 - Dreamspinner Press)

- Opposites don’t just attract… they sizzle.A lusty special forces soldier who lives by his own set of rules, Dalton Fairfax decided long ago to stop wishing for his father’s love, and he found his calling. Now that he’s back home and between assignments, he finds himself at loose ends. When the opportunity arises to play bodyguard and help out his country, Dalton jumps at the chance. Not only does it keep him busy, but it just so happens that his charge is the man he saw on leave last month and hasn’t been able to get out of his head.Heir to a dukedom and a conservative politician, Blaise Thompson strives to prove himself worthy of carrying on the family legacy as the next IN Councilman. However, his closest competitor keeps getting in the way and taking credit for Blaise’s ideas. Maintaining his stellar reputation isn’t easy to do while keeping his outrageous younger brother in line and foiling his rival’s personal attacks. He has no time for a guard and even less time for romance.When a priceless antique goes missing, Blaise and Dalton discover that Regelance has larger problems than just IN plots. Now the only way to stop a scandal that threatens both of them is to compromise, and they are forced to confront the risk of losing everything… even each other.

Slay Ride by Josh Lanyon (February)

- 1943 Montana. Wounded in the Pacific, Police Chief Robert Garrett was hoping for a little much needed Peace on Earth, but finds himself chasing after a “fiendish” killer on Christmas Day–aided by eager young reporter Jamie Jameson.

Nomad’s Dreams by August Li (January 29 - Dreamspinner Press)

- Two men, each with a hidden destiny. Can they defeat a web of deceit and dark magic to ensure their fates intertwine?Bedouin Isra al-Grayjaab’s dreams lead him to Janan, an amnesiac beggar on the street of Qena—one who steals his heart and starts him on a seemingly hopeless quest. With only their wits, Isra’s knowledge of the desert’s secrets, and the aid of a mercurial djinn, they must recover Janan’s past. But neither can predict his true identity or the lengths others will go to see that his mind remains broken and his true power out of his reach.In a sweeping romantic adventure that takes them across the Eastern Desert to the modern streets of Cairo and on to the luxurious Red Sea Coast, Janan and Isra seek a truth that will either bring them into each other’s arms or tear them apart forever.

An Impossible Distance to Fall by Miriam McNamara (June 4 - Sky Pony)(YA!)(f/f)

- When the stock market crashed in 1929, it took Birdie’s whole life with it. A year later, she’s still struggling with the collapse of her father’s bank and his subsequent disappearance, and she’s determined to find him. She finally gets a clue when she sees a picture of the Jenny biplane that vanished with him on a leaflet advertising a barnstorming circus. She heads to Coney Island to get some answers, and promptly falls in love with the majestic spectacle of it all, from stuntmen to lady pilots, and especially with pilot June. When signs point to her father having moved on to Chicago, Birdie decides to hitch a ride with the circus. But while the circus folk might be the best thing that’s ever happened to her, a privileged girl who doesn’t understand how things work in the real world might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to them.

Moonwitch by MJ Willow (January 30 - @lessthanthreepress )

_ When several soldiers are attacked by wolves in the Duchy of Kamare, Prince Athanes travels north to solve the mystery. But the more he learns of the attacks, the more he realizes there is far more at play than hungry, desperate animals looking for food. He finds an unexpected ally in Faelan, a local hunter, but even he seems to have his own secret agenda…

A Shimmer In The Night (Dark Is The Night 2.5) by Kelley York and Rowan Altwood (January 1 - x-potion designs)

- Benjamin Prichard has spent much of his life feeling like an outsider. Growing up, his odd behaviour and visions of ghosts left him isolated, not to mention being the child of an immigrant mother and an absent father. Benjamin walks the line between not being Chinese enough for one community, and not English enough for the other. Whisperwood School for Boys changes everything. More specifically, Preston Alexander does. Drawn into a close circle of friends for the first time, Benjamin finally feels as though he’s found somewhere he belongs. But life is never simple; his feelings for Preston are hardly platonic, and Benjamin doesn’t need one more reason to stand out—which means the option of pursuing those feelings is off the table. But after graduation, when tragedy flips his world upside-down, Benjamin will need to decide which path he wants to chase: the one his mother always wanted for him, or the one that follows the boy he loves.

Ones to Watch (Up and coming authors I follow on Twitter that are winning awards in their own regions, some published, but I would like to see more of their work!)

Isabelle Adler - working on an arranged marriage, fantasy plot to be published by Nine Star Press - Frost?

Tamara Allen - has published some lovely works, and now that she has recently released something new, I’m hoping she has something else for us in 2019

Cristina Bruni - published the charming Hearts at Sea from JMS Books, and I like her work with the sweet plot line

Blake Ferre - working on a series based in Revolutionary France - The Scarlet Crest - The King’s Secret

Drew Marvin Frayne - his The Bibliophile novel was one that should have been on my Best of 2018 list, but I wasn’t able to read it in time - a sweet May/December with a western them, but it also tackled the subject of US government’s mistreatment of Native Americans and the consequences it caused

Jude Lucens - author of Behind These Doors, one of absolute favorite novels of 2018, and indeed many years before it - must see a second full novel in the series

Aleksandr Voinov - writes so many beautiful stories, but hoping for a new historical this year; his talent shines with the details

Lee Welch - received a lot of acclaim for Salt Magic, Skin Magic, and though I am not a rabid reader of fantasy, I want more…

#historical romance #lgbt romance #lgbt books #queer romance

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crows-murder · 5 years

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"Not everything has a happy ending"

You're right. And the TV Shows and movies and books that we love are no exception. Real life isn't a fairy tale. Neither is fantasy. Merlin didn't have a happy ending. He watched the man he was supposed to protect with his life die in his arms. Right after he told him his secret.

Arthur was literally his other half-- the other side of the same coin-- and now he's gone. Like that. Gwaine died. And so did almost all the other knights of the round table. Gaius is old, he doesn't have long. Gwen has only so long. And the dragon had already told Merlin he was dying. Merlin was alone for centuries. And what hurt the most was that they didn't end the show with Arthur dying and a grieving Gwen taking his place, no. They showed Merlin, in the modern day, old and sad and lonely, staring at the island that he reached too late. The island that could've saved Arthur if he had just a little bit more time.

I first watched this show in maybe 2012, I think. I was nine. It was during the summer, during my stay in a hotel at the airport waiting for our flight home back from France to Houston. We'd turned on the TV and there was a Merlin episode on. It was that episode where Gwen got arrested for witchcraft (The Mark of Nimueh s1e3). It was in French dub, but my mum got hooked and I did too. I would watch it on my dad's computer and the five seasons flew by. By December, I was so invested and was avidly watching the season five finale. Of course, it was during a Christmas party, just as the adults were leaving, I finished the episode. I was a sobbing mess in my parents' room, watching as Arthur died in Merlin's arms.

After that, I never even glanced in the show's direction for years.

I completely forgot about it.

Recently, I rewatched it, but I never rewatched the season finale. It kills me to even think that Merlin will live alone. He had to suffer the immortal's curse, to lose the ones he loves, again and again and again. And my heart is not ready to see my cinnamon roll hurt like this. It breaks my heart that when BBC cancelled Merlin, the producers didn't end the story with a well-deserved happy ending, but with a heartbreaking scene of almost all the knights dying, with the few remaining mourning their lost brothers.

To see Merling fight and impossible fight against death and then watching his best friend die and him realizing that this was it, no more bickering with Arthur or calling him names, no more sharing adventures with that "twat".

And Gwen, poor poor Gwen. First her father died, and then her brother and now her husband. And she is supposed to succeed him. I still remember that scene, that single, muted moment where we see Gwen, tears in her eyes, Gaius as her side, taking charge in her husband's place.

I hate that episode. It's a painful memory for me. I hate that some things don't get happy endings and that I can't do anything about it.

#merlin #sad #tv show #why did i do this #i made myself cry #i hate that episode so much #it hurts my soul physically #both remembering and writing this #i have tears in my eyes #kill me now #it'll hurt less than this #evne being stabbed in the heart with a rusty knife hurts less #i hate tv shows #it just gets worse

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capmerthur · 6 years

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THE BODY SWAP

Summary: It’s all in the title :) Somewhere end S1 (after 1.11 Labyrinth, but pre 1.13 Morte). In a land of myth, and a time of magic, Arthur awakes inside Merlin’s body (and no, not in that way). Alternating Merthur POV, bonus Gaius, bit of George, mentions of Will.

Excerpt PART V:

Because of course Arthur had come to care for Merlin. Isn't it why he had gone to Ealdor to start with after all...

Merlin.

A nature-loving poet with dangly limbs, gentle heart, and the brightest smile Arthur has ever seen - Arthur has come to know. Yet the sassiest mouth and the most unrelenting fighter Arthur has ever met; his utter lack of skills balanced by sheer *defiance* - Arthur has learned right from the start. Merlin just never backs off, no matter the odds; which is very stupid, but also very brave.

Merlin.

A confusing, clashing mess of contraries. But an admirable man, with a beautiful soul. And you bet Arthur wouldn't have him be any different.

Arthur shakes his head. Maybe it isn't Merlin's choice to be such a poet all the time. Arthur hasn't been inside Merlin's body for more than a few hours, and already he is turning into a maudlin bard himself, huh...

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDERS CHAPTER V)

V. THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT MERLIN (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur is the first to reach the stream, and crouches down to test the water with his hand.

"It's cold", he warns, while Merlin walks in a straight line towards a tree with a low hanging branch and starts undressing - he does come here often, clearly.

Merlin shrugs: "Be grateful it's not winter yet. Try bathing around Imbolc - that's cold." Merlin goes on; an afterthought while hanging the pants on the branch: "Still worth it though; everything here is just more... alive, you know. You don't get that indoors."

And Arthur has bathed on patrols enough to know that, honestly?: he prefers his warm baths. He can't help but feel a smile on his face though at the words; they are so intrinsically Merlin.

Arthur had been struck, when they had met. No one had ever defied him, in any way. And it had stung; Arthur could admit. So. He had not been displeased at all when he had overmastered the fool and turned him over. The affront had been too public to be allowed to slide, and Arthur had decided he wouldn't dwell a further thought about the goodhearted fool (Arthur knew terrorrizing people wasn't right. He tended though to react badly whenever anyone acted cowardly (which was, well, all the time, around him); especially as he was actually *praised* for it somehow), but fool nonetheless, who should have known to mind his own business...

It had been nothing though in comparison to his surprise when their paths had crossed again. Arthur hadn't been able NOT to taunt him - hoping... But the last thing Arthur had been actually expecting had been for Merlin to act *exactly the same*. Surely, now that he knew who he was, he would just scrabble around him as anyone else - not defy him again, knowing it would get him in chains again, right? Arthur had been *delighted* by Merlin's untamable fire - the words, and then the look he had thrown at him while taking his jacket off? (Maybe Arthur had just been waiting all his life for someone to finally stand his ground to him, indeed...) Of course Arthur had let him go without punishment that second time - and any time since then (which was honestly difficult, as Merlin - always fighting for what was right more than for himself Merlin - frequently got riled up, be it in private OR IN PUBLIC, by literally anyone and anything).

Since he has been to Ealdor though, Arthur can't help but see things under a new light.

Hunith is everything Arthur believes a loving mother to be. But there had been no father at home, nor any mention of one. (Arthur knows the sting of this kind of wound - missing a parent; and he had been saddened, as he had realized that Merlin bore such a wound too.) Arthur hadn't dared to ask, but he had wondered: did Merlin ever got a father to start with; or had he been abandoned - intentionally or not? (Arthur knows how even an accident still feels akin to a betrayal in a child's heart.) Which would be the worst anyway? But what if Merlin had been bullied through his childhood because of it? - children could be particularly malicious, when they intended to... Was it how Merlin had learned, the hard way, that fighting - both with his words and his fists - was the only way to end the pestering? And had decided it wouldn't be only for his own sake, but for the sake of anyone who might ever need help? Was it what had brought Merlin close to Will - the fact that they both had lost their father? Was it the reason Will had wanted to learn magic to start with? (Arthur knows the near constant anger, too. As does Merlin, obviously.)

Arthur can't help but feel grateful anew, somehow, and no matter what, still, that Merlin has had Will around: surely, no matter how bad the fights Merlin had jumped into, Will must have kept him safe - at least safe enough - *with his magic*. The thought had been unbidden the first time it had occured, and had definitely surprised Arthur; but he hadn't been able to deny that it was what he truly felt indeed.

Because of course Arthur had come to care for Merlin. Isn't it why he had gone to Ealdor to start with after all...

Merlin.

Probably not the champion manservant by any book (fast learner, and smart, and hard working, he was; but only about what *he* deemed important - hence for example his total disregard for any kind of storage? - but Arthur generally agreed with what Merlin deemed important or not anyway); but honestly the only manservant Arthur now could imagine ever having - or ever want to have.

Merlin.

A confusing, clashing mess of contraries. But an admirable man, with a beautiful soul.

And you bet Arthur wouldn't have him be any different.

Arthur shakes his head. Maybe - just like with his two left feet - it isn't Merlin's choice to be such a poet all the time. Arthur hasn't been inside Merlin's body for more than a few hours, and already he is turning into a maudlin bard himself, huh...

Arthur sighs; bringing himself back to the present - only to be struck by Merlin yet again.

Merlin has by now disrobed of everything except for the leather, which he has rolled up to his chest (logic; it would take too much time to tie it up all once more), and the tunic, which he now holds tightly in a bundle against his chest too, even if (and no doubt exactly because) it must get in his vision range as he enters the water. The lengths Merlin now goes again, simply to avoid to see - treating his body with the utmost respect, even when it is betraying him?

It should be insignificant, but the whole endeavour screams once more just how *devoted* Merlin always is, to him; and it is honestly dumbfounding.

He has been willing to die for me. And more than once.

The thought slices through Arthur's mind; as usual heartbreaking, yet oddly sweet.

Arthur doesn't understand: he has truly done very little to earn such high esteem - and that's an euphemism. Getting the man in the stocks? Letting him drink poison he thought destined for him? Having his only friend die?

But you bet Arthur cherishes it all the same. And he wants - oh, he WANTS - to be worthy of it. Not because it's what he ought to do, repaying kindness with kindness, loyalty with loyalty; and definitely not because he owes Merlin a friend - you can't replace a friend. Not even because Merlin does indeed makes him want to be a better man - even if that's true, and definitely positive for the future of Camelot. But simply because HE. WANTS. TO. Arthur has realized by now how he is always tempted, whenever they are together: either to act silly in order to cause a smile, or to provoke Merlin until he bites. Both reactions feel peculiarly satisfying; spreading a pleasant warmth through his whole being - and Arthur just always has to smile...

So.

On impulse, Arthur disrobes Merlin's lower half and enters the (indeed very cold) water while holding his tunic bundled up too, keeping his eyes stubbornly fixed on his own body sinking until the water reaches up to above its waist, as Merlin sits on his knees in the middle of the stream . And yes, the fact that Arthur has just chosen to abide by Merlin's stubborn dedication on that matter, instead of letting his perpetual interest about literally everything run free, for once, (because yes, if he hadn't witnessed Merlin's commitment, Arthur might have taken a look at Merlin's body, out of sheer curiosity; he wouldn't though, not from now on...), is both a pledge and a self-serving whim.

Merlin, drawn by the sounds, turns to him with questioning eyebrows, and Arthur sheepishly drops on his knees next to him: "I thought it unfair to let you have all the fun on your own. Now, ready to scare the fish?"

Merlin howls with laughter. Arthur decides it's definitely worth playing silly while freezing his ass off.

(Imbolc = 31 january)

Feel free to come and fangirl with me over 1.01 and then scream with me over 1.10 !

On a side note, I'm sorry but not sorry about that fish line? It was *totally* unplanned but then it just rolled out and I went 'yep, sure, arthur would, totally; it stays!' ?

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS :

I. AWAKING (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur awakes; lying on his back - unusual - and rolls over automatically.

He surprisingly falls, down, hard; and jerks fully awake now - on the floor, near a so very tiny bed, tangled in an unknown blanket (harsher than his standards, even while on errands, he can't help but notice).

In disbelief, he eyes his surroundings...

Where is he? Has he been abducted?

Think, he admonishes himself - trying to clear his mind; to remember what must have happened, to guess who has dared to commit such an act, and, most important of all right now: Find a way out.

His eyes then suddenly meet Merlin's, and relief surges through him somehow - Merlin is alive - before his anxiety returns; and double: because poor faithful, loyal Merlin has obviously been taken too; and it's Arthur's fault - he must have failed to save them both from being taken, even though he cannot remember anything...

Except when Arthur reaches out to Merlin for him to come closer (they need to share information and plan, but must be quiet as a mouse), he realizes with fright but indeniable certainty that Merlin is in fact a reflection in a mirror; and worse: *HIS* reflection!?

It his NOT his hand indeed that is stretching out in front of him; NOT his clothes on his person; and definitely NOT his own hair falling upon his eyes, as he notices the black strings in his vision range...

Arthur is dumbstruck. He sees Merlin's mouth shaping a silent O, and he sees the dread in Merlin's eyes... except they ARE - he feels - *his* mouth, and *his* eyes; and everything is just plainly wrong, and plainly impossible - but undeniably REAL.

He is... Merlin? Or better said, *inside* Merlin? How can such a thing have even come to be?

Sorcery, Arthur understands with horror: Camelot is under attack!

But now armed with the knowledge of his predicament, Arthur realizes he is actually in Merlin's bedroom. He's been in here before, once; and he recognizes it all now.

So. Not abducted. All things considered, that still counts as something, right...

And, as it surely doesn't feel as if Merlin is still somewhere in his own head too while Arthur is inside of it, well... Maybe? Logically? Merlin might then be in return inside his own body?

Arthur suddenly finds himself praying for this to be true. It would be for the best, if Merlin was in his body - if they were the only ones concerned by this unnatural situation; because what if *everyone* was awaking inside someone else's body this morning? That would be... precarious - the general panic leaving Camelot completely vulnerable to whoever must have plotted this? The worst though would be if the one responsible for this was right now in control of his body, and acting as Crown Prince to do, well, evil deeds... So yes, you bet Arthur truly wants to find Merlin to be the one inside his own body when he finally finds it.

Arthur jumps on his feet, ready for action. Luckily (even though Arthur feels a bit guilty, as he notices his armour in pristine state against the opposite wall - apparently Merlin has been polishing it late into the night then) Merlin hasn't bothered to undress before falling asleep.

So. First thing first: he has to go to his chamber.

Picking some weapon on the way for good measure, you bet ...

/ / /

Simply walking the few paces to open the door though turns out to be a challenge. His limbs are too long, and dangly; it feels like he has two left feet, and he has to try thrice before actually getting a grip on the handle - because he isn't used to this body, of course - but maybe it is truly NOT Merlin's fault if he trips over his own feet that often after all...

Gaius is already out - hopefully looking for herbs and not wandering out of his mind... Arthur would have preferred to be able to test right away his theories about how many people were affected by the damn body change; but unfortunately, it would have to wait some more.

The corridors are empty too, except for a stray black cat who walks at his side long enough for Arthur to start questioning himself about asking to the cat if he *is* Merlin - because Merlin HAS to be somewhere, right, as he obviously isn't where he should be to start with; but then the cat takes another turn... Arthur feels stupid for worrying so much about his silly manservant - but he cannot deny that he definitely will worry less only after having indeed finally found said silly manservant.

Arthur relaxes slighthly though when he enters the kitchen: people are working as usual, apparently not in shock, apparently in their right bodies. He picks up the first tray he finds, along with an extra knife that he hides in his pocket for good measure.

He tries to put on a confident grin as he walks (with the most assurance he can muster in this awkward-feeling body) towards the guards at his bedroom's door - and can only hope it will look the same as usual to them. They let him pass without trouble, and Arthur isn't sure whether it's a good thing. On the one hand, he *doesn't* doubt Merlin - he simply, intrinsically doesn't; and would never want him to feel like he did if his guards were to search him whenever he was about to enter his chamber. On the other hand... well, it isn't Merlin right now entering his chamber, with knifes at the ready... This time, it's only him; but what if it happens again, and if the one then inside Merlin's body has ill intentions...

Deciding not to dwell on this for the time being, Arthur enters his bedroom - hoping to find Merlin doing whatever Merlin always does, but preparing for a fight, if need be...

Mirrors were probably not so advanced at the time... But let's say Merlin has an enhanced one, after all he has magic, right...

II. AWAKING (MERLIN POV)

Merlin awakes as if in a cocoon; literally. He is surrounded by softness, flush, warmth; he cannot remember ever feeling so comfortable - and the world can wait for just another few seconds before he opens his eyes, right... Merlin wriggles, shifting on his back, sighing softly as he nestles some more into the cushions...

When Merlin awakes for the second time - culpability sinking in as he realizes he has overslept - his eyes open to a Pendragon red canopy he would recognize even among hundreds. Merlin freezes: what the hell is he doing, sleeping IN ARTHUR'S BED?!

Merlin sits upright at once - blankets falling all around him to reveal that he wears ARTHUR'S NIGHTGOWN too ?!

Whaaaaaaaat?!

This... just DOESN'T make any sense. The last thing he can remind is sitting on his own bed, polishing the last bit of Arthur's armour before letting himself fall down to sleep (*AN). He surely doesn't recall walking to Arthur's chamber, and even less...

Merlin's mind is reeling as he shuffles out of bed as swiftly as he can. Oh my... What is Arthur going to think? And come to think of it - true panic now creeping down on Merlin at that thought: *WHERE* is Arthur to start with?

His attention is drawn out right then by Arthur calling out his name (Merlin feels relief, no matter his current embarrassing situation) - in one of those thousands yet unmistakably always Arthurian ways to say his name: a myriad of moods and meanings in those simple two syllables - the voice sounding odd though this morning (is Arthur sick?), and tensed (well, he just found his manservant in *his* bed, that might explain it!).

Merlin turns to face his sovereign, trying to feel less self conscious because he mustn't look guilty, while wishing for inspiration, and buying time until it hits: "There is actually a perfectly valid explan-"

But it is NOT Arthur he sees: it is... himself? His breath catches as 'utter confusion' gets a new meaning, you bet...

At the same moment, Merlin notices suddenly just how *not his* his voice has just sounded, and how he's wearing a very particular ring around one finger of what's NOT his hand, and how *blond* hair is falling upon his eyes... And still nothing makes sense; but at least it *does* explain how he awoke in Arthur's bed in Arthur's clothes: he *is* Arthur?; and... Arthur... is him? MUST be him. He has been calling his name right the right way, right?!

"Arthur?" Merlin barely dares to breathe out, both in wonder and in plea (because Arthur CANNOT be gone - the fear and pain and simple *impossibility* of such a concept slicing through Merlin's mind like a knife).

There is a bright smile then appearing on his face - a smile that doesn't entirely look like his own though - "Yes, Merlin. It's me," followed by a relieved sigh: "And it's you". And, despite the shock about them having apparently switched bodies (?!?!), Merlin can't help but feel warm all over - because Arthur (and yes, it is so clearly Arthur, even in HIS body!) has apparently been worried about him.

(*AN) Headcanon time :

Merlin uses magic to clean Arthur's armour in the beginning, indeed. And he still uses magic for most of the chores, as much as he can, of course (washing clothes, mending clothes, emptying chamber pots, sweeping fireplaces, preparing baths, refreshing beds, cleaning floors, cleaning everything, really (except for mucking the stables, because there are always others around, grrrr). But he quickly grows nearly *maniac* about Arthur's food (picking at it as a way to make sure it's not poisoned etc...) and about Arthur's armour: it's one of Arthur's protections - so you bet Merlin definitely cleans and polishes and repairs and oils the leather ligaments that hold it together and EVERYTHING the hell out of it, with extra ardor and fervor, with his own two hands, all the while continuously trying to put on it any protecting spells he ever finds, and repeating those over and over at each occasion...

Also: on a side note, I'm never going to be over Arthur's priority-thinking (I'm in trouble = CAMELOT IS UNDER ATTACK (babyyyy let me hold you - being Camelot Prince/King is NOT your only worth) and Merlin's priority-thinking (what the hell is happening = WHERE THE HELL IS ARTHUR (babyyyy let me hold you - your devotion to The (brave, kind, admirable (shut up Merlin)) Prat doesn't have to mean that you always must come second (and a bit self-preservation cannot be harmful)) *SIGH* I just love those two idiots so much !!!

III. DISABLED (MERLIN POV)

But soon, Merlin is terrified.

And not because of the puzzling body swap.

*HE HAS NO MAGIC!?*

(Not that Merlin knows of any spell to reverse their current situation at once, mind you; so he doesn't actually try anything about it. But Merlin simply knows: there is nothing but blood running through his veins now - no vigorous warmth, no energic flow; there is simply nothing singing under his placid flesh, as he focuses on it.)

He cannot help but wish he's wrong though, and desperately tries to move a quill on Arthur's desk behind Arthur's back - the simplest of things, really; yet he fails, indeed...

His magic is tied to his body. Not to his mind.

No, no, no, no, nooooooooooo.

Merlin is, to his core, *terrified* - as he has never been. Not only because he feels more powerless and utterly helpless than he has ever felt - and worse, unable to protect Arthur! But also because the longer Arthur stays in his body, the more chances he has to find out that he has magic!? (And even though Merlin has nearly told Arthur, once? He is still not ready for him to know right now... Will after all didn't lie to protect Merlin's secret on his deathbed for Merlin to take chances with his life so soon after...)

Merlin though decides to push his panic aside for the moment: he simply MUST focus. No matter which sorcerer has this week decided to deal with the Pendragon line once and for all, Arthur's life is undoubtedly in the balance; and that's dearer to Merlin than all the magic in the world - included his own.

Because Merlin's life *has* tilted, on that rocky beach by The Great Seas of Meredor.

Merlin's earnest readiness to lay his life down to save Arthur's had been instinctive, beyond doubt visceral; and the concrete force of the impulse had surprised him. Because it hadn't been related to his first supposed then anyway indeed wished upon destiny. It had merely been a reflex, a spontaneous reaction: what he had wanted to do; more than what he ought to do. And Merlin had realized right then that he had, somehow, but undeniably, actually come to *LOVE* Arthur?

It shouldn't have been such a shocking revelation though. Sure, Arthur could be a spoiled, royal prat; an irritating, pompous ass; an arrogant, moronic bully - to list but the top of the iceberg of his massive shortcomings, and without even mentioning the complete dollophead he could sometimes be. But Arthur could also be truly brave, honest, and kind; willing not only to trust but also to actually defend the words of mere servants, ready to defy his father's orders in order to save a child's life, and volunteering to help a village not even belonging to his Kingdom, to note only a few examples. Also: at some point, Merlin had realized how what could at first appear as near manhandling tactility was in fact just Arthur's disguised way to show (or ask?) affection (because one probably just doesn't walk around asking for cuddles while growing up between Uther's judging cold glares and Morgana's sharp witty tongue; and the physical playfulness of the knights training must have seemed like the only way to go...). And last but not least: Ealdor owed Arthur its renewed safety. And Merlin owed Arthur his life - if Arthur hadn't gone looking for a Mortaeus flower... So, in short: of course Merlin had gotten fond of the man. Notwithstanding how so annoyingly beautiful he always was (for the record on that particular subject: Gwen is so adorably beautiful, and Morgana so petrifyingly beautiful).

But, as Arthur - bound to be King one day Arthur - hadn't even hesitate before choosing to sacrifice himself in order to fix his error instead of using the (even offered) life of a simple servant? Well... There is a difference still between having the conviction that Arthur is a good man ready to fight for the greater good, even knowing it could be his death; and knowing as a FACT that Arthur *is* ready to *die* for the greater good, even knowing it *will* be his death. And you bet having been proven *exactly* how pure of heart Arthur intrinsically is has only cemented that burgeoning love deeper into Merlin's heart - simply; truly; and maybe irrevocably. Merlin would now willingly die a thousands deaths to save his Prince.

(Feel free to shout with me about 1.11 because *MAJOR FEELS*!)

(And then hug me as I shamelessly cry because this is still NOTHING next to what's to come - aka Arthur becoming ACHINGLY beautiful, as Merlin turns ready to KILL a thousands times to save his King, blackening his own heart in the process and thinking himself then unworthy of Arthur's love because Arthur is just so BRIGHT; but wishing for it nonetheless?)

IV. PLANNING (MERLIN POV)

Arthur, miraculously (even though understandably; because he must be shaken too, right), is unaware of Merlin's internal crisis as he shares what he's uncovered until now: "It seems to be just us. The kitcheners and the guards all seem to be themselves."

"So. Whoever has done this is targetting you - personnally."

"Nice to see your wits are still so very particularly sharp, Merlin. Is there any reason for the one behind all this to be targetting you?"

It is beyond odd to *hear* Arthur's usual tone in his own voice; but Merlin still has the grace to sigh, before pushing his point further: "But why you?"

"Well, obviously *you*'ve forgotten, but I am Camelot's Crown Prince, responsib-."

"Which is exactly what's bothering me!" Merlin can't help but interject. "Why take on the Prince when you can take on the King?"

"Oh... Do you think... Could someone be... training on us, then? Before attacking-"

"I honestly have no idea. Maybe you got targetted indeed because you're head of security. We shouldn't rule anything out."

Arthur brings his fist down on the table, determinedly: "Well, whatever the evil plan might be, we just cannot permit for it to work. We'll have to find a way to stop this nonsense - no offense. In the meantime, we must act as if nothing unusual is going on. It might be for the time being our best chance at keeping Camelot safe - making whoever planned this think the spell didn't work?"

Merlin can't help but let out a helpless (yet realistic) sigh: "That's... a lot; on both accounts."

Arthur echoes with a helpless sigh of his own: "I know."

But if they are to keep up pretenses, Merlin is going to need to be prepared: "So. What's on your agenda for today - besides the monthly open pleas this morning and the daily training this afternoon?"

"Nothing particular. And there are no coming feasts nor abroad visits planned for the coming time, thankfully. (worried sigh) But there's concil, tomorrow."

"Well, let's start at the beginning. I should do fine enough for the pleas. It's mostly your father's duty; your presence is required, of course, but mostly you're to hear and listen..." Fear grips Merlin at once: "But it's public; so it would be a great opportunity to try to murder you!" He MUST protect Arthur's body: "Will you please go fetch your chainmail in my room?"

"No."

The tone is definitive, and Merlin is torn between begging, or growing impatient - because Arthur can be so obtuse sometimes (now really isn't the time for Arthur to be feeling indignation about being ordered around like a simple servant; even though he *is* one at the moment - not that Merlin would ever think he was one, of course - but what if Arthur thinks he does and enjoys the chance at some payback?): "Arthur, please (again?). It's the expected type of errands of the body you momentarily (because it MUST be momentarily, right?) inhabit - I can't - You're the target. I need your chainmail. I have no fighting skills, nor any kind of skills really to protect yo-"

"I cannot be seen wandering the castle in my chainmail without reason, Merlin; it would attract attention", Arthur interrupts in a somehow gentler tone; and Merlin realizes that Arthur hadn't registered at first how Merlin's concern was about him, more than himself - and is obviously humbled by the thought. "Court clothes are required, anyway. We're not supposed to look threatening, nor threatened, when our subjects come to present their wishes," Arthur pursues, killing any possible protest in the bud. "Besides, the guards will be present. So don't worry too much about anything happening to us", Arthur ends in a lower voice; as if the last part had been more a thought to reassure himself than a phrase meant to be uttered - and Merlin just has to savour that precious 'us'...

Merlin though isn't reassured enough about his Prince's safety: "Please (yes, that's thrice; adamant much?) Sire, at least allow me to wear your thickest leather under your tunic" - willing his voice to make it sound like a not-to-be-denied demand more than a true question.

Arthur holds his gaze; and it actually feels like a blessing when he finally relents: "As you wish; but it won't be comfortable against naked skin."

"I'll manage." Merlin can't help but fidget some before pursuing - asking Arthur to do what is and should be *his* work feeling not only weird but even wrong: "But I'll need your help to tie it in the back?"

Arthur dimissively tousles his hair, grumbling: "I *know*, Merlin." 'My clothes' going unsaid.

Merlin can be relieved about one thing, at least: Arthur obviously isn't piqued about doing a servant's work...

Merlin picks out the largest fitting of Arthur's clothes. He puts on the braies and trousers while still wearing the gown, respectfully tying the belt blindly around his waist. He puts on socks, and shoes. Then only does he take the gown off, and turns his back towards Arthur so that he may help with adjusting the leather's straps.

A surprised but definitely pleased whisper ("Impressive, ain't I?") echoes in Merlin's ears, as the Prat Prince seems apparently unable not to comment about his damn broad back, angling Merlin shortly that way and this way as if to assess it even better.

'Believe me, I know', Merlin can't refrain from thinking; feeling a blush coming over his face, and thankful that Arthur is too busy looking at his own back to notice any of it.

"I think I might even have outgrown Sir Leon - in width at least if not in height", Arthur concludes proudly before finally starting to work the ties - leaving Merlin suddenly ashamed of his initial internal reprimand, and oddly upset. Of course Arthur would only wish to see in his physique the strength of a warrior. Of course his first thought, when finally able to actually see his own back, would be to compare it to his given models - the Knights; and most of all among them, to his own chosen model, Leon - both the noblest and strongest of them all, yet young enough to play the part of the older brother Arthur could look up to while growing up... No one has probably ever told him that he is beautiful, Merlin realizes sadly. But the fact that Arthur is so unaware only makes him even more beautiful in Merlin's eyes...

Merlin forces himself to tease Arthur, hiding his turmoil under their usual banter: "Well, I could ask Gabriel to take measurements, if you so badly wish-"

"Shut up, Merlin", accompanied by a rewarding hit in the back of his right shoulder, which Merlin gladly revels in, no matter the unusual fist size. This, no matter their predicament, feels normal.

And in that short moment of normalcy, when everything feels just right as Arthur ends tying the leather, Merlin notices something he hasn't noticed before, when all he could feel was STRESS.

Oh no.

"Arthur?" Merlin can't help but wince at the intimidated tone in his voice as he turns around; and Arthur is eyeing him now with furrowed eyebrows. "I think I need - I mean you need... to... have to go?"

Arthur makes a face - with his face; except it still looks somehow like a typical outraged Arthur face (damn, this is just too confusing...): "Merlin!"

"He! Do not look at me like this is my fault! It's *YOUR* body! Maybe you shouldn't have drun-"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have brought a full pitcher at dinner then!"

They eye each other, both unrelenting over who is at fault.

And Merlin can't help but think that somehow he is, indeed, no matter what. Because there are levels in intimacy; and he IS definitely crossing a line. There is a difference between being around and trying to avoid his gaze when Arthur walks in and out of his bath, or applying Gaius's healing balm to bruises on Arthur's back because it's a place Arthur can't reach on his own, and, well... watching and touching Arthur's *manhood*, even if only for urinating, technically ensuring no mess is done while doing it?

Arthur suddenly sighs though, and his voice sounds kinder as he offers: "This will surely happens a few times before we sort it all out, huh. To the both of us. So. How should we proceed?"

Merlin scratches his head, summoning some courage: "Do you want to... hold-"

"Your hand, Merlin!", Arthur demonstrates, lifting the would-be-culprit in the air and wiggling its fingers for good measure; and that's a 'No way' if Merlin ever heard one...

"Would you rather it to be your hand-"

"It's *your* hand right now!" Indeed. So. Another 'No way'.

But suddenly Merlin has a solution, of sort: "What if I... go sit into the stream? There's a quiet spot not so far from the castle I found while collecting herbs for Gaius... If I hurry I still can make it back before the pleas."

Arthur actually claps his hands, obviously relieved: "Sometimes, I swear, you are a genius." He hurries over, handing Merlin his tunic and grabbing the Pendragon red doublet before marching out: "Let's go!"

"You're coming?" (hastening to put the tunic on and grabbing a towel before following)

"Well, as I just said, it's bound to happen to me - you - so I might just as well tag along, and know where it is."

Once out of potentially spying ears reach, they plan the day further.

"We HAVE to tell Gaius, at the least, about our situation: no one will contest his word if he says you're not to train for a while - because honestly how am I supposed to spare with your Knights? They will notice right away that something isn't right. And, well..."

Merlin hesitates, not wanting to incriminate Gaius in any way. As it turns out, he doesn't have to:

"You're right. Besides, Gaius has heard about a lot of... stuff, in all his years. I was planning to go around Jeffrey and look for the forbidden books, but I have no ideas how many volumes are hidden down here, nor where they even *are* to start with... If anyone we know might have even the slightest clue about how to fix our problem, it's him; even if it's only about finding an adequate book."

Merlin nods, relieved: "So. After the pleas, I stage a fall, and we go to Gaius, who tells you're not to train for the time being. That leaves the rest of the day free, both for looking up about our situation, and briefing me on what I should be aware of for tomorrow's concil. Do you address things in an established order; who's whose specialisms; what you discussed by the latest concils which might be brought up again tomorrow; and so on..."

"I'm supposed to make the battle plans, Merlin? But as far as plans go, I have to admit this isn't a bad one. Except I'm not you; I do not *fall* for no reason twice a day. So. I'll make you fall. That's more plausible."

"No way! You'll end up in the stocks!" Merlin realizes how - no matter what he might have been thinking just a few months ago - he simply doesn't want Arthur in the stocks. Ever. "Which is NOT where you should be spending your afternoon." Merlin quickly amends; hiding his concern under logic's sake, knowing it to be the best way to persuade Arthur anyway. "So. You fall. I try to help you. But we both fall. I'm clumsy, as ever; you're noble, as always; everyone get to laugh at me, and praise you; and your father might skip punishing me for you getting hurt in the process, as you obviously didn't want me hurt to start with?" (pause, before adding earnestly, yet fiercely, as Merlin isn't able to tone back the surge of threat in his eyes at the mere idea of having anyone disrespecting Arthur in that way) "If he doesn't though, I'll stand guard next to you."

"Would you?" Arthur seems surprised; but touched: "Well, who knows, maybe I'll return the favor the next time."

Merlin can't refrain a whine: "The next time?"

"Even I can't save you from my father's wrath every time; it's bound to happen, either from your two left foots or your snarky mouth."

They can hear the water now, and Arthur accelerates towards it, as Merlin lags behind, unable not to smile:

"I guess I'm supposed to say 'thank you'?"

"I might have forgotten to mention I'll probably throw something in your face myself at the last moment. Prince's privilege and all that..." - Arthur even turns towards him, giving him one of his goofy faces to boot (Merlin didn't know *his* face could do *that*, by the way).

Merlin just keeps on smiling anyway. He probably hasn't felt that brightly, positively, ridiculously happy since "I'm rehiring you - because someone needs to muck out my stables". Arthur has a particular way to express fondness, and Merlin wouldn't change it for the world.

AN: Sorry? I'm cackling though. Poor boys, what they have to go through... Just remember it's all Bradley's fault anyway; none of this is on my head :)

#merlin #bbc merlin #merthur #merthur fic #merlin fic #bbcmerlin #the once and future fic #the body swap #fanfic #fic #text post #my own two spells

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knowthyselfrp · 6 years

Photo

AGE RANGE: 26 // OCCUPATION: RED DRAGON LEADER // PRONOUNS: he/him

You were just a goofy kid trying to make it through the complex time that high school was when your grandfather revealed your fate. They called themselves the Red Dragons, needing to defeat the evil that were the Huntsclan. You thought it was the most exciting thing to happen to you, after all, what child didn’t dream of wanting to grow up to be a hero? However, you had no idea how dangerous this life was. Training came first, before friends, family, and relationships. Despite your grandfather’s efforts to discipline you further, you only learned from when you messed up and even after all the terrors you’ve seen, it’s admirable you’ve still kept your humor. Maybe it’ll be the only thing you’ll have left.

Rose Martinez- You had always admired her both in secret and outloud as you lamented over her to your friends. In highschool, you two were so much closer than you were now. You both blamed it on starting university, but that wasn’t much of an excuse when you two attended the same school. No, it was the fact that she was the very person you were being hunted by that ruined whatever fragile relationship you two had. Of course, you wish to reconcile but it’s hard when the stolen looks you take are simply that: a moment meant only for yourself because it seems like you both aren’t who you used to be. It’s only a matter of time before you realize she’s more ruthless than you can imagine.

Arthur “Spud” Spudinski & Trixie Carter- You three have been childhood friends for as long as you can remember. Despite all the lying, sneaking around, and sketchiness, they both still have stayed loyal by your side. They’re the only ones other than your family that knows about your secret and helps you with your cover. Sure, they don’t approve of your methods and they’re not happy that you put yourself in danger just to defeat the “Huntsgirl,” but they know it is for the best. They’re not your sidekicks, but more like your partner in crime and it’s comforting to know they will always be by your side.

You amuse the Creator with your funny jokes and silly catchphrases. But He is far too excited for the Big Reveal, and perhaps He wants the entire town finding out how dangerous you really are. After all, you’re His favorite little Dragon and that can only mean more entertainment for Him. You hope He has a much grander idea than what you have been dealt with, and perhaps that is even more tragic: the fact you think you are here for anything other than Him.

Ludi Lin

run my child. sprint through town, your first skateboard in your hands. smile because you are a fire blazing, burning every passerby with your excitement. reach the park, try to start learning before your mother catches up. but she’s suddenly plopping the helmet on your head, warning you of dangers, and then off you go, falling and laughing and filling your world with light.

( do not notice your mother’s worry transforming her face. do not see the man watching the two of you from afar. do not lose this light, not just yet. )

you’re much too loud according to all your teachers, but what are they to expect from first graders? they rule the land, though, and you are subjected to the corner once more, mouth pursed and feet swinging as you are instructed not to jump from the chair.

but you are not alone for long, as another joins you in the prison, and when you ask their name, the response spud sends you smiling, smiling, smiling. you latch onto him, and then another soon joins, trixie pixie and all her wit, and the three of you are a force that no teacher or townsperson can break.

all of you grasp hands and run head first against the threat of growing up and all it entails. it starts as scraped knees and whoops of glee, then transforms into frustrated groans and pencils scribbling along homework. it is one supporting one another through troubles with other classmates, or fights with parents, or even arguments among each other. but you are all facing similar battles, and as you all enter high school, the three of you navigate the first two years, and everything seems perfect. there are still challenges, of course, and you understand life isn’t meant to be easy, but you are happy, you are content. and that is so, so wonderful.

( and you, jake long, didn’t you wish for it to last? did you know that wishes are useless in a place like this? )

you are helping your grandfather, tinkering with the devices that are brought by customers desperate for someone to fix their belongings. you’d rather be mixing music back at your house, but you are a good grandson, putting aside your wants and needs for family. but your grandfather has been gone for a long while, only his dog keeping you comfort at the front desk.

and the minutes tick by, and at some point, you need help, so you begin searching all around. and your curiosity spikes where it shouldn’t doesn’t it? you pick at something at his desk, and the shrine to your grandmother shifts, and oh, you are a match falling down the hole.

when your grandfather finds you, hands running along masks and weapons, there is shock and a touch of awe in your voice as you sputter, “are we part of some ninja clan?”

( oh you poor, poor fool )

one, two three, and you slam your face-first against the floor. gasp all the air you can, this is your only chance of rest.

“up!” commands your grandfather, “again!”

push yourself to your feet, raise your fists, one, two, three, on the floor once more.

“up! again!”

get up, get up, raise your fists, one, two, three —

“UP! AGAIN!”

stretch your mouth wide this time, unleash that guttural scream, swing your leg out, one, two, three, get up, GET UP —-

your grandfather groans on the floor as you stand, breaths uneven, chest heaving. but your grandfather is smiling wide and despite yourself, the flame of pride burns, burns, burns.

“good. again.”

it’s trixie who finds you tucked behind some building, blood pooling around you, and she’s screaming for spud to call the ambulance, but somehow, someway, you convince the two of them to carry you away from where the hunstclan are prowling.

and you try, you try so hard to keep their hands from becoming bloodied, but you are too weak and the two of them are crying, and you are crying, and this, this is all a mess because of your own poor choices.

and they have to know what they’ve involved themselves in, and when you utter your family’s secret, the two of them offer their support and their care, and ‘we’re meant to face the same fears together, right? somehow, someway?’

but you know one day they’ll leave you, don’t you? you know that you’ll have to let them go, right?

and yet you smile and crack a joke anyways, because what else are you to do?

( you’ll learn soon enough )

there is a girl who you think will stay, but she fades from your life as you enter university, and the future leader of the red dragon is not supposed to be wounded by something like heartbreak. you know this.

and still you pour what little energy you have left, and use time you definitely don’t have to construct a song that is not your style, that does not fit the profile you once created in high school, and you think ‘maybe, maybe.’

you don’t release it. it sits on your laptop, finished and prepared, but you leave it be.

you have to leave it be.

the day of your university graduation is the day your grandfather announces you are to take over his position, and you try, you try so hard to feel pride in this. to feel joy that he trusts you enough, that you are finally seen as a true successor.

but as the doors close and the congratulations have long fallen to silence, you close your eyes and wish over and over and over again.

( haven’t you learned? when will you learn? )

you stumble into your household a week before you leave, after one of the worse interactions with the huntsclan, scrambling to hide your wounds from your younger sister and your father. you struggle to finish the wrappings, cursing under your breath, and suddenly the light shines and the color drains from your face.

but it is your mother standing in the kitchen, lips pressed together. she strides forward, gathering your hands in hers, finishes wrapping you together again. and when she steps back, you want to launch forward, hug her tight. but the two of you remain silent until your mother raises a hand to swipe across her cheek.

“i tried my best to shield you, jake.” she is so quiet, and this scares you. she cradles her wrist with her other hand, and she closes her eyes. “i don’t want this life you.”

some days, you are fading like the fire is so close to dying. you are suffocating from your own smoke, and you can barely navigate your way to safety. and other days, that fire burns so bright that it blinds even you. what are you to do now with this flame? how will you control and treat it with what it deserves? jake long, red dragon, what will you do?

( i suppose we shall see, won’t we? )

the first and only custom skateboard helmet that he himself crafted. it’s rough in looks, his amateur handiwork obvious in the wobbly lines of chinese characters and creative designs. but it is his own, something he doesn’t need to share with anyone else, and when he places it on his head, the weight of what that means soothes and comforts. as if it can protect him from every danger, not only the one that comes with falling from a skateboard.

#disney rpg #lsrpg #lsrp #literate rp #original rp #jake #american dragon #jakeskel #taken #takenskel

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ellana-ravenwood · 7 years

Text

Hatred and Grief - Clark Kent x Reader

Summary : Clark loses the thing he loves the most in the World...And the worst thing ? It is his fault.

I was in the mood for something angsty today. Yeah yeah yeah I didn’t follow the schedule I put up not long ago, but I really wanted to write this story. I was in the mood to write something kinda sad (or not). Hope you will like it, as usual, feedbacks are very welcome :-) :

You can find my masterlist here : @ella-ravenwood-archives

______________________________________________

The second he sees your body hit that wall violently, and hears the terrible crack it makes...He knows.

He didn’t mean to do it. It wasn’t him...it wasn’t him !

This was a nightmare.

Just a bad dream.

He was going to wake up in your arms, nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck. He was going to wake up in your arms, and tighten his grip around you. You were going to reassure him after this stupid nightmare...No.

No you weren’t. You would never reassure him again.

He knows he committed the irreparable. And that’s what brings him back.

Of course, only you would be able to take him out of this weird daze he had been for a while. Only you would be able to snap him out of it. He thinks he remembers you yelling : “Clark, this isn't you ! Come back to us baby, come back to m...”, but you were never going to be able to finish this sentence.

He doesn’t remember much, but what comes back to his mind, is being captured by Lex Luthor and him...doing something to his brain.

And then falling in a state of semi-consciousness, where he just couldn’t control his movements, and didn’t even care about it.

He doesn’t really remember much of his actions, as if he just woke up from a dream that refused to be remembered, but when he regains his senses, and, horrified, looks around him...half of Metropolis is destroyed, giving him that much hints about what happened.

He knows this carnage is his fault. Though he wasn’t master of his movements, the guilt that washes over him is endless. And when he fully realizes what he has just done, what brought him back...It’s more than guilt. It’s agony.

It’s his arm that hit you with all his might as you were approaching him, and that send you crashing into that concrete wall. With just a small swipe, as if you were nothing, though you were everything to him, his arm went own its own accord to shove you out of his way, with so much force that you flew across the street. His arm. His.

It’s his arm that killed you...

He’s starting to understand what is going on, what happened, when an ear piercing scream resonates in the street, and he feels as if he just got hit by a sledge-hammer.

Batman. With a kryptonite brass knuckle. A krytonite knuckle. Of course. Only him would have such a thing.

For a slight second, Clark doesn’t understand why his best friend just hit him. But then the reality of what is happening downs on him, and he doesn’t budge.

No. He deserves this. He deserves to be beaten to death by Bruce. By your brother. He deserves it...

He barely registers Diana, Arthur, Oliver, Hal and J’onn catching the bat, and holding him with all their might. Your older brother is in such a rage that they have all the trouble in the World to keep him from killing Superman.

He pushes away Zatanna and Shayerah trying to help him to his feet, and for a slight seconds, they’re afraid he’s still under Lex’s control...But when he says :

-Let him. Please. Let him hit me.

They all know the nightmare is done. You were right. You had been able to snap him out of Luthor’s grasp. Clark was back, unfortunately, too late. And you paid the biggest price to save the one you love...

It’s Bruce’s turn to loose control. It’s his turn to go rogue, though he does it completely consciously. His kryptonite laced fist punches the mighty Superman over and over again, as he lets out growls of anger.

That man he trusted with his life, that man he considered, until a very short while ago, his best friend, that man who married his precious little sister, that man who was his nephews’ father...That man just killed one of the thing he loved the most on Earth.

You. (Y/N) Wayne Kent. The best person that ever walked this planet. You, who was the opposite of him, all light and smile. You who took away his broodiness and tears with your mere presence, and that, ever since you were a tiny kid. You. His beloved little sister...

For the first time in a very, very long time, Bruce looses control. And he doesn’t want to regain it...But the league members can participate in this. They can’t just look as the Batman beats Superman to death, no matter what happened. Once again, they take hold of a screaming Bruce and drag him away from the kryptonian. Diana doesn’t let go of him until the ever so stoic man broke down in tears in her arms...No.

They don’t let the Batman beats Superman to death, even though what he’s done is unforgivable.

Because they know it’s not his fault, they know he couldn’t control his own body, and that the last thing Clark wanted was to hurt you in any way.

And when Clark, on the brink of unconsciousness, crawls as best he can to your lifeless body. Pulls himself up and sits next to you. Grabs your tiny corpse in his strong arms and...Let out a scream even more powerful than Bruce’s. A scream filled with pain and misery, with agony and horror. When Clark buries his face in the crook of your neck, tears running down his battered cheeks. When he rocks you in his arms, letting himself go, crying like he never did before. When he begs you to come back, to not leave him alone, when he says he cannot live without you, when he professes his love to you over and over again...

They know that they shouldn’t hold him accountable for what just happened. Because out of all of them, he was the one that was suffering the most, and that would probably never come back from his sorrow. Followed closely by Bruce, whose pain was also to grand to ignore, too heartbreaking to stay in front of him without any reaction.

And soon enough, all the league members present are crying.

But the wails of the strongest man on Earth, and of the greatest detective ever, are the worst.

************

Damian breaks his hand hitting his jaw. Dick tears away his cape. Jason shoots him, without much success. Tim yells and also break his bones trying to punch him. Clark lets them. He deserves it. He deserves every insults they throw at him, every punches though he doesn’t really feel them. He deserves all of it.

He deserves Damian trying to tear his eyes out, while yelling that his aunt was the best woman on Earth. He deserves to be shot a million times by Jason, even if it’s just to release some pain off of the boy’s heart. He deserves to have his hair pulled by Tim, as the kid screams in his hears that he’s a monster. He deserves Dick’s tearing his trademark “S” off of his costume, saying that he doesn’t deserve hope anymore...He deserves all of it.

Bruce is silent. He doesn’t have the strength to do anything anymore, and just wants to go to bed. To wake up the next morning to the sound of your laughter down the hall, to the sound of your feet running after your nephews, giggling like a child. Ready to wake up with a six years old you in his arms, because you snuck into his bed, being afraid of the thunderstorm that was raging outside.

Yes. Bruce doesn’t have the strength anymore, and collapses in the arm of a grieving Alfred.

The butler just lost a daughter. And though he wished he could kill Superman too, he’s got to be there for his family. Besides, his grandchildren, not the batboys, your own sons, already lost a mother...They needed more than ever their dad. But he cannot help it. The hate he feels below his grief is too great. And the murderous gaze he gives Clark is enough to break the Superman even more. Though, right now, Alfred cannot do anything.

He needs to take care of the one he came to love as a son. He needs to take care of your broken brother, who just lost one of the best thing he had in life.

Clark leaves your body in the cave, knowing you would have want to be buried next to your parents. And because he did not want his sons to see you like that. To see your broken body, your expressionless face, how cold and white you were...no. He couldn’t bring you back to where they were. And so he left you there. And with a last kiss to your frozen lips, trying to ignore as best he could his nephews holding onto each others, looking at him with a hatred he never saw in any of their eyes before, he flies away.

************

Just like he didn’t try to fight Bruce or his nephews, he lets them.

He lets them hit him with all their might.

It hurts. Like Hell. They’re powerful, almost more than him. They don’t break their hands as their fist hit him repeatedly.

When it was discovered that he went rogue because of an experiment Lex Luthor made on him, you took them to the family farm, away from any danger. You took them to his Ma’, knowing they’d be safe there...

Coming back alone, without you, his face a bloody pulp, and explaining to them what happened was the most difficult thing he ever had to do. More than once, he thought he wasn’t going to be able to...but he owed them that much.

Because he just killed their mother.

And when they took their grief and anger on him, he let them did it.

Only the intervention of their grandma stopped them.

Little Jon, who looked exactly like his father when he was a kid, except for his eyes, he had your (E/C) eyes, well...Little John holds on tight onto his grandmother, not able to stop crying. His mommy is no more. She wasn’t coming back. She wouldn’t come to tuck him in anymore, read him the best bed time stories ever. Inventing them often, oh, he loved it even more when she invented them. Never would she cook his favorite meals, or scold him because he still wasn’t showered and in bed. Never would she wakes him up lovingly to get ready for school, with a soft kiss on his forehead and a warm hug. Never would she...do anything. She was gone. Forever. His screams of pain were yet another stab in Clark’s heart.

You were the first one who ever showed love towards Conner, and as his grandma stops him from killing his father, he falls to his knee. And he imagines that the hand of Martha Kent through his hair isn’t hers, but his mother’s. He imagines that the fingers massaging lovingly his scalp isn’t his grandmother’s, it’s his mom’s. She’s right there with him. She isn’t dead. It’s ridiculous to think she could be dead. She’s the famous (Y/N) Wayne Kent. She can’t be dead. She’s the one that accepted him as a son first, convincing her husband afterward...She’s the reason he has parents. She can’t be taken away from him ! She can’t...As his grandmother tries to soothe his shaking body with a loving hand brushing his hair, he imagines its his mother. Just one last time before he has to say goodbye...

Clark cannot takes this anymore. He cannot. And before his mom can say anything, he flies away. He can't. He can’t look at his sons breaking down like that and knowing it’s his fault. He’s not strong enough...He’s not strong enough.

************

Alone at last. In his fortress of solitude.

But he doesn’t want to be alone. He wants you here. With him. He wants to kiss you, hold you in his arms, he wants to talk to you, to see your smile once again...To see your smile once again !

He takes his phone out of his pocket. Miraculously, it still works, even after the severe beating he went through. The screen is damaged though, but it’s alright.

No. It isn’t alright. As he puts on a video he made of you just a few days ago, right before being taken by Lex Luthor, he lets out a scream, almost a growl, and throws his phone, shattering it on the icy walls of his fortress...

When he put on the video, the crack on the screen made your face look horrific.

It looked broken. Your smile, because of the cracks, was twisted and unnatural. Not at all the smile he wanted to remember. And because the phone went through a lot, your voice was distorted and terrifying...almost as if your ghost was talking to him.

It was too much. Everything was too much. He wanted to go back in time and stop all of this from happening...unfortunately, though he had a wide array of powers, coming back in time was impossible. No matter what. He wished your joke about flying around the Earth opposite to its orbit would take time back was right...but no. He couldn’t do that. Only Barry Allen could turn back time, and knowing all the shit that happened whenever he did, he would never agree...No. He lost you forever. And it was his fault.

He’s the one that killed you.

Tears streamed down his face as he closed his eyes and focused on your image. He tried to remember your voice as best he could, this voice he loved so much, and made you say things like : “I love you Clark” and such in his head.

But it was more painful than anything else. Because never again were you gonna come back hime and tell him those words. Never again were you going to smile at him, to tell stupid jokes, to laugh with your sons. Never again was he going to be able to hold you, to kiss you, to make love to you.

No. He killed you.

And as he destroyed every single piece of ice that made his fortress of solitude, as his fist broke everything around him, he let out his grief and anger.

It was his turn.

His turn to be mad. To be sad.

His turn...

And his fault. As he destroyed his fortress of solitude, turning it into a pile of ice dust, screaming at the top of his lungs, he fully realized what he did.

He killed you.

It was his fault if you were never coming back.

You sacrificed your life to save him. The league was planning, reluctantly, on killing him because he was impossible to contain, to stop. And yet, you begged them for a last chance.

You sacrificed your life to save him, and he wished you hadn’t. He wished you had let them kill him...The boys needed you more than they needed him.

Bruce and his children needed you more than they needed him.

Alfred needed you more than they needed him.

The entire World needed you more than they needed him.

He was just a brute, you were a living sunshine. You only ever did good in your life, even though you went through terrible things.

He was just a man that didn’t belong here, that was way too powerful for the planet’s own good, and you were the sweetest thing that ever walked this Earth.

He was the one who should’ve died, not you...

He fell on his back in the pile of ice that used to be his fortress of solitude, and as tears blurred his visions, the cold floor representing his own feelings, he thought he saw your face in the sky.

In the shape of the clouds.

And later, in the stars.

He stayed a long time laying on his back on the cold ground. And he saw your face everywhere. He was doomed to see your face everywhere for the rest of his life...

Fin.

_____________________

Hope you liked it, and that it made you feel things. If it didn’t, I completely failed and that fucking sucks. Thank you very much for reading.

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